"Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And--'this to me!'--he said."
MARMION.
At this moment the Assistant Spikeman entered the room. His advance
had been so noiseless that it was unobserved by either the girl or the
Indian, so entirely were they engrossed by the adventure of the
portrait.
"Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Methinks, Prudence, there are
other parts of the dwelling more fit for such visitors."
"I desired to see," said the girl, evasively, "how a savage would act
who never had beholden a painting. There is no great harm in that,"
she added, pouting.
"And doubtless he mistook it for a live man. Master Vandyke had skill,
I trow, to deceive more learned eyes than those of a wild Indian. But,
Prudence, thou knowest that I mean not to chide thee. Far different
words arise spontaneously to my lips. But go, now, and I will pay the
honors to thy red friend."
"He is no more friend of mine than I hope all the world are my
friends," answered the girl, glad to get away to acquaint the lovers
that Spikeman was in the house.
"I wish," she muttered, as she closed the door, though not so loud as
to be overheard, "that some folk were not so great friends of mine."
"Have my people given my friend anything to eat?" inquired the
Assistant, on the departure of the girl.
"Waqua is not hungry," answered the Indian. "His white brother has fed
him until he has no place for more."
"What thinks Waqua of the painted man?" asked the Assistant, observing
that the eyes of the savage wandered every now and then to the
painting.
"It is a great medicine," replied the Indian, noticing with admiration
the resemblance between it and the Assistant, (whose father's portrait
it was.) "My brother loved his father very much, and so, before he was
called to the spirit land, my brother put him on a board, even as
white men put faces in frozen water. But my brother is wiser, because
he makes his father stay on the board, instead of disappearing like
faces in frozen water."
"My brother is right," said the Assistant, not unwilling to avail
himself of an opportunity to impress on the mind of the savage the
superiority of the whites; "but he has seen little of the wisdom of
the white man. It is a light thing to put a man upon a board, though
at the same time he may be in the spirit land. It is wonderful to
Waqua, but a white child understands it. If Waqua remains the friend
of the white man, greater and more wonderful things shall he learn."
"Waqua is an Indian, with an Indian head, and he is afraid it is not
big enough to hold all these things. It makes his head ache to think
of them."
"My brother's head will grow. But will he follow me now into another
part of my dwelling?"
The Indian made a gesture of assent, and the Assistant preceding him,
the two went in the direction of the room where were Arundel and
Eveline.
Prudence, when she left Spikeman and Waqua together, had rushed in
upon the lovers to apprise them of the Assistant's presence. The proud
spirit of the young man revolted somewhat at the idea of stealing out
of the house like a felon, and a little time was spent before the
expostulations of Prudence and the entreaties of Eveline could
prevail. And when he rose to leave, some time longer was consumed in
tender leave-takings, which, though they seemed instants to the
lovers, were lengthened almost into hours to the anxious waiting-maid.
Hence it happened that when the door was opened, Arundel was
confronted by the Assistant. Surprise and indignation were both
expressed in the countenance of Spikeman, as he demanded to what
circumstance he was indebted for the honor of the young man's company.
"Master Spikeman knows," answered Arundel, "without any averment on my
part, that I came not to see him."
"It needs no declaration of thine to assure me of that," said
Spikeman.
"I do nought," said Arundel, "which I will not avouch by both deeds
and words. Plainly, I came to see Mistress Eveline Dunning, and
strange indeed would it be, were I in this strange land to avoid her
presence."
"Speak out the whole truth," said Spikeman, with rising passion, "and
avow that like a thief thou didst steal in to corrupt the affections
of my ward, and teach her undutifulness to her guardian."
Before the young man could reply, Eveline interposed.
"You do Master Arundel wrong, sir," she said, "to charge him with
aught unbecoming. He comes hither in open day, and that by my special
invitation."
The eyes of the spirited girl flashed, and her cheeks were crimson, as
she made the avowal.
