'The voices of my home! I hear them still!
They have been with me through the stormy night--
The blessed household voices wont to fill
My heart’s clear depths with unalloyed delight!
I hear them still unchanged; though some from earth
Are music parted, and the tones of mirth--
Wild silvery tones, that rang through days more bright,
Have died in others--yet to me they come
Singing of boyhood back!--the voices of my home!' HEMANS.
One Sabbath evening, a few months after the events related in the last
chapter, and when the short second Indian summer, that so often returns
late in the month of September, was at its height, the inhabitants of
New Plymouth were assembled at their meeting-house on 'the Burying
Hill,' and engaged at their usual devotions. None were left in their
dwellings except those whom age or sickness prevented from joining the
rest of the congregation, or those who were necessarily detained by the
care of young children.
The habitation of Rodolph Maitland was, therefore, deserted by all but
Janet, who would gladly have gone that evening to listen to the husband
of her young mistress; for Roger Williams was to lead the prayers of
the congregation, and to deliver to them the customary address. But
Edith’s little girl demanded her care; and old Janet took too much
pride and pleasure in the interesting child to repine at having the
charge of her, even though it prevented her from attending at the
meeting-house on the first occasion of Roger's officiating there since
his marriage.
Little Edith was just beginning to walk alone, and it was her delight
to play in the bright sunny garden, and pluck the gay flowers that
still bloomed there in profusion. She was thus engaged, and murmuring a
sweet but inarticulate song that her mother had attempted to teach her,
when Janet, apprehending no danger, returned for a moment to the house,
to perform some domestic duty.
Just then a stranger, followed by a large dog, entered the garden by
the wicket gate that led towards the forest, and stood silently gazing
around him, without at first observing the happy and occupied child. He
was tall and of a commanding appearance; and his costume, which was
richly ornamented in the Indian fashion, bespoke him to be a native of
high rank. But had any one closely examined his countenance, they would
have discovered beneath those long dark lashes, and clearly marked
eyebrows, the deep blue eye of the Saxon race, which was also indicated
by the rich brown hair, that, now unconcealed, waved across his manly
forehead. A keen eye would also have detected on the features of that
seeming Indian Sachem an expression of deep thought and strong emotion,
that told of old remembrances not yet obliterated, and of feelings that
belonged to home and kindred.
Yes! Henrich was, indeed, absorbed in those recollections that were
revived in his breast by the sight of objects once so familiar, but
which many years had elapsed since last he had looked on. Much was
changed: but much was still the same. The rude hut commodious log-house
that once stood on that site was now replaced by a substantial and
picturesque dwelling in the Elizabethan style of architecture, whose
deep bay windows were hung with the sweet single roses that were
natives of the woods, and other flowering plants; while wreaths of the
well-known Virginian creeper, now glowing in its scarlet hue of autumn,
climbed to the summit of the carved gables and pinnacles that
ornamented the building, and hung from thence in rich festoons.
On the front of this dwelling the evening sun fell brightly, and its
slanting beams likewise partially illuminated the garden with long
streaks of light, while other parts were thrown into strong shadow by
the trees and shrubs that grew among the flower-beds. One of these--a
noble tulip-tree--rose in the centre of the enclosure and stretched its
giant arms wide on every side. On this tree the eyes of the wanderer
rested long; and then he approached it, and stood looking wistfully
towards a bower that was situated near the old tree, and over which the
creepers fell in wild luxuriance.
Was it a tear that glittered in that warlike stranger's eye, as a ray
from the western sun fell on his face through the thick overhanging
foliage? And did those manly limbs tremble as he clasped his hands over
his face, and sank on the rustic seat beneath the tulip-tree?
'I cannot enter the house!' he exclaimed, in a low voice. 'I cannot
seek those loved ones there where once we dwelt in happiness together;
and where, perhaps, none now remain to welcome the wanderer home! O,
that some one would appear who might tell me of their fate!'
