"Mery it was in the grene forest,
Amonge the leves grene;
Whereas men hunt east and west,
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene."
BALLAD OF ADAM BELL, "_Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly_".
As the Knight, with confident steps, led the way, Arundel expressed
surprise at the skill which he displayed.
"You forget that I may be said to be half an Indian myself," said Sir
Christopher, "and am therefore entitled to a knowledge of the woods. I
know not how many times I have accompanied the natives in their
distant hunting expeditions, and it would be strange if the experience
were thrown away."
"But surely you could never have penetrated so far in the direction of
this fierce tribe?"
"Farther, my young friend. I have wandered more than a week's journey
to every quarter of the compass from my lodge; and it is the knowledge
of the country thus derived, and intimacy with Indian character, that
inspire me with resolution in our enterprise. It might be considered a
perilous accomplishment," he added, with a smile, "since it
recommended me to the consideration of the Council, to whom, moreover,
the life of one not of the congregation is of less value."
The Knight had never before shown a disposition to be so
communicative. Perhaps the isolation of the two from the world, and
the devotion which Arundel had manifested, heightened his feeling of
regard, and drew out his confidence. The young man's interest in the
conversation increased, and he said:
"Surely, you would not impute to the Governor, or to a majority of his
counsellors, a design to expose you to probable destruction.
Unutterable baseness were therein."
"I said not so. I pray thee, Master Arundel, to attach no such
construction to my words; you would thereby do foul wrong to my
thoughts. Nay, I thank the Governor for honoring me with the
commission, and doubt not that he acted only in obedience to a higher
prompting than his own. I did but point to a feeling which thine
enlightenment must lament as much as mine, and which contracts
Christian love into very narrow and erroneous boundaries. Dost thou
understand me?"
"I think I do. You refer to the jealous retainer of power in the hands
of their Church."
"Of their Church, so called. Here are we, for example: we may desire,
with that natural longing whereby men are sometimes animated, to enter
into closer relations, and to bind ourselves by more intimate ties
with those around us, (oftentimes, I fear me, for purposes of worldly
advancement, as well as encouragement in holy living); and, lo! a very
slight difference of opinion--a sublety whereon a casuist shall batter
his brains for days in vain--shall build up a wall of exclusion,
especially if there be some within the enchanted circle who are
jealous of our influence and distrust their own."
"I doubt not you are right. My own observation partly confirms these
views, though I have been too short a time in the colony to form an
undistrusted opinion. My youth and inexperience admonish me to express
myself doubtfully; but I think myself safe in agreeing with you, that
this is scarcely the best way to establish that universal Church to
which the ambition of the Puritans aspires."
"Have a care, Master Arundel," said the Knight, laughing, and his
laugh rang out joyously through the forest, as if he were glad to
escape from restraint, and in strong contrast with the caution which
he recommended, "lest thy treason be carried by some bird to the
enthusiastic Endicott, or the stern Dudley, and thou be made to atone
for thy _lese majesté_."
"I bear them no ill will, and they know it. I am but a stranger among
them, seeking at their hands a jewel most unjustly detained, and
which, if given up, will hardly endanger the common weal. But, Sir
Christopher, explain your sentiments more perfectly on the point
whither our conversation converged."
"Master Arundel, I am a soldier, and no casuist, and, therefore,
hardly so well prepared to answer as good Mr. Eliot, or grave Mr.
Wilson; yet do thoughts on such subjects sometimes puzzle the brains
of a soldier in a steel helmet, as well as those of a teacher in a
Geneva cap; and, sworn brothers as we are, proving our affection by a
voluntary community of danger, I will not hesitate to avow my secret
reflections, knowing that they are safe in thy keeping. All Christians
must acknowledge Holy Scripture, when properly understood, as the
imperative rule of faith, without a belief of which there can be no
salvation. Now, in Scripture I do find the Church likened unto a net
let down into the sea, and when drawn up containing within itself a
diversity of fishes. This similitude teaches me that the Blessed
Founder of our religion did contemplate variety, and not that strict
and tame uniformity which would compel every curve into a straight
line, and make the Church more like a platoon of point device Spanish
soldiers than reasoning men variously organized."
"I have heard the text differently explained, to wit: that the Church
is thereby intended to be represented as a receptacle of all men,
without distinction of Jew or Gentile--of color, or of whatever
separates man from man."