"This from you, Eveline Dunning," exclaimed Spikeman, with
ill-suppressed rage. "Have you so far forgotten the modesty of your
sex as to make this declaration in public? I knew before, that this
boy had bewitched you, but dreamed not that he had triumphed over all
maidenly reserve."
There was something insufferably insulting, both in the tone and in
the insinuation concealed in the language, which was not entirely
understood by the pure mind of Eveline, but which was maddening to her
lover.
"Only a base ingrate and liar," he cried, "would slander celestial
purity. Master Spikeman knows that what he utters is false."
"Ha! darest thou, malapert boy," said Spikeman, advancing to Arundel
with his arm raised, as if about to strike; but Waqua stepped between
them. He had gravely listened to the heated conversation, and supposed
he understood its purport.
"Let not the wise white man," he said, addressing Spikeman, "imitate a
mad wolf in his anger. Give to my brother for his wife the girl whose
cheeks are like the summer morning, for her heart has hid itself in
his bosom."
The fury of Spikeman, thus bearded in his own house, was now directed
to the savage. Anger appeared to have completely deprived him of
reason, for turning upon the Indian with glaring eyes and exerting his
strength to the utmost, he hurled him with irresistible force across
the room against the wainscot, where his head struck a post, and he
fell bleeding on the floor.
Waqua was instantly on his feet again, and his first motion was to
clutch the tomahawk, but Arundel catching his arm, compelled him to
desist from his revenge. Holding the savage by the arm, Arundel passed
out of the apartment, leaving the Assistant standing as if petrified
by his own violence, while Eveline, pale, yet resolute, had sunk upon
a seat, and Prudence was hysterically shrieking. As soon as they stood
in the street, Arundel said:
"I am grieved, Waqua, that thou, on my account, shouldst have been the
object of the ruffian's rage. Its possibility occurred not to me."
"Let not my brother grieve," said the Indian. "It is nothing; not so
much as the scratch of a bear's paw."
"I take blame to myself for this day's unhappy violence, and hope that
no further mischief may spring out of it. Will my brother grant me a
favor?"
"The ears of Waqua are open," said the savage.
"Promise me, for my sake, to seek no revenge, but to leave it in my
hands."
But the Indian looked moodily on the ground. "Waqua," he said, "will
kill his enemies himself."
"If," continued the young man, "my brother knew that an attempt to
punish the bad white man would bring ruin on the maiden and on me,
would he be willing to destroy them too?"
"Waqua will do no harm to his brother."
"Waqua's heart and mine are one, and he has a wise head. He sees that
the arms of the English are very long, and their hands strong, and he
will not run into them, for they will crush him."
"My brother shall see the inside of Waqua. Let him look up. Behold,
the sun shines because he is the sun, and the wind stirs the forest
leaves because he is the wind, and water runs, and fire burns, because
the Master of Life made them thus; and so the Indian will never
forgive, for then would he cease to be an Indian. But Waqua will do
nought to injure his brother."
With this unsatisfactory answer the young man was forced to content
himself as well as he could, though his mind misgave him as to the
possible consequences of the insult. He trusted, however, that
Spikeman's knowledge of Indian character would place him sufficiently
on his guard to make abortive any attempts against him, and determined
to keep a watchful eye upon his wild companion for the present, and
until time should have blunted sensibility to the injury. For this
reason, and in order also to counteract, as far as might be, the
effect of the incidents at the house of the Assistant, after
purchasing the articles which they came out to procure, he took the
savage with him on the visit to the Governor, which he had promised
the knight to make. Nor is this a circumstance that should excite
surprise; it being the policy of the colonists to cultivate the best
understanding with the natives, to accomplish which object the latter
were not only admitted into their houses, but sometimes even invited
by the principal inhabitants to seats at their tables. They found
Winthrop at home, and were admitted to his presence.
"Welcome, young friend," he exclaimed, "with England's red rose still
blooming in thy cheeks; and a welcome, too, to my Indian brother."
"This, right worshipful sir," said Arundel, "is Waqua, to whom I owe
my life, which he saved this morning from a panther."
