nearly discomfited inhabitants. He collected them in a body, and,
assuming the command, arrayed them in the best manner for defence. He
seemed experienced and skilful in the art of war. And now the tide was
changed; the Indians in their turn were routed and fled in confusion. In
vain the chiefs attempted to rally them. A sudden panic seized the
savages; and they, precipitately, fled. After the danger was over, all
eyes were looking for the man who had so wonderfully assisted them, but
in vain—he had gone, none knew whither. Many conjectures were formed as
to who the stranger could be; some supposed it was the guardian angel of
the town—but no; it was Goffe, _the Regicide_!
His seemingly miraculous appearance at that time may be easily accounted
for. Goffe and Whalley, two of the Judges of Charles the First, were
then both secreted in the house of the Rev. Mr. Russell. Seeing the
inhabitants in danger, Goffe determined to hazard his life for those who
had so generously afforded him refuge at the risk of their own.
Amongst those of the Indians who had lain in ambush, the most eager of
all was Wawhillowa, the young chief of Nonotuck. With a disposition
naturally fierce, his intercourse with the whites had done little to
soften it, or to influence him in their favor; and since the dispute
with William Russell, over the carcass of the deer, he had been burning
with indignation and resentment. He had joined the expedition against
Hadley with his warriors, partly in the hope of meeting Russell in the
fray, and thus gratifying his revenge; and partly because his spirit
could not bear to be inactive, whilst the name of Philip was spreading
terror through New England. Emulous of the rising fame and fortunes of
the Narragansett King, he hoped, ere long, to raise for himself a name
among the tribes that should eclipse the reputation of all before him.
The English, he thought, were fit objects on which to exercise his
ambition; and, having lately conceived a strong aversion to the whole
race, he had determined to embrace the present opportunity of
signalizing himself, and venting on his enemies his hearty dislike.
The ambuscade laid for the purpose of cutting off the expected retreat
of the English, of course, utterly failed of its object; and when those
who formed it saw the ill success of their coadjutors, they began to
seek safety—each for himself as best he might. Wawhillowa disdained to
leave the field without some trophy of his valor; and, while his
associates were fleeing in every direction, he was bent on executing a
plan which would at once satisfy his animosity, and establish his
celebrity among the warriors of his tribe.
Just back of the house in which Mr. Webster resided was a small
eminence, from the top of which could be obtained a fine view of the
whole plain of Hadley. The sides of this little hill were thickly
covered with bushes, through which a narrow foot path led from the house
to its summit. To this hill had Eliza Webster repaired to witness the
contest that was raging on the plain. Wawhillowa having cautiously
approached the house, at length caught the flutter of Eliza’s white
garments through the bushes, and hastily but silently approached her.
Suddenly she was grasped by a strong and unseen hand, and her
handkerchief being pressed into her mouth effectually prevented her
screaming. The strength of the young chief was that of a giant, and
scarcely hindered by the slender form of the fair girl he bore, he
bounded like a tiger after his comrades.
Swiftly they fled, nor paused till the sun was within an hour or two of
high noon. And still Wawhillowa pressed on, bearing his fair charge, not
left far behind even by his unencumbered associates. When he considered
that there was no longer danger of pursuit, he set the poor girl on her
feet, and, removing the handkerchief from her mouth, ordered her to walk
on before him. In vain she asked him why he treated her thus—why he had
torn her from her friends and was bringing her to a cruel death—or to a
captivity worse than death. In vain she pleaded her friendship with
Tahattawa—her former intimacy even with himself; he walked on in stern
silence, and now and then by an impatient gesture, gave her to
understand that he wished her to be as taciturn as himself. With the eye
of one accustomed to the forest, the chief bent his course directly
towards the place of their encampment. Bushes and thorns often
obstructed their way; and although Eliza was wearied and sadly torn by
the briars, she even dared to threaten her foe. Not aware of the
difficulty that existed between them, and which had been the cause of
her own seizure, she warned Wawhillowa to beware of the vengeance of her
lover.
