Title: The Knight of the Golden Melice - A Historical Romance
Author: Adams, John Turvill
Language: English
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THE KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN MELICE

A Historical Romance

by

JOHN TURVILL ADAMS

The Author of "The Lost Hunter."

New-York:
Derby & Jackson, 119 Nassau-Street.
Cincinnati: W.H. Derby & Co.

1857



"One ... calling himself ... Knight of the Golden Melice."

                    _Winthrop's History of New England._



  Alles weiderholt sich nur im Leben;
    Ewig jung ist nur die Fantasie:
  Was sich nie und nirgends hat begeben,
    Das allein veraltet nie!

                                     Shiller.



TO H.L.A.

To whom but to yourself; my H., should I dedicate this Romance, which
may be said to be the fruit of our mutual studies? With what delight I
have watched the unfolding, like a beautiful flower, of your youthful
mind, while instead of indulging in frivolous pursuits, so common to
your age, you have applied yourself to the acquiring of useful
knowledge as well as of elegant accomplishments, none but a parent can
know. Accept what I have written, my darling, as a tribute to a love
which makes the happiness of my life.

J.T.A.



INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.


  He cast, (of which we rather boast,)
  The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,
  And in these rocks for us did frame
  A temple where to sound His name.
  O let our voice His praise exalt
  Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
  Which there perhaps rebounding may
  Echo beyond the Mexic bay.
  Thus sang they, in the English boat,
  A holy and a cheerful note,
  And all the way to guide their chime,
  With falling oars they kept the time.

  _Andrew Marvell's "Emigrants in the Bermudas."_


The beginning of the 17th century is an interesting epoch in American
annals. Although the Atlantic coast of that vast country now comprised
within the limits of the United States and Canada had previously been
traced by navigators, and some little knowledge acquired of the tribes
of red men who roamed its interminable forests, no attempt at
colonization worthy of the name had succeeded. The principal, if not
the only advantage derived from the discovery of North America, came
from the fisheries of Newfoundland and Labrador, frequented mostly by
the adventurous mariners of England, France and Spain. In these cold
seas, to the music of storms howling from the North Pole, and dashing
with ceaseless rage the salt spray against the rocky shore, they
threw their lines and cast their nets, at the same time enriching
themselves, and forming for their respective countries a race of hardy
and skilful sailors. The land attracted them not. The inducements
which led to the more speedy conquest and settlement of South America
by the Spaniards, were wanting. Gold and silver to tempt cupidity were
not to be found, and the stern, though not inhospitable character of
the Northern tribes was very different from the imbecile effeminacy of
the Southern races. The opposition likely to be encountered was more
formidable, and the prize to be won hardly proportioned to the hazard
to be incurred. While, therefore, the atrocious Spaniards were
enslaving the helpless natives of Peru and Mexico, and compelling them
by horrid cruelties to deliver up their treasures, the wild woods of
all that region to the north of the Gulf bearing the name of the
latter country, continued to ring to the free shout of the tawny
hunter. Not that attempts had not been made to obtain footing on the
continent, but they had all failed by reason of the character of the
emigrants, or the want of support from home, or of a thousand other
causes reducible to the category of ill luck, bad management, or
providential determination.

But the 17th century introduced a new order of things, beginning with
the arrival of the first permanent colony on the coast of Virginia in
the year 1607, indissolubly associated with the name of the chivalrous
Captain John Smith; followed in 1614 by the occupancy of the mouth of
the river Hudson, and of the island of Manhattan, the present site of
the city of New-York, by the Dutch; and, in 1620, of New-England, by
the English. The fulness of time had arrived, when the seeds of a
mighty empire were to be sown.

A diversity of opinion prevails with regard to the motives of the early
colonists to leave their homes. Without entering into an elaborate
discussion of the subject, and thereby invading the province of the
historian, it may perhaps be permitted me to say, that, in my
judgment, they were partly political, partly religious, partly
commercial, and partly adventurous.

One of the first acts of James the First of England, on his accession
to the throne in 1603, was the conclusion, by a peace with Spain, of
the long war so gloriously signalized by the destruction of the
Armada. The pacific policy wherewith he began his administration, he
never abandoned during the twenty-two years while he held the sceptre.
Hence the spirit of enterprise which exists in various degrees in
every flourishing nation, finding itself diverted from that warlike
channel wherein it had been accustomed to flow, was obliged to seek
other issues. The immense region beyond the sea claimed by England by
priority of discovery, offered a theatre for a portion of that spirit
to expend itself upon. Hither turned their eyes those who, in the
wars, had contracted a fondness for adventure, and were unwilling to
sink back into the peaceful pursuits of laborious industry. For such
men, the vague and the uncertain possess irresistible attractions. For
them, emigration was like the hazard of the gaming-table; ruin was a
possible consequence, but fortune might also crown the most
extravagant hopes. The merchant regarded with favor a scheme which
would furnish employment for his ships by the transportation of men
and stores. Besides, the fisheries had always been productive; they
might be largely extended, and a trade in furs and other products of
the country opened with the Indians. Perhaps the precious metals,
found in such quantities by the Spaniards at the South, might enrich
the North. Happily they found not that pernicious bane which is alike
the corrupter of private morals and the debaucher of nations. To these
considerations may be added a willingness at least on the part of the
government, to rid itself of idle profligates and unruly spirits.
Guided by this chart, it is not difficult to understand why efforts
similar to those which had proved abortive, should now be successful.

The character of the first emigrants to the Virginia colony, and the
products of the country sent home, confirm these views. They are
described as "many gentlemen, a few laborers, several refiners,
goldsmiths, and jewellers," and the returning ships were freighted
with cedar and with a glittering earth, which was mistaken for gold.
Another party is spoken of by a chronicler of the times, as "many
unruly gallants sent hither by their friends to escape ill destinies."
Doubtless among those denominated gentlemen and gallants were some
noble souls, like, though _longo intervallo_, to the heroic
Smith.

While the Virginia colony was slowly struggling against adverse
circumstances, and attracting to herself the cavaliers who, in various
capacities and with different fortunes, had figured in those troubled
times, important changes were going on at home destined to exert a
mighty influence on the New World. That awakening of the intellect
occasioned by the speculations of Wyckliff, the morning star of the
Reformation, more than two hundred years before, and to which Luther
and Calvin had imparted a fresh impulse, was performing its destined
work. By the assertion of the right of private judgment in matters of
religion, the pillars of authority had been shaken. Nothing was
considered as too sacred to be examined. To the tribunal of the mind
of every man, however undisciplined and illiterate, were brought, like
criminals to be tried, the profoundest mysteries and most perplexing
questions of theology, and in proportion to the ignorance of the
judge, was the presumption with which sentence was pronounced. A
general love of dogma prevailed. The cross-legged tailor plying his
needle on his raised platform; the cobbler in the pauses of beating
the leather on his lap-stone; and the field-laborer as he rested on
his spade; discussed with serene and satisfied assurance problems,
before the contemplation of which, the ripest learning and highest
order of mind had veiled their faces. Dissatisfaction with the
condition of things spread more and more. All, in both Church and
State, was considered out of joint. The former had not sufficiently
cleansed herself from the pollutions of Rome, and lagging behind at a
wide distance from the primitive model, required to be further
reformed; the latter by encroachments on the liberties of the subject,
and assistance furnished to a corrupt hierarchy, had become odious,
and was to be resisted and restrained. The idea of abolishing the
monarchy had indeed not entered the mind of the most daring reformer;
but it is certain, that when his feelings were inflamed by brooding
over real and fancied wrongs from the established Church, his anger
would overflow upon the government, which, with no sparing hand,
wielded the sword to enforce pains and penalties, imposed, ostensibly
for the protection of religion, but in reality for the interests of an
ally and its own safety. It was this exasperation, partly of a
religious and partly of a political nature, that bore its legitimate
fruit in the execution of Charles.

Before that awful lesson, however, discontent had increased until the
unhappy zealots, too feeble to resist, yet too resolute to submit,
determined to leave their country. Hard fate! Self-banished from the
associations of childhood, from the memorials of their ancestors! But
whither should they fly? They had heard indeed of a country; far
beyond the sea, where a refuge might be found, and whither some of
their countrymen had gone; but those first emigrants were cavaliers,
men of the same creed as their persecutors, and who had been induced
to leave England by motives different from those which controlled
their minds. Their purpose would not be attained by joining the
Virginia colony. They were not merely adventurers, hunting after
earthly treasures, but pilgrims in search of the kingdom of heaven.
Their company consisted of delicate women and children, from whom they
could not part, as well as of hardy men; and such were unfit to
encounter the perils of a new settlement, in an untried climate, and
an unknown country, infested by savages. Their principal want was
religious liberty; that they could find in Holland, and to Holland
they went. It was close at hand, and should any favorable change occur
in England, it would be easy to return. But after an experience of
some dozen years, they found insuperable objections to remaining
there, and determined, no such changes having taken place as they
anticipated when they left their native land, to emigrate to America.
In a season of the year as stern as the mood of their own minds, they
sought the stormy shores of New-England, and their example was soon
followed by others direct from the parent country. This first column
was composed exclusively of Protestants, who had refused conformity to
the established Church, or as they were called, Puritans. Later
arrivals brought more mixed companies, but still the Puritan element
always largely prevailed. Now separated by an ocean from, kings and
bishops, they resolved to realize the darling idea which, like the
fiery pillar before the wandering Israelites, had conducted them
across the sea, and that was the establishment of a commonwealth after
the model of perfection which they fondly imagined they had
discovered. And where should they find that perfect system, except in
the awful and mysterious volume wherein was the revelation of God's
will, and which, with a devotion that had impressed its every syllable
on their minds, they had day and night been studying? Was there not
contained therein a form of government which He had given to his
favored people; and what did both reason and piety suggest but to
accommodate it to their circumstances? All things favored the
undertaking. They were at too great a distance to be easily molested
by their enemies: the distracted condition of the government at home
afforded little opportunity for a strict supervision of their affairs;
and the few savages in their neighborhood left by the devastating
pestilence wherewith Providence had swept the new Canaan, in order to
make room for them, they soon found powerless before the terror of
their fire-arms. By excluding all whom it was their pleasure to call
lewd and debauched, or, in other words, who differed from them in
opinion, from participation in the government, they expected to avoid
confusion, and secure the blessing of heaven. It is absurd to suppose
that human pride, and ambition, and avarice did not intrude into these
visions of a reign of the saints on earth, but unquestionably notions
like these exerted a strong influence. They established their
commonwealth upon their theocratic model, and commenced the
experiment.

Soon, in logical and honest sequence with the principles which they
professed, followed a system of persecution rivaling that of which
they complained in England. To be true to themselves and creed, they
were obliged to adopt it. We may do as we please; we may say that the
fanatical notion, the horrid Erinnys, the baleful mother of woes
innumerable, that the dogmas of religion may rightfully be enforced by
the sword of the civil, power, dominated the world, and in this way
account for their conduct; or apologize for it by the necessities of
their situation, and the peculiarities of their creed; or combine
these causes, and so extenuate what cannot be defended.

I can well understand how a Puritan of 16--would justify his rigor.
His opinion of himself would be like that of the amiable Governor
Winthrop, as found in his first will, (omitted, however, in his
second,) as one "adopted to be the child of God, and an heir of
everlasting life, and that of the mere and free favor of God, who hath
elected me to be a vessel of glory." Such was the Puritan in his own
eyes. He was the chosen of heaven. He had, for the sake of the Gospel,
abandoned his country and the comforts of civilization, to erect (in
the language of Scripture which he loved to use) his Ebenezer in the
wilderness. He wanted to be let alone. He invited not Papists or
English Churchmen, or any who differed in opinion from him, to throw
in their lots with his. They would only be obstacles in his way,
jarring-strings in his heavenly antique-fashioned harp. Away with the
intruders! What right had they to molest him with their dissenting
presence? The earth was wide: let them go somewhere else. They would
find more congenial associates in the Virginia colony. He would have
no Achans to breed dissension in his camp. With bold heart and strong
hand would he cast them out. His was the empire of the saints; an
empire, not to be exercised with feebleness and doubt, but with vigor
and confidence.

It is obvious that a very wide difference existed between the
characters of the two colonies. The cavalier, sparkling and fiery as
the wines he quaffed, the defender of established authority and of the
divine right of kings, was the antithesis of the abstemious and
thoughtful religionist and reformer, dissatisfied with the present,
hopeful of a better future, and not forgetful that it was in anger God
gave the Israelites a king.

Meanwhile the Roman Catholics had not been idle. Their devoted
missionaries, solicitous to occupy other regions which should more
than supply the deficiency occasioned by the Protestant defection, and
confident of the final triumph of a Church, out of whose pale they
believed could be no salvation, had scattered themselves over the
continent, and with marvellous energy and self-sacrifice, were
extending their influence among the natives. No boundaries can be
placed to the visions of the enthusiastic religionist. His strength is
the strength of God. No wonder, then, that the Roman Catholic priest
should cherish hopes of rescuing the entire new world from heresy,
which he considered worse than heathenism, and should enlist all his
energies in so grand a cause. It is almost certain that extensive
plans were formed for the accomplishment of this object.

Such were the elements which the seething caldron of the old world
threw out upon the new. A part only of the materials furnished by
these elements have I used in framing this tale. It is an attempt to
elucidate the manners and credence of quite an early period, and to
explain with the license accorded to a romancer, some passages in
American history.

Thus much have I thought proper to premise. It is impossible to judge
correctly of the men of any age, without taking into consideration the
circumstances in which they were placed, and the opinions that
prevailed in their time. To apply the standard of this year of grace,
1856, to the religious enlightenment of more than two hundred years
ago, would be like measuring one of Gulliver's Lilliputians by
Gulliver himself. I trust that the world has since improved, and that
of whatever passing follies we may be guilty, we shall never
retrograde to the old narrow views of truth. If mankind are capable of
being taught any lesson, surely this is one--that persecution or
dislike for opinion sake is a folly and an evil, and that we best
perform the will of Him to whom we are commanded to be like, not by
contracting our affections into the narrow sphere of those whose
opinions harmonize with ours, but by diffusing our love over His
creation who pronounced it all "very good."



THE KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN MELICE.



CHAPTER I.

  Come on, Sir! now you set your foot on shore,
  _In novo orbe_.

  BEN JONSON'S _Alchemist_.


Our tale begins within a few years after the end of the first quarter
of the 17th century, at Boston, in Massachusetts, then in the infancy
of its settlement.

On an evening in the month of May, were assembled some seven or eight
men around a table, in a long, low room, the sides only of which were
plastered, the rough beams and joists overhead being exposed to view;
the windows were small, and the floor without a carpet; and the
furniture consisted of the table, over which was spread a black cloth,
whereupon stood several lighted candles in brass candlesticks, of a
dozen chairs, covered with russet-colored leather, and of some wooden
benches, ranged against the walls, and which were occupied by various
persons. At one end of the apartment the floor was raised a few
inches, and the chair standing on this elevation differed from the
others in having arms at the sides, and in being of ampler proportions,
as if by its appearance to vindicate a claim to superior position. But
unpretending as was the room, it was a place of no little importance,
being no less than the Court Hall and Council Chamber of the "Governor
and Company of the Massachusetts Bay, in New England." At the moment
of which we are speaking, it was appropriated to a meeting of the
Court of Assistants of the Colony.

The person occupying the arm-chair, on the platform, was a man of not
unpleasing appearance, somewhat less than fifty years of age, and
dressed with considerable precision in the style prevailing among
gentlemen of distinction at that day. His face was rather long, and
surmounted by a high and well developed forehead, from the top of
which, dark, parted hair fell in curls down the temples over a white
ruff, fringed with costly lace, that encircled his neck. His eyes were
blue; his eye-brows highly arched; his nose large; beard covered the
upper lip and chin; and so far as an opinion could be formed, from his
sitting posture, he was tall and well-made. The expression of his
countenance was gentle, and there was an air of introspection and
abstraction about it as if he were much in the habit of communing with
his own thoughts. The upper part of his person, which only was
visible, the rest being hid by the table and depending cloth, was
clothed in a black coat or doublet, without ornament or even the
appearance of a button, and at his side he wore a rapier, evidently
more as a badge of his rank than for use.

Seated at his right hand, and below the platform, was a man a dozen
years at least his elder, whose stout look and fiery glances indicated
that if time had grizzled his thick and close cut hair, it had not
quenched the heat of his spirit. Like the gentleman first described,
he was dressed in sad-colored garments, differing but little from
them, except that instead of a ruff, he wore a plain white band,
falling upon his breast, cut somewhat like those worn by clergymen at
the present day, but longer, and passing round the neck and covering
the collar of the coat. Although the oldest of the company, he seemed
to have himself the least under control, continually moving in his
chair, drawing forward and pushing away the sheets of paper that lay
before him, and now and then darting an impatient glance at the person
in the arm-chair, from whom it would wander over his companions, and
then fasten on the door.

The third and last gentleman whom we think proper to describe, was a
man of about the age of the first, but utterly unlike him. His head
was covered with a black skull cap, (probably to protect his
baldness,) beneath which, rose ears more prominent than ornamental,
being very little relieved by the hair, which was cropped short. His
complexion was florid, and the parts of the face, about the chin and
jaws, full and heavy, giving an appearance of great roundness to the
countenance. His features were regular, the mouth small and
compressed, and on the upper lip he wore a moustache, parted in the
centre, and brushed out horizontally, balanced by a tuft on the chin,
four or five inches long. An adventurous spirit gazed out of his clear
steady eyes, and altogether he looked like a man of determined temper,
and one who, having once formed a resolution, would find it difficult
to relinquish it. Around his neck he also had a broad band, divided in
the middle, and falling half way down his breast. The remainder of the
persons around the table bore the same general resemblance to these
three, in dress, that one gentleman ordinarily does to another, and
all were engaged in conversation.

Presently the gentleman in the arm-chair, who was evidently the
President, took up a small bell that was placed before him, and
sounding it, the summons was replied to by the entrance of a man from
a side-door. He was the servitor or beadle of the Court, and moving to
the end of the table opposite the President, he stood facing him and
waiting his commands.

"Bring in the prisoner," said the President, in a low tone, but so
distinct that it was heard all over the room.

The beadle noiselessly glided out, and in a few moments returned,
leading a man, whose wrists were fastened with gyves, whom he
conducted to the end of the table he had just left, and placed so as
to confront the President.

"Take off the irons," said the same, low, musical voice.

The man, thus unpleasantly introduced, was in the prime of life,
certainly not more than thirty-five or six years of age, and from his
bold and erect carriage, seemed (as was the fact) to have been bred a
soldier. Upon the order to take off the shackles being complied with,
he cast a look of acknowledgment toward the speaker.

"Master Nowell," said the President, "read the accusation."

The person addressed, who was the Clerk or Secretary, rose hereupon
from his seat near the centre of the table, and read "the
information," which it is unnecessary to give at length, charging the
prisoner with using most foul, scandalous, indecent, defamatory, and
unseemly invectives, reproaches, and passionate speeches, toward and
against the worshipful magistrates and godly ministers of the colony,
thereby contriving and designing to bring into contempt, all law,
order, religion, and good government, &c., and to subvert the
authority of the magistrates and undermine the wholesome influence of
the godly ministers, &c., to the disgrace and ruin of the colony and
scandal of true religion, &c.

When the paper had been read, the President demanded--"Are you guilty
or not?"

"I am as innocent as the worshipful Governor himself, and whoever
wrote those lies, is a villain and a foresworn knave," replied the
prisoner.

"Enter that the prisoner says he is not guilty," said the President,
addressing the Secretary; "and do thou, Philip Joy, remember where
thou art, and express thyself in a manner more becoming this
presence."

"It is hard to be tied up like a mad dog and not get angry," replied
the accused.

"Sirrah!" cried the gentleman, whose appearance was described next
after the President, "dost thou bring a contumacious spirit here to
bandy words with the right worshipful Governor? Silence, and answer
peremptorily to the questions of thy betters."

"Nay, worthy Deputy Governor Dudley, the poor man is, I doubt not,
already sensible of his error, and sinned more out of ignorance than
design," observed the President.

"The honored Governor," spoke an assistant from near the bottom of the
table, "is, I fear, disposed to be too lenient in respect of these
foul-mouthed carrion."

"Our law condemns no man unheard; nor will I be more stern," answered
the mild Governor Winthrop, (for it was he). "It seems to me to be the
part of a judge to allow no harsh suspicions to enter his mind, lest
they throw baleful shadows over his decisions. Philip Joy," he added,
turning to the prisoner, "thou hast declared thyself innocent; wilt
thou be tried by a jury, or art content to trust thy cause to the
judgment of the honorable Court of Assistants?"

"I care not who tries me," replied Joy. "I am a true man; and, though
I don't belong to the congregation, am as honest as a great many who
do, and he is a horrid villain, who--"

"Enough," interrupted the Governor, "a quick tongue often prejudices,
while a slow one seldom doth. Do I understand that it is thy desire to
be tried by the Assistants?"

"It is not my desire to be tried by any one," said Joy; "but, sith I
am to be put on my deliverance, I think that I shall stand a better
chance in the hands of honorable gentlemen, some of whom have been
soldiers, than in the dirty paws of tinkers, and cobblers, and mere
mechanicals."

No smile mantled over the faces of his grave judges, but it was
obvious, from the twinkling of eyes and glances shot by one to
another, that the speech of Joy had done him no harm with those who,
even thus early, began to feel annoyed at the approach of the clouted
shoe.

"Art thou prepared for thy trial? inquired the President.

"At any moment, and the sooner the better, your worship. I had rather
mount guard, for a week, in steel helmet and corselet, with breast,
back, culet, gorget, tasses, sword, musket and bandoliers, in the
hottest sun that ever roasted a blackamoor, or stand up to my knees,
six months, in snow, without my mandilion, than lie a day longer in
that ace--I mean that kennel of a lock-up."

"It, meseems, thou art in a hurry to have justice done thee, good
fellow," said, with a grim smile, the gentleman who was the third one
described, stroking, with his embroidered glove, the tuft of hair that
hung below his chin.

"You are a soldier, Captain Endicott, and can look a man straight in
the eyes," paid Joy; "and, though people give you credit for a hot
temper, I will trust you."

Endicott elevated his eye-brows at this ambiguous compliment, and for
a moment seemed at a loss how to take it, especially as he remarked a
peculiar expression on the faces of his colleagues.

"Being a soldier thyself," he replied, fastening his eyes sternly on
the face of the prisoner, "thou art bound to know that it becomes not
one in the ranks to prattle."

Joy made no answer, but returned a cool and unabashed look to the gaze
of the other.

"If the witnesses have been called, let them appear," said the
President.

Two men, of a rather moan appearance, now stepped forward; an oath by
the uplifted hand was administered, and one commenced his testimony.

The substance of his story was, that Joy, on a certain occasion, and,
at a certain place, in his presence and hearing, had declared, with a
profane exclamation, that there were men in the colony, wiser, and
more learned, than either the magistrates or ministers; and that,
between them both, what with their long prayers and intermeddling in
every body's affairs, they were like to ruin the plantation.

Upon the conclusion of the testimony, the witness was sharply
cross-questioned by Governor Winthrop, and some inquires were made by
various Assistants, but nothing further was elicited. As for Joy, he
disdained to ask a question, declaring that his accuser, Timpson, had
already been in the stocks for leasing; and, besides, had been
cudgelled by himself for stealing.

Hezekiah Timpson, a villainous, lean, crop-haired fellow, with a
hang-dog look, and sanctimonious air, upon hearing himself charged
with delinquencies, which were notorious to the whole Court, raised to
heaven his eyes, which, until now, he had kept fastened on the floor,
and, sighing deeply, exclaimed:

"I do confess my iniquities and my sins are ever before me. Verily,
was I thus given over to Satan to be buffeted but by free-grace have I
been snatched, as a brand from the burning, even as I yet hope to see
thee, Philip."

"Canting rogue, I want none of thy hopes, good or bad," said Joy.

"Cease thy reviling," cried Dudley, starting from his seat. "What! are
we to sit here to listen to malapert railings against men of godly
life and conversation?" he added, addressing himself to Winthrop. But
before the Governor could reply, one of the Assistants interposed.

"Let the poor man unbosom himself freely," he said, "that the whole
truth may come to light."

"Our worshipful brother Spikeman," answered the Deputy Governor, with
a sneer, (which he did not attempt to suppress,) "was not always ready
to allow such free-speech, as witness the case of Martin Wrexham,
banished for speaking to his disparagement."

"I trust that I shall be able to give the worshipful Deputy Governor
such reasons for my conduct, as will satisfy him," said Spikeman.

Dudley threw himself back into his chair, as if not half satisfied;
and Winthrop, who had calmly listened to the colloquy, took advantage
of the pause that ensued, to direct the other witness to testify.

From the examination, it appeared that he had been present at the
conversation referred to by Timpson, that, indeed, it was between Joy
and himself, and that the former had not been aware of the presence of
the informer, until on turning round, when Timpson was standing at his
elbow. He recollected nothing said by Joy about the ministers, except
that he had, any day, rather listen to one of Corporal Joly's songs,
than Mr. Cotton's long sermons; nor respecting the magistrates, but
that there were better judges in England.

The testimony being concluded, the prisoner was asked what he had to
say for himself, to which he replied:

"Only that Hezekiah Timpson was an eves-dropping, lying villain, and
that the other witness had told the truth. He meant no harm by
anything he had said."

"Dost think it advisable to retract anything?" inquired Spikeman.

"I know not why I should deny the truth," answered Joy.

"Remand the prisoner, and clear the court-room," cried the President;
and Joy was accordingly led out, followed by the spectators.

As soon as the members of the Court were left to themselves, Winthrop
began to collect the opinions of the Assistants, commencing with the
youngest, who were placed most remote from him. At first, a
considerable diversity of sentiment prevailed, several seeming
disposed to discredit Timpson, and to acquit Joy. They pronounced
their opinions shortly and pithily, giving their reasons in a few
words, until it came to Spikeman's turn, who spoke more at length.

"The vice," he said, "of backbiting godly ministers, and maligning
magistrates, had risen, in consequence of the mistaken leniency of the
Court, to an alarming height, so as to threaten the very foundations
of their government. There was not a Satan-instigated railing
Rabsheka, who did not now have his daily fling at the servants of the
Lord, engaged in much tribulation in planting his vineyard, and there
were many saints who were already calling out, O Lord, how long! They
had themselves just been witnesses of the audacity, wherewith, in the
very presence of the right worshipful Governor, and the worshipful
Assistants, the prisoner had assumed to sit in judgment upon a member
of the congregation, and to foul him with abuse. Never had he dared to
exhibit such topping insolence, had he not supposed himself supported
by a mutinous spirit from without. It was a dangerous spirit which, if
inflamed by indulgence, would become a deadly boil to poison the whole
body politic. Prick therefore the imposthume at once, and, like wise
surgeons, let out the offensive matter. He was not surprised at the
indignation of the worthy Deputy. It was a zeal unto godliness, and
devoutly did he wish, that himself, and all, were more inspired with
it. When he had asked that the prisoner might be permitted to speak
freely, it was that every Assistant might be convinced by his own ears
of the boldness wherewith rebellion to constituted authority,
impudently bursting from the bottomless pit, ventured to obtrude into
a court of justice, and to boast of its misdeeds. Was a child of the
covenant of grace, and our brother in Christ, to be reproached with
the sins which he had committed when in the gall of bitterness and
bonds of iniquity, and which had been washed out by the blood of the
New-Testament? Nay, then, give a universal license to every lewd
fellow, to rake up the sins of your youth, and let him send to
England--that England which spewed us out of her mouth, as if we were
not the children of her bowels--to obtain the proofs. Had there been
no word of evidence, the bare conduct of the prisoner before them was
enough to satisfy them of his dangerous character, and he should feel
his conscience accusing him of failure in his obligations to the
Church and the Colony, were he not to advise exemplary punishment,
whereof banishment would be a necessary but the slightest part."

The speech of Spikeman was evidently acceptable to a majority of the
Assistants. It appealed to the fanaticism of some, and to the fears of
others; but there were some on whom it produced no such effect.
Captain Endicott, fierce zealot as he was, found in it something
disagreeable. As his manner was, he stroked with his hand the long
tuft on his chin, before he commenced speaking:

"There are things," he said, "in the speech of the worshipful brother
whereof I approve, and others, again, whereunto I may not give my
assent. Though it may savor of worldly pride, and be proof of the old
Adam lingering in me, I will say, that however guilty in the sight of
God, before whom I acknowledge myself the chief of sinners, I
challenge before man an examination of my life, and fear no evil
report from England or elsewhere. But for this self-boasting, I crave
the pardon and prayers of my brethren. Touching the prisoner, which is
the matter in hand, I find him somewhat bold, and not altogether in
other respects what I desire, but yet not worthy of severe punishment,
or likely to be a dangerous person in the Commonwealth. Where need
requires, I trust, with preventing grace, never to be deficient in
prompt and energetic action, but no necessity therefor hath, in my
judgment, at present arisen. For, as for this young man, ye are to
recollect that he is a soldier, and that a stout one, and may yet do
the Commonwealth service in her defence, whereunto I doubt not his
willingness, and that his free speech doth proceed rather from the
license of camps than from malignity of temper. Moreover, I find not
the rule of Scripture whereby we are bound that by the mouth of two or
three witnesses every word shall be established altogether complied
with, meaning not, thereby, to impugn the statement of our brother of
the congregation, worthy good man Timpson, but only that his words are
not confirmed as our law requires."

Thus spoke Endicott, who was afterwards so notorious for his
severities against dissidents; but these sentiments found no echo in
the mind of the Deputy Governor.

"I thank God," he said, "that however gross and innumerable my errors
and backslidings, I am no libertine." (Here Endicott's eyes flashed,
but he contented himself with stroking, in a musing manner, the long
tuft of hair on his chin.) "The evil we are called upon by the united
voice of the suffering saints in this wilderness to suppress,"
continued Dudley, "demands, I trow, sharper practice than has hitherto
been applied, and I do admire at the milk-and-water temper of the
worthy Assistant at this present. Not thus is he wont to speak, but in
the common is zealous even unto slaying. What incantation or witch of
Endor hath blinded him, I know not."

The blood mounted into the face of Endicott, for he, as well as the
others present, understood the remark to refer to the young and gentle
wife of the ex-Governor of Salem, and who was supposed to exert a
great influence in soothing the fierceness of his disposition, (alas,
if it were so; how short a time that influence lasted!) and many were
the smiles that circled the table, but Winthrop, apprehensive of a
storm, interposed.

"My worthy friend," he said, "can surely intend no disrespect toward
one of the stoutest champions of our Israel. Doubtless he will be able
so to explain his words, as to make their meaning innocent."

"I complain not," burst forth Endicott. "If it were lawful to try
conclusions in the manner of the Gentiles, and he a fit man for me to
deal with, his lips should never repeat such vituperations;" and as he
concluded, he threw one of his embroidered gloves violently on the
table before Dudley, who sat opposite.

"Peace, gentlemen," cried Winthrop, rising with dignity, and looking
alternately at one and the other. "Forget not that ye are brethren,
and that upon your harmony depends the prosperity of our Zion, If ye
who are of the household of faith permit idle bickerings to divide
your hearts, how can ye expect the blessing of Heaven on your labors?
If the cement to hold together the stones of the temple be untempered
mortar, must not the fabric fall, and bury the worshippers in its
ruins? If you love me, Captain Endicott, my brave and generous, but
hasty friend, take up your glove; if you have respect for the high
station you so worthily fill, noble Dudley, extend your hand in token
of amity, and assure our brother that no offence was designed."

The time occupied by the governor had afforded opportunity for the
passions of the two gentlemen to cool, and for them to become sensible
of the unbecoming parts they were playing. As if they had at the same
instant arrived at a like conclusion, Endicott reached forward to pick
up his gauntlet, while Dudley stretched out his open palm. It was
grasped by the other, and the two men wrung each other's hand as if
whatever might be their private quarrels, they were resolved to stand
by one another against the rest of the world.

"I crave forgiveness," said Dudley, at the same time resuming his seat
and speech, "of the honorable Assistants in general, and of my
excellent brother Endicott in particular, and beseech them to ascribe
the vehemency of my speech to no want of respect for them, but to my
zeal in the common service, and to a natural impetuosity. I solemnly
protest that my observation pointed at nothing offensive, and that
come whence it might, I would resent a wrong to my honored brother as
quickly as to myself. Yet I will say, that I marvel that one so
familiar with the nature of wounds as my honorable and dear friend,
the worthy founder of our infant commonwealth, (and this is an ancient
and increasing evil,) should not know that old wounds require rather
vinegar than oil, the cautery instead of unguents. As a member of the
persecuted Church, I will not allow the declarations of a brother of
that holy and mystical body to be overborne and set at naught by an
ill liver like this Philip Joy. I say that men have become too free in
uttering their licentious imaginations about those who are placed by
God's Providence above them for their soul's good and bodies' health,
and that an example should be made to repress the gossip of light
tongues and evil thinkers. In punishing this Joy, (who might more
properly be called mourning,) we exalt the honor of the congregation,
one of whose sons, even in your presence, and with intent to dishonor
you, he has abused with perverse epithets, while at the same time we
strike a wholesome terror into others in like case to offend."

He ceased, and looked around as if to gather the suffrages of his
associates, but since the little interruption to their harmony, the
wary Assistants were too politic, by word or sign, to betray a bias,
so that he beheld only downcast eyes, and countenances purposely
vacant, in order to conceal the thoughts of their owners.

It was now the turn of the Governor to express his opinion, and as he
opened his lips, all eyes were fastened on him. His manner was grave,
yet soft and persuasive, and a desire was manifest to pursue a course
which should offend none, but reconcile differences by yielding
something to all.

"_Tumultuosa libertas_", (he said, commencing his remarks a Latin
quotation,) "_tranquilitati probrosoe anteponenda est_, and in the
lively observations we have heard, I mark not the signs of dissension,
but of free thought, having in view the honor of God and the welfare
of his little flock scattered abroad in a strange land. But the good
shepherd will yet gather the dispersed into his arms, and gently lead
them through green pastures and by still waters. Our Israel owes you
thanks, brethren, for the vigilance wherewith ye watch the walls of
Jerusalem, and are quick to spy the lurking wolf and ravening bear. If
the watchmen sleep, what shall become of the city? But her strong
towers of defence and bulwarks are ye, emulous only to show your love.

"It hath been said--to come more immediately to the matter in
hand--that the vice of evil speaking of dignities had greatly
increased, and needed to be repressed. It is so, and cannot be denied;
and I would thereupon note a caution to my brethren, and that is, the
necessity of rather discouraging that democratical spirit which is
threatening to sweep away all distinctions, and to strip the
Assistants themselves of necessary power. It is an insubordination,
whereof foul breaths, licentious imaginations, and undisciplined
tongues, are the inciters and fomenters. Now, if one can legitimately
be proved guilty of the offence, I would be forward as well for the
salutary discipline of the offender as highest weal of the state, to
visit him with a due measure of punishment. But it behooves the court
to see that the charge is proved.

"In the present case, even although the testimony of the principal
witness were thrown out, which, howbeit, cannot be done, he standing
unimpeached before us, yet there remains sufficient from the testimony
of the second, the truth of which is not denied by the prisoner, to
convince us that something light and trivial has been uttered
reflecting upon the godly Mr. Cotton, whose edifying discourses were
degraded beneath the value of a song. This is in a manner to impeach
the sanctity of religion, by making light of the character of her
ministers. As for what the prisoner said touching the magistrates, I
trust that it is true, and am disposed to connect no evil intent
therewith. My judgment is to pronounce him guilty of using indecorous
language respecting a minister of the gospel, and to condemn him
therefor in a light fine, to help replenish our lean treasury."

"Did not the right worshipful Governor remark the profane exclamation
of the prisoner even in this presence?" inquired Spikeman.

"None, Master Spikeman," answered Winthrop. "I did indeed observe that
the prisoner, in one instance, commenced what I supposed was the word
'accursed,' but checked himself in mid utterance as if sensible that
it was unmeet to be spoken, which rather savors of respect than of the
contrary."

But the Assistant shook his head. "I have seldom seen," he said, "a
more stiff-necked and perverse offender, and one more deserving of
many stripes."

Hereupon followed a discussion of some length, which terminated
favorably to the opinions of the Deputy Governor and of the Assistant
Spikeman, and it was finally agreed that Joy should be found guilty,
generally, and condemned to be confined for the space of one month, in
irons, to a fine of £5, and to banishment from the colony. This result
was not attained without strong resistance from Winthrop, who strove
to mitigate the punishment to a fine, and from Endicott, who
endeavored to obtain remission of the banishment; but in vain--the
vehemence of Dudley, and the insinuations of Spikeman, overbore all
opposition.

Upon the conclusion being arrived at, Joy was placed again before the
Governor, who, with a grieved look, pronounced sentence, and
immediately dismissed the Court.



CHAPTER II.

  A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine.

  SPENCER.


On the morning of a fine day, a fortnight after the occurrences above
narrated, a horseman was riding over the neck, or narrow strip of
marshy ground, which connects the peninsula on which Boston is
situated with the main land. The rider was a tall, handsome man, of
apparently some thirty-five years of age, who sat on his steed and
handled the reins with a practiced grace, as if the saddle and himself
were familiar acquaintances. Under a broad-brimmed, slouched hat, fell
curls of dark hair, down the sides of an oval though rather thin face,
embrowned by exposure to the weather. The nose was curved like the
beak of an eagle, the eyes bright and wild as those of the royal bird,
and a close beard curled over the face, including the upper lip, the
bold yet sweet expression of which it did not conceal.

The dress of the cavalier was in the fashion of the times, though
sobered down, either for the purpose of attracting less attention, or
out of deference to the customs of the people he was among. A close
fitting doublet or jerkin, of black velvet, over which was thrown a
light cloak of the same color, but of different material, and a
falling collar, shaped somewhat like those in Vandyke's portraits,
edged with a narrow peccadillo or fringe of lace, ornamented the upper
part of his person; his hands and wrists were protected by long gloves
or gauntlets, reaching half way up to the elbow, and opening wide at
the top; russet-colored boots expanded at the aperture and garnished
with spurs reached high up the legs, and a small cut and thrust sword,
suspended by a belt, which was also russet-colored, hung at his side.
The handle of the sword was exquisitely beautiful, worthy of being the
work of Cellini himself. It was mostly of massive gold, the hilt
smooth and shining, and the guard embossed with a variety of elegant
devices. But the part which first arrested attention and attracted the
most admiration was the head, whereupon was sculptured a gigantic
honey-bee, with wings expanded, as if about to fly from its perch; the
eyes were sparkling diamonds, the body was composed of different
colored metals, in imitation of life--and the whole so cunningly
wrought, that it seemed a living bee about to mount into the air. The
man rode and looked as if not anticipating, and incapable of fearing
danger, carelessly glancing round, while the noble animal he bestrode,
as if he had caught the spirit of his rider, stepped high and
gallantly along. But in truth there was little or no danger, the white
settlers being, at the time, at peace with the neighboring Indian
tribes.

It was a mere bridle-path the horseman was following, which wound
about in various directions, in order to avoid marshy ground, or
trunks of trees, or other obstacles, and appeared to be perfectly
familiar to the horse, who trotted on without any guidance from his
rider. As for the latter, as if to beguile the tediousness of the way,
he would pat at one moment the neck of his dumb companion, and address
a few words to him, and at the next, break out into snatches of song.
Thus he proceeded until he emerged from the woods, and an open space,
the site of the future city of Boston, once the cornfields of warlike
tribes, mysteriously removed by pestilence, in order as to the excited
imaginations of the early settlers it seemed, to make room for the
fugitives, lay spread before him.

The rider stopped his horse, and for some moments sat in silence
gazing on the scene. From the eminence, to whose top he had ridden,
declined before him the sloping hills, on whose sides open cultivated
spaces were interspersed with woods. On the waters' edge, for the most
part, were scattered the houses of the colonists, the majority of them
rude huts, made of unhewn logs, with here and there a frame building,
or a brick or stone house of less humble pretensions, while beyond,
rolled the sparkling waves of the bay, sprinkled with "a great company
of islands, whose high cliffs shoulder out the boisterous seas," as
the old chronicler Wood expresses it, and rocking a few small vessels
lying at anchor. He who viewed the region that morning, must have had
a brilliant imagination to dream of the magnificent cities destined to
stud those coasts, and of the millions to fill those extensive forests
within two hundred years. Westward, indeed, the star of Empire had
taken its way, and the wise men of the East were following its
heavenly guidance; but who knew it then?

At last, excited by the view and his thoughts, the rider rose in his
stirrups, and stretching out his arms, gave expression, in a low
voice, to his feelings--

"Well may these men, who hope to found a new dynasty, be proud of the
lovely land which they have chosen for a refuge! If iron resolution,
scorn of delights and contempt of death could do it, they would
accomplish the emprise--_mais l'homme propose et Dieu dispose_.
Without the directing mind and sustaining arm of the source of all
wisdom and power, in vain is the labor of man. Ruin and disgrace shall
overwhelm all undertakings not founded on the Rock of Ages. With what
great events teems the bosom of futurity? O, that my eyes could pierce
the misty distance; that my dim presaging soul could behold the
stately advance of the coming centuries, whose sounding feet I fancy
that I can hear! Bear they in their hands weal or woe to humanity?
Hath the creative energy set a limit, beyond which the tide of human
accomplishment, like the hidden power in yonder heaving ocean, may not
rise; but, having reached its destined apex, must, with hoarse
murmurs, recoil back upon itself in disordered fragments?--or in these
later times, when men were ripe for the blessing, revealed to the
world these virgin regions, separated from the vices of Europe and of
the East by a mighty sea, here to recommence that experiment which
hath partially failed elsewhere, and imparted sufficient measure of
His spirit to chosen instruments to work out the problem of human
happiness, and to conduct mankind to heights of felicity, beginning
here and never ending?--the bare contemplation whereof causes my flesh
to quiver with delight."

As he uttered these words, forgetful of his situation, he stuck the
spurs into his horse's flanks, and the astonished animal started with
a bound. It was then the consummate address wherewith the stranger
sat, his horse specially exhibited itself. As if the feeling of the
startled steed were instantly communicated to himself; and one spirit
animated both, his body bent gently forward in the saddle, catching at
once the motion, and accommodating itself thereto, so that the rider
appeared as firmly fastened, and as much at his ease, as though he
were a part of the animal. After half a dozen plunges, and some
soothing words, the excited horse having expressed his displeasure by
snorts, frequent and loud at first, but gradually decreasing in
rapidity and loudness, yielded to the strong arm of his master, and
reduced his pace to the long trot at which he had before proceeded.

"My noble Mourad," said the rider, patting the steed's neck, and
addressing him as if capable of understanding language--"I wonder not
at thine astonishment; but when these thoughts possess me, I am
oblivious of everything else. I will be more heedful henceforth, nor
allow splendid imaginations to prick thine innocent sides."

The flexible ears of Mourad moved backward and forward while his rider
was speaking, his dilated eyes glanced repeatedly back at him, and he
shook his head as if not half satisfied with the apology.

And now the stranger, leisurely advancing, soon reached the little
collection of houses. Guiding his horse carefully through the unpaved
streets, and avoiding the stumps of trees which were occasionally to
be met, he stopped at a house of somewhat more imposing appearance
than the rest. It was of wood, like most of the other dwellings, and
differed from them principally in being larger. It could not be said
to belong to any order or style of architecture, but bore a general
resemblance to buildings erected in England at the time. It stood with
its gable-ends, three in number, to the street, the roof rising up
steeply, and making a considerable garret, the side of the gable-ends
projecting over the second story, as did also that over the first. The
windows were of a square form, with small diamond-shaped panes,
opening by hinges at the sides, and there was but one entrance in
front, to protect which a small verandah or porch was thrown across
the building. Two men, in the ordinary dress and equipments of
soldiers of the period, their clumsy muskets leaning against the side,
were seated on a bench near the entrance, and by their presence
indicated the residence of Governor Winthrop.

"Is the right worshipful Governor at home so that he may be seen?"
inquired the stranger, as he dismounted from the horse, whose bridle
was held by one of the soldiers.

"He is at home, and may be seen, Sir Christopher," replied one of the
men, "I will conduct you to his presence."

So saying, the soldier opened the door, and preceding the visitor,
ushered him into a hall some ten feet wide, and thence into a small
ante-room, or room of reception, where he was entreated to be seated,
while his arrival should be announced. It required but a moment, which
was the whole time of the soldier's absence, for the stranger to take
a survey of the room wherein he sat.

It was not more than twelve or fifteen feet square, and destitute of
paper or hangings, and the floor, like that of the hall, was bare, and
made of coarsely-planed boards. It had two doors, one opening into the
hall and another into an adjoining room, and was lighted by a single
window. Its furniture consisted of only a few wooden chairs and
benches.

"The right worshipful Governor directs me to invite you to him," said
the messenger, throwing open the second door above mentioned.

The stranger rose, and crossing with a stately step the ante-chamber,
followed the soldier into the adjoining apartment.

"Welcome, Sir Christopher," exclaimed the Governor, rising from a
desk, at which he had been writing, and advancing with extended hand
to his visitor, "I am honored in seeing you again in my poor house."

"He may deem himself a minion of fortune," courteously replied the
stranger addressed as Sir Christopher, grasping the offered hand, "who
either in this far wilderness or in the proud streets of London, is
privileged to exchange salutations of friendship with so worthy and
every way accomplished a gentleman as the honored chief magistrate of
this colony."

"Alas! I fear," rejoined Winthrop, taking a seat, after first formally
seating the other, "alas! I fear that my shoulders are too weak for so
great a burden. Were it not for the prize of the high calling set
before me, and the sweet refreshment sometimes breathed into me by the
Spirit, I should faint beneath its weight."

"We are commanded neither to faint nor to be weary of well-doing,"
said Sir Christopher, "with comfortable assurances that as is our
need, so shall our strength be. But, honored sir, I much mistake the
nobility of your mind, if you would be willing to exchange your high
place for a meaner lot. I thank God that you are placed upon an
eminence to be a tower of strength to those who do well, and a terror
to the evil."

"Better," replied Winthrop, "is the humble cottage than the lordly
structure whereunto your poetical and extravagant politeness hath
likened me. Remember," he added, with a smile, wherein there was some
bitterness mingled with its melancholy, for he had of late been
annoyed by the rougher nature of Dudley, and the jealousy of some of
the Assistants, "_altoe turres cadunt dum humiles casoe stant_."

"Noble sir," said Sir Christopher, "be not cast down. The foundations
of your house are built upon a basis too broad and firm to be blown
down by the disorderly breaths of lackeys and trencher-scrapers.
Pardon me, if in my zeal I apply ignominious terms to your enemies."

"There be those to be ranked in that category who yet in no wise
deserve such epithets," answered the generous Governor. "Were
opposition to come only from so base a quarter, little should I heed,
and rather consider it an incitement to keener action; but there are
also choice spirits, elect vessels, pillars of the congregation, men
inspired with godly zeal, who are persuaded themselves, and would
persuade others, that I am lukewarm in the cause, and bear the sword
in vain."

"If the peevish captiousness of these persons is greatly to influence,
I will not say over-awe you, noble sir," said Sir Christopher, "I
tremble lest the errand of mercy whereon I come should fail of its
purpose."

"Ever true to the principle of the [Greek: Melissa]," said the
Governor, smiling "what can the Knight of the Golden Melice crave
which John Winthrop can deny?"

The Knight of the Golden [Greek: Melissa], or Melice, as he was
commonly called, meaning thereby the Knight of the Golden Honey-Bee,
and who, by wearing conspicuously about his person the device or badge
adopted when he received the order of knighthood, only complied with
the fantastic notions of the times, gazed a moment at the figure of
the bee on the handle of his sword, before replying:

"The golden bee does indeed remind me," he said, "that even as he, in
the summer of his days, collects the yellow treasure which is to
sustain him in the death of winter, so should I, while the day is
mine, be busy to perform the will of Him who hath called me to a post
in his creation, that I be not ashamed in the grave. I came to ask a
favor in behalf of the soldier Philip Joy."

The eyes of Winthrop, which, while the knight was speaking, had been
fastened on his face, fell upon the rich Turkey carpet that, with its
intricate figures and varied dies, covered, in place of a modern
cloth, the table supporting the desk whereat he had been writing.

"The soldier," he said, sit last, slowly, "is enduring the punishment
awarded to him by the Court of Assistants."

"A harsh and cruel sentence," said the knight, "and one at the
infliction whereof I know your noble nature relucted."

"I may not, without censure of my own conscience, hear those who are
associated with me in the government blamed."

"I would not trespass on the bounds of courteous license, but cannot
believe that your gentle temper approves of proceedings at once severe
and impolitic."

"It becomes me not," said Winthrop, modestly, "to set up my sentiments
against the opinion of a majority. This is not the government of one
man, and I am, as I may say, it being properly understood, only
_primus inter pares_."

"Then avouch yourself to some purpose to be truly primus, and by your
kingly mercy not only put to silence the unruly tongues of men
complaining of harshness not without reason, but also take away the
occasion for reproach."

"Hitherto," said Winthrop, "you have spoken in riddles, though they
are not hard to be guessed; but, nevertheless, let me entreat you to
explicate, in plainer phrase, your meaning, and reveal your full
desire."

"I came, then," answered the knight, "to solicit the full pardon of
Joy."

"It may not be. Though the right to pardon would seem inherent in him
to whose hands is entrusted the power to punish, that the sorrow of
inflicting pain might be balanced by the joy of conferring pleasure,
and so his office be not wholly converted into that of an executioner,
yet were I ever so much disposed, I could not, in the present case,
grant your request. It would raise a storm which, however little to be
regarded for its consequences to myself, might be seriously injurious
to the budding interests of our infant state."

"I pray you to consider," said the knight, "the good character of the
man accused, ever approving himself brave and faithful in all trusts
confided to him; no drone, but an active honey-bee, laying up store in
your hive, with no fault charged but speaking too freely, and if that
be true, only imitating therein, his betters. Next reflect upon the
opposite reputation of his accusers, and I venture to say malingers,
though in truth there is but one, not sustained by the other. Men are
murmuring at your sentence, and holding your justice for naught, a
sure presage of troublous times; and be assured, that a commonwealth
not founded in righteousness cannot stand, for on it rests not the
blessing of Heaven."

"Sir Christopher Gardiner," said Winthrop, "you have spoken boldly,
and but that I believe in your honesty, and am assured of your
friendship, I should be offended. But you belong not to the
congregation, your notions differing from our faith; the light which
illuminates the minds of the chosen remnant which Providence hath
planted in this far off land, this ultissima Thule, not yet having
penetrated your understanding; Your freedom of speech, therefore,
because in favor of mercy, shall not prejudice, though it might injure
you were it to reach the ears of some of whom we wot. But know, Sir
Christopher, that your zeal makes you unjust, and that you have
defamed a God fearing Commonwealth, and one in covenant with God. Not
without His guidance did we trust ourselves to a waging sea, calmed
for our sake by His breath; and not without His inspiration are we
building up a State, after His own divine model, which shall be the
admiration of the world. The kings of the earth may rise up, and the
heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing; but know, Sir
Christopher, that the gates of hell shall not prevail against us."

As the usually calm Winthrop concluded his prophecy, he smote the
table with his hand, as if to give emphasis to his words.

"My wise, and prudent, and most valued friend," said Sir Christopher,
rising and approaching the Governor, "pardon me, if with sacrilegious,
though unwitting hand, I have touched the sacred ark of your faith.
But I were meaner than a stock or a stone; I were duller than an
insensible clod; I were worse than an idolatrous heathen or a beast,
if I were unwilling to encounter any danger, even to the hazard of
losing your friendship, for the sake of a man, who, at the risk of his
own life, saved mine."

"I heard not of your debt before," said Winthrop.

"It was in Moldavia, on the bloody field of Choczim, where the Poles
defeated the Turks. I was then but a stripling, and the impetuosity of
youth, or the fiery temper of my horse, had borne me in advance of my
friends, when I was surrounded by the infidels and hard bested, and my
life beyond peradventure had paid the penalty of my rashness, and my
bones been left cleaned by the wolf's teeth to whiten on the sand, but
for this valiant soldier. Disregarding danger, he leaped among the
foe, and so lustily plied his blows, that together we bore the turbans
down, until his bridle-hand was struck. Then was it time to fall back,
for verily we had need of both hands, with the one to guide out
horses, and with the other to defend our heads. I seized his rein, and
with our flashing swords, side by side, we fought our way through the
throng. Judge, then, if I were not an ingrate to forget the service."

"It is a pity, for the sake of the prisoner," said Winthrop, "that
either Standish or Endicott is not in my place: a tale of daring were
sure to win their ears, and upon its recital, the cause were as good
as gained; but much as I admire the valor of the soldier and respect
your feelings, I, who was bred a lawyer, and not a warrior, see not
therein a motive to grant your request."

"If friendship for me, and personal merit in the man, avail not to
move you, at least listen to the voice of humanity. You intend not
surely to murder him."

"What?" exclaimed Winthrop. "Speak plainer, Sir Christopher."

"I say, honored sir, that the treatment of this Joy, for an offence
which can rank as a crime only by reason of some peculiarity in your
situation, justifying extraordinary severity, is unworthy of you as
the Vicegerent of his Majesty in this colony.

"Methinks," said Winthrop, coldly and formally, "you have already, in
other phrase, said the same thing."

"But I aver now that this hapless, and, but for me, unfriended man,
(alas that my influence in his behalf is less than nought,) is likely
to escape the greater part of his sentence, by perishing on your
hands, if not soon released from confinement."

"Is he ill?"

"Ill unto death. I fear. Surely you cannot be acquainted with the
cruelties practised upon him. I have not beholden them with mine own
eyes; but my knowledge is this--as soon as I heard of Philip's
misfortune, in whom, why I feel an interest you now know, I hastened
to his prison, and there, with some difficulty learned, that not only
is he manacled, and his ancles chained, but also is confined by a band
of iron around his body, to a post erected in the centre of his
dungeon, so as to be unable to lie down, under a pretext of the
desperation of the man and the weakness of his dungeon."

"Believe me, Sir Christopher, I knew not this; but the thing shall be
looked into, and if there be no error in your information, I will
venture to brave the resentment of my colleagues and the rest, and
release this Joy for the present, taking such order in other respects
that the remaining sentence of the Court shall not remain a nullity."

"I pray you, excellent sir, of your bounty, to be speedy in the
inquiry into this matter," urged the knight, "being well assured that
you will find my information verified."

"Rest satisfied with my peremptory promise," replied Winthrop. "And
now, Sir Christopher, that this business which you have so much at
heart is in a fair train to arrive at a result to content you, tell me
something of your doings at the Mount of Promise, as it is your
pleasure to call your retirement. How fares it with your kinswoman,
the lady Geraldine? Time, I trust, doth blunt the edge of her
melancholy."

"Alas, no! she still continues to grieve with an unreasonable grief.
Time brings no balm."

"It should not be so. The sooner we become reconciled to the
afflictive dispensations of Providence (under which I understand she
suffers,) the better for both soul's and body's health."

"There are some natures, whereupon, when an impression is once made,
it is not readily effaced, and the lady Geraldine's is such. Yet do I
not despair of her restoration to tranquillity."

"I must request godly Mr. Eliot to visit her. There is no soother so
effectual as the soft voice of the Gospel. But for yourself, Sir
Christopher, tire you not of the monotony of your forest life?"

"So far therefrom, I love it hourly more. My early days were wild and
stormy, of some particulars whereof I have possessed you; and although
I have not reached my meridian, yet am I satiated with vanity. I am
like a ship, whose tempest-beaten sides rest sweetly in a haven. As
contentedly she hears the winds howling without, so I listen from afar
to the uproar of the world, and pleased, contrast my calm therewith."

"Man was not made for inaction," said Winthrop.

"I shun no honorable labor. Instruct me how to be useful to the little
State which enjoys the happiness to call you father and ruler, and no
toil or danger but shall be welcome."

"You know there is but one difficulty that stands in your way to
occupy the position due to both your rank and merit."

A shadow passed over the face of the knight.

"We will not speak thereof," he said. "When I offered to join the
congregation, who would have thought that so trifling a difference
could close your bosoms against me?"

"Call not the difference slight, nor our bosoms closed," answered
Winthrop; "but I trust that further reflection, your spirit being
lighted by beams of grace, will convince you that in our exposition we
erred not."

At this moment a slight rustling was heard at the other end of the
apartment, and the knight turning, beheld a man having the appearance
of a servant advancing.

"How now, sirrah," cried Winthrop, "what means this intrusion?"

"I thought I heard the Governor call," said the man.

"I called not," said Winthrop; "but being here, bring refreshments.
His presence opportunely reminds me," he added, turning to the knight,
"of my breach of hospitality, occasioned by my interest in the
conversation."

In a short time the servant returned bearing a silver salver, on which
were placed wine and a venison pasty, (for the robuster appetites of
our ancestors would have scorned more delicate viands,) which he
placed on a sideboard.

Before the knight addressed himself to the pasty, which he soon did,
with an appetite sharpened by his morning ride, he filled two goblets
with wine, and presenting one to his host, begged to pledge him in a
health to the prosperity of the infant Commonwealth.

"The building up of our Zion lies nearest my heart, and unceasingly do
my prayers ascend on her behalf," answered Winthrop; "but--think me
not discourteous--I may not, without sin, comply with your request in
the drinking of healths."

"How!" exclaimed the knight, "is there any forbidding thereof in Holy
Scripture?"

"Nay, I find no interdiction therein, but manifold cause in the reason
of the thing itself for the suppressing of a vain custom. Thus do I
argue: Every empty and ineffectual representation of serious things is
a way of vanity. But this custom is such; for it is intended to hold
forth love and wishes of health, which are serious things, by
drinking, which neither in the nature nor use it is able to effect,
for it is looked at as a mere compliment, and is not taken as an
argument of love, which ought to be unfeigned. Or the same proposition
may be proved diversely, as thus: To employ the custom, out of its
natural use, without warrant of authority, necessity or conveniency,
is a way of vanity. But this custom doth. Or, again; such a resolution
as frees a man from frequent and needless temptations, to dissemble
love, _et cetera_, (quatenus it doth so,) is a wholesome resolution.
But this resolution doth. _Ergo_, Sir Christopher, pray have me (with
protestation of no discourtesy) excused."

"Although your scruples appear strange, yet will I respect them, my
honored host, as it becomes me to, any opinion entertained by you,"
replied the knight; "but if the tongue be tied, the spirit, at least,
is free to indulge in wishes for your welfare."

So saying, he raised the goblet to his lips, and drained it of its
contents. Nor did the Governor, though refusing to join in the idle
custom of drinking healths, which, by his influence, had been pretty
generally banished from the tables of the principal inhabitants,
decline a draught, therein bearing in mind the advice of Paul to
Timothy, and considering it an allowable solace and strengthener to
enable him the better to bear the cares of state. Upon the conclusion
of the interview, the knight courteously took leave, after thanking
the Governor for his promise in behalf of the imprisoned soldier, and,
mounting his horse, returned the way he came.

When he was gone, Winthrop fell into a fit of musing.

"What am I to think of this man?" (such was the tenor of his
reflections.) "Is he what he appears? Doth the garniture of his spirit
conform to the polished and attractive surface? Is he, as sometimes
from his language might be surmised, one who, though young in years,
is old in experience, and hath already discovered how unsatisfactory
are the vanities of the world? There be such men in these strange
days. And yet, how wonderfully hath he preserved his cheerfulness, and
though chastened, is not cast down! That he hath been a cavalier, I
plainly see, and he doth admit; that he is fit at present to be one of
us, I doubt; that he will be, I hope. The jealous Dudley, the
suspicious Endicott, and the subtle Spikeman, are disposed to regard
him as one who, under the mask of an angel of light, doth conceal
dangerous designs; as a plotter of mischief; some cunning tool of our
enemies, who have sent him hither to creep into our confidence, that
he may the better detect our weakness and confound our plans. I cannot
harbor these latter notions. There is that about the knight which
gives the lie to suspicion. Who can look upon his noble countenance
and listen to the tones of his sincere voice, and not be satisfied of
his truth? Did he not, on his arrival, communicate to me his views,
which, however romantic, are consistent both with the training of his
previous life and the change which hath been effected in his feelings?
And doubtful myself, lest the gracious impression he made upon me
might pervert my judgment, did I not set a watch upon his motions, and
find them all to harmonize with his frank and gallant bearing? I see
no cause to alter my conduct or withdraw my confidence. Yet will I be
guarded in our intercourse. If I err, it shall be on the side of
prudence; but this matter whereunto he hath called my attention, shall
forthwith be searched. It were shame if the cruelty whereof he
complains has been practised. Ah me, the eye of the ruler cannot be
everywhere! There be those who already term our justice tyranny, and
who would be glad to be furnished with another occasion of complaint.
Nor can I conceal from myself that the sentence of the soldier is
harsh. It was against both my feeling and my judgment. How often am I
compelled to practise a severity over which my softer, and perhaps
weaker nature, mourns!"



CHAPTER III.

  "I am sorry one so learned and so wise,
  As you, Lord Angelo, have still appeared,
  Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood
  And lack of tempered judgment afterward."

  MEASURE FOR MEASURE.


Early in the afternoon of the same day, a man whom we recognize as the
servant we saw at the Governor's house, entered a building which stood
not far from the margin of the bay. It belonged to the Assistant
Spikeman, and it was he whom the man sought. The Assistant was found
sitting before his ledger, whose pages were open, and surrounded by
the articles of his traffic, for he was a merchant, largely engaged in
the purchase and sale of the products of the country, from which he
had drawn substantial gains. Quintals of dried fish were piled up in
one part of the store-room, in another, bundles of furs procured from
the Indians, in a third, casks and barrels containing spirituous
liquors, and elsewhere were stored cloths of various descriptions, and
hardware, and staves and hoops, and, in short, almost everything
necessary to prosecute a trade between the old country and the new.

The Assistant raised his head at the noise made by the entrance of the
man, and passing his fingers through the short, thick red hair that
garnished his head, demanded, "What new thing bringest thou, Ephraim?"

"There has been," answered the man, "him whom they call the Knight of
the Golden Melice, though I know not what it means, with the Governor
this morning, and according to your wishes, I have come to acquaint
you therewith."

"Thou hast well done, and thy zeal in the service of the Commonwealth
and of the congregation merits and shall have reward. What passages
passed between them?"

"I heard only part of the conversation, but enough to make me believe
that the Governor, at the prayer of the strange knight, means to
release the soldier Philip Joy."

"Verily!" exclaimed Spikeman. "Art sure you heard aright? Rehearse to
me what was said."

The spy employed by the Assistant to be a watch upon the conduct of
Winthrop, here went into a detail of his discoveries, to all which the
other listened with fixed attention.