"Ah!" said Winthrop, "one of the hazards not uncommon in our
wild-beast-infested forest, and young blood is rash. But relate to me
thine adventure."
Arundel was obliged to detail the circumstances of his escape, which
he did with the greater pleasure, as contributing thereby to recommend
his companion to the favorable consideration of so powerful a person
as the Governor. At the conclusion of the narrative, Winthrop devoutly
said:
"The praise be to Him to whom it justly belongs, and whose unsleeping
Providence perpetually watches over us. Yet," he added, turning to the
Indian, "be not the instrument forgotten by whom He manifested his
favor. The life of a white man is very precious, and Waqua may ask
much because he saved it."
"It is a small thing," replied the Indian. "My brother would have
killed the beast himself without Waqua's arrow; it only saved him a
little trouble."
"How modest is ever true merit, Master Arundel," said Winthrop, "and
that is noticeable in both civilized and savage. This community of
feeling doth, as I take it, evidence, in connection with other
matters, the truth revealed in the Scripture, (nature herself
thereunto bearing witness,) that we are descended from one common
parent, of whose qualities all do partake, even to the remotest
generations. But, however desert may be disclaimed by thy preserver,
it were shame, morally, as also censurable in another view, were I to
show myself no sense of the obligation."
So saying, the Governor opened the desk before him, and taking
therefrom a medal attached to a glittering chain, presented it to the
Indian,
"Take it," he said, "and wear it in testimony that the white chief
knows how to estimate thy service, and desires to cultivate thy
friendship."
But the Indian held not out his hand to receive the proffered medal.
"Why dost hesitate?" inquired Winthrop, in some amazement, (for never
had he known before an ornament, of which the savages are usually so
fond, refused.) "Is there aught else that would pleasure thee more?
Speak freely thy thoughts."
"Waqua thanks the white chief," replied the savage, softly, "but he
wears only one totem, and that is one which cannot be taken from his
neck. See!"
So saying, he threw open the folds of the robe of skins that covered
his chest, and disclosed upon his naked bosom the picture of a turtle.
It was painted upon or pricked into the skin in divers colors, so as
to be indelible, and though rudely done, was sufficiently well
executed to convey an idea which could not be mistaken of what was
intended to be represented.
"Waqua," he continued, "will have but one totem, and it is that of his
ancestors; but if the white chief desires to please Waqua, let him
recollect and teach his people that the same Great Spirit made red men
and white men, and wishes them to be brothers."
The sagacity of Winthrop penetrated the motive of the savage, and
wonder at the refusal to accept the token was lost in admiration of
the other's jealousy of whatever might imply a want of exclusive
devotion to his tribe, or a placing of himself in a position
inconsistent with perfect independence. He scrutinized the Indian with
much more attention than he had at first bestowed upon him, and
fancied that in his daring face he read an air of nobleness and
command which at first he had not remarked.
"It troubles me, Waqua," he said, "to have thee refuse this badge of
my friendship, and which would be a declaration to the world that thou
wert my friend, and the friend of the white man, but sith it may not
be, receive my promise that I will inculcate the maxim on my people,
that we are all descended from the same heavenly father, and bound to
love and to practice actions of mutual kindness. I were less, indeed,
than Christian man were I to do otherwise."
"And now I have a petition to proffer to your excellency, and which
lies very near to my heart, and without the granting whereof the life
saved by Waqua will be of little value to me," said Arundel.
"A thing of moment, indeed; and with such a consequence following its
rejection, a prayer which I cannot refuse."
"It is your reputation, honored sir, for justice, which emboldens me,
who am but a comparative stranger, with no further claim to your
consideration than one man has upon his fellow to do him right, to
address you, and endeavor to secure your all-powerful interest in my
behalf."
Here the eyes of the Governor fell with an inquiring look upon the
Indian, and the mute appeal was understood by the young man.
