The Pilgrims of New England - Mrs. J. B. Webb
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The cause of this favorable decision on the part of Wattawamat was the
report that Coubitant had just sent him of the insignificant force of
the English, which that crafty and swift-footed warrior had contrived
to ascertain, by running round the border of the weed to the place
where Standish's men were at work, and taking an accurate and
unobserved survey of their numbers.
He felt convinced that it would be easy for the Chiefs, and such of
their attendants as might be allowed to follow them to the place of
conference, to overpower and destroy every one of the little band of
whites, and then to prosecute their original intention of carrying fire
and slaughter into both the British settlements. In all this scheme
there was nothing so grateful to the ruthless heart of Coubitant as the
idea of Rodolph's death; and that too, as he trusted, by his own hand.
O, how he panted for the devilish joy of tearing off his scalp, and
carrying it back to throw it triumphantly at Henrich's feet! We shall
see whether such joy was accorded to him.
Standish and his companions took their leave, and returned to the hill,
where they found great progress had been made in building the wigwam;
and two hours before sunset it was completely wattled round, leaving
only a small aperture near the top to admit light, and a narrow place
of entrance, to which a strong door was affixed.
The captain then explained his plan, which was approved by all but
Maitland; and he forbore to urge any further opposition, which, he
felt, would now be useless. A temperate meal was partaken of, and a
hymn sung by the undaunted little company; and pipes and tobacco having
been plentifully placed in the hut, the sides of which were decorated
with pieces of gay colored calico, and a few knives and trinkets, as
pretended gifts to the Chiefs, nothing remained but to await the
arrival of the victims.
Soon the Indian Chiefs, decked in all their bravery of feathers and
embroidered skins, came marching a cross the plain, followed by a few
attendants less richly adorned. Standish and his party went to meet
them, and conducted them with much courtesy to the wigwam, which was
soon obscured by the clouds of smoke that issued from the pipes of the
grave and silent assembly. But this silent gravity did not long
continue. Captain Standish addressed the Chiefs, and strove to speak
kindly to men whose deaths he was compassing all the while: but,
whether his resolution somewhat failed as the moment for the execution
of his bloody purpose drew on, or whether he was disconcerted by the
absence of Rodolph, who refused to enter the wigwam, and assist at the
slaughter, so it was that he manifested evident signs of weakness and
indecision.
The Chiefs were emboldened by this, and they were troubled by no qualms
of conscience on the subject of shedding the white men's blood. They
rose from their seats on the ground, and began to taunt the captain
with his want of eloquence, and also with the smallness of his stature,
which was despicable in their eyes. Then, growing still bolder as they
became excited, they drew their knives, and whetted them before the
eyes of their hosts: flourishing them round their heads, and boasting
how they had already shed the blood of many white men in the distant
European settlements.
It was a fearful scene: but the real peril of his situation instantly
restored the commander to his wonted resolution and firmness. He called
on his men to be ready, and not to allow one of the Chiefs to escape
from the wigwam, and with his hand on his pistols, he waited the proper
moment for action. The Indians continued to pour forth the most abusive
epithets: but they did not begin the expected attack, and it was
evident that they were a little intimidated by the undaunted bearing of
the white men. One of them, however, seemed actuated by some desperate
purpose, and to be regardless of aught else. From the moment of his
entrance into the wigwam, his eyes had sought some object that they did
not find: and now, in all the excitement of the approaching conflict,
his only aim seemed to be to make his way through the entrance in
search of some person on whom he desired to wreak his fury. It was
Rodolph whom Coubitant sought, and who was now, providentially, out of
his reach, and waiting the result of the deed against which he had
vainly protested.
At length the wrath of Standish broke loose. He gave the appointed
signal, and the door was closed--shutting in friends and foes in one
small field of battle, or, rather, of carnage. The scene in the dimly-
lighted wigwam was terrific; and the yells of the infuriated natives
broke, with a sickening effect, on the ears of Rodolph Maitland, who
could not consent to share in what he considered a murderous conflict,
and not an honorable war; and who yet felt as if he was deserting his
countrymen, by thus remaining inactive.
