"One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is, the madman:--"
Midsummer-Night's Dream.
On quitting the hill, Philip had summoned his Wampanoags, and, supported
by the obedient and fierce Annawon, a savage that might, under better
auspices, have proved a worthy lieutenant to Caesar, he left the fields of
Wish-Ton-Wish. Accustomed to see these sudden outbreakings of temper in
their leaders, the followers of Conanchet, who would have preserved their
air of composure under far more trying circumstances, saw him depart,
equally without question and without alarm. But when their own Sachem
appeared on the ground which was still red with the blood of the
combatants, and made known his intention to abandon a conquest that seemed
more than half achieved, he was not heard without murmuring. The authority
of an Indian Chief is far from despotic, and though there is reason to
think it is often aided, if not generated, by the accidental causes of
birth and descent, it receives its main support in the personal qualities
of him who rules. Happily for the Narragansett leader, even his renowned
father, the hapless Miantonimoh, had not purchased a higher name for
wisdom, or for daring, than that which had been fairly won by his still
youthful son. The savage humors and the rankling desire for vengeance in
the boldest of his subalterns, were made to quail before the menacing
glances of an eye that seldom threatened without performance; nor was
there one of them all, when challenged to come forth to brave the anger
or to oppose the eloquence of his chief, who did not shrink from a contest
which habitual respect had taught them to believe would be far too unequal
for success. Within less than an hour after Ruth had clasped her child to
her bosom the invaders had altogether disappeared. The dead of their party
were withdrawn and concealed, with all the usual care, in order that no
scalp of a warrior might be left in the hands of his enemies.
It was not unusual for the Indians to retire satisfied with the results of
their first blow. So much of their military success was dependent on
surprise, that it oftener happened the retreat commenced with its failure,
than that victory was obtained by perseverance.
So long as the battle raged, their courage was equal to all its dangers;
but among people who made so great a merit of artifice, it is not at all
surprising that they seldom put more to the hazard than was justified by
the most severe discretion. When it was known, therefore, that the foe had
disappeared in the forest, the inhabitants of the village were more ready
to believe the movement was the result of their own manful resistance,
than to seek motives that might not prove so soothing to their
self-esteem. The retreat was thought to be quite in rule, and though
prudence forbade pursuit, able and well-limbed scouts were sent on their
trail, as well to prevent a renewal of the surprise, as to enable the
forces of the Colony to know the tribe of their enemies, and the direction
which they had taken.
Then came a scene of solemn ceremonies and of deep affliction. Though the
parties led by Dudley and the Lieutenant had been so fortunate as to
escape with a few immaterial wounds, the soldiers headed by Content, with
the exception of those already named, had fallen to a man. Death had
struck, at a blow, twenty of the most efficient individuals, out of that
isolated and simple community. Under circumstances in which victory was so
barren and so dearly bought, sorrow was a feeling far stronger than
rejoicing. Exultation took the aspect of humility, and while men were
conscious of their well-deserving, they were the more sensible of their
dependence on a power they could neither influence nor comprehend. The
characteristic opinions of the religionists became still more exalted, and
the close of the day was quite as remarkable for an exhibition of the
peculiarly exaggerated impressions of the Colonists, as its opening had
been frightful in violence and blood.
When one of the more active of the runners returned with the news that the
Indians had retired through the forest with a broad trail, a sure sign
that they meditated no further concealment near the valley, and that they
had already been traced many miles on their retreat, the villagers
returned to their usual habitations. The dead were then distributed among
those who claimed the nearest right to the performance of the last duties
of affection; and it might have been truly said, that mourning had taken
up its abode in nearly every dwelling. The ties of blood were so general
in a society thus limited, and, where they failed, the charities of life
were so intimate and so natural, that not an individual of them all
escaped, without feeling that the events of the day had robbed him, for
ever, of some one on whom he was partially dependent for comfort or
happiness.