"I care not," he said, unwilling, by any appearance of a want of
confidence, to hazard an interruption of the friendly relations
existing between himself and the savage, in whom he already felt a
considerable interest--"I care not if Waqua hears my story; he is my
brother and may look into my heart."
A gratified expression crossed the countenance of Waqua, but, without
a remark, he rose from his seat, and, with a delicacy little to be
expected among the wild children of Nature, withdrew to a distant part
of the room.
"It is better thus," said the Governor, "if thy complaint, as I partly
suspect, touch a member of the Government. The secrets of a family
should not be blazoned to the world. Our little Commonwealth is a
family, and it becometh each one tenderly to guard the good repute of
all."
"I crave your Excellency's pardon," said the young man, casting down
his eyes at the rebuke, "for my imprudence; but your sagacity has
already divined what forces me to fly to you for succor. It is of the
unjustifiable conduct of the Assistant Spikeman I would speak."
"It is as I supposed. Something of this have I heard, but only as
flying gossip, which it were unmanly in any one to heed; and which, as
such, it were disgraceful in the ruler of a people to regard. But, if
the charge come, bearing upon itself an authentic stamp, it is a
different matter."
"The words which I shall utter I will avouch with my blood. A great
and grievous wrong hath been committed and is continued, against which
both Heaven and earth cry out."
"It is a heavy charge, and now to the proof."
Hereupon Arundel entered upon the particulars of the breach of faith
on the part of Spikeman, and of the restraint exercised by him over
Eveline; to all which Winthrop listened with profound attention, by
neither word nor sign interrupting the narrative. Upon its conclusion,
however, he began in the spirit of the profession wherein he had been
educated, to ask questions and urge objections,
"Thou hast truly, Master Arundel," he said, "made out a case of great
hardship, if the view taken by thee be correct; and, understand me, I
doubt not thine entire sincerity. But what further testimony than that
of the young lady hast thou, her representations being contradicted by
Master Spikeman?"
"What!" cried the young man, with some warmth, "is not the word of
Eveline sufficient to outweigh the prevarications of a thousand
tricksters like this Spikeman?"
"This is no proper language," said Winthrop, a little sternly, "but
_Amor semper coecus_," he added, smiling, "This rule I take to be
without exception. Am I to understand that thou hast no further
proof?"
"There is the asseveration of Eveline Dunning, met only by the denial
of the Assistant Spikeman, who would deny every truth, so only it were
necessary for his purpose."
"Thou dost prejudice thy cause by want of moderation. It seemeth me,
however, that Master Spikeman hath no necessity to join issue with
thee on the facts, and that a bare demurrer were all-sufficient to
throw thee out of court. Forgive me for inflicting this pain, but I do
it not without a motive, which is to possess thee fully of the manner
in which this matter is viewed by others."
"There is then no justice in this land," cried the young man.
"I have thus far," Winthrop went on without heeding the exclamation,
"considered the case, under the supposition of a denial on the part of
Master Spikeman (whom thou dost not deny to be the rightly constituted
guardian of Mistress Dunning) of the facts which, in thy opinion,
impose on him a duty to give thee his ward in marriage. But suppose,
as I have said, he were to demur to thy declaration, that is to say,
admit the truth of all thou hast said, but deny that any obligation
resulted therefrom to comply with thy wishes, would thy condition be
thereby bettered?"
"Admitting the facts, I see not how he could do otherwise than hasten
to perform the desire of his deceased friend; but this he will never
do, forsworn and treacherous that he is."
"Thus may passion speak, but not so the unprejudiced reason concerning
thy difference with Master Spikeman. Might he not reply to thy
reproaches--that it was only when Master Dunning was weakened by
sickness that he did yield to importunity; but that in the days of
unclouded health, and when the mind sat like a king upon his throne,
he did steadily oppose thy union with his daughter, and then ask thee
which he was in duty bound to obey--the settled purpose of his friend,
as demonstrated by his daily life and conversation, or a chance word
of sickness, perhaps, of delirium? That Edmund Dunning did at first,
even till his death-bed, deny thee his daughter, thou dost admit; and
this is a weighty argument, hard to be overcome by a dying whisper.
