On Indian Hill they found a friend,
Comely Tomo, crafty chieftain,
To take their part, their cause defend
'Gainst the angry Peter Barber.
Secret was their quick departure,
In the night-time, stealing westward--
Molly, with her cloak about her,
Followed Chaugham ever closely,
O'er the Talcott Mountain speeding,
Crossing Farmington's broad meadows,
Turning northward 'gainst the river,
Till they reached an Indian village
In the foot-hills of the mountains,
Near the swiftly flowing Tunxis.
"Indian Hill," the settlers named it,
Place of Indian habitation,
Site of Chieftain Tomo's village
Twenty wigwams, ninety Indians
Busy fishing in the river,
Busy hunting in the forest,
Busy farming on the upland.
Even now we find the circles
Of their hearth-stones on the hill-side.
South by west Nepaug resided.
Old and ugly was this chieftain,
Short and small, wearing ear-rings,
Gave his name to stream and village.
South by east, beneath the oak trees,
Where a winding brook made music,
Stood Waquakeag's wee village
Chief Waquakeag, called Cherry,
Still remembered in the murmur
Of the Cherry Brook's clear water.
Up the stream from Cherry's wigwam
Lived the Indian chieftain, Quinnaug,
With his little tribe about him
On the site of Canton Center,
Where are store and church and chapel.
Northward from, the home of Quinnaug,
Midst the rocks beside the mountain,
Was a group of Indian wigwams,
Home of Crump, a quiet chieftain,
With his Indian friends around him.
Even now we find his ovens
And the circles of his hearth stones.
Thus we find it in the records,
In the records of the Town of Canton.
In those days now dim and distant,
Ere the settlers came to Canton,
Sturdy farmers from Massacoe
Traveled westward to the river,
Viewed the land and found it fertile,
Ploughed and planted in the "Hop Yard "
All had loaded muskets handy,
And a guard was ever watching,
Lest the lurking Indian scalp them
Often in the lonely night-time,
In their little shelter eastward,
Where is now the cemetery,
Lonely Dyer Cemetery,
Oldest in the Town of Canton,
Where to-day the silent tomb stones
Stand like Ghosts in silver moon-light,
Wakeful sentries heard the tom-tom
In the hands of crafty Tomo
Beating softly like an echo,
Send a message to his watchers
Up and down the Tunxis River,
On the low-lands and the hill-sides
Then they heard a loon replying,
As he flew along the river.
On the hill an owl was hooting,
And a fox was somewhere barking.
Far away a wolf was howling,
As he wandered through the forest.
Close at hand a bird was singing
"Whip-poor-will," in rhythmic measure,
Singing by the hill-side shelter,
"Whip-poor-will," in softer accents,
Like an echo from the misty lowlands,
Till the air was filled with music.
These were scouts of crafty Tomo,
To their chieftain thus replying,
Telling him of all adventures,
As they scouted by the river,
As they glided through the forest,
As they watched the early settlers,
As they listened in the darkness,
Lest some foe approach the village.
To this little Indian village,
Twenty wigwams in a circle,
Midst the foot-hills of the mountains,
Came fair Peter Barber's daughter
And her Indian husband, Chaugham.
For a moon and more they tarried,
Tarried with these friendly Indians
Living in their twenty wigwams,
Oval houses midst the forest,
Lofty pine trees, oaks and hemlocks
On the westward sloping hill-sides,
Looking eastward to the sunrise,
Looking westward to the sunset.
Lying west of Indian Hill-top,
'Twixt the river and the village,
Was an open, rolling up-land,
Cultivated by the Indians
In those days now dim and distant.
Here the golden corn was planted
In the soft and pleasant spring-time.
Here the golden ears were gathered
When the harvest moon was yellow.
Sheltered from the winds of winter
Were the twenty Indian wigwams
By the circle of the mountains,
Rising westward, northward, eastward,
And beyond the rolling up-land,
Was an inlet from the river,
From the swiftly flowing Tunxis.
Still and deep this inlet water
Where the trout were ever plenty
In the cove below the meadows
'Neath the bank so steep and rugged.
