These deep-laid schemes of the wily savage had hitherto met with full success; and by means of deceit and misrepresentation, he had roused up and irritated the feelings of several Sachems and their dependants, and induced them to agree to coalesce for the destruction of the Wampanoges, and then to turn their arms against the settlers, with the view of expelling them altogether from the country. His spies had discovered the intended embassy of Squanto and Hobomak to the village of the great Sagamore of Lowams; and he had, consequently, taken effectual means to intercept it, as he feared its having a favorable aspect.
On the captives being brought before him, he scornfully reproached them as the dastardly tools of the white men, and as traitors to their own nation; and he declared his intention of detaining Squanto as a prisoner, and as a hostage also, in order to ensure the return of Hobomak to New Plymouth, with the message that be designed for the Governor. This message consisted of a threat—which Hobomak well knew he would execute—that if, on being liberated, he proceeded to Packanokick, instead of returning to the settlement, he would flay the unhappy Squanto alive, and send his skin and scalp to the white-hearted English, to show them that the red men scorned their interference, and knew how to punish it.
Hobomak departed, and reluctantly left his companion in the hands of the cruel Coubitant. But he had no power to liberate him, and his only hope of obtaining any effectual succor for him, was in hastening to New Plymouth, and persuading the Governor to send a well-armed force to cut off the retreat of the Narragansetts and their leader, and attempt the rescue of their caked interpreter. Hobomak was fleet of foot, and he rested not until he had arrived in Bradford's presence, and told him of the fate that had befallen Squanto. Weak as the colonists were, and sincerely desirous as they also felt to preserve peace with the natives, they yet deemed it incumbent on them to show the Indians that they would not tamely submit to any insult or injury. Captain Standish was, therefore, immediately dispatched with a body of fourteen men, well armed and disciplined, who were at that time nearly all the men capable of bearing arms of whom the colony could boast. Led by Hobomak, they rapidly traversed the forest, and came upon Coubitant's party soon after they had left their encampment. The Indian leader had anticipated, and desired, this result of his conduct; and his heart swelled with malignant joy when he beheld the hated Rodolph among the foremost of the assailants. Now he deemed the evil spirit whom he worshipped was about to repay him for all his abortive schemes and disappointed efforts, by throwing the very object of his vengeful hatred into his power.
Forward he sprang, whirling his heavy tomahawk round his head, as if it had been a child's toy, and preparing to bring it down on the white man's skull with a force that must have cloven it in two. But Standish saw the impending blow, and, quick as thought, he drew a pistol from his belt, and fired it at the savage. The ball passed through his arm, and the tomahawk fell bloodless to the ground. Had it but drunk the life-blood of Rodolph, Coubitant would have been content to die. But his foe still lived unharmed; and quickly he saw that three of his own followers were also severely wounded, and that his party of naked warriors were altogether incapable of resisting the fierce and well- sustained attack of their civilized assailants. His only chance of safety, and of future vengeance, lay in flight; and to that last resource of a brave spirit he betook himself. He was quickly followed by all his band, who were dismayed at the sound and the fatal effects of the British fire-arms and, leaving Squanto behind them, they were soon concealed from view by the thick underwood of the forest. The object of the expedition having been attained, Standish did not pursue the fugitives, but returned in triumph to the settlement, well satisfied that he had given the Indians a salutary impression of the decisive conduct, and the powerful measures, that would ever be adopted by the white men, when their honor was insulted in the slightest degree.
That such an impression had been made on the red men was soon evident, from the anxiety which was manifested by several of the neighboring tribes to be admitted into the semblance, at least, of an alliance with the mighty strangers. Nine Sachems intimated their desire to acknowledge themselves the subjects of the white men's king, who dwelt on the other side of 'the great water'; and a paper was accordingly drawn up by Captain Standish to that effect, and subscribed with the uncouth autographs of the copper-colored chieftains. Among these— strange to say—the mark of Coubitant, who had been raised to the rank of Sachem by the Narragansetts, was to be seen; but the sincerity of his friendly professions will be shown hereafter. At present, it suited him to unite with the other chiefs in their pledge of allegiance to King James, and of amity towards his British subjects; but he never openly approached their settlement, or made the slightest advance towards becoming better acquainted with them. His evil designs slept, indeed, but they had not expired. They only waited the fitting opportunity to be as actively pursued as ever.
Calm on the bosom of thy God,Young spirit! rest thee now!E'en while with us thy footsteps trodHis seat was on thy brow.
Dust to its narrow house beneath!Soul to its place on high!They that have seen thy look in death,No more may fear to die.
Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers,Whence thy meek smile is goneBut oh! a brighter borne than ours,In Heaven, is now thine own.' HEMANS.
We have observed that very few deaths took place in the colony of New Plymouth during the second year of their exile, and after the fatal stroke that deprived them of their President; but among those few, there was one that carried grief and desolation into the hearts of the family with whom our story is chiefly connected, and who were already deeply afflicted by the loss of the first-born. Ludovico Maitland had always been a delicate child, and on him, consequently, the care and attention of his mother had been principally bestowed. Helen had watched and tended him through all the severities of the first winters in the New World, and many had been the privations that she had voluntarily endured, unknown even to Rodolph, who would not have suffered her thus to risk her own health, in order to add to the comforts of her youngest and most helpless child. When the blessed springtime came, and all nature began again to smile, she hoped that Ludovico would also be renovated, and bloom again like the flowers he loved so well. And her hopes appeared to be realized: for the sweet playful child resumed his sports, and the bright color again glowed on his soft cheek; and his parents deemed it the hue of health.
At the time when Henrich was stolen away, the little fellow had been remarkably well, and even Helen's fears for him had almost subsided; but, whether it was the effect of the shock that he sustained when he saw his brother seized by the fierce savages, and torn away from him, and when he fled so breathlessly to tell the fearful tidings; or whether it was merely the result of his own delicate constitution, which could no longer bear up against the change of climate and food— from that time, he visibly declined. It is true he never complained, and his cheerful spirits were unaltered; but the watchful eye of affection could trace the insidious steps of disease in the changing color, and the too frequently brilliant eye.
Since Edith had lost her constant friend and companion, Henrich, she naturally devoted herself more to her younger brother, and little Ludovico became not only her lively play-fellow, but also her intelligent pupil; and the occupation which she found in the care of the engaging child served to divert her mind from the first real grief she had ever known. Her mother's sorrow, though borne with the most perfect resignation, had greatly affected her health; and as she had entire confidence in Edith's steadiness, she was glad to leave the care of Ludovico principally to her, especially when she observed the good effect which the new responsibility had on her spirits. The two children were, therefore, left much to themselves; and, with their mother's sanction they passed a great portion of their time at the camp of Mooanam, where they were always most kindly received, and where they made rapid progress in acquiring the language, and also many of the useful and ingenious arts, of their swarthy friends.
The departure of Coubitant and his savage band, after their cruel design against the peace of Rodolph's family had been accomplished, removed all fears of injury or molestation from the minds of the settlers; for no hostile Indians now remained in their immediate neighborhood, and the path from New Plymouth to the village of the friendly Wampanoges became a beaten and frequented track; so that Edith and her little charge could go to and fro in safety, under the protection of Fingal, a magnificent dog belonging to their father, and their constant companion and playfellow; and frequently they were accompanied, on their return to the British village, by the Chieftain's wife, Apannow, and her little boy, Nepea, who was the darling of both Edith and Ludovico.