"They who interpret it thus, do limit the Word of God, and make vain
the text itself. For, was it not designed that all should be brought
within one fold, that there might be one shepherd? Now, how may this
be done, if respect be not had to the prepossessions and prejudices of
mankind? See the infinite differences that prevail all through the
world. These it is the sacred prerogative of the Church to guide and
control--not violently tearing them up by the roots, but making them
subservient to her advancement."
"That, it seems to me, were little better than encouraging heathenism
under the forms of Christianity."
"Nay, it is more like the manoeuvre of a skilful helmsman, who, when
a flaw that may not be resisted strikes the sails of his ship, doth
not luff, and thereby increase the power of his enemy, and risk
destruction, but, by a gentle turn of the rudder, glides by the
danger, making its very violence facilitate his advance; or it may be
compared to the progress of a wise traveller, who, when he encounters
a steep hill, doth not always press straight forward, but, influenced
by its shape, sometimes turns aside and encircles its base, thereby
diminishing the labor and not increasing the distance."
"It doth look to me," said Arundel, "more like the crooked track of
the serpent, which cannot advance to its object without twisting its
body into contortions."
"And can anything be more graceful than its lovely curves? Doth not
Scripture in some manner commend the sagacious reptile, holding him up
to us as an example, and bidding us be wise even as serpents? The
children of Israel, moreover, when in the wilderness, were cured of
their wounds by merely looking at the brazen serpent, thereby
typifying the value of wisdom, whereof the snake is an emblem."
"You are more skilled in dialectic than I," said Arundel, laughing,
"and were I to hear you with shut eyes, I should think a monk's cowl
would fit your head better than a morion."
Sir Christopher stole a sharp, quick glance at his companion at these
words, but he could notice nothing in the youth's handsome features
save the light-heartedness of a happy spirit. He seemed to think it
necessary, however, to explain more perfectly the meaning of what he
had been saying.
"Harbor not the thought," he continued, "that I, in any wise, approve
the damnable doctrines which, by many zealous Protestants, are
ascribed to the Catholic Church, viz: that religion consists in the
mumbling of unmeaning forms and performance of unnecessary ceremonies;
in the gaudy decoration of temples with pictures and statues, which
some consider an incitement to devotion; in an entire abandonment of
the soul of the layman to the care of the priest, as if the laic
himself had no part in working out his salvation. As a good
Protestant, I am bound to condemn and anathematize these errors; but,
more distinctly, I hold that our Puritan brethren (to come back to the
point of departure) are over-strict and unwise in applying a
Procrustean measure in their discipline, and, for that reason, if for
no other, they cannot be a Church universal. Too stiff, unbending and
unforgiving are they to the weaknesses of human nature, and,
therefore, (without more,) I predict utter failure to every attempt of
theirs to make the natives like themselves. They do forget that milk,
not flesh meat, is the food for babes."
"Hold you these Puritans to be, in any true sense, a Church at all?"
inquired Arundel.
Again the Knight looked sharply at the other, and this time he burst
into a laugh, wherein, it seemed to the young man, a sneer was mingled
with the gaiety.
"That were a dangerous question," he answered, "anywhere else than
three days' journey from Winthrop, and to ears less forgiving than
mine. But here we are, debating, as thou didst intimate a moment ago,
more like two pattering monks than journeying like merry cavaliers.
For my part, the dissensions of Christendom weary me, and I prefer to
leave to the holy men vowed to the service of the altar, the labor of
unloosing the knots of controversy, rather than perplex my brains with
them. Come, Master Arundel, hast never a song wherewith to waken the
echoes of the virgin forest and shorten the toils of our way?"
"I esteem not myself a singer, though I can troll a stave or two,"
replied the young man. "But I fear that my minstrelsy would be rude
and uncouth to the cultivated ears of one who, like you, Sir
Christopher, hath listened to the lays of many lands, and so, refined
and perfected his taste."
"It is true," said the Knight, "that I have heard the songs of many
countries, warbled by beauty to the accompanying sounds of divers
instruments, from Spain to Persia, from the Andalusian guitar to the
Turkish lute. But fear me not. I am no supercilious critic. Thy
modesty hides merit. I will be bound now that thy performance will
exceed thy promise."