At the mention of the name of his deadly foe, the fiery savage sprang to
the side of his victim and was about to plunge his knife to her heart,
but calming the transport of his passion he spared her for a more
perfect revenge. His eye glared fiercely on her, and triumph shone in
every lineament of his features as he replied,
“I hate him! I will have his blood; his scalp shall hang up and dry in
the smoke of Wawhillowa’s wigwam. The fair Flower that loves him shall
never again see his face except it be in death. She shall never be his
wife; she shall be the Red Man’s slave—aye, a captive to the Red Man’s
bride.
In the mean time, all was consternation at the house of Mr. Webster. No
one had seen Eliza when she left the house, and her absence could be
accounted for only by the supposition that she had been slain, or
carried away captive by the Indians. The alarm spread from house to
house. The whole village was ready to pursue the enemy, and to recover
the lost one, or to revenge her death. Ah! revenge! as if the lives of
ten or of fifty of the foe could bring back one spirit that had gone!
A small but ardent band was soon organized, and ready for pursuit, with
Young Russell at its head. They struck at once upon the trail of the
Indians, and kept it without difficulty till they came to the bank of
the river at the foot of Mount Holyoke. Here all traces of their course
vanished. They had evidently entered the river; but whether they had
crossed it, or only proceeded along its margin and left it again on the
same side at a distance below could not be determined. The company here
separated, and one party crossed the river to search for the trail on
the other side, while the remaining party scoured the eastern shores,
but all in vain—no traces of the enemy could be discovered. It was
finally conjectured that they had concealed their canoes in the bushes
and trees on the side and at the foot of the mountain—and that after
their defeat they had hastened thither and embarked on the river, and
were by this time at such a distance as to defy pursuit or discovery.
Hour after hour did that little band search the country round. Some
climbed to the summit of the mountain—some went far down the broad
river—here—there—and everywhere the closest search was made—but
still without success. William now began to despair of the safety or
rescue of his betrothed. His heart grew sick—his cheek paled—and he
felt that it would be a boon to sit down and die, if he could but be
buried by the side of his lost bride. And then, as he remembered the
dispute with Wawhillowa, and the truth flashed upon him, his face
flushed with anger, his teeth became firmly set, and his breathing hard
and laborious. Again he started on—retraced the steps he had taken, and
hurried towards the island on which stood Shaomet’s tent. When he
arrived opposite the spot, not seeing a canoe at hand, he threw himself
into the river, and soon found himself, breathless and exhausted, at the
door of the old man’s wigwam. He entered abruptly—Shaomet sat alone,
quietly smoking his pipe.
“Your daughter—where is she? Where is Tahattawa?” cried William.
“I know not,” answered the old chief; “when I awoke this morning, roused
by the firing on the plain, she had already left the wigwam, and I have
not seen her since.”
“Where is Wawhillowa, the Nonotuck prince?”
“I have not seen him these many days; and yet I think he has been about
here, for Tahattawa has seen him and had a long talk with him not longer
ago than yesterday.”
“Have you heard that the Fair Flower, who used so often to visit your
tent, is lost?” asked William.
“Yes—some of your people came here to search for her,” replied the
Chief, shrugging his shoulders, “but they might have known better than
that. Shaomet is old now—his hair has turned white—his step is no
longer light and swift, or he would help you to find your poor lost one.
She was a beautiful Flower, and she and Tahattawa were the delight of
Shaomet’s old heart; but she is stolen now, and love has proved stronger
too in Tahattawa’s heart, than her affection for her poor old father.
She has left me, I fear, to follow the young chief. But he is a brave
warrior, and worthy of her love. Many of his enemies shall fall before
his eye. He has a strong arm and a steady hand, and—but here is
Tahattawa! She has not forsaken me”—and a flash of joy for a moment
kindled his sunken eye, as the light form of his daughter bounded into
the tent.
She stood for a moment panting from the effect of recent and violent
exercise. Oh! she was beautiful! The rich, red blood could clearly be
seen through the dark skin,—her eye beamed, and her swelling breast
heaved with the excitement.
“Have you seen Eliza?” eagerly asked Russell.
“Ay, she is a captive to the Nonotuck chief. I saw him seize her, and
bear her away in his arms. How bravely it was done! But she was my
sister. I would not have her die. I followed them—my step was light—he
saw me not—heard me not; I followed them to the encampment, and now I
am come to tell you where you may find her.”