When the man had concluded his narration, which was interlarded with
protestations of pious zeal, the Assistant said:

"I do commend thee greatly, Ephraim, for thy sagacity, and the
promptitude wherewith thou hast made me acquainted with these matters.
Not that thou or I have any more interest in this thing than other
godly men who have fled from the persecution of the priests of Baal,
to worship the God of our fathers in the wilderness according to the
promptings of our own conscience, but it doth become every one to keep
his lamp trimmed and burning, and to watch, lest the lion leap into
the fold. I misdoubt me much, that this same Sir Christopher Gardiner,
as he calls himself, or this Knight of the Golden Melice, as some have
it, meaning thereby, doubtless, malice, is no better than some
emissary of Satan, unto which opinion his interposing for this
blaspheming Joy doth strongly incline me. Therefore, good Ephraim,
keep thou thine eyes upon him, and shouldest thou be the instrument
elected by Providence to bring his wicked devices to light, great will
be thy praise and reward."

Having thus spoken, Spikeman waved his hand and turned away, to
intimate that the conference was at an end, but the man remained
standing.

"Wherefore do you delay? You may retire," said Spikeman. "I bethink me
that but a little time remains for preparation for the afternoon
lecture."

"Is not the laborer worthy of his hire?" inquired Ephraim. "Shall they
who work in the Lord's vineyard receive no wage?"

"My mind ran not on the perishable riches of this world," answered the
Assistant, pulling out, with a very ill grace, a well filled leathern
purse, and taking from it a silver piece, which he offered to the
servant, but the fellow had caught sight of gold, and was not so
easily to be satisfied.

"Is thy servant a dog?" he demanded. "The princely Governor would give
me gold for information of less value."

"Take two," replied Spikeman, holding out another, "and be content.
Reflect that you are one of the congregation, and have an equal part
in this inheritance with myself."

"I think not," said Ephraim, looking around the well-filled
store-house. "Is that a proper wage, your worship," he added, glancing
disdainfully at the money, "to offer one, who, on your account, risks
the slitting of his nose, and cutting off of his ears? Make the white
yellow and it will not be too much."

"Would that I had the treasures of Ophir for thy sake," exclaimed
Spikeman; "but I am a ruined man if thou require so much, Ephraim
Pike. But there, take the Carolus, and let it be an incentive to godly
action."

Ephraim received the gold piece, and his features relaxed into
something like a smile.

"Truly," said he, "did David, the man after God's heart, speak by
inspiration when he declared--'Never saw I the righteous forsaken, or
his seed begging bread.'"

Spikeman made no reply, and the man having attained his object, and
observing the other's desire to be rid of him, withdrew.

The countenance of the Assistant expressed chagrin and displeasure as
he looked after the retiring form of the serving-man; but presently he
buried his face in his hands, leaning his elbows on the tall
writing-table that stood before him. In this attitude he remained some
little time, and when he removed them, the expression of his face was
changed, and his mind evidently filled with other thoughts. The look
of vexation had been succeeded by one it is difficult to describe--a
kind of smile played around his lips, his eyes sparkled, his color was
heightened, and a slight moisture exuded from the corners of his
mouth--he was uglier and more repulsive than before. He bent over, and
on a piece of paper which lay before him, wrote with a hand that
trembled a little--"How fair and how pleasant, art thou O love, for
delights." This sentence he scrawled several times, and then taking up
the piece of paper, he tore it into small fragments, and scattered
them on the floor, after which, composing his face into an austere
seeming, he placed his high steeple-crowned hat on his head, and,
leaving the building, proceeded in the direction of his
dwelling-house. As he advanced leisurely along, he soon heard the
sound of a drum beaten through the streets, to summon the people to
one of those weekly lectures, in which spiritual instruction was not
unfrequently leavened with worldly wisdom and directions for political
conduct.

Meetings for religious lecture, on week days, were exceedingly common,
and held in high favor; indeed, so attractive were they, that in the
language of an old historian, an actor on the spot--"Many poor persons
would usually resort to two or three in the week, to the great neglect
of their affairs and the damage of the public." To these, the people
were summoned by beat of drum, the martial roll of which instrument
called them also to muster for defence, upon a hostile alarm, a
different tattoo being adopted for the latter purpose. An attempt was
at one time made by the magistrates to diminish the frequency of these
meetings, as a serious inroad upon the industry of the colony; but the
effort was resisted, and that successfully, by the elders, "alleging
their tenderness of the church's liberty, as if such a precedent might
enthrall them to the civil power, and as if it would cast a blemish
upon the elders, which would remain to posterity; that they should
need to be regulated by the civil magistrate, and also raise an ill
savor of the people's coldness, that would complain of much preaching,
&c, whereas liberty for the ordinances was the main end professed of
our coming hither." They were social beings, and loved stimulus like
the rest of mankind, and had no public amusements. These causes are
sufficient to account for the fondness for the weekly lecture; but if
to them be superadded the peculiarity of their civil and religious
polity, which inculcated an extraordinary affection for each other as
God's chosen people destined to communion, not here only, but forever;
and the isolation of their situation, cutting them off from
participation in the stirring events to which they had been
accustomed, we should wonder if they had not met frequently together.
The elders, jealous of their influence, showed in this instance, as
they did in others, a knowledge of human nature, superior to that of
the magistrates, and the latter were glad to retreat from the position
they had taken, "lest the people should break their bonds through
abuse of liberty," if the wholesome restraint exerted by the elders,
by means of the lectures, in order to retain the people in subjection
to the civil power, should be withdrawn.

As the Assistant walked on, he began to meet persons coming out of
their houses, in obedience to the invitation. There was the staid
citizen, whose sobriety bordered on sternness, with hair closely
cropped to avoid the "unloveliness of love-locks," covered with a
large flapped peaked hat, and arrayed in broad white band and
sad-colored garments, on whose arm leaned his wife, or walked
independently at his side, bearing on her head a hat of similar shape
to her husband's, or else having it protected with hood, or cap, or
coif; a white vandyke neckerchief falling over the shoulders, and
rising high in the neck; long-waisted bodice of velvet or silk, open
in front, and laced down to a point, on which was placed a rosette,
with voluminous fardingale of like material, gathered up in folds
behind, and supplying, though with more modesty and less bad taste,
the place of the more modern "bishop," now happily banished these
regions. Behind came the sons and daughters, attired like their
parents, and imitating them in gravity of demeanor. There were also
some indented apprentices and serving men and serving women, whom
either the zeal of their masters and mistresses required, or their own
tastes or ideas of duty induced to be present, while here and there,
at the corners of the streets, might be seen an occasional Indian,
with bow in hand, listening with admiration to the marvellous music of
the blood-stirring instrument, and gazing with feelings compounded of
fear and envy at the strange people gathering together to a talk with
the Great Spirit.

The Assistant Spikeman, as he passed the wayfarers, returned their
demure salutations with solemn dignity, as became one in high station,
and in whose ears was sounding a call to a meeting of the
congregation. Thus exchanging greetings, he proceeded to his house,
where, entering the room used by the family as a sitting apartment, he
hung up his hat and took a seat. But his agitation did not permit him
to remain still, and almost immediately he arose and began to pace the
floor. Hearing presently advancing footsteps, he dropped into a
chair, and leaning back and shutting his eyes, assumed an expression
of pain and lassitude. In a moment the door of the room was opened,
and a comely woman of middle age entered, dressed for the "meeting."

"Dear heart," she exclaimed, "here have Eveline and I been waiting for
thee this quarter of an hour. You must not, if you are so late,
complain of me hereafter, when the lacet of my bodice troubles me, or
the plaits of my hair refuse to keep their place, and so I delay thee
unreasonably, as thou sayest, though it is all to honor thee; for
would it not be unbeseeming for the help-meet of a worshipful
Assistant to appear like a common mechanic's wife? But art thou ill?"
she added, observing his air of dejection, and instantly changing the
tone that had in it something of reproach into one of anxiety; "then
will I remain at home to comfort thee."

"No, dame," said her husband, "there is no cause to detain thee from
the sanctuary. The godly Mr. Cotton holds forth to-day, and it would
be a sinful neglect of privileges. I feel not well myself, and must,
therefore, for thy sake, as well as my own, deny myself the
refreshment of the good man's counsel. Thou shalt go, to edify me on
thy return with what thou mayest remember of his discourse."

But the kind heart of dame Spikeman was not so easily to be diverted
from its purpose, and she persisted, with some pertinacity, in a
determination to remain, until her husband laid his commands upon her
to attend the lecture.

"I will obey," she then said, "sithence it is thy wish; and is it not
written, Adam was first made, and then Eve; and I will pray for thee,
dear heart, in the congregation, that He will keep thee in all thy
ways, nor let the enemy approach to harm or to tempt thee."

Spikeman winced, and perhaps his conscience pricked him at the moment,
but he betrayed no confusion as he replied:

"I thank thee, sweet duck, and may the Lord recompense thy love a
thousand fold. But hasten, now, for it would ill-become the wife of my
bosom to lag in attendance on the lecture. Meanwhile, I will meditate
on the holy volume, and comfort myself as a Christian man may."

Dame Spikeman's ample fardingale swept the sides of the doorway as she
turned to take a last look at her husband over her shoulder--a look
that contained as much of suspicion as of affection. He must be,
indeed, a paragon of hypocrisy who can conceal himself from his wife,
however dull she may be, and the faculties of the dame were as sharp
as those of most of her sex.

Presently she was heard calling, "Eveline; why, Eveline, art not ready
yet?" to which a sweet voice responded, "here am I, dame," succeeded
by the pattering of quick, light feet, and a young woman, veiled,
glided to her side, and they left the house together, accompanied by a
servant. Spikeman gazed after them through the window, which, as
belonging to a house of the better class, was made of glass instead of
oiled paper, which supplied its place in the humbler tenements, till
they were out of sight. The drum had some time before ceased its
sonorous rattle, indicating thereby that the services had commenced,
and the streets were bare of the last loiterer. Spikeman then resumed
his seat, listening and glancing occasionally at the door, as if he
was expecting some one to enter. At last, as if tired of waiting, he
rose, and going to the door, called softly, "Prudence." No answer was
returned, and in tones a little raised he called again. This time a
voice replied, "I am coming, your worship," and the Assistant returned
to his seat. Perhaps five minutes longer passed, and he was becoming
more impatient, and had risen from his chair, when a young woman in
the dress of an upper domestic, or lady's maid, entered the room. She
was apparently twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, large and
plump, and glowing with health, and altogether of a most attractive
appearance. Her complexion was brilliant, brighter on account of the
contrast with the white tunic which fell over her peach-blossom
colored fustian skirt, and her eyes, which were cast down when she
came into the room, disclosed hazel pupils as she raised them, and
looked red, as if she had been weeping.

"I have remained behind, according to thy desire," said the Assistant,
advancing toward her, "for there is nothing I would not do to pleasure
thee, Prudence."

"I know not that I requested you to tarry," answered the girl; "but an
I remember right, you said you had some tidings of Philip Joy which
you did wish to communicate to my private ear."

"Something have I to tell thee of the poor varlet," said Spikeman;
"but first would I rather speak of one who doth interest me more. But
say, why is thy mind so careworn about this soldier?"

"He is a friend of mine," said Prudence, blushing; "that is, we were
neighbors, and acquainted in dear old England--a cousin," she added,
telling naturally a little fib, "and so I am sorry to hear of his
misfortune."

"I hope that you do not long after the flesh-pots of Egypt," said
Spikeman, attempting to take her hand, which, however, she coyishly
withdrew. "What have we to do with England or her cramping ordinances,
which we have turned our backs upon forever? Was it not because of the
yoke she sought to put upon our necks that we abandoned her, here to
enjoy a wider liberty? Believe me, beautiful Prudence, there are
delights scattered all over the world, if there be only boldness and
wisdom to find them; nor is their enjoyment inconsistent with the joys
promised hereafter, whereof, indeed, they are the foretaste."

"O, sir," exclaimed the girl, "can you tell me anything about Philip?
Have you entreated the Governor, as you promised, to let him out of
that dreadful dungeon?"

"It is a horrid place," said Spikeman, "and men live not long who are
confined therein. If the soldier be imprisoned there a few days
longer, he is no better than a dead man. Vain has been my
intercession, though I despair not."

He paused to watch the effect of what he had said upon the girl. She
turned deadly pale, and seemed about to sink upon the floor. Spikeman
took her hand, which she no longer withdrew, but yielded passively, as
if in a state of stupefaction, and pressing it within his own, led her
to a sofa.

"Lovely Prudence," he said, "thou hast found favor in my eyes. Let not
the distance betwixt us overawe thee. These worldly distinctions are
but the inventions of men to suit a purpose, and there are times when
they are more easily torn away than the withes of the Philistines on
the hands of Samson. Dost thou comprehend me?"

Prudence raised her eyes, and fixed them with a bewildered stare upon
his face. She was so terrified at the thought of the danger to which
the soldier was exposed, and her mind so confused by the unusual
language of her master, that she was as much in a dreaming as a waking
state. Her lips quivered as she attempted to reply, but they made no
sound, and tears began to steal down.

"Would that I could stop the current of these tears, more precious
than orient pearls," sighed Spikeman. "Ask of me any other favor, and
I will move heaven and earth but it shall be granted."

"O, sir, said Prudence," sliding off from the sofa in spite of his
efforts to prevent her, and kneeling at his feet, "I have no other
favor to ask; but if you are truly willing to show kindness to a poor
girl like me, take Philip out of prison."

"But is it so light a thing to be done, sweet Prudence?" replied
Spikeman, raising her in his arms, and straining her to his bosom
before he replaced her on the sofa. "Nay, kneel not again," he added,
seeing that she was about to resume her attitude of supplication;
"that were a posture as fitting for me as for thee."

"O, sir," cried poor Prudence, "you are a great man, and can do
whatever you please. If you speak to the Governor again, he will let
Philip out. I am sure he meant nothing wrong. I am certain they told
wicked lies about him."

"Truly will I remonstrate again," said Spikeman. "So great is my
regard for thee, I will risk losing his favor for thy sake. But for
all the sacrifices I make, what shall be thy return to me?"

"I will pray night and day for you; I will be your slave; I will
worship the ground on which you tread."

"Sweet maiden," said Spikeman, passing his arm around her waist, "I
ask not so much. I ask thee only to be happy with me. Thy prayers,
though rising like morning incense, I need not. I would rather be thy
slave than have thee mine, and I worship thee already. Turn not away
thy cheek, but let me greet thee with the kiss of charity."

The girl averted not her glowing cheek, whereon, with these words, he
imprinted a passionate kiss, which he attempted to repeat, but
Prudence drew a little back, and removed his arm. His lips burned like
fire. She felt as if they had left behind a mark to betray her, and
she shuddered with aversion; but she believed the fate of the soldier
to be in his hands, and dared not to offend him. Besides, she was no
delicate lady, but strong and full of confidence, and feared no danger
to herself. As she marked his heightened color and kindling eyes, and
he made another attempt to salute her, she said, with half a
disposition to cry and half to laugh:

"Is not kissing and toying forbid by the elders and worshipful
magistrates?"

"They are forbid to them outside of the congregation, and who have no
Christian liberty," answered Spikeman--"to them who make a display of
what should be concealed, to avoid the scandal of the wicked; but not
to the elect and discreet, who can use their liberty as not abusing
it. Therefore, let me kiss thee with the kisses of my mouth, for thy
love is better than wine. Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou
art fair," he continued, pressing upon her; "thou hast dove's eyes
within thy locks. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet."

"Hark!" cried Prudence, pushing him back, "I hear a noise." "I hear no
sound," said Spikeman, after listening for a moment, "save the voice
of my beloved. O, speak, and say unto me, 'rise up, my love, and come
away, for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the time
of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard
in our land,'"

So saying, he caught her in his arms, and giving license to his fiery
passions, stamped repeated kisses upon her lips and bosom, in spite of
her struggles. But the sounds which the quick ears of Prudence had
detected became more and more distinct, and persons on foot and on
horseback were seen in the street returning from the lecture. Without
difficulty she broke from the now yielding arms of Spikeman, and had
just time to compose her disordered hair and tunic, when the voice of
the dame at the door was heard demanding admission.



CHAPTER IV.

                "Oh, give me liberty!
  For were even Paradise my prison,
  Still I should long to leap the crystal walls."

  DRYDEN.


The motives which animated Spikeman to play the part which he did in
the court that condemned the soldier, will now be better understood.
He had cast eyes of licentious desire upon the blooming Prudence, who
was, at the same time, beloved by Philip, and was solicitous to remove
him out of the way. Bold in all his plans, neither honoring God nor
fearing man, unscrupulous in regard to the means, to effect a purpose,
and esteeming the gratification of his evil wishes the highest
happiness, it was yet necessary to the achievement of his objects that
a specious outside at least should be preserved, and this he had
succeeded in doing up to the present time. In pursuance of his cunning
policy, he was unwilling that even Joy should suspect him of
unfriendliness, and for that reason had, in the course of the
examination, excited the temporary vexation of Deputy Governor Dudley,
by an observation which, to the unsuspecting Deputy, seemed indicative
of a desire to screen Joy from punishment, and to Joy himself the
interference of a friend; while, in fact, it was intended to entrap
the prisoner into rash speeches, which would be prejudicial to his
cause. How effectually he undeceived Dudley, after Joy had been
removed, we have seen.

The Assistant had attained his object. Philip was in the first place
to be imprisoned and fined, and afterwards banished, and the field was
henceforth to be left free to himself. With his rival out of the way,
he did not doubt of succeeding with the girl by means of such
arguments and temptations as it would be in his power to employ. How
he had begun by endeavoring to use the very affection of Prudence for
her lover to make her betray herself, has been told; but thus far her
simplicity and good fortune had been quite a match for his craft. In
the hope to obtain some advantage for Philip, she had granted the
Assistant the interview which we have just witnessed, and wherein he
disclosed his character in a manner he had never done to her before.
She now understood his designs thoroughly, but the knowledge was a
secret which her fears suggested that she had better lock up in her
own heart. What chance would a poor unprotected girl have in a contest
with the rich and powerful Assistant? Who would take her word in
opposition to his? Spikeman well appreciated his advantage, and
calculating with absolute certainty upon her silence, was, in
consequence, the more audacious.

When the spy of the Assistant found him at his store-house, he was
meditating upon the approaching interview with Prudence, the
contemplation of which it unpleasantly interrupted. The prospect of
the soldier's liberation was exceeding disagreeable. It would
interfere with, and perhaps defeat plans, which in blind passion he
hugged to his heart. But engrossed by his unworthy madness, he could
not then mature any scheme not connected with its immediate
gratification. Machinations for the further accomplishment of his
designs must be postponed for a calmer moment. It came after the
interruption occasioned by the arrival of his wife, and soon his
active brain had shaped his ideas into definiteness.

Accordingly in the evening, as soon as it became so dark that features
were not readily distinguishable in the streets, the Assistant took
his way to the prison in which the soldier was confined. It stood on
the edge of the settlement, and was a low, one-story building,
strongly made of unhewn logs, within a few feet of which was the
dwelling of the jailer, but little differing from it in exterior. In
those days a very strong jail was not so important as at present. If
one had committed a crime so heinous that he was unfit to live, he was
forthwith put beyond the power of doing mischief; but if the offence
were of a less atrocious character, modes of punishment were usually
resorted to which did not involve the necessity of supporting him at
public charge--such, for instance, as whipping, cutting off the ears,
slitting the nose, and like improvements of the human form divine. If
through defect of the prison, or from any other cause, the offender
escaped, it was pretty certain that he would not make his appearance
in a hurry, lest some worse thing might befall him, and so there was
one malcontent the less, and one disturber of the peace gone, even
though the ends of punishment were not perfectly attained.

Spikeman, on reaching the house of the jailer, was about to knock at
the door, when his attention was arrested by sounds which made him
pause. The weather being warm, the window was open, and he was able to
hear distinctly what was said within. Motives of delicacy or honor
weighed not much in the mind of a man like him, and he scrupled not to
appropriate any advantage to be derived from eaves-dropping.

"What made you, Sam Bars, take all the ornaments off Philip but the
bracelets, without saying anything to me?" inquired a voice, which
Spikeman recognized as belonging to the jailer's wife.

"Why, Margery, to confess, I forgot to tell you," answered her
husband; "but," added he, laughing, "I had no fear on thy account, for
thou art a match for a man any day."

"When I took him in his supper," said the woman, "there was poor
Philip rubbing his ankles to get the swelling out. Truly I pitied him,
for he is a proper young man."

"Oh! goody, the women always pity proper young men. I warrant me now
if it had been a grizzled old wolf like me, you would not have thought
so much of his ankles."

"Say not so, Sam," replied the woman, affectionately, "nor liken
thyself to a wolf. O, how they used to howl every night when we first
came to this wilderness; but the Lord protected his people. I dare say
now, it was thy kind heart made thee take off the irons."

"That it was not, wife. They were put on by order of one I am bound to
obey; nor durst I take them off but by command of a higher authority."

"Why do you talk as though you were giving me riddles to guess? Am I
not bone of thy bone?"

"A big heap of bones we make together," muttered Sam, glancing at the
large frame of his wife, not much excelled by his own, "but she's a
good soul, amiss only in her tongue at whiles; howbeit, saith not
Paul, it is an unruly member? Well, Margery, an thou must know, it was
by order of the Governor's own mouth to me they were taken off, and
what is more, I am to let Philip go free in the morning."

"Bless his sweet face," cried the woman, "I always said the worshipful
Governor was the sweetest; and virtuousest and excellentest man in the
whole country."

"There be them among the elders and magistrates who be of a different
opinion. Beshrew me! (may the Lord forgive me," he added, looking
round in alarm. "I hope no one hears me,) but, according to my
thinking, it is only because Master Winthrop asks for no pay, and
spends so much out of his own purse for other folk, that they choose
him Governor."

"What can anybody have against so sweet-tempered and liberal a
gentleman?" inquired Margery.

"Well, then, the elders complain that he is not so zealous, even unto
slaying, as becomes a leader of the Lord's host, which he is, like
Moses and Joshua; and some of the deputies pretend that he takes too
much state on him, and means to make himself a king, or least-wise, a
lord."

"And I trow, good man, I know no reason why, when the Commonwealth, as
they call it, gets big enough, we should not have a king as well as
the folk on the other side of the water. It was always a pleasure to
see his Majesty in the streets of London, with the grand lords and
ladies all in their silks and satins, and jewels and feathers. It will
be long, I am afraid," sighed the good woman, "before we shall see
such fine sights in these woods."

"Hush, goody," said Sam, "take care your tongue do not get you into
trouble. Speak lower, an you will talk about things you know nothing
about. You love kings and lords better than some folk," he concluded,
with a laugh.

"Take care of your own tongue, Sam Bars; I warrant you mine will take
care of itself. But wherefore should I not love the king? Is it not
written--touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm? And I
will let you know, Sam Bars? that I will say what I please about him,
God bless him! Marry, come up, a fine time of day truly, if a woman
may not speak her mind! I should like to see the man or woman either,
forsooth, to stop me. My tongue and ten commandments (stretching out
her fingers) know how to take care of one another, I can tell you. My
tongue get me into trouble! O, Sam, why do you aggravate me so? Me,
the quietest and peaceablest and silentest wife in the world! Why dost
not speak? Art as dumb as the bench your heavy carcass almost breaks
down? Speak, I say, Sam, speak, or I shall go crazy."

But her husband, whom long experience had taught the best mode of
weathering such storms, only shook his head in silence, until the good
woman, after a variety of ejaculations and expletives, finding that
she made no more impression on him than children's pop-guns on a
sand-bank, concluded to cool down, when she asked what the Governor
said to him.

Sam, glad that the current had taken another direction, answered
readily "a mountain of questions about Philip. And he wanted to know
why I put so many irons on him--how he found it out, the Lord only
knows, unless"--here Bars sunk his voice, so that the words were
inaudible to the listener, and he lost a sentence or two--"and when he
dismissed me, he ordered that I should never do it again without his
consent, and then sent me into the kitchen, where I had a pottle of
sack."

"A whole pottle of sack!" exclaimed his wife, in a tone of
disappointment; "and here was I at home, as dry in this outlandish hot
weather as the children of Israel at Rephidim, when they did chide
Moses because there was no water to drink." "You might have brought
your own Margery a taste," she added, reproachfully.

"Did I say I had a whole pottle? If I did, I spoke only in a figure,
as one may say; for there was Ephraim Pike to help me make away with
it, and you know his gullet is like a London sewer. Love your bright
eyes, Margery, a quart of sack stands no more chance with Ephraim,
when his nose once gets scent of the liquor, or his lips touch the
edge of the mug, than a mouse among a dozen cats."

"Or than it has with you, Sam. But men be all alike; they be always
guzzling; they never think of their poor wives. Here am I, Margery
Bars, thine own help-meet, never away from home; never running about
streets and going to Governor's houses to swill sack; never"--but here
the voice of the discontented woman, who, in her excitement, had risen
from her seat and walked away, was lost in the pantry, or rather
subdued into an inarticulate grumble; and Spikeman, after waiting
awhile, and finding it improbable that the conversation would be
resumed, knocked in a peculiar manner on the door, which was almost
immediately opened by Bars himself.

"Hath the order for the soldier's release arrived from the Governor?"
inquired the Assistant.

"It hath, worshipful sir; he is to be dismissed in the morning,"
answer the jailer.

"Hast said anything about it to Joy, as I requested thee not?"

"He knows no more concerning it than the logs of his dungeon," said
Bars.

"Then get the keys, and means to strike a light."

Without replying, as one accustomed to obey such orders, the jailer
provided himself in a few moments with the articles required. He
placed an unlighted candle in the lantern, and the two proceeded to
the door of the jail.

"He is your only prisoner, I believe?" said Spikeman.

"None other," answered Bars.

"Remain outside by the door. I would speak a moment with him."

The jailer, in silence, put one key into the lock and opened the door,
and gave another to Spikeman, and then stationed himself as directed,
outside.

Spikeman entered, and closed the door after him; then striking a
light, advanced like one well acquainted with the place. The space
wherein he found himself was an entry or passage-way, some four feet
wide, running along the four sides of the prison, and enclosing the
cells in the middle, The security of the prisoners was greatly
promoted by this arrangement, two walls being necessary to be broken
in order to effect escape, and communication with persons without
being thus made more difficult.

The Assistant advanced, until he came to the door of a cell which was
closed, and which he knew from that circumstance was occupied, and
unlocking it, stepped within. He stopped, and throwing around the
light from the lantern, beheld the form of the soldier extended on
some straw spread in a corner, and apparently asleep. Philip was
indeed in a profound slumber. Relieved from the painful incumbrance of
the irons which had prevented his lying down, and kept him
consequently in a constrained posture, he was enjoying a luxury hard
to be realized except by one in a condition as wretched as his own.
Spikeman threw the light full upon his face, but it failed to awaken
him. He only smiled, and muttering something indistinctly, turned upon
his pallet, the irons on his wrists clanking as he moved. The
Assistant stood looking at him awhile, and then pronounced his name,
at first in a low tone, and afterwards louder. Even this did not
banish sleep, and Spikeman was obliged to shake him by the shoulder
before he could be aroused. It was then the soldier, without opening
his eyes, demanded, drowsily, what was the matter. "You waked me,
Bars," he said, "from such a grand dream. I wish you would let me
alone."

"Arouse thyself and look up," said the Assistant. "It is not the
jailer, but a friend, who desires thy good."

"It is Master Spikeman," said the soldier, sitting up and rubbing his
eyes, "but I wish you had not disturbed my dream. I thought I was free
again."

"I came to restore to thee that liberty whereof thou wert only
dreaming."

The soldier, now thoroughly awake, got upon his feet as quickly as his
swollen ankles and the manacles on his wrists would permit.

"Then," said Philip, "all the world hath not deserted me."

"Strange that such a thought could enter thy mind. Who was it, at thy
trial, when the fierce Dudley would have silenced thee, demanded that
thou shouldst be heard? To whom thinkest thou is owing thy release
from thy heaviest chains?"

"I was blind," said the soldier, apologetically, "and this weary
prison must have weakened my brain. But you came to free me. Let us
leave this dismal place."

"I wish it were possible to take thee with me, but that cannot be. Yet
will I so order things that thou mayest be far away and in safety
before the dawn."

"Show me the way; undo these handcuffs, and I will be your bondman
forever. But wherefore," inquired Joy, as if some sudden suspicion
sprung up in his mind, "do you take this trouble and risk on my
account?"

"Do I not know that the villains, thine accusers, lied? Should I not
feel an interest in a brave man unjustly condemned by the artful
Winthrop? Have no suspicion of me, Philip," said Spikeman, in a tone
as if he were grieved at the thought.

"I entreat your pardon, and will allow of none," answered the soldier,
and his frank face abundantly confirmed the truth of his declaration.
"But how am I to escape?"

"I have considered many plans," replied Spikeman, "but only one doth
seem capable of execution. Yet I fear me much thy courage will fail,
even when thou hast but to extend thy hand to grasp thy freedom. The
thing is not unattended with peril."

"Doubt not my courage, nor talk of peril to a man confined in a place
like this, when the chance of freeing himself is offered. Try me, and
see whether heart or hand fail."

"These are brave words, Philip, yet have I seen them who talked as
boldly, and yet flinched at the decisive moment."

"Who ever dared to call Philip Joy a coward?" cried the soldier,
impatiently. "Methinks it is so long since I struck a blow worthy of a
man, that I long to be doing, if only to keep my hand in practice."

"Then listen," said Spikeman, lowering his voice, and supposing that
he had got the soldier sufficiently worked up and committed by his
language. "With this key"--taking one from his pocket--"will I unfasten
thy manacles, and under pretext of unwittingly leaving open the door
of thy cell, direct the jailer to enter and lock it, when thou, being
a strong and active man, may, on his entrance, overpower him, and
grant thyself free passage, and with five minutes' start, who is there
could find thee in the woods?"

But Joy hesitated. "Liberty is sweet," he said, "yet would I be loth
to do aught to harm Bars."

"What favor owe you him?" demanded Spikeman. "Has he not evil
entreated thee, and loaded thee with unnecessary and cruel bands of
iron, till compelled by me to remove them?"

"I do suppose he was acting by order of his superiors. In all other
matters, Sam has been kind to me, and he did almost weep when he
placed the iron bands around my body. Nay, but to lay hand on him,
goes mightily against my stomach."

"Then remain to rot, if you like it better, in spite of all your
boastful speeches, for the darkness and damp seem to have sucked all
manhood out of thee; or shouldst thou survive a month, to have thine
ears cropped and thy back scourged, and after that--"

"By all the devils in hell," interrupted Joy, "that shall never be.
Unlock my irons.. I will do the part of a man."

The tempter applied the key, and unlocking the gyves, removed them,
and placed them on the ground.

"They are heavy," he said. "A well-directed blow on the head would
confuse a man's thoughts. It is time to depart. When thou art free,
Philip, as, if possessing courage, thou art sure soon to be, forget
not the friend who helped thee to thy liberty."

With these words, the Assistant took up the lantern, and leaving the
door ajar as he had proposed, proceeded to the outer entrance, Here he
found the jailer waiting, who, after locking up, attended him at his
request a short distance on his way homeward.

"This Philip Joy," said the Assistant, as they walked together, "is a
malignant and desperate villain. I did but visit him in order to get
to the bottom of certain plots which I am well advised are hatching
against our Commonwealth, whereunto he is privy, and which, indeed, he
doth partly confess. Have thou him in strict charge, Bars. May the
Lord forgive me," he cried, suddenly stopping, "if I have not, in my
amazement at his venomous audacity, left open the door of his cell.
Hasten, good Bars, lest by means of some confederate he escape in
thine absence."

The jailer turned instantly, as Spikeman had anticipated, and rapidly
retraced his steps. As for the Assistant himself, deeming his presence
no longer necessary or convenient, he pursued his way, leaving further
events to themselves.

When Bars returned, he found the door of the cell open. He looked in,
and by the help of his lantern, seeing Joy extended on his straw, was
about to close it without speaking, when the soldier called, and he
stepped into the dungeon.

"Sam Bars," inquired Joy, "wherefore did you at first load me with
irons, and afterwards take them off?"

"It was by order."

"And it was not of thine own head?"

"Truly," said Sam, "I would not of my own will lay a feather on thee,
Philip,".

"These be feathers, Sam, heavier than a bird's," said the soldier,
rising and approaching his keeper. "And being a friend, doubtless it
would please thee to see me at liberty?"

"Assuredly, and that you will soon be."

"Thou art a prophet," cried Joy, springing upon the jailer; and
seizing him with a powerful grasp, he hurled him to the ground,
letting fall at the same time the manacles which he had loosely put on
to deceive. "Make no noise," he added, "and I will not hurt thee, but
to-night the words of thy prophecy must be fulfilled; so give me thy
key."

The man thus treated made no resistance, nor attempted to cry out, nor
did he seem desirous to speak.

"What art in amaze about?" said the soldier. "Hast lost thy wits with
fright? I tell thee I would not hurt thee, for all thy iron feathers."

"I am pondering," answered Bars, composedly, "whether it were better
to allow thee to reap the fruit of thy folly, or to give thee good
counsel."

"Speak quick, man," said Joy, "I have no time to spend in long talks
like sermons."

"Be not profane, Philip; but there is that in the pocket of my
doublet, and which, if my arms were loose, I would give thee, might
make thee willing to abide till morning."

"A dagger, perhaps. Nay, I will search before I trust thee." So
saying, the soldier proceeded to investigate the other's pockets, but
he found nothing in them or about his person except his keys and a
strip of paper.

"I see nothing," he said, "but thine arms and a worthless bit of
paper."

"And that is an order for thy release on the morrow. Read and satisfy
thyself."

Philip retreated a few steps, and still keeping his attention on the
jailer, read the writing with some difficulty by the aid of the dim
light.

"Why told you me not this before?" he demanded.

"Because it would have broke your sleep, and for another reason. And
now, Philip, will you ruin yourself and me, or will you remain?"

"Good Sam," said Philip, extending his hand and raising the other up,
"let thou and I be sworn friends. There is some mystery behind this
matter which it behooves us both to have cleared up. Answer me a
question. Did Master Spikeman know of that paper?"

"Surely he did. He inquired of me concerning it."

"Umph!" grunted Philip. "Now tell again, what is that other reason why
thou didst say nothing of the paper to me before?"

"Answer for answer; tickle me and I will scratch thee. I will answer
that question if you will me another."

"There is reason in thee. I promise."

"Because Master Spikeman commanded me not."

"And canst tell why he wanted to speak to me alone?"

"To get to the bottom of sundry plots wherewith you were acquainted,
and which you had partly confessed. And now it is my turn to ask
questions, so tell me how gattest thou rid of the irons?"

"Master Spikeman unfastened them."

"I might have guessed as much before," said Bars, scratching his head.

"Hark ye, Sam, that same canon-ball of thine which thou seemest to
take so great delight in digging with thy fingers, would have been a
bloody coxcomb had I followed the advice of our friend, Master
Spikeman."

"How!" exclaimed the jailer, did he counsel injury to me?"

"Thou hast said. At any rate, to my thinking, there was not much
difference from that."

"The accursed Judas!" burst out the excited jailer; "the blood-thirsty
Joab, who would have had me smitten under the fifth rib. Profane
Korah, Dathan and Abiram, whom the earth swallowed up for their
bitterness against Moses, were children of light compared with this
horrid Philistine."

"I suppose she was sick at the stomach, and so gulped them down for
bitters, just as my good mother used to give me wormwood when I was
weakly in the spring," said Philip, laughing. At any other time this
speech would have drawn down a serious remonstrance for its impiety,
but at the present moment Sam was too much engaged with the treachery
of Spikeman to bestow upon it any attention.

"Philip," he said, "I accept thy offer to be sworn friends. This
Satan, this Pharaoh, this platter with the inside unwashed, shall not
have another chance to set on honest men to murder one another.
Hearken, and thou shalt have another secret. It was this hell
incarnate who commanded me to load thee with irons, and to starve thee
besides, but that I could not do."

One revelation led to another, until the whole wickedness of the
Assistant was laid bare. Philip also learned in addition that it was
Bars himself who had communicated a knowledge of his condition to the
knight, by whom directions had been left to have him come to the Mount
of Promise as soon as he should be liberated. Prudence, too, he was
told, had been at the prison to inquire after him, but the
instructions to the jailer forbade the carrying or delivering of
messages, for which reason Philip had hitherto remained ignorant of
the interest betrayed by her.

With the discovery of the villainy of Spikeman there was mixed up some
comfort for the soldier in reflecting on the affection of Prudence and
the friendship of the knight; but for the jailer there was no such
solace. He dwelt resentfully on the exposure of his person and the
loss of office which would probably have been the consequence had
Philip escaped, and meditated schemes of revenge.

When the jailer took leave, the soldier stretched himself again on the
straw, and in spite of the prospect of liberty and the scenes he had
just passed through, was soon asleep.



CHAPTER V.

  "Wherefore adew, my owne Herte true,
    None other red I can;
  For I must to the greene Wode goe,
    Alone, a banishyd man."

  THE NUT-BROWN MAID.


The uppermost desire in the heart of Philip Joy upon being liberated
in the morning by the order which, while it opened his prison door,
exonerated him from no other part of his sentence, was to see
Prudence; but his late experience of the wiles of Spikeman, although
he could think of no motive, for his hostility, had taught him
caution, and he determined to advance warily to gratify his wishes.

The occupation of Philip was that of a blacksmith and armorer, in
which capacities he had been of some utility to the colony. Between
whiles, also, whenever any desperate service was required in order to
strike terror into the savages, he had been employed in his military
character, and always with credit to himself. In consequence of his
skill in his handicraft and bravery, he had at first been a man of no
little consideration, but as the population of the settlement
increased, and fears of the Indians diminished, and blacksmiths and
armorers became more numerous, the importance of the stout soldier
gradually waned. To this result contributed, in no small degree, the
fact that he had never joined the congregation, and sometimes indulged
in a freedom of speech on interdicted topics, which was unpalatable to
those around him. Hence it happened that slight offences, which were
at first overlooked in consideration of his usefulness, were no longer
passed by when that usefulness was no longer prized, and there were
even some who were disposed to visit him with punishment for
transgressions of the kind, of years previous. Spikeman, who by his
wealth and cunning, had lately succeeded in getting himself for the
first time elevated to the dignity of an Assistant, had always
appeared to be a friend, and indeed had truly been so, until he sought
to pluck the apple of discord, the too fascinating Prudence, out of
the soldier's hand. So deep was the impression of the Assistant's
good-will to him, and so long had he been in the habit of regarding
the magistrate as a patron, that without exactly disbelieving, he
found it difficult to give full credence to the jailer's
representations. His mind was so confused that he hardly knew what to
do. He wanted to see Prudence before he departed for the knight's
residence, and yet, with a vague dread of Spikeman's power for
mischief, wished to avoid him.

Meditating upon these embarrassments, Philip mechanically took his way
in the direction of the Assistant's house, unconsciously obeying the
hope that some kind chance would enable him to see his mistress
without being discovered. With this view, and as if believing that she
would be able to see through a disguise impenetrable to others, and
with some sense of shame at having been confined in a dungeon, Philip
drew his slouched hat over his eyes, and muffling his face in the
folds of his short cloak, walked in front of the dwelling, casting
frequent glances at the windows. It was in vain, however; and fearful
of attracting an attention which he desired to shun, he started at
last for the forest, through which he was obliged to pass on his way
to the knight's place. Wearily he dragged his steps along, for the
confinement he had suffered, and the irons he had worn, had diminished
his strength and chafed his limbs. Pondering sadly his unfortunate
fate, he was slowly advancing, and had only just entered the wood,
when he was saluted by a well-known voice, that made him start with a
joyful surprise. It was that of Prudence, who was following him. She
had seen him whom it would have been difficult to disguise from her,
pass the house, and had allowed him to suppose himself undiscovered,
and then pursued, in order to enjoy, undisturbed, a meeting which she
desired as much as he. She was so overjoyed and confused at seeing him
again, that somehow she stumbled as she came near, and would have
fallen had not Philip caught her in his arms--for which benevolent
deed he rewarded himself with a couple of smacks like the report of a
pistol.

"Fie, for shame, Philip," cried Prudence, all in a glow, and looking
wonderfully, as if she wanted the offence repeated; at any rate the
soldier so understood it, and clasping her again in his arms, refused
to release her till her lips had paid the penalty of their sweetness.
"Oh, fie," said she, once more; "what would folk say if they saw
thee?"

"There's only birds or a chance deer to see us," said Philip, "and it
can do them no harm to take a lesson," and he attempted to renew his
demonstrations of affection.

"Be quiet now," said Prudence, pushing him away. "I must soon hurry
back, or I shall be missed, and I want, first, to hear all about thee,
and then I have something to say on my part."

Thus rebuked, Philip seated himself, with the maiden by his side, on
the trunk of a fallen tree, and narrated the circumstances of his
trial and condemnation, and the occurrences at the prison. Some tears
pretty Prudence let fall over parts of his story, while at others her
hazel eyes flashed with indignation, and upon its conclusion she
disclosed in turn the conduct of Spikeman to herself.

"I tell thee all Philip," said Prudence, "because thou dost seem to
doubt about the wickedness of this bad man, who is trying to ruin us
both." She stopped, and hid her face in her hands.

Great was the rage of the soldier at what he had heard.

"By the head of king Charles," he swore, "I will drive my dagger into
his black heart."

He rose in anger, as if about immediately to put his threat into
execution, but the girl threw her arms around him and drew him down.

"That would be certain death to thee, Philip," she said. "We must find
other means to punish him. Besides, I must keep thee safe to serve my
young mistress."

"Thou art right, Prudence, and I am hot and hasty; but does not the
villain deserve the warmest place in Beelzebub's dominions who would
harm thee? Prudence, thou shalt not remain in his house."

"That will I," replied the girl. "Why, who is to wait on my mistress,
and take care of her but me? If mistress Eveline were to hear thy
speech, she would not be over obliged to thee, Master Philip, for
wishing me to desert her."

"You misunderstand me, and that is not my desire. But art not afraid
of the old villain?"

"Me afraid!" exclaimed Prudence, contemptuously, curling her lips; "I
am not half as much afraid of him as I am of thee." And as she uttered
the words, she drew herself a little back from him on the log where
they sat.

"But tell me, my brave robin red-breast," said Philip, casting a look
at the gay cloak which she had thrown around her person, and not
seeming to pay much regard to the latter part of her answer, "how am I
to serve mistress Eveline?"

"O, I know not, yet I dare say we shall be able to turn thee to some
good purpose; men are sometimes so useful!"

"I will recollect thy speech," said the soldier, laughing, "and
promise to teach thee, on a future occasion, how maidens also may be
useful. But hast never a message from mistress Eveline to Master
Arundel, should I chance to see him, for he is often at the place of
the Knight of the Golden Melice, and it is my purpose to go thither
to-day?"

"Young ladies affect not to send messages to thy over bold sex," said
Prudence, tossing her head, "but an' thou dost see the gentleman, thou
mayest tell him, as from me, that she is well, and desires his
prosperity."

"A cold message, truly, and it is well the weather is warm, else would
poor Master Arundel be in danger of being frozen into an icicle."

"A hundred such messages would not, I fear, cool thy hot blood; but
Master Miles is gentle born, and less presumptuous than thou; thou
mayest therefore say, rather than hurt his feelings, that my mistress
would have no objection to seeing him."

"What a buttermilk kind of a message is that!" said the soldier. Dost
think that a man of any spirit is going to be satisfied with an errand
that runs like a stream of cold water down one's back? Come, Prudence,
perk thy red lips into more reasonable and comforting words."

"Thou art thyself unreasonable, Philip. Dost suppose it becomes a
young woman to let her gallant know all she thinks about him? He ought
to be ravished to believe that she does not hate him like the rest of
them who wear beards; at any rate, thou wilt get nothing else from
me."

"I must perforce, then, be content," said Philip, "since it may not be
otherwise; and the less unwillingly because having had some experience
in the nature of women, I know they mean more than they say. So I will
even translate thy words into thy mistress' intention, and say she is
dying of melancholy till she sees him."

"Thou wilt be a false varlet an' thou dost, and I will never trust
thee with message more. Such leasing will only harm thee, for Master
Miles knows there is not in America nor in dear old Devonshire a
modester or properer young lady. O dear, how glad I should be just to
step into the grand cathedral in sweet Exeter, and see the brave
knights who died so long ago all lying cross-legged, so decent on
their marble tombs by the sides of their ladies."

"Take care, my little Puritan," said Philip, "this is no fitting
country for such talk. The reverend elders have long ears, and for
aught I know, there may be one in the tree overhead listening."

Prudence jumped hastily from her seat, and cast a frightened glance at
these words into the tree, while Philip burst into a laugh.

"Why, how you scared me," said the girl, recovering from her
trepidation. "This is the way you treat me, you vile man, for putting
myself to all this trouble on your account. But I would have you to
know that I am no more a Puritan, Philip Joy, than thyself, if I do
wear a close-fitting cap, which is none of the most becoming either.
If I do give into their ways, it is for the sake of my mistress, whom
no Geneva cloak, nor bishop's sleeves, for that matter, shall make me
desert."

"Bravo, bravissimo, as the outlandish fellows say," exclaimed the
soldier; "thou art of the genuine game breed, Prudence, and were it
not that thy pretty person might come to harm, I would desire no
better front rank man than thee. But this is a dangerous litany, and I
beseech thee, dear Prudence, to remember how thou art named."

He said this in a tone of emotion, which, if anything were wanting,
would have been sufficient to convince the girl of the interest he
felt for her; but she needed no such supplementary proof. It had the
effect, however, of making the conversation assume a more serious
aspect, and the girl more gravely replied:

"I will be careful, Philip, for my mistress' sake and mine own, and--"

"And for mine, too," interrupted the soldier.

"And for the sake of all them," continued Prudence, "who find anything
in me to take an interest in. O, Philip, I tremble lest you should do
or say something again that these dreadful solemn folk, who look sour
enough to curdle milk, and hate you because you laugh, may get hold of
to do you an injury. O, Philip, pray be prudent about laughing."

"Nay, Prudence," said he, drawing his illustration from what he
happened to see at the moment, "you might as well bid yon squirrel not
to jump from bough to bough. It is our nature, and you cannot change a
squirrel into an owl, or a man into a block. But," he continued,
taking her hand, "I have not told thee all. I know not when I shall
see thee again, for I am a banished man."

"Banished!" repeated Prudence, turning pale; "I thought they had
already wronged thee enough for a few innocent words--and now
banished! What will become of thee, Philip, and of me?"

"Never fear, sweetheart; we will turn their flank yet. I have been
thinking, as I came wandering along, that this Master Spikeman, who
keeps mistress Eveline as a sort of prisoner on parole, has an object
in getting me out of his way, so as better to carry on his wicked
plans. My jealous pate at first could think only of thee; but now I
begin to fancy he may have designs upon pretty mistress Eveline as
well as upon thyself. Nay, never bite your sweet lips till they bleed,
nor dart the sparks out of thine eyes, or you may singe my doublet, I
do suspect this from the equal desire he hath shown to remove Master
Miles Arundel from the colony. He did threaten him, as I have heard,
with some law they have here forbidding a man to pay his court to a
maid without license from the worshipful magistrates."

"Did ever mortal hear the like!" exclaimed Prudence. "O, the weary
magistrates and elders! what is the world coming to?"

"To nothing but Indians in these parts, if they go on in this way, and
not let young folk court, unless they keep sending people from England
to replenish the stock, and they will get tired of coming when they
hear how things are going on. But, Prudence, banish or no banish, law
or no law, they shall not, if thou art agreed, prevent my seeing
thee."

The girl looked affectionately at her lover, and gently returned the
pressure of his hand.

"I will hie me to the knight," continued Philip. "I happened once to
be of use to him, and he is not a man to forget a favor, though he is
somewhat changed since the time I first saw him. He was then a fiery
youth, for all he can look so grave at times now. He hath some credit,
for it was by his intercession with the Governor that my imprisonment
was shortened. I will hie me to him, and hear what he advises, more
especially as he hath sent for me. And I bethink me, Prudence, it were
no bad thing, if he can do so much, to get him to speak a word for
mistress Eveline."

"An' thou couldest, it were a good deed, and heaven will reward thee
therefor."

"I will look to thee, instead of heaven, for my reward," said the
soldier. "Meanwhile do thou have thine eyes like those in a peacock's
tail, all around thee, for this Master Spikeman is cunninger than all
the foxes whose tails Samson tied together."

"Trust me, Philip, and be thou discreet. And now must I be going back,
for I would not abuse the liberty the kind heart of dame Spikeman
gives me by loitering too long; so good-bye."

"And is this the way you take leave, when perhaps you may not see me
again for a month? Not one salute?"

"Methinks thou hast been firing salutes enough already to welcome a
ship from England. Be content, Sir Malapert, with their discharges;"
and Prudence began tripping it away.

"I'll not be content with such a discharge," muttered the soldier;
then raising his voice, he called after her, "Prudence, Prudence,
hasten not away so fast; there is one thing I forgot."

The girl at the sound of his voice retraced her steps a little, and
met Philip.

"Harkee in thine ear," said he, "for I must speak low. I did omit to
put my seal to our covenant;" and before Prudence was aware, he had
imprinted a smack upon her cheek.

"And there is mine," cried Prudence, hitting him a box upon the ear,
"and I warrant it will be as red as thine," and with that she bounded
like a deer away.

"The foul fiend fly away with me, an' I love not the girl dearly,"
exclaimed the soldier, looking after her with admiring eyes, as like a
red-winged butterfly she flew through the green bushes. "If I ever
have the luck to get her, I shall have a dame strong enough to carry
her part of our bundle. Well, go thy ways, Prudence Rix, for as
comely, and as sweet-breathed, and as kind a lass, notwithstanding the
weight of thy hand, as ever milked a cow in the old country."

The frame of mind in which the soldier now pursued his walk was very
different from that in which it had commenced. The dampness of the
prison which had begun to affect his health was forgotten, as the
genial sun gradually dried the clamminess out of his clothing, and he
inspired the reviving morning air. It seemed to him he could not drink
deep enough draughts of the woodland scents, which flowed so
deliciously through his lungs, as almost to compensate for the
suffering which he had endured. His unexpected interview with
Prudence, after he had given up all expectation of it, conduced also
to impart vivacity to his spirits, and he advanced, not with a rapid
pace, for of that his treatment in the jail had made him incapable,
but cheerfully and resolutely.

It was perhaps an hour afterwards, when Philip, as he was walking
slowly on, heard the sounds of a person coming after him, and looking
round, he beheld the man whom of all the world he least desired to
see. The whole temper of his spirit was at once changed. The peace
which, like a stream of perfumes, had been flowing into his soul, was
checked, and the atmosphere became hot and suffocating around him. It
was Spikeman approaching, who was on his way to a plantation he had in
the neighborhood, for there were few things promising profit to which
the adventurous speculator had not directed his attention.

Philip strove to keep the horns of the rising devil out of his heart,
and averting his head, stepped on one side to allow the other to pass.
Spikeman noticed the desire,--for it was too marked not to be
observed; and in a new country, even strangers are not in the habit of
passing one another without greeting,--but he paid no attention to it;
and as he came up, laid his hand on Philip's shoulder, and bade him a
good morning.

The soldier started as though pierced by a thorn, and shaking off the
hand roughly, requested the Assistant to go on his way and leave him
to himself.

"How now," exclaimed Spikeman. "Methinks this is cold welcome for a
friend."

"Pass on thy way," said the soldier. "I desire not thy company."

"Verily, am I amazed," said Spikeman. "Surely, to confer a favor on
the unthankful, is like pouring water on sand."

"I do advise thee, Master Spikeman," said Philip, "to cease thine
abuse. I am no longer a fool stumbling along with his eyes blinded."

The curiosity of the Assistant had been aroused at the beginning, and
he determined to ascertain how far Philip's knowledge of his conduct
extended, for his guilty conscience whispered that some discovery of
the soldier occasioned the changed behavior. It might be caused only
by suspicion, and if so, he trusted by his ingenuity to dispel it; but
if he had been betrayed, it was important that he should know it. The
Assistant, moreover, was curious to learn from the soldier himself,
why he had not broken jail as advised. He concluded that the soldier
had not; for had he done so, the escape would probably have been known
by morning; yet was Spikeman confident that Philip at the time of
their interview in the jail had no knowledge of the order for his
release. Perhaps Bars had overcome in the struggle, and disregarded
it. With doubts like these floating through his mind, he began to
probe Philip.

"What ails thee?" he inquired. "It would seem as if you took me for an
enemy, and yet have I not always approved myself thy friend, even
jeopardizing my position as a magistrate no longer ago than
yesternight to release thee from jail?"

"Master Spikeman," answered Philip, "thou dost well know, I doubt not,
that I am at liberty, not because I did by thy advice knock out the
brains of harmless Sam Bars, but by the grace of the Governor's
order."

"I counselled no more violence than was necessary to effect thy
purpose; but who moved the Governor in thy case?

"Not thou, as I am well advised, but the noble Knight of the Golden
Melice, a man as much superior to thee, as I am to an Indian."

"Thou art mad and vituperative, Philip, and were it not so early, I
should think thou hadst been indulging too liberally in drafts of aqua
vitæ. It is a vile habit. But as the Archangel Michael returned not a
railing accusation, but said, the Lord rebuke, thee, Satan, so say I
unto thee. Truly, I comprehend thy game. Thou art weary of thy old
friends, and being desirous to propitiate new, dost seek a quarrel to
mask thine ingratitude. But see whether this famous knight prove not a
broken reed."

The soldier, in spite of his conviction of the villainy of the other,
was touched at the taunt, and hastened to defend himself.

"It is false, Master Spikeman," he cried. "If thou wert truly a
friend, wherefore advise me to break jail, and thus expose myself to
be hunted as a malefactor, when I had but to wait till morning for
deliverance?"

"It is much, Philip Joy, for one in my condition to condescend to
explain, especially after thy rudeness of speech; yet will I do it,
that no fancied cause may be left for thy base suspicions. Shortly,
then, I knew not of Gov. Winthrop's intention, for when I did entreat
him in thy behalf, he spake in such ambiguous phrase as effectually to
cloak his thoughts. I doubt not, now, that it was to make the surprise
the more agreeable."

This was said with such an appearance of innocence, that the
simplicity of the soldier was confounded, and he began to doubt more
and more the truth of his suspicions. But the communication of
Prudence rankled in his mind, and though disposed to acquit the
Assistant of treachery against himself, he could not forgive the
treatment of the girl. He did not doubt her word, and yet desired to
hear the Assistant's excuse, if he had any. He shrunk from the
subject, and yet was drawn to it, like a moth fascinated by a light.

"There is another thing I like not," he said, hesitatingly.

"And pray, what may thy wisdom have discovered now?"

"That it is not becoming in a grave magistrate to try to cozen servant
girls," burst from the soldier.

"Has Prudence--?" but here the Assistant, sensible that he had already
said too much, suddenly checked himself, while his sallow cheek looked
still more yellow. But the escape of the girl's name, even without the
embarrassment, was a confession of guilt to the soldier, who, with
rising passion, exclaimed--

"Away, or I shall be tempted to do that whereof I may repent."

Spikeman marked his agitation, and hesitated whether to come to an
open breach, or continue his system of deception. The craft of his
nature preponderated, and he determined to adopt the latter course.

"Gently, Philip," he said. "Thy prison hath strangely affected thee;
but because I pity, I will not be angry. At least let me finish the
sentence which I begun. I did desire to know whether Prudence, whom,
that thou dost affect, I have for some time known, (nay, never blush;
I have been young myself,) whether Prudence, I say, gained access to
thy prison to tell thee of my exertions in thy behalf?"

"Thou exert thyself for me! Go to, thou wert more busy for thyself."

"I understand thee not; yet hearken, for the whole truth must be
revealed. I say that I have done all that man could do, and as the
event proves, not in vain. As for Prudence, I will confess to one
impropriety, if it be thy pleasure to call it so, though I meant it
not, and whereof thou art in some sense the cause. Knowing thy regard
for her, I did speak one day of my hopes for thee, whereat the tears
did stand in her eyes, and I was so moved thereat, that I did salute
her cheek, but only as a father might caress a child."

The soldier was more bewildered than ever. He was incapable of
conceiving of such falsehood as the other's. It seemed to him now that
Prudence might be mistaken, and have converted a mere compliment into
an insult, so contrary appeared, the intimations which she had made to
what was to be expected from the years and gravity of the Assistant.
The freedom with which Spikeman spoke of kissing the girl confirmed
the idea, and Philip fancied that he had been harsh.

"Master Spikeman," he said at length, "if I have unjustly suspected
thee, I crave pardon. There may be something in what you said, but the
prison hath clouded my mind."

"Think no more of it, Philip, though doubtless it is so. I have known
many a one who, by confinement, hath irretrievably lost his wits.
Therefore will it be wise in thee not to be arrested again."

"Wherefore arrested, since I have an order of release?"

"Alas, thou dost forget thy banishment. If thou art taken within the
forbidden boundaries, severe will be thy punishment. Attempt not for
Prudence's sake, or any cause, to return without apprising me thereof,
when I will endeavor to provide for thy safety."

The soldier extended his hand.

"This is kind," he said, "and be assured, Master Spikeman, that I will
not soon conceive suspicion of thee again." These women be notional
things, he murmured to himself.

Spikeman took the hand.

"Now this is like thyself, Philip," he said--"a brave soldier--true as
a Toledo blade--one who loves his friend, and hates his enemy,
although this latter part should not be so. Thou art journeying, I
see, to the knight's place. Mayst thou find in him a patron, but it
will do no harm to say--be on thy guard; one old friend is better than
a dozen new."

He turned away, and the soldier, as he looked after him, said--

"There is truth in thy words, but thou art ignorant that the knight
and I were friends long before I knew thee."



CHAPTER VI.

  Nature I court in her sequestered haunts,
    By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove or cell,
  Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts,
    And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell.

  SMOLLETT.


So long had the soldier been delayed by his interviews with Prudence
and the Assistant, that it was not until past noon that he reached the
knight's residence. It was a large, irregularly built log-cabin, or
cottage, covered with thatch, resembling somewhat, except in the last
particular, and in being larger, the log-cabins one meets in the new
settlements of the West, with a sort of piazza or porch, which seemed
to have been lately built, running across the front. Such was the rude
exterior; though the interior, as we shall presently see, when we
enter the building, was furnished in a style indicating both wealth
and refinement.

The house stood near the bottom of a hill, upon a piece of cleared
land of perhaps half a dozen acres, upon which not the vestige of a
stump was to be seen. The ground sloped gently away from the building
to the southeast, until it met a small stream, which meandered at the
base of the hill, and running in an easterly direction, was lost to
sight in the forest. In front of the house, at the distance of a rod,
bubbled up a bright spring, which, dashing down the declivity, fell
into the first-mentioned stream. Except this cultivated spot, which
had been an old corn-field of the natives, selected by them for the
fertility of the soil, its advantage of water, and the favorable slope
of the land, which enabled it to engross more than a common share of
the genial heat of the sun, and expedite the maturing of its harvests,
all was one unbroken extent of forest. In the soft autumnal days, when
the maize leaves rustled yellow on their stalks, it must have looked
to the soaring eagle, gazing from his "pride of place," like a vast
nest in a green leafy frame.

Around this building, at some little distance, viz., at the edge of
the encircling forest, were scattered some four or five wigwams, or
Indian lodges, made of the bark of trees, from some of which smoke
curled lazily up into the blue sky, imparting assurance thereby of
their being inhabited, though the presence of some naked children near
the entrances, who were shooting with little bows at marks, and
amusing themselves in other ways, made any such indication
unnecessary.

As the soldier drew near, he heard more and more distinctly musical
sounds, and presently could distinguish the tinkling of a guitar,
accompanied by a female voice. He stopped and listened. The air was
slow and solemn, the notes were soft and clear, and the words sweet,
but not English. There was a rich luxuriance, yet pathos in the music,
like the utterances of a spirit whose hopes were mingled with
reminiscences of joys which it had lost. How long Philip listened, he
knew not, so entranced was he by the sounds. It was a long time since
he had heard such delicious strains, and the effect upon him was
therefore the greater. Suddenly they ceased, as if his approach had
been discovered, and immediately thereafter, a man stepped out upon
the piazza. Philip recognized him at once as the young man to whom
Prudence had sent a message, and whom he himself had called Master
Arundel.

He was a fair-haired youth of some twenty-three or four years, with
that clear, bright complexion so common among the English, and which
they owe to their foggy climate and habit of exercise in the open air.
Dark blue eyes looked out joyously from a handsome face, which would
have been effeminate, so delicate were the features and rosy the tint
of the cheeks, but for a brown moustache, which shaded the lip, and
redeemed it from the imputation. His doublet and hose were of a dark
green cloth, as was also the cap he held in his hand, and he wore
boots made of yellow leather, reaching above the knee, and full at the
top. Around his neck was a white band, like those worn by the
wealthier colonists. This young gentleman first spoke.

"Ha! Achilles, or Coeur de Lion from captivity," or to fashion my
speech more into the humor of this new world, "O, Daniel from the
lion's den, greatly doth my heart rejoice at thy deliverance."
"Welcome, good Philip," he added, in a more natural tone, betraying
some sympathy, and taking him at the same time by the hand; "welcome
to your friends."

The tired soldier sank down upon a bench before he was able to speak.

"Thy tongue is dry, and moves slowly, and, now that I regard thee more
closely, art pale. We must cheer up thy drooping spirit"

"Having thus spoken, the young man entered the house, and presently
returned with a flagon and drinking cups.

"Drink, man," said Arundel, filling a cup with wine, "and wash all
sorrow out of thine heart. The suns that ripened the grapes out of
which this juice was crushed, were bright and joyous. May they impart
their own happiness and vigor unto thee."

The soldier put the cup to his lips, nor withdrew it until the
contents were drained.

"I feel," he said, "the good wine tingling through all my veins, and
am a new man again."

"Fill once more," said the young man, suiting the action to the word;
"one shower is not enough for so thirsty a soil."

The soldier did not refuse, and having drank a second time, he felt
refreshed.

"Pleasant enough quarters, Master Arundel," he said, looking around;
"and I see ye have some red-skins camped near by."

"They are the knight's particular friends, whose society it seems to
be his sovereign pleasure to cultivate. He has persuaded them to
gather round him, forming what may be called his body-guard."

"Or outposts of the main garrison. Well, for runners or scouts they
may answer, but for hand-to-hand action, they are naught. But where is
Sir Christopher?"

"He started on a hunt this morning, our larder having run low. Hark!"
he added, as suddenly the blast of a bugle was heard echoing through
the forest, "that is the sound wherewith he is accustomed to announce
his approach, and you will presently see him coming out of the wood."