As the day drew towards its close, the little bell again summoned the
congregation to the church. On this solemn occasion, but few of those who
still lived to hear its sounds were absent. The moment when Meek arose for
prayer was one of general and intense feeling. The places so lately
occupied by those who had fallen were now empty, and they resembled so
many eloquent blanks in the description of what had passed, expressing far
more than any language could impart. The appeal of the divine was in his
usual strain of sublimated piety, mysterious insights into the hidden
purposes of Providence being strangely blended with the more intelligible
wants and passions of man. While he gave Heaven the glory of the victory,
he spoke with a lofty and pretending humility of the instruments of its
power; and although seemingly willing to acknowledge that his people
abundantly deserved the heavy blow which had alighted on them, there was
an evident impatience of the agents by which it had been inflicted. The
principles of the sectarian were so singularly qualified by the feelings
of the borderer, that one subtle in argument would have found little
difficulty in detecting flaws in the reasoning of this zealot; but as so
much was obscured by metaphysical mists, and so much was left for the
generalities of doctrine, his hearers, without an exception, made such an
application of what he uttered, as apparently rendered every mind
satisfied.
The sermon was as extemporaneous as the prayer, if any thing can come
extempore from a mind so drilled and fortified in opinion. It contained
much the same matter, delivered a little less in the form of an
apostrophe. The stricken congregation, while they were encouraged with the
belief that they were vessels set apart for some great and glorious end of
Providence, were plainly told that they merited far heavier affliction
than this which had now befallen; and they were reminded that it was their
duty to desire even condemnation, that he who framed the heavens and the
earth might be glorified! Then they heard comfortable conclusions, which
might reasonably teach them to expect, that though in the abstract such
were the obligations of the real Christian, there was good reason to think
that all who listened to doctrines so pure would be remembered with an
especial favor.
So useful a servant of the temple as Meek Wolfe did not forget the
practical application of his subject. It is true, that no visible emblem
of the cross was shown to excite his hearers, nor were they stimulated to
loosen blood-hounds on the trail of their enemies; but the former was kept
sufficiently before the mind's eye by constant allusions to its merits,
and the Indians were pointed at as the instruments by which the great
father of evil hoped to prevent 'the wilderness from blossoming like the
rose,' and 'yielding the sweet savors of godliness.' Philip and Conanchet
were openly denounced, by name; some dark insinuations being made, that
the person of the former was no more than the favorite tenement of Moloch;
while the hearer was left to devise a suitable spirit for the government
of the physical powers of the other, from among any of the more evil
agencies that were named in the Bible. Any doubts of the lawfulness of the
contest, that might assail tender consciences, were brushed away by a bold
and decided hand. There was no attempt at justification, however; for all
difficulties of this nature were resolved by the imperative obligations of
duty. A few ingenious allusions to the manner in which the Israelites
dispossessed the occupants of Judea, were of great service in this
particular part of the subject, since it was not difficult to convince
men, who so strongly felt the impulses of religious excitement, that they
were stimulated rightfully. Fortified by this advantage, Mr. Wolfe
manifested no desire to avoid the main question. He affirmed that if the
empire of the true faith could be established by no other means, a
circumstance which he assumed it was sufficiently apparent to all
understandings could not be done, he pronounced it the duty of young and
old, the weak and the strong, to unite in assisting to visit the former
possessors of the country with what he termed the wrath of an offended
Deity. He spoke of the fearful slaughter of the preceding winter, in which
neither years nor sex had been spared, as a triumph of the righteous
cause, and as an encouragement to persevere. Then, by a transition that
was not extraordinary in an age so remarkable for religious subtleties,
Meek returned to the more mild and obvious truths which pervade the
doctrines of him whose church he professed to uphold. His hearers were
admonished to observe lives of humility and charity, and were piously
dismissed, with his benediction, to their several homes.
The congregation quitted the building with the feelings of men who thought
themselves favored by peculiar and extraordinary intelligences with the
author of all truth, while the army of Mahomet itself was scarcely less
influenced by fanaticism than these blinded zealots. There was something
so grateful to human frailty in reconciling their resentments and their
temporal interests to their religious duties, that it should excite little
wonder when we add that most of them were fully prepared to become
ministers of vengeance in the hands of any bold leader. While the
inhabitants of the settlement were thus struggling between passions so
contradictory, the shades of evening gradually fell upon their village,
and then came darkness, with the rapid strides with which it follows the
setting of the sun in a low latitude.
