No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.
Collins.
It is rare indeed that the philosophy of a dignified Indian is so far
disturbed, as to destroy the appearance of equanimity. When Content and
the family of the Heathcotes appeared on the hill, they found the chiefs
still pacing the orchard, with the outward composure of men unmoved, and
with the gravity that was suited to their rank. Annawon, who had acted as
their conductor, caused the captives to be placed in a row, choosing the
foot of the ruin for their position, and then he patiently awaited the
moment when his superiors might be pleased to renew the examination. In
this habitual silence, there was nothing of the abject air of Asiatic
deference. It proceeded from the habit of self-command, which taught the
Indian to repress all natural emotions. A very similar effect was produced
by the religious abasement of those whom fortune had now thrown into their
power. It would have been a curious study, for one interested in the
manners of the human species, to note the difference between the calm,
physical, and perfect self-possession of the wild tenants of the forest,
and the ascetic, spiritually sustained, and yet meek submission to
Providence, that was exhibited by most of the prisoners. We say of most,
for there was an exception. The brow of young Mark still retained its
frown, and the angry character of his eye was only lost, when by chance
it lighted on the drooping form and pallid features of his mother. There
was ample time for these several and peculiar qualities to be thus
silently exhibited, many minutes passing before either of the Sachems
seemed inclined to re-commence the conference. At length Philip, or
Metacom, as we shall indifferently call him, drew near and spoke.
"This earth is a good earth," he said; "it is of many colors, to please
the eyes of him who made it. In one part it is dark, and as the worm
taketh the color of the leaf on which he crawls, there the hunters are
black; in another part it is white, and that is the part where pale-men
were born, and where they should die; or they may miss the road which
leads to their happy hunting-grounds. Many just warriors, who have been
killed on distant war-paths, still wander in the woods, because the trail
is hid, and their sight dim. It is not good to trust so much to the
cunning of--"
"Wretched and blind worshipper of Apollyon!" interrupted the Puritan, "we
are not of the idolatrous and foolish-minded! It hath been accorded to us
to know the Lord; to his chosen worshippers, all regions are alike. The
spirit can mount, equally, through snows and whirlwinds; the tempest and
the calm; from the lands of the sun, and the lands of frosts; from the
depths of the ocean, from fire, from the forest--"
He was interrupted, in his turn. At the word fire, the finger of Metacom
fell meaningly on his shoulder; and when he had ceased, for until then no
Indian would have spoken, the other gravely asked--
"And when a man of a pale skin hath gone up in the fire, can he again
walk upon earth? Is the river between this clearing and the pleasant
fields of a Yengeese so narrow, that the just men can step across it when
they please?"
"This is the conceit of one wallowing in the slough of heathenish
abominations! Child of ignorance! know that the barriers which separate
heaven from earth are impassable; for what purified being could endure the
wickedness of the flesh?"
"This is a lie of the false Pale-faces," said the wily Philip; "it is told
that the Indian might not learn their cunning, and become stronger than a
Yengeese. My father, and those with him, were once burnt in this lodge,
and now he standeth here, ready to take the tomahawk!"
"To be angered at this blasphemy, would ill denote the pity that I feel,"
said Mark, more excited at the charge of necromancy, than he was willing
to own; "and yet to-suffer so fatal an error to spread among these deluded
victims of Satan, would be neglect of duty. Thou hast heard some legend of
thy wild people, man of the Wampanoags, which may heap double perdition on
thy soul, lest thou shouldst happily be rescued from the fangs of the
deceiver. It is true, that I and mine were in exceeding jeopardy in this
tower, and that to the eyes of men without we seemed melted with the heat
of the flames; but the Lord put it into our spirits to seek refuge whither
fire could not come. The well was made the instrument of our safety, for
the fulfilment of his own inscrutable designs."
Notwithstanding the long practised and exceeding subtlety of the
listeners, they heard this simple explanation of that which they had
deemed a miracle, with a wonder that could not readily be concealed.