Sure enough, in a few moments the tall form of the knight, arrayed in
a deer-skin hunting-shirt, with leggins of the same material, and "a
piece" in his hand, was seen emerging into the open space. He was
followed by a couple of Indians, each of whom bore on his shoulders a
deer.

"Quecheco," the two white men heard him say, as he came out of the
bushes, "carry thou thy deer to my lodge, and do thou, Pococke, divide
thine with thy brother Quecheco." After speaking these words he
advanced toward them.

"So, ho, Philip," cried Sir Christopher, "again under my banner. Fate
hath decreed us I think for buenas camaradas, and for my part I
heartily rejoice thereat. A braver heart than thine never beat under
steel corselet, or truer hand wielded a sharp sword."

"I thank you, Sir Christopher, for your good opinion," said the
soldier, "but I have seen little service since we parted among the
Turbans, of whom somehow your wine sets me a thinking, at all to my
mind. As for fighting these naked savages, who have nothing but
children's bows and stone hatchets, while our men-at-arms are clad in
bullet-proof steel from head to heel, methinks there is little manhood
required therefor, and for what I have done in that way, I confess
myself somewhat ashamed."

"It doth please me to hear thee speak thus, Philip," replied the
knight. True valor is ever joined with generosity, and despises to
take advantage of superior strength to crush the weaker. But fear not
that I have any service of the kind for thee. I came not among these
innocent natives to bring a sword, but the olive branch of peace. I
would see them peaceful, and united, and happy, not broken into
hostile clans, and delighting in murdering one another."

"I spoke not," said the soldier, "as desiring to make terms with you,
Sir Christopher, well knowing that you would ask nothing which an
honest man would be unwilling to perform, and am only too happy to
enter your service."

"So be it, Philip," said the knight. "Henceforth be here thy home."

"Truly," exclaimed the soldier, stretching out his legs with a sigh of
relief, "there is some difference between lying in a prison, or even
talking with Master Spikeman in the bushes, as I did but just now, and
being with good wine and noble gentlemen."

"Didst meet on thy way that most puritanical of Puritans, the praying,
cheating, canting, hypocritical, long-faced Master Spikeman?" cried
Arundel. "I wonder what new mischief he hath now on foot, for it is
his meat?"

"Master Miles Arundel," said the knight, "thy language is too
intemperate to be excused even by thy youth. Check the bitterness of
thine expression, and know that he who rules his own spirit is greater
than he who wins a kingdom."

A flash of haughty resentment lighted up the eyes of the young man at
the reproof, but as he saw that no offence was designed, he answered:

"I expect never to win a kingdom, but as for this villain--"

"Peace, I entreat thee, my young friend," interrupted Sir Christopher.
"I am curious to hear of Philip's treatment in his confinement, if he
will favor us with an account thereof?"

Hereupon the soldier recounted to them all that had passed in his
prison, including his interview with Spikeman, and attack on the
jailer, and also the conversation in the wood, except those parts
which had relation to Prudence.

"I see not," said Arundel, upon the conclusion of the narrative, "why
the wily Assistant should be thine enemy, but he clearly is. Thou art
honored in this respect as well as I."

"My mind doth misgive me that you are right," said Philip. "Away from
him. He seems an arch villain, though in his presence the feeling
changes, for he hath a tongue to wile a bird from the bough."

"Be sure I am not mistaken. See now whether Sir Christopher be not of
the same opinion."

Thus appealed to, the knight answered:

"I fear that your judgment, Master Arundel, is correct, though caring
not to enter into the reasons which have forced me to this conclusion.
But we will endeavor to use such caution that any mischievous designs
of his shall be defeated. Happily my homestead is not comprised within
the limits of the colony, and the sentence of banishment is complied
with, Philip being here."

Hereupon Sir Christopher rose and entered the house, and the soldier
took advantage of his absence to deliver the message of Prudence,
which, as he had threatened, he colored a little. With all his efforts
he was unable to conceal the interest which he felt for the girl, but
the young man good naturedly allowed him to suppose it unnoticed. In a
short time the knight reappeared, and invited them in to dinner.

The apartment which they entered opened immediately upon the porch,
and was a room some twenty feet square, constituting somewhat more
than a quarter of the building. The walls were merely unhewn logs,
divested of the bark, and filled in with a tenacious clay resembling
mortar. Against them were nailed, or supported by wooden pegs, in
divers places, branching horns of the moose and deer, over which were
hung hunting-shirts and skins of various wild animals, tanned with the
hair on. The antlers also, in many instances, supported guns, and
swords, and hunting pouches, and powder-horns, and, in short, whatever
might be necessary for attack or defence in war, and success in the
chase. In the centre of the room a table for four or five persons was
set, and a squaw was busy near a fire preparing the meal.

It was not long before the simple dinner, consisting principally of
venison steaks and bread made of Indian corn, was placed by the squaw
on the board, and the three men drew up, Philip manifesting some
modest reluctance, until pressed thereto by the knight.

"The vain distinctions of the world," said Sir Christopher, "are out
of place here. My soul sickens at the servile respect paid to stars
and garters. The jewel of the spirit is to be prized, not by the
setting, but by the degree of its own splendor it darts around."

Nor simple though the dinner was, were there wanting draughts of wine
like that of which the soldier had drank upon his arrival. Of the
three, he drank the most freely; Arundel moderately, and the knight
almost abstemiously. As the last regarded the pale face of Philip, and
marked the kindling lustre of his eyes, he pardoned the poor fellow,
in consideration of what he had endured, the freedom of his libations.

At the conclusion of the meal, Arundel, turning to the knight, said:

"Philip has brought me word, Sir Christopher, which will necessitate
the abridgment of a visit I did intend should be longer. My purpose is
to return to Boston in the morning."

"May a friend inquire after the cause of your sudden departure?" asked
the knight.

"It hath some connection," answered the young man, slightly blushing,
"with a matter wherewith you are already acquainted, I know not why I
should hesitate to aver before yourself and Philip that it hath
reference to mistress Eveline Dunning."

"Fear not to speak the honest impulses of thine heart, Master
Arundel," said the knight, "nor deem that I can take amiss thy
preference of the starry eyes of pretty mistress Eveline to a
hermitage in the wood."

"She desires to see me," returned the young man, "and I hold it a
sacred duty to watch over her, for she is a lamb in the jaws of a
lion."

"My opinion of the worshipful Master Spikeman," said the knight, "is
not much more favorable than thine own, though mine eyes be not
blinded by the deceitful mists of passion. Be wary, however, else
mayest thou incur an enmity which it were well to avoid."

"What wouldest have me do, Sir Christopher?" demanded the young man,
rising with some impatience. "Detains he not my affianced bride?
Refuses he not even to allow me to see her, and must not our meetings
be stolen? Does he not deny the solemn obligation he took upon himself
by the death-bed of his too confiding friend, to unite Eveline with me
in marriage, and is he not thereby a perjured wretch, regardless alike
of his vow to God and of duty to the dead and living? I care not for
his enmity, but prefer it to his friendship, nor will I tamely permit
him to triumph in his villainy."

"Calm thyself, Master Arundel," said the knight; "truly I counselled
no such thing. My heart is with thee, and my hand at thy service in
this matter, for I esteem thee wronged, but neither violence of speech
nor precipitancy in action will avail to right thee. All means of
persuasion are not exhausted. Why not endeavor to interest Governor
Winthrop in thy behalf?"

"To what purpose? Suppose you he would take my word in opposition to
that of a fellow saint and magistrate?"

"Unjust! Master Arundel; degrade not the noble Winthrop, a pattern of
many Christian virtues, and some knightly qualities, by such
association. But to thy word would be superadded that of the young
lady. He must believe her."

"Nay, Sir Christopher, your eagle glance at once detects falsehood
wherewith it has no affinity, and you judge of others according to the
standard of your own nobleness, but I am persuaded the attempt would
be in vain. The case stands thus: there is really but witness against
witness, for what know I of what occurred at the death-bed of
Eveline's father, except what she herself has told me? Kind though may
be the heart of the Governor, and sound his judgment, the false
asseveration of the Assistant would outweigh the declaration of
Eveline; and, did it not, and were he ever so favorably disposed, no
court in this New Canaan, as they call it, would decide against one of
the congregation in favor of an orphan girl not protected by their
magic covenant, and whose hand is sought by an intruder into their
fold."

"I deny not the force of thine argument," replied the knight, "and yet
have I remarked an omnipotence in truth, that doth make me insist on
having recourse to Governor Winthrop. As is the God-like sun,
animating and vivifying all things, searching into dark recesses and
driving out bats and impure vermin by his intolerable presence, and
unveiling ugliness and hatefulness, so is Truth. Withersoever she
turns her shining mirror there Error may not abide, but like a
dastardly coward, flies from the glory. Believe, Master Arundel, that
He who is uncreated, Truth will magnify that wherein He delights."

"To pleasure thee, Sir Christopher, there is nothing which I would not
undertake, convinced though I am of its inefficacy."

"So please you then, represent your grievance in the highest quarter,
before you further proceed. And now, I propose to present Philip to
Lady Geraldine, if her leisure serve. You will accompany us."

Passing through a vestibule, which separated the two rooms, the knight
threw open a door, and admitted them into an apartment of smaller
dimensions than the first, but fitted up with far more regard to
comfort, and with even some pretension to elegance. The floor was
covered with matting made by the Indian women, on which strange
figures were drawn, stained with brilliant dyes; the sides of the room
also were hung with matting, over which fell folds of scarlet cloth
reaching to within a couple of feet of the floor, imparting an air of
gayety, while overhead was tightly drawn and fastened to the rafters a
light blue cloth, approaching in color the hue of the sky. Some chairs
were scattered around, and on a table lay a guitar, on the top of a
book. No person was in the apartment at the moment of their entrance,
and, upon the invitation of the knight, they took seats to await the
arrival of the lady.

They had been seated but a short time when another door opened, and a
comely gentlewoman entered, ushered by a little Indian girl. The age
of the lady appeared to be about the same as that of the knight, and,
to judge from her complexion, she was not of English extraction. Her
features, though not regular, were handsome; the eyes large and black,
with hair of the same color, confined by a white cap; her figure was
tall and slender, and her carriage dignified and noble. Her dress
consisted merely of a black gown, without ornament, and rising high
into the neck, and as she approached she looked like one oppressed
with sadness.

Her little swarthy attendant seemed to be a pet which she took delight
in adorning, and truly, the little girl was not unconscious that her
childish beauty was enhanced by richness of attire. A crimson satin
tunic, like a basque, was fastened around her waist by a golden band,
beneath which fell a blue silk skirt as far as the knees, while high
upon the ankles were laced deer-skin buskins, profusely bedecked with
shining beads and colored porcupine quills. Around her arms, above the
elbows, were strings of colored beads, her wrists were clasped by
bracelets of the same description, and about her neck was twined a
gold chain.

As the lady thus attended advanced, all rose to pay the respect due to
her sex and station.

"Behold, Lady Geraldine," said the knight, presenting to her the
soldier, "the valiant man to whom I once owed my life."

"He is very welcome," replied the lady, in an accent just foreign
enough to impart a strange interest to her speech. "The savior of my
cousin's life is very welcome."

The embarrassed soldier, confounded at the presence of one who looked
to him like a superior being, could find no words to return to her
greeting, and only bowed low to conceal his confusion.

"I have heard, Sir Christopher," she continued, "speak of the daring
feat of arms whereby he was rescued from the foe, and longed to behold
his valorous deliverer to return my soul-felt thanks. Be seated, most
welcome gentlemen. And thou, Master Arundel, I trust, hast received
intelligence from Boston which will chase away the cloud that
sometimes gathers on thy brow."

"Honored madam," answered the young man, in the inflated style of
gallantry which the custom of high-bred society not only permitted but
enjoined, "when the beautiful majesty of the heavenly sun appears,
clouds have no place above the horizon, but fly away, chased by his
golden shafts."

"Would that I had the power," said the lady, "as the beneficent sun
dispels the clouds, so to drive away all sorrow and disappointment.
There is no grief-laden heart that should not be cheered."

"Recount now, Philip, to Lady Geraldine, the adventure which causes
the colony to lose a valiant soldier, and me to gain for our solitude
an old friend and companion in arms," said the knight.

The soldier, upon being thus addressed, found his voice, and narrated
to the lady the circumstances of his enforced departure from Boston.
She listened with an appearance of interest, and upon its conclusion
spoke a few words expressive of her sorrow for his imprisonment, and
of congratulation for the knight, to whom she hoped he would be for
the future attached.

"I do begin to consider my banishment as no misfortune," said the
soldier, whose confidence in himself was now restored. "The labor of
my forge and exposure of life for folk who know not how to excuse a
hasty word or two, are well exchanged for the service of so noble a
master and mistress."

"Be sure, thou shalt not rust like a sheathed sword," said the
knight, "and it shall go hard, but I will find for thee employment to
content an undegenerate spirit. But, Lady Geraldine, while we gain one
to our company, we lose (only for a short time, I hope) another.
Master Arundel purposes to leave our solitude to-morrow."

The lady looked inquiringly at the young man, who answered with a
blush:

"A message brought by Philip doth constrain my departure."

"A sweet constraint," said the knight, smiling. "Fear not, Master
Arundel, that Lady Geraldine will blame thee for obeying an impulse as
natural as the love of a bee for a flower. The diamond eyes of
Mistress Eveline would furnish apology for a deeper crime."

"I trust all is well with sweet Mistress Eveline," said the lady.

"All well, may it please you, madam, save for the injurious durance
which, in despite of his promise, and regardless of all honor as a
man, the villain Spikeman, who calls himself her guardian, imposes on
her."

"He will relent," said the lady. "It may be he desires only to try the
strength of thy devotion. The flame of thy love will burn the brighter
for the trial."

"I have no hope of such result, Arundel. He is so wedded to evil,
that to do a good action would be to him a pain."

"Nay," said the lady, "it cannot be there is a creature who loves evil
for its own sake. That were quite to extinguish the heavenly spark.
Judge not unhappy Master Spikeman so harshly. Commend me to the love
of Mistress Eveline," she added, rising, "when you see her, and say
that I wear her sweet image in my heart."

So saying, she bowed and left the apartment, preceded by the little
girl, the others rising, and remaining standing as long as she was in
sight.



CHAPTER VII.

  Thinkest thou that I could bear to part
  From thee and learn to halve my heart?
  Years have not seen, time shall not see,
  The hour that tears my soul from thee.

  BRIDE OF ABYDOS.


It was early on the morning of the next day when Arundel started on
his way to Boston, whither the message delivered by the soldier had
somewhat hastened his return. There was, indeed, to one not in love,
nothing in it to require such haste, and the explanation of his
departure is to be found only in the natural desire of a lover to be
near his mistress. Something might happen; he would seek an occasion
to see her; perhaps a plan might be devised; at least, his wishes
could not be promoted by keeping himself at a distance. While the
young man, musing on sweet hopes and vague unformed designs, is
threading his way through the forest, we will take advantage of the
opportunity to explain in a few words what the reader, as yet, only
imperfectly suspects.

Two years previous to the time when our story commences, Edmund
Dunning, a landholder and gentleman of consideration, in the county of
Devon, in England, having recently adopted the creed and practice of
the Puritans, (as a sect dissenting from the Church of England,
somewhat in doctrine, and wholly in outward observances, was called;
from asserting, as it was thought, pretentions to superior purity of
belief and strictness of living,) left the shores of his native island
with an only child, a daughter, then between seventeen and eighteen
years of age, to seek that freedom for his faith in the new world,
which, as he conceived, was denied him in the old. His whole family
consisted of this daughter, Eveline, his wife having deceased several
years previously. His departure was hastened by a circumstance which
had for some time occasioned him no little uneasiness, and the evil
consequences of which he could think of no other means so effectually
to avoid. This circumstance was an intimacy between the beautiful
Eveline and a young gentleman in the neighboring town more tender than
the father approved, who looked upon the hopes of the suitor as
presumptuous, and was, besides, opposed to an union, on account of a
diversity of religious sentiment betwixt himself and the aspirant.

This young man was Miles Arundel. A year before Master Dunning and his
daughter left England, he had come to the town of Exeter, near to
which the Dunnings lived on their estate, and opened a studio as a
landscape painter. It was not, however, until a month after his
arrival, that he seemed at all decided as to his intentions, the time
being spent in wandering over the beautiful country, and making
occasionally a sketch; nor after he had offered his services to the
public in a professional capacity did he work very diligently. Yet was
it remarked that he was never in want of money; and the citizens of
Exeter thought that he must get high prices for his pictures in London
to warrant his expenditure.

Among the families to which he was introduced as an artist, was that
of Edmund Dunning. Eveline was no indifferent sketcher herself, and
accompanied her father one day on a visit to the rooms of Master
Arundel. It is said that the young people blushed at the meeting, but
however that may be, the blush was unobserved by Master Dunning.

So agreeable did the young artist make himself, that one visit led on
to another, and he was invited to the house of Dunning, and soon found
himself, he hardly knew how, on a familiar footing in his family, and
giving lessons in painting to his daughter. Edmund Dunning had no
intentions that any other lessons should be given, and it accordingly
grieved him when he discovered the terms on which the young people
stood to one another, and which their ingenuousness could not conceal.
With this relation he had made himself acquainted as soon as he
suspected it, by inquiring of Eveline, who frankly told him the whole
truth. Arundel loved her, but dared not, on account of the distance
that separated him from her father, make known his feelings. The
father demanded of his child why she did not, at the beginning, check
such aspiring thoughts, and whether it was proper to allow of the
continuance of such a state of things. Poor Eveline could only reply
with tears, and that she could not prevent Miles loving her, but
confessed that she had done wrong, and promised to break off the
intimacy.

"I am unacquainted with his family, which is probably obscure," said
Edmund Dunning; "but were the blood of Alfred in his veins, he should
have no daughter of mine so long as he favors the persecuting Church
of England, which I know he does, notwithstanding his constant
attendance at the meetings of the congregation, the reason whereof I
now understand."

The promise which Eveline made to her father she kept, nor from that
moment would she consent to see Arundel. He pleaded hard for a single
interview, if only to take leave, and though her heart strongly took
his part, she replied that she would not increase the reproaches of
her conscience by advancing a step further in an intimacy which she
had wrongly concealed from her father, and was disapproved by him. All
intercourse between the lovers ceased from this time, and shortly
after Arundel disappeared from the neighborhood.

But it was at the risk of her health that Eveline obeyed her parent.
The rounded form began to become thin; the cheeks, in which red roses
were accustomed to bloom, faded, and the lovely blue eyes lost their
lustre. The anxious father noticed these signs with apprehension, and
in the hope that new scenes and a change of climate might improve his
daughter's health, hastened their departure.

Almost immediately on his arrival in the new world he formed an
acquaintance with Spikeman, who used every effort to ingratiate
himself into his confidence. So successful was Spikeman, that he
persuaded Master Dunning to embark a considerable portion of his
property in the business wherein Spikeman was engaged, and on the
death of Dunning, which happened only six months thereafter, to
appoint him the guardian of Eveline. But as the shadows of this world
were settling on the eyelids of the dying man, the light of another
and a better dawned upon his mind. The differences of opinion which
had separated him from the friends of his youth and manhood, and the
distinctions of rank, assumed less and less importance. He regarded
with pity the sadness of his daughter, and determined that he would be
no obstacle in the way of her happiness. He called her and his friend
to his bed-side, and after kissing her pale cheek, gave his full
consent to her union with Arundel, and made Spikeman promise to favor
her wishes in all things. Having thus settled his worldly affairs,
Edmund Dunning turned his face to the wall and gave up the ghost.

The tears of Eveline, left an orphan far away from the only spot which
she considered her home, flowed bitterly at the loss of her father. He
had been a gentle and sweet-tempered man, and an indulgent parent, and
she thought of him with a grief and yearning affection, the pain of
which the removal of the interdiction to her marriage with one whom
she loved, served at first, but in a slight degree, to mitigate. But
time had its usual effect. The swollen eyes of poor Eveline at last
resumed their brightness; the color returned to her cheeks; her step
became lighter, and she looked forward wish pleasure to the time when
she should give her hand to one who already had her heart.

But Spikeman was far from sympathizing with her views, nor had he any
intention to keep his promise. At the time when he inveigled Edmund
Dunning into entrusting property to his hands, his affairs were in an
embarrassed condition, and he needed then and now the funds to save
him from ruin. And again, hypocrite though he was in some respects, he
was not altogether so. A man of violent passions, and unscrupulous in
their gratification, deluding himself with the idea that having once
tasted the sweets of justification, (as he fancied,) his condition was
one of safety, and that the sins which reigned in the members of his
body could not reach his soul, he was yet zealous for the faith which
he had adopted, and devoted to the interests of the colony. It was to
this devotion mainly that he owed his dignity of Assistant. As a
Puritan, he was, or at least believed himself to be, opposed to a
marriage between Eveline and Arundel on the same principle which had
at first influenced her father, and been corrected only by the dawning
light of eternity. Shortly before the decease of his friend, Spikeman
had frequently, though never in the presence of Eveline, combated
Dunning's resolution with which he had been made acquainted, but in
vain. Had he dared, he would have resorted to one or more of the
elders to exert their potent influence, but this would have been to
betray the secret, and in case of their failure, might have placed
himself in an unpleasant predicament. He concluded it was better to
lock it up in his own breast, and so remain master of his actions and
of her destiny, at least till her majority, which lacked two years
before attainment. During that time, his circumstances might
change--she might decease--no one knew what was in the future.

It is not, therefore, surprising that the Assistant did not write to
England to inform Edmund Dunning's relatives of his death; much less
that he did not inform Arundel of the fact. Months slowly dragged by,
and yet the expecting girl received no word from home. At first
Spikeman accounted for it by the length of time required to make the
passage between the countries; afterwards by the supposition that the
letters might have failed, or intimating that Arundel had probably
changed his mind. A cold pang, as if she had been stabbed by an
icicle, pierced the bosom of Eveline at this cruel suggestion, and she
felt utterly desolute. What, however, frightened and depressed her
spirit, only roused the indignation of Prudence Rix, her attendant
from England, who even then had a sharper insight into the character
of the Assistant than her mistress.

"Hey-day!" she exclaimed; "to think that Master Miles, the handsomest
and darlingest young gentleman in Devonshire, and who, if he was only
a painter, looked grander and gave away more gold pieces than many a
lord she'd known, and who worshipped Mistress Eveline like some pagans
she'd heard of did the sun, should think of forgetting her! It was
precious nonsense. For her part, if she was Mistress Eveline, she
would write to him herself, without letting old vinegar-face know
anything about it."

The advice was not thrown away on the young lady, though with an
instinctive delicacy she did not follow it literally. Instead of
addressing Arundel directly, she wrote to a female friend, and
communicated the change in her circumstances, and the relenting of her
deceased father, rightly judging that the information would not long
remain unknown to her lover. She did this without the knowledge of
Spikeman, else it is probable that the letter would never have reached
its destination. The event answered her expectations, and with the
arrival of the first ship after her epistle was received, she had the
gratification of greeting Arundel. But what was her astonishment,
when, upon the demand of the young man that her guardian should carry
into effect the wishes of his deceased friend, Spikeman denied that
any obligation was imposed upon him. He would not admit that there had
been any change of opinion in the dying man, but insisted, on the
contrary, that he had remained steadfast in his purpose to the last.
He affected surprise at the declarations of Eveline, and while not
pretending to say what might have taken place in his absence,
persisted in asserting that nothing of the kind had occurred in his
presence. The young lady was surely in error. The bewilderment
occasioned by excessive grief on account of her father's condition,
and partiality for her lover, had caused her to mistake the meaning of
the former. He could not, however much desirous to please his ward,
violate the instructions of his deceased friend.

The remonstrances of Arundel, and gentle expostulations and entreaties
of Eveline, were without effect; and when once the young man, in a
moment of anger, threatened Spikeman with an appeal to justice and
punishment by the government in England, the latter grimly sneered at
his threats, and bade him beware lest he himself might be sent, as a
malcontent, out of the country. It was, indeed, far more probable that
such would be the result of Arundel's persistency, than that he should
succeed in carrying off his mistress; and, blinded as he was by love,
he could not conceal from himself the danger. To this was to be added
another peril, which the Assistant, in one of their conversations, had
hinted at, and of which we have also made mention, viz: that he might
incur the punishment provided for those who paid court to maidens
without the consent of the guardian or magistrate.

But the young couple had, besides Prudence, a powerful friend, Whose
kind heart pitied their misfortunes, and by whose means, assisted by
the faithful serving-maid, they had many stolen meetings, unknown to
their persecutor, and this was no other than dame Spikeman herself.
Destitute of children, she had been early attracted by the beautiful
orphan, for whom she soon learned to feel the affection of a mother.
Into her tender bosom the unprotected girl poured her griefs, and
always met with sympathy and good counsel. At first, the good dame
attempted to alter the determination of her husband, but finding her
efforts in vain, she finally abandoned them, and contented herself
with favoring the lovers by every means in her power, without his
knowledge, trusting to the chapter of accidents for the result.
Perhaps a few pieces of coin, distributed by Arundel now and then
among the servants, contributed to preserve the knowledge of their
meetings from the Assistant, who, whatever he might suspect, found it
difficult, engaged in his business, to detect them.

While we have been making this tedious but necessary explanation, the
young man has had time to reach the thickest part of the forest, lying
midway betwixt the residence of the knight and his place of
destination. He followed a narrow path made originally by the Indians,
as they traversed the woods in the manner peculiar to themselves,
known by the name of Indian file, now skirting the edge of a morass,
now penetrating through a thick undergrowth, and now walking in more
open spaces and under the shade of enormous trees.

Arundel, as he walked along with his piece in his hand, had kept
watchfully looking round to discern any game within range, when, as he
reached one of these open spaces, his eyes fell upon a dark object
crouched upon a lower limb of a tree immediately over the path before
him, and he instantly recognised the animal as the cougar or American
panther. It is the habit of the creature thus to conceal itself in
trees, waiting till its prey passes along, when, with one bound, it
springs upon its back, and quickly succeeds, by its own weight, and by
tearing the veins and arteries of the neck, in bringing it to the
ground.

The youth stopped, and gazed upon the motionless beast, whose
half-shut eyes he could see winking at him. He lay extended upon the
limb, his forward feet spread out at full length, on which rested his
small round head, with little ears falling back almost flat, his hind
legs drawn up under his body, and his flexible tail hanging a short
distance beneath the bough. The dark reddish color of the hair of his
skin, dashed with blackish tints, harmonized and blended well with the
hue of the bark, so that at a distance, to an unpracticed eye, he
appeared like a huge excrescence on the tree, or a large butt of a
branch that had lodged in its fall.

The young man did not hesitate what to do. He had come prepared for
meeting with wild animals, and felt too much confidence in himself to
fear the encounter. He approached so as to be just without reach of
the spring of the creature, and levelling his piece, while he could
see the cougar shut its eyes and cling closer to the limb, fired. The
sound of the gun rang through the ancient forest, and in an instant
the beast, jumping from the limb, fell at his feet. So sudden was
this, that Arundel had hardly time to withdraw the weapon from his
shoulder, before the animal had made the spring. The first impulse of
the youth on finding the ferocious brute thus near, was to club his
gun and strike it on the head; and now he discovered that it was
wounded in one of the forward legs, which hung helplessly down. But
the wound, instead of disabling or intimidating, only inflamed the
ferocity of the creature. It made repeated attempts to jump upon its
foe, which, in spite of the crippled condition of its leg and the loss
of blood, Arundel found it difficult to elude. Active as he was, and
though he succeeded occasionally in inflicting with his hunting-knife
a wound upon the beast, he soon began to suspect that, notwithstanding
he had thus far escaped with some inconsiderable scratches, the powers
of endurance of the formidable forest denizen were likely to exceed
his own. The combat had lasted some time, when, as the young man
endeavored to avoid the leap of the panther by jumping to one side,
his feet struck against some obstacle and he fell upon his back. In an
instant the enraged beast, bleeding from its many wounds, was upon his
prostrate person, and his destruction appeared inevitable. With a
desperate effort, he struck with the hunting-knife at the panther, who
caught it in its mouth, the blade passing between its jaws and
inflicting a slight wound at the sides, so slight as not to be felt,
and stood with its unhurt paw upon his breast, powerless to do
mischief with the other, and glaring with eyes of flame upon its
victim. At the instant when the panther, shaking the knife out of its
mouth, was about to gripe, with open jaws, the throat of the young
man, it suddenly bounded with a cry into the air, almost crushing the
breath out of the body of its antagonist, and giving him an
opportunity to rise. When Arundel stood upon his feet, he beheld the
panther in the agonies of death--an arrow sticking in one eye and an
Indian striking it with a tomahawk upon the head, for which great
agility and quickness were necessary in order to avoid the paw and
teeth of the creature in its dying struggles. These soon became less
violent, until, with a shudder, the limbs relaxed, and it lay
motionless and harmless,

Arundel now advanced to thank for his timely succor the Indian, who
stood quite still looking at him. He was apparently less than thirty
years of age, tall and well formed, with a countenance expressive of
nobleness and generosity. His attire consisted only of breech-cloth
and leggins, with no covering for the upper part of his person--a garb
offering fewest obstructions to his movements through the forest. In
his hand he held a bow; a quiver full of arrows was slung across his
back; the tomahawk was returned to the girdle around his loins, and a
knife hung by a deer-sinew from his neck.

"The arrow was well aimed," said Arundel, "that saved my life. How can
I thank my brother?" "Waqua is satisfied," replied the Indian, in very
imperfect English, which we shall not attempt to imitate.

"You are my preserver," said Arundel, "and shall not find the white
man ungrateful."

"Enough," answered the Indian. "Let wild beasts find some other food
than men."

"It was a strong hand as well as true aim that sent this arrow," said
the young man, drawing the shaft out of the animal's brain, in which
the barbed point, coming off, remained behind, "and I must furnish you
at least another arrow."

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

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

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

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

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

"Is my brother's lodge distant?"

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VIII.

  "Absit, quoth the doctor."

  DON QUIXOTE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER IX.

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

  THOMSON'S SEASONS.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER X.

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

  MARMION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before the young man could reply, Eveline interposed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Waqua will do no harm to his brother."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XI.

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

  SHAKESPEARE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Waqua is not thirsty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XII.

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

  SPRAGUE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Show me the way."

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XIII.

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

  HALLECK.


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

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

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

"What will the chief do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As thou wilt. I have my dagger."

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

"In all things, save deserting thee."

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XIV.

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

  SHAKSPEARE.


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

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

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

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

The Knight's reply was more courteous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What means that?" said the Deputy Governor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XV.

  There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.

  CHILDE HAROLD.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XVI.

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

  MARMION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do ye see now, my hearties," cried the gratified Captain, "the
ignorant beggar understands me after all. I mistrusted, from the
beginning, that he was only playing 'possum, as they say down in
Virginny. For look ye, ye lubbers, it would be strange if a man who
has been buen' camarada with the Spaniard, and guter Gesell with the
Dutchman, and parleywood with Mounseer, and made the weight of his
ship in gold for his owners, out of these here salvages, shouldn't be
able to speak their gibberish. It's not so hard after all, do ye see,
when one gets the weather guage of it. But here, some o' ye, gallivant
the red skins up to the Governor, (a good enough fellow in his way, I
dare say, if he were not so d----d hard on drinking healths,) with my
compliments, with the compliments of Capt. Sparhawk, (do ye hear?) and
let him know how they drifted ashore. And hark ye, if he should be
inclined to a little agreeable conversation with the tanned hides,
just let him send me an invitation, and I shall be happy to officiate
as interpreter. Heave ahead, Bill Pantry, and take command of the
squad. You've been long enough under my command to know how to do the
honors in a gentlemanly way."

Accordingly Bill Pantry, in obedience to the Orders of his Captain,
which seemed to the bystanders the most sensible suggestion, took
possession of the Indians, and escorted them to the Governor's house.

It so happened, by an accident, that the invaluable services of Capt.
Sparhawk, as a linguist, were not needed on the occasion, for upon the
strangers being announced by one of the soldiers on guard at the door,
the Knight of the Golden Melice was found to be with Winthrop.

As the Indians entered the room, Winthrop rose, and with great
urbanity, offered his hand to him who appeared to be the principal. To
his astonishment, however, the Taranteen extended not his own.

"How is this?" exclaimed Winthrop. "Is this intentional discourtesy,
or are ye ignorant of the customs of the English?"

Hereupon the principal Indian uttered a sentence or two,
unintelligible to Winthrop.

"Thou dost understand the language of the Taranteens, Sir
Christopher," he said. "May it please you, who are so happily here, to
explain his meaning?"

"He says," replied the Knight, "that he has been sent as a messenger
by his nation, and that he hopes you will respect his character."

"Surely," said Winthrop. "How could he imagine the contrary? Who can
impeach our faith?"

"You forget," said the Knight, "what suspicions must have been
engendered by the unhappy termination of the late embassy."

"It will be difficult to persuade me," said Winthrop, "that it was
other than a broil, wherein our people had no part. I cannot be
deceived," continued he, waving his hand, observing that Sir
Christopher was about to reply, "by the cunning stratagem resorted to,
for the purpose of averting suspicion. But a truce with this. Say to
him he is as safe as his child, if he has one, in his wigwam. What
says he now?" he inquired, after the Knight had interpreted his words,
and the Indian replied.

"He asks where are the four companions of Pieskaret."

"Tell him I know not, but suppose they have either returned to their
homes, or been destroyed by hostile Indians."

When this was explained, the stately savage sadly smiled, and shook
his head. He then spoke again.

"He says," answered the Knight, to the look of Winthrop, "that it is
not the custom of Taranteen ambassadors to run away, and that they
know how to protect themselves from the Aberginians."

"I protest," said Winthrop, "that, however different my own opinion, I
do half believe that these blinded savages in fact imagine their
tribes-men were murdered by the whites. To be deplored is it that such
an opinion should get footing among them, staining as it doth our good
name and pregnant with many possible evils. Assure him, Sir
Christopher, of my grief at what has happened; of my sincere desire to
discover how Pieskaret lost his life; of what has become of his
missing people; and of my readiness, if it can be shown that an
Englishman has in anywise connection therewith, to render to the
Taranteens perfect satisfaction."

The Indian listened to all this with the deepest attention as it was
explained to him, and then replied:

"Pieskaret is gone, and his kindred will see him no more The eyes of
his wife are swollen with weeping, and his children, like little birds
in the nest, open their mouths for food; but Pieskaret comes not to
fill them. His feet were like those of a deer, and his voice like the
shouting of the great salt lake on the rocks. Woe is me, for I shall
see my brother no more. But he is glad on the happy hunting grounds of
brave warriors. It is well with him: we know where he is, but we know
not where are our brothers who were with Pieskaret. We know that the
English love slaves, and we fear that they have made slaves of our
brothers. We will turn away our eyes from the widow of Pieskaret and
his little children, and will stop our ears so that we cannot hear
their crying, and forget the fate of Pieskaret, if the white chief
will return our brothers."

"Alas! unhappy that I am," said Winthrop, "that this new suspicion
should fill the minds of the savages. Assure him, upon my faith as a
Christian--upon my honor as a gentleman--make the asseveration as
solemn as thou canst--that he suspects us falsely."

But the grave chief abandoned not the idea. With eyes searching the
countenance of the Governor, he said:

"The Taranteens will give many belts of wampompeag and will heap up
their canoes with skins for Owanux, as a ransom for their tribes-men."

"Tell him," said Winthrop, "that, overlooking the insult of doubting
my word, if they were to give me belts of wampompeag extending from
here to the sun, and skins to cover the ground from Shawmut to his
country, I could not restore his tribes-men, for I know nought of
them."

"When my brothers came to visit the white chief, they placed
themselves in his keeping and feared not the darkness, for they knew
that he was very powerful. They slept like a pappoose on its mother's
bosom."

"I understand," replied Winthrop, "thou wouldst make me responsible in
particular for the misfortune of thy friends; but my conscience
reproaches me not If they are dead, it is probably in consequence of
their own default; and, I repeat, I believe not that an Englishman had
a hand in their destruction."

Here the Taranteen, who acted as spokesman, turning to his companion,
uttered a sentence; whereupon the other, feeling in the folds of his
deer skin robe, produced a pipe, the bowl of which was made of a
reddish clay, into which was inserted, for a stem, a reed beautifully
ornamented with black and white shells, and bright colored feathers of
various birds. This the orator received from the hands of his
follower, and again addressed the Governor:

"The Taranteens are a great nation, and they love peace. It pleases
them to see the smoke as it ascends from the calumet. It is more
beautiful to their eyes than the white summer clouds which protect
them from the heat of the sun. They would be glad to smoke with
Owanux, but they cannot do it now, because should they attempt it, the
blood of Pieskaret would put out the fire and the groans of his four
brothers would agitate us so that the pipe would fall from our hands.
I want the white chief to strengthen our hands, so that we can hold
the calumet firmly, and perhaps that will satisfy Pieskaret too."

"I understand him," said Winthrop, after the Knight had interpreted,
"but let him proceed."

"If the white chief will deliver to us the murderers of Pieskaret, and
release our brothers from slavery," said the Taranteen, slowly and
impressively, "it is well, and we will smoke with Owanux and forget
what has happened; but if he will not,"--and here his voice sounded
like the growl of a bear, as, putting his hand into his bosom, he took
out a small package and handed it to Winthrop,--"we speak to the
white chief thus:"

The Governor received the package, and saw that it consisted of a
tomahawk in the centre, around which were placed several small arrows
tipped with a red dye, and tied together with the stuffed skin of a
rattle-snake, the rattles of which sounded as he took the ominous
present into his hand. He waited composedly until the Knight had
explained the words, though he comprehended at once the meaning of the
savage, and then answered:

"If the Taranteens are a great nation, they are a nation of fools,
else why do they not listen to my words? I tell thee a white English
chief cannot lie; the Great Spirit will not permit a Christian chief
to lie. In vain have I asserted our innocence in this matter; in vain
have I expressed sorrow, and humiliated myself to thy reproaches. But
the English know how to treat those who, faithless themselves, believe
not in the faith of others. Behold!"

Winthrop drew his rapier, and cut the snake skin so that the tomahawk
and arrows fell apart. Placing the skin upon a table, he next took up
the arrows, and, breaking several at a time, let the pieces drop at
his feet. Then seizing the tomahawk, he dashed it with such violence
on the hearth of the fire-place, that the handle flew off and the
stone head was broken. Lastly, taking down from a nail in the wall
whereon they hung, a powder-horn and pouch of bullets, he filled the
skin with powder and ball, and held it out to the Taranteen.

"Return now to thy people," he said, looking at the Indian with a
stern aspect, "and tell them what thou hast seen and heard. Tell them
that, though the English love peace, they fear not war. Tell them that
we have never wronged the Taranteens by word or deed, nor is it our
intention now to punish them for their injurious suspicions. But tell
them, also that, as I have broken their arrows and dashed their
war-axe, in pieces, so will I serve them, if the north-wind brings to
my ears a whisper of evil designs from them. And as I have stuffed the
snake skin with powder and ball, so will I fill their bodies with the
same. Return."

As Winthrop uttered these words with a firm voice and imposing
manner--words so explained by his actions that they needed no
interpretation--he was confronted by the Taranteen with a dignity
equal to his own. The demeanor of the savage was as calm as if he were
smoking a pipe in his wigwam. He quietly followed every motion with
his eyes, listened with all attention, as if he understood what was
said, and, when Winthrop had concluded, took the loaded skin and
handed it to his follower. The inferior Indian shrunk as he received
the portentous powder and shot in their strange envelope, but whatever
apprehensions he felt, he succeeded in conquering them, taking care
however to hold the missive at a little distance from his person.

"Tender now our hospitality," said Winthrop to the Knight, "so long as
they remain among us."

"But the Taranteens showed no disposition to accept the offer.
Something was growled by the principal one, which Sir Christopher
interpreted to intimate a desire to depart.

"Be it so," replied Winthrop. "Moulton," he added, calling a soldier,
"take with you Gamlyn, and escort these savages with all civility to
their canoes. And should they desire anything to promote the comfort
of their return, let it be furnished and placed to my account."

The orders of the Governor were explained to the Indians by the
Knight, and they left the room in the care of the soldiers.

"Sir Christopher," said Winthrop, on their departure, "this is a
miserable coil. Now will these misguided savages, instigated I doubt
not by the emissaries of Rome, soon be yelling upon our borders, and
seeking to imbrue their hands in our blood. Were we dealing only with
the natives, there might be some hope of soothing their ferocity and
averting an outbreak of their insane rage; but nothing can be done
with the Jesuit--more subtle than the serpent, more fell than the
Hyrcanian tiger."

"Have the disciples of Loyola penetrated to this fierce tribe?"
inquired Sir Christopher.

"Art thou ignorant that the cunning father Le Jeune, the daring
Brebeuf, and I know not what instigators of mischief besides, are said
to be among them? Pity is it truly that so much learning and so great
zeal should be expended in so bad a cause."

"It was known before I left England that these men had made some
little progress among the natives in Southern America, where gold and
silver abound; but who would have looked for them in these colder and
comparatively inhospitable regions? May there not be some error in
this matter, and our fears of the dreaded Order have converted
interested and malignant traders into members of the so-styled Company
of Jesus?"

"It may be so, for our information is not so accurate as I wish; but
this we do know, that a strange activity hath of late manifested
itself in the movements of these foul conspirators, against
uncorrupted Christianity the world over; and only a short time since
was it that godly Mr. Eliot discovered, on the neck of a squaw, one of
their brass idols made into the image of the Crucified, which, in
righteous indignation, he took away from the woman. Deluded and
deluding, alas, if they have found their way into this land!"

"It is not necessary to suppose the presence of any member of the
Company of Jesus, in order to account for the image on the neck of the
Indian woman. The French traders are Catholics, and one of them might
have given it to her."

"True; yet doth my jealous mind connect these men with every
perversion and corruption of Gospel truth. They are at this moment as
well the plotting mind as the executing arm of the rotten Church of
Rome. The spirit of Loyola would seem lately to have left Hades, to
animate his followers upon earth. Be sure, Sir Christopher, that where
error and mischief are, there is the Jesuit."

"It is ever a consolation," said the Knight, devoutly, "and in
especial in these troublous times, that the Founder of the Church hath
promised to be with her to the end of the world, and that the gates of
hell shall not prevail against her."

"If they have stolen among the innocent natives to intercept that
knowledge of divine truth which it is our purpose to impart, we will,
by God's grace, defeat their designs and bring to naught their
inventions. In this Christian work it may be my desire to engage your
services, Sir Christopher."

"It needs not that I should make protestations of zeal, or offers of
my poor self; yet do my feelings prompt me to say that my badge 'the
honey-bee,' is not more diligent in collecting his precious store than
I will be in such a cause."

"Then expect to have thy zeal and courage put to the test. Should I
request thee to visit the Taranteens in their own country, what would
be thy reply?"

The Knight paused, as if the question was of importance sufficient to
require consideration, so long, indeed, that Winthrop thought it
proper to resume.

"I know," he said, "that it is a service not unattended with danger;
yet did danger never frighten a noble soul, but doth ever act as an
incentive. There is no one save thyself well acquainted with the
tongue of these savages, (Mr. Eliot's knowledge thereof, I observe, is
imperfect, and he is in other respects but poorly qualified for the
enterprise), and who would be able to make the impression upon them
and obtain the information which I desire."

"Disclose more perfectly your wishes, right worshipful sir," said Sir
Christopher.

"I call thee to a danger which, possessed I thy marvellous skill in
languages, I myself would meet. I will unbosom myself. The thought of
a conflict with the Taranteens distresses me. It can result only in
ruin to them and injury to the budding prospects of our colony. Our
interest is peace. We want trade with the natives. We want their
confidence. Without the latter there can be no trade, neither can we
counteract the plots of our enemies, nor find opportunity to introduce
the Gospel among them. The mysterious calamity which befel the embassy
hath sadly shaken my expectations; but I am unwilling to abandon the
field. What means are in my power I will apply to restore a good
understanding. Moreover, I would be more fully assured of the truth or
falsehood of the reports that there are Jesuits among the Taranteens.
Where is the man more competent to take upon himself this important
trust--one which hath for its object to prevent effusion of blood--to
detect the traitorous plots of a wily and deadly foe, and to advance
the cause of unadulterated religion, than thyself?"

The Knight bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, but said
nothing.

"I seem to see the finger of God displayed," continued Winthrop. "For
this very purpose wert thou sent among us; yet, noble sir,
notwithstanding the importance of the object to be attained and the
honor to accrue to him who shall secure them for us, let me not urge
thee unreasonably. Seest thou imminent danger in the enterprise,
undertake it not. I pray thee, without regarding aught that I have
said, to act according to thy better judgment."

"It was through no apprehension of peril that I was silent," said the
Knight. "Danger and I have been too long acquainted to distrust one
another. I did but turn over in my mind the proper means to accomplish
your designs. I place myself at your disposal, and am only rejoiced
that (lamenting the occasion) I can be employed in any manner to
advance a good work."

"Heartily I thank thee, Sir Christopher, for the cheerful tender of
thy service, though it was only what was to be expected from a man of
thy chivalric temper. I will take this thing into further
consideration, and will shortly acquaint thee with my conclusion."

"And, meanwhile, I will prepare myself to fulfil the wishes of your
worship," answered the Knight, preparing to take leave.

"Commend me," said Winthrop, "to the friendly thoughts of Lady
Geraldine, with sincerest hopes that the peace which surpasseth
understanding may nestle into her heart to chase away her melancholy,
and may her steps be guided unto the true fold, where only safety is
to be found."

"With many thanks," returned the Knight, "I seek my hermitage in the
woods."



CHAPTER XVII.

  "A something light as air--a look--
    A word unkind, or wrongly taken--
  Oh, love! that tempest never shook,
    A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken."

  MOORE.


Sir Christopher, on leaving the Governor, proceeded in the direction
of the hostelry, where he had left his horse; and on his way was
greeted with one of those sights to be seen only in this strange
commonwealth. It was a woman in the stocks, being no other than an old
acquaintance, Dame Bars, the wife of the jailer. The good woman
possessed a kind heart, but she was not perfection. She had a weakness
for a pot of ale; and, if justice had in anywise been done to the
proportion of malt therein, it was very apt to make her eloquent to an
extraordinary degree. On these occasions, feeling herself to be
clearly in the right, she found it difficult to endure contradiction,
considering it excessively unreasonable and rude, and expressing her
sentiments thereupon with great freedom. In one of these moods, she
had been overheard by Master Prout, in a colloquy with one of her
gossips, contrasting the "wearyful and forlorn" condition of women in
the colony with the merry times she used to have in England; and upon
her friend suggesting a few words in favor of the change, bursting out
with sundry epithets more sounding than musical, and more energetic
than complimentary.

We will not pretend to say whether Master Prout was more scandalized
by the sentiment of dissatisfaction at the colony, or by there
proaches lavished on the other goody, who, indeed, to do her justice,
was not slow in the use of that formidable weapon wherewith Nature, as
if to make amends for physical weakness, has armed the lovelier sex.
It may be that both combined roused his righteous indignation, in
consequence whereof Dame Bars had to expiate the sins of her tongue by
silencing its eloquence in a cleft stick, and cooling her heels in the
stocks.

But the appearance of the poor woman was now anything but belligerent.
So far from manifesting a refractory disposition, her face was covered
with her hands, and tears of shame and mortification were stealing
through the fingers. Her husband was standing by her side, and
endeavoring to comfort her, while Master Prout, with his long staff,
was threatening some idle school-boys, who, with the mischief natural
to their age, were showing an inclination to proceed to extremities
against the captive, which was not approved by the grave _custode_ of
order.

As the Knight drew nigh, a feeling of pity was excited in him, and he
stopped, and addressed some words to the officer of the law.

"I am unwilling," said Master Prout, in reply, "to refuse any thing to
a gentleman so highly esteemed by the Governor, as yourself, Sir
Christopher, and therefore will I release the woman; but truly was it
my intention to detain her an hour or two longer, in order that she
might have time for serious and profitable reflection. Verily, as
saith James, in his epistle, the tongue can no man tame; it is an
unruly evil, full of deadly poison."

"Methinks then," said the Knight, smiling, "thou hast performed an
achievement which holy St. James himself might deem a miracle, for the
good dame's tongue is tame enough at present."

Master Prout's demure features ventured as near to a smile at the
jest, as his principles would permit, and then approaching the woman,
he unfastened the stocks, and allowed her to withdraw the imprisoned
members.

"Good woman," he said, "thank this noble Knight for thy deliverance,
and may this be the last time that these wooden bars shall contract a
friendship for thee."

So spoke Master Prout, with a twinkle of the eye at the Knight, on
account of the good thing which he fancied he had said, and the woman
lost no time in extricating herself from durance. Her face was
crimsoned with blushes; she dropped a curtsey to the Knight, and
hurried off with her husband.

"Master Prout," said the Knight, as he turned away, "accept my thanks
for the courtesy, and believe me that thou hast made me so much thy
friend, thou hast only to express a wish, and if it is in my power it
shall be granted."

On arriving at the inn, Sir Christopher ordered immediately his horse,
and mounting, rode homeward. At a slow pace he proceeded through the
streets, and allowed the animal, with the rein lying loose upon his
neck, to follow the winding path in the forest. No adventure befel him
on his solitary ride, and in due time he reached his home. He was met
by Philip Joy, to whom he delivered the horse.

"Is the Indian whom I left in thy charge safe?" he inquired.

"He is, Sir Christopher," answered the soldier.

"Sassacus has not seen him, I trust."

"No one has seen him but myself. I have faithfully followed your
orders, and kept him like a rat in a trap. He takes to eating and
sleeping prodigious kindly, and has shown no disposition to do any
thing else."

"It is natural he should do so, and you have acted with discretion."

With these words Sir Christopher entered the house, and straightway
proceeded to find the Indian. He was lying on the floor, apparently
asleep, but at the noise of the opening door, roused himself and sat
upright.

"How have my people treated Mesandowit in my absence?" inquired the
Knight.

"Well," answered the savage. "Mesandowit has eaten, and drank, and
slept, and is refreshed."

"Is he ready to return to his own country?"

"Mesandowit is ready."

"When the trees cast long shadows he shall return, and I will go a
little distance with him, lest he should meet the Aberginians."

"Good--and now Mesandowit will sleep." He stretched himself again upon
the skin, which served for a couch, probably not entirely rested after
the long and rapid journey he had made, and disposed himself to
slumber. The Knight, on leaving him, went to the door of the lady's
apartment, and gently rapped.

It was opened by the Indian girl, and he was immediately admitted.

"Celestina," said the Knight, looking first at her and then at her
little attendant, "I have something to say to thee."

"Neebin," said the lady, addressing the child, "may run about in the
woods a little while."

When the girl had departed, the Knight, seating himself at some
distance from the lady, opened the conversation.

"Celestina," he said, "there has been of late a want of that frankness
which characterized our intercourse at our arrival in this country,
and for some time thereafter. Will you not tell me the cause?"

"Sir Christopher," replied the lady, "a suspicious mind is ofttimes
deceived by its imaginations. Wherein, pray, has been a change in my
conduct?"

"Nay. I know not that I can say, in this and in that thou hast not
trusted me, but I feel that it is so."

"Look into thyself, Sir Christopher, and there wilt thou find the
cause. The outer world is but a reflection of the inner."

"I protest, Celestina, I am not altered. Thou art to me as ever, my
trusty and valued associate, bound to me by ties of peculiar
significancy, and as sacred as those which commonly unite man and
woman.

"It is my dearest wish that thou shouldst feel the full force of the
obligation they impose on thee."

"Do I not?" Have I not labored with untiring diligence to promote the
end we both have in view? Wherein have I failed? Point out the error,
and I will correct it."

"I do not presume to be so bold. The masculine energy of Sir
Christopher Gardiner is not to be guided by a woman."

"Alas! Celestina," said the Knight, with some feeling, "were we not
joined in this holy enterprise because it was supposed the fulness of
the one might supply the deficiency of the other? O, turn not away so
coldly."

"My warm devotion, my active zeal, shall never be wanting to the work
whereunto we are pledged; and if any feeling hath arisen inconsistent
with the harmony that should unite us, I am not sensible that it
springs from any fault of mine. But you exaggerate," she added,
smiling, "my momentary sadness into unnecessary importance--a sadness
wherewith thou mayst have no connection."

"Thou canst not deceive me, Celestina. I have profited little by the
lessons of this world, and feeling was given me in vain, were I
incapable of noticing the change in thee. There was a time when thy
spirit, like a musical string in accord with another, vibrated in
harmony with mine--but it is no longer so."

"Thou art importunate, Sir Christopher. Wilt thou not believe what I
say?"

"Pardon me if I am over urgent, and ascribe it to the value I attach
to my lost treasure. It sweetened the solitude of exile, and made me
almost forget the attractions of stirring Europe. But thou dost not,
and canst not deny my complaint."

"Is there not enough in the circumstances wherein I am placed, to
agitate the timid heart of a woman, and account for her unreasonable
caprices? Why persist in connecting them with thyself as the cause?"

"This is not the first time that I have vainly endeavored to discover
wherein I have offended, that by the humiliation of myself, or by any
other means, I might restore the unison that before existed between
us. I conjure thee, Celestina," he said, approaching and taking her
hand into one of his, while with the other he drew back a curtain on
the wall, which, on being withdrawn, exposed to view the carved figure
of Christ extended on the cross, "by the Captain of our faith, whose
soldiers we are, to put away this estrangement, which if it does not
defeat, may hazard and retard our mutual plans."

The lady withdrew not her hand, but allowing it to remain in his,
stood up. She bowed her head before the crucifix, and murmured--_Domino
Jesu speravi in te_. Turning then to the Knight she said--

"Sir Christopher, look upon that sorrowful face, and that drooping
head, bleeding under the points of the accursed thorns. Thy sins and
mine gave them their sharpness. Gaze upon the hideous nails that
pierce those blessed hands and feet, and upon the blood trickling from
that divine side, and say, canst thou be untrue to him?"

"Woman! Celestina! what meanest thou? Why this solemn adjuration?"

"Thou wert dedicated to a service," she continued, her pale face
flushing with enthusiasm, "to which nobles and kings, the proudest and
noblest of earth, might aspire. Do thy devoir, and incalculable will
be thy reward; fail therein, and the doom of Judas were heaven to thy
fate."

"Thou art mad, Celestina. Some dreadful delusion hath blinded thy
understanding. Hear me now"--and he bent down and kissed the feet of
the image of the Saviour, and then raising his head fixed his eyes
upon it--"per adventum tuum, per nativitatem tuam, per baptismum et
sanctum jejunium tuum, per crucem et passionem tuam, per mortem et
sepulturam tuam, per sanctam resurrectionem tuam, et per admirabilem
ascensionem tuam--I am guilty, truly, of weakness and ignorance, and
unintentional sin, but not of want of faithfulness to that whereunto
thou hast called me."

"Sir Christopher! Oh! Sir Christopher," cried the lady, falling at his
feet, "Wherefore, when I besought thee before to explain thy conduct,
did you treat me so slightingly? Wherefore ever refuse to satisfy my
questions?"

"Because I considered them unworthy of thee and me; because I regarded
them as the petulance of a passing feminine curiosity; because I knew
not how serious was thy desire?

"_Deus adjuva me!_" sobbed the lady.

"Rise, my sister," said the Knight, assisting her to a seat.
"Henceforth let no distrust exist between us, and, that it may be so,
inquire, and I will answer as at the confessional."

Of the conversation which ensued we shall give no account, save that,
at its conclusion, tears were flowing plentifully from the eyes of the
lady, while the Knight seemed puzzled at her extraordinary emotion.

"Celestina," he said, "thou art moved beyond what thy venial fault
requires. Forgive thyself as freely as I forgive thee."

"Thou knowest not all my sin," she answered, "nor dare I trust it to
the air, lest my own words should strike me dead. _Sancta Maria, ora
pro nobis!_"

When the Knight left the room, she fell upon her knees before the
crucifix and buried her face in her hands. She remained in this
position for perhaps a quarter of an hour, during which time only an
occasional sob escaped her, and then rising, passed into an inner
chamber.

As for Sir Christopher, neither did he make his appearance until late
in the afternoon, when he emerged from the house in the company of the
soldier Joy and the Indian, whom he called Mesandowit. The course they
took was in a northerly direction, and as they proceeded, the Knight
was engaged in earnest conversation with the Indian. In this manner
they went on long after the sun had set, even until the position of
the stars announced that the hour of midnight was at hand. There must
have been some danger to the savage feared by the Knight to induce him
to lend his escort thus far. But they met nothing to excite
apprehension. Silence reigned throughout the unviolated forest,
unbroken save by the cry of a night bird, or the stealthy step of some
wild beast stealing through the thickets, or the cracking of dry
branches under their own feet, or their murmured conversation. It was
at least six hours since they left the house of the Knight, and the
distance passed over could not be less than eighteen or twenty miles.
The three stopped, and, before parting, it seemed that the Knight was
desirous of impressing more strongly on the mind of his red companion
something which he had already been urging.

"Has what I have said sunk into the ears of Mesandowit?" he asked.

"It has sunk very deep, even as a stone when it falls into the great
salt lake."

"Will he remember the place?"

"He will remember it. Mesandowit once took two scalps there."

Self-possessed as in general was Sir Christopher, the reply startled
him; but the association in the mind of the savage was too obvious to
excite alarm long, and it was without feeling any he replied. He
thought proper, however, to remind the Indian of the friendly relation
he stood in to his tribe and of the favor he had done them.

"The Sagamore and his Paniese," he said, "who brought the defiance of
the Taranteens to the English, have returned safe to their people. Let
not the Taranteens forget when I come to visit them that they spoke
through my mouth, and that I stood between them and the anger of
sachem Winthrop."

The Taranteens never forget. Mesandowit will tell them how Soog-u-gest
flew to Shawmut, when Mesandowit, of the swift foot, brought a message
from the sachems of the Taranteens, that they desired him to take care
of the two warriors who brought the red arrows tied up with a snake
skin as a present to Owanux. The Taranteens are a great people and
forget not a benefit."

"I am unable to fix the exact time;" said the Knight; "but the young
moon that looks now like the eye brow of Mesandowit, will probably not
be round before we shall meet again."

They parted at these words, and while Sir Christopher and Philip
turned their faces homeward, the Taranteen pursued the same direction
in which they had been traveling. Fatigued with the distance they had
come, it was now with a more leisurely pace the two proceeded, and,
walking for the most part in silence, the sun had risen before they
reached home.



CHAPTER XVIII.

  When shaws beene sheene and shrads full fayre,
    And leaves both large and longe,
  Itt is merrye walking in the faire forrest,
    To hear the small birdes songe.

  BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.


The project of Governor Winthrop of sending an embassy to the
Taranteens met with general favor among his councillors. All agreed
that war with the ferocious savages was, if possible, to be avoided
under any circumstances, but especially now when the English must
appear to the natives to be stained with the crime of a dastardly
breach of faith and murder unparalleled in atrocity. The conduct of
Winthrop in returning a bold defiance to their threats, was also
approved, (for in treating with them, an exhibition of a want of
confidence would be considered a confession of weakness, and only
serve to precipitate the calamity to be avoided,) but it complicated
the difficulty, if that were possible, and embarrassed any attempt at
reconciliation. The Taranteens were felt to occupy a position of great
advantage, and likely to attract the sympathy of the Indians
generally, and even to unite tribes before hostile to one another
against the perfidious Owanux. To the Taranteens no blame could be
attached. They had been guilty of no breach of faith; they had acted
like brave and honorable men. Even after the outrage upon them they
had respected their wild code of honor, nor would commence
hostilities, until like the snake, whose warning rattles they sent,
they had apprised the enemy of their intention. But the challenge had
been given and accepted, and a state of war initiated. Soon might
their war-parties be expected to fill the forests, cutting off
stragglers and attacking any bodies of men which they should deem
inferior in strength to their own. Hence the danger of traveling in
the woods, and especially of attempting to penetrate into that remote
region, the habitation of the hostile tribe, was greatly increased.
Where was the man daring enough to encounter the peril unless
supported by a military force, which would give the embassy more the
appearance of a foray than of a tender of peace? Such an armed band
would only invite attack. Besides it was inconvenient, and indeed of
the highest detriment to the colony, to take off so many able-bodied
men as would be necessary for the purpose, from the cultivation of the
fields, and those other industrial pursuits upon which the existence
of the colonists depended, even though they should all return safe to
their homes--a result by no means to be expected.

When, therefore, Winthrop suggested Sir Christopher Gardiner as a
proper person, from his familiarity with the habits of the natives,
and his knowledge of their language, to undertake the enterprise, it
is no wonder that the proposition was favorably received. All felt it
to be a service of danger; it was highly desirable that it should be
attempted; no one was so well fitted for it as the Knight; and were
the effort at reconciliation to terminate fatally, the loss of no one
would be less regretted by several of the Assistants. For there were
among them some who were no friends of the Knight, and would gladly
have had him out of the colony; either not liking his intimacy with
the natives, or suspicious of the circumstance, that, although he had
offered to unite himself with the congregation, he had, somehow or
other, never done so, either in consequence of doubts entertained
respecting the soundness of his faith, or some unknown cause. This
feeling was heightened by a jealousy of the favor enjoyed by the
Knight with Winthrop--a favor which, some declared, warped the better
judgment of the Governor. In proof of this, they pointed to the
remission (at the intercession of Sir Christopher) of a part of the
punishment of one Ratcliffe, who had incurred the vengeance of the
law, and also of the indulgence shown to Philip Joy. At the head of
these malcontents was the Assistant Spikeman--one who, by his evil
propensities and incapacity to appreciate the noble sentiments of
Winthrop, stood to him in a certain relation of hostility. For there
is no law more prevailing than that evil hates good, compelled thereto
by the very constitution of its nature. Indeed, it is evil by reason
of that hatred; when that ceases, evil ceases also.

By no one was the proposal to entrust the business to Sir Christopher,
if he would accept it--for the cautious Winthrop did not allude to the
understanding betwixt himself and the Knight--received with more favor
than by Spikeman. He was eloquent in praise of the qualifications of
the proposed envoy, and derided the danger, expressing a conviction
that it would be easy for him, if he chose, to restore peaceable
relations. The qualification in the speech of the Assistant was
noticed by Winthrop, and he intimated astonishment at the suspicion,
and wonder at the willingness of one who felt it, to entrust the
commission in such hands. But the artful Spikeman easily extricated
himself from so slight a difficulty, alleging, as the cause of the
doubt, the want of that Christian bond on the part of the Knight,
without which no one could be entitled to the entire confidence due to
one in full communion.