Henrich spoke to himself in his native tongue. He could not speak a
strange language in that old familiar spot; and his voice attracted the
notice of the little girl, who was now slowly moving towards him, her
hands filled with the spoils of the flower-beds. She stopped, and
gazed at the stranger, and then uttered a faint cry of fear that at
once roused Henrich from his reverie. His eyes fell on the lovely
child, and instantly his memory recalled the features and expression of
his brother Ludovico, to whom the little Edith bore a strong
resemblance.
With an irresistible impulse he sprang forward, and caught the little
girl in his arms, and sought, by caresses, to soothe her fears, and
hush her cries of terror. But those cries had caught the watchful ear
of Janet; and, with all the speed that she could use, she came running
from the house, merely anticipating that her charge had fallen down, or
was alarmed at finding herself alone.
What was, then, her terror and amazement at seeing her in the arms of
an Indian! One instant she stood rivetted to the spot, not knowing how
to act. The next she turned, and again hurried in to the house, from
whence she escaped by a back door, and sped breathlessly towards 'the
Burying Hill.' She knew that the service was over--for the last strains
of the parting hymn had been borne down by the evening breeze as she
left the house--and therefore she would find help and succor from the
returning congregation. That deep, melodious sound had been heard by
Henrich also; and it had struck a chord in his heart that vibrated
almost to agony. The stillness and abstraction of his look, as he
listened to the dying cadence, silenced the cries of the little child.
She gazed into his upturned eyes; and, possibly, she felt that those
eyes had an expression that was neither strange nor terrible--for now
she suffered the stranger to seat himself again on the bench beneath
the tulip tree, and place her gently on his knee.
Such was the picture that met the eyes of Edith, and her husband, and
parents, as they rushed into the garden, followed by the trembling and
exhausted Janet.
'My child! my Edith!’ shrieked the young mother and sprang towards the
tree. That name told a long history to the wanderer which his heart
had already guessed. The Indian warrior rose, but he did not fly. No!
he only met the terrified mother; and as he placed her child in her
trembling arms, he folded them both in his own.
In amazement and indignation at this rude action, Roger now caught his
arm, and in the Indian tongue, inquired hastily--
'Who are you? and what can cause this freedom?'
I am Henrich Maitland!' exclaimed the stranger; 'and the Lord has
brought me back to my home once more.'
Oh, the music--the thrilling, startling music--of those words to the
ears and hearts of those who bad so long believed him dead! The
surprise and joy were too intense for Helen, and she sank fainting into
the arms of her long-lost son: while Rodolph grasped his hand, and
exclaimed with deep emotion--
'Now, God be praised! my brave, my blessed son! Surely His mercies are
infinite, and His ways past finding out! Now I know why my heart
yearned so strangely towards the Indian Chief who saved my life in the
Fort of Mystic; and why his voice had such a thrilling and familiar
tone, that spoke of home, and bygone years. Look on me, my Henrich, and
say, do you not recognise the English soldier whom your generous
interference preserved from a dreadful death?'
The change in Rodolph's dress, and his own overpowering emotions, had
hitherto prevented Henrich from discovering that, in the noble-looking
man whom he was proud to call his father, he also beheld that gallant
British officer whose appearance had so powerfully attracted him in the
conflict of Fort Mystic. But when he looked into that fine countenance,
he well remembered every feature; and he wondered why he, had not known
him, even when they met so unexpectedly in the excitement of the
battle.
That was a happy hour; and, in the joy of meeting so many that he
loved, Henrich for awhile forgot that any one was missing. But soon be
looked around, as if seeking some familiar object, which did not meet
his eye. He feared to ask for Ludovico: but his father saw the
inquiring look, and guessed its import.
'He is gone!' he said, gently. 'Your brother did not remain with us
long after you had left us; and his young spirit is now where we
believed that yours had long been dwelling in peace. He would have
rejoiced to see this day, dear Henrich; for he, as well as Edith,
mourned your loss sincerely. But he is happy now, and we will not
regret him. The Lord has restored to us one of our sons in a manner so
strange, and under such extraordinary circumstances, that we can hardly
realise the blessing. Tell us, Henrich, how this has been brought
about.'