But if he felt undecided as to his proper course of action, that
indecision did not last long. In a few moments the door of the wigwam
was violently burst open, and the combatants rushed out, struggling and
bleeding, from the den of slaughter. All the white men came forth, for,
though many of them were wounded, not one had fallen. But three of the
Indians lay dead and dying on the floor of the hut; one of them being
the mangled body of Wattawamat, who was slain by Standish with his own
knife--that very knife which the savage had sharpened for the purpose
of plunging it into the heart of the white chief!
Where was Rodolph now? In the midst of the fray, fighting desperately
and successfully. The moment he saw the battle raging in open field,
and beheld the blood flowing from the wounds of his countrymen, he
forgot all else except that his strong right arm wielded a trusty
blade; and its skilful stroke soon brought another of the red warriors
to the ground, and chased away those who sought to secure their wounded
comrade. The Indians saw that they were overmatched, and that nothing
but flight could save the remainder of their party; they therefore
uttered their wild war-cry once more, and commenced a rapid retreat
down the hill, pausing several times to send back a volley of arrows on
their victorious foes; which, however, fell harmless to the earth,
though more than one was aimed at Rodolph, by the strong and skilful
hand of Coubitant.
But rest was not to be afforded to the little conquering band. While
they were securing the wounded Indian, and binding up their own wounds,
they discovered a movement in the body of savages on the other side of
the plain, and truly surmised that they were preparing to attack them
in greater numbers. Standish instantly gave orders that the Indian whom
Rodolph had brought to the ground should be hung to a neighboring tree,
which was as instantly executed; and he re-entered the tent, to make
sure that no life remained in those three who lay on its bloody floor.
All were dead: and Standish, approaching the body of the Chieftain
Wattawamat, raised his good broad sword, and at one blow severed the
head from the trunk. Then seizing the gory head by the long scalp-lock,
he carried it forth as a trophy, and desired one of his men to secure
it, and carry it back to New Plymouth.
No time remained for further parley. A band of Indians were approaching
across the plain; and Standish disdained to fly, even before such
superior numbers. Every musket and pistol was hastily loaded, and the
undaunted party marched down the hill to meet the coming foe. They met:
and in spite of the furious onset of the savages, they were again made
to feel that their undisciplined hordes were no match for the well-
aimed fire-arms of the white men, and had no power to break the order
of their steady ranks. Once more they fled, leaving another of their
number dead on the field, and they returned no more to the charge.
During all this affair, Hobomak had remained a quiet spectator of the
combat, and of the defeat of his countrymen; and now he approached the
English captain, and complacently praised his bravery and military
prowess; and he remained as devoted as ever to his Christian friends.
The triumphant soldiers returned to New Plymouth, and were received
with joyful exultation by the Governor and the inhabitants, who felt
deeply grateful for the deliverance that had been accorded to them, and
the safety of the brave men who had fought in their defense. All the
little band had been preserved from serious personal injury; but
Rodolph Maitland had also been preserved from blood-guiltiness, and
that was more to him than life and safety, and to his Christian and
devoted wife also.
The head of Wattawamat was brought to New Plymouth, and the dreadful
trophy was conspicuously placed over the entrance to the fortress, as a
warning to the natives against any future conspiracies for the
destruction of the white men. So great, indeed, was the terror inspired
by the power and the severity of the settlers, that many of the
natives--who were conscious of having been engaged in the conspiracy,
though undiscovered--left their wigwams, and fled into the woods, or
concealed themselves in reedy morasses, where a great number of them
perished from hunger and disease. The settlers were much distressed at
this result of their proceedings, which, at the same time, they
considered to have been perfectly justified by the necessity of self-
preservation. But when their venerated pastor Robinson--to whom they
had, ever since their emigration, looked for guidance and sympathy--
heard of these sad events, he expressed the deepest sorrow, and begged
them never again to be led away by the fiery temper of their leader;
adding these touching and impressive words--' How happy a thing had it
been, if you had _converted some_ before you had killed any!'
CHAPTER XV.
'A change came o'er the spirit of my dream:
The boy was sprung to manhood; to the wilds
Of distant climes he made himself a home.
And his soul drank their beauties; he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been:--on the sea,
And on the shore, he was a wanderer.' BYRON.