When the Assistant left the Council, he debated with himself how, if
Sir Christopher accepted the service, he might join Arundel, and the
soldier Joy with him. Could he succeed, he considered that he would be
in a fair way to rid himself at once of three persons who interfered
with his designs. The heat of his animosity was directed indeed
principally against Arundel and Joy, the Knight coming in for a
portion as their favorer and abettor. But in the pursuit of an object,
no scruples of conscience ever interfered with the plans of Spikeman,
willing to involve alike friend and foe in one common destruction, if
so only his purposes could be accomplished. He calculated somewhat
upon the bold temper of Arundel, and also upon his regard for the
Knight, by whose side he doubted not the young man would be willing to
defy any danger to which the other would expose himself.

With this view he took care, by means of his spy, Ephraim Pike, to
acquaint Arundel with the honor intended for Sir Christopher. The
expedition was represented by Pike as a mere party of pleasure, and as
affording fine opportunities for observing the tribes in their native
haunts. The good sense of the young man, and the experience he already
had, taught him better than to regard it exactly in the light wherein
the spy exhibited it; but, though conscious that there must be danger,
in the excited condition of the Taranteens, he could not believe it to
be great, else neither would Winthrop ask such exposure of life, nor
would the Knight accept of the enterprise. As for what danger was to
be encountered, it rather stimulated than deterred in the desire to
partake of it, as the lion hunt has greater attractions for the hunter
than the chase of the deer. Some words dropped from Pike about the
woodcraft of Joy, and his bravery; but he dared not speak plainer for
fear of betraying himself.

The information of Pike, it seems, was not without effect, for early
on the morning of the following day, Arundel started for the
habitation of his friend, taking with him what he considered necessary
for a distant journey in the woods. The distance was passed over in a
couple of hours; but, early as it was, he found that a messenger had
anticipated him. This he discovered, as well from the language of the
Knight, who stood in the porch of his house with a letter in his hand,
as from the appearance of the man with whom he was conversing, whom
Arundel perceived was one of the soldiers who ordinarily mounted guard
before the door of the Governor.

"This," said the Knight, handing the letter to the messenger, "to
Governor Winthrop, and a fair return to thyself."

The man took the letter, and, after making the military salute of the
period, turned on his way to Boston.

"Here has come," said Sir Christopher, after the usual greetings, "a
request from the Governor that I would undertake an embassy to the
Taranteens, to soothe their excited minds and prevent an outbreak."

"May I inquire what is your reply?" asked Arundel.

"How canst thou doubt? Surely, where honor and good deeds invite, no
true knight can turn back."

"I am to understand, then, that you have accepted the office of
mediator?"

"I have accepted the trust, hoping that good may grow out thereof."

"And when is it you purpose to depart?"

"Incontinently. The matter brooks no delay."

"Then have I a petition to prefer, which, I hope, will meet with the
same favor as the Governor's. Let me attend thee on this journey."

The suddenness of the request appeared to embarrass the Knight for an
instant; but it was only for an instant.

"Hast thou fully considered," he asked, "the perils whereunto thou
dost expose thy young life? What would be the condition of Eveline
Dunning shouldst thou never return?"

"My life is not more valuable than thine, and the situation of Eveline
would be no worse than that of thine own relative."

"Aye, but consider the difference in our positions. Glory, duty,
summon me irresistibly; whereas, thou hast no calling other than
curiosity."

"Say not so," exclaimed the young man, with feeling. "I will not deny
the motive assigned; but believe me there are others, whereof you
would not disapprove."

"May I know them?"

"Needs it that I should say how greatly I admire thee; how gladly I
would follow in thy knightly footsteps; how any peril would be
welcome, if partaken with thee?"

Sir Christopher turned away. "I did not think," he said to himself,
"his affection was so great."

"Master Arundel," he replied, walking back, "I do prize thy friendship
more than precious jewels; but I were untrue to that love, should I
expose thee to danger. For myself, I were a recreant, and no knight,
could I, because of danger, refuse to obey a call to benefit my
fellow-men; but, for thee, it is a reckless and unneeded temptation of
peril. Deem me not unkind, but think it is my love and anxiety that
speak in your behalf."

"It is the first request I have made to thee," said Arundel, "and, if
refused, it shall be the last. I shall be compelled to believe you
consider me unworthy of your friendship, too effeminate to bear a walk
of a few days in the forest, and unreliable in the hour of trial."

The voice of the young man trembled, and his whole manner betrayed his
wounded feelings.

"Hear me, my young friend," urged the Knight; "hast thou well weighed
the terrors thou wouldst seek? It is not merely death thou dost defy;
but, holy Mary, holy angels, what a death! Canst thou endure to have
thy tender flesh pierced with splintered sticks; thine eyes torn from
the sockets; the flames greedily dashing over thy head, and licking
up, as with the forked tongues of serpents, thy blood, hissing as it
drops upon the glowing brands? And this for the poor satisfaction of
being with me; for thou canst not afford protection, should the
Indians attempt outrage. Alas! how bitterly would the sorrow of my own
fate be enhanced by the consciousness of thine!"

"I have considered all these things, and they move me not. I admit the
possibilities of the painting, but no more. The conduct of the
Taranteens proves how high stands with them the point of honor and the
sacred estimate wherein they hold an embassy; else never would they
have ventured upon one like the second, after the unhappy termination
of the first. I partake not of thy fears."

"Then, if not with the unthinking heat of youth, but with thoughtful
deliberation, thou hast well weighed the matter, I will not deny thee,
and thou shalt visit with me these savages, if Providence spares our
lives to reach them. But I start this day, within a few hours; the
time is short; thou canst not be ready."

"I am ready. I came prepared, anticipating all things save thine
objections."

"Enter, then, my poor house, my dear young friend, and refresh
thyself," said Sir Christopher, leading the way.

The persistency of Arundel having thus wrung a consent from the
Knight, the subject was not again referred to by either of them; but
both considering the matter settled, addressed themselves to the
preparations remaining to be made. A small quantity of dried deer's
flesh, and corn parched and pounded, was packed up, sufficient, as was
supposed, to supply the wants of the travellers, should they be at any
time unfortunate in procuring game, upon which their chief reliance
rested. The guns were carefully cleaned, the locks seen to be in
order, and store of bullets and powder was provided. These
preparations being completed, refreshed with the noonday meal, Sir
Christopher called on Arundel to follow him. An Indian was to go with
them as far as it was judged safe for him to proceed into an enemy's
country. The journey it was calculated would require a week to
accomplish to the principal village of the Taranteens; so that,
allowing an equal length of time for coming back, and the necessary
delay among the Indians, a period of at least three weeks might be
expected to elapse before their return. The two white men, then,
habited in closely-fitting hunting garments, made of dressed
deer-skin, as pliable when dry as silk, their guns slung over their
shoulders, followed the Indian, dressed in native costume, with bow
and quiver, and carrying the provisions, and commenced their journey.

The first two days were unmarked by any incident. Their course lay
over the hills and through the valleys of the pleasant State of
Massachusetts, now blooming under the hand of culture, ornamented with
cities and villages, and supplying the world with the products of her
joyful and free industry; then, an interminable forest, roved by
fierce animals, and by red men scarcely less savage, divided into
tribes sparsely scattered, living in mutual distrust, incapable of
labor, supporting themselves by the uncertain issues of the chase,
already daunted by the whites, and perhaps dimly descrying the fate
that awaited them.

Crevecoeur, in the description of his journey in Upper Pennsylvania,
tells us how accurately the native sagacity of the wiser Indians could
discriminate between their own characteristics and those of the white
strangers, and foresee the consequences that must follow.

"Seest thou," said one of them, "that the whites subsist on grain,
while we depend on flesh; that the flesh requires more than thirty
moons to mature, and is often scarce; that each of those wonderful
grains which they deposit in the ground gives back more than a
hundredfold in return; that the meat whereon we subsist has four legs
to run away, while we have only two to catch it; and that the seeds
planted by the strangers remain and increase, and never run away? That
is the reason why they have so many children, and live longer than we
do. I say unto each one of you who will listen, that, before the
cedars of our village shall die of age, and the maple-trees of the
valley cease to yield sugar, that the race of the sowers of little
seeds will have exterminated the race of the flesh-eaters, provided
our hunters do not also resolve to sow."

Through the vast solitude, impressive by its silence and its
loneliness, guiding their course by day by the position of the sun and
the mosses on the trunks of the trees, and at night by the stars, the
three men pursued their way. On the afternoon of the third day, the
Knight, after a conversation with their guide, came to the conclusion
that it was better the Aberginian should return, as they had now
approached too nearly to the haunts of the Taranteens to suppose that
they should long remain undiscovered. Accordingly, the Indian took his
departure, leaving to the white men all the dangers of a further
advance, and to find their way as best they might.



CHAPTER XIX.

  "Mery it was in the grene forest,
    Amonge the leves grene;
  Whereas men hunt east and west,
    Wyth bowes and arrowes kene."

  BALLAD OF ADAM BELL, "_Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly_".


As the Knight, with confident steps, led the way, Arundel expressed
surprise at the skill which he displayed.

"You forget that I may be said to be half an Indian myself," said Sir
Christopher, "and am therefore entitled to a knowledge of the woods. I
know not how many times I have accompanied the natives in their
distant hunting expeditions, and it would be strange if the experience
were thrown away."

"But surely you could never have penetrated so far in the direction of
this fierce tribe?"

"Farther, my young friend. I have wandered more than a week's journey
to every quarter of the compass from my lodge; and it is the knowledge
of the country thus derived, and intimacy with Indian character, that
inspire me with resolution in our enterprise. It might be considered a
perilous accomplishment," he added, with a smile, "since it
recommended me to the consideration of the Council, to whom, moreover,
the life of one not of the congregation is of less value."

The Knight had never before shown a disposition to be so
communicative. Perhaps the isolation of the two from the world, and
the devotion which Arundel had manifested, heightened his feeling of
regard, and drew out his confidence. The young man's interest in the
conversation increased, and he said:

"Surely, you would not impute to the Governor, or to a majority of his
counsellors, a design to expose you to probable destruction.
Unutterable baseness were therein."

"I said not so. I pray thee, Master Arundel, to attach no such
construction to my words; you would thereby do foul wrong to my
thoughts. Nay, I thank the Governor for honoring me with the
commission, and doubt not that he acted only in obedience to a higher
prompting than his own. I did but point to a feeling which thine
enlightenment must lament as much as mine, and which contracts
Christian love into very narrow and erroneous boundaries. Dost thou
understand me?"

"I think I do. You refer to the jealous retainer of power in the hands
of their Church."

"Of their Church, so called. Here are we, for example: we may desire,
with that natural longing whereby men are sometimes animated, to enter
into closer relations, and to bind ourselves by more intimate ties
with those around us, (oftentimes, I fear me, for purposes of worldly
advancement, as well as encouragement in holy living); and, lo! a very
slight difference of opinion--a sublety whereon a casuist shall batter
his brains for days in vain--shall build up a wall of exclusion,
especially if there be some within the enchanted circle who are
jealous of our influence and distrust their own."

"I doubt not you are right. My own observation partly confirms these
views, though I have been too short a time in the colony to form an
undistrusted opinion. My youth and inexperience admonish me to express
myself doubtfully; but I think myself safe in agreeing with you, that
this is scarcely the best way to establish that universal Church to
which the ambition of the Puritans aspires."

"Have a care, Master Arundel," said the Knight, laughing, and his
laugh rang out joyously through the forest, as if he were glad to
escape from restraint, and in strong contrast with the caution which
he recommended, "lest thy treason be carried by some bird to the
enthusiastic Endicott, or the stern Dudley, and thou be made to atone
for thy _lese majesté_."

"I bear them no ill will, and they know it. I am but a stranger among
them, seeking at their hands a jewel most unjustly detained, and
which, if given up, will hardly endanger the common weal. But, Sir
Christopher, explain your sentiments more perfectly on the point
whither our conversation converged."

"Master Arundel, I am a soldier, and no casuist, and, therefore,
hardly so well prepared to answer as good Mr. Eliot, or grave Mr.
Wilson; yet do thoughts on such subjects sometimes puzzle the brains
of a soldier in a steel helmet, as well as those of a teacher in a
Geneva cap; and, sworn brothers as we are, proving our affection by a
voluntary community of danger, I will not hesitate to avow my secret
reflections, knowing that they are safe in thy keeping. All Christians
must acknowledge Holy Scripture, when properly understood, as the
imperative rule of faith, without a belief of which there can be no
salvation. Now, in Scripture I do find the Church likened unto a net
let down into the sea, and when drawn up containing within itself a
diversity of fishes. This similitude teaches me that the Blessed
Founder of our religion did contemplate variety, and not that strict
and tame uniformity which would compel every curve into a straight
line, and make the Church more like a platoon of point device Spanish
soldiers than reasoning men variously organized."

"I have heard the text differently explained, to wit: that the Church
is thereby intended to be represented as a receptacle of all men,
without distinction of Jew or Gentile--of color, or of whatever
separates man from man."

"They who interpret it thus, do limit the Word of God, and make vain
the text itself. For, was it not designed that all should be brought
within one fold, that there might be one shepherd? Now, how may this
be done, if respect be not had to the prepossessions and prejudices of
mankind? See the infinite differences that prevail all through the
world. These it is the sacred prerogative of the Church to guide and
control--not violently tearing them up by the roots, but making them
subservient to her advancement."

"That, it seems to me, were little better than encouraging heathenism
under the forms of Christianity."

"Nay, it is more like the manoeuvre of a skilful helmsman, who, when
a flaw that may not be resisted strikes the sails of his ship, doth
not luff, and thereby increase the power of his enemy, and risk
destruction, but, by a gentle turn of the rudder, glides by the
danger, making its very violence facilitate his advance; or it may be
compared to the progress of a wise traveller, who, when he encounters
a steep hill, doth not always press straight forward, but, influenced
by its shape, sometimes turns aside and encircles its base, thereby
diminishing the labor and not increasing the distance."

"It doth look to me," said Arundel, "more like the crooked track of
the serpent, which cannot advance to its object without twisting its
body into contortions."

"And can anything be more graceful than its lovely curves? Doth not
Scripture in some manner commend the sagacious reptile, holding him up
to us as an example, and bidding us be wise even as serpents? The
children of Israel, moreover, when in the wilderness, were cured of
their wounds by merely looking at the brazen serpent, thereby
typifying the value of wisdom, whereof the snake is an emblem."

"You are more skilled in dialectic than I," said Arundel, laughing,
"and were I to hear you with shut eyes, I should think a monk's cowl
would fit your head better than a morion."

Sir Christopher stole a sharp, quick glance at his companion at these
words, but he could notice nothing in the youth's handsome features
save the light-heartedness of a happy spirit. He seemed to think it
necessary, however, to explain more perfectly the meaning of what he
had been saying.

"Harbor not the thought," he continued, "that I, in any wise, approve
the damnable doctrines which, by many zealous Protestants, are
ascribed to the Catholic Church, viz: that religion consists in the
mumbling of unmeaning forms and performance of unnecessary ceremonies;
in the gaudy decoration of temples with pictures and statues, which
some consider an incitement to devotion; in an entire abandonment of
the soul of the layman to the care of the priest, as if the laic
himself had no part in working out his salvation. As a good
Protestant, I am bound to condemn and anathematize these errors; but,
more distinctly, I hold that our Puritan brethren (to come back to the
point of departure) are over-strict and unwise in applying a
Procrustean measure in their discipline, and, for that reason, if for
no other, they cannot be a Church universal. Too stiff, unbending and
unforgiving are they to the weaknesses of human nature, and,
therefore, (without more,) I predict utter failure to every attempt of
theirs to make the natives like themselves. They do forget that milk,
not flesh meat, is the food for babes."

"Hold you these Puritans to be, in any true sense, a Church at all?"
inquired Arundel.

Again the Knight looked sharply at the other, and this time he burst
into a laugh, wherein, it seemed to the young man, a sneer was mingled
with the gaiety.

"That were a dangerous question," he answered, "anywhere else than
three days' journey from Winthrop, and to ears less forgiving than
mine. But here we are, debating, as thou didst intimate a moment ago,
more like two pattering monks than journeying like merry cavaliers.
For my part, the dissensions of Christendom weary me, and I prefer to
leave to the holy men vowed to the service of the altar, the labor of
unloosing the knots of controversy, rather than perplex my brains with
them. Come, Master Arundel, hast never a song wherewith to waken the
echoes of the virgin forest and shorten the toils of our way?"

"I esteem not myself a singer, though I can troll a stave or two,"
replied the young man. "But I fear that my minstrelsy would be rude
and uncouth to the cultivated ears of one who, like you, Sir
Christopher, hath listened to the lays of many lands, and so, refined
and perfected his taste."

"It is true," said the Knight, "that I have heard the songs of many
countries, warbled by beauty to the accompanying sounds of divers
instruments, from Spain to Persia, from the Andalusian guitar to the
Turkish lute. But fear me not. I am no supercilious critic. Thy
modesty hides merit. I will be bound now that thy performance will
exceed thy promise."

"But is there no danger of attracting wandering savages, and so being
taken prisoners, or shot with their arrows?"

"The danger of being treated as enemies is less, for what Indian would
suspect such of going singing through the woods?"

"Then here is my song," said Arundel, "but I shall look for a like
complaisance on thy part."

  "Who loves the greenwood cool and sweet,
    O! let him come with me!
  No harsher sound his ears shall greet,
    Than songs of birds so free;
  No sight less fair his eyes shall view,
    Than trees, and ferns, and flowers,
  Sun, stars, the branches shimmering through,
    To light the flying hours.

  "Ambition hither cannot come,
    Here Pomp is out of place,
  And fawning Flattery finds no home
    With Simper and Grimace,
  But Nature, in her artless dress,
    (A greenwood nymph is she,)
  With eyes so wild and flowing tress,
    And bare ungartered knee.

  "Then come, O, come! O, come with me!
    Forgot be toil and care;
  O! come beneath the greenwood tree,
    For happiness is there.
  The sun shall shine with tempered ray,
    The moonbeam soft, yet bright;
  O, come! Joy beckons us away,
    To revel in delight!"

"Good!" exclaimed the Knight. "Thy voice is as sweet as a sky-lark's,
and runs with marvellous cunning through the harmonious changes of the
tune. Why, never preface thy song again with an apology, or I shall
begin to doubt thy sincerity."

"Wild woods and savage life have not tarnished the courtly polish of
Sir Christopher Gardiner," said Arundel. "And now for my guerdon,
though in truth I feel shame for the little I have been able to do, in
comparison with what I expect."

"By my troth, thou art a master in the science of delicate
compliments. There was, I confess, a time when, with youthful vanity,
I did esteem myself possessed of some skill, and could step along the
gamut with any Don or Signor of them all; but that is long since, and
I fear me that the gutturals of Northern Germany have quite driven out
of my throat the liquids and vowels of Italy. However, to pleasure me,
thou hast sung with infinite discretion and wonderful sweetness, a
most delectable song; and now it were boorish not to attempt at least
to repay thy musical favor."

So saying, the Knight sung in a manner and with an expression that
proved him to be an accomplished musician, and in some contrast with
the less artful style of Arundel, the following song:

  "On golden Guadalquiver's banks
    Are tinkling gay guitars,
  To hail with song and smiling thanks,
    The soldier from the wars.

  "When glowing youth and beauty met,
    Blush at each other's glance,
  And, bounding to the castanet,
    Entwine th' impassioned dance.

  "And purple Xeres sends her wine,
    To laugh in those dark eyes,
  Whose flashing orbs the stars outshine,
    Of Andalusia's skies.

  "Red lips repeat the hero's name,
    White hands are scattering flowers;
  Honor be his and deathless fame,
    And gratitude be ours!

  "Delightful land of orange blooms,
    Of chivalry and song,
  Whose memory the past perfumes--
    O! how for thee I long!

  "Where'er may stray my wandering feet,
    I never will forget,
  Or Guadalquiver's maidens sweet,
    Or merry castanet.

  "When sun, and moon, and stars turn pale,
    On Nature's funeral pyre,
  O'er all Spain's glory shall prevail,
    An eagle soaring higher."

"You have well profited by your opportunities, Sir Christopher," said
Arundel, at its conclusion. "By mine honor, such sweet and artful
notes never waked the echoes of a mighty forest. I seemed to mingle in
the graceful fandango, and to taste the exhilarating Xeres in your
song."

"Ah!" replied the Knight, with a half sigh. "It is only a reminiscence
of youthful follies. But now it is thy turn again. I warrant me there
is store of ravishing melodies in the treasury whence thou didst take
thine."

"I dare not," said the young man modestly, "sing after thee. My poor
notes would sound like those of the croaking raven, in comparison with
the warblings of the yellow minstrel of the Canaries."

"Out with thee, hyperbolical flatterer! Believe me--I set a higher
value on thy nature than on my art. Come, pipe up once more, and I
will, meanwhile, try to recall another ditty."

"If such is to be my reward, I will not refuse, although I do thereby
only expose my own incapacity. Here is a serenade:

  "I stand beneath thy window, love,
    To tell my pleasing pain:
  O, flowers below, and stars above,
    Bear to her heart my strain!
  Say that the charms of earth and sky
  Are waiting for her company,
  And all sweet things my fair invite,
  To rise and perfect make the night.

  "Yet, no! I would no earthly sound
    Might mar that tranquil sleep,
  O'er which the angels, standing round,
    Admiring vigil keep.
  With these bright guards I choose to share
  The watching of my jewel rare;
  For though their love may be divine,
  I know it cannot equal mine.

  "I see her as she chastely lies
    Upon the linen white;
  Was ne'er to man's or angel's eyes
    So beautiful a sight!
  O, mark her bosom's fall and swell,
  (Profane it were of more to tell.)
  While hover round her rose-leaf mouth,
  Sweets that excel the Arabian South.

  "Listen! she murmurs in her dreams,
    And music puts to shame:
  O, can it be I she breathes, meseems,
    My too--too happy name!
  O cease, bliss-crowded heart, to beat
  So fast, lest like some India fleet
  Surcharged with spices, thou outright
  Founder, o'erfreighted with delight!"

"Excellent," exclaimed the Knight. Never talk to me of the wonderful
little birds of the Canaries, unless to call thyself one. I fancy thy
verses a tribute to the celestial attractions of Mistress Eveline
Dunning."

"And now let me hear thee," said Arundel.

"I did match my first lay," said Sir Christopher, "to thy youthful
blood. Now will I give thee one more befitting my years and gravity,"
and adapting the words to a wild foreign air, the Knight sent his rich
full voice ringing through the wood.

  "Who, on Glory's pinion,
    Shall mount the upper air,
  And write his name with sunbeams
                 Sublimely there?

  "Blare of trumpets shivering
    Above the reeling fight,
  Proves the inhuman challenge--
                 The warrior's right?

  "Son of thoughtful Science,
    Unthinking of renown,
  Is thine the name to thunder
                 The ages down?"

"Hist!" he said, interrupting the song. "What is it I see gliding in
yonder thicket? Stand fast, Master Arundel, while I go forward to
reconnoitre."

The young man would have accompanied him, but this Sir Christopher
imperatively forbade. "Thou art under my lead and protection," he
said, "and foul shame were it, should I expose thee to a danger which
I should face myself alone;" and in spite of his urgency, Arundel was
obliged to remain behind.

The Knight was gone, perhaps, a quarter of an hour, and Arundel began
to be anxious at the length of his absence, and had stepped forward a
few rods to seek him, when he made his appearance.

"If it were a wild beast, or anything that could harm us," he cried,
as he approached, "it has glided off into the bushes."

"Then shall I entreat the continuance of thy song. I would like to
hear resolved the question which it pleases the poet to ask."

"I care not to sing more now," returned the Knight. "My voice, I
perceive, begins to roughen, and brawls along more like a shallow
brook, over pebbles, than the flow of a deep, equable stream, It were
to shame the brave words."

This determination Arundel was unable to alter, and he could not avoid
ascribing it quite as much to a change of opinion in his companion,
respecting the prudence of singing in that wild region, as to any
assumed roughness of voice. Thinking thus, he unslung his gun, and
examined carefully the priming, holding himself in readiness for any
emergency. He noticed, however, to his surprise that no such
precautions were adopted by Sir Christopher, who, though in silence,
walked with as fearless a step as ever, and allowed his piece to
remain upon his back.

The shades of evening were now beginning to wrap objects in obscurity,
and it became necessary to look out for a place of rest. In finding
one fitted for the purpose, the Knight betrayed no embarrassment.

"There should be," he said, "a small cave in the neighborhood, wherein
we may be sheltered. I will lead thee thither in a short time."

Accordingly, they descended the side of a pretty steep declivity, and,
at the bottom, forming a sort of miniature valley, found the object of
their search. It was certainlyf a very small cave, if, indeed, the
recess, which was not twelve feet deep, made by the jutting out of
some huge rocks from the side of the hill, deserved the name. A brook
came dashing round before the cave, separating it as it were from its
surroundings, and deepening its privacy; and over the entrance hung
immense hemlock branches, sweeping with their evergreen plumes the
rocky roof, and almost hiding the aperture. It seemed impossible to
have selected a place better adapted for concealment.

"We need not fear," said the Knight, "to make a fire in this secluded
spot. It will serve to keep off wild animals, and as for Indians, they
can hardly be expected to stumble on us."

Arundel, as being only a follower, and inferior in experience of
wood-craft to his elder friend, made no objection, but addressed
himself to prepare for passing the night. The two, with their hunting
hatchets, cut from the moist land, watered by the brook, a quantity of
hemlock boughs, wherewith to compose their beds, making couches more
comfortable, and even luxurious to a tired wanderer, than one would
suppose who had never tried them. Next, they kindled a fire, whereupon
supper was prepared--some small game, consisting of partridges and
rabbits which they had shot in the course of the day. These, together
with the parched corn they brought from home, not without a draught or
two of aqua vitae tempered by the pure stream, satisfied the cravings
of appetite.

"And now, Master Arundel," said the Knight, after the repast was
finished, during which he had looked with admiring eyes on the
achievements of his companion, "tell me, didst ever, at princely
banquet in courtly hall, enjoy with keener zest the artificial dishes
of cunning cooks, designed to tickle the delicate and difficultly
pleased palate?"

"Never," answered Arundel. "Knew the epicures of Europe the efficacy
of a forest tramp, we should meet them oftener than Indians in the
woods."

"Thus deals boon nature with her children," said Sir Christopher. "Out
of the richness of her abundance doth she prodigally supply what man,
with all his devices, cannot obtain. The scent of the woodland, the
winged minstrelsy, the murmur of the brook, and tripping of the deer,
say I, before the inventions and appliances of dissatisfied man,
whereby he vainly tries to procure to himself pleasures which he might
have for the asking. But how fares it otherwise with thee? Art not
tired? With me, who am an old campaigner, our tramp should be a
trifle, and yet I confess my limbs are not as supple as in the
morning. Thou wert excusable shouldest thou feel it more."

"I feel no fatigue now," said Arundel, "though an hour ago I might
have confessed it. But what is that?" he exclaimed, grasping his gun.
"Methought I saw two eyes peering from the thicket. Shall I fire?" he
added, bringing the piece to his shoulder.

"For thy life, no!" interposed the Knight quickly, striking up the
muzzle of the gun. "That were to inform any wandering savages of our
retreat."

"I will then explore the bush to find out what it is, whom curiosity
has attracted--whether beast or Indian."

"It were well not to do so," said the Knight. "It would only be
unnecessary exposure; and an enemy, if it be one, would have every
possible advantage in waiting for thee--he knowing thy position, and
thou not his."

"Nevertheless, it were a great satisfaction could I discern the
creature. Perhaps I may bring back a buck for breakfast. Thou art
acquainted with the stupid habit of deer to gaze on fire. It may be
one of them."

"For all that, I counsel thee to remain. A prudent soldier exposes not
himself to danger without cause."

"By Heaven!" exclaimed Arundel, "I see the eyes of the animal again,
in the light of the fire. I will shoot, come what will of it;" and
before the Knight could interfere, he had discharged his piece in the
direction of the object. The dark woods echoed to the report, and some
birds disturbed from their perches began to flutter blindly round, but
no other sounds were heard, and presently silence, as profound as
before, brooded over the forest.

"Thou hast been guilty of a sad imprudence, Master Arundel," said the
Knight, "and I hope no evil consequences may result therefrom. What
art thou about now?"

But the young man, who, from the instant he had discharged his piece,
had been busy reloading it, and whose preparations were now completed,
paid no attention to the question; but, excited by what he had seen,
rushed out of the cave into the open air.

"_Santa Madre de Dios!_" exclaimed the Knight. "I hope nothing evil
will befall him. Were it better now to follow or to remain?"

While Sir Christopher was deliberating, Arundel, holding his piece in
readiness, cautiously took his way toward the thicket, whence he
fancied the eyes had looked. As he was groping along, not yet
recovered from the blinding effect of the fire-glare, he suddenly felt
his gun seized, and several strong arms thrown round his person. He
cried out for assistance, and struggled, but in vain. The gun was torn
away, a hand placed over his mouth, and a tomahawk brandished at him,
as if to intimate his doom, should he continue his outcries. In this
state of things nothing was left but to yield himself to his captors,
and, resigning himself to his fate, he waited for what should follow;
nor was he kept long in suspense, for presently an Indian came gliding
up to the group in whose midst he stood, and spoke a few words,
whereupon he was led to the cave, and directed by signs to enter it.
Here he found Sir Christopher lying quietly on the ground, without
apparently having received any injury, and his piece in the possession
of some Indians by whom he was surrounded. Arundel was permitted to
sit down by his side, admiring, as he did so, the wonderful composure
of the Knight.



CHAPTER XX.

  "There have been holy men who hid themselves
  Deep in the woody wilderness."

  BRYANT.


Arundel had now an opportunity to look round and observe the state of
things. Besides the Knight and himself, there were seven or eight
Indians in the little cavern, armed with bows and arrows; and he
remarked with pleasure that these persons were not stained with
war-paint, indicating that they were on no hostile expedition, but
engaged in hunting. So far from offering violence, or even rudeness,
the savages treated them with marked deference, keeping at a
respectful distance, and yielding to them the piles of hemlock
branches which they had arranged for couches. Arundel listened to the
conversation between the Knight and the Indians with that strained
attention with which one unacquainted with a language will sometimes
hang upon its sounds, as if by a concentration of the faculties to
wring a sense out of it; and if he was unable to make out the meaning
of the words, he at least satisfied himself, both from the intonation
of the voices and expression of the faces, that no immediate injury
was designed. To the appealing looks which Arundel from time to time
directed to him, the Knight at length replied:

"I know not, Master Arundel, whether we should consider ourselves more
fortunate or the contrary, in falling into the hands of these
copper-colored cavaliers. We are their prisoners, and, as such, bound
to obey their motions; but their presence will guard us from attack,
and in that way be a shield; and their treatment in other respects
will shame, I doubt not, the conduct of more civilized men in like
circumstances."

"Know you," inquired Arundel, "the name of their tribe, and their
intentions towards us?"

"They are Taranteens, and, as far as I can learn, mean to take us to
one of their villages. It was fortunate your shot took not effect;
for, otherwise, I know not what would have been the consequence."

"I confess now its rashness; but it is manifest that we were tracked,
and, in any event, would have been prisoners."

"Perhaps not prisoners. Perhaps, after making our acquaintance, they
would have offered us their company as an escort. As it is, we must
submit to close watchfulness on our journey, and, afterwards, take
what fate may come. I counsel thee (and speak as one knowing the
habits of these people) to betray no distrust or apprehension. We must
show that we rely with perfect assurance on our character as
ambassadors, not only for immunity from danger, but for courteous
treatment. And now," he added, disposing himself to rest, "we had
better court that sleep which will be so necessary to prepare us for
the fatigues of to-morow."

Arundel followed his example, and, as if it had been a signal for the
Indians, they all left the cave, with the exception of two, who
stretched themselves out by the fire at the mouth.

It was long after it had fallen upon the lids of Sir Christopher, that
sleep visited the eyes of Arundel; but tired nature at last yielded to
the solicitations of the drowsy influence, and he forgot both his joys
and his sorrows.

When he awoke, the daylight was streaming into his retreat, and,
sitting up on the hemlock boughs, he looked around. The couch of Sir
Christopher was deserted, and no Indian visible. Wondering what had
become of them, he rose and walked to the entrance, and beheld
standing on the margin of the brook, the Knight in conversation with
the savage, who, the night before, appeared to be the leader of the
party. They were so interested with their subject as not to notice his
presence, and he had an opportunity to observe their bearing to one
another. To judge from that, the Knight looked to Arundel more like a
conqueror than a captive, and rather giving than receiving orders. The
attitude of Sir Christopher was commanding, and he engrossed the
principal part of the conversation. From the frequency with which it
was repeated, Arundel, as he fancied, could make out one word, which
sounded like "Mesandowit," but its meaning he was unable to divine. He
stood looking at them until the Indian discovered him, who,
ejaculating the word "ahque," (beware) the Knight turned and also saw
him.

"Thy appearance dispenses with the necessity of asking how thou hast
passed the night, Master Arundel," cried Sir Christopher. "Well, there
is nothing like a trust in Providence, whereto I commend thee, to
inspire with courage. Courage may, in a certain sense, be said to be
piety."

"Truly, Sir Christopher," said Arundel, catching confidence from the
cheerful tone of the Knight, "I begin to regard thee as a sort of
Providence, for wherever you move, you seem to exercise a command. Now
would I give something to know the secret whereby you have tamed yon
savage."

"It is no astonishing mystery. I did but elucidate to him clearly our
sacred character and thy mistake in firing."

"Is he content with the explanation?"

"He seems to be. The natives are not so unreasonable as is sometimes
represented. Difficulties between men do often arise from an ignorance
of each others intentions; and one grand cause of contention is,
doubtless, an inability to comprehend their diverse languages. Now, I
suffer under no such disability. I can impart my ideas, and receive
their own in return, and thus is language a bridge of reconciliation
betwixt us. Believe me--a common cord vibrates through the hearts and
minds of all men, and skilful words are the fingers wherewith to touch
it."

"Thou art a skilful musician in more than one sense," said Arundel, as
he turned to the brook to wash his hands and face.

No very strict, certainly not obtrusive surveillance, was exercised by
the Taranteens over their captives. They were allowed to move about
where they pleased, and their escort began to assume the appearance of
a guard of honor, rather than a band of suspicious enemies; nor did
the savages seem at all disposed to hurry, or take any measures to
prevent a surprise, feeling, probably, a consciousness of security in
being on their own hunting grounds. Their breakfast, of which the two
white men partook with them, was leisurely prepared, and eaten with
equal deliberation, and the sun was high when they resumed their
journey. All these circumstances were noticed by Arundel, and tended
to increase his confidence. However, he made no remark respecting
them.

But when, soon after the commencement of their march, their guns were
returned, he could not forbear from uttering his surprise.

"They know not how to use the weapon," replied Sir Christopher, "and
it suits them not to carry loads not their own. Besides, I have
pledged our honors that the pieces shall not be used against them.
Methinks, moreover, were we inclined to play false, it were fruitless,
in view of their superior number."

Nothing of importance occurred during the couple of days longer their
journey lasted, and before it was completed, both the prisoners lost
all apprehension of violence. They were even permitted to shoot the
game which was started, and the Indians manifested no little pleasure
when the shots proved successful. They watched closely the loading of
the pieces and priming, and the manner in which the lock trigger was
raised, and sometimes took the guns into their own hands, and brought
them up to the shoulder, as they had seen the white men do, as if
desirous to be taught their use. Something also, in reference to the
subject, they said to the Knight, but he shook his head, and showed no
disposition to instruct them. An unlucky experiment made with the
piece of Sir Christopher, by one of the Taranteens, at length put an
end to their importunities.

The Indian took the gun, after he had seen it loaded by Sir
Christopher, and imitating his actions, discharged it at a bird
sitting on a bough, at no great distance.

He had failed to remark that the Knight placed the piece firmly
against his shoulder when it was fired, and ignorant of the propriety
of doing so, held it with a natural feeling of timidity at a little
distance from his body. The consequence was, that the recoil
prostrated the savage on his back, and the gun dropped from his hands,
while the fortunate bird seemed to deride the unskilful marksman, and
to challenge him to another trial, by paying no other heed than
hopping on another bough. His companions gathered round the fallen
savage, and two or three took hold of the white men, as if to prevent
escape; but when they saw no wound upon his person, nor expression of
pain in his face, (for the pride of the unfortunate warrior forbade
the betrayal of what he felt,) their words of sympathy and intentions
of revenge were converted into jeers and laughter. As for the unlucky
fellow himself, on rising from the ground, he retreated a little way
from the gun, and regarding it with a look, wherein awe and aversion
were combined, took care not to approach nigh to it again.

On the evening of the seventh day after their departure, they
approached the village of the Taranteens. The whole company halted at
a little distance from it, and the returning Indians shouted a
peculiar cry, after which they proceeded more leisurely on their way.
The yell had been heard and understood, for soon were seen advancing,
groups of men, women, and children. These, upon joining their friends,
manifested none of that stolid indifference, which it has been the
pleasure of certain writers to ascribe to the natives, forgetting that
by nature the same feelings animate the hearts of all men, whatever
may be the degree of their civilization, or the color of their skin.
On the contrary, there were smiling faces and tones of welcome, and
other demonstrations, that proved the existence of affection. The
squaws and children looked askance at the strangers, but their glances
were rather timid than obtrusive, and augured no unfavorable
prepossessions. Accompanied by a constantly increasing number, our
friends were conducted to a lodge in the centre of the village, which
they were told they would occupy during their stay. It was carefully
covered with bark, and, as usual, skins were hanging on the sides, and
lying on the ground for couches, and there were some cooking utensils,
made of clay, on one side. Such were all the articles constituting the
simple _ménage_ of the child of nature, and completed his idea of
necessary furniture. Here the strangers were left by their guides,
though several of the tribe remained lingering around the wigwam.

"Thus far," said the Knight, stretching himself out on a skin, for in
whatever circumstances he might be placed, he was always at his ease,
"hath heaven breathed favoring airs into our sails. We will accept the
omen and be hopeful for the future."

"No more skilful ambassador, it seems to me," said Arundel, "ever
mediated betwixt mighty governments than thyself, Sir Christopher.
Why, Ephraim Pike was right, and I did injustice to his hang-dog look
when I distrusted him."

"What said he?" inquired the Knight.

"That our journey would be a mere pleasure flight, unattended with
danger."

"He would have found it different had he undertaken it," muttered Sir
Christopher. "And was it Ephraim who advised thee to associate thyself
with me?"

"He did not presume to advise. I scarcely know how it happened, but as
I accidentally met the man, the conversation turned upon thy
enterprise, of the dangers whereof he made light."

"There is some mystery," said the Knight, "connected with this. Be
sure the obscure varlet would not have sought thee out for such a
purpose of his own motion, but was instigated thereto by another."

"Who could that be, and with what motive?"

"Nay, I judge no man; but, perhaps, it so happened that they who
intended harm conferred a favor."

At this moment they saw approaching through the opening in the lodge a
couple of squaws, bearing in their hands earthen pots, from which a
warm steam was issuing. These they brought straight into the wigwam,
and, placing them before the white men, invited them to eat. After a
few words from the Knight, which the smiling faces of the women showed
were well received, they retired, and the two friends addressed
themselves to a business seldom disagreeable, and specially pleasant
to them. In the one vessel they found pieces of broiled venison, and
in the other a composition at that time peculiar to the Indians, but
which has since become a favorite in New England, and still retains
its Indian name of "succotash." It is a dish consisting of sweet corn
and beans boiled together, and savored with some kind of meat,
according to the taste. The meat preferred by the vitiated taste of
the whites is pork; but inasmuch as swine were unknown at the time in
the country, except in the civilized settlements--the unclean animal
having been introduced by the Europeans--its place in the present
instance was supplied by the more wholesome bear's meat, for such the
experienced palate of the Knight pronounced it to be. At the
completion of the meal, although it was early according to our habits,
the unbroken silence that reigned around indicated that the Indians
had retired to rest, and the two weary travelers, imitating their
example, threw themselves on their couches.

Some hours had passed since they laid themselves down to sleep, when
the Knight arose, and, after glancing at his companion, started, with
a light and noiseless step, to leave the wigwam. At the opening he
found a Taranteen, whom his stirring had wakened. With him the Knight
exchanged some whispered words, and then took his way in the moonlight
toward a lodge situated near the centre of the village, and
conspicuous for its size. He met no interruption, and having arrived
at the entrance, drew aside the skin which served for a door. The
first object which caught his eye was a flame proceeding from some
pieces of a resinous wood, which were supported by a sort of iron
trestle standing on a rude table in the centre, and sending up spirals
of smoke to escape by an aperture above. By means of the light which
this cast, he was enabled to take a view of the apartment.

It was of an oblong shape, some forty feet long by twenty wide, and
coming to a line at the top, and at first seemed destitute of
furniture and of occupants. As the Knight stood hesitating, a voice
from the remotest part of the wigwam addressed him.

"Welcome!" it said, in French, "true son of the Church! valiant
soldier of the Cross! servant of Heaven! My soul hath been in travail
to see thee; and now, _laus Deo_, its desire is gratified."

The Knight advanced in the direction whence the voice proceeded, and
when he had passed on so far that his back was to the light, could see
the speaker. He was one who, whatever were the mistakes of his creed,
seems to have been animated by a purpose lofty to himself, and an
ardent faith in its truth, and, therefore, honor be to his memory, as
well as to all other brave spirits, who, like him, (though erring,)
forget themselves for others. But he is worthy of description.

He was a man of about sixty years of age, somewhat under the middle
size, but strongly made, and evidently capable of enduring great
fatigue. His eyes were black and piercing, his complexion so dark as
to be almost olive, and his features regular, the mouth being small
and sharply chiseled and compressed. Thick, long, white hair covered
his whole head, with the exception of a small round spot on the crown
which was bare, revealing the mark of the priest, and fell upon his
shoulders. He was habited in a long, closely-fitting robe of some
coarse material, which had once been black, but was now faded and
tarnished by time and exposure, and a hempen rope to keep it in place
was girded about his loins. Such, as we have described him, was the
famous Father Le Vieux, one of the most active and devoted among the
French Jesuits in America.

Father Le Vieux had risen from his seat, and was advancing toward his
visiter, when the latter first beheld him. As the two men drew nigh,
the Knight sunk on his knees at the feet of the priest.

"_Salve fili mi!_" said the father, laying his hands on the head of
the kneeling Sir Christopher. "_Beatus qui venit in nomine Domini_.
Arise, my son!" he continued, in French, taking the Knight by the
hand, and assisting him. "Thy companion, I trust, sleeps soundly."

"He is asleep, reverend father," answered the Knight, in the same
language, "like one who has made a covenant with his eyes not to open
them before morning."

"May the blessed angels press their palms thereupon, that he awaken
not. Now, then, disclose to me what, for our mutual purpose, it is
meet that I should know."

With these words, he led the way into that part of the lodge whence he
came, and was followed by Sir Christopher, who sat down by his side on
a sort of bench.

"First, reverend father," said Sir Christopher, "would I confess my
sins and obtain absolution. It is long since my bosom's stains were
wiped out by authority of Holy Church, and my soul languishes for
forgiveness."

"Kneel, then, and on peril of thy salvation keep nothing back."

Sir Christopher, with bowed head, knelt by his side, and, in
low-murmured tones, while the priest bowed down to him his ear, made
his confession. It lasted some considerable time, for which reason the
good father betrayed a little impatience, either because he thought
that the sins were too trivial to be dwelt upon so long, or because he
was anxious to hear the communication of his penitent on other
matters. At its conclusion, he placed his hand on the Knight's head,
and said:

"The sins which, with a penitent heart and lively faith, thou hast
confessed, not having wilfully concealed anything, and determined by
God's grace to commit them no more, do I, a servant of Holy Church,
commissioned for that purpose by the successor of blessed St. Peter,
whose are the sacred keys, and unto whom and his fellow-servants it
was promised by the Head of the Church, 'whatsoever ye bind on earth
shall be bound in Heaven, and whatsoever ye loose on earth shall be
loosed in Heaven,' absolve thee from, and unbind and remit unto thee,
both in time and in eternity, _in nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus
Sancti_. Amen. Rise and sin no more. And now, make thy report."

The Knight rose from his knees and resumed his seat, whereupon ensued
a long conversation.

It referred to the condition of the colony under Winthrop, and of the
elder settlement at Plymouth; the prospect of their increase; the
dissensions among them; the relations maintained with the savages, and
influence exerted over them; and, in short, to whatever bore upon the
present circumstances and probable destiny of the two races. The
occurrences at the reception of the Taranteen embassy were also
detailed--the appearance of Sassacus, the excitement of the Indians,
and the consequences which followed.

"I found it hard," said Sir Christopher, "to allay their wild passion
on the discovery of the Pequot Chief. I had to urge upon them that
they were committed to my care by you (I had before received your
missive from one of them) and that instant destruction would follow
any act of violence. I reminded them that their mission was one of
peace, and endeavored to shame them for exhibiting so much feeling at
the sight of a single warrior. Nor was I blinded by their apparent
submission, but strove to remove the Pequot out of their way. With how
little success you know."

Father Le Vieux listened with profound attention, and from time to
time made memoranda in his tablets of those parts of the communication
which possessed for him the deepest interest. At its conclusion, he
continued silent awhile, looking thoughtfully on the ground, as if
deliberating over what he had heard.

"The thoughts of man are vanity," he said, at length. "In a way that
we dreamed not of hath Almighty Wisdom delivered us from this peril.
Vainly, in our ignorance, we strove to prevent a meeting between the
Taranteens and the English heretics; and lo, it was the very thing to
be desired! They were brought together only to be more widely divided,
and a commencing friendship has ended in a confirmed enmity. Blessed
be the Pequot, and mitigated be the pains of purgatory to the poor
savages who fell in the night attack, for the good they have done. We
are now safe from this danger."

The father paused, as if reflecting, and then again spoke.

"It would be strange," he said, "and the thought itself seems impious,
if this goodly land, with its thousands of immortal souls, should be
delivered over into the hands of these accursed heretics. My heart is
troubled, and a sacred horror invades me when I think thereupon. This
is a time of tribulation, and our faces gather blackness. Holy Mary!"
he continued, (crossing himself and raising his eyes to Heaven,)
"intercede with thy glorified Son to quicken our faith and shorten the
days of our trouble. Let not these insatiable locusts from the pit of
darkness, whose end is destruction--these deceivers and deceived, who
would tear down thy church, and defile her altars, have, even in
seeming, their will! O, let a strong wind arise and cast them into the
sea, that they may devour thy heritage no more!"

"Amen, and Amen!" responded the sweet voice of Sir Christopher. "So
may all the enemies of the church perish! But O, holy father, sad is
it to see so much heroism in men, so much resigned fortitude in
delicate women, such wonderful courage, such patience wasted, in
promoting error."

"_Quam diu Domine!_" exclaimed the father. "The days of man are but as
a shadow and a tale that is told. He cometh out of darkness, and
returneth thither again. But thy years, O Lord, are everlasting, and
thy counsels like the great deep. O, stamp this truth on our hearts,
and it shall cure our impatience. How long Divine Wisdom shall permit
the raging waves of this pestilential heresy of the arch-deceiver, the
licentious Luther, to beat against His church, threatening as with the
jaws of hell to devour her, it is not for man to know; but we do know
that they cannot prevail, for she is founded on a rock, and bought
with a great ransom, and the Word of God is pledged to her triumph.
But it becomes every true son of Holy Church to have his loins girded,
and to let no weakness of the flesh or fainting of the spirit
interfere, to delay that hoped-for time when this miserable delusion
shall disappear. Verily, heavy is the task imposed on feeble
shoulders; but in the strength of One who can supply strength, will we
prevail."

"Has any information," inquired Sir Christopher, "been received
respecting the new colony to be planted under Lord Baltimore, in
Maryland, or promise of assistance from our friends at home?"

"The English Catholics," answered Father Le Vieux, "are lukewarm. The
air of their foggy isle is tainted. Not much do I expect from this
Cecil, Lord Baltimore. He is, forsooth, a philosopher--a man who
stands half the time upon his head--for he is one of them who are
puffed up with conceit of worldly knowledge, and who, in contradiction
of Holy Scripture, assert, with Galileo Galilei, that this world is a
ball which daily turns round. His company has not arrived, and never
may arrive. Not on the timorous and doubting English Catholics, but on
my own brave countrymen and the faithful Spaniards, must we rely for
the accomplishment of the heaven-inspired thought of our great
founder, the immortal Loyola."

"Expect you," inquired Sir Christopher, "to convert these English
colonies into dependencies of France or Spain?"

"To you and to me, and every true Catholic, it is of little
consequence whether they be French, or Spanish, or English colonies,
so they be gathered into the bosom of Mother Church. Of how little
moment are the transitory things of time, our poor distinctions of
nationalities, our weak prejudices, our loves and hates, in comparison
with eternity and its determinations. Then, in that other world, there
will be neither French, nor English, nor Spanish, but 'the blessed of
the Father,' to enter the kingdom prepared for them; or howling
heretics, whose doom is fire unquenchable."

"Holy Father," said the Knight, "I pray you to forgive me; but, in my
ignorance, I by no means approve of your design, nor have I confidence
in its success. Consider the consequence, should even a suspicion of
it be entertained by the Government of England. These colonies are now
regarded as only nests of wild sectaries, who have fled from restraint
at home to indulge fanatical imaginations in a wilderness. At present,
they are neglected and despised by the general, none, save those of
their own infatuated faith, thinking of, or countenancing them; but,
let it be once surmised that France or Spain is attempting, either by
fraud or violence, to set foot among them, and you will see the whole
force of the kingdom in arms to counteract your plot, and thousands of
heretic emigrants will arrive, where now only a few make their
appearance."

"My son, it is easier to crush error in the egg than in the full-grown
serpent. But forget you not that you are only a secular coadjutor, and
therefore bound simply to obey?"

"_Peccavi_," said the Knight, bending his head.

"_Absolvo_. I espied this weakness in the confession of sins, and now
solemnly warn thee against it. Attend, my son, and be my words
remembered. I perceive in thee a jealousy of the political power of
other nations, when they conflict with thine own. This, to the
untutored mind of the vulgar, seems commendable, yet do I reprehend
it, and say unto it, '_Apage, Sathanas!_' as the fruitfull seed of
discord betwixt nations, and an impediment in the march of the Church.
As high as the concerns of Heaven transcend those of earth, do the
interests of the true and universal Church those of the petty kingdoms
which, for their own good, she subjects to her control. They are not
to be thought of when her magnificent voice is heard. Who is it speaks
from the chair of St. Peter, but the Vicegerent of God? Who is
Vitalleschi, our chief, but another accredited instrument to
accomplish the salvation of the nations? And if it be the duty of
every Catholic to set the welfare of the Church before all other
considerations, and to die a thousand deaths before abandoning it, how
much more is it the life-business of each member of the Society of
Jesus to sacrifice all things for her! Power, wealth, fame, life, and
honor, which some value more than life, what are they all when weighed
against that one duty and the reward that awaits its observance? The
principles of the blessed Company of Jesus are not the crude fancies
of some crazy heretic, nor suggestions of man's unguided reason, but
they are conclusions of wise men inspired by the Holy Spirit, and
infallibly directed to truth! Such thou and I have acknowledged them
to be by becoming members of the Order, and thereby assuming its
obligations. My faith burns daily brighter--each obstacle but inflames
my zeal. If, by my martyrdom, I could advance our cause one hour, how
gladly would I lay down a life worthless, if not spent in the service
of the Church."

Father Le Vieux paused, his fine face beaming with enthusiasm, while
the Knight bent again his head, and, kissing the priest's hand,
murmured "_Peccavi_."

"Thy faithfulness I commend," resumed the father, "but as thy
spiritual guide, I warn thee against human weakness. It is a mighty
discourager of great undertakings. Only by faith and remembrance of
what thou art vowed to, can it be overcome. Nor doubt, though thou
dost not clearly understand, and but little progress seems to be made.
Remember that though we must soon depart, the Society of Jesus
remains. Our Order may be as the drops of water perpetually falling on
a rock, which are dashed into fragments by the fall; yet is the fate
of the repelling body inevitable, and, after centuries, it is doomed
to be washed away."

"Reverend Father," said the Knight, "I will bury thy words, in my
mind, and often meditate upon them."

"Do so, my son, and by the aid of Holy Mary, and the Saints, and
blessed Evangelists, doubt not they will profit. But I charge thee to
beware of laic reason and human impulses. Refer all things to the
standard whereby thou hast been taught, for so only will it be well.
Farewell; morning approaches, and I depart, for I would not have the
presence of a white man suspected by thy companion. I will communicate
further with thee as opportunity presents, and, meanwhile, I will
consider how thy mission may be made to redound most to the honor of
the Church. If, by restraining the ferocity of the Taranteens, the end
may be accomplished, gladly will I exert my influence therefor; but,
on the contrary, if I see that a union among the tribes can be
effected, whereby these intrusive Philistines can be driven from the
land, I will put myself at the head of our savage friends, and
Winthrop and his unhappy followers shall be doomed."

He ceased, and bowed, and the Knight reverently bending his body, took
leave.



CHAPTER XXI.

           Low, reverently low,
  Make thy stubborn knowledge bow,
  Weep out thy reason's and thy body's eyes,
  Deject thyself, that thou mayest rise,
  To look to heaven--be blind to all below.

  MATHEW PRIOR.


On rising, which he did with the sun, leaving the Knight buried in
sleep, Arundel took his way through the village to enjoy the fresh
morning air and examine the Indian wigwams, it being the first
considerable collection of them which he had seen. He found them, to
the number of forty or fifty, extending at a distance of four or five
rods from one another, in a couple of wide avenues, from the edge of a
wood to the margin of a river. The piece of ground on which the lodges
were built seemed to be a bit of alluvial formed by the overflowing of
the river. All along the stream were scattered fields of maize, whose
tall, stout stalks attested the richness of the soil. The cultivation
was of that sluggish and negligent description which was to be
expected from the indolent character of the Indians, it being entirely
entrusted to the squaws, the men considering labor beneath their
dignity. The object was attained, if the plants were sufficiently
protected against the encroaching weeds to enable them to overtop the
latter, after which they were left to take care of themselves. Yet,
notwithstanding all this negligence, prodigal Nature rendered a rich
return. It has been said (with what truth we know not) that the weeds
of a soil depend upon the race which cultivates it--they which spring
from the sweat of an Indian being different from those which embarrass
the toil of the white man or the negro. If it be so, then have we
perhaps another proof of the kind accommodation of mother Earth to her
children, excusing for the reluctant Indian that labor which she
exacts from the hardier white and black man.

As Arundel passed by the bark wigwams, he was able to form some
opinion of the mode of life of the Taranteens. Indolently thrown upon
the ground in front of his lodge, in the soft summer morning, he
beheld its master inhaling the fumes of that pernicious but seductive
plant, which is one of the few gifts the North American savage has
transmitted to his conquerors, that promise to perpetuate his memory.
Little children, of whom seldom more than two or three were to be seen
in any wigwam, played around him, now and then obtaining a word of
notice, while the patient squaws were either engaged in ordinary
culinary preparations, or, if more than one wife were in the lodge,
dividing their labors among themselves, the one cooking, a second
mending moccasons or robes, and a third preparing to start with her
agricultural tools, made of Quohaug shells, (a large kind of clam,)
for the maize field. Here and there he could see young men armed with
bows and arrows, leaving for the surrounding woods, in pursuit of that
game on which was their principal dependance for food. Only one old
person did he behold, whence he inferred that their precarious life
was unfavorable to longevity. He lounged throughout the whole
encampment without interruption, sometimes regarded with a frown,
sometimes with a smile, but for the most part treated with
indifference.

The monotony of Indian life affords little to interest during the week
spent by Sir Christopher and Arundel among the Taranteens. It was
passed by the latter in daily hunts with some young Taranteens, with
whom he had contrived to ingratiate himself, and to whom his gun was
no unwelcome assistant in the chase. The Knight had assured him of the
absence of all danger from the Indians, but even without such
assurance, Arundel would have preferred to encounter some peril rather
than submit to the tedium he must otherwise have endured.

As for Sir Christopher, his preconcerted meeting with Father Le Vieux,
and the conversation betwixt them, prove that he had other objects
besides the establishment of peace between the English and the
Taranteens. The determination of the question of peace or war seemed
to be left entirely with the Father. We may consider his remaining in
the village was for the purpose of waiting for the announcement of the
conclusion to which the Indians, under the direction of the Jesuit
priest, should come, and also to arrange their mutual plans; for,
taking advantage of the absence of Arundel, which, as is seen, he
encouraged, the Knight had frequent conferences with the priest, the
grand object of which was to advance such measures as might obtain the
whole of North America for the Catholics, as South America had already
been secured. It would seem that, although the Knight had the
accomplishment of that result as much at heart as the priest himself,
his national pride and patriotism relucted at the idea that English
colonies should become possessions of the hereditary enemies of his
nation. It was to combat this notion, and to satisfy him of his duty,
to trample upon it at the foot of the cross, that the arguments of the
father were directed. The plan of Sir Christopher was to supplant and
overpower the Puritans with English Catholics, which, by the aid of
the immense wealth of the Church, and the ability of the enterprising
Jesuits, he doubted not might be done, but not to make the colony
French. Devoted Catholic as he was, he was unable to renounce his love
of country.

Not so with the father. With the sagacity of a priest, he placed no
dependence upon any portion of a people whose councils were ruled by
Protestants, and with the conceit of a Frenchman, he had unlimited
confidence in _la grande_ nation; besides, he had been a witness, and
partaken of the sufferings of his brethren, the French Jesuits, among
the savages, and he relied much on a zeal, the superior of which the
world has never seen, and which he believed sanctioned by heaven, and
in spite of himself, and try as he might to persuade himself of the
contrary, national feeling (as in the case of Sir Christopher) mingled
with the aspirations of the religionist. He would, indeed, rather than
fail, have courted the Turk himself, on whom he looked with eyes about
as favorable as on a Protestant, but he preferred that his own nation,
as well as his own order, should monopolize both the glory and the
advantages of the achievement. These feelings, secret almost to
himself, he carefully kept concealed from Sir Christopher, whom he
regretted was not a countryman, and confined himself to the religious
aspect of the case. No opportunity to remove a doubt, or inflame the
zeal of his coadjutor, did he allow to escape.

"There is but one Church," he said, in one of their conversations,
"and only through her sacred portals is the kingdom of heaven to be
entered--a truth received by every Catholic--else, vain and unmeaning
was the solemn tradition of the keys to St. Peter. They who are not
for her are against her, and must be subdued to obedience by mild
means if they will suffice--by harsh, if necessary."

"To these truths I give my entire assent," said the Knight.

"I doubt it not--I doubt it not; but let all take heed, my son, not to
exhaust belief in the shadowy region of theory. Truth should be an
armed soldier to step out to deeds."

"Lord! strengthen me," said the Knight, humbly.

"Such," said the father, "is the prayer of every true Catholic.
Forgive me, my son, if, for the refreshing of my own resolution, and
the strengthening of thy soul, I repeat familiar truths, but which
cannot be too often reiterated, or long enough meditated upon.
Methinks that as I give their vocal sweetness to the air, these old
woods do assume a more reverent aspect, and a tide of holier transport
streams through my heart. Holy Jesus! I would have no will; I would
have no mind but thine. Swallow me up in thine ineffable perfections."

The two crossed themselves at the sacred name, and the Knight softly
said, "Amen."

"But let us be cautious," continued the priest, "not to deceive
ourselves as do some, who fancy themselves sound, and yet are
diseased; who mix up the suggestions of the carnal understanding with
heavenly promptings. Said not holy St. Augustine, _credo quia
impossibile et_? There are minds too shallow to perceive the profound
wisdom of the maxim, and scoff at it as an absurdity. By God's grace,
my son, we are not of the number. We see it; we feel it. Thanks to the
discipline wherewith we have been exercised. Our souls do calmly
repose on this truth, and in its strength shall the servants of the
church triumph. What is impossible to man, is possible with God."

"I embrace this truth," said Sir Christopher.

"Nor when commanded by a superior is it ours to question, in imaginary
wisdom, as is the manner of the world, the propriety of the order. As
an archangel, commissioned by the Supreme Intelligence to execute his
decrees, and pour pestilence or famine upon a land devoted to
destruction for its sins, may not say what doest thou, so must not a
servant of the Order of Jesus doubt the inspiration of him whom he is
bound to obey. Does he so, he is too weak for the post whereunto his
presumption has aspired, and false alike to himself and the cause he
espoused. Not unto the weak in mind, but to the strong in faith, is
committed the cause of the Church."

"Holy Father," said the Knight, "your words probe the secrets of my
soul. I do intend, and practice always, perfect obedience to my
superior, knowing that whatever is ordered by him whom the ordinance
of God, and of our holy Order hath set over me, I may not only perform
without sin, but that the same will redound to my salvation; and yet,
in spite of fastings and prayers, do involuntary doubts sometimes
creep into my mind, which I hasten to banish, as the whisperings of
the devil."

"They are--they are the instigations of Sathanas," said the priest,
crossing himself. "O, my son, whenever these temptations occur,
remember thy vows and obligations, and betake thyself more diligently
to prayer and penance. But, Sir Christopher, it becomes me not to
address thee as a babe in Christ. Though it be thy pleasure to remain
in an inferior position, thou hast a mind which soars with the highest
in the order, and comprehends the theory and working of our regimen.
Upon the divine pattern have we modeled our system, and the operation
of the same must run parallel therewith. As at the head of the
Universe Stands the Law-giver and Ruler, so with us; as obedience to
him is order and truth, so with us; as to accomplish his purposes he
makes use of all influences, tempest, lightning, plague, pestilence,
the sword, as well as of the breeze of health, the refreshing rain and
golden sunshine, now melting with his smile, and now terrifying with
his frown, so do we. Teaches not God by his example how to govern his
world?"

"Aye, possessed we his wisdom," said the Knight.

"Doubt not, that if with a holy motive we seek to do his will, He will
furnish the wisdom. Blessed unto the children of Israel was their
obedience, when hearkening unto Moses, God's vicegerent to them, they
did, stifling all suggestions of infatuated reason which would stamp
the deed as a cruelty, put to the edge of the sword thousands of men,
women, and children, of the unhappy Canaanites. Who will doubt it
right? And thinkest thou the authority of Moses over a few wild tribes
more prevailing, and an act sanctioned by him a temporary guide, more
pleasing than one approved by the successors of St. Peter, more
solemnly and extensively invested with the divine power, and destined
to exist to the end of the world? If the offending heathen might
lawfully be slaughtered at the command of the Jewish leader, it is
impious to shrink from sacrifices like those on the altar of St.
Bartholomew, when required by the Vicar of Christ. If by direction of
one entitled to give the order, I slay my brother, my motive being
obedience, and the promotion of the interests of the Church, the
greater is my reward for overcoming the weakness of the flesh, and
forcing it, albeit, reluctant, to obey. Emptied of myself I am filled
with divine grace. The creature is enabled to be made the sword of the
creator. A higher reason, incomprehensible because so high, is
substituted for the lower, and the dogma of St. Augustine becomes an
animating principle and a living power. Try, prove, search, examine
thyself, my son, and thou wilt find these doubts do arise from the
rebellious reason ever ready to set itself up as God, and to demand
the worship which belongs to Him. Each one would be a law unto
himself, and hence as many laws as law-givers. Let the reason of man
prevail, (an impious thought, and an impossible fact,) and the
seamless coat of Christ is rent, a deluge of all manner of heresies
and abominations follows, and Zion in sackcloth mourns her blighted
hopes. Behold the condition of the world, how it confirms my words!"