The violent agitation occasioned by such a meeting had now somewhat
subsided; and the wanderer could calmly relate the story of his
adventures, while his mother and sister sat on each side of him, gazing
fondly at his much-changed, but still familiar countenance; and the
scarcely less interested Janet seated herself on the turf, with little
Edith on her knees. Rodolph and Roger Williams also reclined on the
ground, and all were impatient for the narrative.
'Our group is not complete,' said Henrich. 'Come hither, Rodolph!' And
then, addressing his dog in the Indian language, he made him lie down
at his feet.
'Then my ears did not deceive me?' exclaimed Maitland. 'When you left
me, Henrich, in the midst of that fearful fray, I thought I heard you
pronounce my name; and the sound startled me strangely. Have you, then,
called your unconscious companion by your father's name; and in all
your wanderings, and your trials, and temptations, has that name been
dear to you?'
‘Heaven only knows _how_ dear!’ replied the Sachem. ‘The remembrance of
my parents, and all they taught me in my childhood, has been not only
my joy and consolation, but my safeguard also. You will find me very
unlearned and ignorant in all worldly knowledge, for I have had no
means of keeping up the little I had acquired. But, God be praised! I
have been kept from forgetting Him, and the Saviour in whom you taught
me to put my trust. Nor have I been quite alone in my faith. One there
is of whom I shall have much to tell you in the course of my history,
who has been, and is, my spiritual companion and support. I have had
many blessings!'
'How truly is it declared, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my
Spirit, saith the Lord"!' exclaimed Helen, as she raised her eyes in
grateful gratitude to Heaven. Now she and Rodolph felt that they had,
_indeed,_ recovered their lost son--not for time alone, but for
eternity.
Henrich's long and adventurous story was told: and so many were the
questions and the comments that it called forth, that long are it was
finished the light of day had all departed, and been replaced by the
softer rays of the unclouded moon. It was with mingled feelings of
disappointment and of gratitude, that Henrich's friends heard of his
marriage with an Indian female. But as he described her character, and
spoke of her sincere and humble faith, and of all that she had been to
him since the first day of his captivity, they became more than
reconciled to the alliance, and thanked God who had so mercifully
provided their son with such a friend and companion, to cheer his
otherwise lonely life. They, and Edith also, felt impatient to become
acquainted with this new relative, whom they were already prepared to
love; and, as she was now dwelling near Cape Cod with her father and
the rest of her tribe, they hoped to do so before the winter set in.
Henrich promised that this hope should be compiled with; but it was a
source of sorrow and disappointment to his family, when they heard that
he was pledged to the aged Tisquantum never to take his only and
beloved child from him as long as he lived. He could not, therefore,
at present change his mode of life, or take up his abode at New
Plymouth but must return to dwell with his Indian friends, and fill the
place of Tisquantum's son and representative, until the old man should
be gathered to his fathers.
The days that Henrich passed in the home of his childhood flew rapidly
away. All his old friends gathered around him to welcome him on his
unexpected return, and to offer their congratulations to his happy
parents and sister. The joy of the venerable Brewster at again
beholding his young friend and pupil, and at finding him still a
sincere and intelligent Christian, was very great; and even among those
who had never known him, his adventurous story, and his frank and
engaging manners, excited the deepest interest. Between himself and
his brother-in-law, Roger Williams, a strong and lasting friendship was
established; and when the time arrived for Henrich to return to Paomet,
Roger proposed to accompany him, and assist in escorting his wife and
child to pay their promised visit to New Plymouth. This offer was
gladly accepted; and the English minister and the Indian Chief set out
on foot. The journey was comparatively easy to men who had long been
accustomed to such toils and difficulties as both Henrich and Roger
had, for years, been inured to, and they reached Paomet very quickly.
But sorrow met them there. The first sound that fell on their ears as
they approached the village was the Indian dirge for a departing soul.