A strong attachment also sprang up between Apannow and Helen; for the Squaw-Sachem was possessed of much natural gentleness of disposition, and was most ready to adopt all those habits of civilized life that she saw practiced among her English friends, and that it was possible for her to transplant to her Indian home. She was, likewise, willing to listen to the doctrines and precepts of the Gospel, and to admit their beauty and their holiness, although it was long—very long—ere she, or any of the adults of her tribe, were so far converted to the Christian truth as to be either desirous or fit to be baptized. But there was no bigotry or opposition in the mind of Apannow; and she became a kind and sympathizing friend to Helen and to her children.
Rodolph was necessarily much engaged in agricultural occupations, and also in the business of the government, as he was one of the council who were appointed to assist the President, and to share the labors and responsibilities of his frequently very difficult office. The gradual change in little Ludovico's health was, therefore, not so soon observed by his father as by Helen and Edith; and when he returned to his much- loved home after the toils and cares of the day, his wife forbore to arouse fresh anxiety in his breast, by telling him of her own fears. On the contrary, she rejoiced to see the pleasure and animation that lighted up the sweet child's expressive countenance, as he ran to meet his father, and the happiness of both as they played under the wide- spreading trees that shaded their now luxuriant garden. At such times, while listening to Ludovico's ringing laugh, and watching his light footsteps as he chased his father and Edith from tree to tree, she flattered herself that all must be well with the joyous child, and that her apprehensions were unfounded. But, again, when the following day found him pale and exhausted, and all the more so for the excitement and exercise of the previous evening, these foreboding fears would return, and her heart would sink heavily at the prospect of the coming woe.
The short summer of North America attained its height; and, as the heat increased, so did Ludovico's young life wane away, and his strength become daily less. Rudolph now saw, as plainly as his afflicted wife, that their only remaining son was soon to be taken from them; and he strove to arm both himself and her with the only power that could support them under such an aggravated calamity. He constantly led her to look only to Him who 'gave,' and who also 'takes away,' and without whom 'not a sparrow falleth to the ground'; and to trust Him even in the depth of sorrow: and he had the satisfaction of seeing her become more and more resigned, and more and more strong in faith to meet the coming trial.
Slowly and gently it came; but it came at last: and though his parents and his sister had long given up all hope of retaining their loved Ludovico on earth, and had endeavored to resign him into the hands of his Heavenly Father, yet, when the blow came, they felt it sudden, and found how little they were prepared for it. One warm summer evening the sweet child was carried by Rodolph to Edith's bower, that he might look once more at the flowers he had helped to plant and to tend; and his soft eyes seemed to take a last farewell of every cherished object, and to follow the setting sun with a fixed gaze, that said those eyes would never see it set again. But there was no sadness—no regret—in the gentle countenance; and the infantine lips still smiled, as they whispered the evening prayer that he had so often repeated with Edith. Young as he was, Ludovico had learnt to love his Redeemer, and to feel that to 'depart, and be with Christ, was far better than to abide on earth; and the 'valley of the shadow or death,' which the Lord so mercifully made easy to his flesh, had no terrors for his young spirit.
Could his parents, then—could even his broken-hearted sister—bear to disturb his angelic calmness by any display of their own grief? No: they restrained it; and even tried to smile again as they replied to his touching remarks, and spoke of the happy day when they should all meet again in heaven, and dwell for ever in the presence of that gracious Savior, who was new taking him, as they believed, to join his dear brother Henrich.
As twilight came on, his father bore him back to the house, and laid him again on his little couch; and ere the glorious sun arose to lighten the earth once more, his spirit had passed away into that realm of perfect light where they 'have no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.' And many tears were shed for him, when the sight of the grief of those he loved so dearly could no longer disturb his peace, or check the willing spirit in its heavenward flight.
The sorrows of the Maitlands—thus renewed and aggravated—excited the warmest sympathy throughout the colony; for they were universally respected and beloved, and their calm and pious resignation drew forth the admiration of the whole community of Puritans, who deemed any strong expressions of grief to be altogether unsuitable to Christians. But Rodolph and Helen did not the less feel their chastisement, because they forbore to express their feelings to any other than to God, and to their revered friend and minister, Brewster. On Edith, this second blow fell even more heavily than the first; for, since Henrich's loss, she had devoted herself to her younger brother, and felt for him almost a mother's love: and now her pupil, her playfellow—the sunshine of her life—was taken away from her! Truly, the Lord was preparing her in the furnace of affliction for the future lot to which He had appointed her; and sorrow did net visit her in vain. Her character was strengthened and matured, and her mind was taught to find resources in itself that proved hereafter of inestimable value to her, and to those most nearly connected with her.
The thoughts and attention of her parents—and indeed of the whole colony—were at this time diverted greatly from their own private cares and interests, by an event of much importance to the settlement. This was the arrival of a vessel, called the Fortune, from the mother- country, bringing out to the colony a new and more comprehensive charter, obtained for them by the Society of Plymouth, and also twenty- five fresh settlers, who were chiefly friends and relatives of those already established in New England. How welcome these familiar countenances, that recalled days of happiness long passed but not forgotten, were to the hearts and memories of their brethren, none but exiles can tell! The new comers were indeed joyfully received, and hospitably entertained by the Pilgrim Fathers; who invited them to take up their quarters in their rude but comfortable dwellings, and to share their scanty stores. Unfortunately, the new settlers were unable to contribute any thing to these stores; for all their own provisions were already consumed on the voyage. This accession to their numbers, therefore, added greatly to the inconvenience of the colony, and occasioned such a scarcity of food, that the Governor was obliged to put the whole community upon a daily allowance; an arrangement to which they all submitted without a murmur. And not only did the original settlers thus consent to endure privation for the sake of their newly- arrived friends and relatives, but they also contributed more liberally than their narrow means could well afford, to provision the Fortune for her voyage home. This was the occasion of the first mercantile adventure of the Pilgrims, who took the opportunity of the return of the ship to England, to send to the Society with which they were connected a quantity of furs and timber to the value of five hundred pounds. But success did not attend their speculation; for the vessel fell into the hands of the French, and all their hopes of profit were, for the present, blasted.
It is needless to dwell on all the continued and various hardships that these brave men, and their families, had to endure for several ensuing winters. A few circumstances that more especially exemplify their manners and mode of life, will be sufficient for the purposes of our narrative, the course of which must necessarily be somewhat interrupted by these details. Some knowledge of the habits of the adventurers, and of the events that befell them at this early period of their history, is however needful for the illustration of the story; and they shall be briefly given, before we take up the thread of the narrative a few years subsequent to the period of which we are now speaking.
For some time the friendly relations with the Wampanoges, which had been established by Carver and further cemented by Bradford, remained undisturbed, and no signs of hostility were shown by any other of the neighboring Indian tribes. This was probably owing, in a great degree, to the wholesome example of decided measures that had been given to the natives on the occasion of the capture of Hobomak and Squanto, and also to the efficient means of defense that were now adopted by the settlers. On their first arrival in New England, they had planted their guns on the hill which commanded the rising city of New Plymouth, and which afterwards received the name of 'the Burying Hill.' There, as we have seen, the remains of the venerable Carver were deposited; and there the infant form of Ludovico Maitland was laid in its last narrow resting-place, and shaded by shrubs and plants that Edith, and the faithful servant Janet, delighted to place there, and to tend and water with untiring care and watchfulness.