“But why did you not give the alarm when you saw him seize her?”
impatiently demanded William.
The girl turned her rich dark eye full upon the speaker, as she said,
“Wawhillowa is the betrothed of Tahattawa, and should she betray the
life of her lover? No! my sister shall be safe, but the brave chief must
not die! And now promise me that you will not seek his life, and I will
lead you to your bride.”
“I promise you,” said William.
“Nay, but the promise of a _pale-face_ is easily broken; you must swear
it!”
William did as he was required, and the two immediately started to
recover the captive.
Let us return to Wawhillowa and his companions. Some six or eight miles
down the river from Hockanum island, on the east side of the range of
hills abruptly terminated by Mount Tom, and renewed again on the other
side of the Quonnecticut by Holyoke and the peaks with which it is
connected, is a sort of natural amphitheatre, enclosed on three sides by
steep and precipitous hills, and on the other, towards the river,
closely shut in by a belt of dense forest. This was the spot selected by
the Indians as a place of retreat should retreat be necessary; and
thither they had fled after the defeat at Hadley. The spot was admirably
calculated for the purpose of concealment and security. The huge grey
rocks lifting their shaggy crests far above the little plain at their
base, seemed to bid defiance to all the world around. The only way of
access to the Indian encampment was by striking through the forest that
separated it from the river.
The sun had already gone down behind those rough peaks, and the
twinkling stars, one by one appearing in the blue vault above, told that
the night had come. The pale moon was not looking on—yet it was a
bright and lovely night; too bright—oh! far too beautiful for the many
scenes of wickedness and crime that were, all over the earth, about to
be transacted under its shades!
In the amphitheatre which we have described sat the chiefs, who had that
day been in the action, in grave and solemn council. The causes of their
defeat were discussed, and it was determined that a conciliatory
offering must be made to the Great Spirit, and that the captive maid
must be the sacrifice. Wawhillowa arose, and long, and earnestly, and
even eloquently pleaded for her life. He claimed her as his own; he
wished not for her death, but chose to keep her for his slave. His suit
was unsuccessful; and when he sat down, a murmur of disapprobation was
all that he heard. The voice was unanimous against him, and he was at
last obliged to acquiesce.
New fagots were thrown upon the council fire. The dance began with slow
and measured tread. The fires blazed, and glared on the painted and
hideous countenances of the revellers, giving them an unearthly and
demon-like appearance. The march quickened, and the wild song rose up in
deep and deadly tones, and was echoed back from those high rocky hills.
The stake was driven, and Wawhillowa ordered the guard to bring forth
the victim. The man stirred not—answered not; and the chief himself
flew to the spot, burning with rage. He soon came back with inflamed
countenance, and muttering curses deep and loud. The prisoner had
fled—the savage that had been left to guard her lay weltering in his
own gore! A wild, unearthly shout of fury rent the air as the maddened
savages learned their disappointment.
We left William Russell and the Indian maid, Tahattawa, just leaving the
wigwam of her father for the rescue of Eliza Webster. They entered a
light canoe and glided swiftly down with the current of the river. As
they approached the place where the Indians were encamped, the two
travellers kept close under the western bank, to be more secure against
the observation of any one who might have been stationed as a look-out.
By six o’clock they were within a mile of the encampment, and here, by
the advice of the girl, Russell moored the canoe, and they struck into
the woods. Tahattawa, taking the lead, glided through the dense bushes
with surprising facility—so swiftly indeed, that her companion found
some difficulty in keeping her in sight, although his heart was
continually prompting him to put forth every effort. At length, just as
the shades of night began to appear, they caught a glimpse of the
council fire. They now proceeded with the utmost caution till they came
in sight of the wigwam in which the prisoner was bound. Fortunately, it
was placed on that side of the opening which was nearest them, just in
the edge of the forest. Tahattawa crept along—keeping the tent between
herself and the Indians, till she could look through a small hole in the
rear. She now motioned Russell to approach. He did so, and looking
through the opening, he saw, sitting, his lost bride, her face buried in
her hands. At the door of the tent sat a brawny Indian, who, confident
of the security of his prisoner, was gazing towards the fire and quietly
smoking his pipe.