Delight at the excellence of the artifice was evidently the first and
common emotion of them both; nor would they yield implicit faith, until
assured, beyond a doubt, that what they heard was true. The little iron
door, which had permitted access to the well, for the ordinary domestic
purposes of the family, was still there; and it was only after each had
cast a look down the deep shaft, that he appeared satisfied of the
practicability of the deed. Then a look of triumph gleamed in the swarthy
visage of Philip, while the features of his associate expressed equally
his satisfaction and his regret. They walked apart, musing on what they
had just seen and heard; and when they spoke, it was again in the language
of their people.
"My son hath a tongue that cannot lie," observed Metacom, in a soothing,
flattering accent. "What he hath seen, he tells; and what he tells, is
true. Conanchet is not a boy, but a chief whose wisdom is gray, while his
limbs are young. Now, why shall not his people take the scalps of these
Yengeese, that they may never go any more into holes in the earth, like
cunning foxes?"
"The Sachem hath a very bloody mind," returned the young chief, quicker
than was common for men of his station. "Let the arms of the warriors
rest, till they meet the armed hands of the Yengeese, or they will be too
tired to strike heavily. My young men have taken scalps, since the sun
came over the trees, and they are satisfied--Why does Metacom look so
hard? What does my father see?"
"A dark spot in the middle of a white plain. The grass is not green; it is
red as blood. It is too dark for the blood of a Pale-face. It is the rich
blood of a great warrior. The rains cannot wash it out; it grows darker
every sun. The snows do not whiten it; it hath been there many winters.
The birds scream as they fly over it; the wolf howls; the lizards creep
another way."
"Thine eyes are getting old; fire hath blackened the place, and what thou
seest is coal."
"The fire was kindled in a well; it did not burn bright. What I see,
is blood."
"Wampanoag," rejoined Conanchet, fiercely, "I have scorched the spot with
the lodges of the Yengeese. The grave of my father is covered with scalps
taken by the hand of his son--Why does Metacom look again? What does the
chief see?"
"An Indian town burning in the midst of the snow; the young men struck
from behind; the girls screaming; the children broiling on coals, and
the old men dying like dogs! It is the village of the cowardly
Pequots--No, I see better; the Yengeese are in the country of the Great
Narragansett, and the brave Sachem is there, fighting! I shut my eyes,
for smoke blinds them!"
Conanchet heard this allusion to the recent and deplorable fate of the
principal establishment of his tribe, in sullen silence; for the desire of
revenge, which had been so fearfully awakened, seemed now to be
slumbering, if it were not entirely quelled by the agency of some
mysterious and potent feeling. He rolled his eyes gloomily, from the
apparently abstracted countenance of his artful companion, to those of the
captives, whose fate only awaited his judgment, since the band which had
that morning broken in upon the Wish-Ton-Wish was, with but few
exceptions, composed of the surviving warriors of his own powerful nation.
But, while his look was displeased, faculties that were schooled so
highly, could not easily be mistaken, in what passed, even in the most
cursory manner, before his sight.
"What sees my father, next?" he asked, with an interest he could not
control, detecting another change in the features of Metacom.
"One who is neither white nor red. A young woman, that boundeth like a
skipping fawn; who hath lived in a wigwam, doing nothing; who speaks with
two tongues; who holds her hands before the eyes of a great warrior, till
he is blind as the owl in the sun--I see her--"
Metacom paused, for at that moment a being that singularly resembled this
description appeared before him, offering the reality of the imaginary
picture he was drawing with so much irony and art.
The movement of the timid hare is scarce more hurried, or more undecided,
than that of the creature who now suddenly presented herself to the
warriors. It was apparent, by the hesitating and half-retreating step that
succeeded the light bound with which she came in view, that she dreaded to
advance, while she knew not how far it might be proper to retire. For the
first moment, she stood in a suspended and doubting posture, such as one
might suppose a creature of mist would assume ere it vanished, and then
meeting the eye of Conanchet, the uplifted foot retouched the earth, and
her whole form sunk into the modest and shrinking attitude of an Indian
girl, who stood in the presence of a Sachem of her tribe. As this female
is to enact no mean part in that which follows, the reader may be thankful
for a more minute description of her person.