"Father, feeling as well as the unsanctified reason, does at times
rebel."

"Alas, they are conspirators together. How willingly the one echoes
the fancies of the other, while they deal out mutual encouragement!
But it needs not to say, to thee at least, that feeling can be no
criterion of truth; or, rather, that the disturbance of the faculties,
baptized with the name of feeling, and which springs from a corrupt
nature, must be hostile thereto. There is in high contemplations on
man's duties, but one infallible test of truth, viz: the Holy
Scriptures, as interpreted by the faithful witness, the Church. To
them, my son, the one as the record, and the other as the inspired
interpreter, is it our duty, and should be the business of our lives,
to bring into subjection the rebellious passions, the fainting
weaknesses and erring reason. Inspired by this grand truth, behold
thousands of devoted men and women, weak with human infirmity, but
sustained by courage from on high, renouncing the dulcet, but
transitory enjoyments of this life, to encounter, for the salvation of
their souls, and of others, privation and sorrow, and painful death.
_Quoe terra non plena nostri laboris?_ Yet, O how contemptible is
the suffering, when compared with the joy of the hope which is set
before us--of the starry crown that awaits the willing martyr! Feed
thy soul, my son, on these divine contemplations, until they become a
part of thyself, and the path that leads to a bloody grave shall be
strewed with roses. Be the motto of our order forever before thine
eyes. From the mystical words in _majorem gloriam Dei_, shall beam a
light brighter and more blessed than that of the sun, for it flows
from the throne of the Eternal."

With suggestions and arguments like these did the enthusiastic father
endeavor to animate and confirm the less exalted resolution of his
fellow-laborer. Nor were they without an influence. As the thirsty
traveller, faint and worn with the toil and heat of the day, drinks of
the refreshing spring, and bathes his brow in its cooling waters, and
goes strengthened on his way, so did the Knight derive vigor from his
words.

At their last meeting, Father Le Vieux announced the conclusion to
which he had persuaded the Taranteens.

"Hostilities at the present time were premature," he said. "The tribes
are not sufficiently united to make head, with all the assistance we
can afford, against the heretics. We will wait awhile, until the
present supposed outrage is followed by another--and, in the position
and temper of the English, it is inevitable--which shall rouse other
tribes. Be sure, the Taranteens will not forget. The war-whoop must
sound simultaneously, from the Kennebec to the mouth of the
Connecticut, or our labor will be worse than lost. Meanwhile, a great
advantage has been gained. A gulf is now between the proud Englishman
and the Taranteen, over which neither will pass. Your report, then, to
them who sent you will be peace. Thus will their confidence in you and
your influence be increased." [At the same time the father gave a
letter for Sister Celestina.] "Tell her," he continued, "of my
admiration of her devotion. Blessed be she among women!"

Thus they parted, the priest to return to his self-sacrificing labors
among the Indians, at no distant period to end in that crown of
martyrdom after which his soul panted, and the Knight to his post of
observation near the English colony.



CHAPTER XXII.

  "So full of passion were his amorous glances,
    So artfully the wicked jade dissembled,
  So well each sighed ridiculous romances,
    That for them both, I vow, I fairly trembled."

  ANONYMOUS.


During the absence of the Knight and his young friend, events had
occurred which require us to shift the scene of our theatre to Boston
and its environs.

The indefatigable Spikeman continued to prosecute his intrigues with
his accustomed audacity. The evil passion which he had conceived for
the pretty Prudence, so far from being checked by the repulses he
received from the wily maiden--repulses which left room for hope--only
stimulated to redoubled exertion. He was like a sportsman, whose
eagerness in the pursuit of game is only heightened by its shyness and
difficulty of capture; and, with no disparagement of the virtue of the
coquettish girl, it must be admitted that, for the want of something
better to exercise her active faculties, (the difficulties of her
interviews with Philip having increased since his banishment,) she
found a mischievous delight in the power she possessed over Spikeman,
and in playing off her caprices at his expense. So far, indeed, by her
blandishments, had she succeeded in blinding his eyes and subjecting
him to her power, that she herself wondered at her success. The path
which she was treading was dangerous, but her youthful presumption,
and the pleasure she derived from the influence which the insane
passion of the Assistant gave her over him, stopped her ears to the
warnings of prudence and the suggestions of propriety. If Philip Joy,
whom with no divided affection she loved in her own way, had known
all, he would scarcely have been so contented at the dwelling of Sir
Christopher. Yet, as we have seen, did Prudence make no secret to
Philip of the admiration of Spikeman; and, after the first
conversation in which she disclosed it, had more than once laughed
with him at the advances of her antiquated lover. But her disclosures
were made in such a manner--with such a half-telling of the
truth--with such a revelation here, and a concealment there, as to
provoke more merriment than apprehension.

Nor, while indulging a feeling which cannot be called love, was
Spikeman regardless of his hatreds. He strove by every means to excite
distrust and ill-will against Sir Christopher and Arundel. As for the
humble Philip, he hardly looked upon him any longer as a rival, such
had been the success of the deceitful Prudence. With these preliminary
observations, the reader is prepared for what follows.

It was at the house of the Assistant Spikeman, and there were no
persons in the room save himself and Prudence. The door was closed,
and the girl was standing with a besom in one hand, while the
Assistant, who was seated, had hold of the other, and was looking up
into her hazel eyes. He drew her down with a force which was not
resisted, and imprinted a kiss on the cheek she half averted.

"Prudence," he said, "how long shall I languish? Verily am I as one
who longs for the dawn."

"You do not love me half as much as you pretend," said the girl, still
standing by his side, and suffering her hand to be pressed by his.
"There is too wide a difference betwixt us, and I am all the time
afraid you are only making a fool of me."

"By this palm, softer than the down of the cygnet; by thy lips, redder
than rubies; by thy diamond eyes, I swear I love thee dearer than my
own soul," exclaimed Spikeman.

"How can you speak of your soul," said Prudence, smiling as she spoke,
"when you know you are talking and acting like a wicked man?"

"Canst thou not understand the liberty of the saints? Is it not
written, that to him only who thinketh a thing to be evil, it is evil?
Surely, I have explained all this, even unto weariness?"

"Aye, it may be so with thee; but I am no saint. I am afraid I'm doing
very wrong."

"If you thought so," replied the Assistant, gently drawing her down
upon his lap, "would you occupy this place; would a smile beautify
those intoxicating lips, and would I read paradise in thine eyes?"

Prudence threw her arm round Spikeman's neck, and sunk her face upon
his shoulder, as if to evince her tenderness and hide her blushes, but
in truth, to conceal a disposition to laugh.

"I wish," she said, presently raising her head, and looking Spikeman
bewitchingly in the face, "I knew whether you really mean what you
say?"

"Thou art unjust to me, Prudence. Have I not given every possible
proof of affection? What hast thou asked that I have withheld? Have I
not treated thee as the elect lady of my soul?"

"Nay, there be some things which you refuse to tell me. I am foolish,"
she added, forcing some moisture into her eyes; "but--but--"

"But what, O garden of delights?" asked Spikeman, kissing the
hypocritical tears away.

"When you refuse me anything, I think you do not love--love me."

"Ask, and thou wilt be convinced of the contrary."

"I am but a woman," she said, looking at him with a smile so sweet
that we almost pardon poor Spikeman his infatuation, "and I feel like
dying when I know there is a secret, and cannot get at the bottom of
it."

"What secret? I understand thee not."

"If you yourself had not dropped a hint, I had never thought of it;
but it was about this Knight they call Sir Christopher Gardiner, whom
Governor Winthrop thinks so much of."

"We will cure him of that folly. What foolish thing have I said to
this girl?" thought the Assistant. "Prudence," he added, "this is a
matter that cannot concern thee. Thou wouldst not have me speak of
secrets of State?"

"Said I not right!" exclaimed Prudence, rising, and preparing to leave
the room, "that your love was but a pretext? How, I want to know, is a
secret of State better than any other? Now, had I given poor Philip
half the encouragement which my silly fondness for thee--O, dear!--"
and she put her hands up to her eyes.

"Come," said Spikeman, pursuing and bringing her back, "name not the
presumptuous varlet. On one condition I will tell thee, even though it
ruin me."

"What may that be?" inquired the girl.

"I have long solicited an interview where we should not be liable to
interruption. Grant me that, and I will conceal nothing."

"Thou dost grant nothing without a condition. I do not know," she
added, tossing her head, "whether I care anything, after all, about
this mystery. I dare say there is nothing in it, and, as you say, it
concerns me not."

"Be not angry, sweet Prudence. Ask, and I will answer all thy
questions."

"You know, too, how much I would do to pleasure you," sighed Prudence.
"Ah! me, how weak a thing is a woman's heart."

"Then you will not deny me? Know then that letters have arrived from
England, charging this knight, or pretended knight, with diverse grave
offences."

"And what may they be?" inquired the girl.

"He is complained of as a fugitive from justice," answered Spikeman,
who meant to communicate no more information than he was obliged to.

"The sweet, handsome gentleman! I do not believe he ever harmed any
one. But what did he?"

"Of that I am not positively informed, not having seen the epistles,
they being addressed to private persons."

"Have they anything against Master Miles, too?" asked Prudence.

"I doubt not that he is the worse of the two, if all were known."

"These be dreadful lies about the nicest and properest men in the
country," cried Prudence. "And what will be done with them when they
come back?"

"That I cannot tell; but be sure we shall find some means of getting
rid of them. And now, Prudence--"

"I do not know that I made any promise," she said, archly; "and you
have told me very little, after all."

"I have told thee all I know. Keep now equal good faith with me."

"It would be very improper," said the girl, turning away her face, "to
invite a man to a secret meeting; but I sometimes wander on the edge
of the forest to gather wild flowers, and hear the birds sing, and if
you should come thither by accident, at the same time, nobody, I
suppose, would find fault."

"But when--but when, lovely Prudence? Ah! you comprehend not the
longing of my soul."

"That I cannot say now. I am only a servant girl, and must obey the
directions of my mistress, which are often very unreasonable, and
order not my time."

"Would I were a king, for your sake! But shall it be soon?"

"As soon as may be, and I will let you know the time and place." So
saying, she broke away from the enamored Spikeman, and ran to acquaint
her young mistress with all that had happened.

The young lady felt seriously alarmed at the communication of her
confidante--an alarm increased by the vagueness of the information, as
in a dark night the fearful imagination invests with terrors some
object, which, in the light of day, proves to be a harmless bush or
stump--and the two young women consulted together if any thing could
be done to avert the threatened danger. They could think of nothing
better than to acquaint Arundel with it, which Prudence took upon
herself to do.

"But how," inquired Eveline, "is it to be done?"

"You forget Philip Joy, madam," said Prudence.

"I might have known better than to distrust your wiles and stratagems,
you cunning girl," said her mistress; "but have a care of thyself. I
sometimes feel much anxiety on thy account--but I forbid this meeting
with Master Spikeman."

"An' it be so," answered the waiting-maid, pouting, "you may find some
one else, Mistress Eveline, to tell you about the plots of the old
dragon, who has us in his claws."

"For shame, thou petulant thing! yet tell me now all thy design."

"You tell me not all your thoughts about Master Miles, and why should
I acquaint you with mine about Joe?" said Prudence, bursting into a
laugh.

"There is some difference, methinks, between the cases--have thy way
though. I have confidence in thee, Prudence, and believe thee as witty
as pretty. Thy own goodness and love for the soldier Joy shall stand
by thee like guardian angels, to save from harm. Yet like I not this
tampering with anything that looks like evil."

The girl knelt down by the side of her mistress, and taking the young
lady's hand, laid it on her heart.

"Thou feelest," she said, "how it beats. Dost understand what it
says?"

"Methinks it repeats only, Philip, Philip, Philip," said Eveline,
smiling.

"Where one fillip belongs to him, a great many belong to thee,"
answered the waiting-maid, affectionately. "It will be time enough to
let him have more when I am sure all his are mine."

The young lady bent down, and, throwing her arms round the maiden's
neck, kissed her cheek.

"What have I done to deserve such affection?" she murmured. "O,
Prudence, thou art a treasure to me; but be cautious, be cautious, my
girl. Not for all the blessings which thy loving heart would heap upon
me, would I have the least harm befall thee."

A few days after, as the summer sun was setting, and his last rays
lighting up the tops of the trees into a yellow sheen, and kindling
into liquid gold the placid surface of Massachusetts Bay, a female
figure was to be seen hovering on the margin of the wood in that
neighborhood. In consequence of the inequalities of the ground, and of
some intervening bushes and trees, the collection of houses that lay
along the shore of the bay was not visible from the spot where she was
walking, nor was there a path to indicate that it was a place of any
resort. It seemed to be a spot well adapted to privacy. No sound was
to be heard, save the occasional tap of a woodpecker, or the whirr of
the wings of a partridge, as, startled by the approach of the person,
he suddenly rose into the air, or the songs of the robins, bidding
farewell, in sweet and plaintive notes, to the disappearing sun. The
female walked on, stopping now and then to gather a wild flower, until
she reached a spring which bubbled at the foot of an immense beech
tree. It ran a rod or two in a silvery stream from its fountain, and
then leaping down a miniature fall into a sort of natural basin,
surrounded with rocks, expanded itself into a small pool, as clear as
crystal. Around the basin were gathered companies of such wood-flowers
as love the water, conspicuous among which, both for number and
beauty, were the yellow and orange blossoms of the elegant "jewels,"
as boys call them. Advancing to this little mirror, the female took a
seat on one of the rocks, on the edge of the water, and bending over,
appeared to contemplate, with no little satisfaction, what she beheld
there; and to tell the truth, it was a pretty face, and justified some
vanity. Black hair and hazel eyes, red lips and blooming cheeks, and a
well-formed person, composed a whole whereon the eye rested with
pleasure. Prudence, (you have guessed it was she,) after looking at
the reflection of herself awhile, and smoothing down a stray tress or
two, selected from the flowers in her hand some of the most beautiful,
and humming a tune, commenced arranging them in her hair. She was some
little time about her toilette, either because her taste was difficult
to be suited, or because her employment afforded an excuse for looking
at what was certainly more attractive than the flowers themselves. She
was so long about their arrangement, that she had hardly completed it,
and had time to twist her neck into only five or six attitudes, to see
how they became her, when a rustling was heard in the bushes, and
immediately the Assistant Spikeman stood by her side.

"Verily, sweet maiden," he said, "thine eyes outshine the stars, which
will soon twinkle in the sky, and the flowers around thee pine with
envy at beholding a blush lovelier than their own."

A sudden and unpleasant interruption put a stop to the fine speeches
of the debauched hypocrite, for he had hardly concluded the sentence,
when, without a warning, a strong hand grasped his throat, and he was
hurled with irresistible violence to the ground. As the Assistant was
lying prostrate on his face, he could hear Prudence, with screams,
each fainter than the former, running in the direction of the
settlement, while, without a word being spoken, his arms were
violently forced upon his back and bound, an operation which his
struggles were unable to prevent. This being performed, he was
suffered to rise, and, upon gaining his feet, he saw himself in the
presence of Sassacus. The blood fled the cheeks and lips of Spikeman
as he beheld the savage, and felt that he was in the hands of one
whom, without cause, he had injured, and who belonged to that wild
race, with whom revenge is a duty as well as a pleasure. His knees
trembled, and he was in danger of falling to the ground, as the
thought of death, whereof horrid torments should be the precursors,
flashed through his mind. But the trepidation was only momentary, and
soon, with the hardihood of his audacious nature, he steeled himself
to dare whatever should follow--and it marks the character of the man,
that the bitterness of the moment was aggravated at the thought of the
vanishing of the fond dreams with which he had idly fed his
imagination.

His captor called out in his own language, and presently another
Indian came running up. A few words passed between them, when the
latter stepping forward, Sassacus made a motion to Spikeman to follow,
placing himself at the same time in the rear. Resistance would have
been unavailing, and could serve no other purpose than to rouse the
passions of the Indians, and invite immediate injury. Something might
yet happen to his advantage. He might be rescued, or effect his
escape, or the chapter of accidents might have something else
favorable, he knew not what, in store. The Assistant, therefore,
quietly submitted, and followed as ordered.

Their course lay directly through the densest portions of the forest,
and as the rapidity of their progress was impeded by the constrained
position of the captive's arms, Sassacus, as if in contempt of any
effort to escape, cut the ligatures with the knife that hung at his
neck, intimating the motive at the same time by an acceleration of
speed. As Spikeman was thus hurried along, his thoughts went after
Prudence, and he wondered what had become of her. Notwithstanding his
own peril, he felt (and it proves the deep interest he cherished for
the girl) a melancholy pleasure in the hope that she had escaped, not
that even though she had fallen into the hands of the savages, he
would have entertained fears for her life, but she might have been
doomed to a hopeless captivity, far away from friends, whom she was
never to see again, and condemned, in some distant wigwam, to exchange
the comforts of civilization for a wild life, which, to her, could
bring only wretchedness. Bad as was Spikeman, and lamentable as might
be his infatuation for the girl, there was even in that, something
which redeemed it from being utter evil.

Daylight had now faded entirely away, but the Indians abated not their
speed, and pursued their course in a straight line, as though guided
by an infallible instinct. In this manner they proceeded for nearly
two hours, and, at the expiration of the time, arrived at a collection
of three or four lodges of the rudest structure. Several of the
natives were lying on the ground, smoking their pipes, but they took
no other notice of the newcomers than looking at them as they came up.
Sassacus led the way into the largest wigwam, and, having directed his
prisoner to sit down, left the cabin.

Spikeman knew well enough that, with all this seeming inattention, he
was vigilantly watched, yet could he not forbear from walking to the
entrance, looking around at the same time, if, by chance, he might
espy a weapon. He saw none, however, and two stout Indians made
motions to him to return. Meditating on his situation, and casting
about in his mind for expedients, either to evade his captors or to
change the resolution of the Pequot chief, which, he doubted not,
aimed at his life, he resumed his seat. He was unable to remain more
than a few moments in quiet, and presently again approached the
opening, and this time beheld a sight which curdled his blood.

It was a stake driven into the ground, at a distance of not more than
a rod from where he stood, around which several Indians were heaping
up faggots of dry sticks and broken branches. Spikeman shuddered, and
tasted, in almost as lively a manner as if he were already
experiencing them, the agonies that awaited him, for he could not
doubt that the preparations were made on his account. The conduct of
his keepers, therefore, was unnecessary, who pointed first to the
pile, and then to himself, intimating thereby that one was designed
for the other. The effect produced on him was such that he could
hardly restrain himself from attempting to burst through his guards,
either by some miracle to get free, or to obtain an easier death from
the tomahawk or arrow. But in all the horrors of these dreadful
moments, the mind of Spikeman remained as clear as ever, and he saw
plainly the impossibility of evasion, and the folly of supposing that
the Indians would be tempted to throw a tomahawk, or discharge an
arrow against an unarmed man, whereby they might rob themselves of the
fiendish pleasure they anticipated--besides, thought the miserable
Spikeman, I should be more likely to receive the stroke of death when
their passions are excited, than at present; and with a desperate
calmness, and striving to defy the worst, he awaited what should
happen.



CHAPTER XXIII.

  These the sole accents from his tongue that fell,
  But volumes lurked below that fierce farewell.

  BYRON.


When Sassacus left Spikeman, it was only to step into a lodge not half
a dozen rods distant. Though smaller than the one into which the
prisoner had been introduced, it was superior in comfort, as was,
indeed, to be expected, being that of the Sagamore himself. Here he
found the soldier, Philip Joy.

"What means this, Sassacus?" exclaimed the soldier, as the Pequot
entered. "Was it not our covenant that the life of the white man
should be spared?"

"My brother did not mean what he said when he asked that his enemy
might be permitted to run away. Who, when he catches a wolf, says,
'Wolf, Indian set the trap only to see whether it would hold fast your
legs. The wise hunter talks not so, but strikes the wolf on the
head.'"

"Sassacus," said Joy, "this may not be. If you had caught Master
Spikeman, by your own cunning, it might have been different; but it
was the white girl and I who devised the scheme, and I told you where
to place the ambuscade, which has been successful. Were you to murder
this man, the guilt would rest more on Prudence and me than on you,
whose savage and un-Christian notions may partly excuse so dreadful an
act."

"My brother's heart is soft, like moss, but the heart of Sassacus is a
stone. My brother must learn to harden his heart, and he shall soon
behold a punishment becoming a great Sagamore. My brother thinks and
feels like a Christian. Good! but he must let Sassacus feel like an
Indian."

"Let him go," said Joy, "and he shall pay you store of wampompeag and
colored cloth. Of what use can it be to you to put him to a horrid
death?"

"Wampompeag and colored cloth are good, but Sassacus is a great chief,
and they cannot make him forget an injury. Before the white men came,
his ancestors punished and rewarded, and he will not surrender the
prerogative of his family."

"By the bones of my father," swore the soldier, "I will not permit
this cold-blooded murder. Hated I him ten-fold more than I do, I would
defend his life at the hazard of my own. Where is my gun?" he demanded
fiercely, seeking after it. "Who has dared to remove it?"

"Sassacus took it away, that his brother might do no mischief with
it," said the Pequot.

"False Indian!" exclaimed the soldier, passionately; "call me not
again your brother. I will have nothing to do with one whose promises
cannot bind, and who loves revenge more than honor."

"Sassacus never breaks his word, but, if he did, it would be only
imitating the white men. Would my brother speak to my prisoner, whom,
at this moment, he loves more than the justice of an Indian?"

"Why should I speak to him, when I should hear only curses?"

"Then remain here to behold the punishment of the bad white man."

He strode out of the lodge, while the soldier, burning with
indignation, disposed himself so that, unseen, he might notice all
that was done, and determined, unarmed as he was, to interpose.

Presently Sassacus re-appeared, emerging from the larger lodge,
followed by the Assistant, whose arms were bound again, and who was
conducted by two savages, holding him by either arm. They led him
straight to the pile around the stake, which the Chief ordered to be
lighted, and whose billowy flames were kept rolling up by additions,
from time to time, of the dry wood which lay in abundance around.
Seated on a log not far from the fire, whose heat might indeed be
felt, Sassacus commanded his prisoner to be brought before him.

"Bad white man," he said, "look on yon flames! Are they like that hell
which thy powaws say is prepared for such as thou?"

Spikeman turned his ghastly face away from the blaze, with a shudder,
but he said nothing.

"The white man is silent," said Sassacus. "He acknowledges the justice
of his doom. Lead him to the fire."

Spikeman, notwithstanding the horror of his situation, succeeded in a
measure in concealing his feelings, and, affecting an indifference to
his fate, advanced a few steps with the two Indians, who held his
arms, when, suddenly making a violent effort, he burst the withes with
which he was carelessly bound, and, throwing them both off, started to
run. The opportunity had probably been given purposely by the savages,
for their diversion, and in order to protract the terrors of the
captive, and knowing that flight was impossible. But, blinded by the
glare of the fire, Spikeman remarked not a trunk of a tree in his
path, and, stumbling over it, fell to the ground, bruised and torn,
and before he could rise, found himself again held fast. Cursing his
ill luck, he made no further resistance, but sullenly suffered himself
to be led back. Philip Joy, on seeing Spikeman break away, started
from his place of concealment; so that the two were confronted on the
latter's return. The sight of Philip awoke a hope in Spikeman's
bosom, who begged him to intercede with the savage.

"I have done so already," answered Philip; "but he will not listen to
me, and has deprived me of my arms."

"Speak to him again--he will regard what you say. Save my life, and I
will make recompense a thousandfold for any wrong I have done you or
him."

The Pequot, smiling, stood by, quietly listening to the colloquy, and
before Philip could address him, said:

"Did Sassacus promise his white brother to let the dog (pointing to
Spikeman) run away?"

"You did; but care no more for your word than if you were no chief."

"My brother's, is a pappoos speech. Sassacus never broke his word; he
only tried whether the dog was as brave as he was bad. White man," he
added, turning to the Assistant, "thou art free. A great chief
disdains to give thee the death of a warrior. Go back to thy people,
and tell them what return the Sagamore of the Pequots makes for thy
breach of hospitality. His promise to his brother saves thy life this
time. But, beware! A Sagamore does not forget. Be a snail that keeps
its head within its shell. If the snail puts it out, Sassacus will
step upon it. Depart."

He gave directions to a couple of his sanops to conduct the Assistant
to the verge of the forest, and, turning away, walked to his lodge. He
was followed by Philip, who had now recovered from his amazement, and,
understanding the conduct of the chief, felt ashamed at his own want
of discernment and distrust.

"Is my brother satisfied?" inquired the Pequot.

"Sagamore," answered Philip, "I wronged thee. It shall be a lesson to
make me more cautious in judging of thy actions."

"It is well. My brother will hereafter remember that the thoughts of a
chief do not always shine in his face or sound in his words. My
brother will forgive me," he added, smiling, "for shutting his eyes a
little while very tight. It was that my brother might be the more
pleased when he opened them."

"A trusty friend, this Indian, after all, in his way, (thought Philip,
as he gazed on the face of the Pequot, which had settled into its
usual gravity), and loves a jest, too. Who would have thought it?
Methinks he has the better of it with Master Spikeman, though I
misdoubt if he considers the score as settled."

As for the Assistant, thus suddenly and unexpectedly reprieved from a
shocking death that seemed certain, he was stupified at the abrupt
change in his circumstances, and, as he hurried on, half doubted
whether it were not a dream. As he threaded the intricacies of the
wood, he had time to compare and weigh events, and was thus enabled to
come to some sort of conclusion. He recollected now many little things
in the conduct of Prudence, which would have opened the eyes of any
one not blinded by an absurd passion, and saw how, while seeming not
averse to his pursuit, she had, in fact, only tempted on from one
folly to another, until his whole being lay disclosed to her, without
herself making any corresponding return. He doubted not that she had
been all the time in correspondence with Joy, and with him had
concerted the plan whereby he had been betrayed into the hands of the
savage, to be outraged and mocked, and made to suffer all but the
bitterness of death. He gnashed his teeth with rage as these
reflections stormed through his mind, and, far from being grateful for
his deliverance, resolved to exert the whole force and subtlety of
which he was capable, to revenge himself on his tormentors. The fire
of his indignation burnt not so fiercely against the Pequot, yet he,
too, was embraced in the schemes for vengeance, for Spikeman fully
comprehended, from his parting words, that the enmity betwixt them
could be satisfied only by the destruction of one or both. Turning all
these things over in his mind, he quickly formed a plan, which he
determined to put as soon as possible into execution.

The dawn broke before his guides left the Assistant; but it was too
early to venture to return home, instead of which, he sought his
store-house, and there passed, meantime, awhile, brooding over schemes
of revenge. Of himself he was powerless; it was therefore necessary to
set other forces at work, and, in the letters which had been received
reflecting on the character of the Knight, he thought he saw the means
of driving, not only him, but Arundel also, out of the colony; and
they being once removed, he trusted to his ingenuity to rid himself of
the simple soldier and the Indian. The political power of the colony,
in short, was to be compelled to effect his private designs. This, in
the condition of the little State, was no difficult enterprise. In a
strange land, hemmed in by savages, whose power they were unable to
estimate with any degree of certainty, and who, however contemptible
singly, were formidable by reason of their number--upon whose
friendship they could never securely rely--on the eve of a war,
probably, with the Taranteens--distrustful of even some of their own
people, who murmured at the severity of the discipline they were
subjected to--the government felt that they had need of all the eyes
of Argus, and of as many ears, to guard against the dangers by which
they were beset. They were like, in one respect, to the timorous
rabbit, snuffing the faintest hint of danger in the breeze; but unlike
him in that, they sought safety, not in avoiding, but in anticipating
and confronting danger.

"Dear life!" cried Dame Spikeman, as the haggard face of her husband
presented itself in the morning, "where hast thou been all the night?
You look mightily cast down, and--O Lord! Heaven forgive me!--you have
a wound on the side of your head. Husband, what is the matter?"

"Why, dame," answered the Assistant, "is it a new thing for me to be
absent one night? Bethink thee how often my occasions call me to the
plantation?"

"Out upon the weariful plantation! O, sweetheart!" said the jealous
but fond wife, "I like not these absences. But, how got you this
hurt?" she inquired, parting his hair on the temple, and exposing the
dried blood.

"It is only a scratch I received in the forest, and hardly worthy thy
notice, dame. But where is Mistress Eveline? and I see not Prudence?"

"The young lady is still in her chamber, and, as for the waiting maid,
I heard her but five minutes since singing away as if there were no
music in the world but her own. Truly, it sounded more like a snatch
from some profane ballad than a godly hymn. I will tutor her about
this levity. Now do not be angry, dear life," added the dame, whose
heart was made more tender, and her tongue more communicative, by the
anxieties she had suffered during the night, on her husband's account;
"but I have fancied that you looked at the girl oftener, sometimes,
than was becoming in a man who had a wedded wife who never said him
nay."

"Fie, Dame," said the Assistant, laughing, and pinching, and kissing
her still tempting cheek; "what crazy fancies be these? Consider my
years, and profession, and dignity, and, most of all, my love for
thee. Why, this is very midsummer madness."

"I suppose I am foolish," replied the dame, wiping a tear away, "but I
feared, lest the girl might derive some encouragement from it, though
otherwise, Prudence is a good lass, and obedient, and I have no other
fault to find with her; but I recollect now, when I was a girl, how I
did feel when you came near me, and I have not got over all these
feelings yet, nor do I choose that Prudence should have them. So, dear
husband, it were safer for the girl that you should look oftener at
me, and less at her."

"My good, and faithful, and loving wife!" exclaimed the Assistant,
enclosing her in his arms, and feeling something like compunction at
the moment, "you deserve a better mate. But trouble not thyself with
such misgivings. Do not this wrong, sweet, to thine own charms, and to
my profession and station, as one of the congregation and a
magistrate."

"Nay," answered the pleased wife, "I distrusted thee not so much as
the presumption of the damsel; and if the devil goes about as a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, as we know he does, from the
precious book, what place is more likely for him to be in than these
awful woods, filled with red heathens, whom I take to be little better
than his children; and whom would he sooner devour, than a pretty
maiden like Prudence?"

"Enough of this, dame," said the Assistant, with difficulty
suppressing a smile at his help-mate's simplicity. "Bethink thee, that
though thy loving words are a feast to the spirit, the body requires
more substantial fare?"

"True, and you shall have it forthwith, although, you wicked man, I
did sleep hardly a wink for thinking of thee." So saying, the dame
hurried off to hasten the morning meal.

The Assistant watched the countenances of Eveline and her attendant
that morning at breakfast, and, in spite of the efforts of the former
to appear unconstrained, and the demureness of the latter, detected,
he thought, sufficient to justify his suspicions. He doubted not that
the girl had betrayed his weakness to her young mistress, and that all
along he had been a laughing-stock for both. "I will teach them," he
said to himself, as he reflected with bitterness on his failure, "how
to offend one who has the power and the will to crush them. The
banishment of her minion, who, a love-sick swain, has followed her
across the sea, only to be sent back a disappointed fool, will answer
for my young lady; and as for the girl, the slitting of Joy's ears and
nose, and an acquaintance of her own pretty feet with the stocks, will
suffice. It shall not be said that the sword of the magistrate was put
into my hands in vain."

While the Assistant was busying his brain with machinations like
these, the opportune arrival of another ship from London, with letters
to himself, containing accusations against Sir Christopher Gardiner,
filled his heart with joy, and furnished additional means to
facilitate his purpose. Without delay, he took them to Winthrop, and
demanded a private audience. After reading the letters received by
Spikeman, the Governor opened his desk, and handed to his councillor
others addressed to himself, and which had arrived by the same
opportunity. Greedily did the Assistant devour their contents, and
unbounded, though concealed, was his joy at finding them in one
particular of the same purport as his own. His face, however, was sad,
and his voice mournful, as, returning the epistles, he said--

"A grievous thing is it, that hypocrisy, so finished, should walk the
earth. It is a day of rebuke and of scandal to us, as magistrates,
that we should be so deceived."

"I am not altogether convinced," said Winthrop, who, steady in his
friendships, and prepossessed from the beginning in favor of the
Knight, was loth to think evil of him, "that these charges are true.
My own letters mention them only as reports--thine speak of them more
positively. Vouch you for the truth of your correspondent?"

"There is no man more truthful," answered Spikeman, who, had it been
necessary, would have been a guaranty for Beelzebub himself. "I have
known him long. He has never deceived me, nor can I imagine motive
therefor now."

"So fair, and yet so false!" murmured Winthrop; "and yet we know that
the evil one appears sometimes as an angel of light. I will not trust
in human appearance more. What shall be done with him on his return?"

"Let him be sent out of the colony, and they who are leagued in his
plots with him," said Spikeman. "I understand now the wonderful
eagerness of Master Arundel to be joined with him in this embassy.
Birds of a feather, says the proverb, do fly with greatest joy
together. Out upon this false Knight, for his pretended love of
retirement; upon his leman, this lady Geraldine, forsooth; and this
squire of dames, Master Miles Arundel, whose counterfeited affection
for my ward may be only another cloak for most pernicious plots."

"Thou art becoming suspicious of all the world. Master Spikeman," said
Winthrop, smiling.

"And is it not time to be suspicious, when those who have been honored
with the confidence of our government, and to whom we have entrusted
an important matter, are discovered to be no better than landlaufers
and conspirators?"

"Dost distrust the good faith of the Knight in his embassy?" inquired
the Governor.

"A bitter fountain cannot send forth sweet water, and should even the
undertaking of this false Knight be successful in appearance, would
not my suspicion be quieted."

"Come, Master Spikeman, remember that you may be called to sit as a
judge on the fate of this gentleman, and that it becomes men in our
positions to keep the mind free from injurious prepossessions, for
only thus may justice, which is a ray from the effulgent countenance
of Him who sits on the circle of the heavens, be attained."

"This is no private matter of mine own," answered the Assistant, "but
a thing of public concernment; and I humbly trust, should ever my
voice be demanded in its decision, that it will be raised to the glory
of God, and the advancement of the interests of the colony which he
has planted. But I should consider myself derelict to duty, and
unworthy of the trust committed to me, were I to hold back my honest
judgment, in view of the evidence now before me, subject to such
modification as further examination may give rise to, especially when
that judgment is asked for by the honored head of our oppressed
Israel."

"It is my purpose," said Winthrop, rising, wherein he was imitated by
the other, "to call together, this evening, at this place, for the due
consideration of this subject, such of the Assistants as may be here
present in Boston, and to advise with them thereupon, when and where I
shall hope to be favored with the presence and counsel of my friend,
whose zeal is never slack in aught that may redound to the welfare of
the Commonwealth."

"My presence, God willing, may be depended on, worshipful sir,"
answered Spikeman.

A meeting of the Assistants was accordingly held at the house of the
Governor the same evening, and the subject of the letters received
from England, and the course to be pursued in view of their contents,
considered in all their aspects. No great diversity of opinion
prevailed in respect to the necessity of caution, in reposing any
further confidence in Sir Christopher; but as for the proceedings to
be adopted on his return, there was a considerable difference of
sentiment. The more moderate, and least prejudiced against the Knight,
at the head of whom was Winthrop, advised that he should be received
with all honor, and the charges laid privately before him, in the
first instance, and an opportunity afforded him to refute them. This
they urged was the more just and honorable mode, inasmuch as the
accusations came not before them invested with any judicial authority.
But an opposite party, headed by Spikeman, strenuously insisted on
another course. They contended, that in a matter of the kind,
severity, and even what might look like precipitation, was better than
a slackness, which might defeat their object. They pressed the point,
that such was the number of letters received (some of them by private
persons) reflecting on the character of Sir Christopher, it was
impossible the information they contained should be concealed from the
public, and that, consequently, even before the return of the Knight,
news of it would reach his house. This, they said, would put the false
Lady Geraldine on her guard, and afford opportunity to destroy papers,
or whatever else might be in existence to inculpate the Knight. It
was, therefore, their opinion, that the lady, with whatever might be
found in the house to assist their judgment, should be instantly
seized, and such other measures taken as to insure the arrest of Sir
Christopher. There was, however, too much nobleness of feeling in a
majority of the Council to relish invading the privacy of a female, on
mere suspicion, while her protector was absent, engaged in business of
the State. Winthrop looked displeased at the suggestion, and even the
brow of the rough Dudley was corrugated into a haughty frown. As
usually happens between differing opinions, a half measure was
resolved upon, which satisfied neither party. It was to keep so strict
a watch, that the moment of Sir Christopher's return should be known,
and a file of armed men despatched by night, who should serve partly
as a guard of honor, and partly as a restraint upon the person, to
escort him to Boston. At the same time, with apologies for its
necessity, his books and papers were to be secured, and the lady
brought in all honor with him. This was the plan, should the Knight
visit his house before coming to Boston; but if he arrived at the
settlement first, he was to be detained and examined, after an account
of his mission had been received.



CHAPTER XXIV.

  "The flying rumors gathered as they rolled;
  Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
  And all who told it added something new,
  And all who heard it made enlargement too;--
  In every ear it spread--on every tongue it grew."

  POPE'S "_Temple of Fame_."


Ignorant, of course, of the events which had occurred during his
absence, the Knight started from the Indian village in high spirits,
as it appeared to Arundel, at the success of his embassy.

"These savages are more placable than I anticipated," said Sir
Christopher, "for it must be admitted that, in appearance at least,
they have cause for grievous resentment. One might almost suspect
that, since their late defiance, a suspicion of the truth had somehow
penetrated their untutored minds. At any rate, no war-whoop will be
heard for the present, and we have been received and treated with all
courtesy."

"A gentler race of wild chivalry," said the young man, "doth surely
nowhere exist. Their free and careless lives make me more than ever in
love with nature, and long shall I remember the noble Taranteens with
pleasure."

"Admired you them enough to cast in your lot with them," said the
Knight, with a smile, "I doubt not that you might become a king over
regions as extensive as those which owe allegiance to the sceptre of
our gracious monarch, Charles."

"My admiration soars not to that height; yet, to my imagination, is
there something delightful in the condition of these children of
nature, thoughtful only of to-day, and careless of tomorrow, when
compared with that of the painful delvers of civilization. The former
are birds flying freely in the air; the latter, poultry scratching in
a barn-yard."

Sir Christopher laughed good naturedly at the sally of his friend.
"Verily," he said, "were it not for thy mistress, I do believe thou
hadst remained amongst the Taranteens. Unfortunate for them is it that
civilization has an ally in love. Were this life all," he added,
gravely, his whole manner changing, "there were some reason in what
you say. It were wisdom, then, to sport like insects in sunbeams--to
sink at night into dreamless sleep. But such is not man's destiny.
What infinite concernments hang on the present moment! How imperative
and urgent is our duty to wean these poor heathen from their wild ways
and false creed, that they may be rescued from the intolerable
perdition that awaits all who are not of Holy Church."

"It surely is a lamentable future for the poor creatures," said the
young man; "and yet I suppose it must be so, because the learned of
all creeds, which call themselves Christian, do agree therein. Ah, me!
poor Sassacus!"

"I opine," said the gentle Knight, "that the flames of hell will be
tempered to such poor wretches, in consideration of their ignorance."

"It is horrible to think of," said Arundel, shuddering; and, as if
desirous to change the subject, he inquired, "May I ask, without
offence, after the country of Sassacus?"

"Assuredly you may. It is some hundred miles to the south of
Boston--the principal villages of the Pequots being on a river of the
same name, and on a lesser stream called the Mystic, and along the
reverberating shores of the Atlantic. It is a pleasant land of bright
waters, and fair valleys, and towering hills, fit to produce a race of
hardy warriors."

"Hast thou visited it thyself?"

"Once, on a hunting expedition, did I wander thus far, and partake of
the hospitality of the Pequot Chief, who, in return, was prevailed
upon to visit my poor quarters."

"I wonder what induces the noble savage to linger so long about
Massachusetts Bay, after having made his visit to you, and confess to
some apprehensions on his account."

"Have no fear on that score," said the Knight, cheerfully. "Sassacus
is prudent as well as brave, and, as you saw on the night when he was
attacked by the Taranteens, has some of his men with him; besides, the
Aberginians are at peace with his tribe."

"It is only the ingenious malice of the Assistant Spikeman that I
dread."

"Be assured, also, on that head. He will not venture into Boston
during our absence, and will so carefully keep out of the way as to
allow no opportunity for violence."

How mistaken was the Knight, is already known; but the most consummate
tact and profoundest wisdom are not able to guard against every
possible emergency.

With conversations of this kind did the two companions beguile the
way, on their journey homeward, which occupied somewhat less time than
it took to reach the Indian village. It was early in the morning--that
is to say, the sun had just risen--when they stood on the edge of the
clearing within which stood the Knight's habitation. Here they were
met by an Indian, who, to Sir Christopher's inquiry if all was well,
answered, sententiously, "All well." On arriving at the house, they
found the soldier, Philip, who manifested his joy at seeing them again
in a manner contrasting somewhat with that of the phlegmatic native.

After the demonstrations of welcome, Philip said, "I know not, Sir
Christopher, whether you have not got away from one danger, only to
fall into another. According to my thinking, a man of any spirit may
better trust himself with the salvages, whom I find nice, reasonable
people enough, who will not interfere with him if he will let them
alone, than with the meddlesome, crop-eared knaves down on the Bay."

"Remember in whose presence you are speaking, Philip," said the
Knight, "and that it becomes not me to hear those whose ambassador I
am, evil spoken of."

"I crave pardon," said Philip; "but, if all tales be true, they
deserve no such forbearance. It was out of no friendship, they sent
you to be murdered by them Taranteens, nor will they fire a culverin
at your return."

"Out with thy news, at once," cried the impatient Arundel, "nor stand
there hanging fire, like a musket when the priming is wet. What hast
to tell?"

"Ill news, Master Arundel, folk say can travel a mile, while good is
putting on his boots; but you seem not to be contented with its haste.
Nay," added Philip, noticing that the Knight began to show impatience,
"an' you will have it. It is little less than treason, I fear, they
are charging against Sir Christopher. It is a kind of Guy-Fawks plot
they are accusing him of hatching--that is to say, that he means to
make himself king of both colonies."

"Is that all, Philip," said the Knight, laughing. "By our lady, I have
heard worse stories about myself many a time, since I lived in these
woods."

"I tell thee, Sir Christopher," said the soldier, earnestly, "this is
no laughing matter. If I were in thy place, I would either fall back
on Sassacus and his tribe of Pequots, or gather me forthwith a few
hundred salvages, under arms, if you mean to stand your ground. It is
true, bows and arrows are beggarly things against muskets, in a fight
at arms-length, but at close quarters, knives and tomahawks can do
somewhat."

"But, good Philip," said the Knight, "thy words convey little
information. Canst not be more precise?"

"All I know," said the soldier, "is, that they say the trouble comes
from certain letters which have just arrived from England, charging
you, Sir Christopher, with I know not what horrid crimes. The person
who told me was sure they were very bad; but what they were, knew,
forsooth, no better than I."

"Perhaps the Lady Geraldine will be able to clear up the mystery,"
said the Knight to Arundel. "Let us dismiss all thought of it for the
present. There will be time enough hereafter to disquiet ourselves."

"And I will hie me presently," said Arundel, "to Boston, to inform the
Governor of your arrival, and to discover, if that be possible, what
means the nonsense that has taken possession of Philip, unless Lady
Geraldine can explain it, which will save me the trouble. Is it your
pleasure to accompany me, or remain you later?"

"I have some trifling duties to attend to," answered Sir Christopher,
"and shall remain. It will be enough for thee, with all convenient
dispatch, to inform him of the successful issue of our mission."

They now entered the house together, and the Knight went immediately
to seek the lady. He was absent but a short time, and, on his return,
stated that the only information she had was derived from the soldier.
"She bade me say," he added, "that her prayers have been earnest on
thy behalf, and that she welcomes thee again to thy friends."

The young man, (who, meanwhile, had been listening to a communication
from Philip,) as was meet, returned thanks, and desired his dutiful
service to be presented to the lady.

Upon parting, Sir Christopher instructed him respecting his message.

"Present to the Governor," he said, in conclusion, "my congratulations
on the successful issue of our enterprise. Now may the husbandman,
fearless, sow his seed, and his wife and little ones look with
confidence for his return. Midnight treachery and savage cruelty shall
not be known, but each one expect with a joyful heart the rising of
the sun. But I counsel no attempt at nearer approach. It is better
that the English and the Taranteens should avoid one another. Only
therein is safety. Say also that I purpose, after needful rest, to
wait upon him tomorrow, to enjoy once more the charm of his gracious
society, and to possess him more fully of our deeds."

With these parting words, he waived adieu, and, turning, sought the
apartment of Lady Geraldine.

The door was opened, as before, by the little Indian girl, Neebin,
who, as soon as she had admitted the Knight, ran to the side of the
lady, and, falling on her knees, began with curious eyes to examine a
book which the lady held in her lap.

The Knight looked affectionately at the child, and, approaching her,
placed his hand upon the raven hair that fell low upon the shoulders,
and, caressing the bent head, said gently:

"Good little Neebin! Has she learned all about the pretty pictures?"

The girl turned up to him her bright eyes, and, in better English than
that commonly used by the Indians, and even with a pronunciation that
approached correctness, replied:

"No--Neebin knows very little now, but the lady says the book will
talk to her by and by."

It was one of those illuminated missals on which, for want of other
occupation, and sometimes with a feeling of superstitious piety, the
monks spent incredible pains, and often a capricious and wonderful
ingenuity, which the half-reclaimed little savage was looking at. As
if unable to satisfy her curiosity fast enough, she turned the leaves
over with childish impatience, uttering now and then a cry of delight
as she beheld the figure of a bird or of a quadruped, while her eyes
would sadden as they fell upon the mournful face of the crucified
Saviour, whose image was delineated in several parts of the book.

"She knows all her letters," said Sister Celestina, whose true
character as a Catholic and a nun the reader has long ago divined "and
I permit her, as a reward, to look at the missal whenever she has been
diligent."

"Your task is something like taming a young hawk," said the Knight.

"Neebin is not a hawk!" exclaimed the child. "Hawks do not wear
clothes, nor yellow chains, nor can they say _Pater noster_ and _Ave
Maria_."

"No," said the lady; "nor have they a soul to be saved, like Neebin."

"What is a soul?" inquired the girl.

Tears dimmed the eyes of Sister Celestina at the question, and, before
she could reply, the Knight said:

"Thou hast asked a question, Neebin, which puzzles wiser heads; but it
is something which lives when the body becomes dust."

"O, yes," said the child. "I have heard the lady (for so she had been
taught to call Sister Celestina) talk about it. How does it look?"

"There thou askest a question beyond the boundaries of knowledge. No
one has returned from the grave to answer it," said the Knight.

"I know," said the child; "my mother told me. It is Neebin's soul
which looks at her when she bends over a clear spring; it lives in the
water."

"I have tried," said the lady, "to impart the idea, but it seems only
to begin to dawn upon her mind. I trust, by Heaven's grace, (crossing
herself,) it will grow and bear fruit to the glory of sweet Jesus's
name."

"What magnificent results do flow from seemingly insignificant
causes!" said Sir Christopher. "A spark shall light a conflagration of
a mighty city; an acorn shall bear an oak to waft armies over oceans
to conquest; and the conversion of a child to the true faith may
change the destinies of nations. It may be thy blessed lot, Celestina,
to plant a seed which shall grow into a tree, whose branches shall
cover earth with grateful shade, and reach to heaven. There was a time
when, influenced by the example of a king or queen, whose mind divine
grace had illuminated, whole multitudes rushed to be laved in the
saving waters of baptism. Wherefore should not those days return? Now
doth the suffering Church mourn like a pelican in the wilderness, and
though she gives her blood in streams from her torn bosom--alas! how
flows that crimson river, as if in vain!"

"Not all in vain," said the lady. "Cheering accounts of the progress
of our missionaries in the Southern portions of this vast continent
reach us from time to time, and the prayers of the Church are
sanctifying the land from the flood of the Mississippi to the forests
of Canada. But tell me now, Sir Christopher, of thine adventures."

The Knight looked significantly at the Indian girl.

"Neebin," said the lady, "take the book and examine it by thyself. Sir
Christopher and I desire to be alone. But beware that thou show it to
no one, for all are not privileged like thee to see its beautiful
pictures."

The child took the missal, but lingered, as if unwilling to depart,
and it was not until after a more decided repetition of the command,
that, with a pout, she left the room.

"Whom of the holy fathers saw you?" inquired Sister Celestina, after
the door was shut.

"Only Father Le Vieux," answered Sir Christopher, "and he charged me
with a commission which I now discharge." So saying, he took from his
bosom the letter which the Jesuit missionary had entrusted him with,
and handed it to the lady.

Sister Celestina took it, and, imprinting a kiss upon the epistle
which had come from the holy father's hand, laid it on the table.

"Let my presence be no restraint," said the Knight. "I have nought to
say, which can be of equal importance with anything that comes from
Father Le Vieux."

"Thanks for your courtesy," said the lady; and, taking up the letter,
she broke the wrapper wherein it was contained, and which was fastened
together by means of some unknown cement or gum, and commenced its
perusal.

Perhaps the Knight had some design in desiring her to open it in his
presence, for, during the whole time while she was engaged in reading,
he watched her countenance, as if he expected to see the contents of
the letter there; and though her training had been as complete as his
own, yet, by reason of her more delicate organization, she was unable
so to conceal her emotion that it should be entirely unobserved. The
faintest possible color suffused her face as she proceeded, and when
she raised her eyes at the conclusion, they had in them a look which,
though it baffled the sagacity of her keen observer, betrayed a
something which he did not like. It was not triumph, nor despondency,
nor joy, nor grief, but, according to the fancy of Sir Christopher, a
strange mingling of them all. The two had been in the habit, on their
arrival in the country, and for some time thereafter, to show to each
other their letters--a custom from which the Knight had never
departed, but which, of late, had been observed with less
scrupulousness by the lady; and he noticed now, that, instead of
handing the epistle to him, as formerly, she hid it in her bosom.
Something, indeed, she said about its being from her confessor, but
the explanation, though natural, did not satisfy. He made no remark,
however, but proceeded to give an account of what had befallen him and
his companion. He told her how, by an arrangement with Mesandowit,
(who had been sent by the Taranteens to inquire of him whether their
second, viz., their hostile embassy, would be in danger from the
English, and which, in consequence of Sir Christopher's assurances,
had been ventured upon,) they had been taken prisoners--of the
conversation which passed between himself and Father Le Vieux, and of
the means resorted to, in order to remove Arundel from the Indian
village. The lady listened with a pleased ear to the recital, and, at
its conclusion, expressed her gratification at the dexterity with
which the business had been managed, and the success which had crowned
it.

"The holy saints and angels have watched over you, to guard you in
your ways," she said, "and it proves the Divine approbation."

"Truly, Celestina, is such a belief necessary, else would the things I
am called sometimes to do, break me down with their oppressive weight.
Only by its means can I satisfy myself, when the commands of my
superiors seem to conflict with mine honor."

"Honor!" exclaimed sister Celestina--"what is it but a delusive
phantom, whereby ye men are frighted from the noblest undertakings?
What right has such a consideration to interfere, when you are called
upon to act by them who are set over you, and whom you are bound to
obey? It is a deadly sin to dream that they may err, and granting that
they do, on them and not on you rests the responsibility."

"True; yet speak not slightingly of a feeling which is ever the parent
of glorious deeds. Was it not inspired by honor, that the Roman
Regulus returned to certain torture and death? that the chivalrous
King of Israel, when fainting with thirst, poured out to the Lord the
water for which his soul longed? that gallant hearts innumerable have
crimsoned the battle-field with their hearts blood, rather than that
even a suspicion should soil their escutcheon?"

"Were a profane heretic, or an accursed Jew, or a misguided heathen,
to set these up to himself as ensamples, it might be excused," said
the sister, scornfully; "but what has the soldier, who has enlisted
under the banner of the blessed St. Ignatius, to do with imaginations
alike fantastic and full of a sounding frenzy? Was it for the glory of
God that these men died, or because they coveted the praise of the
world, and gratified a ferocious instinct of their nature?"

"I deny not the superior nobility of the principle of my order,"
returned the Knight, "inasmuch as it excludes selfishness, save as it
is of necessity, connected with the aspiration for salvation; still
can I not be mistaken in the admiration of a sentiment which lifts man
above all baseness, and prompts him to achieve exploits that shall
send his name reverberating through the halls of princes and the
cabins of laborers, to be warbled by the lips of beauty at the
festival, or shouted in front of the charging host. Yet, mistake me
not, Celestina, but believe, that while my heart loves not honor less,
my understanding renders a deeper homage to the principle of Ignatius.
But whither hath my wandering talk strayed?" he added, checking
himself. "I did desire, after delivering thy letter, to say, that it
is my purpose to follow hard on the heels of Master Arundel, and also
to caution thee to continue to keep carefully concealed, during my
absence, the sacred crucifix, and whatever else might betray us to our
enemies. Forgive me that I give this advice, but I see that thou hast
relaxed thy watchfulness over the missal."

"The warning is unnecessary. Nightly is the blessed cross, whereon the
hands of his holiness have been laid, deposited with my missal and
rosary in our place of concealment. And as for Neebin, fear not to
trust her. She is as jealous of her treasure as could be thou or I.
But leave me not until you receive tidings from the heretics. These
ill-omened reports I like not. They may, indeed, be idle, yet it is
only, prudence to wait."

"I care not for them, yet, to pleasure thee, would I do more. I will
remain, according to thy wish, and, meanwhile, to-night, seek
Sassacus, who soon returns to his distant tribe."

"Be it so, then," said the lady. "Neebin." she called to the Indian
girl, who was in the adjoining apartment, and who, at the summons,
came running up; "give me now the book, and I will tell thee a story
about one of the pictures."

The Knight understood this as a signal to withdraw, and accordingly
took his leave.

The lady, on his departure, instead of talking with the child,
returned her the missal with no excuse, and drawing the letter of
Father Le Vieux from her bosom, commenced reading it again.

"My judgment, then," she murmured, "is confirmed by that of the holy
father. Thus writes he: 'I fear, my daughter, that the leaven hath not
done its perfect office. There be many called, but alas, how few are
fit for the work! In some things hesitancy is a deadly sin. Let the
faint hearted step aside, that more vigorous souls may take their
place.' Whatever may be the consequences," she continued to herself,
"I feel cheered, in that my course will be approved by the father.
Thou knowest, holy Mary, that it was through no ignoble motive, but
only for thy glory I did this thing, whereof, alas! my poor woman's
heart more than half repented. Oh! pity, that one endowed with so many
gracious qualities as Sir Christopher, should lack the iron firmness
which gives consistency and dignity to life, and that his weakness
compelled me to that which I would not, for the world, his noble
nature should suspect: But since this letter from the father, no doubt
assails me. The course I have adopted I will pursue, nor shall my
constant soul falter. Sooner shall the needle desert the beloved
pole."

The face of the woman assumed an expression of indomitable resolution.
She looked like one incapable of a weakness--like one who, mastered by
an engrossing purpose, feels that all else is trivial, and to be as
little regarded as the dust which the traveller shakes from his soiled
garment.



CHAPTER XXV.

                           He hears
  On all sides, from innumerable tongues,
  A dismal, universal hiss.

  PARADISE LOST.


When Arundel arrived at the little settlement, he proceeded
straightway to the hostelry, which was his usual stopping place, and
as he entered, was met by the landlord with those demonstrations of
welcome, wherewith the publican is in the habit of greeting his
customers.

"So you have got safe off from them bloody salvages, (praised be the
Lord for all his mercies)," said goodman Nettles. "And you look
browner, as though you'd caught some of their color from being with
them, but hearty as my tapster, Zachariah Sider, who can begin with
the head of an ox, and never stop till he wipes his mouth with the
tuft on the end of the tail, washing it down, moreover, with a
quantity of ale that ails me--ahem!--(here Nettles put his finger on
the side of his nose, and grinned as if he had really said a capital
thing,) to see wasted on his lean carcase. But, Master Arundel, you
must be dry. There is some of the old Canary left."

"Let me have a bottle, and, if agreeable to thee, we will empty it
together."

As the landlord left the room, Arundel, on looking round, discovered
what he had not observed before, viz., our old friend, Master Pront,
in a sort of recess, formed by the projection of the chimney. The
worthy functionary was engaged, at the moment, in taking his eleven
o'clock refreshment of a pot of beer, (a habit from which his exile
from the old country had not been able to wean him,) but, at the
approach of the young man, he rose, and gravely shook hands with him.
Miles had barely time to offer a share of the wine, which, however,
Master Prout refused, when Nettles returned with a bottle.

"There," said he, setting it down, and looking affectionately at it,
"I warrant me you get no such soul of the grape among the red heathen,
though if they had any wit they might have puncheons of it, if they
only knew how to make them, for they say there is store of grape vines
growing about."

"As for me," said Master Prout, after raising the tankard to his lips,
and taking a draught, long and deep, "I'm a genuine Englishman in my
taste. Give me, say I, your humming beer, with a body to it, in place
of all the wishy-washy wines of the Frenchman or the Spaniard. They
only pucker one's mouth, and heat one's blood; but there is neither
bread nor cheese in them, as in good John Barleycorn."

"The ale deserves all your praise, Master Prout," said the host,
"though I say it myself; nevertheless, is the good wine not to be
despised. I know no reason why a true born Englishman may not like
both."

"It may be well for thee, whose business is to get thy living from
their sale, to talk thus," replied Master Prout; "but for all that, I
relish not these foreign decoctions--your Canaries, your Sherries, and
your Portos. Their very names have a smack of popery in them. Down
with the Pope, and all his inventions to tickle men's palates and damn
their souls."

"And so say I, down with the Pope, but up with good wine, and down
with it too, so it only runs in the right place; but it grieves me to
hear you, good Master Prout, evening down good wine to the
Pope--why--"

"Contradict me not, goodman Nettles," interrupted the guardian of
public morals. "I say that I have ever remarked the man who prefers
wine to ale, to be of an unsteady faith. It savors of a hankering
after the flesh-pots of Egypt. Let not such a man be trusted."

As the constable was speaking, Arundel could not help fancying that he
looked hard at him, as if some personal application of the words were
intended. He took no notice, however, of them, especially as mine host
immediately rejoined:

"Dear, good Master Prout, speak not so. Why, if my customers were to
hear you, the character of my house might be ruinated. Whoever heard
before that the Pope had ever anything to do with wine? I do not
believe he drinks it at all."

"Art thou a Christian man, and so ignorant of the things that pertain
to salvation? Tells us not the Book of Revelations of the merchandise
of the great city of Babylon, when it shall fall--cinnamon, and odors,
and ointments, and frankincense, and wine; and sayest thou the Pope
hath no part thereof?"

"An' you are for Scripture," answered mine host, "have at thee with a
text in return? Saith not the Scripture, also, He giveth wine to
gladden man's heart? Moreover, though there be wine at Rome, it doth
not follow, therefrom, that it is drunk by the Pope."

"Contradict me not, I say, goodman, and pervert not the Scriptures
with thy famulistical interpretations. I observed you spoke but a
moment ago of the soul of the grape, as if it were possible that a
divine principle could lodge therein, I caution thee against this, as
a profane and indecent form of speech, unbecoming in one of the
congregation; and, besides, an' thou wouldst retain my custom, take
heed thou put more malt into thy ale."

"It is strong enough to answer thy purpose," muttered the offended
landlord, but in so low a tone as to be unheard; and, as new customers
began to come in, he left, in order to assist in manipulations of the
bottle and spigot, his tapster, Zachariah Sider, whom his late
flourishing fortune had enabled him to add to the establishment.

"Has anything worthy of note occurred, during my absence of three
weeks?" inquired Arundel of Master Prout.

"How were it possible otherwise?" replied the constable, whom the
colloquy with the host seemed not to have left in the best of humors.
"Here hath been Increase Faith Higginson twice coopered up in a
barrel, once for drunkenness, and a second time on suspicion thereof;
Jonathan Makepiece hath lain in the stocks for quarreling with, and
using contumacious language toward David Battle; Susannah Silence hath
sat tied in a chair, before her door, with a cleft stick upon her
tongue, for being too free in the use of that member; divers godly
persons have connected themselves with the congregation, and two
unworthy Achans been driven therefrom--the one for incontinence, until
he repent thereof, and the other for denying the just power of the
elders."

Arundel could not forbear smiling at this odd enumeration of important
events, which his informant observing, and construing into disrespect,
immediately added:

"Have a care, Master Miles Arundel, unto thyself. I wish thee well,
for thou art a proper young man, and, did the inner garnishing
correspond with the outer adornment, thou wert indeed a comely vessel
of grace; and, therefore, say I unto thee, there be other matters
touching thee more nearly than those things whereof I have spoken, and
whereat, I know not wherefore, it pleased thee to smile."

"I pray you to pardon my involuntary offence," said the young man,
"and to believe that my smiling betokened no disrespect. My mirth was
awakened by the comical pictures which thine ingenious answer conjured
before the imagination."

"I trow," said Master Prout, "they who come under the displeasure of
our magistrates, will find their punishments no such comical matters.
There be such things as whippings and nose-slittings, as well as
sittings in the stocks, and the like."

"I know," answered Arundel, "that your magistrates are no lambs. Yet
of thy complaisance, tell me wherein I am interested in aught that has
befallen in my absence."

"This Sir Christopher Gardiner, the man who is sometimes called 'The
Knight of the Golden Melice,' is a great friend of thine, is he not?"
asked Master Prout.

"I account it an honor to call him my friend. A worthier or more
honorable gentleman lives not in the colony."

"There be different opinions on that head, my young master. The closer
thy friendship, the worse, I fear, it will be for thee."

"Speak out, Master Prout," exclaimed Arundel, losing patience. "If
thou knowest any talk prejudicial to the fair fame of the Sir
Christopher, let me know it, that the calumniator may be dragged to
light, and receive deserved punishment."

"It would take a long arm to reach his accusers, seeing they are on
the other side of the ocean. Hark ye, young sir--it is in every one's
mouth that thy famous Knight is an agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, who
makes unrighteous claim to the lands granted us by his Majesty King
Charles, and, moreover, thou art connected with him, in men's minds,
as in some sort an accomplice."