"But is there no danger of attracting wandering savages, and so being
taken prisoners, or shot with their arrows?"
"The danger of being treated as enemies is less, for what Indian would
suspect such of going singing through the woods?"
"Then here is my song," said Arundel, "but I shall look for a like
complaisance on thy part."
"Who loves the greenwood cool and sweet,
O! let him come with me!
No harsher sound his ears shall greet,
Than songs of birds so free;
No sight less fair his eyes shall view,
Than trees, and ferns, and flowers,
Sun, stars, the branches shimmering through,
To light the flying hours.
"Ambition hither cannot come,
Here Pomp is out of place,
And fawning Flattery finds no home
With Simper and Grimace,
But Nature, in her artless dress,
(A greenwood nymph is she,)
With eyes so wild and flowing tress,
And bare ungartered knee.
"Then come, O, come! O, come with me!
Forgot be toil and care;
O! come beneath the greenwood tree,
For happiness is there.
The sun shall shine with tempered ray,
The moonbeam soft, yet bright;
O, come! Joy beckons us away,
To revel in delight!"
"Good!" exclaimed the Knight. "Thy voice is as sweet as a sky-lark's,
and runs with marvellous cunning through the harmonious changes of the
tune. Why, never preface thy song again with an apology, or I shall
begin to doubt thy sincerity."
"Wild woods and savage life have not tarnished the courtly polish of
Sir Christopher Gardiner," said Arundel. "And now for my guerdon,
though in truth I feel shame for the little I have been able to do, in
comparison with what I expect."
"By my troth, thou art a master in the science of delicate
compliments. There was, I confess, a time when, with youthful vanity,
I did esteem myself possessed of some skill, and could step along the
gamut with any Don or Signor of them all; but that is long since, and
I fear me that the gutturals of Northern Germany have quite driven out
of my throat the liquids and vowels of Italy. However, to pleasure me,
thou hast sung with infinite discretion and wonderful sweetness, a
most delectable song; and now it were boorish not to attempt at least
to repay thy musical favor."
So saying, the Knight sung in a manner and with an expression that
proved him to be an accomplished musician, and in some contrast with
the less artful style of Arundel, the following song:
"On golden Guadalquiver's banks
Are tinkling gay guitars,
To hail with song and smiling thanks,
The soldier from the wars.
"When glowing youth and beauty met,
Blush at each other's glance,
And, bounding to the castanet,
Entwine th' impassioned dance.
"And purple Xeres sends her wine,
To laugh in those dark eyes,
Whose flashing orbs the stars outshine,
Of Andalusia's skies.
"Red lips repeat the hero's name,
White hands are scattering flowers;
Honor be his and deathless fame,
And gratitude be ours!
"Delightful land of orange blooms,
Of chivalry and song,
Whose memory the past perfumes--
O! how for thee I long!
"Where'er may stray my wandering feet,
I never will forget,
Or Guadalquiver's maidens sweet,
Or merry castanet.
"When sun, and moon, and stars turn pale,
On Nature's funeral pyre,
O'er all Spain's glory shall prevail,
An eagle soaring higher."
"You have well profited by your opportunities, Sir Christopher," said
Arundel, at its conclusion. "By mine honor, such sweet and artful
notes never waked the echoes of a mighty forest. I seemed to mingle in
the graceful fandango, and to taste the exhilarating Xeres in your
song."
"Ah!" replied the Knight, with a half sigh. "It is only a reminiscence
of youthful follies. But now it is thy turn again. I warrant me there
is store of ravishing melodies in the treasury whence thou didst take
thine."
"I dare not," said the young man modestly, "sing after thee. My poor
notes would sound like those of the croaking raven, in comparison with
the warblings of the yellow minstrel of the Canaries."
"Out with thee, hyperbolical flatterer! Believe me--I set a higher
value on thy nature than on my art. Come, pipe up once more, and I
will, meanwhile, try to recall another ditty."
"If such is to be my reward, I will not refuse, although I do thereby
only expose my own incapacity. Here is a serenade:
"I stand beneath thy window, love,
To tell my pleasing pain:
O, flowers below, and stars above,
Bear to her heart my strain!
Say that the charms of earth and sky
Are waiting for her company,
And all sweet things my fair invite,
To rise and perfect make the night.