The age of the stranger was under twenty. In form she rose above the usual
stature of an Indian maid, though the proportions of her person were as
light and buoyant as at all comported with the fullness that properly
belonged to her years. The limbs, seen below the folds of a short kirtle
of bright scarlet cloth, were just and tapering, even to the nicest
proportions of classic beauty; and never did foot of higher instep, and
softer roundness, grace a feathered moccason. Though the person, from the
neck to the knees, was hid by a tightly-fitting vest of calico and the
short kirtle named, enough of the shape was visible to betray outlines
that had never been injured, either by the mistaken devices of art or by
the baneful effects of toil. The skin was only visible at the hands, face,
and neck. Its lustre having been a little dimmed by exposure, a rich, rosy
tint had usurped the natural brightness of a complexion that had once
been fair even to brilliancy. The eye was full, sweet, and of a blue that
emulated the sky of evening; the brows, soft and arched; the nose,
straight, delicate, and slightly Grecian; the forehead, fuller than that
which properly belonged to a girl of the Narragansetts, but regular,
delicate, and polished; and the hair, instead of dropping in long straight
tresses of jet black, broke out of the restraints of a band of beaded
wampum, in ringlets of golden yellow.
The peculiarities that distinguished this female from the others of her
tribe, were not confined alone to the indelible marks of nature. Her step
was more elastic; her gait more erect and graceful; her foot less inwardly
inclined, and her whole movements freer and more decided than those of a
race doomed from infancy to subjection and labor. Though ornamented by
some of the prized inventions of the hated race to which she evidently
owed her birth, she had the wild and timid look of those with whom she had
grown into womanhood. Her beauty would have been remarkable in any region
of the earth, while the play of muscle, the ingenuous beaming of the eye,
and the freedom of limb and action, were such as seldom pass beyond the
years of childhood, among people who, in attempting to improve, so often
mar the works of nature.
Although the color of the eye was so very different from that which
generally belongs to one of Indian origin, the manner of its quick and
searching glance, and of the half-alarmed and yet understanding look with
which this extraordinary creature made herself mistress of the more
general character of the assemblage before which she had been summoned,
was like the half-instinctive knowledge of one accustomed to the constant
and keenest exercise of her faculties. Pointing with a finger towards
Whittal Ring, who stood a little in the background, a low, sweet voice was
heard asking, in the language of the Indians--
"Why has Conanchet sent for his woman from the woods?"
The young Sachem made no reply; an ordinary spectator could not have
detected about him even a consciousness of the speaker's presence. On the
contrary, he maintained the lofty reserve of a chief engaged in affairs of
moment. However deeply his thoughts might have been troubled, it was not
easy to trace any evidence of the state of his mind in the calmness of
features that appeared habitually immovable. For a single treacherous
instant, only, was a glance of kindness shot towards the timid and
attentive girl, and then throwing the still bloody tomahawk into the
hollow of one arm, while the hand of the other firmly grasped its handle,
he remained unchanged in feature, as he was rigid in limb. Not so, with
Philip. When the intruder first appeared, a dark and lowering gleam of
discontent gathered at his brow. It quickly changed to a look of sarcastic
and biting scorn.
"Does my brother again wish to know what I see?" he demanded, when
sufficient time had passed, after the unanswered question of the female,
to show that his companion was not disposed to answer.
"What does the Sachem of the Wampanoags now behold?" returned Conanchet,
proudly; unwilling to show that any circumstance had occurred to interrupt
the subject of their conference.
"A sight that his eyes will not believe. He sees a great tribe on the
war-path. There are many braves, and a chief whose fathers came from the
clouds. Their hands are in the air; they strike heavy blows; the arrow is
swift, and the bullet is not seen to enter, but it kills. Blood runs from
the wounds that is of the color of water. Now he does not see, but he
hears! 'Tis the scalp-whoop, and the warriors are very glad. The chiefs in
the happy hunting-grounds are coming, with joy, to meet Indians that are
killed; for they know the scalp-whoop of their children."
The expressive countenance of the young Sachem involuntarily responded to
this description of the scene through which he had just passed; and it was
impossible for one so tutored, to prevent the blood from rushing faster to
a heart that ever beat strongly with the wishes of a warrior.
"What sees my father, next?" he asked, triumph insensibly stealing into
the tones of his voice.
"A Messenger--and then he hears--the moccasons of squaws!"
"Enough;--Metacom, the women of the Narragansetts have no lodges. Their
villages are in coals, and they follow the young men for food."