Tahattawa quickly drew William’s knife from his belt, and, without the
least noise, cut a large piece from the thin bark-covering of the hut;
then placing the knife in Russell’s hand, she directed him by signs, to
enter, and despatch the savage. As he was passing Eliza, she raised her
head, and would have screamed, had not Tahattawa been already at her
side, and covered her mouth with her hand. At that moment the Indian
turned his head; he grasped his tomahawk, but before he could give a
blow the hot blood spurted from his heart, and he fell back and died
without a groan.
The fugitives now began, as rapidly as possible, to retrace their steps
towards the canoe, which had been left concealed about a mile up the
river. Their progress, however, was slow, and the underwood was very
thick, and all three of the party were already wearied with the toils of
the day. Still they struggled on, and, at length, succeeded in reaching
the spot where the canoe had been left, before the hideous yell that
came sweeping up the river warned them but too surely that the escape of
the prisoner, and the death of the Indian in the wigwam, had been
discovered.
Notwithstanding the fatigue of its occupants, the light bark swiftly
stemmed the broad current, its sharp prow gracefully cutting the tiny
waves as it darted on, curling the water from its path as if it
disdained to touch them. And well might it be! for that light craft held
a bold heart and a strong arm—and one too, that, had it not already
been worn out by exercise, would have laughed at pursuit. About one half
the distance between Hockanum Island, and the place from which they
started, had been gained, when they heard anew the shouts of the
Indians, and looking round they saw two canoes about a quarter of a mile
below them in active pursuit. This was but an incentive to fresh effort,
for they well knew that if they should be overtaken, instant death or
cruel tortures would be the fate awaiting two at least, perhaps all
three of the party. The Indian girl seized a paddle and applied her
strength in assisting the young man, whose own was well nigh exhausted.
This aid was not inconsiderable, for though the girl was not near as
muscular as her companion, yet her skill in managing the canoe was but
little inferior to his. They were now enabled to keep on without losing
ground, though safety was far from certain, as several miles yet
remained to be passed over, before they could hope to find assistance.
Directly in the gorge between Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom is a short
bend in the river, forming a peninsula, now familiarly called “The
Bellows,” from its supposed resemblance to that article. The distance
around this peninsula is perhaps two or three miles, while the direct
course of the river is only about fifty rods. The isthmus, connecting
the bellows with the main land, does not now exist as it did then; for,
a year or two since, the ice collecting in the river just below, the
water swept over the narrow barrier, and washing away the earth, formed
for itself a new channel many feet in depth. When the fugitives reached
this isthmus they turned the canoe towards the shore, and William,
springing out, directed the two girls to walk across the narrow strip of
land, while he should drag the light boat over to the other bank. This
was but an easy task, compared with that of impelling it against the
current, for two or three miles—while the whole distance was as
effectually gained as if they had kept the river. Fortunate was it for
them that they adopted this stratagem, and fortunate, too, that there
was no moon, and that the bushes from the foot of Holyoke here swept to
the very shore; for they had hardly crossed half way over the isthmus
before their pursuers were opposite to them, close under the western
shore. As it was they were not discovered, and the canoes in chase went
sweeping round the whole length of the stream.
Again the little party embarked, and hope began to beat strong in their
breasts. They pushed on with renewed energy, and at length their eyes
rested on the little island of Hockanum. It is always a sweet spot to
look upon, but never did it appear so beautiful to any eye as it did to
them on that night when they could just discern its dim outline.
“You are safe, Eliza, you are safe!” cried William.
But the savages below, growing fearful of being baffled in their
pursuit, were pressing on with all their strength; and the furious
Wawhillowa, in the foremost canoe, was continually urging on his men,
while he stood in the prow with his eyes eagerly strained into the dim
distance beyond.
“We are safe!” cried William; but at the moment a bullet whistled close
by his head and gave the lie to his exclamation.