"Is that all?" said the young man, scornfully. "I judge from thy
speech that these lies come in letters from England. Pray, are they
credited by any one, save by them of the baser sort?"

"Callest thou me one of the baser sort? Wilt thou revile them who are
set in authority over thee? Have a care, my young cockeril, or thy own
comb may chance to be cut."

"Out with thee, malapert knave," said the young man, in his vexation,
"and know to respect thy betters. Truly, the world is come to a pretty
pass, when a fowl like thee is permitted to ruffle his feathers at a
gentleman."

"An' he were not in some sort an ambassador, whom I have heard it is
unlawful for a constable to touch," growled Master Prout to himself,
as Arundel angrily turned his back upon him, "I had taught him
incontinently, better than to speak to me in this fashion. As it is, I
will advise with Master Spikeman about this matter." So saying, with a
flushed brow, the irate officer of the law departed.

"What means this, Colonel McMahon?" demanded Arundel. "Here have I
been a bare three weeks away, on business of the commonwealth, and on
my return I find myself rewarded with sour looks and unpleasant
speeches, _sans_ any consciousness of deserving them. I cannot ask a
plain question, without being answered in riddles that would have
crazed the brain of OEdipus."

The person addressed, a grave man, of middle age, and the same who had
had the words with Endicott about the cutting out of the cross, took
the questioner aside, and, as soon as they were out of hearing,
answered:

"Truly am I afraid that I shall also be involved in thy condemnation
of those who return answers after the manner of the sphynx; but, to be
short, there have two ships lately arrived from England, bringing, it
is said, unpleasant tidings touching Sir Christopher Gardiner."

"What be these tidings?" inquired Arundel, noticing that the speaker
hesitated.

"I neither am, nor desire to be, in the confidence of the government,"
answered Colonel McMahon, haughtily, the wounds inflicted on whose
loyalty by the mutilation of the standard, were not yet healed; "and
the information I have is derived from a private source and uncertain
rumor. For the former, the Knight is pointed at as an agent of Sir
Ferdinando Gorges; for the latter, it becomes me not to heed the idle
chatter of the vulgar."

"Comports it with your sense of propriety to reveal more?" asked
Arundel.

"Were I never so desirous," said the Colonel, courteously, "I should
be unable. In fact, what I have told is the sum of my knowledge. I
could, indeed, indulge in surmises based on rumor, but that were too
much like the gossiping of old women, and both unbecoming in me to
speak and in you to hear, more especially as that rumor attaints in
other respects the fair fame of your friend. It is different with the
base-born scullions around us, who are licensed to utter whatever
their unruly imaginations may conceive; but a gentleman will not allow
epithets upon his tongue to the disparagement of another, which, after
all, may be false."

Having thus spoken, the Colonel raised his steeple-crowned hat in a
formal manner, slightly bending his body, and walked up to the
landlord, to whom he paid his score, and then left the apartment.

"I will endure this no longer," said Arundel to himself, putting on
his own hat. "I will seek the Governor immediately, and demand from
him its explanation."

Upon arriving at the house of Winthrop, he learned, with a feeling of
disappointment, that the Governor was absent on a visit at Plymouth,
and he turned reluctantly away, in order to communicate to the rough
Dudley, instead of the polished chief magistrate, the result of the
mission, and to obtain that information which would enable him to give
shape to the chaotic rumors.

He was received with neither cordiality nor incivility by the Deputy
Governor, to whom the young man communicated the success of the
conciliatory efforts of Sir Christopher with the Taranteens, and at
the same time delivered the Knight's message. His auditor listened in
grim silence, interrupting him by no inquiry, nor did he, when the
communication was finished, vouchsafe a word of thanks for the service
rendered. Dudley had been a soldier in his youth, having received a
captain's commission from Queen Elizabeth, and commanded a company of
volunteers under the chivalrous Henry Fourth of France, at the siege
of Amiens, in 1597; and, if he had not the quality of frankness by
nature, had acquired an appearance of it in the camp, together with a
military decision and roughness of manner. It was not his wont to
disguise his feelings, and on the present occasion they were obvious,
even before he opened his lips to speak. When Arundel had concluded,
he waited for the comments of the Deputy, nor had he to wait long.
First, however, Dudley inquired,

"Is there nothing more thou wouldst communicate?"

"If there be any thing of importance or of public concern omitted, it
is done unwittingly," said Arundel.

"Then is thy news most jejune and unsatisfactory, seeing that our
condition is neither war nor peace, but of sort of armed truce, liable
to be broken at any moment by these treacherous savages. I am not to
be deceived by the promise, that, for the present, we need fear no
hostilities. I know their craft. If they refuse formally to make
peace, they are preparing for war. Well, they may try their hand. But
I am disappointed in the opinion I had of the extent of the influence,
by some means acquired, over the Indians by this Sir Christopher
Gardiner, if he indeed have authority to bear the title."

"Who dares to say," exclaimed Arundel, whose irritation this fresh
taunt increased, "that Sir Christopher assumes a title which belongs
not to him, or to asperse in any respect his character?"

"It will come to light," said Dudley, "in its own time; but tell me
now, wherefore made not the Knight, as you choose to call him, his
appearance himself? Methinks such proceeding were more respectful to
the authority which commissioned him."

The brow of the young man flushed at the rude speech, and it was with
difficulty that he restrained his feelings; but he succeeded so far as
to reply with an appearance of tolerable calmness, that it was only
that morning they had returned, and that the Knight purposed to
present himself on the morrow, being detained for the present by
reasons which doubtless ought to be satisfactory.

"It were strange," said the surly Dudley, "if his private affairs
should be of more importance than the interests of our Commonwealth;
and yet it seems that the former do, in his estimation, outweigh the
latter."

"I pray of your goodness to pardon the fault," said Arundel, who was
determined that nothing should provoke his anger again that day. "Sure
am I that, had the Knight of the Golden Melice known the importance
attached to his presence, he had come forthwith, without stopping for
rest, or to change his soiled garments, instead of sending me, his
unfortunate and most unworthy substitute."

"I like not this fantastic title," said Dudley, whose ill-humor seemed
not at all soothed by the gentle language of the young man, but rather
to increase. "I like it not, whether it be an idle appendage stuck on
by the humorous learning of Winthrop, as I have heard, or a quaint
conceit springing out of the man's own vanity. I deny not honor and
dignity, where they rightfully belong, but what is to become of the
realities, if the shams receive an equal consideration?"

"I wander like a man in a mist, who sees not a foot before him," said
Arundel. "I have entreated your Worship to deal more plainly with me,
but it has been your pleasure to seem as if you heard me not; and, for
the report which, in the discharge of my duty, I have made, I have
received only innuendos against the fair fame of my friend, and which
do, in some sense, alight upon myself. From whatever quarter they may
proceed, I scorn and defy them, and brand them as false; and, I doubt
not, the appearance of Sir Christopher will force his detractors to
disappear, even like so many whipped curs."

Arundel spoke with a feeling of anger, notwithstanding his resolution
to keep command over himself, and rose to take his leave. The spirit
which he had shown in his last speech, so far from displeasing the
Deputy, had a contrary effect; for, rising himself, Dudley grasped his
visitor's hand, and dismissed him with less frigidity than he had
received him. Something also he said, as if in excuse of his conduct,
about the necessity of caution, amounting sometimes to unreasonable
suspicions on the part of the rulers of a weak colony, depending more
upon the wisdom of its counsels than upon force for its existence,
intimating at the same time, that if any suspicions were attached to
the young man, it was doubtless more in consequence of his accidental
connection with Sir Christopher, than because he deserved them.

It is natural that Arundel, after his long absence, and the unpleasant
events of the day, should desire to derive some consolation from the
society of his mistress. We are not surprised, therefore, to find him
taking his way toward the house of the Assistant Spikeman, in the hope
of receiving some signal which would permit him to enter. Nor was he
disappointed--Prudence, with a light kerchief thrown over her head,
being just stepping out of the door on an errand to some neighbor as
he came up. The girl gave a pretty start as she beheld Arundel, partly
natural and partly affected, and then beckoned to him to enter.

"O! how you frighted me!" she said, after she had carefully closed the
door. "You have sent all the blood into my heart; and it flutters so!"

"I will bring it back again into thy cheeks, where it shows so
prettily," replied Arundel, saluting her.

"Fie! Master Miles," exclaimed Prudence, but not looking at all
displeased. "It is well Master Prout sees thee not. Well, what do you
want? I suppose you came to see me?"

"I have seen thee, pretty Prudence, and am so unreasonable as to
desire also to be shown to thy mistress. She is well?"

"I humbly thank your Worship," said the girl, curtseying awkwardly,
and snuffling through her nose in a manner intended to ridicule the
grave Puritans, "worthy Dame Spikeman is well in body, albeit ill in
spirit, being afflicted with a grievous visitation called a husband."

"Come, come, you mad-cap girl," said the young man, laughing at the
caricature, "pervert not my meaning, but show me the way to Mistress
Eveline. If thou wilt, I promise thee a husband for thyself in good
time."

"From plague, pestilence, famine, and husbands, (I did ever think the
litany deficient,) good Lord deliver us," exclaimed Prudence, holding
up her hands. "Do I look, forsooth, like one in need of a husband, or
likely to assist my young mistress therewith? She deserves better at
my hands. I see, besides, Master Miles, that you are ignorant of the
law in this blessed country, which forbids young men to woo maidens. I
know all about it, for I had it from the lips of a venerable
Assistant. Shall I rehearse it to you?"

"Why, what has got into the girl?" said Arundel, tired of this
foolery. "I prithee no more, sweet Prudence, but conduct me at once to
Eveline. Consider how long it is since I saw her."

"Nay, an' you come to calling me sweet, there is no resisting you. I
do love sweet things, and it is pleasant to be called sweet by some
persons. I will delay you no longer," she added, resuming her natural
manner, "since Mistress Eveline must by this time have made up her
toilette. So, please you, follow me."

So saying, she tripped forward, and ushered Arundel into a room, where
we have already seen him, and retired. Almost instantly, the beautiful
Eveline came in with a smile upon her lips and a blush on her cheeks,
for from her room, the door of which was open in that warm season, she
had overheard the whole conversation, as indeed Prudence had intended
she should.

"A strange way, Miles," she said, biting her red lips to restrain a
laugh, "to show the devotedness of your affection to the mistress by
kissing the maid. Is it a fashion taught thee by the savages?"

Arundel, notwithstanding the words of Eveline, could not discover much
severity either in the tones of her voice or the glances of her eyes,
for those were days when scarcely so great a delicacy of manners
prevailed as in the present; and, catching her to his bosom, he found
little difficulty in obtaining pardon for his fault.

"Ah, you know, Miles," said Eveline, withdrawing herself from his
embrace, "that a maiden who scolds her lover has more than half
forgiven him already."

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the particulars of a meeting, which,
even without experience of like scenes, the imagination will suggest,
and which, lacking the spice of personal interest, might appear tame,
even to those whose recollection of early emotions still has power to
send the blood with a livelier glow through the heart. From his
conversation with Eveline, the apprehensions in regard to Sir
Christopher, which began to invade the mind of Arundel, were
increased, although his fears were of an indefinite character. Without
being able to determine exactly what were the accusations against the
Knight, of one thing at least he became certain--that they were
commonly considered of too serious a nature to be passed by in
silence; that any services would hardly screen him from censure or
punishment of some sort, if they were proved; and that Spikeman was
exerting his malignity against him to an extraordinary degree.

Upon leaving Eveline, Arundel meditated on the conduct he ought to
adopt, whether to remain and await the arrival of Sir Christopher on
the next day, as he originally intended, or to return and inform him
of what he had learned. That some calamity threatened his friend, was
plain. What it was, was not so evident. The only cause of complaint
against him he could discern, was a supposed connection with Sir
Ferdinando Gorges. On this point he knew that Winthrop and his council
were extremely sensitive, warmly resenting the claim which that
gentleman made, and was trying to prosecute in England, adverse to
their patent, which he declared was void, and determined to punish
whoever should assert the title of Sir Ferdinando as superior to their
own, or should in any respect countenance or abet him in his schemes.
As for other intimations, Arundel considered them as only additions,
which stories, like rolling snowballs, naturally receive in their
progress, and which, in the present instance, deserved even less
credit than usual, on account of their vagueness and improbability.
What motive could there be, for example, to induce Sir Christopher to
arrogate a title which did not belong to him, when there was every
chance of detection, and no important advantage to be gained? He had
never noticed in the Knight any assumption of superiority, but, on the
contrary, rather a careless cordiality, amounting almost to
_bonhommie_. Everything which he had seen about his friend forbade the
supposition. From the baselessness of this, he inferred the falsity of
all other charges, whatever they might be; and yet, notwithstanding
his conviction of the innocence of his friend, it appeared to him that
information of the disposition of Dudley ought to be made known to Sir
Christopher, in order to enable him to decide for himself upon the
steps necessary to be taken, before he should be assailed unawares.
Having arrived at this conclusion, Arundel lost no time in hurrying
off to the residence of the Knight.



CHAPTER XXVI.

  "Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh!
  Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
  Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?"

  CAMPBELL'S "_Lochiel_."


As Arundel left the hostelry, whither he had returned after his
snap-chance, he observed the figure of a man, whom he had seen several
times during the day, standing at a distance in the street. Unless his
suspicions had been excited, he would probably have paid no attention
to the circumstance; but, in the present condition of his mind, he
could not avoid connecting the man's frequent appearance with himself.
It seemed, indeed, as if his motions were watched, though why, he knew
not. In order to satisfy himself whether it were so, he stopped when
he reached the edge of the forest, and, concealing himself, waited for
the purpose of ascertaining whether he were followed; but, after
remaining some time without seeing any person, he concluded that he
must be mistaken, and more leisurely resumed his walk.

The day had been one of exceeding warmth, which circumstance, in
connection with the excitement he had passed through, produced an
exhaustion that indisposed the young man to exertion. In consequence
of this, it was at a slow pace he proceeded, imagining any haste
unnecessary, and esteeming it a matter of indifference at what hour he
reached his destination. Hence it happened that the evening was
considerably advanced before he had passed over half the distance
which he had to go. He had advanced as far as the spot where he
encountered the panther, and was thinking of his peril then, and of
Sassacus, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by a number of
armed men, one of whom demanded his piece. Arundel instantly
recognised in the man who spoke, and appeared to be the leader, the
Assistant Spikeman; and, suspecting mischief wherever he was
concerned, and indignant at being stopped, refused to deliver up the
gun. The refusal was useless, for it was forthwith wrested violently
from his hands, after a struggle, in which he gave and received some
unimportant hurts.

"What means this outrage, Master Spikeman," demanded Arundel, "on one
in the king's peace, and quietly about his own business?"

"We desire your company," replied Spikeman. "It is out of our abundant
affection therefor that we have been so bold, and in consideration of
the motive, we pray you to pardon the offence."

"This is insulting one who is unable to defend himself," answered the
young man; "but be sure, Master Spikeman, that for this, and other
like favors, a day of bitter reckoning will come."

"Spare thy threats, beardless boy," said the Assistant, "and know that
what I do is not without warrant. Thy wisdom consists in submission,
for thou seest we have a force thou art unable to resist. But I may
not waste further words. Place the prisoner in the middle; watch him
closely; treat him well, if submissive; but should he attempt escape,
shoot him down. Forward!"

After these orders, the men started on, taking Arundel with them, who
entertained no purpose of flight, even though a favorable opportunity
should present itself.

If he had doubted at first whither the party were directing their
steps, the doubt was soon dissipated, and he became sure that it was
to the habitation of Sir Christopher. Meanwhile, he had been turning
over in his mind his observations through the day, and became
satisfied that he had been watched, and that the band by which he had
been captured was sent after him, and, by taking a course somewhat
different from his own, and hastening their speed, had succeeded in
throwing themselves in front, so as to cut him off from the Knight's
house, whither they rightly judged he was going. The determination was
obvious, he thought, that, for the present, there should be no
communication between Sir Christopher and himself.

Rapidly and in silence the party pushed on, until they came to the
small clearing surrounding the Knight's house. Here they halted, and
Spikeman placed his men around the open space so as completely to
surround it, with orders for half or their number to advance
simultaneously toward the centre, while the others remained in the
shadow of the wood. The manoeuvre was so skilfully executed, that it
was impossible for any one within the house to escape--the men
composing the circle, meeting at the same moment at the centre.

The deep silence of the night was first interrupted by the noise the
Assistant made on the door with the handle of his dagger.

"Who is there?" inquired the drowsy voice of one as if just awakened.

"A person demanding admission," answered Spikeman.

"I know that, else would you not be knocking. Very well; abide a
moment till I don some clothing and I will open, when we will become
better acquainted."

Accordingly, in a few moments the door was opened, and Spikeman, with
half a dozen men, rushed into the house, leaving the others to guard
the exterior. Philip Joy (for it was he) was instantly seized, and
ordered to tell where the Knight was to be found.

"It is easier to ask questions than to get answers," said Philip. "For
me, I never could speak plain till I had been awake a half hour or
so."

"Sirrah!" cried Spikeman, sternly; "trifle not, or I will have thee
scourged within sight of the gates of death. Answer--where is Sir
Christopher Gardiner?"

"An' I knew I would not tell thee," replied Philip. "Make no ugly
faces at me, Master Spikeman, for it is of no use. Look for yourself,
an' you like."

"He cannot avoid us, if he be in the house," said Spikeman, turning
away. "Here, Ephraim," he added, addressing one of the men; "come thou
with me. We will waste no more words with this fellow, but see whither
this door leads."

"Stop!" exclaimed Philip; "it is the passage to the chamber of the
Lady Geraldine."

"Forward! Ephraim," cried Spikeman; "we cannot be delayed in this way.
Heed not his clamor."

By the light of the tallow candles, which they had brought with them,
the two proceeded, in spite of the remonstrances of the soldier. The
door admitting into the larger apartment of the lady, and into which
we were introduced at our first acquaintance with her, was open, but
the inner door to her own private chamber was barred. A slight
rustling was heard within, as they listened, as of one putting on
clothing.

"We have tracked the fox to his den," whispered Spikeman. "Open
instantly," he added, aloud, "or we will burst in the door."

"Who are ye," inquired a woman's voice, "who, in the dead of night,
assail the rest of innocent folk?"

"Open at once," cried Spikeman, impatiently, "or we will tear down the
house."

"I will not open," said the voice. "That were to assist you in your
lawless proceedings. I may be murdered, but will lend no aid to my
murderers."

"Silly woman," said the Assistant, who felt unwilling to resort to
violence with a woman, believing that his prey was perfectly secure
within--"silly woman, we are no murderers. I require thee, by
authority of the Commonwealth, to unbar the door."

"Ye cannot be officers of the State," answered the woman, "else would
ye not proceed thus rudely. Ye are robbers and assassins."

"We must not stand here trifling," said Spikeman. "Throw thyself
against the door, Ephraim, and burst it in, since we are resisted."

His companion, accordingly, endeavored, by flinging the whole weight
of his person against the barrier, wherein he was assisted by his
superior, to break it down; but in vain, the stout planks defeating
all their efforts.

"Bring an axe, quickly!" cried Spikeman. "We will try the virtue of
steel blows."

Under the repeated strokes of the axe, wielded by brawny arms, the
strong door presently fell with a crash into the room, and stepping
over its fragments, the assailants stood in the presence of the
occupants. By a taper, which was burning on a small table, the
apartment was sufficiently lighted to make all objects visible, though
indistinctly.

The dimensions of the room could not exceed a square of twelve feet.
The sides, which rose to a height of perhaps eight feet, were hung all
around with a black cloth, and overhead the same covering was
extended. The furniture consisted of only a chair or two, and of the
table above mentioned. In the centre stood the tall form of sister
Celestina, clothed in garments as black as the drapery which
surrounded her, and holding by the hand, the little Indian girl
Neebin. Without stopping to notice them, Spikeman and Ephraim
immediately commenced searching, with drawn rapiers, behind the
hangings. The cloth, on being withdrawn, exposed to view nothing but
unhewn logs, and a recess of a few feet, containing a rude couch.
During the search, which was soon completed, the lady remained
standing, with the little girl by her side, viewing the proceedings in
silence, and with an air of offended dignity.

"What seek ye?" she demanded, when, with looks of disappointment, the
men desisted. "Tell me, that I may render you that assistance whereof
ye seem to stand in need."

"Madam," answered Spikeman, "where is Sir Christopher Gardiner? It is
him we seek."

"And is it in my sleeping apartment, audacious wretch, that you expect
to find him?" exclaimed the lady. "Your question is a greater insult
than your violence."

"Madam," replied the Assistant, "it behooves you to be careful of your
language. Ephraim," he added, turning to his companion, "do thou
inquire without, whether the Knight be taken. He may have leaped from
the window."

Upon Ephraim's departure, Spikeman again addressed the lady.

"Madam," he said, "I know that the work wherein I am engaged is
ungracious. Sad is the necessity which compels me to invade the
retirement of a lady whom I hold in all honor and respect, and who has
it in her power to make our whole Commonwealth her grateful debtors."

"Speak quickly, sir," said the lady, "that I may the sooner be rid of
your intrusive presence."

"You know me not, madam, nor my kind intentions, else would you not
indulge this scorn."

"If to break open the house of a defenceless woman at midnight, to
batter down the door of her chamber, to intrude therein, and to insult
her, besides, with base suspicions, be your kindness, what must be
your cruelty?"

"Necessity, madam--necessity must be our excuse. We will have Sir
Christopher Gardiner, dead or alive. Judge by the importance which we
attach to his capture, how great will be our gratitude, and the reward
of him who shall enable us to lay hands on the traitor."

"He is no traitor, base slanderer. Thou hadst never dared to utter
these injurious words in his presence."

"I would he were in presence," said Spikeman, sternly, "and you would
soon be convinced of the contrary. But more plainly, madam. Let me
entreat you, for your own sake, to disclose the hiding-place of this
man, and to deliver to me his papers, for only by so doing can you
escape severe and dreadful punishment."

A deeper pallor overspread the pale face of the lady, but recovering
herself she said--

"If I understand thee aright, thou dost seek to make me an accomplice
of thy crime."

"It is no crime, but an acceptable deed, to deliver a criminal to
justice, to suffer for his deserts. On such conditions, and on such
only, can I promise immunity for thyself."

"Justice! I trust not the justice of a State, where such as thou bear
rule. Ye know not the meaning of the word. Sacred heaven! what would
you have me do? Betray into your toils an innocent man, that I may
avoid, I know not what consequences! Infamous tempter, I spurn thee!
And know, that were I capable of such inexpressible shame, I could not
commit it. I know not where is Sir Christopher."

But, evidently, Spikeman placed no confidence in the denial. He strode
across the room, as though reflecting on some subject, and then
stepping up to the lady, bent over, and whispered some inaudible words
into her ear.

"It is false. Holy Virgin!" she exclaimed, forgetting herself in the
excitement of feeling, "must I bear this? Leave me! leave me! Rid me
of your hateful presence! The room is full of horrid shapes since you
came in."

"Ha! madam," cried Spikeman, "you have betrayed yourself. I have your
secret, and will find means to force you to speak the truth, ere I am
quit of you," and scowling malignantly, he left the apartment.

The excitement which had hitherto sustained the lady, seemed now to
desert her, and she sunk upon a seat. Sobs broke from her bosom, and
tears, which she vainly tried to restrain, streamed down her cheeks.

"O, holy Virgin," she murmured--"immaculate lady, whose heart was
pierced with so many sorrows, help me to bear my own. This is the
sorest trial of all. Without thy preventing grace, divine Mary, I
shall sink under it. Intercede with thy dear son for me."

The little Indian girl, who, during the whole time while Spikeman
remained, had stood by the lady's side, showing no apprehension
whatever, but listening attentively to every word, and following each
motion with her keen eyes, now kneeled down by the lady, and looking
into her face, said--

"Do not cry, lady. Owanux have not found the book with the pretty
pictures, nor the man with the sweet face, with his eyes shut, and his
head falling on one side, upon his shoulder, who makes Neebin feel
like crying when she looks at him; and Sir Christopher is gone away,
so that they cannot catch him."

"Dear Neebin," said the lady, "thine are timely words of consolation.
Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings," she added, looking up, "dost
thou ordain strength. I will be grateful for these mercies, nor allow
a weakness to overcome me again."

The lady now, with more care, adjusted her garments, which, when
wakened by the noise made at the entrance of the band into the house,
she had hastily thrown on, and smoothed down the hair that, without a
curl, lay on her temples. She paid the same attention to Neebin, and
then, crossing her hands, sat down to await what should follow.

"Has any thing been heard or seen of him whom we seek?" demanded
Spikeman of a soldier, as he entered the room wherein he had left Joy.

"Nothing, so please you," answered the man; "and Philip here says that
our search will be bootless, for that he is not in the house."

"A fine soldier thou, and a shrewd," said Spikeman, contemptuously,
"to trust what a prisoner may say! Call me Lieutenant Venn."

The soldier went out, and presently returned with the lieutenant.

"Hast thou discovered nothing on thy watch on the outside?" inquired
Spikeman.

"We invested the building so closely," answered Venn, "that had a
mouse attempted to run away, we had seen and captured it; but no sound
has broken the silence, nor aught met our sight."

"Has the whole interior been thoroughly searched?"

"But short time does it require to unshell the kernel of a nut like
this," returned the officer, looking round; "and Cowlson reports to me
that everything in it, save in the woman's quarters, (which his
modesty did not permit him to search,) is as well known to him as the
contents of his own cabin."

"I fear that the principal object of our undertaking is defeated,"
said Spikeman, with a look, of disappointment.

"Yea," said the officer, "the prey hath escaped even as a bird from
the snare. What is to be done now, seeing that Sir Christopher is not
to be found?"

Spikeman did not hesitate, for he had been considering the course to
be adopted in the contingency, and he therefore promptly answered--

"We have not entirely failed. We have at least the woman, and
important information may be obtained from her. The hope of working
her deliverance, or of making terms with us on her account, may also
induce the Knight to put himself in our power."

"I like not," said Venn, "a foray, whose achievement is the making
prisoners of Miles Arundel, of honest Philip, and of a sorrowful-looking
woman. Meseems it redounds but little to the credit of a file of twenty
men."

"I understand not," continued Spikeman, as though the remark failed to
reach him, "by what means the man was apprised of our design. Or it
may be, that, by mere chance, he is absent; for some evil purpose,
doubtless. It will, however, avail him nothing, for sooner or later he
must fall into our net. I have lingered in the hope that he might
return and be caught by the men on the margin of the wood--a hope I
give not up yet, and, therefore, perhaps it were better to wait
awhile."

"I pray you, sir," said Lieutenant Venn, "to do me a pleasure in one
thing. Delay not our departure until it be so late that the sun is
risen when we enter Boston. I confess to some shame on account of this
night's work, and desire that what was begun in darkness may be ended
in like manner."

"What fanciful follies be these?" said Spikeman. "Art thou degraded by
any service which promotes the interests of the Commonwealth?"

"Nevertheless, be it a fanciful folly or grave wisdom, I will take the
liberty to iterate the request, and will hold myself indebted if it be
granted."

"Surely," said Spikeman, "it is a light thing, and because you wish
it, it shall be done. Call in the men from the margin of the clearing,
and we will begin preparations for return."

Let no surprise be felt at the character of the conversation betwixt
the superior and inferior officer, and at the influence exercised by
the latter over the former. The men under the command of the Assistant
for the occasion were not regular soldiers but ordinary citizens;
liable, it is true, to be called out at any moment to do military duty
whenever an exigency arose, but without being subject to any very
strict discipline. The most of them were voters, and hence a source of
power, and therefore to be courted by any one ambitious of political
distinction. Such an one was the Assistant, and he stood in about the
same relation to his men that a modern militia captain, who is
desirous of civil office, does to his company of soldiers, and who,
through fear of giving offence and so losing the object of his
aspirations, is obliged to relax the strictness of military rule.

On receiving the order, Lieutenant Venn started off to execute it,
and, as soon as he was gone, Spikeman took Ephraim Pike aside.

"Ephraim," he said, "the badger may lie hid in some cunning place of
concealment in the house, and after all laugh at our simplicity at our
departure without him."

"That can hardly be," said Pike. "The house has been thoroughly
searched, and I would pledge my life the Knight is not in it."

"Verily thou mayest be right, yet is there a possibility of mistake.
Ephraim, with our hands on the plough, we will not look back. We must
burn this nest of hornets, and should the Knight of the Melice be
burned with it, there will be no harm done."

"I suppose," said Ephraim, rather sulkily, "this is a service you want
to put on my shoulders, but an' you wish to burn the house, you can
burn it yourself."

"That can I not do," answered Spikeman. "The thing must be done
secretly, so that it may appear the consequence of some accident. Were
I to absent myself I should be missed, but thou canst do it without
suspicion."

"And suppose it done, what then?" asked Pike.

"Thou shalt have a gold piece for that which costs thee but little
trouble and no risk."

"How shall it be done?"

"I will presently take all the inmates of the cabin with us on our
return. After we have gone a few rods, do thou retrace thy steps and
fire the building, and hurry back immediately."

"But should I be missed?"

"There is little probability of that; but thou knowest me, Ephraim,
and can be certain that I will be able to account satisfactorily
therefor should it happen."

"Yea, I do know thee," said Ephraim to himself, "for as cunning a one
as Beelzebub himself; but thou hast never failed me, and I will trust
thee yet again. I will do the thing," he said aloud, "since thy mind
is set thereon; but it rubs mightily against the grain."

"Thou shalt not repent it," replied Spikeman. "We are in some sort
confederates, and our fates are so interwoven that thy fortunes depend
on mine."

With these prophetic words the Assistant left his coadjutor, and
returning to the apartment of the lady, requested her to prepare
herself and the Indian child to accompany him. She made no reply, and,
on his departure, sat some little time pondering what it became her to
do; after which, she rose and prepared some articles of clothing.

Spikeman soon re-appeared, and directing one of his soldiers to carry
the clothing, begged the lady to follow him. This she did without
objection, holding the girl by the hand, and appearing indifferent to
all that happened. She found Arundel and Joy, with a number of strange
persons, in the largest room of the building, preparing for departure.
The countenances of the two men expressed the indignation which they
felt, but they were obliged to content themselves with the offer of
such services, as their situation permitted. This the lady graciously
acknowledged in a few words, but seemed more inclined to indulge in
her own private thoughts than to encourage any conversation. They all
left the house together, and, when in the open air, were committed to
the special guard of half a dozen of the party, who composed the
centre; and, in this order, led by Spikeman, the cavalcade commenced
their march. They had proceeded at a slow pace, on account of the
females, and in silence, broken only by an occasional question and
answer, for perhaps half an hour, when one of the men observed that
either the moon had risen or the morning was breaking.

"There is no moon, Cowlson," said a soldier; "nor, according to my
reckoning, can it be much past midnight. The light ye see comes from
the North; and, an' it were winter, I should think it was the shooting
of the Northern lights."

"These be no Northern lights, nor Southern, nor moon, nor morning,"
said another. "An' it be not a fire, my name is not Job Bloyce."

"How can it be a fire?" said Ephraim Pike, who had contrived to join
the band without his absence being noticed, after accomplishing his
purpose. "There is nothing in that direction but the house we just
left, and sure it cannot be that."

"I know not," said Spikeman. "It may be the work of the desperate man
whom we failed to take, and who has done the deed, in order to throw
disgrace in some sort on us."

"That is a strange supposition," said Lieutenant Venn. "A man would
hardly be likely to destroy his own property."

"Not without some malicious design, I grant ye; but that were motive
sufficient with Sir Christopher. Besides, what is it he would burn up
but a heap of old logs, whose whole value could scarcely exceed ten
pounds?"

By this time the fire had gained such an ascendancy over the building,
as to throw a light which could no longer be mistaken, and all were
satisfied that it must proceed from the habitation of the Knight. The
majority of the men adopted, without reflection, the idea thrown out
by the wily Assistant, but there were others who were unable to
satisfy themselves as easily.



CHAPTER XXVII.

  When the King of Tars saw that sight,
  Wood he was for wrath aplight:
        In hand he hent a spear,
  And to the Soudan he rode full right;
  With a dunt of much might,
        Adown he gan him bear.

  OLD ENGLISH METRICAL ROMANCE.


Only the accidental absence of the Knight saved him from the indignity
to which his household was subjected. Well were the measures of his
enemies taken, and the time chosen, for it was reasonable to suppose,
that after so long a journey, he would certainly be found at his
domicile the first night. His erratic habits were well known, and it
was this knowledge which induced the choice of the time for the
arrest, and indeed had assisted to deepen suspicions, in a suspicious
community, against him. It would not have suited the purposes of
Spikeman to wait, and thus afford the Knight an opportunity to present
himself in town. He chose to bring in Sir Christopher as a criminal,
knowing that having committed his associates thus far, to an act of
violence, they would not be likely to rest until they had expelled Sir
Christopher from the colony.

At the time Spikeman was rifling his house, and injuriously treating
its inmates, the Knight, unsuspicious of harm, was lying in the wigwam
of Sassacus, which was distant but a mile or two from his own
residence. Lying on his side, with his head supported on one hand by
the elbow resting on the ground, he was addressing the Sagamore, who,
seated in Indian fashion, with the soothing pipe at his lips, was
listening to his discourse. A flickering fire sent up now and then a
bright flame, by means of which the two became ever and anon more
distinctly discernible to each other, while in the intervals, there
was only light enough to distinguish the outlines of their persons.
Even through the studied apathy of the Pequot, it was obvious that the
subject possessed considerable interest for him, for occasionally he
would remove his pipe from his mouth, and gaze fixedly on the ground,
as if lost in profound thought.

"Wonderful, O chief," he said, after the Knight had ceased speaking,
"are the things which thou hast told, and I believe, because the white
men are very strange, and I have never caught thee in a lie. Truly, as
thou sayest, are the red men children, and the white men exceed them
in wisdom, even as the beaver the wolf. The wise beaver is warm in his
lodge, when the wolf howls for hunger and cold in the forest. The
white man is the beaver, and the red man the wolf. The Great Spirit
made them so, for so it pleased him, and so they must remain."

"Nay," said the Knight. "There was a time when the white race was like
thine own, without that knowledge which makes them so powerful."

"And can the chief say why the Great Spirit gave Owanux the wisdom
which he denied to us?"

"That is a question I cannot answer, any more than why thy skin is red
and mine white; but the Christian religion was the means whereby the
change was effected."

"There is but one Great Spirit, who made all things," said Sassacus,
solemnly, "and we worship him as well as the white men. Lightnings are
the glances of his eyes; thunder is his voice; the sun is the fire
before his lodge, which he extinguishes when he sleeps, and the moon
and stars are the sparks which fly up into the air when it goes out."

"Thou hast indeed, in some sort, a religion, for He hath not left even
the most barbarous nations without some knowledge of himself, howbeit
it is not unto wisdom. But it is only with his true religion that he
has connected that acquaintance with himself, which makes men to
advance in all that is worthy to be known here, and happy hereafter."

"Our wise men say," replied Sassacus, "that for the spirits of brave
and just warriors there are happy hunting grounds, far away towards
the setting sun, which the Indian travels to, over the white path in
the middle of the sky, where deer, and elk, and bears never fail, and
where the hunter is never tired, nor very hungry."

"Alas!" said the Knight; "these are but figments of the
imagination--fond dreams as unsubstantial as morning mist, and
deceitful as the wandering fire, which lures the ignorant traveller
into the morass."

"O, wise chief," said Sassacus, "our tribes have also their
traditions, and I know not why they may not be as true as thine. We do
not think, as your powahs teach, that our traditions come from
Hobbamocki, while yours all proceed from the Master of life."

"Hobbamocki is thy name for the Evil Spirit?"

"My brother has said it. Would he like to know how he was created?"

"I listen," said the Knight.

"A long, long time ago," said Sassacus, "the Master of Life, Kiehtan,
went to a large flat island, in order to complete his work of
creation. He there created a multitude of animals, some of which were
so large that he was unable to control them. It is said that remains
of gigantic beasts are still to be found upon the island, which were
never finished. It was out of clay that Kiehtan formed the beasts,
while the inferior manitos looked on and rejoiced in his labor. He
made in the side of each animal an opening, whereinto he crept, and so
warmed it into life. It the animals pleased him he permitted them to
swim to the great pasture land, and to fill the woods; if they pleased
him not, he first withdrew the life, and then turned them into clay
again. Once he made so large a beast that he was afraid to give him
life. There were also other smaller, to whom he gave not life, because
he considered them not useful. Once he made a creature, in the form of
a man, which he also rejected, but he forgot to take the life away
from him, and this is the evil spirit, Hobbamocki."

"And thou believest this fable, as wild as ever sprung from the
unbridled license of an Oriental story-teller?"

"Sassacus believes as the wise men of his nation believed, when he was
a little pappoose, and as their fathers believed, when they were
papooses, and as his people have always believed, for more summers
than there are stars in the sky. But do not the white men believe in
Hobbamocki?"

"They do, though they give him a different name," answered the Knight.
"He was a Great Spirit, who was expelled from heaven, or the happy
hunting grounds, because of his wickedness."

"Was he not very happy there, and had all that he wanted?" inquired
the Pequot.

"He was happy and preeminent above all other manitos in glory and
power."

"How then became he wicked?"

"That is a question which our wise men have never been able to answer.
But he envied the greatness of the Master of Life, and desired to
occupy his place."

"Can your Hobbamocki be in two places at once?"

"No. Being a created spirit, he is limited."

"It cannot be, then, that he was such a fool," said the chief,
decisively. "Behold! the Master of Life is every where! He is like the
air and the light. Manitos are very little things beside him, and all
together cannot fill his place. Your powahs have deceived you, and
told a foolish story of their own invention. No. Hobbamocki was vexed
because the Great Spirit did not like him, and for that reason tries
to revenge himself, by troubling those whom the Great Spirit loves."

"At least," said the Knight, "our two traditions agree in this--that
there is an evil spirit, who injures and leads men into wickedness,
and therein do thy legends confirm the truth of the Catholic
religion."

"Do the people at Shawmut, under Sagamore Winthrop, believe in all
things, as my brother?"

"Nay. They are heretics, and given over to believe a lie--from whom
this land shall be taken, and bestowed as an heritage on others, who
shall be the Indians' friends, and they shall all live together."

"Listen! My brother has spoken of this before, and Sassacus has
thought much about it. It seems to me that when the Great Spirit spoke
to the white men, they could not understand his words, but his voice
was to them like the sighing of the wind among the trees, or the
dashing of the green water on the shore, for they cannot agree about
their religion. But the ears of the Indians were sharper, and they all
understood alike, and therefore they do not differ about what the
Master of Life said, and they also know better concerning Hobbamocki.
Has not my brother told me that the white men fight and kill one
another about their religion?"

"Alas! it is too true," replied Sir Christopher.

"Indians never do so. Let us do a great thing," added Sassacus, his
face suddenly kindling, as with the inspiration of a magnificent
thought--"we will teach the English our religion, which we never fight
about, because we know it to be true, and the English shall teach us
how to build ships, and make guns and powder; and, together, we will
drive the Taranteens into the salt lake."

"It is in vain," said the Knight to himself, on hearing this
extraordinary proposition. "He doth, ever in his childlike simplicity,
say something to confound me. His untutored mind is yet incapable of
receiving the mysteries of our holy religion, but, in lieu thereof,
perpetually runs after the practical and immediate advantages of
powder and guns. Direct the conversation as I may, this target doth it
hit at last."

At this moment an Indian stepped into the lodge, and, uttering the
word "fire!" accompanied by a gesture of the arm, retired.

The Knight and Sassacus sprung up, and, looking in the direction
indicated, beheld the heavens all aglow with the conflagration.

"It is my lodge!" exclaimed Sir Christopher. "I will hasten thither
instantly."

"Come with us, Towanquattick," said the Chief, calling to the Indian,
and the three at once directed their course toward the dwelling of the
Knight.

With all their haste, they did not reach it until the fire had made
such progress that it was impossible to suppress it, or even save
anything from the building. The flames were pouring out in billows
from the doors and windows, and a moment after their arrival the roof
fell in. They approached as near as the heat would permit, but were
unable to distinguish anything in the interior, nor was a sound to be
heard, save that of the rushing flames and falling timbers. No one was
present, except the three--the natives who lived near having retired
deeper into the wood on the first alarm. Leaning on his gun, the
Knight gazed sadly on the burning ruin, reflecting on what had
probably become of its former occupants. If he had any doubts, they
were soon dissipated by Sassacus, whose attention, with that of the
other Indian, had been attracted by marks upon the ground which had
escaped the notice of Sir Christopher. These plainly revealed to them
by the light of the fire, the two, like well-bred hounds, had been
examining in every direction, until, gathering together the various
tracks into one trail, they had followed it into the wood. Returning
to the Knight, and pointing out the traces, the chief said:

"Many Owanux have been here, and all are gone to Shawmut."

"I surmised as much," said Sir Christopher, partly to himself. "We
will follow, Sagamore, and assure ourselves with our own eyes."

No time was lost in lamentation but the three instantly started after
the band.

Sir Christopher could see the trail until it reached the wood; but
here, notwithstanding his experience in woodcraft, he frequently lost
all trace of it, though to the Indians it seemed as plain as a beaten
highway. Never hesitating, even in the obscurest recesses of the
forest where penetrated no ray of a star, with rapid steps they
pursued their way.

Meanwhile, the party of soldiers, conscious of their strength, and
encumbered with their prisoners, though pushing on at first at a good
pace, had of late been proceeding more leisurely. Even Lieutenant
Venn, satisfied that they would be able without haste to reach their
destination before daylight, ceased to hurry. As they approached
nearer the village, their vigilance diminished--the men talked loud
and jested with one another, and it was obvious that no apprehensions
of danger were entertained.

This state of things had not been unnoticed by Philip, who had been
meditating over the question, whether it were not better to make an
attempt to escape. "There is no great hazard in it," he said to
himself; "but were I to get away I should be about as badly off as
now, unless I could meet Sir Christopher or the Sagamore; and perhaps
they have been captured by some other party, for our folk do not
things by halves. They have taken away my snap-chance, too, and I
cannot shoot with arrows like a savage, so that, as one may say, I am
a sort of cat without claws. I know not what they can have against me
now, or why I should be afraid of them; and yet, when I think of their
purgatory of a prison, it makes me crawl all over. A week's lodging
there would about make an end of me. I think I have never been quite
the man I was before, since they stuck me there."

Thus revolving in his mind the advantages and disadvantages of his
position, the remembrance of his sufferings during his imprisonment,
at last turned the scales in favor of liberty, and Philip began to
think of means to accomplish his purpose. He tried, by lagging behind
and falling down once or twice, to get into the rear; but this
manoeuvre the vigilant eyes of Lieutenant Venn detected, who ordered
him nearer to the front, and directed that he should be watched
closer. Foiled in this manner, that freedom which but a moment before,
and when apparently in his power, seemed almost a matter of
indifference, assumed a constantly increasing importance, and the mind
of Philip worked more actively than ever. In a short time they would
be out of the forest, when any attempt at evasion would be folly, for,
should he succeed in shaking off his guard, he would run great risk of
being shot down in the open space. It was therefore necessary to think
quickly.

"If I only had Prudence with me," thought Philip, "I be bound she
would have invented a dozen ways to get off by this time. Sweet wench!
there is some difference between sitting on a log with her and
stealing a smack once in a while, though a slap be pretty sure to
follow, and dragging my legs in the dark among the briers. But she is
not here, and so I will e'en take up with Master Arundel, and suck his
wits a bit."

"What think you," he whispered to his companion in captivity, "of
making a rush, and showing our heels to the Philistines?"

"It were madness," answered the young man, in the same manner. "Thou
wert sure to be retaken, perhaps shot."

"I have no fancy for either; but cannot your wit devise some mode to
save me from yon lock-up? My bones ache when I think of it."

"I have no desire to get away," answered Arundel; "nor understand I
how it can advantage thee, seeing that, sooner or later, thou art
tolerably certain of being made prisoner again."

"Nevertheless, there is a chance of better things; and I say once more
I like not the thoughts of the close quarters they intend for us. An'
you will not run for it yourself, at least help a poor fellow, whose
ideas are like a skein of tangled silk, to avoid the bilboes."

"Assuredly, if you wish, what I can I will do to facilitate thy
escape. Only tell me how."

"You have me there in a Cornish hug," said Philip. "An' I knew, I had
not asked."

"You would not have us fight for our liberty?"

"I am not so crazy as that. Ten to one is odds that any one, except
Sampson, might avoid without disgrace, and even he would not stand
much chance, for all his bushy head, when bullets were flying."

"We must out-manoeuvre them by some stratagem."

"If Sassacus were here," said Philip, "he could show us the way. There
is not a tree or a rock but would have something to say to him about a
contrivance."

"What would you think, Philip," asked Arundel, (the direction of
Sassacus to sound the notes of the robin, whenever he desired to see
him, occurring to his mind,) "were I to conjure up the Chief?"

"I would think thee more cunning than any powah of them all, and,
moreover, advise thee to keep out of the way of the elders and
magistrates."

"Keep quiet a moment, and I will try my powahing."

So saying, the young man whistled the peculiar notes of the bird,
which, in the dewy silence of night, rung wide through the Woods.

"Halt!" cried Spikeman, who instantly suspected some treachery. "Close
up around the prisoners. Who dared make those sounds?"

No answer was returned; and, after a vain attempt to discover their
author, the party resumed its march.

"If your powahing has done no other good, Master Arundel," said
Philip, "it at least frightened the General."

"I am a beginner," answered the young man, jestingly, "and it would
not be surprising should I fail at first. If it raise not the sagamore
or one of his men before we reach the open space, I will try the spell
again."

But the notes had struck the quick ears of the Pequot chief, and at
their sound he bounded forward at a pace which his companions vainly
endeavored to equal, and which shortly left them out of sight; but
they could hear the rustling he made tearing through the bushes, and,
guided by it, followed. The noise occasioned by the movements of so
large a party, and the conversation among them, prevented the approach
of the sagamore being heard, especially as when he drew nearer he
proceeded with more caution. Gliding from tree to tree, he was able to
advance quite close without being discovered. What was the rage of the
chief, when, at the head of the band, he beheld his enemy, the
Assistant Spikeman, leading as prisoners his friends and the little
Indian girl. Not waiting for the Knight and the Paniese to come up,
fitting an arrow, he drew the deer's sinew till the head of the
missile touched the hand that held the bow, and sent it whizzing
through the air. The cavalcade had passed on, so that the front ranks
were in advance of Sassacus, when he discharged the shaft, and the
back of the Assistant was turned to him. It entered just below the
right shoulder, and was sent with such vigor, that, passing between
the ribs, it stopped not until arrested on the other side by the steel
corselet which Spikeman wore on his breast. Shouting then his
war-whoop, and drawing his tomahawk from his girdle, the Pequot leaped
among the band. Like lightning it sunk into the head of one man, who
fell to the ground. The chief raised it again, but before it could
descend, a blow prostrated him, and, in an instant, he was overpowered
and disarmed. So rapidly followed these occurrences, that before the
Knight and Towanquattick came up, the chief was a prisoner, and every
man on his guard was prepared and watching for an enemy. To attack
would have been certain death or captivity; they, therefore, bitterly
lamenting the passionate impetuosity of the sagamore, kept themselves
concealed in order to take advantage of circumstances.

Having disposed his Company so as to face in every direction, to repel
attack, Lieutenant Venn approached to examine the fallen men. A corpse
was all that remained of Ephraim Pike, who must have instantly expired
on receiving the blow. His head was cleft to the neck, and portions of
the brain were lying on the leaves. He had probably been selected by
the sagamore (from his neighborhood to the Assistant, by whose side he
marched) as second in command, and thus expiated with his life his
evil devotion to his master. Spikeman lay upon his face, groaning,
while the blood slowly oozed from his wound. The lieutenant, with one
of the men, raised him up, while Lady Geraldine strove to stanch the
bleeding. An attempt was made to withdraw the arrow, but the pain it
occasioned and the amount of blood which followed were so great, that
it was abandoned. All that could be done was to carry the wounded man
as gently as possible home. Venn, now at the head of half a dozen men,
scoured the woods in the immediate vicinity all around; and, finding
no enemy, returned, and ordered a couple of trestles to be made, on
one of which was to be placed the body of Pike, and on the other the
groaning Spikeman. Upon mustering the company, it was found that all
were present, with the exception of Philip Joy, who had escaped in the
confusion. Four men being assigned to each of the trestles, to be
relieved as occasion should require, the remainder having charge of
the prisoners, and composing the van and rear, Lieutenant Venn
re-commenced his march--Arundel walking by the side of the Pequot
chief, to whom he expressed regret at his capture.

"It is a summer cloud," said the sagamore.

As for Philip, on effecting his escape, he felt some embarrassment
what to do with himself. There he was, alone and without arms, in the
forest, wandering helplessly about, and, if unable to find Sir
Christopher, in a worse condition than before. He had half a mind to
pursue the band and surrender himself, when, remembering the powahing,
as he called it, of Arundel, he determined to try it himself.
Imitating, therefore, to the best of his ability, the sounds made by
the young man, he sat down and waited for the effect. Presently the
figure of Towanquattick, followed by that of the Knight, stole out of
a thicket and stood before him.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

  But, gasping, heaved the breath that Lara drew,
  And dull the film along his dim eye grew.

  BYRON.


On the arrival of the party at the settlement, Lieutenant Venn divided
it into two detachments; at the head of one of which he carried the
Assistant to his own house, while the other, under the command of an
inferior officer, was charged with the security of the prisoners. Only
the sagamore was strictly confined, being ironed and placed in the
same dungeon which Joy had occupied. Sassacus made no resistance, but
submitted with a stoical impassivity as to an irresistible fate. The
lady and Indian girl, as those from whom flight was less to be feared,
and with whom it would be more difficult to effect, and also out of
deference to the weakness of their sex, were committed to the care of
Dame Bars, by whom they were to be closely watched. As for Arundel, he
was permitted to depart, the lieutenant informing him that he had been
arrested only to prevent the carrying of information to the Knight. It
is doubtful, however, whether, if Spikeman had still been in command,
he would have escaped on as easy terms.

The little community was thrown into some commotion by these events.
The dangerous wound of so prominent a person as the Assistant, and the
capture of the renowned Indian sachem--not to speak of the lady--could
not fail to occasion a lively interest. As soon as the results of the
night expedition were known, (and the news flew with wonted celerity,)
every body was in the streets, giving and receiving information, or
what purported to be such, and making and listening to comments
thereupon. We cannot, however, remain to hear the conversation of the
grave citizens at the corners, but must follow those whose particular
fortunes we have undertaken to portray.

The unfortunate Spikeman, unable to suppress his groans at the pain
occasioned by the motions of his bearers--his clothing saturated with
blood, which kept oozing from the orifices of the wound--was borne to
his dwelling, and delivered to the weeping household. It would be
absurd to suppose that any great grief was felt by Dame Spikeman, and
hers was partly the feeling arising from early associations and long
familiarity; but it is impossible for the most stoical to contemplate,
without emotion, one in the condition of the suffering man, and the
tears of Eveline and of Prudence were mingled with those of the dame.

It happened that Dr. Samuel Fuller, of the Plymouth colony, who had
come over with the first Pilgrims was in Boston at the time. He was
immediately brought to the wounded man, and was soon followed by
Governor Winthrop, Mr. Eliot, and other friends. The corselet had been
removed, and a portion of the clothing cut away, and Spikeman lay on
his side, spasmodically breathing. Yet had resolution not entirely
deserted him. His strong character still spoke in his face, and he
looked like one who, though conquered, was not subdued.

Doctor Puller approached the couch and gently touched the arrow, but
it produced such a spasm that he did not repeat the experiment. The
eyes of Spikeman were fastened on the countenance of the surgeon, and
read therein his doom.

"There is no hope?" he gasped.

"I humbly trust," said the doctor, who was "not only useful in his
faculty, but otherwise, as he was a godly man, and served Christ in
the office of a deacon in the Church for many years, and forward to do
good in his place" according to an old chronicle--"I humbly trust that
a crown of glory awaits thee in the other world whither thou art
hastening."

A groan, which shook the couch whereon he was lying, and gent the
blood gushing from the wound, burst from Spikeman, as he heard the
answer.

"Yea," said good and tender-hearted Mr. Eliot, let our brother anchor
his mind on the promises which are very comfortable--For ye have not
received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but ye have received the
spirit of adoption whereby we cry, Abba, Father.' For I reckon that
the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with
the glory which shall be revealed in us. 'Blessed are the dead who
die in the Lord, and their works do follow them.'"

"Works?" interrupted Spikeman. "Who speaks of works? They are filthy
rags."

"They are indeed but filthy rags," said Mr. Eliot, "to them who rely
upon them for salvation; yet are they not unpleasing as being the
fruits of saving faith."

"I will not hear of works," said Spikeman. "Moreover, whom he did
predestinate--them"--a sudden pang prevented the conclusion of the
sentence, but it was finished by Mr. Eliot.

"He also called; and whom he called, them he also justified; and whom
he justified, them he also glorified."

A silence followed, which was interrupted only by the sobs of Dame
Spikeman, until the wounded man inquired:

"How long shall I live?"

"It may be two hours; it may be only one," answered the physician.

"A short time." murmured the Assistant, "My soul doth travail with
anguish," he said, fixing his burning eyes on Mr. Eliot.

"O, my brother!" exclaimed the divine, "the precious blood of Christ
cleanseth from all sins, though they be as crimson. Faint not now,
when thou art about to cross the river of Jordan, but think upon thy
Redeemer."

"I strive," said Spikeman, "but there are thoughts which--which rise
up, as a mist, between me and him."

"O, cleanse thy bosom of this perilous stuff," said Winthrop. "If
there be a sin which persecutes thee, confess it and repent."

"Is that the voice of the Governor?" asked Spikeman, who seemed to
have forgotten his entrance. "Repentance! Repentance! it is too late."

Those around the couch looked at one another with dismay.

"Our dear brother," said Mr. Eliot, "of what specially wouldst thou
repent? Believe me--it is never too late to trust God's mercies. Think
of the penitent thief upon the Cross."

"Do you dare to call me a thief?" said Spikeman, hoarsely. "Ah!" he
added, "how I talk! These are strange feelings. What I have to do must
be done quickly. Call Eveline Dunning."

"Who is in the room?" he inquired, after the young lady had entered.

The names of those present were enumerated. "Let them remain," he
said. "They are of the congregation, but I would not that the world
should know my shame. Look not thus at me," he exclaimed, as soon as
he saw Eveline. "Thy face is like thy father's, the friend whom I
wronged. Be nigh to hear, but let me not see thee. Eveline, the
property which should be thine, I have misapplied, and it has melted
from my grasp. It was that my misdeed might not be discovered that I
denied thee to Miles Arundel, though thy father wished the nuptials.
Yet, Eveline, marry him not; he is of the corrupt Church of England."

These words he uttered with many interruptions of pain, resuming when
the paroxysm passed away.

"Would you see Miles?" inquired the weeping girl.

"To what end? I care not for him. He is not of the congregation. Go
now. I have done."

"My spirit is lightened," he said, as she left the room. "Edmund
Dunning," he added, as his mind temporarily wandered, "why do you
fasten your accusing eyes on me? I have made all the reparation that I
can. What more?"

"Alas!" said Mr. Eliot, aside, to Governor Winthrop, "who would have
thought this of one so zealous for our Israel?"

Low as was the tone, the words struck the ear of Spikeman.

"Whatever be my sins," he said, "even though dark as those of David, I
have been zealous unto slaying for the people of God. Is the enemy
taken?" he inquired.

"Whom mean you?" asked Winthrop.

"Whom should I mean, but the man ye call the Knight of the Golden
Melice?"

"He is not yet taken," answered the Governor.

"Let him be hunted, as a partridge on the mountains; let him be run
down and seized; kill him, if he resists."

"This is no fitting frame of mind for a parting spirit," said Mr.
Eliot. "Let me beseech you to turn your thoughts on the Saviour."

But delirium had now taken possession of the mind of the dying man,
and made him insensible alike of all that was said and of pain.

"Away with him!" he cried, "who lays snares for the feet of my people.
Hew him down, though he hugged the arms of the altar."

"Shall we not, beloved brother, unite our supplications to the throne
of grace, for the last time on earth?" asked Mr. Eliot, bending over
him.

"Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect? It is God who
justifies," said Spikeman, turning on the minister his glazing eyes.

"It is in vain," said Winthrop. "He heeds not nor understands what you
say."

"Papistical mummeries! Your croziers, your mitres, your mumbled
prayers from the mass-book! I hate them! Forty years long they
wandered in the wilderness, but they prevailed at last. Stay ye the
hands of our Moses! Be strong! Quit ye like men."

"His mind, even in its wanderings, doth remember Israel," said Dr.
Fuller.

"He hath, indeed," said Winthrop, "ever avouched himself a devoted
servant of our cause. Unhappy is it--"

He looked at the weeping wife, and left the sentence unfinished.

"Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," said good Mr.
Eliot.

"Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound!" exclaimed the dying
man.

"Dear husband," said Dame Spikeman, sobbing, and taking his hand,
"know you me?"

"What woman speaks?" said Spikeman. "It is the voice of
Prudence--sweet Pru--"

His wife let the hand fall, and covering her face with her
handkerchief, burst into a flood of tears. A severer spasm than any
before shook the Assistant's frame; a more copious gush of blood
poured from the wound; and in the effort to speak the name of the
girl, the spirit passed to its account.

"Strange," said pure-minded Mr. Eliot, "that he should utter the name
of the serving-maid."

A look of intelligence passed between the Governor and the physician,
but neither spoke.

"He is silent," said the divine; "he is stiller, and feels less pain."

"He will never feel pain again in this world," said the doctor,
approaching the bed, at a little distance from which he had been
sitting, and gazing on the corpse.

Dame Spikeman screamed, and was borne, fainting, from the apartment in
the arms of Eveline and Prudence, who hastened in at the sound.

"Behold," said Mr. Eliot, who, after the manner of clergymen, was
anxious to "improve the solemn occasion," "another warning addressed
to us all, to be ready, for we know not neither the day nor the hour.
How suddenly hath our friend been forever removed from the scene of
his labors and his hopes. 'As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth
away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more; he
shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him
any more.' But, though the spirit be gone, its memory remains behind.
Out of the good and the evil it hath done, shall be erected its
monument on earth. O, let us hope that the former, sprinkled and
cleansed by the blood that maketh all things pure, may be accepted,
and the latter forgiven, for His sake who shed it. For He who made us
knoweth whereof we are made; He remembereth that we are dust; He seeth
not as man seeth. Only He knows all the secrets of the weak, trembling
heart, its temptations, its trials, its struggles, its sorrows, its
triumphs, its despairs. Our friend was a captain in Israel. He hath
fallen with his armor on, and girded for the battle. He loved the
suffering Church. Be that a remembrance to rise like a sweet-smelling
incense before the congregation; and if Thou, whose pure eyes cannot
behold iniquity, wilt not be extreme to mark what is done amiss,
neither may we, the work of thy hands, dare to assume Thy prerogative;
but as the sons of sinning Noah, with averted eyes, covered the
nakedness of their father with their garments, so will we hide in
forgetfulness each short-coming and each transgression."

As the good man, with a swelling heart and sad eyes, in which
glittered the sacred drops of human feeling, uttered these words, he
looked like a pitying angel from whose lips reproach could not fall,
and whose blessed office was only to instruct and to forgive.

The death of one as important as the Assistant Spikeman could not but
be sensibly felt in so small a community. He had been a man whose
daring nature would not allow him to be at rest, and who was never
contented, except in the exercise of all his faculties. Hence he had
been not only active and scheming in private life, but also busy and
bold in public, driven forward, as it were, by a sort of inborn
necessity. Though not deeply regretted, he yet was missed. Those whom
his adventurous spirit employed in the fisheries, and the
just-commencing fur trade, missed him; his brethren of the
congregation, wherein his voice, to the edification of his hearers,
had often been lifted up in the "gift of prophecying," missed him; and
his coadjutors in the government, to whom in more than one instance
his keen natural sagacity had been a guide, and his zeal a stimulus
and support, missed him; but it was only for a short time. How often
has it been remarked, that few things are as capable of making us feel
our insignificance, as the shortness of time in which we are
forgotten. Active, prominent, influential as he had been, Spikeman was
soon remembered only as yesterday is remembered. There were no loves
twining around his memory, reaching beyond the grave, and bringing him
back to earth; no tender recollections of benefits conferred, which
the heart cherishes as an inestimable treasure. There was naught for
the mind to dwell upon, save his public duties, which he, had indeed
discharged respectably, but no more. Another Assistant could fill his
place as well; another exercise the gift of prophecying to the use of
edifying; and other merchants succeed to, his trade. Verily is the
life of man as the track of an arrow in the air; as smoke lost in the
clouds; as a flake of snow that falls upon the water; as a childish
grief, or aught else that is most transient.

But the death of the wicked is a benefit to earth. A gloomy shadow
hath passed away; the blight of its presence will fall no more on the
innocent. The purpose for which he was sent into this world, that from
its joys and its sorrows he might become a nobler being, seems to have
been defeated. But I know not. Pass, then, dark spirit; my eyes seek
not to follow thy track.

The relation which existed between Arundel and Eveline was, of course,
affected by the disclosure of Spikeman on his death-bed--no opposition
being henceforth made to the free intercourse of the two young people.
There were, indeed, some who lamented that the daughter of precious
Edmund Dunning should become the wife of one who had not cast in his
lot with the saints; but then, again, Arundel was no enemy to their
cause, no railing Rabsheka, but a well-behaved and modest youth, who
paid, at least, an outward respect to the customs of the congregation,
and might yet, from the influence of godly Edmund Dunning's child, be
converted into a vessel of grace. Moreover, the story was pretty well
known, and the romantic love which had attracted him from New-England,
and the wrong the two had suffered from Spikeman, worked in their
favor in the hearts of the Puritans. The marked attention which the
generous Winthrop manifested now toward them, seeming as if anxious by
present kindness to atone for former injustice, contributed also not a
little to the feeling; and, honored and beloved, the young couple,
with the sanguine anticipations of youth, looked forward to a
cloudless future. Yet was their happiness, especially that of Arundel,
damped by reflections upon the condition of the Pequot chief and the
lady in the prison, and of the Knight wandering homeless in the
forest, with no place of shelter for his defenseless head save the
wigwams of the friendly savages. Knowing the severity of the
government, the foreboding mind of the young man was harrassed with
apprehensions for the fate which might befall them. Access to the Lady
Geraldine was permitted to him and Eveline, and thus were they able to
bestow upon the unhappy lady at least their sympathy, for of nothing
else would she accept; but no one was allowed to see the Sagamore. In
vain Arundel pleaded and intreated; in vain he recounted his personal
obligations to the Chief; he was firmly repulsed, and told that though
the feeling was honorable, it constituted no claim for the violation
of a rule which their circumstances imposed.