This hill was converted, during the first year of the Pilgrim's residence in New England, into a kind of irregular fortification. The storehouse—which was also the chapel and the council hall—stood on the summit, and this was surrounded by a strong wall of timber, well furnished with batteries, on which a watch was kept night and day, to look out for the approach of any hostile parties of Indians. At a considerable distance from this building ran a strong wooden palisade, that enclosed the height entirely, and was divided into four portions, the entrance to which was securely fastened every night; and the able- bodied men of the colony, under the command of Miles Standish, were arranged in four squadrons, to the care of each of which one quarter was entrusted. The occupation which this charge entailed on the limited number of men who were capable of undertaking it, in addition to their necessary labors and employments in building their dwellings, cultivating their fields, and procuring provisions by hunting and fishing was both heavy and incessant; but disease had nearly left the colony, and want, though occasionally felt to a painful degree, was not always their portion; and the Pilgrim Fathers were cheerfully contented with their lot.
Still, it was a lot that involved much of hardship and personal privation, as a drawback to the liberty, both religious and political, that had been obtained by emigration. The harvests were scanty, and not nearly sufficient to provide bread for the increasing community, and also seed for the following year, and the supplies that were occasionally procured from the Wampanoges, and their allies, were very uncertain. At one time, every species of grain became so scarce that the settlers had recourse to pig-nuts as a substitute for bread; and the last pint of corn that remained to the colony, after the fields were sown, was counted out among the whole community, whenfive grainsfell to the share of each person, and these were looked upon as a rare treat, and eaten as a particular dainty. Cattle were, as yet, unknown in the colony; and their chief subsistence consisted of game, wild fowl, and fish, of which the supply was frequently both scanty and precarious. 'Often,' we are told in the diary of the Governor Bradford, 'we do not know in the evening where we shall get a meal next morning; but yet we bear our want with joy, and trust in Providence.' And strong, indeed, must have been the faith and patience of these Pilgrim Fathers, which sustained their spirits amidst such long-continued trials, and enabled them to meet and overcome such complicated difficulties without hesitation and without a murmur!
At one period their only food was fish, and occasionally merely shellfish; but never was this miserable fare partaken of by the emigrants, who assembled to receive their respective portions, without a blessing being asked, and thanks being offered by the pious Brewster, who, with a spirit of gratitude too often unknown to those who revel in abundance, praised God for having permitted them 'to suck out of the fullness of the sea, and for the treasures sunk in the sand.' While such an example of holy trust, and patient submission to the will of God, was set by the leading men of this suffering colony—men who were both loved and respected—not a complaining word was uttered by the rest. All felt that they were bound to emulate the faith and piety of their high-souled Governor, and their venerated elder.
And, truly, they had need of every motive, and of every aid—both human and divine—that could keep their souls in peace, when actual famine at length stared them in the face. The second winter had been endured; and, in spite of cold and privation, the health of the colony had improved; and spring again brought brighter hopes, and better prospects of the summer's harvest. But before the grain was well grown up, a drought came on, that threatened the utter destruction of the crops. For six long weeks not one drop of rain fell on the thirsty land. 'The sky was as brass' to the fainting emigrants, and 'the earth was as iron' to them. Yet these men of God did not despair. They were accustomed to regard every dispensation of Providence, whether prosperous or afflictive, either as a special blessing from the hand of God, to support and encourage His believing people, or as a Fatherly chastisement, to punish their iniquities, and excite them to greater piety and watchfulness. 'It pleased God,' said Edward Winslow, in speaking of this inflict ion, 'to send a great dearth for our further punishment.' Under this conviction, the congregation were called on by the Governor and the elders to set apart a day for special humiliation and prayer, in order to entreat the Lord to remove from them his chastening hand, and to 'send a gracious rain upon His inheritance.'
The call was universally obeyed; and men, women, and children assembled themselves together, fasting, on 'the Burying Hill,' to listen to the solemn address delivered by Brewster, and to unite in fervent prayers and humble confessions to their God and Father. The sky that morning was clear and bright as ever; and the sun walked in unclouded brilliance and majesty through the deep blue vault of heaven. For eight hours, the devotions of the assembly continued almost without interruption; and it seemed as if 'none regarded, neither was there any that answered.' But as the sun was sinking towards the western horizon, a cloud, 'as it were a mans hand,' was seen to rise as if to meet the glowing orb; and, ere he sank, his rays were obscured by a heavy bank of clouds. Joy and gratitude now filled the breasts of the suppliants, and the dim and anxious eye of many a mother, who had watched the declining forms of her little ones in silent anguish, was lighted up with hope, and glistened with a tear of thankfulness. Such, indeed, had been the sufferings of the younger children, although the greatest sacrifices had been made by their parents in order to provide them with the food so necessary to their existence, that Helen had frequently poured forth her heartfelt thanksgivings to her Heavenly Father, that He had seen fit to remove her gentle and idolized Ludovico from a scene of so much distress; and had called him away to a land where want, as well as sorrow, is unknown, in a manner, and at a time, which allowed her to ensure his ease and comfort to the last. To have seen her darling pine for food, which she could not procure for him—to have watched that fondly-cherished child sinking into his grave from the actual want of proper nourishment, and to know that in the land they had abandoned all that was needed to prolong his precious life was teeming in profusion—would, she weakly thought, have been more than her faith could have endured. But Helen erred in that doubting thought. She was aChristian:and had her Lord and Savior seen fit thus to try her, He would also have given her grace to meet the trial as aChristian;for His promise to each one of His people is sure: 'As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.'
Edith, her only remaining child, was strong and energetic in mind and body; and she was no burden to her mother. Cheerfully she had borne her share of privation; and, uncomplainingly, she had assisted Helen and Janet in seeking for roots and berries hour after hour in the forest, when no other food was to be obtained. Now, on this day of fasting and prayer, she stood beside her mother and Rodolph, and lifted up her young voice in prayer for heavenly succor, and in praise, when the first signal of coming aid was seen in the crimson west.
The whole congregation had risen from their posture of supplication, and were gazing with deep interest and emotion at the gathering clouds, when they were startled at observing a large party of Indians emerging from the thicket below, and advancing towards the palisade that formed their outer fortification. At first they imagined them to be a hostile body of Narragansetts, or Pequodees, who had discovered the manner in which that day was being spent among the pale-faces, and had resolved upon breaking the recently-formed treaty, and attempting their destruction while they were thus assembled together and unarmed. But these apprehensions were soon removed by the appearance of their friend Mooanam, who advanced from the rest of his party, and hurried forward, holding in his hands a fine fish, and calling on his allies to open their gates and admit him and his followers into the fortress, for that he had brought them food.
Joyfully his summons was answered, and the generous red men entered the enclosure, and laid before the Governor a quantity of, fish, sufficient to supply the whole community with several wholesome and acceptable meals. The kindness of this offering was highly estimated by the settlers; for they well knew that their Indian friends had long been suffering privations little less than what they had themselves endured, and that their prospects for the future were hardly more cheering than their own. The native and untaught courtesy, also, with which the seasonable gift was offered, added not a little to its value.