"Yet, no! I would no earthly sound
Might mar that tranquil sleep,
O'er which the angels, standing round,
Admiring vigil keep.
With these bright guards I choose to share
The watching of my jewel rare;
For though their love may be divine,
I know it cannot equal mine.
"I see her as she chastely lies
Upon the linen white;
Was ne'er to man's or angel's eyes
So beautiful a sight!
O, mark her bosom's fall and swell,
(Profane it were of more to tell.)
While hover round her rose-leaf mouth,
Sweets that excel the Arabian South.
"Listen! she murmurs in her dreams,
And music puts to shame:
O, can it be I she breathes, meseems,
My too--too happy name!
O cease, bliss-crowded heart, to beat
So fast, lest like some India fleet
Surcharged with spices, thou outright
Founder, o'erfreighted with delight!"
"Excellent," exclaimed the Knight. Never talk to me of the wonderful
little birds of the Canaries, unless to call thyself one. I fancy thy
verses a tribute to the celestial attractions of Mistress Eveline
Dunning."
"And now let me hear thee," said Arundel.
"I did match my first lay," said Sir Christopher, "to thy youthful
blood. Now will I give thee one more befitting my years and gravity,"
and adapting the words to a wild foreign air, the Knight sent his rich
full voice ringing through the wood.
"Who, on Glory's pinion,
Shall mount the upper air,
And write his name with sunbeams
Sublimely there?
"Blare of trumpets shivering
Above the reeling fight,
Proves the inhuman challenge--
The warrior's right?
"Son of thoughtful Science,
Unthinking of renown,
Is thine the name to thunder
The ages down?"
"Hist!" he said, interrupting the song. "What is it I see gliding in
yonder thicket? Stand fast, Master Arundel, while I go forward to
reconnoitre."
The young man would have accompanied him, but this Sir Christopher
imperatively forbade. "Thou art under my lead and protection," he
said, "and foul shame were it, should I expose thee to a danger which
I should face myself alone;" and in spite of his urgency, Arundel was
obliged to remain behind.
The Knight was gone, perhaps, a quarter of an hour, and Arundel began
to be anxious at the length of his absence, and had stepped forward a
few rods to seek him, when he made his appearance.
"If it were a wild beast, or anything that could harm us," he cried,
as he approached, "it has glided off into the bushes."
"Then shall I entreat the continuance of thy song. I would like to
hear resolved the question which it pleases the poet to ask."
"I care not to sing more now," returned the Knight. "My voice, I
perceive, begins to roughen, and brawls along more like a shallow
brook, over pebbles, than the flow of a deep, equable stream, It were
to shame the brave words."
This determination Arundel was unable to alter, and he could not avoid
ascribing it quite as much to a change of opinion in his companion,
respecting the prudence of singing in that wild region, as to any
assumed roughness of voice. Thinking thus, he unslung his gun, and
examined carefully the priming, holding himself in readiness for any
emergency. He noticed, however, to his surprise that no such
precautions were adopted by Sir Christopher, who, though in silence,
walked with as fearless a step as ever, and allowed his piece to
remain upon his back.
The shades of evening were now beginning to wrap objects in obscurity,
and it became necessary to look out for a place of rest. In finding
one fitted for the purpose, the Knight betrayed no embarrassment.
"There should be," he said, "a small cave in the neighborhood, wherein
we may be sheltered. I will lead thee thither in a short time."
Accordingly, they descended the side of a pretty steep declivity, and,
at the bottom, forming a sort of miniature valley, found the object of
their search. It was certainlyf a very small cave, if, indeed, the
recess, which was not twelve feet deep, made by the jutting out of
some huge rocks from the side of the hill, deserved the name. A brook
came dashing round before the cave, separating it as it were from its
surroundings, and deepening its privacy; and over the entrance hung
immense hemlock branches, sweeping with their evergreen plumes the
rocky roof, and almost hiding the aperture. It seemed impossible to
have selected a place better adapted for concealment.
"We need not fear," said the Knight, "to make a fire in this secluded
spot. It will serve to keep off wild animals, and as for Indians, they
can hardly be expected to stumble on us."