On the border of a green meadow, watered by a narrow stream, the
wigwams of a large Indian settlement were lighted up by the slanting
beams of the setting sun, as they shone, soft and bright, through the
tall dark pines and gently-waving birch trees beneath which the village
was erected. The deep red trunks of the ancient fir trees contrasted
beautifully with the silvery bark of the birch; and between the shadows
which were cast by the gigantic boles of these, and many other
varieties of timber, the sunbeams played on the smooth soft turf, and
illuminated a scene of peaceful joy and contentment.
Towards the center of the broken and irregular semi-circle in which the
huts were arranged, rose two wigwams, of a size and construction
superior to the rest; and around them were planted many flowering
shrubs and fruit-bearing plants, that clearly showed the habitations to
have been permanently fixed for some seasons, and to have been occupied
by persons who possessed more of good taste and forethought than are
commonly displayed by the improvident natives. Many climbing plants
also threw their luxuriant branches over the sides and roof of these
rude, but picturesque dwellings, and the brilliant blossoms hung
gracefully around the eaves and the doorway, and moved gently in the
evening breeze.
On a neatly-carved bench, in front of one of these wigwams, sat an aged
Indian Chief, and by his side a young woman, who seemed to possess all
the ease of manner and refinement of a European, but whose clear brown
skin, and glossy jet-black hair and eyes, at once showed her to be of
the same race as her venerable companion. Her dress was also Indian,
but arranged with a taste and delicacy that rendered it eminently
becoming to her graceful figure; while her hair, instead of being
either drawn up to knot on the crown of the head, or left loose and
disheveled in native fashion, was braided into a truly classical form,
and simply adorned with a beautiful white water-lily--a flower that
Oriana always loved.
Two other figures completed the group that was formed near the wigwam
door. One of them was a young man of tall end muscular form, whose
dress and richly-carved weapons would have proclaimed him to be an
Indian warrior and chieftain, had not his curling brown hair, and deep
blue eyes, spoken of a Saxon lineage. Courage and intelligence gleamed
in those fearless eyes, but no Indian fierceness or cunning were there;
and as the tall warrior stooped towards the ground, and lifted up in
his arms a laughing little child that was reclining on the mossy turf,
and tearing to pieces a handful of bright-colored flowers that his
father had gathered for him, the smile of affection and happiness that
lighted up those clear blue eyes, showed that a warm and manly heart
was there.
'Ah! Ludovico!' said the happy young father, as he fondly kissed the
child, whose azure eyes, and long black eyelashes and curling raven
hair, showed his descent both from the fair race of Britain, and
America's wild wandering children. 'Ah, Ludovico! how well I remember
your uncle, when he was a merry infant like you, and used to roll on
the grass in my sweet sister Edith's garden, and tear its gaudy
blossoms, as you do these flowers of the forest. Those were happy
days,' he added--and the bright smile of careless mirth changed to one
of pensive sadness--'yes; those were happy days that never can return.
If my sisters, and my playful little brother, yet live, they must be
changed indeed from what they were when last I saw their sweet faces on
that eventful evening, that fixed the course of my destiny. Edith must
now be a woman--a lovely woman, too; and little Ludovico a fine open-
hearted boy. And my beloved parents, too: O, that I knew they were
alive and well and that ere long they would see and bless my Oriana and
my child!'
And Henrich seated himself by the side of his young Indian wife, and
gazed in the face of his laughing boy, with an expression at once so
sad and sweet, that the child became silent and thoughtful too; and,
dropping the flowers that filled his little hands, he gently clasped
them as if in prayer, and looked long and searchingly into his father's
eyes.
'There, now you look exactly as my brother used to do when he knelt at
my mother's knee, and she taught him to lisp his evening prayer,'
exclaimed Henrich and his eyes glistened with emotion, as home, and all
its loved associations, rushed into his mind.