In the warm and pleasant summer,
Here canoes were safely floating.
Farther westward rolled the Tunxis,
And the ripple of the waters
Ever filled the place with music.
Where this Tunxis tribe of Indians
Dwelt in peace upon the hill-side,
Have been found their pots for cooking,
And their hatchets, knives and arrows
Made of stone from Hedgehog Mountain.
Where the Indians built their wigwams,
Safely hidden midst the mountains,
Guarded by the Tunxis River,
Now the whiteman has his cabins,
Summer cabins near the river,
Sheltered by the ancient forest,
Midst the glory of the sunrise
And the splendor of the sunset.
Where the light canoes were floating
Are the wild ducks swimming, diving.
And above the pines and hemlocks
Crows are calling through the seasons.
Dressed in dirty Indian fashion,
Chaugham mingled with the others,
Seemed a member of the village.
Molly, stained all dark and dusky,
Crudely clothed in Indian garments,
And her hair all greased and blackened,
Combed out straight as was the custom
Practiced by the Indian women,
Carried water from the river,
Pounded corn and mended blankets,
Seemed a simple Indian woman.
Thus they dwelt among, the Indians,
Thus they tarried in the village.
For a moon and more they lingered
Waiting for the dread pursuers,
Sent by angry Peter Barber,
Hunting by the Central River,
Hunting up and down the meadows,
Hunting eastward towards the sunrise,
Hunting through the western woodlands,
Hunting for his wayward daughter.
18. ANSWERED THEN THE SHERIFF, SAYING,
'WE HAVE COME TO CAPTURE WHITE GIRL'
The Constable and Sheriff came
To the little Indian village
Presenting Peter Barber's claim
For his wayward daughter, Molly.
Slowly through the gloomy forests,
From the Mighty Central River,
Came the Constable and Sheriff--
Seen afar and soon reported
By the faithful scouts of Tomo-
Sent by angry Peter Barber
And the money he had promised,
If they caught his wayward daughter.
When the sun was high at midday,
Shining warmly in the valley,
In the valley of the Tunxis,
Came they to the Indian village.
Tomo met them by his wigwam,
Asked their names and all their business
In the peaceful Indian village.
Answered then the Sheriff, saying,
"We are Constable and Sheriff
From the Mighty Central River,
Sent by angry Peter Barber,
Hunting for his wayward daughter
Fleeing from her father's wigwam
With her Indian husband, Chaugham.
"We have come to capture White Girl,
Pretty White Girl, Molly Barber,
Long and golden are her tresses,
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders.
Fair and white the youthful maiden,
Like the lilies in the springtime.
"Chieftain Tomo, have you seen her?
With her Indian husband, Chaugham?
Is she hiding in your village?"
Slowly spoke the stately Tomo,
"This a peaceful Indian village,
And your questions shall be answered.
All we have we show you gladly,
All our people and our wigwams."
Then the chieftain called his people,
Beat the drum that called assembly.
O'er the hills and through the valley,
Rolled the urgent call of Tomo--
"Gather 'round me, O My People,
Quickly let the tribe assemble,
For the Sheriff seeks a White Girl."
Gathered then the Indian people
From the twenty sombre wigwams,
From the hunting in the forest,
From the fishing in the river,
From the scouting in the valley.
When the tribe had thus assembled,
In the space before the wigwams,
Spake the chieftain, crafty Tomo,--
"Ne-top-ki-ki-ta, Ski-dem-bak.
Harken unto me, My People,
Here are Constable and Sheriff
From the Mighty Central River,
Looking for a pretty White Girl,
Lovely White Girl, Molly Barber.
Golden yellow are her tresses
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders,
Lovely White Girl, Molly Barber,
Fleeing from her father's wigwam,
With her Indian husband, Chaugham.
"Listen well and look around you,
For the Constable and Sheriff
Think she's hiding in our village.
Have you seen her, O My People?
Pretty White Girl, Molly Barber,
With her golden, yellow tresses
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders?
Have you seen her? Have you seen her
By the river, in the forest?
Is she with us in the village?
"If you see her, quickly tell me
And I'll send her to her father."