'Behold!' said Mooanam to the President, when he and his attendants had placed the fresh spoils of their lake in order before him—'Behold what the good Mahneto has given to his children in their day of distress! And the red men could not eat and be in plenty, while they knew that the faces of their white brethren were pale with want, and their little children were crying for food. Take this, my brother, and let the hearts of your people be glad, and bless Mahneto while they eat. I and my young men will return to the supper that our squaws are preparing.'
'We do bless Mahneto, who is the God and father both of the red and white men!' replied Bradford with solemnity; for he was deeply impressed by the pious feelings of the Sachem, and touched by his considerate kindness. 'We do bless Mahneto; and we bless you also, our faithful and generous friends, who have thus so promptly shared with us the produce of your labors, instead of reserving it for your own future wants. But here is enough for you and us; and you and your young men must abide tonight in our village, and partake with us of the abundance that you have provided. We leave the future in the bountiful hands of Him who has thus made you His instruments to provide for us a table in the wilderness.'
'We will remain,' said Mooanam, 'and to-morrow some of your people shall go with us to our lakes, and fish in our canoes. The clouds are rising, and we shall, perhaps, have even better success than we have met with today. But tell me, my white brother,' he continued—while he looked inquiringly at Bradford—'tell me why your village is deserted this evening, and why no sounds of labor met our ears as we passed through the silent street? This is not the white men's day of rest; and the white men do not leave their work to sleep or dance, as the red men too often do. Why, then, are you and your people—even your squaws and your little ones—assembled here today, and what caused that joyful song that died away as we came to the foot hill?'
We have spent the day in fasting and prayer,' replied the President. 'We know that our Great Father has sent this long drought upon us, to chasten us for our sins: and we have met to humble ourselves before Him, and implore Him to send us the fruitful showers from heaven, before our crops are altogether withered in the ground. He alone can command the clouds to drop fatness; and when He sees that His punishment has done its appointed work, He surely will take it away. Even now, while we were making our prayers and supplications unto Him, and confessing our sins, He has sent a token that He has heard our cry, and will grant our request. Look at those clouds that are rising over the western hills, and gradually spreading like a curtain across the sky. For six weary weeks those clouds have been withheld, and we have been humbled; and, at times, our faith has well nigh failed. But the faithfulness of our God never fails; and now we are confident that, ere long, His blessing will descend upon us.'
Mooanam made no reply; but he gazed intently on the gathering clouds, and then looked searchingly into Bradford's fine expressive countenance, as if to be assured that he had heard and understood aright. Squanto stood beside him; and his aid had been several times required by both parties, in order to the carrying out the above discourse: and now the Sachem drew him aside, and conversed earnestly with him in a low voice. He was making him repeat, in his own tongue, the words of the white man; and Bradford heard him say to the interpreter, as he turned away to rejoin him, 'Now we shall see whether the Great Spirit really hears the prayers of the white men.'
The President understood this remark, and fervently he lifted up his own heart to the Lord, and prayed that the hopes of His suffering and trusting people might now be fulfilled; not only for their own relief, but also that the minds of the dark heathen might be impressed, and that they might see and feel the power and the goodness of the Christians' covenant God.
While Mooanam and the Governor were engaged in conversation, the assembly had dispersed to their own homes; each family carrying with them their respective portion of the food so liberally offered by their Indian friends, and eager to partake of the first plentiful meal that they had enjoyed for several weeks; The hope of coming rain also cheered the hearts of the Pilgrims; and there was joy and gratitude throughout the village that evening.
The Sachem and his people were gladly received and entertained in the dwellings of the Governor and principal inhabitants; and when Mooanam lay down to rest, he long gazed through the opening in the wooden wall of the chamber that formed its only window, and watched the heavy clouds as they sped across the sky, and observed the face of the glimmering moon, that looked out so calmly and brightly between their dark moving masses. The soul of the Sachem was deeply impressed; and he thought of all that Bradford had said to him, and wondered whether the God of the white men was indeed the God of the Indians also.
'It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.' ISA. lxv, 24.
Mooanam awoke from his sleep soon after the dawn of day appeared. He looked up at the open window, and a strange feeling of awe came over his soul, as he beheld the rain falling gently and steadily from the dull grey sky. He sprang to his feet, and hurried into the next apartment, where he found the President and his family already assembled, and gazing at the descending shower in silent admiration.
The Sachem caught the hands of Bradford in both his own; and while a tear of deep emotion glistened in his dark eye he exclaimed—
'Now I see that your God loves you. When the red men ask for rain, and use their conjuring arts to induce the Great Spirit to hear their wild cries, he gives it, it is true; but he gives it with hail and thunder, which makes the evil still greater. Your rain is of the right kind; it will restore the drooping corn. Now we see that your God hears you, and cares for you.'
The same impression, to a certain degree, was made on all the Indians, who were taught to regard this seasonable rain as the settlers themselves regarded it—as a special interposition of Providence for their relief. And were they wrong in thus looking upon it as an answer to their prayers, from a prayer-hearing God? And was it vain superstition that led them to rejoice as much in this proof of the goodness and benevolence of the God whom they served, and of His guiding and protecting hand being outstretched for their succor, as in the prospect of coming plenty that was thus afforded to them? Surely not. Their faith, and love, and confidence in God were all animated and strengthened by their conviction that the relief thus seasonably received came directly from Him who has promised in his faithful Word, thatall things,whether joyous or grievous, 'shall work together for good to them that love Him; to them that are called according to His purpose.
So deeply was Hobomak, the Wampanoge interpreter, impressed by this instance of the pious trust of his white friends in the providence of their God, and of the protection they enjoyed under His guidance and government, that he gave himself up to a serious consideration of their religion and so sincere was his desire for spiritual knowledge, and so humble and teachable did he show himself, that, after a time, he was judged fit to be admitted into the pale of the Christian church. He was baptized as the first fruits of the settlers' efforts to evangelize the heathen among whom they had cast their lot: and he lived a firm friend of the white men, and died, after residing many years among them, 'leaving a good-hope that his soul went to rest.
The welcome rain continued to fall for several hours without intermission, on the morning that succeeded the Pilgrim's day of prayer and humiliation; and Mooanam sent his young men home to fish in the lake, while he remained with his white friends, intending to follow them in the afternoon, with a party of the settlers, to share their sport. As the day advanced, the clouds broke, and warm sunshine, interrupted by frequent refreshing showers, succeeded to the settled rain of the morning. So favorable, altogether, was the change, that Winslow gratefully remarks: 'It is difficult to say whether our withered corn, or our depressed spirits, were most refreshed and quickened. So great was the benevolence and goodness of our God!'
The Pilgrims had prayed for rain; and when their prayers were granted, they did not neglect the equally incumbent Christian duty of thanksgiving. Again the congregation ascended 'the Burying Hill'; and again their united voices rose to heaven in prayers and songs of praise. Mooanam formed one of the assembly; and he listened with deep and reverent attention to the devotions of his friends, frequently applying to Hobomak, who stood at his side, to explain to him the words and sentences that he did not comprehend.