Oriana saw his sadness; and felt--as she often had done before on
similar occasions--a pang of painful regret, and even of jealousy,
towards those much-loved relatives whom her husband still so deeply
regretted. She laid her hand on his, and raising her large expressive
eyes to his now melancholy countenance, she gently said--
'Does Henrich still grieve that the red men stole him away from the
home of his childhood, and brought him to dwell among the forests? Is
not Oriana better to him than a sister, and are not the smiles of his
own Ludovico sweeter to his heart than even those of his little brother
used to be? And is not my father his father also? O Henrich--my own
Henrich'--she added, while she leaned her head on his shoulder, and
tears burst from her eyes, and chased each other down her clear olive
checks, to which deep emotion now gave a richer glow--'tell me, do you
wish to be set free from all the ties that bind you to our race, and
return to your own people, to dwell again with them; and, perhaps, to
lift the tomahawk, and east the spear against those who have loved you,
and cherished you so fondly? Often have you told me that your Indian
wife and child are dearer to you than all that you have left behind you
at New Plymouth. But tell it to me again! Let me hear you say again
that you are happy here, and will never desert us; for when I see that
sorrowful look in your dear eyes, and remember all you have lost, and
still are losing, to live in a wilderness with wild and savage men, my
heart misgives me; and I feel that you were never made for such a life,
and that your love is far too precious to be given for ever to an
Indian girl.'
The smile returned to Henrich's eyes, as he listened to this fond
appeal; and he almost reproached himself for ever suffering regret for
the blessings he had lost to arise in his mind, when those he still
possessed were so many and so great.
'Dear Oriana, you need not fear,' he replied, affectionately; 'I speak
the truth of my heart when I tell you that I would not exchange my
Indian home, and sacrifice my Indian squaw, and my little half-bred
son, for all the comforts and pleasures of civilized life--no, not even
to be restored to the parents I still love so dearly, and the brother
and sister who played with me in childhood. But still I yearn to look
upon their faces again, and to hear once more their words of love. I
well know how they have all mourned for me: and I know how, even after
so many years have passed, they would rejoice at finding me again!'
'Yes; they must indeed have mourned for you, Henrich. That must have
been a sad night to them when Coubitant bore you away. But I owe all
the happiness of my life to that cruel deed--and can I regret it? If my
"white brother" had not come to our camp, I should have lived and died
an ignorant Indian squaw--I should have known no thing of true
religion, or of the Christian's God--and,' continued Oriana, smiling at
her husband with a sweetness and archness of expression that made her
countenance really beautiful, 'I should never have known my Henrich.'
'Child!' said old Tisquantum, rousing himself from the half-dreamy
reverie in which he had been sitting, and enjoying the warm sunbeams as
they fell on his now feeble limbs, and long white hair. 'Child, are you
talking again of Henrich leaving us? It is wrong of you to doubt him.
My son has given me his word that he will never take you from me until
Mahneto recalls my spirit to himself, and I dwell again with my
fathers. Has he not also said that he will never leave or forsake you
and his boy? Why, then, do you make your heart sad? Henrich has never
deceived us--he has never, in all the years that he has lived in our
wigwam, and shared our wanderings, said the thing that was not: and
shall we suspect him now? No, Oriana; I trust him as I would have
trusted my own Tekoa: and had my brave boy lived he could not have been
dearer to me than Henrich is. He could not have surpassed him in
hunting or in war: he could not have guided and governed my people with
more wisdom, now that I am too old and feeble to be their leader: and
he could not have watched over my declining years with more of
gentleness and love. Henrich will never desert us: no, not if we return
to the head-quarters of our tribe near Paomet,[*] as I hope to do ere I
close my eyes in death. So long as I feared my white son would leave
us, and return to his own people, I never turned my feet towards
Paomet; for he had wound himself into my heart, and had taken Tekoa's
place there: and I saw that he had wound himself into your heart too,
my child; and I knew that he was more to us than the land of our birth.
Therefore I have kept my hunters wandering from north to south, and
from east to west, and have visited the mountains, and the prairies,
and the mighty rivers, and the great lakes; and have found a home in
all. But now our Henrich is one of us, and never will forsake us for
any others. Is he not Sachem of my warriors, and do they not look to
him as their leader and their father? No; Henrich will never leave us
now!'
[Footnote: The native name for Cape Cod, near which the main body of
the Nausetts resided.]
And the old man, who had become excited during this long harangue,
smiled at his children with love and confidence, and again leaned back
and closed his eyes, relapsing into that quiet dreamy state in which
the Indians, especially the more aged among them, are so fond of
indulging.