Henrich listened for a moment to catch the exact direction from whence
the ominous sound proceeded, and then darted forward with such
velocity, that Roger, active as he was, could with difficulty follow
him. Henrich hastened towards a large dwelling at the upper end of the
village; and entering the low door, he beheld a sight which, though it
filled his heart with unaffected grief, was yet, in some sense, a
relief to his fears.
It was not for his wife or child that the wail was being made. It was
Tisquantum who lay on the bed of death, and who turned his dim and
sunken eyes towards him as he passed the threshold. The old man smiled
a joyful welcome, and held out his trembling hand to greet him. And
Oriana--who was seated on the ground by her father's bedside, in an
attitude of deep and silent sorrow--sprang to her feet with a cry of
joy, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, burst into a flood
of long-suppressed tears.
'You are come at lest,' she exclaimed. 'You are come in time to see my
father die, and to receive his blessing. O, Henrich! how I have hoped
end preyed for your return. I feared you would be too late; and my
beloved father has something to confide to you--I know he has--which
will fill your soul with joy. Father,' she continued, in a calmer
voice, as she led Henrich to his side, and joined their hands in her
own--' Father, say those blessed words again. Tell your son that you
believe and love the Christian's God, and that you desire to die in
this faith.'
Henrich was surprised. He had not hoped that Tisquantum had been thus
far influenced by what he had seen and heard of the Christian religion,
and his joy was equal to his astonishment.
He looked inquiringly at the old Chief's countenance, and pressed his
withered hand. At length, in a feeble, but calm and decided voice,
Tisquantum spoke.
'My son, it is true. I have observed and listened, but I have held my
peace. When you were a boy, you talked to me of the Christian's God,
and I smiled in my soul at your ignorance. Then I found that you
believed in the Great Mahneto, and I was satisfied. But for years I
have studied your character, to find out why, young as you were, I felt
for you a respect that I never felt for any human being except my own
heroic father. At last, I understood that it was because your religion
made you true, and brave, and good, and kept you from committing any of
the crimes that I saw others guilty of. If all your nation acted as you
have done, Henrich, their coming to this land would have proved a
blessing indeed to the red men, and our people would not hate them, and
seek to destroy them, as I once sought to do. But enough of this. My
strength is failing. Henrich, your example has taught me that your God
is holy, and just, and good; it has made me feel the truth of the
Christian's religion.'
Tears of humble joy and gratitude glistened in Henrich's eyes at this
confession. He knelt beside the dying convert, and bowed his head upon
the bed; but his heart was too full to allow him to express his
thanksgivings audibly. Oriana was equally affected; but another form
knelt beside them, and another deep rich voice arose in prayer, which
was uttered fluently in the Indian language, and in which the hearts of
all present joined fervently, although the speaker was a stranger to
all but Henrich.
It was Roger Williams, who had been an unobserved witness of the
foregoing deeply interesting scene, and had listened, with deep and
grateful emotion, to the words of the expiring Chief. He now spoke the
feelings of all his auditors, and, with his wonted power and eloquence,
poured forth a fervent prayer for the aged 'babe in Christ,' and
blessed the God of all spirits that it had pleased Him, even 'in the
eleventh hour,' to call the heathen Chief into the fold of Christ.
When his prayer was finished, Henrich presented his friend and brother
to his father-in-law, and told him that, from his lips, he might bear
all that one of the Lord's most zealous and devoted ministers could
tell him of holy and eternal things. Gladly the old man availed
himself of this opportunity of obtaining instruction, end being
prepared for what he now earnestly desired--an admittance by baptism
into the once despised religion of the white men.
For this task no man was more fitted than Roger Williams. He well knew
how to deal with Indian prejudices, and bow to call forth the
affections, by the relation of the simple and touching truths of the
gospel. Tisquantum heard with a willing and teachable spirit, and he
believed, and was at peace. His life was rapidly ebbing away, and no
time was to be lost; for though he rallied a little after the arrival
of Henrich and Roger, it was evident that his time on earth could only
be counted by hours.