The service concluded, and the women and children were descending the hill by the path that led to the village, leaving the Governor and his council to discuss some public business, and the other men to arrange themselves as usual into companies, for the manning of their fortification and other necessary employments. Just at that moment a native, attired in the costume and equipments of a Narragansett, was seen to approach the foot of the hill, bearing a bundle of strange appearance in his hands. With a quick and decided step he mounted the height, and glanced fiercely at the females and their children, whom he passed in the winding path, and who all involuntarily shrank from the gaze of his piercing and singularly expressive eye. In the breast of Janet that glance struck a chill of horror; for she had once before encountered it, and never could she forget or mistake it again. It seemed that Fingal recognized it also, and knew the evil that it foreboded. He was bounding down the hill by Edith's side, and, with expressive looks and actions, inviting the pensive child to join in his gambols, when the savage approached. Instantly he paused, and took his stand close to his young mistress, as if to guard her from some apprehended danger; and, as the red warrior passed, and bent his eye on Edith, the sagacious creature uttered a low deep growl, and seemed ready to spring at his throat, if the hand and voice of his young companion had not restrained him. Fingal was a noble specimen of the St. Bernard breed of dogs, whose sagacity is such as frequently to appear like human reason, and his intelligence was not inferior to that of the best of his race. In this instance it did not mislead him.
The dark warrior strode on without one sign of courtesy, and paused not until he had entered the group of elders and councilors who stood around the President, prepared to attend him to the public hall. The white men made way for him to approach the Governor; and, as he did so, his keen eye met that of Rodolph Maitland, and instantly kindled with a deeper fire, and gleamed with an expression of almost diabolical vengeance, which was seen by Rodolph, and understood by him for he, too, could not fail to recognize in the Narragansett warrior that same Coubitant who had fought so well at 'the first encounter,' and who had afterwards attended the Nausett Chief, Tisquantum, when he and his people were repulsed in their attack on New Plymouth. It was evident to Maitland that this savage entertained towards him and his race a peculiar sentiment of hatred; but the cause of this feeling was unknown to him.
The idea, however, that Henrich's loss was in some way connected with this man—or that he could give him some information respecting the nature of his son's death, and the place where his remains had been deposited—came forcibly to his mind; and, regardless of the cold malignant gaze that Coubitant fixed on him, he hastily approached him, and exclaimed in the Indian tongue—'Surely you are the Nausett warrior whom I saw with the Sachem of that tribe. If so, you can tell me the fate of my son—the boy who was carried off, and, I fear, cruelly slain when Tisquantum and his people retired from these woods. O, tell me how my boy was murdered, and where his dear remains were laid!
Rodolph's fine countenance was lighted up with eager animation. A tear of fond regret and affection glistened in his eye, and he could have grasped the hand of the swarthy savage, and almost have blessed him, if he would have told him that his darling Henrich had died by a single blow, and that his body had been laid unmolested to rest. But Coubitant drew back, and with a smile of fierce mockery and infernal triumph, replied briefly—
'Ha! you found his bloody coat then. May your heart's blood soon flow forth as his did; and may my eyes see your body equally mangled and defaced!'
At the same moment, he placed the bundle that he carried on the ground before the President, saying, 'This comes from the Chief of the Narragansetts!' and, turning away, hastily descended the hill, and was lost to view among the trees of the skirting wood, before the council had time to resolve on the course they should pursue respecting his detention, or Rodolph had recovered the shock that his cruel words had inflicted.
The curiosity of the Governor and his friends was now directed to the strange-looking package that lay on the ground. On examination, they found the envelope to be composed of a dried snakeskin, which was quickly opened, and disclosed several Indian arrows. Squanto gazed on these with a significant look; and on being questioned by Bradford as to the meaning of so singular an offering, he informed him that it was the native mode of declaring war.
The well-known enmity of the Narragansetts towards the Wampanoges—the friends and allies of the settlers—rendered this hostile declaration no surprise to the Governor and his council. But the fact of its being conveyed by Coubitant, who had so lately, in the character of a subordinate Narragansett chieftain, subscribed the written acknowledgement of King James's supremacy, excited no small astonishment. It was a source, also, of regret, as it proved how little dependence could be placed in the professions of the natives. To enter on a war with the numerous and powerful tribe of the Narragansetts, was likewise far from being desirable in any point of view; for the Pilgrims were little prepared either to meet such formidable antagonist's in the field, or to resist the continual attacks and aggression's that constitute the greatest share of Indian warfare.
A consultation was therefore held as to the best method of replying to the challenge of the Narragansett Sachem; and it was finally determined that the most prudent and effectual course would be to show a resolute appearance, and give no cause to the native's to suppose that they dreaded their enmity. A bold acceptance of the challenge might, it was urged both by Squanto and Hobomak, strike terror into the savages, and deter them from prosecuting their present hostile intentions.
Bradford, therefore, adopted the Indian method of communicating this reply by expressive signs; and, taking the arrows—which appeared to be poisoned—from the snakeskin, he placed some gunpowder and balls in the significant wrapper. He then inquired who among his trusty warrior's would volunteer to take the packet to the dwelling of Cundincus,[*] the Chief of the Narragansetts. Several offered their services; and, among those, none was so eager to be employed as Rodolph Maitland. He felt an earnest desire to see and speak with Coubitant once more: and no fear of the personal risk that he might incur in the expedition could deter him from thus making another attempt to obtain some certain information respecting his lost son.
[Footnote: Afterwards called by the settlers, Canonicus.]
Had the President known how much reason there was to fear that treachery might be exercised towards Maitland, he would surely not have suffered him thus to risk his valuable life. Rut he was ignorant of all the peculiar circumstances that had occurred to show that he was a special mark for the vengeance of Coubitant: and the confidence he felt in his courage and ability led him—on this occasion, as on many others—to select him as his ambassador. Two companions were assigned to him, and Squanto was desired to attend the party as interpreter.
When Helen heard that her husband was appointed to convey a reply to the war-like message of the dark savage whom she had met on the hill, and whose aspect had filled her with terror, she felt an involuntary dread; and gladly would she have dissuaded him from accepting the office of ambassador—which she knew not he had so earnestly solicited—had she not been well aware that all such attempts would be useless. Rodolph was not a man to shrink from any service that was required of him for the public good; and least of all from any service that involved danger and difficulty. He, however, concealed from his anxious wife the fact that he had recognized in the Narragansett messenger a deadly and determined foe, knowing how greatly—and perhaps how justly—her fears would be increased, if she suspected that the Indian champion was one of those who had planned and executed the capture of her eldest son.
But Janet had, as we have seen, remembered the swarthy savage, and the scene with which his countenance was associated in her mind; and when she had an opportunity of speaking to her master in private, she implored him to resign the embassy into other hands, and not thus rashly to encounter a foe, whose public conduct had proved him to be unworthy of confidence, and whose expression of countenance betokened both cruelty and treachery. But all her arguments were unavailing. Maitland had undertaken the charge of the expedition at his own request; and he would have felt himself dishonored in now declining it from any personal motives, even had he been, in the least degree, inclined to do so. On the contrary, his spirit was roused and excited by the very perils he was conscious he might have to encounter; and his desire to obtain, and convey to Helen, some intelligence of Henrich— even if that intelligence should still for ever the doubts end hopes, that, in spite of every past circumstance, would sometimes arise in his own heart, and that of his own wife—was so great that nothing could have turned him from his purpose. He, therefore, desired the faithful Janet to preserve the same silence on the subject of Coubitant that she had already so judiciously adopted towards her mistress; and assured her that he would neglect no precaution that might preserve him from the treacherous intentions of the Indian, should any such be actually entertained by him.