Disappointed and somewhat incensed at the unnecessary harshness, as he
conceived, wherewith the Chief was treated, and at the suspicion
implied toward himself, he, one day on his return from an unsuccessful
attempt to obtain an order for admission to the prison, from Winthrop,
poured out his vexation and wounded pride to his mistress.

"Is it not," he said, "most extraordinary, this refusal to allow me to
say to a man who saved my life, that I have not forgotten him? Is it
because their treatment of the unfortunate Sagamore is so bad that
they are unwilling it should be known? or do they think that in open
day I would attempt to rescue him?"

"It is more likely," said Eveline, "to conceal the weakness of the
prison."

"By heaven, Eveline, thy woman's wit hath discovered the cause. I have
been thinking over his wrongous confinement, and my debt, till I can
endure my inaction no longer, and I swear by St. George of England,
that I will soon seek an opportunity to deliver the noble savage from
the undeserved death, which sure am I, is his intended doom."

"I blame thee not, Miles," said Eveline. "One were craven to forget a
benefit. Only show me how I can aid thee, and my assistance shall not
be wanting."

"Nay," said her lover. "This is no matter wherein soft, small hands
like thine must interfere."

"It is not so big as thine," she said, measuring the little hand on
the palm of Arundel, "but such as it is, it shall ever be at the
service of honor and justice. Were I a man I would strike a blow for
the sake of the generous chief, even although sure of being prostrated
to the earth by a hundred the next instant."

The color of Eveline was heightened, and her voice trembled a little,
as she made the declaration.

"Thy language, dearest, is a spur to a determination already formed.
Were Sassacus to lose his life, and I to leave this land, conscious of
having omitted anything to save it, (at present so greatly
imperilled,) the thought would cast a gloom over the remainder of my
days, which, even thy love could not chase away."

"Yet run into no unnecessary danger--do not be rash. What have I done
by my imprudent words?" said the young lady, tears swelling into her
eyes, as the possible consequences of what she had said, occurred to
her mind. "O Miles, heed me not. What do I know of such things!"

"To prudence and courage," said Arundel, "there is little danger in
any enterprise; but sooner shall life desert me, than I the Pequot
chief."

They parted, he to ponder means to accomplish his purpose, and she
alternately to reproach and to forgive herself, for encouraging her
lover in an undertaking full of peril, yet demanded by gratitude and
honor.



CHAPTER XXIX.

  No wound, which warlike hand of enemy
    Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,
  As doth the poisonous sting which infamy
    Infixeth in the name of noble wight;
  For by no art, nor any leeches might,
    It ever can recovered be again.

  SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN.


The reader is introduced, once more, into the company of the assembled
magnates of the Massachusetts Bay, in New-England, and into the same
room where we beheld them before. Governor Winthrop, upon the elevated
dais, in his elbow chair, presides, while, ranged around the central
table, is a full attendance of the Assistants. Not as before, however,
are spectators admitted. Saving the honorable Council, no person is
present, for the business before them has reference to concerns of
State, as well as to a judicial examination, and it is considered
expedient to conduct it in secrecy. The members, at the moment we
enter, are engaged in an earnest discussion, and it is the rough voice
of Deputy Governor Dudley which first salutes the ear.

"It were of little avail," he said, as if objecting to something which
had been proposed. "Let us not, like the ancient Pharisees, lay upon
the shoulders of the people burdens too heavy to be borne."

"Thy comparison," said Endicott, in reply, "is somewhat unpleasing,
and the shoe fits us not; but in vain hath been our pilgrimage hither,
if we continue to imitate the unhappy model we left behind."

"Call you," said Dudley, "the accidental shaping of a ruff, or the
manner of disposing of the folds of my galligaskins, an imitation of a
prelatical model?"

"And call you," retorted Endicott, "the requiring of people vowed to
the Lord, to dress themselves in a plain and unpretentious manner, a
burden too heavy to be borne?"

"Gentlemen," said Winthrop, "ye be both in the right, _Procul dubio_,
it becomes us, of all men, to apparel ourselves in a sober manner, as
thus protesting against the foolish vanities of the world, and yet is
it in some sort a burden, to be required to change the fashion of our
garments."

"I perceive, already, with much sadness of heart," said Endicott, "a
declension in that strictness of regimen which marked the earlier
time. Have ye not heard of the godly man who, long time, had been
prisoner at Norwich for the cause, and was by Judge Cook set at
liberty? Now, this man, desiring to go into the Low Countries by ship
from Yarmouth, did turn into the house of an ancient woman in the
city, who had been very kind and helpful to him in his sufferings, in
order to return thanks, and she knowing his voice, made him welcome.
But when he was ready to depart, she came up to him and felt of his
band, (for her eyes were dim with age,) and perceiving it was somewhat
stiffened with starch, she was much displeased, and reproved him very
sharply, fearing God would not prosper his journey. Yet was the man a
plain countryman, clad in grey russet, without either welt or guard,
(as the proverb is,) and the band he wore scarce worth three pence,
made of their own homespinning. What would such professors, if they
were now living, say to the excess of our times?"

"Thy tale," said Dudley, a little sarcastically, "reproaches thine own
band."

"I did instance this case," replied Endicott, slightly abashed, "not
as acknowledging myself literally bound to accept it as a guide for
mine own conduct, but for the wholesome admonition therein contained."

"That is to say," returned Dudley, "inasmuch as it jumps not with thy
humor, thou wilt none of it; but being fitted, as thou conceivest, to
reproach us withal, thou dost accept it." But having sufficiently
annoyed the other, he added, by way of makepeace, "there is one custom
which my soul abhors, and against the which I desire with thee, Master
Endicott, to bear my testimony, and that is the coming of women
unveiled into the congregation. I remember that the venerable Countess
of Lincoln had a falling veil to conceal her features, when she came
into the house of the Lord, to worship with his people."

In spite of himself, a smile passed over the face of Winthrop, as it
did also over those of several Assistants.

"What excites your risibles, gentlemen," asked Dudley, severely. "I
trust that I am not the subject of your mirth."

"For me, sir," said Master Simon Bradstreet, on whom the eyes of the
deputy happened to rest at the conclusion of the sentence, "if thou
desirest an answer, I will crave permission first to inquire, if this
discreet lady, who, from thy epithet, I infer to be somewhat advanced
in life, was preëminently distinguished for beauty?"

"Although of a gracious presence, I cannot say that she greatly
excelled in that respect," answered Dudley.

"Then," replied Master Bradstreet, "I see not how the view of her face
could disturb the devotions of the congregation."

"Ye smile, my masters," said Dudley, looking round, "as though ye had
me at advantage; but ye consider not the importance of the example of
a lady so high in station, and so exemplary in her Christian calling.
Not so much on account of herself, but for other's sakes, was it done
by the godly and honorable lady."

"I see no foundation therefor in Scripture," said an Assistant.
"Surely married women have no pretext to wear veils as virgins,
neither would married nor unmarried choose to do so from the example
of Tamar the wanton, nor need they do it for such purpose as Ruth did,
in her widowhood."

"We claim no certain warrant of Scripture for the practice," said
Endicott, coming up to the rescue of the deputy, "but only as being
based on the propriety and fitness of things."

"Fall you not then into the very condemnation of the Scribes and
Pharisees, who imposed upon the people burdens enjoined neither by
Moses nor the prophets?" said the same Assistant, using the deputy's
own argument.

"Nay," said Master Increase Nowell. "If we confine ourselves strictly
to what we find in the Scripture, I fear it might strike, in some
respects, at the proceedings of our government. The sounder rule, it
appears to me, is to follow Scripture as far as we may, having regard
to the difference of the circumstances."

"Such hath been our endeavor," said Endicott. "The manner of our
dealing with the vile and pernicious weed, tobacco, sufficiently
illustrates the principle of our government. The wisdom of the godly
founders of the plantation at Salem, the charge whereof was entrusted
to my weak hands, did clearly perceive the lamentable effects, both to
the souls and bodies of the users, hebetating the former, and
debauching the latter, likely to arise from an indulgence therein, and
they did therefore, both in their first and second letter of
instructions to myself and the Council, straightly enjoin that no
tobacco should be planted by any of the new planters under our
government, saving under close restrictions, and that the same might
be taken by ancient men and none other, and that privately. Now, there
were those affecting to be pinched with tender consciences, who said
that this was an infringement of their natural liberty, authorized by
no rule of Scripture, to whom we made answer that the said abominable
weed, the smoke whereof may fitly be compared to the vapor from the
bottomless pit, was not known in those primitive days, and for that
reason, no rule regarding it was to be found, showing at the same time
that other things, less objectionable, (as it would seem,) were
prohibited, and thus by parity of reasoning, establishing our point.
Concerning this matter, as I understand, there is little difference of
opinion among us, although a report hath of late reached my ears, that
certain men in high position, even elders, having become addicted to
the use thereof, are beating about for reasons to excuse their
backsliding."

"A calumny, doubtless," said Winthrop. "But touching the principle
involved in matters of government, I will deliver my opinion. Of
things coming within the scope of government, I judge there are two
classes; whereof, the one class may be said to consist of things _mala
in se_--that is, of those which, by an inner quality or essence, are
evil; and the other, of such as are _mala ab extero_, or what may be
connected with them and made evil only by a positive law of the State,
in which is vested the duty of watching over the common good. The
fantastic notions of certain libertines, who, setting at naught the
experience of the world, and fondly imagining that wisdom will die
with themselves, have insinuated a doubt of the rightful power of the
law-giver in this latter particular, I condemn, and see not how
government can exist without it. Now, as for things embraced in the
former category--such, for example, as those prohibited in the
decalogue--there can be no doubt of the duty of every Christian State
to see that the prohibition be sustained and enforced even by extreme
penalties, if otherwise the end cannot be reached. But as for those
contained in the latter category, a wide latitude of opinion may and
doth exist among brethren with regard to the extent whereunto the
Sovereign power should go in imposing restraint. Some, with queasy
consciences, are for making most of the duties of life to be
practised, whether of a civil or religious nature, and also the vices
to be avoided, matters of public enactment; while others as honestly
hold, that the cause of virtue is not thereby promoted, but that,
contrariwise, the very prohibition, when not based either on the law
of God or the plain and unequivocal reason of the thing, doth act
oft-times as a stimulus or uneasy incitement to the breach of law,
besides making men hypocrites and time-servers. I may not dilate, but
merely hint this much, not doubting that your quick-conceiving minds
have already sounded the depths of the subject. And now, touching the
matter more immediately in hand, which is the proposition of Master
Endicott concerning apparel, and also the expediency of females
wearing veils in the congregation, it seems to me to belong plainly to
things indifferent, and not to be of instant or pressing importance,
requiring present action; and as there is a difference of opinion in
the Council respecting it, I propose that it be postponed, and
meanwhile referred to the grave judgments of the elders, more
especially as the wearing of veils is a thing connected with the
assembling together of the congregation in the Lord's house."

"We are content that it should take that course," cried several
voices. And such, accordingly, was the disposition made of Master
Endicott's sumptuary motion.

"Time doth wear," said Sir Richard Saltonstall. "Were it not well to
proceed to the examination of the woman?"

"If no objection be offered, I will consider such to be your minds,"
said the Governor. A silence following, the servitor was ordered to
conduct the person calling herself Lady Geraldine De Vaux to the
presence.

While awaiting her arrival, the conversation re-commenced upon a
subject which seemed to possess peculiar interest for Endicott.

"I cannot abide it," said he to his next neighbor.

"May I inquire what excites your indignation, master Endicott?" said
Winthrop.

"The detestable fashion of wearing long hair, after the manner of
ruffians and barbarous Indians, which is beginning to invade our
Canaan, contrary to the rule of God's word, which says that it is a
shame for a man to wear long hair, and contrary also to the
commendable custom generally of all the godly of our nation, until
within these few years."

"You have flushed a new covey," said Winthrop, with a smile.

"Nay; it is a chicken of the same brood," said an Assistant.

"Call it what you will," answered Endicott. "It may be a chicken, if
you please, or a hawk, or whatever else your learnings may call it,
but I do declare and manifest my dislike and detestation of such
wearing of long hair, as against a thing uncivil and unmanly, whereby
men deform themselves, and offend sober and modest persons, and
corrupt good manners."

"This is but a thing indifferent," broke in Dudley. "It will be time
enough to think thereof, when no business of moment is before us."

"Call you that a thing indifferent," demanded Endicott, "which is
plainly reprobated in Scripture?"

"I would have you notice," answered the Deputy, "that the custom is
nowhere prohibited. The apostle doth merely speak of it as of
something contrary to usage in his days."

"Brother Dudley--Brother Dudley," said Endicott, "I read not so the
Epistle of Paul. Thus speaks he: 'Doth not nature itself teach you
that if a man have long hair it is a shame unto him?'"

"Spoke Paul in this wise," inquired Dudley, "as Paul the inspired
messenger, or as Paul the fallible man?"

"Have a care, brother Dudley," said Endicott. "These be dangerous
distinctions. What is written is written for our learning, and I will
not curiously inquire into the amount of inspiration therein, having
no gauge whereby to determine its measure."

The conversation, much to the relief of Dudley, who found himself,
somehow or other, speaking in opposition to Endicott in a matter
wherein the opinions and feelings of the two did not after all
materially differ, was here interrupted by the opening of a door and
the introduction of the lady. She was clothed entirely in black, with
a veil of the same color covering her head, and falling so low as
completely to conceal her features. With a modest mien she followed
the servitor, and, at a courteous wave of the hand and inclination of
the body from Winthrop, took a seat near the Secretary, a little aback
from the table.

"She is attired," said an Assistant to another, "as if she did divine
the thoughts of Endicott. For the sake of her veil she ought to find
favor in his eyes."

"Yet see how he doth eye her, as if his fiery glances longed to burn
up the envious screen. He would tell us, I fancy, that he confines his
rule to meetings of the congregation, and would consider it an
invasion of his Christian liberty to be denied the sight of beauty
elsewhere, to compensate his self-denial."

"Madam," said Winthrop, "it pains me and every member of the Council
that we meet under these circumstances. Let me trust that you will be
able to dispel certain suspicions, and that the frankness of your
answers to the questions to be propounded will lighten for you and
make less onerous for us the sad duty we are performing."

The lady said something in reply, but either on account of the the low
tone in which she spoke, or of the interposition of the veil, the
words were inaudible.

"I hear not what she says," cried Dudley. "Let her throw back her
veil. Master Endicott," he added, turning to the Ex-Governor of Salem,
"here hast thou evidence that thy rule is not of universal
application."

Endicott turned his steady eyes upon the Deputy, and began to caress
his chin beard with his hand, but, before he could speak, Winthrop's
voice was heard.

"Do us the favor, madam," he said, "to remove the covering from your
face."

"Allow me," said the lady, with a voice which trembled a little, "to
keep hid a face which ye would cover with shame."

"Think not so evil of us," answered Winthrop. "Nought would more glad
our hearts than your innocence."

He waited an instant, as if to see whether she would comply with his
request, and, upon her failing to do so, added, "for myself, I will
not press what I see is unpleasant."

But this concession appeared not to meet with general approval.
Murmurs circulated about the table, and presently Dudley spoke.

"It is contrary to the custom of every civilized court," he said, "to
permit a witness or an accused person to conceal his features. The
reason thereof is too patent to need explication."

"We do entreat you, madam," said Sir Richard, "to pleasure us thus
far, and to believe that no want of consideration is designed."

Again a pause followed, which was broken by the impatient Dudley.

"It were painful," he said, looking sternly at the lady, "to use
force."

"It shall not need," she replied, with a tremulous voice, which,
however, acquired steadiness as she proceeded. "I am in your power,
and will obey your commands."

So saying, without raising her eyes, she withdrew the veil, and
exposed her pale face to view. It was seen for the first time by most
of the Assistants, and it was obvious, from the whispered comments,
that no unfavorable impression had been made.

"A modest looking gentlewoman enough," quoth Sir Richard.

"Discreet in her bearing," said another.

"All is not gold that glitters," said Dudley. "The beautiful skin of
the snake covers, after all, a snake."

"For shame, Master Deputy," said Bradstreet.

"We desire to learn of you your knowledge of the person calling
himself Sir Christopher Gardiner," said Winthrop. "Know you by what
right he doth assume the title?"

"I will answer your question," replied the lady, "protesting against
the coercion exercised over me. He is a worthy and honorable gentleman
of my own personal knowledge, and of the family of the Gardiners, of
whom Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was an illustrious
scion."

"How know you of the relationship?" inquired Winthrop.

"Sir Christopher hath himself told me so," answered the lady.

"A manifest invention," said Endicott, in a low voice to Dudley, "to
raise himself in the estimation of his paramour."

"Our minds do meet in the same conclusion," said Dudley, in a like
tone. "Hear, too, the boasting manner in which she rolls the word
'bishop' over her tongue."

"When and where became you first acquainted with the Knight?" inquired
Winthrop.

"From early youth, at Boirdly, in Salopshire, England."

"Know you when he was knighted?"

"I know not," answered the lady.

"What is the relation," inquired Winthrop, with some hesitation,
"wherein you stand to him?"

"I apprehend not the meaning of your question."

"Hath he not been your protector since leaving England?"

"He hath," answered the lady.

A look of intelligence passed between Dudley and Endicott at the
answer.

"For what purpose came ye into these parts?"

"Am I at a confessional," demanded the lady, "that I am bound to
expose the secrets of my soul?"

"If, madam," said Endicott, "you are familiar with the popish device,
practice will enable you to answer the more glibly."

"Have pity upon me, gentlemen," said the lady. "I am quite deject and
wretched. Take not advantage of your power to humiliate me into the
dust."

"The question doth still remain unanswered," exclaimed Dudley, looking
at Winthrop.

"Be not hasty, Master Deputy," said Winthrop. "Give the gentlewoman
time to frame her answers."

"I ever liked a quick and unpremeditated response," said Endicott. "It
is more like to savor of the truth."

"Madam," said Winthrop, "we await your reply."

"How can I make answer thereto?" she said; "for what know I of the
private motions of the mind of Sir Christopher?"

"At least, you can tell the purpose wherefor you came?"

"It was with no evil intent. I had no motive wherefor I need be
ashamed before God or man."

"Then why hesitate to avow it?"

"I came influenced by like motives to those which have brought others
to this land."

"Know you aught of a report that the father of this Sir Christopher
did disinherit him, by reason of his long-continued travels in various
parts of Europe?"

"Supposing him to be dead," said the lady; "I cannot deny it, and
therefore will not."

"What know you of any wife or wives he may have had?"

"I know nothing of them."

"What!" interrupted Dudley: "hath he not confessed unto thee that he
married a wife on his travels, from whom he was divorced, and that she
is long since dead?"

"Ye do strive to put words into my mouth, and to entangle me in my
talk," said the lady. "Call you this justice?"

"We are the interrogators, madam," said Dudley. Looking at Winthrop,
he saw that the Governor had fallen back in his seat, with his eyes
cast upon the floor, and was silent, as if tired of his part of the
examination, and willing to relinquish it to others. Observing this,
the Deputy proceeded.

"May it please you, madam, to answer the question?"

"Heaven help me," she said. "My poor brain is so bewildered that I
hardly know what it is."

"Thou hast a treacherous memory," answered Dudley; "but I will repeat
it. It was concerning certain confessions about this Gardiner's wife."

"What confessions?" said the lady.

"Prevaricate not, nor think to blind me," he answered. "The facts are
of public notoriety, and it will not profit to deny them."

"If I deny them I am not to be believed, and the denial would only
bring down upon my head additional insult; then why tempt so hard a
fate? Tell me what you would have me say, and I will endeavor to
conform to your wishes."

"Woman!" said Dudley, sternly, "trifle not. Answer me--aye, or nay."

"Thou hast thine answer," said the lady, with some spirit, as if
goaded into resistance by the severity of the treatment.

"I am content," said Dudley. "Thou knowest that falsehood were in
vain."

"Madam," now took up Endicott the word, "we have not as yet been
favored with your name."

"It is Geraldine De Vaux."

"Hast never another?"

"What mean you, sir!" she exclaimed, with a startled air. "What other
name?"

"I mean, plainly--is not thy name Mary Grove?"

At the question, the lady, unable longer to control herself, burst
into tears. Quickly recovering herself, however, and drying her eyes,
she said:

"The wicked man who first insulted me with the name and the infamy
connected therewith is dead. Dread ye not a like judgment on
yourselves?"

"Thou dost ill to remind us," observed an Assistant, "that thou art,
according to thine own opinion, in some sort, a cause of the death of
our brother, Spikeman, and to threaten us with his fate."

"I threatened not. I did but repel a wrongful accusation," said the
lady, more humbly.

"Yet dost thou not deny the name?" persisted Endicott.

"If it availed, I would deny it; but I see that ye are all leagued
together to persecute me unto the death. Not my will," she sighed,
folding her hands and looking up, "but Thine be done!"

"Wilt thou say nothing more touching this subject?" inquired Endicott.

"I desire to say nothing thereupon, except to protest against the
injurious constructions you seem determined to put on all that I can
say."

"How hath it happened," continued Endicott, "that you have never
appeared with the congregation, in the Lord's house?"

"Consider the distance we did live in the woods, and the difficulty of
the travel," answered the lady, deprecatingly. "But, has not Sir
Christopher attended?"

Endicott paid no attention to the question, but went on.

"What is thy profession of faith?"

"I am a Christian, and most miserable sinner."

"Aye, but Protestant or Catholic?"

"Protestant," answered the lady, with an inflexion of the voice which
made it difficult to decide whether the word was intended for an
ejaculation, a question, or a declaration. "Holy Virgin!" she
murmured, so low as not to be overheard, "forgive me this half lie.
Not for my own sake do my lips utter it, and my heart abhors it."

The answer seemed to take Endicott by surprise.

"Have heed to thy words," he said. "We are well advised that this
runnigadoe and thyself were, until of late at least, at Rome."

"You seem to know all things," said the lady, scornfully, "and I
wonder why ye trouble yourselves with anything that an ignorant woman
can say. Have it as you will."

"Hath not our examination proceeded far enough?" asked Sir Richard.
"Is there aught else ye expect to elicit?"

"The woman, I think, hath confessed the whole," said Dudley. "She
openly admits that this Gardiner, or whatever else be his name, is her
paramour; and, for the remainder, what hath been wrested from her by
her own contradictions, sufficiently confounds her."

"Base man, it is false!" cried the lady, roused into indignation by
the charge. I have confessed to naught whereof a woman should be
ashamed. There is no infamy attached to my name; and as high as Heaven
is above the earth, so far is Sir Christopher above thy craven
nature."

"Heyday!" said Dudley; "it thunders and lightens. I bandy not words
with thee, but the record of the Secretary will show."

"I find not the exact word," said the Secretary, Master Nowell, after
examining his minutes, "but she doth acknowledge this pretended Knight
as her protector since they left England, and the terms are
equivalent."

"I meant it not so. I have acknowledged nothing to my disgrace,"
exclaimed the lady. "Ye have enveigled and entrapped me by artful
questions, and then put constructions on my answers which do not
belong to them. A worthy business, truly, for grave and learned men to
be engaged in, to set their wits to work against a forlorn woman, to
pervert her language into shameful meanings."

"Madam," said Winthrop, "you have permission to retire. Bring with
thee," he added, addressing the beadle, "the little Indian girl,
without letting her come to speech with this gentlewoman, and also
Sassacus, properly guarded."



CHAPTER XXX.

  "Vainly, but well, that Chief had fought,
    He was a captive now;
  Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
    Was written on his brow.
  The scars his dark, broad bosom wore,
    Showed warrior true and brave;
  A prince among his tribe before--"

  BRYANT.


"A manifest Papist! I can scent one of them out as easily as a hound
doth the hare," said Endicott, after the lady had retired.

"Beyond a peradventure," echoed Dudley; "and the attempt at deception
doth aggravate her guilt."

"I, too, remarked," said an Assistant, "that she possesses not the
shibboleth whereunto she laid claim."

"Yet, wherefore should they, being Papists, come hither?" said Master
Nowell. "I understand not the mystery that surrounds them."

"A circumstance in itself suspicious," said Endicott, "wherefore needs
an honest intent to hide its head?"

"On the contrary, it is ever ready to show itself in the sunlight,"
said Master Nowell.

"Know you what is expected to be learned from the child?" asked an
Assistant, of Dudley.

"I surmise our Governor desires something further to quiet his
ever-anxious and doubting mind," answered Dudley.

"I lack no light to form a judgment," said Endicott, "and a further
inquiry is supererogatory."

"Nevertheless," said Master Bradstreet, "there be some of us on whom a
clear light hath not yet shined. My charity strongly inclines me to
view this poor woman in a less unfavorable light since she hath avowed
herself not to be an idolater of Rome."

"Well saith the Scripture," exclaimed Dudley, "that charity doth cover
a multitude of sins. The rule is good in the exercise of judgment in
things pertaining to private concerns, but in public business it is
naught. But your scruples, and those of Master Winthrop, are likely
soon to be satisfied, for here comes the little Canaanite."

And as he spoke the door was opened, and the servitor appeared,
bringing in the child.

"Where is the other Indian?" inquired Endicott.

"He will be here incontinently, your worship," replied the man. "As
there was some delay in the needful preparation, I did think it
expedient not to keep your worships waiting, more especially as it
would not be becoming that ye should be put to inconvenience for a
heathen red skin."

"Reasoned like Aristoteles," said Dudley, laughing. "Give me a man of
thy humor, Hezekiah Negus, who rightly apprehends the value of time,
and the danger of keeping his superiors dependent on his laziness."

"Bring hither the child," said Winthrop.

The servitor, in obedience to the order, led the girl to the
Governor's seat, and placed her standing by his side.

"What is thy name, little one?" asked Winthrop, putting his hand upon
her head.

"Neebin," answered the girl, whose eyes, from the moment of her
entrance, had been scanning the company and the room in that quiet,
covert way, in which the Indian is wont to gratify his curiosity while
endeavoring to conceal it. At the same time, if she felt fear, neither
her voice nor manner betrayed it.

"Neebin!" repeated Winthrop. "A very pretty name, and hath a pretty
meaning in English, I doubt not."

The child, encouraged by the gentleness of his voice and looks, and
perhaps proud of showing her knowledge of the language of the whites,
answered:

"Neebin is summer."

"Darling Neebin," said Winthrop, whose countenance really expressed an
interest in the little Indian, "hast ever been taught thy prayers?"

"Neebin knows two prayers."

"Will she say them for me?"

The child crossed her arms upon her bosom, after having first made the
sign of the cross upon her brow, her lips, and breast; and then,
letting fall the long, black lashes of her eye-lids, commenced
repeating the "pater-noster." At the sign of the cross, Dudley
started; but, as if recollecting himself, sunk back with a groan.
After finishing the pater-noster, the little girl began the "Ave
Maria;" but this was more than the scandalized deputy could endure.

"I may not," he cried, starting up, "listen without sin to this
idolatry. Better to smite--"

"I pray thee to have a little patience," said Winthrop, interrupting
him. "None of its guilt attaches itself to us."

"I know not that," replied Dudley. "I will not, like Naaman the
Syrian, bow myself down in the house of Rimmon, even although my
master leaneth on my hand. I do bear my testimony against these popish
incantations."

The face of Winthrop flushed at the taunt conveyed, both in the manner
and in the language; but, as his custom was, he paused before
replying, which gave opportunity to Endicott to say:

"My teeth, also, as well as those of Master Dudley, are set on edge;
and I think that any farther inquiry on this branch of the subject may
well be pretermitted."

"In my judgment," said Sir Richard Saltonstall, "it were well,
inasmuch as, though not partaking to the degree of their delicacy of
the scruples of the Deputy-Governor and of Master Endicott, yet do I
respect them, considering the fountain whence they flow. I also highly
approve of and thank the Governor for his judicious questions, whereby
the truth hath been brought to light, and what was a little dark
before hath been made plain. But the end being sufficiently attained,
it were better, perhaps, not to press in this way after further
knowledge, seeing we neither need nor desire it."

"I accede to your wishes, gentlemen," said Winthrop, "though I hardly
approve of this cutting short the answer of a witness. Ye shall have,
however, your will."

"What!" exclaimed Dudley; "not when the answer is blasphemous, or
idolatrous, or otherwise impious?"

"We will have no argument thereupon, Master Dudley," said Winthrop.
"Your desire is granted, and that, methinks, should satisfy you."

The door now opened, and Sassacus entered between two soldiers,
clanking the fetters on his wrists as he moved. Alas! confinement,
though short, had not been without baleful effect on the Sagamore. Not
that he appeared cast down or humiliated; not that his gait was
uncertain, or his bearing less proud; but a shadow, the shadow of a
prison house, encompassed him. The iron was evidently beginning to
enter his soul. The free denizen of the boundless forest could no more
live without liberty, than flame without air. He was like an eagle
struck down from his home in the clouds,

  "Sailing with supreme dominion,
  Through the azure deep of air,"

to be chained upon a stump, and approached and gazed at by every
wayfarer. The imperial bird darts round the lightning of his eyes, but
he knows them to be innocuous, and his head droops at the
consciousness.

"Remain where ye are," said an Assistant to the soldiers. "The
Governor is engaged at this moment."

"Can Neebin," said Winthrop, resuming his interrogatories, "tell me
where is Sir Christopher Gardiner?"

"Flower of the forest and of the wild rushing stream," exclaimed
Sassacus, in his own language, "be to him as the rock to which the
wind whispers an idle tale."

"What says he?" inquired the Assistants of one another, not one of
whom understood more than here and there a word.

"Let the chief keep silent," said Winthrop, addressing Sassacus. "He
will soon have an opportunity to say what he will;" and he repeated
the question.

But the little Indian showed herself no longer docile as before, but
to every question returned a stubborn silence.

"We have made a mistake in bringing in the chief," said an Assistant.
"She will not open her lips again. He hath said something to frustrate
our inquires."

"Thou hast rightly divined," said Winthrop, after another vain attempt
to induce the child to speak. "And now what shall be done? for I hold
it unmeet that she should be sent back to the source whence, instead
of the Gospel truth she should have been taught, she hath sucked only
error."

"That were indeed a deadly unkindness to the poor fawn," said Sir
Richard, "seeing it would be imperiling her eternal salvation."

"Better," said Endicott, "that she should continue in a darkness
penetrated only by the dim light of nature than be made a victim of
Roman superstition."

"If any one of ye, gentlemen, will take her in charge," said Winthrop,
"gladly will I resign the child into your hands; but if not, then
will I receive her into mine own household, where, by God's grace, the
tares which the enemy hath sown may be eradicated."

No one manifesting a desire to accept the offer of Winthrop, he
ordered the child to be removed to his own house.

As the little girl on her way out of the apartment passed nigh the
chief, she stopped, and with childish impatience strove to take the
manacles from his arms. A sad smile crossed the face of Sassacus at
her vain attempt, and he said:

"They are the presents of Owanux. Neebin will not forget."

"Allow no farther speech between them," cried Winthrop, as the
Sagamore commenced saying something more. "Part them, and take her
instantly away."

"Waqua, or Sassacus, or whatever be thy name," said Winthrop,
"wherefore, being at peace with my people, have you slain two of my
men."

The chief looked steadily at the questioner, but returned no answer.

"We know," said the Governor, "that thou hast sufficient knowledge of
our tongue to make thyself intelligible, for thou hast conversed with
me. Speak, lest for thy refusal it should go the harder with thee."

Thus addressed, Sassacus surveyed with an indignant look his chains,
and then stretching out one of his arms as far as his bonds permitted,
spoke in a bold tone several sentences in his own language in reply.

"The spirit of the old proverb," said an Assistant, "that one may lead
a horse to water, nathless it will be impossible to compel him to
drink, applies, it seems, as well to Indians as to horses."

"Why sit here to be scorned by this unbreeched heathen?" cried Dudley.
"Away with him! He was taken in the very act, and can render no excuse
for this devilish malignity."

"Under favor," said Sir Richard, "that were but a hasty conclusion. It
is only Christian mercy to labor with him a little more."

"It may be," said Winthrop, "that on an occasion so momentous, he
distrusts his ability worthily to defend himself in a speech wherewith
he is imperfectly acquainted. He must not be condemned unheard. The
flashes of nobility I have discovered in him did once prepossess me
greatly in his favor, and, therefore, if for nought else, would I be
indulgent. But, besides, he is a man whose blood is not to be spilled
like a wild animal's."

"Be it so," said Dudley, "If ye can make him speak, I will promise to
listen."

"Samoset is in the settlement, and may be instantly forthcoming,"
suggested Master Nowell.

"Let him then be called," said Winthrop.

But a short time elapsed before the messenger returned with the
Indian, Samoset, who, in consequence of his superior acquaintance with
the English language, had often acted as interpreter between his
countrymen and the white strangers. This knowledge he had acquired
from his intercourse with the English fishermen, before the wanderers
who erected their tabernacle at Shawmut arrived in the country. He was
a quick, apprehensive fellow, who, on account of the services he had
rendered the colonists, stood high in their favor, and was treated
with considerable confidence. No sign of recognition passed betwixt
him and Sassacus on his entrance, but they regarded one another as
strangers.

"We have called thee, Samoset," said Winthrop, "to interpret between
us and this prisoner. Ask him if he acknowledges himself to be the
famous chief of the Pequots."

"Tell him," replied Sassacus, "that I am that eagle at whose scream
the Narraghansetts hide themselves like little birds in the bushes."

"A bold answer," said Winthrop. "Ask him now, wherefore he hath been
lurking in the woods in the vicinity of our lodges."

"The feet of Sassacus," answered the chief, "tread upon the forest
leaves at his pleasure. His ancestors never inquired of the Taranteens
nor of the Narraghansetts where they should hunt, and he will not ask
permission of the strangers with beards."

"Frank and defiant," muttered Endicott. "Come, I like this."

"The forests are very wide," said Winthrop, "and the game is not so
abundant in our immediate neighborhood. There must be some more
particular reason for thy conduct."

"Listen, O, white chief!" returned the Indian. "The path whereon the
tongue of Sassacus travels is a straight path. A great chief disdains
to tell a lie. Know then, that, for a long, long time--our oldest men
cannot recollect so far back, for they heard the legend from their
grandfathers, and they again from theirs--it hath been told among us,
that a race with a skin like the snow should come to our land, with
strange manners, and speaking a strange language; and when I heard of
Owanux, I came to see whether they were the men, for it becomes a
chief to watch for his people."

"And what said the tradition," asked Winthrop, "should be the fate of
the two races?"

"Tell him not, O, Samoset! my friend, who hast eaten with me from the
same pot--that the legend, sadder than the wail of warriors from an
unsuccessful expedition over the dead; than the sobs of the wintry
wind around the grave of my first-born--that, like the cloud in the
full moon, we were to waste away, and the intruders to occupy our
hunting grounds."

"He says," said Samoset, interpreting to suit the chief, "that the
Indians were to drive the strangers, as the wind whirls the leaves
into little heaps."

"There will be two words to that bargain," said Dudley. "I trow it
will take more than one Powah to make me believe such a story."

"It is the inspiration of the devil, who is ever the father of lies,"
observed Endicott. "Go to, with nonsense like this, but I do admire
the brave bearing of the savage."

"Yet is it an unfortunate belief to prevail among the natives," said
Master Bradstreet. "If extensively entertained, it may be fraught with
great peril."

"A cunning invention of the Powahs, no doubt, to sustain the fainting
courage of their deluded followers," said Sir Richard.

"Give me three hundred stout and well-armed fellows, trusting in the
Lord, and careful to keep their powder dry and bullets ready, and I
will so take the conceit out of their red-skins, from the Kennebec to
the mouth of the Connecticut, that they will never tell this story
again," said Endicott.

"Ask him," proceeded Winthrop, "if this Sir Christopher Gardiner is
his friend."

"Soog-u-gest is my brother," answered the Sagamore.

"Does he know the occasions of Soog-u-gest's frequent absences from
home?"

"He hunted sometimes with Sassacus," was the answer.

"And what knows he of the woman?"

"She is the sister of Soog-u-gest."

"Is she not his wife?" demanded Dudley.

But Sassacus, merely shaking his head, made no reply.

"The proud savage disdains to answer your question, Master Dudley,"
observed Endicott, with a smile.

"Nay," answered Dudley. "It is because he cannot deny it."

"We will see," said Winthrop; and he put the question.

It was as Endicott (better acquainted from his longer residence in the
country than the others with the feelings of the natives) had
suggested, for now Sassacus spoke without hesitation.

"Soog-u-gest is the woman's brother. His wigwam is large. The woman
and Neebin, the little sister of Sassacus, live in one part, and
Soog-u-gest and his men in the other."

An expression of great astonishment was visible in the faces of the
members of the Council, as Sassacus avowed his relationship to the
little girl, but nothing was said. The thoughtful countenance of
Winthrop became still more grave, and a moment or two passed before he
asked the next question.

"Why did Sassacus give away his own sister?"

"He gave her not away. She was to remain to learn the wisdom of the
white man, as the little bird stays in the nest until it is strong
enough to fly."

Another pause ensued, for the reply of the Sagamore had furnished
pregnant matter for thought, until the silence was broken by the voice
of Winthrop.

"Why did Sassacus attack my people, and kill two of my men?"

"A superfluous question, after what we have heard," said Sir Richard
Saltonstall.

"Nevertheless, it is involved in the purpose for which the Indian was
brought before us, and he shall have the benefit of a reply, Sir
Richard," answered the Governor.

"Is it an earnest question the white chief asks," demanded the Pequot
chief. "Why does the bear attack the hunter who has robbed her of her
cubs? Shall Sassacus love Neebin less than a bear its cub? Owanux
burned the lodge of my friend. They seized his sister and Neebin, and
carried them away, and their chief asks why Sassacus fought for his
friends, and for the daughter of many Sachems! What white man ever
before was hurt by Sassacus? Who ever came to his lodge, and he set
not a meal before him? Who ever was tired, and Sassacus gave him not a
skin whereon to lay his limbs? When the white chief burns our lodges,
and carries away captive our women and children in the dark, must
Sassacus run with a bowl of succotash to refresh him, after his great
victory?"

"A shrewd retort withal, and, according to the law of nature, and of
the woods, an all-sufficient justification," said Sir Richard
Saltonstall, who had been opposed to the plan to capture the Knight
from the beginning.

"And yet none other than I expected," said Winthrop, whose generous
design in allowing the chief to exculpate himself in his own way was
only now understood. "Gentlemen," he added, desirous to take advantage
of the favorable impression produced by the Sagamore's reply, "what
remains but to remand our prisoner, unless it be your intention to
discharge him in consideration of the provocation, and that he can
hardly be said to be as fully amenable to our laws as they who
understand what these laws are."

"I desire to express my hearty astonishment," exclaimed Deputy Dudley,
"at the extraordinary proposition of the Governor. The consequences
which lie hid therein are horrible. Are our friends, engaged in the
execution of our orders, to be slaughtered with impunity, and thus
others to be encouraged to like atrocities?"

"Blood for blood," thundered Endicott. "If that of Abel fell not to
the ground unavenged, though the slayer knew no law, save that written
in his heart, to forbid the deed, so now may not this savage escape.
Besides, the example were impolitic, as hath been already set forth."

Similar opinions were uttered by almost all of the Assistants, being
none other than anticipated by the wily Governor, who meant not what
he said, but desired to mitigate the severer counsels of his
associates.

During these remarks, a conversation in a low tone had been passing
betwixt the Sagamore and Samoset.

"Has the heart of Samoset turned white?" asked the Pequot.

"Samoset is an Indian," replied the interpreter, "and his heart is
red."

"Has he forgotten the time when, with Sassacus and his Paniese, he
drank of the Shetucket, where it bounds into the river of the Pequots,
when he was thirsty with driving the Narraghansetts over the hills,
like leaves chased by the wind?"

"Samoset has not forgotten."

"Does he powah with Owanux, or is he true to the faith of his
fathers?"

"The feet of Samoset will chase the deer and the bear over the happy
hunting grounds, whither his fathers have gone. He would not know what
to do in the heaven of Owanux."

"Then is not Samoset my brother, and lies he not close to the heart of
Sassacus, as a pappoose nestles up to its mother?"

"Samoset will do the bidding of the great Sagamore," said the
interpreter, anticipating what was to follow.

"Go then, my friend, my brother, terror of the Narraghansetts, praise
of the valiant Pequots, and find Soog-u-gest. Tell him that the blood
of Sassacus is running away, like water from an overturned vessel, and
that soon all will be spilled, unless he comes to set up the vessel.
Tell him to come quickly, and deliver the great Sagamore of the
Pequots, and his sister, and the young man with eyes like the sky."

"The feet of the blue eyes are free," said Samoset. "I saw him only a
little while ago."

"Good!" said the chief. "Then seek first my young friend, for he loves
Sassacus, and tell him, and do what he says. But if they cannot help,
fly, like the swallow over the hills and streams, to the hunting
grounds of my tribe, and say to my people that their Sachem is a wolf
in a trap, and Neebin a slave to Owanux."

"What says he?" inquired Endicott, whose attention had been attracted
by the longer speech, and somewhat raised tone of the Sagamore's
voice.

"He says," answered Samoset, drawing readily on his invention, "that a
great Sachem ought not to be put into a box for killing wolves who run
into his wigwam."

A pleased expression lighted up the face of the captive chief at the
answer, which he perfectly understood, as indeed he had much that had
been spoken. His avoiding to use the English language, as through
ignorance, having had for him, at least, the advantage of putting his
examiners off their guard, and inducing them to speak more freely in
his hearing. The tone of Samoset's voice, and the reply, satisfied the
Pequot that he was secure of the interpreter's fidelity, and he
stretched out both his arms, as though grasping his recovered liberty.

Endicott bent his brow at the reply, as a suspicion darted through his
jealous mind; but the stolid mien of the Indian, who bore the look as
if he had been a statue carved out of the heart of the cedars of his
native hills, baffled his penetration.

"Why do I distrust him?" he murmured, under his thick moustache. "Yet
is distrust the mother of safety, and in our situation a duty."

"Let him return now," said Winthrop, "and take order that every
comfort be supplied consistent with safe keeping. Noble Sassacus," he
added, "it grieves me that we meet and part thus."

The savage, who, through the whole interview, could not mistake the
favorable sentiments of Winthrop, answered as before, in his own
Pequot tongue.

"Sassacus understands the thoughts of chiefs, for he is one himself.
The voice of the long knife (alluding to the rapier worn by Winthrop)
is not so unpleasant to him as those of these counsellors, and he
hopes that what he is about to say will be listened to as the words of
a great Sagamore. Sassacus is very tired of lying in a box, but not
afraid to die. Let him depart to his own country, or if the white
chief will kill, let him, with his long knife, pierce the bosom of
Sassacus, for the blood of a chief should be shed by a chief."

"It may not be, noble savage," said Winthrop, mournfully. "Such is not
our custom. Yet be not cast down, but rely upon our justice."

The withdrawal of the captives was a signal for the discussion of what
had been elicited by their examination. It had confirmed suspicions
before entertained, and more than that, revealed an intimacy betwixt
the Knight and Pequots, a warlike and restless, though not numerous
tribe, which filled the minds of the Assistants with apprehension. If
the influence of Sir Christopher (whom not one doubted to be a
Catholic) extended as far as they suspected, he might make himself a
formidable enemy. He had been able to induce the chief of the Pequots
to intrust to him his own sister, to be taught the Catholic faith,
doubtless intending to make her conversion the means of extending
among the tribes the superstitions of Popery. The success of the plan
was fraught with danger to the colony, for the new religion would be a
means of reconciling the differences of the tribes, and binding them
together, in a common union with the Eastern Indians, already much
under the influence of the Romish priests. Favored secretly or openly
by the French government, which they were sure to be, and supplied
with fire-arms, they might become too powerful to be resisted, and,
reversing the campaign of the Israelites in the wilderness, drive out
those who had intruded into their Canaan, only themselves to fall
finally a prey to the French, and to have one form of idolatry
substituted for another. Sternly frowned Dudley, and grimly stroked
Endicott his tufted chin, as they revolved such thoughts, and inly
vowed, as they trusted in the God of Jacob, that such things should
not be. The conclusion to which the council came, was that the Pequot
and the woman should be detained in custody until the Knight was
taken, whose capture they considered not difficult, and that then the
fate of the three should be decided.

As for Samoset, he sought Arundel at the earliest opportunity when he
could do so unnoticed, and acquainted him with the message of the
chief. With this coadjutor it was easy to establish a communication
with his friends in the forest, the consequences of which will
presently be seen.



CHAPTER XXXI.

  The waithman goode of Silverwoode,
    That bowman stout and hende,
  In donjon gloom abides his doom--
    God dele him gentil ende.

  It breaks true herte to see him stert,
    When as the small birds sing,
  And then to hear his sighynges drere,
    Whereas his fetters ring.

  OLD BALLAD.


In order to secure the person of the Knight of the Golden Melice,
several small parties were dispatched to scour the forest--another
object being to protect the remoter colonists against wandering
Taranteens, should any have the temerity to venture near the
settlement. A reward was offered to the Indians for the apprehension
of Sir Christopher--strict injunctions being given that he should be
taken alive. An increased vigilance also was exercised over the rude
prison wherein the captives were confined--a soldier being kept
constantly on guard before its entrance.

On the plot in front the sentry was pacing his round on a night which
was dark and threatening. No rain had fallen, but the clouds were
constantly becoming denser, and it was plain that a storm might soon
be expected. With the wind rose also the voice of the ocean, murmuring
along the curving shores of the bay, distinctly heard in the silence
of the night by the solitary soldier, whose thoughts it carried back
to the sea-beaten island he had left.

"An' my guns deceive me not," he said to himself, "it should be past
midnight. There is no moon, nor star, to be sure, to tell by, but I
have mounted guard before, and my feelings let me know as surely as a
dial what's the hour. Hark! (as a measured step was heard approaching)
that must be Cowlson. Stand," he cried, "and give the countersign!"

"Poh! Job Bloyce," answered a voice. "You know my croak as well as
your own; but babes and sucklings must be taught, and it is regular,
so I will let you know lest you may have forgotten--the sling of
David."

"Always full of thy nonsense," said Bloyce. "But what made thee so
late?"

"Late is it? It can be but a matter of ten minutes past twelve, and it
takes a little while to rub one's eyes and get them open after being
called. Hast seen or heard anything on thy watch?"

"Nothing. I had better have been in my warm bed and asleep,
considering the hoeing I must give my corn-field to-morrow, than be
watching a skeary Indian and a woman."

"Thou hast little need to trouble thy gizzard on that score," returned
Cowlson; "for, an' I mistake not greatly, the rain will fall heavy
enough to spoil thy chance at hoeing. It is blacker than the darkness
in Egypt. I cannot see the tip of thy nose."

"That is of no consequence. My nose is a white nose and no Indian's,
and I take it that it is for the copper skins you are to watch."

"And they will be still harder to be seen. But I care not. I am good
for ten Indians any day, though I expect not that they will venture to
sneak into our streets, be it light or dark."

"Nevertheless, keep your eyes open, for thou mayest need them; so good
night."

"Good night, and shut thine own, so soon as Dame Bloyce will permit
thee."

The two knew not, so dark was the night, that a third person stood so
near to them that he had overheard the whole of their dialogue. Soon
after the departure of the first sentinel, his successor, Cowlson,
seemed to consider it of very little importance to make his rounds
with much diligence, and to be more intent on protecting himself from
the rain, which began to fall, than to perform his duty. He,
therefore, after a few turns, ensconced himself as comfortably as
possible on the lee side of the building during the violence of the
storm, taking advantage of occasional intermissions to resume his
walk. The stranger waited until the little vigilance of the sentinel
was relaxed, and, noting exactly the place where he had bestowed
himself, stole noiselessly back to a group of three or four persons.
Here a whispered conversation was carried on until the rain began to
pour more violently, when, as if they thought it a favorable moment
for their enterprise, the whole party began to move forward in Indian
file--that is to say, following one another in a line--led by the man
who had overheard the conversation of the soldiers. Such was the noise
made by the falling drops, and so dark the night, that they had
approached close to the sentry before he became aware of any one's
presence. An accidental slipping of one of the men betrayed them, and,
presenting his piece, he demanded the countersign.

"The sling of David," was the reply, and the sentry dropped the breech
of the musket on the earth. He had hardly done so before he was
violently seized. A strong hand grasped his throat; another was
applied to his mouth; his piece was wrested from him, and, disarmed
and unable to utter a cry, he was hurled to the ground. His hands and
feet were then bound; a gag inserted into his mouth; his coat taken
off and muffled around his head to stifle the least sound, and he was
then removed to a little distance behind the building, and one left to
guard him and give notice of any approach. The rest of the party next
proceeded to the door of the cabin occupied by the jailer Bars. A
light was burning inside, but it was impossible, through the oiled
paper, to see anything within. He who appeared to be the leader,
having disposed his men on each side of the door, rapped upon it. No
answer was returned, and it was not until after repeated rappings, and
the patience of the strangers was becoming exhausted, and they had
begun to consult respecting bursting open the door, when some one was
heard moving and growling at the disturbance of his slumbers.

"Who is there?" he demanded, impatiently.

A low voice from the outside now entreated to be let in, for a moment,
out of the rain.

"Nay," returned Bars. "You put no foot into my house, at this time of
night, without the countersign."

"The sling of David," replied the voice.

"All right," said Bars, beginning to unbar the door, "But what do
you"--

He was unable to finish the sentence, for, as soon as the door turned
on its hinges, a rush was made by those on the outside, and poor Bars,
half clothed, rudely upset on the floor. "Murder," he undertook to
cry, but his throat was choked whenever he attempted to make a sound,
and he was soon disposed of in like manner as the sentinel, and thrust
into a corner, after having discovered that his assailants were
Indians. All this, with however little noise accomplished, could not
be done without disturbing Dame Bars, who, from the closet where she
slept, inquired what was the matter. One of the party thereupon
gliding over the floor with moccasoned feet, presented himself with
finger on lip before her. Terror benumbed the tongue of the poor woman
at the sight, and the cry she strove to utter died in her throat. By
smiles and gestures the Indian endeavored to satisfy her that no
injury was designed, and then, as if to confirm his peaceable
intentions, retired, drawing the door after him; and frightened,
though in some slight degree re-assured, the dame employed the respite
in clothing herself in her day-apparel.

Meanwhile, one of the Indians, who had found two or three large keys
tied together, had taken them from the peg where they hung and
proceeded to the prison. His actions evinced a strange familiarity
with the place. He advanced straight to the prison door, and, fitting
the key, presently stood in the narrow passage which ran round the two
cells into which the central part was divided. Only one of these was
locked. Opening it, he called, in a low tone--"Sassacus."

"Who wants Sassacus?" asked the chief in his own language out of the
darkness, for the stranger had come without a light.

"I do not understand your gibberish," answered the other. "Know you
not Philip's voice?"

"Thou hast come to place the feet of Sassacus on the forest leaves.
Quick! O good white man! and free him," cried the impatient chief.

Philip, guided by the sounds, bent down, and feeling for the shackles
which confined the legs of the captive, soon unfastened them, and the
liberated Sagamore stretched out with delight his cramped limbs.
"Sassacus," he said, "shall see again the pleasant river of the
Pequots, and he will deliver Neebin from the robbers." Then following
Joy, the two entered, noiselessly, the cabin of the jailer.

During the absence of Joy, a scene of a different kind had been
passing. The Lady Geraldine, aroused by the sounds, had left her
couch, and appeared among the intruders. She manifested no fear at
sight of the Indians, (for what had she to dread from those who had
always shown her kindness?) and when owe of them glided to her side,
she strove not to avoid him.

"Celestina!" said a well-known voice in her ear, "hasten to accompany
me from this wretched den, and the tyranny of your oppressors."

She started at the first sound, but quickly recovering herself,
replied, in a tone as low:

"Of what avail? My usefulness here is ended. I will give place to
another, and Heaven will employ me somewhere else."

"Be it so," said the Knight; "yet fly, for the sake of thy liberty,
perhaps of thy life."

"I fear not for my life," she added; "and as for my liberty, I cannot
long be deprived of it."

"Time flies! What madness is this? I have risked my life to rescue
thee, and now dost thou reject my service?"

"I cannot fly with thee. Better to die."

"What strange language do I hear? What mean you? Explain quickly, for
our time is short."

"I have no explanation, except that I will not go. The heretics may
rage, but the virgin will protect me."

"O, listen!" urged the Knight. "You shall be delivered from this
atrocious persecution. I will take thee to the French settlements,
where thou wilt be secure, and mistress of thine own movements."

"And thereby seem to admit the truth of all wherewith we are charged.
That were in some sort a betrayal of our trust, and what neither thou
nor I may do."

"Call you the preservation of our liberty and lives a betrayal of
trust? Celestina, grief hath crazed thy brain."

"Nay, Sir Christopher, I have thought over all these things, and the
virgin inspires my determination. I will do nought to confirm a
suspicion already entertained, that we are Catholics, which would be
turned into certainty, were we to take refuge among our French
neighbors. Thus should we make the task more difficult for the
successors who must take our places, since we have been found
unworthy."

"Then we will remain among the Indians, if that please thee better."

"To bring trouble upon them for their hospitality; to cause them to be
hunted on our account, like wild beasts. Thy generosity would disdain
safety purchased by another's suffering."

"We will go to some distant tribe. Anything is better than to remain
in the hands of these pitiless fanatics."

"I dread them not," answered Sister Celestina, loftily. "The talisman
of the true faith will preserve me."

"Is, then, thy resolution fixed beyond change? Will no prayers, no
entreaties change thee?"

"It is better thus: the poor Sister Celestina knows how to suffer and
to die, but not how to desert the post entrusted to her by her
superiors."

At this moment Joy and Sassacus entered, and the former, approaching
the Knight, informed him that all was ready for a start.

"I am ready," said the Knight. "Yet, once again, before I hasten away,
O, Celestina, come! I cannot bear to leave thee with these men with
natures rougher than the savage."

"If I were to tell thee all," she said, moved by his importunities,
"thou thyself wouldst bid me remain. Noble gentleman! unfortunate and
slandered Knight, save thyself from thine enemies. Hasten away; there
is danger in every moment's delay. Whatever may become of me, no fault
is thine."

She took his hand in hers, and as she pressed it to her lips, the
Knight felt a tear trickling over its surface.

"Farewell, then," he said, "since it must be so; but I will hover near
to assist thee, shouldst thou change thy resolution."

He turned away, greeted the Sagamore, and, with his followers, began
to leave the cabin. As he passed the jailer, he stooped, and, removing
the gag from his mouth, looked at him steadily an instant, and then
placed two broad gold pieces on the floor before him.

The lady pursued with her eyes the retreating figures till swallowed
up by the darkness. "I will bear my cross as I may," she said to
herself, "for I deserve it for all my unhappy suspicions of his
generous nature. But I will do nothing which may give further color to
the malignant charge devised by the justly-slain Spikeman, and taken
up by his associates. An escape with him were sure to do that. The
tongue of calumny would wag, and the finger of scorn be universally
pointed at me, and all would cry, 'aha! we said it.' Such triumph
shall not mine enemies have over me."

Her meditations were interrupted by Bars, who now begged her to
release him from bondage, or call his wife to do the friendly office
for him.

"I desire to take you to witness," said the lady, "that, though flight
was in my power, I have not availed myself of the opportunity. Say
that to my oppressors, to increase the guilt of their cruelty."

"I will say what you please," Answered Bars, peevishly, "an' you will
untie me."

"I will do so, if you promise to make no hue and cry."

"What should I want of tramping after Indians in the dark, and perhaps
catch an arrow in my paunch for my pains?" groaned the jailer; "though
I have some notions of my own about the Indian part of the business."

"Trusting thy promise, I will relieve thee from thy bonds," said the
lady, cutting the cords.

"I made no promise," said Bars, as soon as he was set at liberty,
"though I will behave as if I had. These be brave Indians," he said to
himself, slyly taking up the gold, "and pay handsomely for their right
to be considered such. An' it be thy pleasure that it should be so,"
he added aloud, "these golden Indians shall remain Indians till the
day of judgment, for all Bars--"

Dame Bars, now, from her nook, made her appearance on the scene.

"O, Sam!" she exclaimed, "be they gone, and have not they scalped
you?"

"You can look for yourself, wife," answered Sam, passing his fingers
through his shock of hair, as if to satisfy any doubts of his own.
"But what should they want with my scalp, I wonder."

"I am sure I can't tell what they do with such things," said the dame,
"unless to cover their own heads when they get bald."

"A pretty figure," grunted Bars, "my red crop would make on the top of
one of them salvages. It never will come to that, goody. But I must
not stay here talking about scalps, when, perhaps, the poor sentinel
may have lost his." And he started toward the door.

"O do not go, do not go, Sam!" said his wife, throwing her arms around
him; "they may be watching for thee on the outside."

"Women be always cowards," said the jailer; "but thou need not hug me
so tight now. I warrant, having got what they wanted, they are in the
woods before this time."

"Yet stay a little longer," persisted his wife. "If the poor soldier
be murdered, thou canst do him no good."

"You forget, goody, that I am a public officer, and must do my duty,"
said Sam, extricating himself from her grasp; and, lighting a lantern,
he went out of doors.

Bars directed his course straight to the door of the prison, which he
found open.

"It is as I expected," he thought, "There is no use in going in. The
Indian's long legs are loping far away in the forest, be sure.
Cowlson! friend Cowlson!" he asked, "art thou dead, or only scalped?"

He listened for an answer, but none was returned. Proceeding round the
little building, he soon found what he sought--the soldier, tied by
the neck and heels, in a most uncomfortable posture, and soaked with
the rain.

"Humph!" ejaculated Bars; "these salvages be learning civilization
fast. An' I had done it myself, I could not have tied the knot with
more judgment."

The soldier (to add to whose misfortunes, his musket was gone,
together with the powder and ball wherewith he had been furnished)
felt in no talking humor, and sulkily followed the jailer into the
house, where he recovered his speech, and recounted his portion of the
adventures of the night. Bars pretended to believe that the party
consisted entirely of Indians; of which, however, Cowlson could by no
means be persuaded; "for how," asked he, "could they learn our
countersign?"

"They be cunning vermin," said Bars. "But now, that I recollect,
methinks that when they deceived me it sounded a little heathenish."

"Then, why did you admit them?" demanded Cowlson.

"A fine question for you to ask, Jim Cowlson. An' I had not, the
chance is they would have bowled you off with them, as a hostage for
the sachem, and like as not burned us up besides. But the fact is, I
was half asleep. An' I had been wide awake, perhaps I would have
discovered the trick. And who would have guessed that Indians knew
anything about countersigns? I wonder how they found it out."

"I must report this night's work forthwith," said Cowlson, rising;
"but I had almost as lief have lost my scalp as my musket."

The disconsolate soldier accordingly wended on his way, to tell the
best story he could to save himself from blame; while Bars, after
relocking his empty prison, and barring his door, snuggled himself
alongside his partner to busy his rather obtuse brain with schemes of
a like nature on his own behalf.



CHAPTER XXXII.

  "This monument shall utter of the past
  It hath no tongue; and yet Demosthenes,
  Or Roman Tully, never stirred the breasts
  Of gaping citizens with subtler speech,
  Than shall this pile of stones the wayfarers.
  Who pass this way."

  ANONYMOUS.


While with rapid steps through the tempestuous night the retiring
party were seeking the forest, one of them, the only one in the dress
of the whites, and who for that reason had not ventured into the cabin
of the jailer, but had kept watch on the outside, approaching
Sassacus, said:

"Let the feet of the chief be swift, for many warriors will be after
him with the morning light."

"My brother!" said the delighted Sagamore, recognizing the voice of
Arundel. "Let not my brother be afraid. The forest loves Sassacus, and
tells him all its secrets."

"Yet remain not here, my friend, my Sassacus, nor be troubled about
Neebin. I will take care of her, and she shall be restored to thee."

"Sassacus trusts his young white brother," said the Indian, "He hears
Neebin singing by the river of the Pequots."

"We part here, and perhaps forever," said Arundel. "Farewell,
Sagamore. A nobler heart than thine never beat in savage or Christian
bosom. I will never forget you."

He wrung the hand of the chief, and, turning, was instantly lost in
the darkness.

The occasion permitted no further words, and, as the two separated, it
was with a glow of pleasure on the part of each. Arundel reflected
with satisfaction on the success of his enterprise, and the Sagamore's
enjoyment of his recovered freedom was heightened by the thought that
he had been remembered by one who had so much attracted him. The young
man succeeded in reaching his quarters without being discovered, and
we now leave him, to accompany those with whom he had been associated.

So well had their measures been taken, and with such good fortune
executed, that they were already deep in the woods before the
settlement was aroused by the alarm given by the sentinel.

"They may make as much noise as they choose, for their own pleasure,"
said Philip, laughing, as the report of the culverins, which startled
the colonists from their sleep, were heard; "but it is only a useless
pother, and a vain rubbing of drowsy eyes. I should like to see how
valiant Captain Endicott will look, when he finds that the bird has
flown."

"In thy present habiliments of a savage?" said the Knight.

"Nay," answered the soldier. "I care not to be seen naked, and stained
up like an Aberginian. I was half ashamed of myself, especially before
the lady, though there was not much light."

"It were well," said the Knight, "to cast our slough before we chance
to be seen by Indians, notwithstanding they may be friendly. We must
retire deep, too, into the forest, for I mistake much the character of
Winthrop and his council, if desperate means be not adopted to avenge
the doings of this night."

This indeed appeared to be the opinion of all, to judge from the haste
with which they pushed steadily on, resting not until they had reached
the wigwam of the chief whereto Spikeman had been taken. Here, the
first care of the white men was to wash off the paint from their
persons, not without a half-jesting objection from the Sagamore.

"The two friends of Sassacus," he said, "have Indian hearts; why
should they not keep their Indian skins? Let them come with me, and
they shall become great sachems over the tribes that listen to the
voice of the little salt lake."

Philip, who was in high spirits at the success of their enterprise,
and whose philosophy enabled him always to enjoy the present moment,
was ready with an answer.

"A tempting offer," he said; "and, by the head of King Charles, (his
favorite oath), better, I trow, than this hand-to-mouth life we have
lately been leading. Plenty of bear's meat and venison, and no
prisons, Sagamore! Verily, thy words are pleasant."

"The deer shall come to lick the hands of my brothers, and the bear
offer his steaks, and they will be as free as the wind on the tops of
the hills. They shall also have many squaws, and young wives shall
smile on them when the old are wrinkled and cross."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Philip. "I misdoubt whether that would suit all
round. But, Sagamore, if I should ever have the luck to get a nice
white squaw, I will ask her opinion; and if she fancies the plan of my
having half a dozen wives, I will consider it."