The following morning, therefore, at his own earnest desire, he was
baptised by Williams, in the presence of his rejoicing children, and of
Jyanough and Mailah, who formed a little congregation of sincere
Christians in the midst of an heathen population.
The venerable Chieftain did not long survive his admission into the
pale of the visible church of Christ. His strength faded hour by hour;
but he was calm and collected to the last. He gave to Henrich all his
parting directions for the government of his people, if he still
continued to live among them, and to be their Sachem. 'But,' he added,
'I know that your heart is with your own people, and that you desire to
return to your former home. I cannot blame you; for I well know the
yearning of spirit that draws a man to his kindred, and to his father’s
house. And Oriana will go with you, and make your home and your people
her own. If this is to be, then let Jyanough be Sachem in your stead.
He also is just and upright, and will guide my warriors with courage
and wisdom. There is none besides yourself to whom I could so
confidently leave them. And now, farewell, my children! May the good
God in whom you trust receive my sinful soul for His Son's sake; and
may his blessing rest on those who have led me into the truth.'
Tisquantum had been supported in his bed, while he thus took leave of
his sorrowing relatives and friends. He now lay down, and never rose
again. Neither did he utter many more words; but lay as if engaged in
thought and prayer, and occasionally fixed his failing eyes with fond
affection on his child and Henrich. At length they gently closed, and
the venerable old Chief slept the sleep of death.
Oriana's grief was deep and sincere, for she had loved her father
almost passionately; but she did not now 'sorrow as those without
hope'; and, ere long, she was calm. The funeral was conducted in the
simple manner of the Puritans; and all Tisquantum's warriors stood
respectfully and silently round his grave, while Williams addressed
them in their own language, and exhorted them to follow the example of
their departed Chief, and examine the faith of the Christians, and
embrace it to the salvation of their souls.
Not long after the death of Tisquantum, and before the severity of
winter prevented the journey being practicable, Henrich and his wife
took leave of the Nausetts, and of their Christian friends, Jyanough
and Mailah; and, accompanied by Roger Williams, and two or three Indian
attendants who desired to follow their fortunes, took their way towards
New Plymouth. Their departure from Paomet was much regretted, for they
were greatly beloved by the red men. But the promotion of Jyanough to
the Chieftainship gave general satisfaction; and there were even some
who thought it was more consistent with their dignity and independence,
to be governed by one of their own race, rather than by a pale-face,
let his personal qualities he ever so estimable.
Henrich's heart beat high when he again arrived at his father's
dwelling, and presented his wife and child to his parents and his
sister. He cast searching glances at their countenances, to read their
feelings at thus greeting an _Indian_ as their near relative; but he
saw no expression that could give him pain. On the contrary, the
native grace and beauty of Oriana, and the gentle refinement of her
manner, evidently struck them with surprise and pleasure, and made upon
them all a most favorable impression. Nor did a further acquaintance
lessen this kindly feeling. It was impossible to know Oriana, and not
to love her; and she was soon regarded as a daughter and a sister by
all her husband's relatives; while the young Ludovico was cherished and
caressed by all the household, and by none more than by his little
cousin Edith.
The Maitlands were now a happy family; and when, in the ensuing spring,
their daughter and her husband again left them to return to their
distant home at Providence, they felt they had still a daughter left to
them in the Indian wife of their beloved Henrich. This long-lost son
did not again leave them, except to pay occasional visits with Oriana
to their Nausett friends. But he fixed his permanent home at Plymouth,
where his knowledge of the Indian language and manners, and the
influence he continued to possess among the Nausetts and other
neighboring tribes, enabled him frequently to render important services
both to his own countrymen, and the red natives. His own merits,
likewise, won for him the love and respect of the settlers of New
Plymouth, who appreciated the unaffected devotion, and the simple
truthfulness, of his character; and felt that such men as Rodolph
Maitland and his son added glory to the history of 'the Pilgrim
Fathers.'
End of Project Gutenberg's The Pilgrims of New England, by Mrs. J. B. Webb