The next morning Rodolph started at break of day, to convey the reply of the Governor to the Narragansett Sachem, whose tribe inhabited the district now called Rhode Island, lying to the south-west of New Plymouth. He was accompanied by two friends, and likewise by the interpreter, Squanto. His faithful dog, Fingal, also showed such a strong desire to follow his master, that, although it was Maitland's usual custom to leave him at home as a guard, during any of his occasional absences, when his services in hunting were not required, he could not, in this instance, resist his eager pleadings. Helen, also, assured him that she should feel no apprehension at being deprived of her usual protector, as no danger was likely to menace her dwelling; and the increase in the population of the village, from the arrival of the new settlers, had added an inmate to the family, in the person of Claude Felton, a stout young laboring man, who had become the useful assistant of Maitland in his agricultural occupations, and proved a good and faithful servant.
To his protection and watchful care Rodolph Maitland committed his little family; and, taking a cheerful farewell of his wife and Edith, he commenced his journey through the wild and almost trackless woods. Guided by Squanto, the party reached the village of Cundineus, and were received into the presence of the Sachem and his nephew Miantonomo, who shared with him the cares and the dignity of his chieftainship.
With the assistance of the interpreter, Rodolph informed the Chiefs that he was the bearer of the reply of the mighty strangers to the bold challenge that had been sent to them on the part of Cundineus and Miantonomo; and he invited them to open the packet which he laid before them, in order that they might fully understand the nature of that reply, and judge whether the subjects of the powerful king of Great Britain were terrified at the audacity of the red men. Probably Squanto made some additions of his own to the harangue of the ambassador; for a very ludicrous change of expression appeared on the countenances of the savage Chieftains. The looks of fierce defiance with which they had received the embassy gave way to anxious and timid glances, which they hastily cast at the ominous snake-skin, while they involuntarily drew back, as if they feared it would explode, and punish their rash temerity.
Rodolph saw the effect of Squanto's version of his speech, and resolved to increase it. He understood enough of the native tongue to perceive that the interpreter had alluded to the potent and deadly properties of the contents of the snake-skin, and he desired him to inform the Chiefs that the musket which he carried in his hand contained a very small portion of the same substance, and he would give them proof of its power. He then glanced for a moment into the lofty trees that surrounded the place of audience, and perceiving a monkey that was clinging to one of the wide-spreading branches, nod chattering angrily at the intrusive foreigners, he took a deliberate aim, and in another instant the creature lay lifeless and motionless on the ground. The Indians were startled at the report, and amazed at the effect of the invisible messenger of death. They hastened to examine the dead animal but one drop of blood issuing from its skull was the only indication that some missile had pierced its brain; and the veneration of the Narragansetts and their Chiefs for the prowess of the white men evidently rose in a great degree.
But there was one among them who did not share the wonder or the awe of the assembly. He stood silent and motionless, at a little distance from the group, with his eyes intently fixed on Rodolph's countenance, and a smile of malignant scorn and triumph on his own dark features. His arms were folded across his scarred and painted breast, and his right hand grasped the handle of a long knife that was stuck into his deerskin belt. The action seemed to be involuntary, and without any present purpose; for he remained in the same position, unobserved by Rodolph, until he and his attendants had retired to the hut appointed them by Cundineus, to rest and refresh themselves, end await the reply of the Chief.
Rodolph then desired Squanto to make inquiries for Coubitant, and, if possible, to bring him to the hut. But the sagacious interpreter had seen and recognized the white mans face; and he earnestly entreated Maitland not to give him any opportunity of executing the vengeance which was evidently burning at his heart, and ready to break forth in some deed of fatal violence. Rodolph's English friends also joined so warmly in these entreaties that he at length consented that Squanto should seek the savage, and endeavor to draw from him all the information that he could give respecting Henrich's death. He did so, and a long conversation took place that evening, the result of which was that he assured Rodolph that his son had indeed been murdered in the wood, as he had always supposed, and that his scalp had been torn off even before life was extinct, whilst his body had been conveyed to the next encampment, and burned with many heathen rites, to appease the troubled spirit of Tisquantum's son Tekoa.
The father shuddered, and turned away to hide the rising tear, as he listened to this harrowing but false account. He, however, fully believed it; and felt that, henceforth, it would be vain to cherish any hope concerning his son, except that blessed hope which is the privilege of the Christian—the sure and certain hope of meeting hereafter, in the presence of the God and Savior in whom he had taught his child to place his trust. He said no more; he did not even question Squanto as to the cause of his having spent so long a time in conferring with Coubitant, when all the information he had obtained amounted merely to the sad assurance that his son had suffered a dreadful death. Had he done so, the interpreter might have found it difficult to account for his conduct, as he had professed a strong dislike to Coubitant, and a distrust of all his motives and actions. The fact was, that the wily savage had discovered Squanto's love of importance, and his desire to be supposed to possess the confidence of the white men, and by flattering his vanity, he had drawn from him all the information he could give with respect to the strength of the settlers, and their capability of resisting an attack of the natives. Squanto took care to exaggerate the numbers and the power of his employers; but still it appeared to Coubitant, that if he could once more induce the neighboring tribes to combine and invade their territory, there was every probability of their being utterly exterminated and nothing short of this could satisfy the feeling of hatred that he entertained towards the whole race of the strangers. By way of exalting the might of the settlers in the minds of the native, Squanto assured Coubitant that the white men kept the plague, of which the Indians well knew the desolating effects, imprisoned in a cellar, where they also stowed, their gunpowder, and that they could let it loose upon their foes at their pleasure. This strange evidence was heard also by Miantonomo, whom Coubitant called to join the conference, as he, knew that he already hated the English; and he desired to strengthen that feeling to the utmost, for the furtherance of his own plans.
From Coubitant, Squanto also received some intelligence, which, in the minds both of the superstitious interpreter and his heathen informant, was of vital importance to the settlers, and calculated to inspire them with dread. This was the awful fact that, a short time previous, several of the neighboring tribes had met in the adjacent forest, and that the Powows of the whole district had passed three days and nights in cursing the strangers, and uttering against them the most horrible imprecations. The effect of this diabolical proceeding, in causing the defeat of their foes, Coubitant did not do not; and, in spite of his veneration for the English, and his conviction that their deities were more powerful than the Indian demons, Squanto was filled with apprehensions on their account. He communicated the circumstance to Rodolph, and was surprised and almost offended at the smile of indifference and contempt with which the Christian listened to him. But he found it impossible to make him attach any importance to what seemed to him so serious a calamity; and, by degrees, his own fears subsided and his mind was reassured by the arguments and the cool composure of Maitland.
Rodolph and his companions lay down to rest for the night in the Indian hut, across the entrance of which Squanto placed several strong boughs, and spread a cloak of deer-skin over them. This was done ostensibly for the purpose of keeping out the cold night wind, but really to serve as a screen from the prying eyes of Coubitant, whose intentions he much mistrusted, and also as an obstacle to any attempt he might possibly make to violate the laws of honor and hospitality, by a secret attack on the person of the ambassador. Whether the savage actually meditated any such act of treachery, was not known; but if he approached the hut with a murderous purpose, he was probably deterred more by the fierce growlings of Fingal—who lay at the entrance, but scarcely slept that night—than by the barrier of boughs and deerskin.
Several times were the party awakened by the trusty watch-dog's angry bark; and once, when Rodolph hastened to the entrance, and drew aside the curtain, he thought he could descry more than one retreating figure in the uncertain darkness. The continued uneasiness of Fingal prevented his master from again giving way to sleep until after day had dawned, when his faithful guard became tranquil, and he likewise sought the repose which he greatly needed before recommencing his fatiguing journey.