"I see no deer. The hunter will not find venison in a clearing of the
Pale-faces. But the corn is full of milk; Conanchet is very hungry; he
hath sent for his woman, that he may eat!"
The fingers of that hand, which grasped the handle of the tomahawk,
appeared to bury themselves in the wood; the glittering axe itself was
slightly raised; but the fierce gleaming of resentment subsided, as the
anger of the young Sachem vanished, and a dignified calm again settled on
his countenance.
"Go, Wampanoag," he said, waving a hand proudly, as if determined to be no
longer harassed by the language of his wily associate. "My young men will
raise the whoop, when they hear my voice; and they will kill deer for
their women. Sachem, my mind is my own."
Philip answered to the look which accompanied these words, with one that
threatened vengeance; but smothering his anger, with his accustomed
wisdom, he left the hill, assuming an air that affected more of
commiseration than of resentment.
"Why has Conanchet sent for a woman from the woods?" repeated the same
soft voice, nearer to the elbow of the young Sachem, and which spoke with
less of the timidity of the sex, now that the troubled spirit of the
Indians of those regions had disappeared.
"Narra-mattah, come near;" returned the young chief, changing the deep and
proud tones in which he had addressed his restless and bold companion in
arms, to those which better suited the gentle ear for which his words were
intended. "Fear not, daughter of the morning, for those around us are of a
race used to see women at the council-fires. Now look, with an open
eye--is there anything among these trees that seemeth like an ancient
tradition? Hast ever beheld such a valley, in thy dreams? Have yonder
Pale-faces, whom the tomahawks of my young men spared, been led before
thee by the Great Spirit, in the dark night?"
The female listened, in deep attention. Her gaze was wild and uncertain,
and yet it was not absolutely without gleamings of a half-reviving
intelligence. Until that moment, she had been too much occupied in
conjecturing the subject of her visit, to regard the natural objects by
which she was surrounded: but with her attention thus directly turned upon
them, her organs of sight embraced each and all, with the discrimination
that is so remarkable in those whose faculties are quickened by danger and
necessity. Passing from side to side, her swift glances ran over the
distant hamlet, with its little fort; the buildings in the near grounds;
the soft and verdant fields; the fragrant orchard, beneath whose leafy
shades she stood, and the blackened tower, that rose in its centre, like
some gloomy memorial, placed there to remind the spectator not to trust
too fondly to the signs of peace and loveliness that reigned around.
Shaking back the ringlets that had blown about her temples, the wondering
female returned thoughtfully and in silence to her place.
"'Tis a village of the Yengeese!" she said, after a long and expressive
pause. "A Narragansett woman does not love to look at the lodges of the
hated race."
"Listen.--Lies have never entered the ears of Narra-mattah. My tongue hath
spoken like the tongue of a chief. Thou didst not come of the sumach, but
of the snow. This hand of thine is not like the hands of the women of my
tribe; it is little, for the Great Spirit did not make it for work; it is
of the color of the sky in the morning, for thy fathers were born near the
place where the sun rises. Thy blood is like spring-water. All this thou
knowest, for none have spoken false in thy ear. Speak--dost thou never see
the wigwam of thy father? Does not his voice whisper to thee, in the
language of his people?"
The female stood in the attitude which a sibyl might be supposed to
assume, while listening to the occult mandates of the mysterious oracle,
every faculty entranced and attentive.
"Why does Conanchet ask these questions of his wife? He knows what she
knows; he sees what she sees; his mind is her mind. If the Great Spirit
made her skin of a different color, he made her heart the same.
Narra-mattah will not listen to the lying language; she shuts her ears,
for there is deceit in its sounds. She tries to forget it. One tongue can
say all she wishes to speak to Conanchet; why should she look back in
dreams, when a great chief is her husband?"
The eye of the warrior, as he looked upon the ingenuous and confiding face
of the speaker, was kind to fondness. The firmness had passed away and in
its place was left the winning softness of affection, which, as it belongs
to nature, is seen, at times, in the expression of an Indian's eye, as
strongly as it is ever known to sweeten the intercourse of a more polished
condition of life.