Arundel, as being only a follower, and inferior in experience of
wood-craft to his elder friend, made no objection, but addressed
himself to prepare for passing the night. The two, with their hunting
hatchets, cut from the moist land, watered by the brook, a quantity of
hemlock boughs, wherewith to compose their beds, making couches more
comfortable, and even luxurious to a tired wanderer, than one would
suppose who had never tried them. Next, they kindled a fire, whereupon
supper was prepared--some small game, consisting of partridges and
rabbits which they had shot in the course of the day. These, together
with the parched corn they brought from home, not without a draught or
two of aqua vitae tempered by the pure stream, satisfied the cravings
of appetite.
"And now, Master Arundel," said the Knight, after the repast was
finished, during which he had looked with admiring eyes on the
achievements of his companion, "tell me, didst ever, at princely
banquet in courtly hall, enjoy with keener zest the artificial dishes
of cunning cooks, designed to tickle the delicate and difficultly
pleased palate?"
"Never," answered Arundel. "Knew the epicures of Europe the efficacy
of a forest tramp, we should meet them oftener than Indians in the
woods."
"Thus deals boon nature with her children," said Sir Christopher. "Out
of the richness of her abundance doth she prodigally supply what man,
with all his devices, cannot obtain. The scent of the woodland, the
winged minstrelsy, the murmur of the brook, and tripping of the deer,
say I, before the inventions and appliances of dissatisfied man,
whereby he vainly tries to procure to himself pleasures which he might
have for the asking. But how fares it otherwise with thee? Art not
tired? With me, who am an old campaigner, our tramp should be a
trifle, and yet I confess my limbs are not as supple as in the
morning. Thou wert excusable shouldest thou feel it more."
"I feel no fatigue now," said Arundel, "though an hour ago I might
have confessed it. But what is that?" he exclaimed, grasping his gun.
"Methought I saw two eyes peering from the thicket. Shall I fire?" he
added, bringing the piece to his shoulder.
"For thy life, no!" interposed the Knight quickly, striking up the
muzzle of the gun. "That were to inform any wandering savages of our
retreat."
"I will then explore the bush to find out what it is, whom curiosity
has attracted--whether beast or Indian."
"It were well not to do so," said the Knight. "It would only be
unnecessary exposure; and an enemy, if it be one, would have every
possible advantage in waiting for thee--he knowing thy position, and
thou not his."
"Nevertheless, it were a great satisfaction could I discern the
creature. Perhaps I may bring back a buck for breakfast. Thou art
acquainted with the stupid habit of deer to gaze on fire. It may be
one of them."
"For all that, I counsel thee to remain. A prudent soldier exposes not
himself to danger without cause."
"By Heaven!" exclaimed Arundel, "I see the eyes of the animal again,
in the light of the fire. I will shoot, come what will of it;" and
before the Knight could interfere, he had discharged his piece in the
direction of the object. The dark woods echoed to the report, and some
birds disturbed from their perches began to flutter blindly round, but
no other sounds were heard, and presently silence, as profound as
before, brooded over the forest.
"Thou hast been guilty of a sad imprudence, Master Arundel," said the
Knight, "and I hope no evil consequences may result therefrom. What
art thou about now?"
But the young man, who, from the instant he had discharged his piece,
had been busy reloading it, and whose preparations were now completed,
paid no attention to the question; but, excited by what he had seen,
rushed out of the cave into the open air.
"_Santa Madre de Dios!_" exclaimed the Knight. "I hope nothing evil
will befall him. Were it better now to follow or to remain?"
While Sir Christopher was deliberating, Arundel, holding his piece in
readiness, cautiously took his way toward the thicket, whence he
fancied the eyes had looked. As he was groping along, not yet
recovered from the blinding effect of the fire-glare, he suddenly felt
his gun seized, and several strong arms thrown round his person. He
cried out for assistance, and struggled, but in vain. The gun was torn
away, a hand placed over his mouth, and a tomahawk brandished at him,
as if to intimate his doom, should he continue his outcries. In this
state of things nothing was left but to yield himself to his captors,
and, resigning himself to his fate, he waited for what should follow;
nor was he kept long in suspense, for presently an Indian came gliding
up to the group in whose midst he stood, and spoke a few words,
whereupon he was led to the cave, and directed by signs to enter it.
Here he found Sir Christopher lying quietly on the ground, without
apparently having received any injury, and his piece in the possession
of some Indians by whom he was surrounded. Arundel was permitted to
sit down by his side, admiring, as he did so, the wonderful composure
of the Knight.