Ere he set out on his homeward way, Rodolph again repaired, with Squanto, to the presence of the Chief; to demand his message to the British Governor; and he was informed by Cundincus, that he had already dispatched a messenger to restore the dreaded packet, and to deprecate the wrath of the pale-faced Chieftain. This was all the ambassador could desire; and, taking a courteous leave of the Sachem, he and his attendants resumed their journey without further delay.
For a considerable distance their path lay through the forest; and the underwood was so close and thick that the road consisted of a narrow track, scarcely wider than would admit of two persons passing one another along it, and only calculated for travelling in 'Indian file,' which is so much practiced by the natives. In this manner our party proceeded, Rodolph leading the way, and his attendants following singly; while Fingal, who seemed rejoiced to have left the village, bounded along at his master's side, ever and anon leaping up to express his joy by licking his face and hands.
'Down, Fingal!' said his master, kindly patting his favorite's head, and stroking his thick shaggy mane. 'Down, my good fellow; your joy is too boisterous for this narrow, thorny path. You shall expend your superfluous strength and spirits on the plain yonder; for I think I detect some game scudding across the green meadow before us.'
Rodolph paused to adjust his gun; and the sagacious dog ceased his wild demonstrations, end paused also until the task was completed. Then as his master rose to proceed, he once more sprang up to his shoulder, end his intelligent eyes asked leave to dash through the covert, and drive out the expected game.
But why did that bound of pleasure change instantaneously into a convulsion of agony? and why did the noble creature fall by his master's side and look so earnestly up into his face? Surely, in the midst of his own death struggle, he sought to tell him, with that mute eloquence of love, that danger was near. Rodolph knew that it was so; but no danger could then have compelled him to leave his dying friend— the friend whose life was now ebbing away as a sacrifice for his own. Yes! the shaft that had pierced through the neck of Fingal was designed for Rodolph's breast; and he who cast it deemed that it had found its intended mark, when, through the bushes, he saw the white man's form bend quickly and suddenly to the ground. Then Coubitant fled exultingly, and his savage heart beat high with joy and triumph.
But Rodolph thought not of him, or of his malice. He only saw his faithful dog expiring at his side, and knew that he had no power to aid him. It was evident that the arrow was poisoned, for the wound, otherwise, appeared too slight to be mortal; and the foam that gathered on Fingal's jaws, and the convulsive struggle that shook his form, showed too plainly that his sufferings would soon be over. The companions of Rodolph urged him to join them in instant flight; for they felt the peril of their present situation, where the surrounding thicket gave such ample opportunity to their lurking foes to take a deadly aim, while, at the same time, it prevented them from either discovering or pursuing their assailants. But all their arguments, and all their entreaties, were unavailing so long as Fingal continued to lick his master's caressing hand, and to reply to his well-known voice, by looks of intelligent affection.
Soon, however, his head sank powerless on Rodolph's knee, and the bright glance of his eye faded away, and life and motion ceased. Was it unmanly in his master to brush a tear from his eye, as he rose from the ground, and turned away one moment from the lifeless form of his favorite?
I will not leave him here,' he said. 'The savages shall not mangle his body, as they would gladly have mangled mine. His death has saved my life; and all that remains of him shall be carried to a place of safety, and buried beyond the reach of those who slew him.'
'Yes,' replied Squanto readily—for he desired the removal of the dog from that spot, for other reasons beside the gratification of Maitland's feelings—' Yes; we will carry him away, and hide him from Coubitants eyes. Doubtless he will return here, as soon as all is quiet, to see the success of his murderous attempt; and when he finds the path thus stained with blood, he will be satisfied, and pursue us no further than to see whether we bury our dead companion in the forest, or bear him to his home. We must, therefore, carry Fingal all the way to New Plymouth, lest he should follow on our trail, and discover that he has only slain a dog.
Rodolph's English companions concurred in this view, and willingly lent their aid to convey the body of Fingal from the place of his death. A couple of poles were cut hastily, and a rude light litter was formed; for Squanto wished that Coubitant should find traces of such preparations, as they would help to convince him that they had thus borne away the wounded or dead form of the ambassador.
'Now,' said he, when all was ready, 'not another moment must be lost. Even now the keen eye of the foe may be upon us, and our stratagem may be in vain. Two of you must bear the litter, and must carefully place your feet in the same spot, so as to form but one track; and lead our pursuers to believe that only three men have passed along. And there, throw that bloody handkerchief on the path, and Coubitant will take it as a trophy of success. Stay, he exclaimed, as Rodolph and one of his friends were about to raise the lifeless form of Fingal from the ground 'stay one moment, and I will completely deceive that deceiver.'
He smiled as he spoke, for he felt it a pleasure and a triumph to outwit the wily Coubitant. Then, while the body of the dog was supported, he carefully pressed his feet on the soft path, so as to leave a distinct impression, and convince any who should examine the trail that it was not the dog who had been wounded. This cunning device he practiced again and again until they had passed through the wood, and entered the grassy meadow, where such precautions were no longer needed. Then the party quickened their steps, and paused not again until they had struck deeply into the forest that succeeded to the undulating reach of meadowland.
The way seemed long to Rodolph. He desired to reach his cherished home; and yet he dreaded to return and sadden the heart of his little Edith with the story of Fingal's death, and the sight of the inanimate form of her last and much-loved playfellow. Had it not been for this catastrophe, he would have kept from his wife and child the knowledge of the cruel attempt that had been made on his life as such knowledge could only distress them, and cause them needless anxiety and alarm in future. But the death of Fingal must be accounted for; and, let the consequence be what it might, it must be accounted for truly, and without prevarication. Therefore it was that Rodolph dreaded meeting those whose presence was the joy and the sunlight of his life.
He reached his home, and silently entered his blooming garden; and, with Squanto's assistance, laid the body of Fingal, now cold and stiff, beneath the venerable tree that shaded Edith's bower. Then he entered his dwelling, and found its inmates busily employed at their usual domestic occupations, and overjoyed at his sudden and unexpected arrival. But, in spite of his own pleasure, a shade of sadness and anxiety was on his brow, which he could not hide from the quick eye of Helen; and she eagerly inquired the cause.
Sadly Rodolph told his story; and joy and deep gratitude for the preservation of her beloved husband so filled and engrossed the heart of Helen, as, for a time, to overpower every feeling of regret for the loss of the faithful animal, who seemed to have been providentially directed to accompany his master, and save his life at the sacrifice of his own.
But Edith keenly felt the loss she had sustained. She was thankful— very thankful—that her father had been restored to their home in safety; but she did not the less deplore the death of her dear companion: and, unable to restrain her tears, she hurried from the house, and ran to hide her grief in her lonely bower. For some time her parents did not perceive her absence, for they were occupied with their own feelings of pious gratitude; but presently Rodolph remarked that she had left the room, and remembered where he had deposited the body of her favorite. He rose, and went towards the spot, accompanied by Helen; and tears of sorrowful sympathy arose in the eyes of both, as they beheld the desolate child lying on the ground by Fingals side, with her arms around his neck, and her long waving hair hanging over his inanimate face, that had never before met her gaze without an answering look of intelligence and affection.