"Girl," he said with emphasis, after a moment of thought, as if he would
recall her and himself to more important duties, "this is a war-path; all
on it are men. Thou wast like the pigeon before its wing opens, when I
brought thee from the nest; still the winds of many winters had blown upon
thee. Dost never think of the warmth and of the food of the lodge in which
thou hast past so many seasons?"
"The wigwam of Conanchet is warm; no woman of the tribe hath as many furs
as Narra-mattah."
"He is a great hunter! when they hear his moccason, the beavers lie down
to be killed! But the men of the Pale-faces hold the plow. Does not 'the
driven snow' think of those who fenced the wigwam of her father from the
cold, or of the manner in which the Yengeese live?"
His youthful and attentive wife seemed to reflect; but raising her face,
with an expression of content that could not be counterfeited, she shook
her head in the negative.
"Does she never see a fire kindled among the lodges, or hear the whoops of
warriors as they break into a settlement?"
"Many fires have been kindled before her eyes. The ashes of the
Narragansett town are not yet cold."
"Does not Narra-mattah hear her father speaking to the God of the
Yengeese? Listen--he is asking favor for his child!"
"The Great Spirit of the Narragansett has ears for his people."
"But I hear a softer voice! 'Tis a woman of the Pale-faces among her
children: cannot the daughter hear?"
Narra-mattah, or 'the driven snow,' laid her hand lightly on the arm of
the chief, and she looked wistfully and long into his face, without an
answer. The gaze seemed to deprecate the anger that might be awakened by
what she was about to reveal.
"Chief of my people," she said, encouraged by his still calm and gentle
brow, to proceed, "what a girl of the clearings sees in her dreams, shall
not be hid. It is not the lodges of her race, for the wigwam of her
husband is warmer. It is not the food and clothes of a cunning people, for
who is richer than the wife of a great chief? It is not her fathers
speaking to their Spirit, for there is none stronger than Manitou.
Narra-mattah has forgotten all: she does not wish to think of things like
these. She knows how to hate a hungry and craving race. But she sees one
that the wives of the Narragansetts do not see. She sees a woman with a
white skin; her eye looks softly on her child in her dreams; it is not an
eye, it is a tongue! It says, what does the wife of Conanchet wish?--is
she cold? here are furs--is she hungry? here is venison--is she tired? the
arms of the pale woman open, that an Indian girl may sleep. When there is
silence in the lodges, when Conanchet and his young men lie down, then
does this pale woman speak. Sachem, she does not talk of the battles of
her people, nor of the scalps that her warriors have taken, nor of the
manner in which the Pequots and Mohicans fear her tribe. She does not tell
how a young Narragansett should obey her husband, nor how the women must
keep food in the lodges for the hunters that are wearied; her tongue useth
strange words. It names a Mighty and Just Spirit it telleth of peace, and
not of war; it soundeth as one talking from the clouds; it is like the
falling of the water among rocks. Narra-mattah loves to listen, for the
words seem to her like the Wish-Ton-Wish, when he whistles in the woods."
Conanchet had fastened a look of deep and affectionate interest on the
wild and sweet countenance of the being who stood before him. She had
spoken in that attitude of earnest and natural eloquence that no art can
equal; and when she ceased, he laid a hand, in kind but melancholy
fondness, on the half-inclined and motionless head, as he answered.
"This is the bird of night, singing to its young! The Great Spirit of
thy fathers is angry, that thou livest in the lodge of a Narragansett.
His sight is too cunning to be cheated. He knows that the moccason, and
the wampum, and the robe of fur are liars; he sees the color of the
skin beneath."
"Conanchet, no;" returned the female hurriedly, and with a decision her
timidity did not give reason to expect. "He seeth farther than the skin,
and knoweth the color of the mind. He hath forgotten that one of his girls
is missing."
"It is not so. The eagle of my people was taken into the lodges of the
Pale-faces. He was young, and they taught him to sing with another tongue.
The colors of his feathers were changed, and they thought to cheat the
Manitou. But when the door was open, he spread his wings and flew back to
his nest. It is not so. What hath been done is good and what will be done
is better. Come; there is a straight path before us."
Thus saying, Conanchet motioned to his wife to follow towards the group of
captives. The foregoing dialogue had occurred in a place where the two
parties were partially concealed from each other by the ruin; but as the
distance was so trifling, the Sachem and his companion were soon
confronted with those he sought. Leaving his wife a little without the
circle, Conanchet advanced, and taking the unresisting and
half-unconscious Ruth by the arm, he led her forward. He placed the two
females in attitudes where each might look the other full in the face.