Some time before the shadows of the trees were getting the grotesque and
exaggerated forms which precede the last rays of the luminary, and while
the people were still listening to their pastor, a solitary individual was
placed on a giddy eyrie, whence he might note the movements of those who
dwelt in the hamlet, without being the subject of observation himself. A
short spur of the mountain projected into the valley, on the side nearest
to the dwelling of the Heathcotes. A little tumbling brook, which the
melting of the snows and the occasionally heavy rains of the climate
periodically increased into a torrent, had worn a deep ravine in its rocky
bosom. Time, and the constant action of water, aided by the driving storms
of winter and autumn, had converted many of the different faces of this
ravine into wild-looking pictures of the residences of men. There was
however one spot, in particular, around which a closer inspection than
that which the distance of the houses in the settlement offered, might
have detected far more plausible signs of the agency of human hands, than
any that were afforded by the fancied resemblances of fantastic angles and
accidental formations.
Precisely at that point where a sweep of the mountain permitted the best
view of the valley, did the rocks assume the wildest, the most confused,
and consequently the most favorable appearance for the construction of any
residence which it was desirable should escape the curious eyes of the
settlers, at the same time that it possessed the advantage of overlooking
their proceedings. A hermit would have chosen the place as a spot suited
to distant and calm observation of the world, while it was every way
adapted to solitary reflection and ascetic devotion. All who have
journeyed through the narrow and water-worn vineyards and meadows which
are washed by the Rhone, ere that river pours its tribute into the Lake of
Leman, have seen some such site, occupied by one who has devoted his life
to seclusion and the altar, overhanging the village of St. Maurice, in the
Canton of le Valais. But there is an air of obtrusiveness in the Swiss
hermits age that did not belong to the place of which we write, since the
one is perched upon its high and narrow ledge, as if to show the world in
what dangerous and circumscribed limits God may be worshipped; while the
other sought exemption from absolute solitude, while it courted secrecy
with the most jealous caution. A small hut had been erected against the
side of the rock, in a manner that presented an oblique angle. Care had
been taken to surround it with such natural objects as left little reason
to apprehend that its real character could be known by any who did not
absolutely mount to the difficult shelf on which it stood. Light entered
into this primitive and humble abode by a window that looked into the
ravine, and a low door opened on the side next the valley. The
construction was partly of stone and partly of logs, with a roof of bark
and a chimney of mud and sticks.
One who, by his severe and gloomy brow, was a fit possessor of so secluded
a tenement, was, at the hour named, seated on a stone at the most salient
angle of the mountain, and at the place where the eye commanded the widest
and least-obstructed view of the abodes of man in the distance. Stones had
been rolled together in a manner to form a little breastwork in his front,
so that, had there been any wandering gaze sweeping over the face of the
mountain, it was far from probable that it would have detected the
presence of a man whose whole form, with the exception of the superior
parts, was so effectually concealed.
It would have been difficult to say, whether this secluded being had thus
placed himself in order to indulge in some habitual and fancied
communication with the little world of the valley, or whether, he sat at
his post in watchfulness. There was an appearance of each of these
occupations in his air; for at times his eye was melancholy and softened,
as if his spirit found pleasure in the charities natural to the species;
and at others, the brows contracted with sternness, while the lips became
more than usually compressed, like those of a man who threw himself on his
own innate resolution for support.
The solitude of the place, the air of universal quiet which reigned above,
the boundless leafy carpet over which the eye looked from that elevated
point, and the breathing stillness of the bosom of the woods, united to
give grandeur to the scene. The figure of the tenant of the ravine was as
immovable as any other object of the view. It seemed, in all but color and
expression, of stone. An elbow was leaning on the little screen in front,
and the head was supported by a hand. At the distance of an arrow's
flight, the eye might readily have supposed it no more than another of the
accidental imitations which had been worn in the rock by the changes of
centuries. An hour passed, and scarce a limb had been changed, or a muscle
relieved. Either contemplation, or the patient awaiting of some looked-for
event, appeared to suspend the ordinary functions of life. At length, an
interruption occurred to this extraordinary inaction. A rustling, not
louder than that which would have been made by the leap of a squirrel, was
first heard in the bushes above; it was succeeded by a crackling of
branches, and then a fragment of a rock came bounding down the precipice,
until it shot over the head of the still motionless hermit, and fell, with
a noise that drew a succession of echoes from the caverns of the place,
into the ravine beneath.