Gently they raised her, and spoke to her words of love and comfort; but she long refused to be comforted. And though, at length, she became calm and resigned, and never was heard to utter one murmur at this fresh stroke of sorrow, yet her pensive sadness became more confirmed, and plainly showed that she mourned for Fingal, not only as her lost companion, but also as a connecting link between her own heart and the memory of her lamented brother. Poor Edith! her early life was one of trial and disappointment; but it was good for her to be afflicted.'
'O Christian warriors! wherefore did you thusForget the precepts of your Lord and Chief,And lend yourselves to deeds of guilt and blood!Did ye not know—or, knowing, did not heed—Those solemn words of His, when death was nigh,And He bequeathed alegacy of "peace"To His disciples? They that take the swordShall perish with the sword. O, well it wereIf ye who left your native land, and soughtA desert for the liberty of faith,Had acted more according to that faith,And sought to win the souls you rashly sentTo meet their God and yours!' ANON.
Yes, well, indeed, lied it been if the settlers had been able and willing to preserve, unbroken, the friendly relations with the Indians, which, after the first natural distrust felt by the natives towards the white strangers had subsided, they were, in several instances, able to establish. But such was not the case. They received many provocations from the natives, even from those who professed to be most friendly towards them, and also from the settlers who followed them from the mother-country; and they did not always meet these provocations in the truly Christian spirit which, it must be allowed, generally pervaded their councils, and actuated their public and private proceedings with the wild tribes by whom they were surrounded.
Even Masasoyt—their friend and ally—was about this time nearly estranged from them, and on the point of joining the Narragansetts in a project for their destruction. This change in his sentiments was the result of the machinations of Coubitant, assisted by the foolish pretensions and love of interference which rendered Squanto almost as dangerous as he was useful to his employers. His boasting tales about the power of the English settlers to imprison and to let loose the desolating plague at their will and pleasure, had been told to the Sagamore of the Wampanoges, as well as to Coubitant and Miantonomo; and suspicions had arisen in the breast of Masasoyt, which he vainly strove to infuse into his more enlightened and trustworthy son, Mooanam. Nothing that his father could say had any effect in weakening the friendship entertained by the young Sachem, and his brother Quadequina, towards the emigrants; and it was owing to this steady friendship that they were made acquainted with the altered feelings of the Sagamore in time to prevent their ripening into open hostility.
Mooanam communicated to the President the doubts and suspicions that had taken possession of his father's mind, and advised him immediately to send the faithful and devoted Hobomak to Packanokick, to endeavor to remove the evil impression, and restore his confidence in the Pilgrim Fathers. He also convinced both Bradford and his council that the conspiracy which Squanto had represented as already formed, and only waiting the concurrence of Masasoyt to be carried into deadly effect, was as yet in its infancy, and might, by judicious management, be altogether broken up. The Pokanokit interpreter had greatly exaggerated, in his report to the Governor, all that he had heard from Coubitant while at the Narragansett village; and had persuaded him, in spite of the opinion expressed by Rodolph, to believe not only that he and his people had been cursed by the Powows, but also that the tribes to which these satanic conjurors belonged were uniting for the common purpose of attacking and destroying the British settlement.
All this was done by Squanto, with no serious intention of injuring his new friends, but from a vain desire to make himself important, and show the extent of his knowledge and sagacity. His vanity was, however, very near proving fatal to him: for when the trusty Hobomak had explained to the Sagamore the real motives and intentions of the settlers towards the natives, and had convinced him that all the strange and mysterious stories that Squanto delighted to tell were either pure inventions or gross exaggerations, a second change was effected in the old Chief's feelings, and he sent to demand that the faithless interpreter should be immediately delivered up to him.
The Governor was extremely reluctant to comply with this demand, as he well knew how cruel and how summary were the judgements of the native Chiefs; and he, as well as the whole of the colony, felt a regard for Squanto, notwithstanding his folly and his errors. Nevertheless, the Pokanokit was a subject of the Sagamore, who had made an express stipulation in his treaty with the settlers that any of his people, who might take up their abode in the colony, should be given up to him whenever he required it; and therefore Bradford felt himself compelled to abandon Squanto to his fate.
The messengers who accompanied Hobomak on his return to New Plymouth were loaded with a quantity of valuable beaver-skins, which they laid in a pile at the Governor's feet, as a bribe to induce him to comply with Masasoyt's demand. These the Governor rejected with indignant scorn, observing that no man's life could be purchased from the English; and that if he resigned the interpreter into the power of his native sovereign, it was only because truth and justice required it, and not from any base motives either of fear or advantage.
Then the messengers approached the wretched man, who stood calmly awaiting the decision of the Governor; and he saw one of them draw from his belt the knife that Masasoyt had commanded him to plunge into the culprit's heart. But Squanto did not tremble. All the native fortitude, so characteristic of his race, was manifested in this awful moment; and the bystanders felt a respect for the Pokanokit that he had never before inspired.
Gladly would each individual have interposed to save him; and breathlessly they watched the movements of the President, whose signal was to fix the moment of Squanto's death. Bradford hesitated: the word trembled on his lips, when suddenly looking towards the sea from the summit of the Burying Hill,' on which the assembly stood, he espied a shallop bounding over the waves, and advancing directly towards the shore beneath.
He made this a pretext—certainly, not a very well grounded onefor delaying the execution of Squanto's sentence; and declared that he would not give the fatal signal until he had ascertained the object and the contents of the approaching vessel. This faltering on the part of the Governor excited great wrath in the messengers of Masasoyt; and, without any farther parley, they took up their beaver skins, and departed to their home. Squanto's forfeited life was thus providentially spared; and the conduct of Bradford was, through Mooanam's good offices, overlooked b the Sagamore. But that life was not greatly prolonged. Very soon after this event he was seized with I virulent fever, while on a short journey with the Governor, and, in spite of all the care and attention that were bestowed on him, he died, much regretted by the whole colony.
The boat, whose seasonable approach had been the means of arresting the fatal stroke, was found to have been sent from some English fishing vessels, many of which now constantly frequented the shores of New England. It conveyed to the colony an addition of several able-bodied men, who were joyfully welcomed by the settlers, as laborers were just then much wanted, both in the fields and in the increasing town. These men were sent out by an English merchant named Weston, who had long endeavored to encourage the colonization of New England; but from very different motives to those which had actuated the Pilgrim Fathers, and led them to forsake the comforts of a European home for the toils and uncertainties of an American wilderness. A desire for profit appears to have been the ruling principle in Weston's mind. He was, therefore, very indifferent as to the moral character of the men whom he sent out to join the emigrants, and was only solicitous to secure a quick return of the money that he had expended: and, finding that the prospect of gain from a connection with the New Plymouthers was doubtful and tardy, he had resolved to found a colony himself.
For this purpose he had, some time previously, obtained a grant of a portion of land in Massachusetts, and sent over sixty men to cultivate it, in two ships, which he placed under the command of his brother-in- law. The arrival of this fresh band of emigrants had proved a fruitful source of trouble and annoyance to the first settlers, for they were chiefly idle and profligate vagabonds, who had no settled occupation at home, and no characters to sustain. Weston himself described them in a letter to Bradford, as 'tolerably rude and profane.' And a friend of the Pilgrims wrote from England to warn them against having any connection with the new colony: and recommended them to have it distinctly explained to the Indians, that they were a new and independent society, for whose conduct and good faith they could in no way be responsible.