As soon as the canoe touched the southern extremity of the island,
William sprang on shore, and hurrying out the females, all three
hastened to the tent of Shaomet. The old man had been in waiting for
them, and, as soon as they entered, pointed to a corner of the wigwam,
where lay a heap of fagots and a number of skins which he had prepared
as a means of concealment should concealment become necessary. William
quickly led Eliza to the spot, and placing her behind the fagots threw
the skins over the top. While he was doing this, the yells of the
Indians grew louder and more terrific, for they had now gained the
island, and were certain of their prey. William had scarcely turned away
from the corner where Eliza was concealed, when the door was thrown
violently open, and the savage features of the Nonotuck chief glared
full upon his face. Quick as thought the rifle of Shaomet was in
Russell’s hand and levelled full at the Indian’s breast.
“Hold, hold!” cried Tahattawa, “your promise—your oath!” and she
snatched at the rifle. It was too late. William had already fired, and
the tall form of Wawhillowa fell heavily to the ground. The poor girl
turned mournfully away, and, covering her face with her hands, burst
into a flood of tears.
By this time the other canoe had come up, and six or eight stout Indians
were surrounding the wigwam. They immediately drew away the body of
their chief; and, as it fell outwards, those within were uncertain
whether or not the wound was mortal. A council was now held by the
besiegers as to what mode of action should be adopted. Some proposed to
fire through the sides of the hut; others to burn it; but both of these
plans were rejected, as it would endanger the lives of Shaomet and his
daughter, which was far from being their object; for Shaomet had been a
bold and renowned chief, and still possessed much influence among the
neighboring tribes; while the beauty of the girl obtained for her an
influence and celebrity, but little less extensive than her father’s,
though of an entirely different kind. At last it was decided to burst
into the wigwam, and secure the fugitives, doing no harm to the old man
or his daughter, even though they had endeavored to give protection to
their enemy.
Whilst they were hesitating what course to pursue, William reloaded the
rifle, together with an old musket which he found hanging in the tent.
As soon as the door opened, and an Indian appeared, he fired. The shot
was effectual, but still the odds were fearful. Another and another
savage entered, and the foremost had already levelled his rifle at
William’s heart. The musket was in Shaomet’s hand; with the quickness of
his youth he brought the piece to his shoulder. It missed fire. In
another instant William Russell lay a bleeding corpse.
They immediately advanced to secure his scalp, but the old man would not
permit them.
“You have killed my friend,” said he, “in my own wigwam, and now I will
protect his body while I live. Shaomet is old now—he will soon be
buried with his fathers; you may shoot me if you will, but never shall
you take his scalp.”
All this time Tahattawa sat upon the bundle of fagots in the corner of
the tent. She spoke not—moved not. For the sake of her friend—her
_sister_ as she familiarly called her—she had perilled her own life;
nay, what was far more, the life of her betrothed. She had seen her
“_sister’s_” lover shot down—she had seen her own young chief fall, and
of course supposed him dead. Poor girl! A victim to her own benevolence
and to the evil passions of others!
The savages, casting a glance round the apartment, and perceiving no
other inmate besides Shaomet and his daughter, immediately left the
wigwam, and, taking their canoes, went silently down the river.
On the afternoon following the events above related, the little island
of Hockanum looked as bright and as beautiful as ever. It was as lovely
as if it had not witnessed the tragic scenes of the preceding night. The
bright sun shone gaily upon it; the birds warbled their sweet notes; the
soft breeze played among the bright green leaves; and the whole spot
looked like a little paradise;—a sad contrast to two hearts that were
even then in its bosom.
The friends of William Russell had already assembled to perform the last
sad duties to his remains. He was to be interred here, in accordance
with the request of her who was to have been his bride.
“Here,” said she, “here on this little island he was slain, and here let
him be buried. Here I will spend many of my hours; I will plant flowers
around his grave. Here I can come and weep, away from all eyes but the
eye of Him who has seen fit to afflict me thus.”
The ceremony had just been performed and they were just turning away
from the grave, when all eyes were directed to a canoe which was slowly
moving up the river. It had two occupants. One sat motionless in the
stern—the other was gently using the paddle. As it approached the
island, Tahattawa regarded it with a fixed and earnest gaze. As she did
so her heart beat quick and her eyes darted with joy.
“It is—it is _he_,” cried she, “Wawhillowa;” and away she bounded to
the shore. As the canoe touched the bank, the Indian, who sat in the
stern, stepped on shore. The next instant his companion pushed off,
turned down the stream, and quickly disappeared from view.