Notwithstanding the suddenness of this interruption, and the extraordinary
fracas with which it was accompanied, he, who might be supposed to be most
affected by it, manifested none of the usual symptoms of fear or surprise.
He listened intently, until the last sound had died away, but it was with
expectation rather than with alarm. Arising slowly, he looked warily about
him, and then walking with a quick step along the ledge which led to his
hut, he disappeared through its door. In another minute, however, he was
again seen at his former post; a short carabine, such as was then used by
mounted warriors, lying across his knee. If doubt or perplexity beset the
mind of this individual, at so palpable a sign that the solitude he
courted was in danger of being interrupted, it was not of a nature
sufficiently strong to disturb the equanimity of his aspect. A second time
the branches rustled, and the sounds proceeded from a lower part of the
precipice as if the foot that caused the disturbance was in the act of
descending. Though no one was visible the nature of the noise could no
longer be mistaken. It was evidently the tread of a human foot, for no
beast of a weight sufficient to produce so great an impression, would have
chosen to rove across a spot where the support of hands was nearly as
necessary as that of the other limbs.
"Come forward!" said he who in all but the accessories of dress and
hostile preparation might so well be termed a hermit--"I am already here."
The words were not given to the air, for one suddenly appeared on the
ledge at the side next the settlement, and within twenty feet of the
speaker. When glance met glance, the surprise which evidently took
possession of the intruder and of him who appeared to claim a better right
to be where they met, seemed mutual. The carabine of the latter, and a
musket carried by the former, fell into the dangerous line of aim at the
same instant, and An a moment they were thrown upwards again, as if a
common impulse controlled them. The resident signed to the other to draw
nigher, and, then every appearance of hostility disappeared in that sort
of familiarity which confidence begets.
"How is it," said the former to his guest, when both were calmly seated
behind the little screen of stones, "that thou hast fallen upon this
secret place? The foot of stranger hath not often trod these rocks, and no
man before thee hath ever descended the precipice."
"A moccason is sure," returned the other with Indian brevity. "My father
hath a good eye. He can see very far from the door of his lodge."
"Thou knowest that the men of my color speak often to their Good Spirit,
and they do not love to ask his favor in the highways. This place is
sacred to his holy name."
The intruder was the young Sachem of the Narragansetts, and he who,
notwithstanding this plausible apology, so palpably sought secrecy rather
than solitude was the man that has often been introduced into these pages
under the shade of mystery. The instant recognition and the mutual
confidence require no further explanation, since enough has already been
developed in the course of the narrative, to show that they were no
strangers to each other. Still the meeting had not taken place without
uneasiness on the one part, and great though admirably veiled surprise on
the other. As became his high station and lofty character, the bearing of
Conanchet betrayed none of the littleness of a vulgar curiosity. He met
his ancient acquaintance with the calm dignity of his rank, and it would
have been difficult for the most inquiring eye to have detected a
wandering glance, a single prying look, or any other sign that he deemed
the place at all extraordinary for such an interview. He listened to the
little explanation of the other, with grave courtesy, and suffered a short
time to elapse before he made any reply.
"The Manitou of the pale-men," he then said "should be pleased with my
father. His words are often in the ears of the Great Spirit! The trees and
the rocks know them."
"Like all of a sinful and fallen race," returned the stranger with the
severe air of the age, "I have much need of my askings. But why dost thou
think that my voice is so often heard in this secret place?"
The finger of Conanchet pointed to the worn rock at his feet, and his eye
glanced furtively at the beaten path which led between the spot and the
door of the lodge.
"A Yengeese hath a hard heel, but it is softer than stone. The hoof of the
deer would pass many times, to leave such a trail."