Strong emotion struggled in a countenance which, in spite of its fierce
mask of war-paint, could not entirely conceal its workings.
"See," he said in English, looking earnestly from one to the other. "The
Good Spirit is not ashamed of his work. What he hath done, he hath done;
Narragansett nor Yengeese can alter it. This is the white bird that came
from the sea," he added, touching the shoulder of Ruth lightly with a
finger, "and this the young, that she warmed under her wing."
Then, folding his arms on his naked breast, he appeared to summon his
energy, lest, in the scene that he knew must follow, his manhood might be
betrayed into some act unworthy of his name.
The captives were necessarily ignorant of the meaning of the scene which
they had just witnessed. So many strange and savage-looking forms were
constantly passing and repassing before their eyes, that the arrival of
one, more or less, was not likely to be noted. Until she heard Conanchet
speak in her native tongue, Ruth had lent no attention to the interview
between him and his wife. But the figurative language and no less
remarkable action of the Narragansett, had the effect to arouse her
suddenly, and in the most exciting manner, from her melancholy.
No child of tender age ever unexpectedly came before the eyes of Ruth
Heathcote, without painfully recalling the image of the cherub she had
lost. The playful voice of infancy never surprised her ear, without the
sound conveying a pang to the heart; nor could allusion, ever so remote,
be made to persons or events that bore resemblance to the sad incidents
of her own life, without quickening the never-dying pulses of maternal
love. No wonder, then, that when she found herself in the situation and
under the circumstances described, nature grew strong within her, and that
her mind caught glimpses, however dim and indistinct they might be, of a
truth that the reader has already anticipated. Still, a certain and
intelligible clue was wanting. Fancy had ever painted her child in the
innocence and infancy in which it had been torn from her arms; and here,
while there was so much to correspond with reasonable expectation, there
was little to answer to the long and fondly-cherished picture. The
delusion, if so holy and natural a feeling may thus be termed, had been
too deeply seated to be dispossessed at a glance. Gazing long, earnestly,
and with features that varied with every changing feeling, she held the
stranger at the length of her two arms, alike unwilling to release her
hold, or to admit her closer to a heart which might rightfully be the
property of another.
"Who art thou?" demanded the mother, in a voice that was tremulous with
the emotions of that sacred character. "Speak, mysterious and lovely
being--who art thou?"
Narra-mattah had turned a terrified and imploring look at the immovable
and calm form of the chief, as if she sought protection from him at whose
hands she had been accustomed to receive it. But a different sensation
took possession of her mind, when she heard sounds which had too often
soothed the ear of infancy, ever to be forgotten. Struggling ceased, and
her pliant form assumed the attitude of intense and entranced attention.
Her head was bent aside, as if the ear were eager to drink in a repetition
of the tones, while her bewildered and delighted eye still sought the
countenance of her husband.
"Vision of the woods!--wilt thou not answer?" continued Ruth. "If there
is reverence for the Holy One of Israel in thine heart, answer, that I may
know thee!"
"Hist! Conanchet!" murmured the wife, over whose features the glow of
pleased and wild surprise continued to deepen. "Come near, Sachem, the
Spirit that talketh to Narra-mattah in her dreams, is nigh."
"Woman of the Yengeese!" said the husband advancing with dignity to the
spot, "let the clouds blow from thy sight. Wife of a Narragansett! see
clearly. The Manitou of your race speaks strong. He telleth a mother to
know her child!"
Ruth could hesitate no longer; neither sound nor exclamation escaped her,
but as she strained the yielding frame of her recovered daughter to her
heart, it appeared as if she strove to incorporate the two bodies into
one. A cry of pleasure and astonishment drew all around her. Then came the
evidence of the power of nature when strongly awakened. Age and youth
alike acknowledged its potency, and recent alarms were overlooked in the
pure joy of such a moment. The spirit of even the lofty-minded Conanchet
was shaken. Raising the hand, at whose wrist still hung the bloody
tomahawk, he veiled his face, and, turning aside, that none might see the
weakness of so great a warrior, he wept.