When the chief had finished speaking,
No one moved and no one answered.
All were silent in the village.
Looking o'er his loyal people,
Viewing all the upturned faces,
Slowly spoke the crafty Tomo,--
"I-no-see,-I-no-see-White-Girl-
With-her-golden-yellow-tresses-
Banked-in-ringlets-o'er-her-shoulders."
Then in solemn, stately accents,
Spake the chieftain, crafty Tomo,
To the Constable and Sheriff,
"Go and search my people's wigwams,
Look in all the secret places.
If you find White Girl, you catch her,
Take her to her angry father."
Then the Constable and Sheriff
Hastened to the Indian dwellings,
Eagerly they searched each wigwam,
Leaving all the contents scattered,
But they found no White Girl hidden,
Found no White Girl's shoes or clothing,
Found no tracks or trace of White Girl.
All the time the heart of Molly
Beat in silent fear and terror,
As she waited with the others,
Lest her father's hunters find her,
Lest they take her to her father.
When the anxious hunt was ended,
When the Constable and Sheriff
Had departed empty handed,
Had departed sadly homeward--
Followed by the scouts 'of Tomo,
Lest they circle and, returning,
Creep in darkness near the village,
Thinking Tomo may have tricked them,
Hoping still to find the daughter
Of the angry Peter Barber,
Then the people of the village
Put their wigwams all in order,
Sought their usual occupations
'Till the sun, all low descending,
Warned them Of the gloomy twilight,
And the coming of the darkness,
With the need of peaceful slumber.
So they ate their frugal supper,
Fish from out the Tunxis River,
Squirrels from the lonely forest--
Speaking as they ate their supper,
Oft of Molly and of Chaugham,
And the visit of the sheriff.
Whispered words of praise for Tomo,
"Mighty Tomo, Crafty Chieftain,
Always speaking words of wisdom."
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the wary scouts who listened,
Watching through the night-time,
Watching by the Tunxis River,
Watching on the lonely hill-side.
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the kindly Chieftain, Tomo,
At the door-way of his wigwam,
With the Narraganset, Chaugham,
Talking, planning for the morrow-
How to further aid the couple,
How to hide them ever safely,
In some lonely mountain fastness,
Where the angry Peter Barber,
Ever searching, couldn't find them--
All the time the kindly Chieftain
Listened to his scouts reporting,
From the hill-side and the river--
"Whip-poor-will" a bird was singing--
"All is well along the hill-side,"
And a loon was softly calling--
"All is well along the river."
When the morning sun was shining,
Molly Barber and her husband,
With the aid of Tomo's sannups
Bearing axes and equipment,
Hastened northward through the forest,
Ever near the Tunxis River,
To the side of Ragged Mountain,
In the town of fair Barkhamsted,
And beside the sparkling river
Found a place for habitation,
Builded there a lonely cabin,
Midst the trees beside the mountain,
Built a cabin in the Greenwoods,
Deep within the gloomy shadows.
First of all the early cabins
Built within Barkhamsted borders,
Strong and sturdy was this cabin,
Built of logs of oak and hemlock,
Home of Molly and of Chaugham,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
Catamounts and bears and panthers
Sniffed around the lonely cabin
In the dark and dreary night-time.
Molly feared these forest creatures,
Feared they'd break the fragile windows,
Feared they'd enter through the windows,
Feared they'd kill herself and Chaugham.
Many sleepless nights she trembled
At the howling of the wolf-pack
In the valley by the Tunxis.
Oft she thought of home and mother
By the mighty Central River,
But her courage did not fail her
When she thought of Peter Barber
And his cruel, angry shouting.
Oft she whispered in the darkness,
"Better fear the catamountains,
Better face the bears and panthers,
Better hear the wild wolves howling
Than an angry father shouting,
Or reside within the shadow
Of his dark and gloomy presence."
For a hundred years this cabin
Stood beside the Tunxis River,
By the famous Tunxis River,
River nam,ed for Tunxis Indians,
Calm and peaceful Indians dwelling
In their Farmington round houses,
And the term, "The Tunxis River,"
Signifies, in Indian accents,
"Beautiful and rapid river."