"Thou art quick of eye, Narragansett, and yet thy judgment may be
deceived. My tongue is not the only one that speaketh to the God of
my people."
The Sachem bent his head slightly, in acquiescence, as if unwilling to
press the subject. But his companion was not so easily satisfied, for he
felt the consciousness of a fruitless attempt at deception goading him to
some plausible means of quieting the suspicions of the Indian.
"That I am now alone, may be matter of pleasure or of accident," he added;
"thou knowest that this hath been a busy and a bloody day among the
pale-men, and there are dead and dying in their lodges. One who hath no
wigwam of his own may have found time to worship by himself."
"The mind is very cunning," returned Conanchet; "it can hear when the ear
is deaf--it can see when the eye is shut. My father hath spoken to the
Good Spirit, with the rest of his tribe."
As the chief concluded, he pointed significantly towards the distant
church, out of which the excited congregation we have described was
at that moment pouring into the green and little-trodden street of
the hamlet. The other appeared to understand his meaning, and, at the
same instant, to feel the folly, as well as the uselessness, of
attempting any longer to mislead one that already knew so much of his
former mode of life.
"Indian, thou sayest true," he rejoined gloomily "the mind seeth far, and
it seeth often in the bitterness of sorrow. My spirit was communing with
the spirits of those thou seest, when thy step was first heard; besides
thine own, the feet of man never mounted to this place, except it be of
those who minister to my bodily wants. Thou sayest true; the mental sight
is keen; and far beyond those distant hills, on which the last rays of the
setting sun are now shining so gloriously, doth mine often bear me in
spirit. Thou wast once my fellow-lodger, youth, and much pleasure had I in
striving to open thy young mind to the truths of our race, and to teach
thee to speak with the tongue of a Christian; but years have passed
away--hark! There cometh one up the path. Hast thou dread of a Yengeese?"
The calm mien with which Conanchet had been listening, changed to a cold
smile. His hand had felt for the lock of the musket, some time before his
companion had betrayed any consciousness of the approaching footstep; but
until questioned, no change of countenance was visible.
"Is my father afraid for his friend?" he asked, pointing in the direction
of him who approached. "Is it an armed warrior?"
"No: he cometh with the means of sustaining a burthen that must be borne,
until it pleaseth him who knoweth what is good for all his creatures to
ease me of it. It may be the parent of her thou hast this day restored to
her friends, or it may be the brother; for, at times, I owe this kindness
to different members of that worthy family."
A look of intelligence shot across the swarthy features of the chief. His
decision appeared taken. Arising, he left his weapon at the feet of his
companion, and moved swiftly along the ledge, as if to meet the intruder.
In another instant he returned, bearing a little bundle closely enveloped
in belts of richly-beaded wampum. Placing the latter gently by the side of
the old man, for time had changed the color of the solitary's hair to
gray, he said, in a low, quick voice, pointing with significance at what
he had done--
"The Messenger will not go back with an empty hand. My father is wise; he
will say what is good."
There was little time for further explanation. The door of the hut had
scarcely closed on Conanchet, before Mark Heathcote appeared at the point
where the path bent around the angle of the precipice.
"Thou knowest what hath passed, and wilt suffer me to depart with brief
discourse," said the young man, placing food at the feet of him he came to
seek; "ha! what hast here?--didst gain this in the fray of the morning?"
"It is booty that I freely bestow; take it to the house of thy father. It
is left with that object. Now tell me of the manner in which death hath
dealt with our people, for thou knowest that necessity drove me from among
them, so soon as liberty was granted."
Mark showed no disposition to gratify the other's wish. He gazed on the
bundle of Conanchet, as if his eye had never before looked on a similar
object, and keenly contending passions were playing about a brow that
was seldom as tranquil as suited the self-denying habits of the times
and country.
"It shall be done, Narragansett!" he said, speaking between his clenched
teeth; "it shall be done!" Then turning on his heel, he stalked along the
giddy path with a rapidity of stride that kept the other in fearful
suspense for his safety, until his active form had disappeared.
The recluse arose, and sought the occupant of his humble abode.