The reason thereof will satisfy most, for is it not written, 'Be ye
not unequally yoked with unbelievers?' Seest thou not that it is only
thyself who dost stand in the way of thy happiness? Oh! that the light
of Divine truth might penetrate thy mind, and make thee, in all
respects, worthy of the lovely lady."
"Eveline Dunning would despise me, were I, even for the sake of her
hand, to renounce the faith of my fathers."
"Not for the sake of her hand, (that would be only a collateral
blessing,) but for other and worthier motives. Very precious and
encouraging is the promise in the Scripture, 'Seek ye first the
kingdom of heaven, and all other things shall be added unto you,'
Doubt it not, and consider also how sweet is the tie that doth bind
consenting hearts with one true faith--a faith consoling
exceedingly--a faith to lift high above the tempests of adversity--to
heal the wounds of earth, and to be crowned with glory and immortality
in heaven."
"Were I even to join the congregation, which, in my present way of
thinking, I might not do without guilt, Master Spikeman would,
doubtless, find means to make vain my suit."
"Judge him not so harshly. What motive can he have, other than to
perform his duty to the living and to the dead? Think, rather, that
Providence hath, in its own wonderful way, determined to lead thee by
the silken cord of thy affections unto grace. Be not disobedient unto
the heavenly impulse."
"I perceive that I have failed in my prayer, and can have no hope of
your intercession, honored sir," said Arundel, rising, "and will
therefore take my sorrowful leave."
"It pains me," said Winthrop, also rising, "that, under present
circumstances, I am compelled to deny it. I may not do aught to
contravene a resolution of the deceased Edmund Dunning, which seems to
have been inspired by Heaven; but, the cause of that resolution being
removed, no one will be happier to promote your purpose. I say this
the more cheerfully, because thy happiness is within reach, to be
wisely seized or unwisely refused."
"With thanks for your Excellency's good will, and lamenting that it is
fruitless, I will now depart."
Hereupon, the young man making a sign to his companion, the Indian
approached. The sight of the latter seemed to suggest an idea to
Winthrop, for, turning to him, he said:
"On the morrow I expect an embassy from some of your countrymen,
Waqua. Will not the chief remain to witness it?"
On the quiet countenance of the Indian only an inquiry was to be read.
"The Taranteens," said the Governor, in answer to the look, "desire to
brighten the chain of friendship between the white men and themselves,
and it ought to give pleasure to a wise chief to behold it."
"Waqua is a young man," replied the Indian, "and is not wise; but he
has heard the old men of his tribe say, that no faith was to be placed
in the word of a Taranteen."
"Let them beware," said Winthrop, who, from obvious motives of policy,
adopted this tone in the Indian's presence, "how they attempt to
deceive me. The friendship of the white man is like the blessed sun,
which brings life and joy; his enmity, like the storm-clouds, charged
with thunders and lightnings."
"Listen!" said the Indian, laying his hand on the arm of the Governor.
"The beavers once desired the friendship of the skunk. They admired
his black and white hair, and thought his round, bushy tail, which was
different from theirs, very beautiful; so they invited him into their
lodges; but when he came, his scent was so bad that they were all
obliged to abandon them. The Taranteens are the skunk."
"I have no fear that they will drive us away," said Winthrop, with a
smile. "They have every reason to conciliate our favor, and we would
be at peace, if we are permitted, with all men. We came not into these
far off regions to bring a sword, but the blessings of civilization
and of the Gospel."
"Waqua will come," said the Indian, "but the Taranteens are a skunk.
The white chief will remember the words of Waqua, and will say, before
many days, that he spoke the truth."
"We know how to deal with the treacherous," answered the Governor,
"but anticipate no evil now."
With these words, and, as if striving by extraordinary courtesy to
palliate the pain which he had inflicted on Arundel, he accompanied
the two to the door of the apartment, where he dismissed them.