"A truce to this trifling," said Sir Christopher. "It is all sport
with thee, Philip, but dost not remark it begins to be earnest with
the chief?"

"He is quick-witted enough to understand," answered Joy. "Why, Sir
Christopher, these salvages laugh so seldom, that they ought to be
encouraged when they begin. I fear me that the long faces of the folk
at the settlement are catching, and that the poor Indians are more
than half spoiled already. Now, according to my judgment, it is a
human privilege to laugh. Some say, to be sure, that dogs and horses
laugh, but I never heard anything that amounted to more than a
snicker, and that I suppose they caught from being with people."

"Sassacus," said the Knight, "this is no longer any place for thee.
The white men are at this moment seeking me, and will soon be also on
thy track, and show no mercy. The voices of thy tribe are shouting thy
name through the forest, and calling thee home. Here and now we part."

"Sassacus is troubled," replied the Sagamore, "about his little
sister. How shall he answer his mother, when she asks after Neebin?"

"Neebin is in no danger," said the Knight; "and though she were, thy
remaining could do no good. But I will stay, and if artifice can
avail--for force we have none--Neebin shall be restored to her
mother."

"My brother speaks well," said the Sagamore, having thus secured
another guardian for the sister whom he tenderly loved. "He shall
stay, but Sassacus will return to the river of the Pequots, and will
speak a loud word in the ears of his tribe, and they shall fill their
quivers with arrows, and sharpen their tomahawks, and many will come
back with him to ask for Neebin. Sassacus will go alone, and will
leave Towanquattick."

"Leave not the Paniese behind," said the Knight. "That were only to
expose him to unnecessary danger."

But the chief was not be diverted from his purpose. To every objection
he replied: "A great chief takes not back the word he has spoken. Were
he to do so, what would become of the respect of his people?"

Yet, notwithstanding the peremptory tone wherewith he had announced
his determination, very soft was the voice, and gentle the manner of
the Sagamore, as he addressed his follower:

"Towanquattick," he said, "is my friend, and will watch over the
little Pequot bird that has strayed into the trap of Owanux."

"Towanquattick will watch," was the answer.

"Stay to teach the little bird to fly away, or until I return with my
warriors. Sassacus goes now like a brook just starting from the
ground; but he will come back like a mighty river when angry 'Hpoon
pours its swollen waters into the salt lake. Sassacus hath said."

The words were pronounced with a dignity and gravity that impressed
those who heard them, and seemed to communicate some of the daring of
the speaker; but the wiser Knight saw the rashness of their import,
and determined to convince the Sagamore of the impolicy of the course
proposed. Taking him for that purpose on one side, that the chief
might speak uninfluenced by the presence of his follower, he
represented to him the superior strength of the English, and the
impossibility of prevailing in any contest until a complete union was
established among the tribes.

"Behold!" he said: "these strangers are as one man, and across the
salt lake come in ships from time to time fresh forces. They are clad
in armor thy arrows' cannot pierce, and wield the thunder and the
lightning. What have the Pequots to oppose, but naked bodies and
uncertain arrows?"

"Owanux are few, and the Indians many," replied the Sagamore.
"Sassacus will bury the tomahawk with the Narraghansetts, and exchange
wampompeag with the Taranteens, and they unite against the strangers.
The eyes of Sassacus are opened. There can be no peace with Owanux."

"Good!" answered the Knight, whose apprehensions, lest plans which he
cherished might be defeated by the precipitancy of the chief, were
quieted by the answer, knowing that the pacification of the tribes
among themselves was no easy matter, and would require time. "Good!
the eyes of the Sagamore are sharp. He is wise when he says that he
will do nothing until he has made friends with the Narraghansetts and
the Taranteens. Farewell, then, and be that the compact between us."

The chief now turned away, and, calling Towanquattick, the two began
to dig a hole in the ground with pointed sticks. The white men, looked
on in silence, rightly judging it to be some ceremony, and waiting for
its explanation. After a cavity of a foot in depth, and about the same
diameter was dug, the Indians ceased their labor, and the chief
answered the wondering eyes of his friends.

"This hole," he said, "shall tell all Indians who see it of the
captivity of Sassacus, and of the white men, his deliverers."

"I never heard before of a hole talking," said Joy.

"It will talk," said the chief. "When Sassacus passes by with his
Paniese he will tell them that here was a great parting, and
Towanquattick will do so also, and they shall tell it it to their
children, and so the tale shall run, as the waters of a spring follow
one another until they become a lake. So the hole shall speak, long
after I have departed with my friends for the happy hunting grounds.
Hole!" he added, addressing it as if it were capable of understanding
what he said, "Sassacus is sad because he leaves Neebin behind, but
say thou not that. Say to all who behold thee, that Soog-u-gest and
Sassacus were friends; say that when Owanux put Sassacus into a box,
Soog-u-gest and two other white men, and Towanquattick, let him out;
say that Soog-u-gest and the other white men, and Towanquattick,
remain to watch that no harm shall happen to Neebin, whom Owanux have
made a prisoner; and say that Sassacus has gone after his warriors.
This is enough for thee, O hole, to remember. Forget not lest thou be
ashamed."

While the Pequot chief was speaking, the Paniese paid the strictest
attention, evidently striving to fasten the speech in his memory. It
was a custom common among the natives, though witnessed by the Knight
and Joy for the first time, whereby, on the same principle that more
civilized communities erect monuments to perpetuate the memory of
events, the Indians transmitted to posterity matters of interest. The
hole was usually dug either by the side of some traveled path or on
the spot where the event desired to be commemorated took place. They
who passed by naturally inquired into its meaning, and the facts,
known to few at first, became of public notoriety.

When the ceremony was completed, the Sagamore of the Pequots, as if
unwilling by further words to confuse the record, turned away in
silence, and took his solitary way through the forest, to seek the
seat of his tribe.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

  Deserted at his utmost need
  By those his former bounty fed,
  On the bare earth, exposed, he lies.

  DRYDEN.


The colonists were exasperated at the breaking of the prison, justly
concluding that it was not entirely the work of Indians,
notwithstanding Bars, faithful to the impression made on him by the
gold pieces, stoutly maintained such to be the fact; and that Cowlson
was unable to contradict him. But it was, after all, only suspicion--a
suspicion, too, that pointed at various persons. While some, with a
lucky sagacity, ascribed the violence done their authority to the
Knight, as a leader; there were those who suspected others, of whom
they would gladly be rid. For, however desirous the great bulk of the
colonists were that only they of their own moral habits and modes of
thinking should be connected with their enterprise, it was impossible
completely to exclude the obnoxious. Some would creep in, and the
colony resembled a draught of fishes from the rivers in the spring,
when the schools are running; wherein, although the great majority are
shad or salmon, occasional intruders of other scales and stripes are
found. This little minority were watched with Argus eyes--every
transgression being visited with exemplary punishment--the hand of
Justice being made heavier by two considerations, viz: difference of
opinion, and a desire to drive away recusants, who were regarded as
vessels doomed to destruction, and whose presence was held to be
dangerous. That was no era of toleration, but of fierce, intractable
dogma. The breach betwixt Protestants then was almost, if not quite,
as wide as between Protestants and Catholics now. Opinion, bold,
enthusiastic opinion, calling itself by the gracious name of saving
faith, usurped the place and prerogative of reason; and, as from a
Papal chair, denounced, as damnable error, whatever harmonized not
with itself. In this strife of ignorances, the amenities and charities
of life were lost sight of and forgotten; and, if not quite trampled
out of existence, it was owing more to that celestial spark which,
with a dimmer or a brighter light, guides every man who comes into the
world than to the lessons of the teachers. Men were dismissed from the
colony, or otherwise punished, on bare suspicion of wrong-doing or
wrong-thinking. Nor is it unlikely that hostility in high places may
have availed itself of this laxity of law to gratify private
malignity.

Hence, let it not be wondered at, that, in consequence of the prison
breach, several innocent persons were arrested, whose modes of life or
principles of faith came not up to the orthodox standard. If their
apprehension answered no other purpose, it, at least, served to weaken
the desire of the suspected persons to remain where they were not
wanted.

Hitherto the magistrates had been foiled, but failure only increased
their vigilance and activity. Additional men were despatched to scour
the woods; word was sent to Salem and to Plymouth, and co-operation to
capture the fugitives asked for; rewards were offered for their
seizure; and, in fine, no means omitted which indomitable will and
ingenuity could devise. So hot, at length, became the chase, that,
familiar as they were with the woods, Sir Christopher and his
companions found it difficult to avoid capture. They had it, indeed,
in their power to place themselves in comparative safety, either by
following the steps of the Pequot chief, or seeking the
Taranteens--for to the west they dared not go, for fear of the tribes
in that direction, who were at feud with those on the Atlantic
border--but various considerations interfered to prevent. With neither
Sir Christopher nor the Indian was mere personal safety a ruling
motive. The former had not abandoned all hope of changing the strange
resolution of Sister Celestina, with whom he determined, on
accomplishing her release, to proceed with Neebin to the country of
the Pequots--in this way only transferring their labors to another
place--and with the latter, the charge wherewith he was entrusted was
too sacred for any cause to be neglected. Flying from their posts,
even though bands of enemies were after them, was therefore not to be
thought of. As for Philip, his wild, reckless nature took pleasure in
their adventurous mode of life; satisfied, besides, that were he even
made prisoner, no serious punishment could befall him, unless his
participation in the prison-breach became known, which, he confided
too much in the fidelity of his associates to believe was possible.
Seldom daring, therefore, to discharge their fire-locks, but depending
principally on the arrows of the Indian, and snares they set for
subsistence, occasionally aided by the friendly natives with whom the
Knight was a favorite, and constantly changing their places, the three
continued to elude the search, and the baffled soldiers were obliged
to return, digesting their disappointment as they might, and asserting
that those whom they sought had left the neighborhood. To make
assurance sure and to stimulate the Indians to exertions, which the
magistrates were certain had never been made, higher rewards were
offered for the capture of Sir Christopher in particular, which, it
was supposed, the cupidity of the natives would be unable to resist.

Among the Indians trusted by Sir Christopher, none had contrived to
secure a greater share of his confidence than Quecheco, the frequent
and favored companion of his hunts. The skill of the Indian in hunting
had, at first, recommended him to the Knight, and afterwards, the
interest of the latter in his protegé was increased by the attention
with which Quecheco listened to instruction and by the intelligence of
his questions. Hitherto he had always been found faithful, in
consequence whereof the haunts of the outlyers were not concealed from
him, and he was employed to procure information from the English
settlements, and depended on, generally, as a confederate. Quecheco
was not without affection; in proof whereof, he had withstood the
bribe at first offered for the capture of Sir Christopher, but his
feeble virtue finally succumbed. There was one temptation which he was
unable to withstand. He had frequently been a witness of the
effectiveness of the gun in the hands of the Knight, and, with a
hunter's love, conceived a longing to possess one. This was no easy
matter to be accomplished, furnishing guns to Indians being strictly
prohibited, and such weapons taken away whenever found in their
possession. Quecheco now thought he saw an opportunity of gratifying a
desire that had become a mania, and determined that a gun should be
the price of his friend's liberty.

With this view, at one of his visits to Plymouth, or Accomack, he
sought Governor Bradford, with whom he was acquainted, and proposed to
deliver the Knight into his hands, in consideration of the coveted gun
and a certain quantity of powder and ball. Much as was desired the
capture of Sir Christopher, Bradford hesitated, but finally promised
the bribe, stipulating for the life of the Knight, considering that
the rule might bear infringement in a single instance, for the sake of
the object to be attained; and from that moment Quecheco begun his
work of treachery.

In consequence of the activity of the search, the fugitives had been
obliged not only often to change their hiding-place, but sometimes to
remove to a considerable distance from Boston. One of their favorite
resorts was near Plymouth, both because they were less likely to be
suspected to lurk in a vicinity where the Knight had no acquaintances,
and also on account of a greater abundance of game. Here the two white
men often remained without Towanquattick, who, less liable to
discovery, hovered around the spot where was the sister of his
Sagamore.

Such being the state of things, Quecheco selected the neighborhood of
Plymouth (on account of the absence of Towanquattick, betwixt whom and
himself a feeling of mutual dislike existed, caused in his jealous
mind by the favor which the Knight had lately shown the Pequot, and
which he esteemed a derogation of his rights) as the theatre of his
plot, and here we find Sir Christopher at this moment.

"Our larder is exhausted, Philip," said the Knight one morning, "and
must be replenished. Shall we try our fortune together?"

"I am always ready," answered Philip. "It is two days since I
stretched my legs, and, by my halidome, I shall forget how to use
them, without more practice."

"Methinks," replied the Knight, smiling, "it is less than a week since
I saw legs much resembling thine moving with marvellous celerity."

"When this copper-hide here showed us Venn's band, within a hundred
yards of the old wigwam, right under Winthrop's nose, in the swamp.
Aye, it was high time to be moving; but it was unkind of Venn to burn
our quarters, seeing that I had been a sergeant in his company.

"Quecheco, my line fellow," said Sir Christopher, "thou didst us a
service on that day not to be forgotten, and now we must look to thee
for another. Where shall we hunt?"

"Let Soog-u-gest and Quecheco go a little towards Accomack, where I
saw yesterday some deer, and the sanop toward the setting sun,"
answered the Indian.

"Go thou with Philip, and I will take my chance alone," said the
Knight:

"The chief must not go alone," said the Indian. "Quecheco will go to
carry the deer which Soog-u-gest will shoot."

"A sensible Indian," said Philip. "Take him with you, Sir Christopher.
For my part, I do not want his copper skin gliding like a snake among
the bushes; and, Sir Christopher, look sharp, and see if I bring not
back as much game as you and your friend."

"I accept the challenge," said the Knight, good-humoredly, "and will
take him, since you prefer to go alone."

"I will none of him. He is thy valley-doo-doo--a murrain on mounseer
for his hard words; and why a waiting-man should be called a valley,
more than a mountain, or a river, doth pass my understanding."

"An interesting mystery. Yet is its solution unnecessary at the
present. Get thy bow and quiver, Quecheco, and we will see by evening
how Philip's boastings will turn out."

"And, hark ye, red-skin," cried the soldier, "take care that thou
bring back Soog-u-gest, as thou callest Sir Christopher, safe, and
with a good appetite to eat my game."

In spite of his habitual self-possession, the Indian started. A guilty
conscience began already to affright him, and for an instant he
fancied his purpose detected.

"What ails thee?" asked the Knight, regarding him with a quick, keen
glance.

"Quecheco hurt his foot," answered the Indian, with a limp, and
bending down to hide his face from the sharp eyes.

"Poor fellow, then, remain behind, and we will hunt for thee, who hast
done so often for us."

"Quah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a gesture of disdain, "It is
nothing. See, Quecheco can run like a deer," And with that he sprung
round with great agility, as if to make good his words.

"Enough," said the Knight; "reserve thy breath until it is wanted."

The course taken by the two was toward the south, as recommended by
the savage, in order to find the herd which he said he had seen the
day before.

"Why, then, brought you back no venison!" asked the Knight.

"The deer was quicker than the arrow of Quecheco," returned the
Indian; "but he will not escape," he added, looking with admiring eyes
at Sir Christopher's gun, "the round stone which Soog-u-gest will
throw at him."

"I have often seen thee," said the Knight, "gaze at my piece with such
eyes as the sight of thy squaw, after long absence, might kindle up.
Were it not sure to be thy ruin, I could find it in my heart to give
it thee."

The eyes of Quecheco flashed. "Give me the stick," he cried, "that
makes a loud noise, and Quecheco will do a great thing."

"I have done wrong," thought the Knight, "in raising his expectations.
Nay, Quecheco," he said, "it would be taken away from thee by the
white men, and who would sell thee powder and ball!"

"Nin-e-yi-u wa-wee," (it is well,) said the Indian. "Soog-u-gest flies
so high that he sees a great way, and Quecheco spoke like a pappoose.
What has he to do with guns?"

The gift of the gun would have diverted the savage from his purpose,
by awakening the affection which covetousness had put to sleep, and
probably altered the fate of Sir Christopher and himself; but the
answer of the Knight dispelled the hope that for a single instant
warmed the heart of Quecheco with better feeling, and he persisted in
his original design.

They had walked several miles without seeing any game of importance,
or such as was thought worthy of other attention than the arrows of
the Indian, before they reached the spot indicated by him as where he
had marked the deer the day previous. It was a falsehood invented by
Quecheco, and great was his astonishment, on approaching, to behold a
herd of a dozen of these timid creatures.

It was a sort of lawn, of six or seven acres in extent, with a few
trees scattered over it, where they were feeding. The shape of the
ground was an irregular oblong, in some places not more than a hundred
yards across, and in others of double the distance, being like a
basin, at a depression of twenty or thirty feet below where the Knight
stood, concealed by trees and bushes. At the bottom flowed a small,
rapid stream, perhaps three rods wide, interposing itself betwixt him
and the herd. Sir Christopher had visited the locality before, and was
familiar with its features; and expecting game, from the story of
Quecheco, had taken care to approach with the wind in his face, to
avoid the scent of his person being carried to the delicate nostrils
of the animals while he stepped noiselessly along. The Indian, in
order the better to carry out his meditated deceit, had been imitating
the Knight's conduct, and on the discovery of the deer, his hunter's
instinct induced him to continue what his hypocrisy had begun.
Selecting the finest buck from the herd, Sir Christopher levelled his
piece and fired. A single instant stood, with erected heads, the
beautiful creatures, as if stupefied with astonishment, and then all
but one vanished in the wood--all but the stricken buck, who made one
bound, and fell to the earth. The prodigious leap testified to the
extremity of his terror and his hurt; and vain struggles to rise from
his knees, to its fatal character. With eyes fixed upon the struggling
deer, the Knight reloaded his gun, and then bounded down the declivity
after him.

Arrived at the margin of the stream, he discovered a canoe drawn up a
little way on the bank, approaching which, to push it into the water,
he suddenly found himself surrounded by a number of Indians. They were
the confederates of Quecheco, who had been for some time lying in wait
in the thick bushes. Simultaneously rushing forward, they attempted to
seize him; but this was no easy matter. A resolute, athletic man, with
body and sinews hardened; by his hunter's life, and accustomed to
exercise command over the natives, Sir Christopher shook roughly off
the hands laid on him, and shouting, "ha, villains!--death to
traitors!" presented his gun, before the terror of whose fatal
lightning his assailants recoiled. Keeping the muzzle of the piece
directed at them, and threatening with it any one who made a motion to
draw near, the Knight succeeded in getting the canoe afloat, when,
jumping in, he pushed from the shore. With a pole found in the canoe,
he strove to urge it across the stream; but, embarrassed with watching
his enemies, and swept down by the current, the effort was attended
with great difficulty. Meanwhile, the savages, who had hitherto
forborne any act that might endanger life, bearing in mind their
instructions, became apprehensive of losing him, and excited by his
resistance, began to shoot arrows at him. One of the missiles took
effect in the right arm of the Knight, just above the elbow, and the
pole dropped from his hand. At the same instant the canoe struck
against a submerged rock and upset. Taking advantage of the accident,
the Indians sprung into the water, and succeeded in mastering his
person.

"Quecheco," said the Knight, reproachfully, as he stood upon the bank,
"is it thou, and thou, too, Negabamat, who treat me as an enemy? Why
this violence?"

"Soog-u-gest is wanted among his own people," said Quecheco, who had
possessed himself of the much coveted gun which had fallen into the
water. "Indians will not hurt him."

"Quecheco, thou art a villain," said the Knight; "but if not an
incarnate demon, outrage me not further than is necessary for thy base
purpose."

Thus spoke Sir Christopher, seeing that preparations were made to
confine his arms with withes. The Indians said something among
themselves, and at length Quecheco replied:

"Soog-u-gest always speaks the truth. Let him promise not to run away,
and his arms shall be free."

"I promise," said the Knight, who, in spite of his treatment, could
not but feel pleased at this evidence of the confidence in his truth
with which he had inspired the natives. "Take the powder horn and
bullets," he added, detaching them from his person. "I will attend
you."

At a sign from Quecheco the Indians released Sir Christopher, nor
seemed after that to trouble themselves much with watching him.

An Indian, who had crossed the stream, now returned bearing the slain
buck on his back, and threw it down on the grass, and his companions
with pleased faces gathered around it. Sir Christopher,
notwithstanding the unpleasantness of his situation, could not avoid
smiling.

"Nature's children!" he said to himself, "It would have pained me had
I unfortunately killed one of them. Blessed Jesu, I thank thee for
saving me from bloodshedding."

He threw himself on the ground, and watched their proceedings in
cooking the venison with some interest, for he was hungry, and, when
it was ready, partook of it with them as though they had been a party
of friendly hunters, nor would any one have suspected that he was a
prisoner. Having thus placed himself on terms as little disagreeable
as possible with his captors, Sir Christopher endeavored, while they
were under the influence of the welcome dinner, to dissuade them from
their purpose in regard to himself, but on this point he found
remonstrance useless. The Indians were not inclined to talk about it,
and either preserved a total silence, or simply said that the white
chief at Accomack had sent them. When they had eaten up the buck, they
started with the Knight in the direction of Plymouth.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

  Well skilled he was in regulating laws,
  So as by law he could defend the cause
  Of poor distressed plaintiff, when he brought
  His case before him and for help besought.
  Above all other men he loved those
  Who gospel truths most faithfully unclose,
  Who were with grace and learning fully fraught.

  MORTON'S NEW ENGLAND'S MEMORIAL.


The ancient town of Plymouth has probably about as much resemblance to
what it was two hundred years ago, as an ante-diluvian at a like age
had to his boyhood. Were Governor Bradford, whose worth is more
quaintly than poetically delineated in the above lines, Captain Miles
Standish, Master Thomas Prince, or any other worthies of those days of
peaked hats and falling bands to revisit the scenes of their pilgrim
labors, I fancy that they would find it difficult at first to
recognize them. By the eternal features, only, of nature, the
sparkling waters of the bay, the waving line of its shore, and by the
eminences not wholly levelled, would the site be identified, and the
likeness traced. Only with memory, assisted by these marks, might they
be able, as the moonbeams fell upon their pale faces, and they stroked
their solemn beards, to exclaim--here stood _our_ Plymouth.

As it presented itself that day to the eyes of Sir Christopher
Gardiner, surrounded by his Indian escort, it seemed an inconsiderable
village lying on the slope of a hill, dropping towards the sea. A
broad street, some eight hundred yards long, led down the hill, and
was crossed nearly in the middle by another, the ends of which were
protected by gates made of solid planks--the fourth end, viz: that on
the hay, being without any barricade. The houses were rude and small,
constructed of hewn planks, and stood in areas, around which were
thrown fences made also of plank, serving as very effectual stockades
against any sudden attack, and bidding defiance to the simple enginery
of the natives. Near the centre was the Governor's house (built in
like manner), and in front of it, at the intersection of the streets,
a square block, answering the purposes of a fort, and mounted with
four patereros, or small cannon, commanded the streets and four points
of entrance. On the top of the hill, a large square edifice with a
flat roof, whereupon were placed six cannons, shooting balls of four
or five pounds, dominated the surrounding country. The upper part of
this building served for a fort, and the lower for public worship and
meetings generally. On the whole, as against arrows and tomahawks, it
was a very pretty fortified place, and would not have been found fault
with by Vauban himself, could he have had the good fortune to behold
it.

The Knight passed through one of the open gates, which were closed
only at night, and proceeded straight to the residence of the
Governor. Here he was delivered by the Indians to Bradford, who chid
them for wounding Sir Christopher. They excused themselves on the
ground of his resistance, declaring that the wound was trivial, and
had merely numbed his arm for a moment. (Such, indeed, proved to be a
fact, when, shortly afterwards, the broken piece of the arrow was cut
out.) The Indians were dismissed with the promised presents, Quecheco
being permitted to retain the coveted gun of the Knight as part of his
reward. A moment's digression to record the fate of the savage, and we
will return to Sir Christopher.

Proud was the Indian of his new acquisition, with its gold and silver
ornaments, so far surpassing in beauty all other pieces he had seen,
and affectionately he caressed it, calling it his week-su-buck otaw,
(sweetheart,) and often repeating, gee-wawee-fee-yi-ee, i.e., you are
welcome. He was alone in the forest, the others having departed in
different directions, and was on his way to Boston, where he expected
to get more of the powder and ball for which he had covenanted. It was
the day after his treachery, and he had nearly accomplished his
journey, only three or four miles remaining between him and his place
of destination, when he heard a rustling in the bushes, and saw
Towanquattick advancing. He had first been seen by the Pequot, who,
recognizing him, came unsuspiciously forward. Instantly saw Quecheco
the consequences of being found by Towanquattick in possession of the
gun, with which the latter was familiar as the property of Sir
Christopher, and this thought, combining with his hatred, made him
suddenly raise the weapon and fire at the approaching Pequot. The
forest rang with the report, and as Quecheco, unpractised in the use
of fire-arms, having discharged the piece but a few times, recovered
himself, he beheld Towanquattick fitting an arrow to his bow. Seizing
the tomahawk out of his belt, Quecheco hurled it at the Pequot as the
arrow whizzed from the string, but both weapons failed of their mark.
Drawing his own tomahawk, the Pequot in turn threw it at his foe, who
escaped by a sudden movement of the body.

The two Indians now stood regarding one another with looks of rage,
and took the knives off their necks. Neither spoke a word. Each
understood the other, and with flashing eyes watched to take an
advantage. They were both powerful men, well matched in size and age,
and equally armed, so that upon fortune and skill, more than upon
brute strength, the result was likely to depend.

Presently, each grasping the knife in his right hand, and bending
over, ready for a spring, they began, with eyes fixed on one another,
to move round and round, watching for a favorable opportunity to make
the fatal dart. Thus, occasionally increasing the rapidity of their
movements, then relaxing their swiftness again, they moved in circles
several times, but without drawing within striking distance. The
thought occurred to both of throwing the knife, which, if skilfully
done, might terminate the contest, but the consideration that if the
stroke failed, the unsuccessful combatant would be left at the mercy
of the other, deterred from the hazardous experiment. After various
feints and stratagems foiled, by mutual cunning the two foes stopped,
as if by agreement, to devise more effectual schemes of destruction.
In this truce of a moment, the eyes of Quecheco fell upon a tomahawk
lying near the feet of his opponent, and unobserved by him. His
efforts were now directed to getting possession of the weapon, and he
re-commenced the system of attack he had practised. It was no
difficult thing, by a series of retreats and advances, and constant
changes of position, to entice the Pequot, ignorant of the other's
design, from the place whereon he stood, and presently the foot of
Quecheco touched the missile. The movement of his foe's limbs in
searching for the tomahawk had caught the notice of Towanquattick, and
before it was touched by Quecheco's foot he had seen it. At the sight,
throwing aside the caution he had practised, the Pequot sprung
straight at his enemy, and, without seeking to protect himself,
plunged his knife into the breast of Quecheco. The force of the blow
threw the stooping savage upon his back, and before he could rise, the
tomahawk, caught from the ground by the hand of the Pequot, crashed
into the brain of the dying traitor. Drawing out, then, the knife, the
Pequot, with a rapid turn that indicated a practised hand, passed it
round the head of his foe, and tearing off the bloody trophy, hung it
at his girdle. A little while the Pequot stood contemplating the body,
and as his eyes wandered from the corpse to the gun, which lay on the
ground, and back again to the corpse a ferocious gleam of gratified
revenge, like the lurid gleam of fires at night, swept over his
swarthy face. Picking up, then, the gun, the knives and tomahawks, and
stripping the corpse of the articles containing the powder and
bullets, the Indian started in search of Joy.

Meanwhile, the Knight had been entertained with all humanity and honor
by the Governor of Plymouth; nor was other treatment to be expected
from the learned and accomplished Bradford. In appearance he was
somewhat less than fifty years of age, with a mild and thoughtful
expression of countenance, which revealed to the close observer as
much of the meditative student as of the man of action. A thorough
receiver and admirer of the principles of the sect to which he
belonged, it was the business of his life to illustrate them by his
learning, and enforce them by his example.

That strange charm of manner for which the Knight of the Golden Melice
was so distinguished, his persuasive voice and intellectual
cultivation, failed not to exert their wonted fascination over one so
likely to be influenced by exactly such qualities and acquirements as
Bradford, and, indeed, nowhere were they calculated to exercise so
great a power as in a country where they were uncommon.

The two gentlemen had met before, but the interview had never ripened
into acquaintance; and now, that fortune had thrown them together in
relations which might seem none of the most agreeable, but which the
kindness of the one and the polish of the other hid in flowers, it
appeared as if they were welcome to both.

"We have become acquainted under singular circumstances, Sir
Christopher," said Bradford, a day or two after the Knight came to
Plymouth; "and, although wishing they were somewhat different, I can
scarcely regret the providence which has brought so every way
accomplished a gentleman to honor my roof. Your mind, wonderfully
imbued with the gentler humanities, sweetly accords with mine own, and
when you are gone I shall look back with refreshment and a sad longing
to our thoughtful conferences. Never have the strains of the divine
harper of Israel, whether exulting in the favor of Jehovah or
sorrowing for sin, so affected my spirit as when read by you in the
original speech of Eden."

"For your kind expressions, right worshipful sir," answered the
Knight, "and the delicate attentions which make my imprisonment sweet,
receive my unforgetting gratitude. I, too, whatever unjust suspicion
may inflict, will revert to these our religious and philosophic hours,
wherein we discussed questions nobler than those which, in the shades
of Tusculum, engaged the minds of the great Roman orator and of his
friends, with a satisfaction which shall not run out with the sands in
the hour-glass of time."

"If outraged, by I scarcely know what wild reports, for the moment,"
replied Bradford, "I entreat you to forgive it, and to believe me that
I believe them not. Remember that David fled before his enemies, yet
the Lord delivered him and brought him to great honor."

"I am not worthy to be joined in thought with the Shepherd King, who,
to the ringing strings of the harp, warbled inspiration," said the
Knight. "Yet, noble sir, do I accept your words of cheer, and they
shall be a buoy to bear me up as I cross this tempestuous Jordan. When
is it your purpose that I should depart? Accompany you me, or go I
melancholy, alone?"

"As for the first question, you shall remain at your pleasure, or
until Governor Winthrop requires your presence; as for the latter,
though unable to leave home at present, I hope shortly to be at
leisure. Thus generally can I answer, but present or absent, my best
wishes shall attend you."

The above conversation is sufficient to give an idea of the relation
of the Governor and Knight to one another, and of the feelings of
both. In truth, the enjoyment of Sir Christopher was almost as great
as Bradford's, and neither manifested any desire to shorten their
intercourse. Every leisure moment devoted the Plymouth Governor to his
agreeable companion--their conversations turning more on questions of
literature than on political matters. These latter, the Knight
avoided, seeking thereby to impress the other with the opinion, that
he felt but little interest in them.

In this manner passed the time, until one morning the Governor
announced that messengers had arrived from Winthrop, commissioned to
wait on Sir Christopher to his presence.

"I grieve," said Bradford, "that I cannot go with you. Matters of
instant importance demand my presence here, but so far as friendly
words in a letter may avail they shall not be wanting. May it please
you to be ready at your convenience, and meanwhile I will prepare my
epistle."

At the time appointed, four armed men appeared at the Governor's house
to receive the prisoner. To them Sir Christopher was delivered by
Bradford, who, at the same time, handed them a letter for Winthrop.

Upon the departure of one whose presence had imparted so much
pleasure; from whom no unguarded word of censure or impatience had
escaped, and who had revealed a mind adorned with such rich stores of
culture, the scholastic Bradford sought his study, a small room, or
closet, well supplied with books, to meditate on what had happened and
to pursue his studies. Absorbed in his books, hours passed away
unheeded, and he remarked not the opening of the door and entrance of
a serving-man, who, seeing his master engaged, waited respectfully
until he should be noticed. At length Bradford looked up and demanded
his business.

"This," said the man, "was found in the chamber of Sir Christopher
Gardiner." So saying, he handed to the Governor a small leathern
pocket-book, such as were used for making memoranda, and withdrew.

Bradford, on being left alone, turned the book several times in his
hand with a doubting air, then placing it at a little distance before
him, leaned his head on his elbow, and began to muse.

"_Publico utilitati cedet jus privatum_," he said at last aloud, and
opened the book. He had hardly glanced his eyes at the page, when they
lighted up, and he seemed to read with intense interest.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, after reading through several leaves: "was ever
man worse deceived? Here have I been harboring in my house and taking
to my bosom a concealed Papist, as this writing sufficiently
discloses. Nor yet a born Papist either, laboring under a delusion
sucked in with mother's milk, but a recreant Protestant, a voluntary
seeker after error; for here are written down the memorial of his
shame, the very time and place where and when he struck hands with
Anti-Christ, the name of the university where he assumed the scapula,
as the blinded errorists call two woollen bands, the one crossing the
breast and the other the back, one of those ridiculous mummeries
whereby, with other devices and unseemly grimaces, they have contrived
to bring the cross itself of the Redeemer into disrespect, and the
degrees in superstition taken by this wretched backslider. Woe is me!
How can the arch-deceiver assume the form of an angel of light! Yet is
here no name written. The memorandum may refer to some-one else. But
that cannot be. Himself is meant. Why should he carry about with him a
note of this kind respecting another? This betrayer of treachery, this
touchstone of truth, shall off forthwith to Winthrop, and be the
antidote to the bane of my letter."

Thus murmured Governor Bradford, grieved as well as vexed at the
deceit, as he supposed it to be. With a rapid hand, he wrote an
account of his discovery, and entrusting it, with the note-book, to a
messenger, commanded him to hasten after the soldiers from Governor
Winthrop, and deliver to them the package.



CHAPTER XXXV.

  Nought is on earth more sacred or divine,
    That gods and men do equally adore,
  Than this same virtue that doth right define,
    For th' heavens themselves, whence mortal men implore,
    Right in their wrongs, are ruled by righteous lore.

  SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN.


It was with some embarrassment that Governor Winthrop received his
prisoner, though none was manifested in the mien of Sir Christopher.
On the contrary, his manner indicated conscious innocence, and just
that degree of resentment which a well-balanced mind and good temper
might be expected to exhibit under the circumstances. If there was any
change in his bearing, he was a trifle haughtier, as presuming on his
rank--a trait never noticed in him before, and it showed itself by his
speaking first, without waiting to be addressed, the moment he entered
the presence of the Governor.

"By what authority," he demanded with some sternness, "is it, that I,
a free-born Englishman, innocent of crime, have a price set on my
head, and am hunted by savages bribed for that purpose?"

Before making a reply, the Governor intimated his desire to be left
alone with the Knight, whereupon those present retired.

"You inquire by what authority you are arrested," said Winthrop. "I
answer, by that authority vested in me by charter, as the ruler of a
State; by common law, and by common sense. The question is not asked
by one with the endowments of Sir Christopher Gardiner because he is
ignorant, but for some other reason."

"Is it in humanity," returned the Knight, "not to be annoyed at the
outrage? How bitterly," he added, looking sorrowfully at Winthrop, "is
the pain of the wound aggravated by the knowledge from whose quiver
flew the arrow!"

"I may not choose between my duty and my inclination," responded the
Governor. "I were, otherwise, more unworthy than I am of the awfully
responsible station which Providence hath assigned me. It shall never
be said that, through favor or other motive, I buried the one talent
committed to my keeping."

"I dared not, at my entrance," replied the Knight, who strove to make
his tone and demeanor conciliatory, "entertain the thought that a
friendly feeling toward me lurked in his bosom, by whose mandate my
helpless household has been invaded in the night and made prisoners,
and my house turned into a heap of ashes."

"It was by no order of mine," said Winthrop, hastily, "that the house
was burned, and I lament its destruction as deeply as yourself. How it
caught fire, is to me unknown; but if by the act of our people and not
of the savages, ample recompense shall be made."

"How shall that be determined? But I will not waste my words
thereupon. The loss of my house and other property is insignificant,
compared with the cruel wrong done the Lady Geraldine and the dishonor
to my name."

"She, whom you call the Lady Geraldine, has been treated with all
courtesy; and, considering what, in the judgment of the Council, has
been proved against her, with more than she is entitled to. For
yourself, every opportunity shall be granted to clear off the clouds
of suspicion hovering over you."

"Only a clear field and no favor do I desire for myself; but for the
persecuted lady, my cousin, I pledge you my knightly word that any
charges reflecting upon her character as a virtuous and godly lady,
are infamous and false. You perceive, right worshipful sir, that I do
not pretend to be ignorant of the accusations which inventive malice,
hatched out of what cockatrice egg I know not, has brought against my
suffering cousin, but I pronounce them, again, alike dastardly and
without truth."

"If so, she is, indeed, greatly wronged, though partly responsible
herself therefor, as having confessed the same."

"Then have strange means been employed to make her acknowledge a lie,"
said the Knight, warmly, "for any such confession were utterly untrue.
I have heard of wretches, who, upon the rack, in order to escape its
intolerable agonies, have accused themselves of all sorts of crimes of
which they were innocent. Is this the way you have abused my
relative?"

"Sir Christopher," answered Winthrop, mildly, "you know as well as I
that such practices are alien to the spirit of British law and unused
by us. Touching this unhappy female, I think it meet to say no more at
present, but will wish you success in the vindication of yourself."

"For myself," replied the Knight, "I care little. The character of a
man is like a garment, which, when soiled, may be washed and restored
to a likeness of its pristine beauty; that of a woman resembles white
paper, whereupon if a drop of blood has ever fallen, it may never be
erased. But what are the accusations devised against me?"

"Sir Christopher," answered Winthrop, with some hesitation, "it were
hardly orderly to communicate them to you now. Before the Council,
perhaps, should you hear them first. And yet see I no reason why, in
harmony with the merciful spirit of our law, they should not be
disclosed. We desire to overpower no man by surprise, or to deprive
truth of a single aid. You shall know."

Here Winthrop entered into the particulars, which it is, we trust,
unnecessary to set down, as the reader is supposed to be already
informed of them. He mentioned the contents of the letters from
England, but did not exhibit them, concealing nothing except what
appertained to the examination of the Lady Geraldine, all inquiries
respecting which he either evaded or directly refused to answer.
Courteously, indeed, was it done; nor could Sir Christopher deny that
the information was rightfully withheld. It was only in accordance
with the usual proceedings of courts of justice, when those who are
considered accomplices are examined apart from one another, in order
that they may not, by a knowledge of each other's answers, be better
able to frame their own.

To every accusation Sir Christopher opposed a steady denial. "That
falsely suspected as I am," he said, "of other crimes and
misdemeanors, I should also be deemed an usurper of a title that does
not belong to me, surprises me not. But grant me time to send home (as
the English in the colonies affectionately call England to this day,)
and I will prove my knighthood honorably won upon a stricken field, by
irrefragable testimony. I will not deny that I have the honor of an
acquaintance with Sir Ferdinando Gorges, but I am in no sense his
agent, nor in any wise hold communication with him, save as a friend.
For the note-book found at my lodgings, and deemed conclusive proof
that I am a Catholic, I aver that the memorandum therein contained
refers not to myself but to one whom it concerns not you that I should
name; and it furnishes no evidence against me, except what arises out
of the fact that I acknowledge one who is of Rome to be my friend."

"Whatever my private thoughts," said Winthrop, "it were useless to
express them, seeing that thy fate hangs not entirely upon me. With no
unnecessary severity," he continued, in a kinder tone than he had
hitherto adopted during the conversation, "will I treat one, whom,
before these unhappy suspicions were raised, I was beginning to love
as a brother; and, if thou wilt pledge me thine honor neither to
attempt escape, nor by word or deed to practise aught against the
Commonwealth, thou shalt have liberty of the precincts of the
settlement until the Council shall take further orders."

"I accept thine offer," answered Sir Christopher, "and plight thee my
knightly troth to observe the conditions. And in this, my adversity,
it is a consolation to know that the noblest spirit who is to sit in
judgment on me, believes me not wholly lost to the duties and
sensibilities of a gentleman."

The Governor, without reply, summoned Lieutenant Venn, who was in
waiting; and, after communicating to him the conclusion to which he
had come, requested him to escort the Knight to his lodging.

A few days passed, during which Sir Christopher was seemingly in the
full enjoyment of freedom, though closely watched. He attempted to
speak with the Lady Geraldine, but was refused permission; and upon
her being told of his desire, she sent him word that she had no wish
to see him. No objection, however, was interposed to his intercourse
with Arundel, who, with his lovely mistress, did all in their power to
console the Knight and the unhappy lady in their misfortunes. The
relation which the latter stood to the colony affected not the young
people, except to excite their sympathies for those whom they
considered unjustly suspected and prosecuted.

It might be supposed that in these circumstances Sir Christopher would
betray some anxiety or gloom. Far from it. The command over his
emotions which nature and discipline had given him, concealed his
trouble of mind. He seemed to think but little of himself, and to be
principally occupied with the approaching nuptials of Arundel and
Eveline, who, immediately thereafter, were to sail for England in the
ship commanded by the jolly Captain Sparhawk. The ceremony, in order
to give it the greater dignity, was to be performed by Winthrop
himself, the right to tie the mystical knot being, among these
planters of new customs in a new world, confined to the civil
magistrate. Strongly, at first, did the young lady object, and it
needed all the eloquence of her lover, and all her affection for him,
to prevail upon her to dispense with the priestly blessing. However,
there was no alternative, if they meant to be married before their
departure; and the circumstances of their situation and mutual
inclination were persuasive arguments. Voyages, too, were not then as
safe as now; and to the romantic girl contemplating the dangers of the
sea, there was something sweet and even fascinating in the thought,
that if she perished, she should die in the arms of her husband. This
last consideration, above all, prevailed to overcome her scruples, and
the uncanonical marriage was accordingly determined upon.

At length the day arrived for the hearing of Sir Christopher, and,
attended by Arundel, he presented himself before the Council. It is
unnecessary to enter into details. The result is all that need be
stated. The accusations contained in the letters, though denied by the
Knight, (who vehemently protested against the liberties taken with
those addressed to himself, on which latter was founded the charge of
being in correspondence with Sir Ferdinando Gorges, the most dreaded
enemy of the colony,) obtained credence with his judges. Winthrop
blushed when reproached with the violation of the letters; but the
rough Dudley justified and commended the act, as fidelity to public
interests. There was a settled conviction in the minds of all of the
Assistants, that the Lady Geraldine was other than she seemed; and the
conclusion they had arrived at concerning her were not of a nature to
operate favorably for the Knight. The memorandum in the note-book was
also considered weighty evidence. It was recollected, that long before
suspicions were conceived concerning Sir Christopher, and when he
stood highest in the favor of the principal inhabitants, he had, in
speaking of his travels in foreign parts, mentioned that he was at the
very place where, and at the time when the scapula was assumed; and
his ascribing the reference to another, was regarded as only an
awkward attempt at deception. It was thought plainly to betray him as
a member of a religious order among the Roman Catholics. Winthrop
himself was of that opinion, and that, without more, was sufficient to
support an unfavorable decision. The idea of having covert Papists
lurking in their midst was not to be tolerated, and, by whatever
means, they were to be got rid of. Allusion was made to his embassy to
the Taranteens, and services rendered on that and other occasions, but
they were deemed insufficient to neutralize his guilt; yet, in
consideration of those services, they forbore to inflict any severe
punishment. The sentence of the Council was, that both the Knight and
lady should be sent back to England in the next ship, and forbidden to
return.

"All England shall ring with the report of your injustice," cried Sir
Christopher, when the decision was announced. "Ye do yourselves more
wrong than me, and the time will come when ye shall hang your heads
with shame for the deed. Ye have power, it is true, to extrude me from
this new world, but my presence will be a bane to you in the old. I go
with solemn protest against your violence."

"Enough," said Winthrop, rising with dignity, "of threats which we
notice not, because we are above them. The men who are founding an
empire, whose future extent and power human sagacity cannot limit, and
who, for the sake of present liberty of thought and action, and of
prospective blessings for their descendants, have renounced and count
as naught the vanities of this world, fear no arm of flesh. Their
shield is the Lord of Hosts. This Council is dissolved."



CHAPTER XXXVI.

  "To feel that we adore
    With such refined excess,
  That though the heart would burst with more,
    We could not live with less."

  MOORE.


Fair rose the morn of the day which was to unite the destinies of
Miles Arundel and of Eveline Dunning, as if to make some amends for
the clouds which had attended the progress of their affection.

With a tear in her eye, and smiles in the dimples of her plump cheeks,
Dame Spikeman looked on the adorning of the lady for the marriage
ceremony, by the cunning fingers of Prudence Rix. She thought, as she
gazed on the fair, young face, of her own maiden beauty, of the timid
happiness that palpitated in her bosom on her wedding-day, of the
dress that heightened her charms, and (shall I so soon acknowledge
it?) of what would be becoming for herself on a like occasion, wherein
she was to bear a principal part, and the too-fascinating Master Prout
another. Let not the solemn pretender to decorum, who, in proportion
to his demureness, is apt to be worse than others, with owlish visage
quote, "frailty, thy name is woman," or, "e'er those shoes were old,"
or whatever musty apothegms besides, as stale and senseless. The name
of Frailty is no more woman than man, and old shoes have no business
at weddings. Stand aside O censorious reader, (I desire not thy
acquaintance,) while I whisper to both maid and widow, what, probably,
they have often pondered--that life is short, and that in Heaven they
neither marry nor are given in marriage.

"Bless thy sweet face!" said the dame. ("Pull down the stomacher a
little, Prudence; an' it had been a thought longer it were better.)
Ne'er saw I so lovely a bride."

"It is the latest London fashion," muttered Prudence, "that hath come
to these outlandish parts, where, thank the Lord, our stay will not be
much longer than the stomacher."

"What is the girl chattering about?" said the dame. "Why, Prudence
Pert, thou wilt tear the beautiful satin with thine impatience."

"You have already made me prick my fingers three times, dame,"
answered the waiting-maid, pettishly. "I never could dress my young
lady aright, when I was talked to. There! O dear! you have made me cut
a ribbon in the wrong place!"

"Did ever one see the like!" exclaimed the widow, as, with a jerk of
the petulant Prudence, a few stitches now gave way. "Why, minx, thou
art as much flustrated as if thou wert to be married thyself."

"I know somebody, I guess," said the girl, in so low a tone as to be
heard only by her mistress, close to whose ear was her mouth, "who
would like to be flustrated in that manner."

Eveline could not restrain her smiles at the impertinence of her maid,
and her gaiety seemed to please the good dame.

"Thou art a sensible child, Eveline," she said. "Now have I known many
a wedding, and generally there are quite as many tears as smiles at
them. I like not that, exactly, though I believe I was as great a
simpleton as most, when I mar--(here the dame decorously put her
handkerchief to her eyes to receive the tears which she did not
shed)--when I--; but I must not think of my sorrow, when thy happiness
is just commencing." (Dame Spikeman wiped her eyes, and went on more
composedly.) "There is nothing thou hast cause to fear, and thou wilt
soon get used to it. But, who is to be thy bridesmaid?"

"It was my intent to have had little Neebin," replied the young lady.
"It would have sounded so prettily in England to say that an Indian
Princess stood up with me, for Miles says that she is the sister of a
great king--of Waqua--; thou dost recollect him, Prudence?"

"The funny salvage," said the girl, "who mistook a painting for a live
man. But to think of the like of the sister of an Indian, though he be
a handsome fellow, going to the 'menial halter with my mistress!" she
added, tossing her head.

"The danger is past, Prudence," said Eveline, "for Miles tells me she
has run away from the Governor's, and was last seen in the woods with
one of her brother's Paniese, as the savages call their greatest
warriors, Town--, Town--, I forget his name, but they were going in
the direction of their own country."

"Toweringantic was the salvage's name," said Prudence. "I remember it
very well, because it sounds so like English."

"That is it not precisely," said the young lady, with a smile; "but it
matters not about the name. Our little Princess has fled to her home,
and I am left without a bridesmaid."

"The ungrateful heathen!" exclaimed the dame. "Only to think of her
deserting the comfortable house of our right worshipful Governor, and
instruction in the Christian graces by godly Master Phillips, for the
smoky wigwams and powawing of the Indians. The girl, I am sure, will
come to no good, and I will never trust one of these Canaanites
again."

"Nay; but dame," said Eveline, "I rejoice that she escaped. I did much
pity her in her captivity, for she seemed to me like a wild bird, that
hath all its life been accustomed to fly in the air, which had been
caught and put into a cage, where it sits constantly with moping head
and drooping wings, forgetful of the songs which made its woodland
home so sweet."

"I did never like to disagree in opinion with thee, Eveline," said the
dame, "and leastwise would I do so, of all days in the year, on thy
wedding-day; so have it as thou wilt. For thy sweet sake, whom I am so
soon to lose, I could find it in my heart to be pleased at anything
the little savage might do, were she twenty times a heathen Amalakite
or Jebusite."

"Dame," said Eveline, kissing her comely cheek, "how shall I ever be
able to repay thy motherly kindness? O, wherever I may be, and
whatever my lot, I will ever think of thee as my second mother."

"Dear child," replied the dame, moved to tears, which flowed with
womanly facility, "never had mother a sweeter and more loving daughter
than thou hast been to me. Hast thou not done more than most
daughters, in giving me all the property that remains to thee here?"

"Speak not of it, dame," answered Eveline, "though it is Miles' gift,
for he desired me to give it thee."

"Oh! dame, do not disturb my young lady more, for if you get her
crying, think how her eyes would look," here interposed Prudence, very
sensibly.

"It is time that I were attending to my own apparelling, which, in
looking at thee, I quite forgot," said the widow, rising, and leaving
the apartment.

The marriage, which took place at the house of the Governor, was
private, and attended only by some of the principal personages of the
colony and their families. Besides the Knight of the Golden Melice,
Sir Richard Saltonstall, who was to sail in the same ship with the
young people, came with his two daughters, as did also Master Increase
Nowell, and Master Bradstreet. No minister was present, the order
resenting, it may be, in a quiet way, an invasion of their
prerogative, which excluded them from business of this sort; but in
the solemn and graceful manner in which the accomplished Winthrop
performed the ceremony, no one noticed any deficiency, not even
Eveline herself, who, indeed, was thinking of other matters. Winthrop
concluded his part with a little speech, in which he reminded the
young couple of the new duties they had assumed, and of the loving
mystery whereby two souls were united into one, like two brooks,
which, pouring each into the other their bright waters, flow on,
inseparably joined, to the ocean of eternity. Something he said, too,
of the blessedness of a true faith, as a crowning glory, without which
the world was but an unprofitable desert.

Scarcely had the congratulations which followed the sweet voice of the
Governor ceased, when a stranger, an honored friend of Master
Bradstreet, and who had come with him, stepped forward, and saluting
Arundel by the title of the Earl of Cliffmere, informed him that he
had matters of importance to communicate.

"I had waited upon you, my lord, before," he said, "even upon the
instant of my arrival, had I known where to find you; but I suspected
you not under your assumed name."

"I welcome you," said the Earl, advancing and taking the stranger's
hand, "I welcome you, Master Hatherly, to the new world, which I this
day leave, probably forever. As for thy news, I think thou art
anticipated: I am informed by letters brought by the vessel wherein
you came, that my father and eldest brother are no more, and that the
coronet which I would willingly place upon their living brows, alas,
is mine. Wonderful is the drama of life. I abandoned rank and
fortune," he added, looking with eyes swimming in love upon his wife,
"to seek that without which they possessed no value. They have pursued
me across the sea, and, besides, I have obtained my dearest treasure."

The astonished Eveline hid her face in the bosom of her husband, while
tears of happiness fell fast. Bewildered, amazed at the discovery of
the rank of her lover, she knew not what to say; but amid all her
confusion, prevailed triumphantly a sense of sparkling joy, of full
contentment, and of radiant hope.

"Why should I conceal from you, noble Winthrop, from you, my valued
friend, Sir Christopher, or from any of you, my other friends, with
whom I would leave no unsatisfactory remembrance of myself, the little
romance that brought me among you," continued the Earl. "Know, that a
second son of the deceased Earl of Cliffmere, I wooed, in the
character of an humble painter, the sweet daughter of Edmund Dunning.
He aspired higher than to unite the destinies of his only child with
those of an unknown artist, and looked coldly on my suit. He left
England with her, and I, unable to endure the pangs of separation,
desired to follow. My mother knew of my attachment from the beginning,
and to my entreaties yielded her acquiescence to my desires, for she
loved me greatly, and had informed herself of the worth of her to whom
I had given my heart, but required me to wait for the permission of my
father (absent at the time on the continent) before I followed Eveline
to this new world. That permission I received, and straightway
departed. Still I continued to conceal my true name and station from
even Eveline herself, for a reason, perhaps, more romantic than
rational; for, with selfish jealousy, I chose to be loved for my own
sake, nor did I mean my secret should be revealed until I had
presented my wife to my parents,--but the curtain has been
unexpectedly lifted, and ye know all."

"I congratulate you, my lord," said Winthrop, "and will venture to do
so also in the name of all present, upon the auspicious termination of
your fortunes among us, and only lament that so little time is left us
to express our respect. When returned to our dear mother England, from
whose bosom we are self-banished, yet whom, with filial reverence, we
love, we trust that you will not forget your brethren in the
wilderness. It is upon the far-seeing judgment of those in high
places, as well as upon the zeal of the people, [all under God,] that
we rely to assist us in extending the material and earthly power of
our country, as well as in spreading the doctrines of true religion."

"Be sure, sir," answered the Earl, "that I will endeavor to do my duty
toward you according to my honest convictions. And now, Eveline, bid
farewell. The favoring breeze is bellying in the half unfurled sails,
gallant Captain Sparhawk is impatient, and we must away."

Lady Eveline fell upon the neck of the weeping Dame Spikeman, and
after kissing her repeatedly, exchanged farewells with those around
her, [as did all about to depart,] and then, accompanied by a numerous
train, the passengers proceeded to the ship, whither the Lady
Geraldine had preceded them, and where, also, they found Philip Joy.
The sails were cast off from the yards and hoisted home; the fair wind
gracefully curved the canvas, and the good ship, with silver waves
breaking at her prow, and a stream of light following in her wake,
gallantly stood down the bay.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

  So, splendid dreams, and slumbers sweet,
  To each and all--Good Night.

  WILLIAM E. HURLOUT.


Here might this tale be permitted to end, were it not that a doubt has
arisen in my mind whether some particulars do not need explanation.
Doubtless the nimble wits of the sagacious have fathomed to their
satisfaction all that seemed mysterious; but there may be others who,
either less imaginative or more indolent, would like an elaborate
elucidation. These latter I invite to accompany me across the blue
Atlantic to the pleasant town of Exeter, in the lovely county of
Devon, in England.

In the nave of the splendid old cathedral of that town, two men,
engaged in conversation, are walking backwards and forwards, one of
whom we recognize as the Knight of the Golden Melice; the other is a
stranger. Through the stained glass, the dim light of a winter's
afternoon falls indistinctly on the stone floor, while from behind the
screen which separates the open area where they are pacing from the
portion devoted to religious worship, the solemn tones of an organ
(for it is the time of evening service) are floating around the massy
pillars and among the sculptured arches, as if imploring saintly rest
for the high born nobles and reverend bishops who, for hundreds of
years, have lain in their marble tombs around. None are present save
the two, and, as with reverent feet they tread, they seem dwarfed into
children by the huge proportions of the building.

"Two beings more blessed with mutual affection than the young Earl of
Cliffmere and his lovely countess I know not," said the Knight,
continuing the conversation. "Three weeks remained I with them in
their magnificent palace at London, the attractions whereof were
tenfold heightened by his courteous bearing and her graciousness. Nor
could I without difficulty tear myself away, so lovingly they
delighted to dwell upon the time when, as Miles Arundel, he wooed
Eveline Dunning, or hunted with me, in the wilds of America, and so
sweet were their attentions to my chafed spirit. With them is my
trusty Philip, whose trials are now over, while he basks in the favor
of the Earl and the smiles of the pretty Prudence, his wife,
undisturbed save by her occasional coquetry, which only serves, I
suppose, to make his love more piquant."

"A pleasing episode in your romantic life," said the stranger; but
know you perfectly how you came to leave America so suddenly?"

"There is a mystery connected therewith which hath ever puzzled me,"
replied the Knight.

"How felt you in reference to the plan of converting an English into a
French colony?"

"I did never either feel therefor inclination, or give it the
approbation of my judgment. I cannot forget that I am an Englishman."

"And did Sister Celestina know your sentiments?" inquired the
stranger.

"Surely. Wherefore should I have hesitated to bestow on one so devoted
my absolute confidence?"

"_Ne crede principibus_," said the stranger, "is no more worthy of
acceptance than _ne crede feminis_."

"Chosen friend of my soul, sworn brother of my heart," exclaimed the
Knight, "I conjure thee to tell me what thou knowest or dost suspect
of these mysterious circumstances."

"Thou hast borne, beloved friend, a cross, whereof thou knewest not.
You were betrayed, like him whose name you bear even in the house of
your friends."

"A light begins to dawn upon my mind. And Sister Celestina--"

"Aye, Sister Celestina, or, as she must now be called, the Abbess of
St. Idlewhim, was the traitress. Yet, why call I her so? She did but
obey her vow."

"May it please thee, Albert, to be more explicit?"

"Know, then," said the stranger, "that it was in consequence of
representations from Sister Celestina thou wast recalled."

"How knowest thou this to be true?"

"Ask me not, for that I dare not reveal; but I swear, by the bones of
Loyola, and by our mutual friendship, that it is the sincere truth.
Father ---- (I will not breathe his name, he added, looking cautiously
around,) loves thee not. Thou wert in his way, and he had thee removed
from England. He is strong now and fears thee no longer, and has had
thee sent ignominiously home, seizing hold of the idle suspicions of a
woman as a pretext."

"I see now," said the Knight, "reasons for her conduct, which at the
time seemed inexplicable. But what reported Celestina to him?"

"Recollect you your offer to join the congregation?"

"It was but a stratagem."

"But so could she not understand it. Besides, she mistrusted thine
intimacy with Winthrop, and his influence over thee."

"I loved the man for his gracious qualities, heretic though he be; but
he never influenced me."

"The intense zeal of Celestina, guided only by her womanly instincts,
was unable to comprehend thy feeling. She communicated her suspicions
to the Father, and it was his pleasure to receive them as truths and
act accordingly. It was the father who wrote the letters, signing
thereto feigned names, and charging thee with crimes as feigned. It
was he who, to avert suspicion from our order (for news had come that
the jealousy of the prick-ear'd heretics was aroused, and that they
were on sharp look-out for Catholics,) hesitated not to slander the
Sister, his own confidential agent, trusting, by the magnitude and
foulness of the charges, so to fill the minds of your judges, that
other surmises would be thrust out, and thus the ground be preserved
for further operations."

"I understand," said the Knight, "that my successor has departed."

"He has gone. Sister Celestina, in her elevation, forgets her
temporary humiliation, and Sir Christopher Gardiner--"

"Is the victim of a woman's suspicions and of a monk's policy. Albert,
I thank thee; my mind is now at ease, and I shall no longer beat the
air in vain attempts to discover my accusers; unsubstantial figments
of the Father's imagination. But why told you me not on my arrival in
London, when I did so eagerly search for the infamous varlets who had
attempted to attaint my honor, and when vain, of course, were my
exertions?"

"I was not then permitted. And now, I rely upon thy discretion to bury
the secret in thy breast. Any other course might be fatal to us both."

"Fear me not," said Sir Christopher. "I have been examining my heart,
and find I bear no malice against the holy Father. It was time we
should be removed, and the means, though harsh, were politic; for
suspicions of our being Catholics were rife, and what may sound
strangely, our friendship, Albert, served to confirm them."

"Explain thy meaning."

"Out of my love to thee, and as a remembrancer for myself, I had made
a note in my pocket-book of the time and place of thy admission into
the holy Catholic Church, of the taking of thy scapula, and of thy
degrees, whereunto I had appended no name. This book escaping from my
pocket, was found and delivered to my judges, and considered pregnant
proof against me."

"The writing was a great imprudence," said the stranger.

"_Confiteor_, and whatever shame I may have endured I accept as the
fitting punishment of my sins. Alas! my individual sorrows are
swallowed up in grief at the thought of the condition of the Church.
How doth she sit like a widow in affliction! The flood-gates of error
are opened, and the world is deluged with impure streams. When I look
on the marble images of the crusaders, lying with crossed legs upon
their tombs around us, and on the cold faces of the abbots and mitred
bishops, standing in solemn dignity in their niches, they seem
saddened and indignant at a reverse that hath changed the very temple
erected by Catholic piety over their ashes, and wherein the incense of
acceptable worship was offered unto the Lord, into a place of resort
for impious and deluded heretics with their tasteless rites. Here,
with these mournful monitors around me, I cannot indulge in private
resentment while my heart is breaking for the sufferings of my
people."

"It is a holy and a commendable frame of mind, my brother," said the
stranger. "O, if the spirit that animates thee were universal in our
order, how might the wilderness of the world be made to blossom as the
Rose of Sharon, and the lamentations of Sion be converted into songs
of deliverance!"


       *       *       *       *       *


THE LOST HUNTER:

A TALE OF EARLY TIMES.

_By the Author of_ "THE KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN MELICE."

12_mo_. $1.25.


"The style is fluent and unforced; the description of character well
limned; and the pictures of scenery forcible and felicitous. There is
a natural conveyance of incidents to the _dénouement_; and the reader
closes the volume with an increased regard for the talents and spirit
of the author.--_Knickerbocker Magazine_.

"The style is direct and effective, particularly fitting the
impression which such a story should make. It is a very spirited and
instructive tale, leaving a good impression both upon the reader's
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"An interesting plot, dramatic incidents, characters well conceived
and executed, picturesque sketches of American scenery, and a
satisfactory _dénouement_, are the elements of success which this new
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"The locale of the story is at Norwich, Ct., the time, a generation
ago, and it embraces a wide range of characters, and brings into
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fidelity to the character, passions and legendary history of the
aborigines, and exhibits a rare acquaintance with their characteristics.
The surprises of the story to the reader are most felicitously arranged,
and the conversations introduced are keenly bright."--_Springfield
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why, we are at a loss to know, for it is one whose authorship no one
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now humorous, and now marvelous, is woven together with an ingenuity
not less happy than remarkable. Any reader, so intense will become his
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"Savage life and scenes of the forest are interwoven like threads of
purple and crimson with the pleasant homespun of colonial story; and,
ere the reader has ceased to smile over the antics, adventures and
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The delineations of character are admirable. The Indian legends, and
specimens of Indian eloquence, are some of them surpassingly
beautiful; while the history of the hero is so exciting, and withal so
shrouded in mystery, that there is no sagging of the interest till the
last page is reached."--_Vermont Republican_.





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