"Come forth," he said, opening the narrow door for the passage of the
Chief. "The youth hath departed with thy burthen, and thou art now alone
with an ancient associate."
Conanchet reappeared at the summons, but it was with an eye less glowing
and a brow less stern than when he entered the little cabin. As he moved
slowly to the stone he had before occupied, his step was arrested for a
moment, and a look of melancholy regret seemed to be cast at the spot
where he had laid the bundle. Conquering his feelings, however, in the
habitual self-command of his people, he resumed his seat, with the air of
one that was grave by nature, while he appeared to exert no effort in
order to preserve the admirable equanimity of his features. A long and
thoughtful silence succeeded, and then the solitary spoke.
"We have made a friend of the Narragansett Chief," he said, "and this
league with Philip is broken?"
"Yengeese," returned the other, "I am full of the blood of Sachems."
"Why should the Indian and the white do each other this violence? The
earth is large, and there is place for men of all colors and of all
nations on its surface."
"My father hath found but little," said the other, bestowing such a
cautious glance at the narrow limits of his host, as at once betrayed
the sarcastic purport of his words, while it equally bespoke the
courtesy of his mind.
"A light-minded and vain prince is seated on the throne of a once-godly
nation, Chief, and darkness has again come over a land which of late
shone with a clear and shining light! The just are made to flee from the
habitations of their infancy, and the temples of the elect are abandoned
to the abominations of idolatry. Oh England! England! when will thy cup of
bitterness be full?--when shall this judgment pass from thee? My spirit
groaneth over thy fall--yea, my inmost soul is saddened with the spectacle
of thy misery!"
Conanchet was too delicate to regard the glazed eye and flushed forehead
of the speaker, but he listened in amazement and in ignorance. Such
expressions had often met his ear before, and though his tender years had
probably prevented their producing much effect, now, that he again heard
them in his manhood, they conveyed no intelligible meaning to his mind.
Suddenly laying a finger on the knee of his companion, he said--
"The arm of my father was raised on the side of the Yengeese, to-day; yet
they give him no seat it their council-fire!"
"The sinful man, who ruleth in the island whence my people came, hath an
arm that is long as his mind is vain. Though debarred from the councils of
this valley, Chief, time hath been, when my voice was heard in councils
that struck heavily at the power of his race. These eyes have seen justice
done on him who gave existence to the double-tongued instrument of Belial,
that now governeth a rich and glorious realm!"
"My father hath taken the scalp of a great chief!"
"I helped to take his head!" returned the solitary, a ray of bitter
exultation gleaming through the habitual austerity of his brow.
"Come.--The eagle flies above the clouds, that he may move his wings
freely. The panther leaps longest on the widest plain; the biggest fish
swim in the deep water. My father cannot stretch himself between these
rocks. He is too big to lie down in a little wigwam. The woods are wide;
let him change the color of his skin, and be a gray head at the
council-fire of my nation. The warriors will listen to what he says, for
his hand hath done a strong deed!"
"It may not be--it may not be, Narragansett That which hath been generated
in the spirit, must abide, and it would be 'easier for the blackamoor to
become white, or for the leopard to change his spots,' than for one who
hath felt the power of the Lord, to cast aside his gifts. But I meet thy
proffers of amity in a charitable and forgiving spirit. My mind is ever
with my people; yet is there place for other friendships. Break then this
league with the evil-minded and turbulent Philip, and let the hatchet be
for ever buried in the path between thy village and the towns of the
Yengeese."
"Where is my village? There is a dark place near the islands on the shores
of the Great Lake; but I see no lodges."
"We will rebuild thy towns, and people them anew. Let there be peace
between us."
"My mind is ever with my people;" returned the Indian, repeating the
other's words, with an emphasis that could not be mistaken.
A long and melancholy pause succeeded; and when the conversation was
renewed, it had reference to those events which had taken place in the
fortunes of each, since the time when they were both tenants of the
block-house that stood amid the ancient habitations of the Heathcotes.
Each appeared too well to comprehend the character of the other, to
attempt any further efforts towards producing a change of purpose; and
darkness had gathered about the place, before they arose to enter the hut
of the solitary.