Tisquantum was now a very old man; and the great changes and
vicissitudes of climate and mode of life, and the severe bodily
exertions in warfare and hunting, to which he had been all his life
exposed, made him appear more advanced in years than he actually was.
Since the marriage of his daughter to the white stranger--which
occurred about three years previous to the time at which our narrative
has now arrived--he had indulged himself in an almost total cessation
from business, and from every active employment, and had resigned the
government of his followers into the able and energetic hands of his
son-in-law. Henrich was now regarded as Chieftain of that branch of the
Nausett tribe over which Tisquantum held authority; and so much had he.
made himself both loved and respected during his residence among the
red men, that all jealousy of his English origin and foreign complexion
had gradually died away, and his guidance in war or in council was
always promptly and implicitly followed.
And Henrich was happy--very happy--in his wild and wandering life. He
had passed from boyhood to manhood amid the scenery and the inhabitants
of the wilderness; and though his heart and his memory would still
frequently revert to the home of his parents, and all that he had loved
and prized of the connections and the habits of civilized life, yet he
now hardly wished to resume those habits. Indeed, had such a resumption
implied the abandoning his wife and child, and his venerable father-in-
law, no consideration would ever have induced him to think of it. He
had likewise, as Tisquantum said, on obtaining his consent to his
marriage with Oriana, solemnly promised never to take her away from him
while he lived; therefore, at present he entertained no intention of
again rejoining his countrymen, and renouncing his Indian mode of life.
Still 'the voices of his home' were often ringing in his ear by day and
by night; and the desire to know the fate of his beloved family, and
once more to behold each fondly-cherished member of it, would sometimes
come over him with an intensity that seemed to absorb every other
feeling. Then he would devise plan after plan, by which he might hope
to obtain some intelligence of the settlement, or convey to his
relatives the knowledge of his safety. But never had he yet succeeded.
Tisquantum had taken watchful care, for several years, to prevent any
such communication being effected; and it was, as we have seen mainly
with this object that he had absented himself from the rest of his
tribe, and his own former place of abode.
He had led his warriors and their families far to the north, and there
he had resided for several years; only returning occasionally to the
south-western prairies for the hunting season, and again travelling
northward when the buffalo and the elk were no longer abundant in the
plains. In all these wanderings Henrich had rejoiced; and his whole
soul had been elevated by such constant communion with the grandest
works of nature--or rather, of nature's God. He had gazed on the
stupendous cataract of Niagara, and listened to its thunders,[*] till
he felt himself in the immediate presence of Deity in all its
omnipotence.
[Footnote: O-ni-ga-rah, 'the Thunder of Waters,' is the Indian name for
these magnificent falls.]
He had crossed the mighty rivers of America, that seemed to European
eyes to be arms of the sea; and had passed in light and frail canoes
over those vast lakes that are themselves like inland oceans. And, in
the high latitudes to which the restless and apprehensive spirit of
Tisquantum had led him, he had traveled over boundless fields of snow
in the sledges of the diminutive Esquimaux, and lodged in their strange
winter-dwellings of frozen snow, that look as if they were built of the
purest alabaster, with windows of ice as clear as crystal. And
marvelously beautiful those dwellings were in Henrich's eyes, as be
passed along the many rooms, with their cold walls glittering with the
lamp-light, or glowing from the reflection of the fire of pine
branches, that burnt so brightly in the center on a hearth of stone.
Well and warmly, too, had he slept on the bedsteads of snow, that these
small northern men find so comfortable, when they have strewn them with
a thick layer of pine boughs, and covered them with an abundant supply
of deerskins. And then the lights of the north--the lovely Aurora, with
its glowing hues of crimson and yellow and violet! When this beauteous
phenomena was gleaming in the horizon, and shooting up its spires of
colored light far into the deep blue sky, bow ardently did Henrich
desire the presence of his sister--of his Edith who used to share his
every feeling, and sympathize in all him love and reverence for the
works of God! But in all those days and months and years that elapsed
between the time when we left Henrich in the hunting-grounds of the
west, and the time to which we have now carried him, Oriana had been a
sister--yes, more than a sister-to him; and she had learnt to think as
he thought, and to feel as he felt, till he used to tell her that he
almost fancied the spirit of Edith had passed into her form, and had
come to share his exile.