These the sole accents from his tongue that fell,
But volumes lurked below that fierce farewell.
BYRON.
When Sassacus left Spikeman, it was only to step into a lodge not half
a dozen rods distant. Though smaller than the one into which the
prisoner had been introduced, it was superior in comfort, as was,
indeed, to be expected, being that of the Sagamore himself. Here he
found the soldier, Philip Joy.
"What means this, Sassacus?" exclaimed the soldier, as the Pequot
entered. "Was it not our covenant that the life of the white man
should be spared?"
"My brother did not mean what he said when he asked that his enemy
might be permitted to run away. Who, when he catches a wolf, says,
'Wolf, Indian set the trap only to see whether it would hold fast your
legs. The wise hunter talks not so, but strikes the wolf on the
head.'"
"Sassacus," said Joy, "this may not be. If you had caught Master
Spikeman, by your own cunning, it might have been different; but it
was the white girl and I who devised the scheme, and I told you where
to place the ambuscade, which has been successful. Were you to murder
this man, the guilt would rest more on Prudence and me than on you,
whose savage and un-Christian notions may partly excuse so dreadful an
act."
"My brother's heart is soft, like moss, but the heart of Sassacus is a
stone. My brother must learn to harden his heart, and he shall soon
behold a punishment becoming a great Sagamore. My brother thinks and
feels like a Christian. Good! but he must let Sassacus feel like an
Indian."
"Let him go," said Joy, "and he shall pay you store of wampompeag and
colored cloth. Of what use can it be to you to put him to a horrid
death?"
"Wampompeag and colored cloth are good, but Sassacus is a great chief,
and they cannot make him forget an injury. Before the white men came,
his ancestors punished and rewarded, and he will not surrender the
prerogative of his family."
"By the bones of my father," swore the soldier, "I will not permit
this cold-blooded murder. Hated I him ten-fold more than I do, I would
defend his life at the hazard of my own. Where is my gun?" he demanded
fiercely, seeking after it. "Who has dared to remove it?"
"Sassacus took it away, that his brother might do no mischief with
it," said the Pequot.
"False Indian!" exclaimed the soldier, passionately; "call me not
again your brother. I will have nothing to do with one whose promises
cannot bind, and who loves revenge more than honor."
"Sassacus never breaks his word, but, if he did, it would be only
imitating the white men. Would my brother speak to my prisoner, whom,
at this moment, he loves more than the justice of an Indian?"
"Why should I speak to him, when I should hear only curses?"
"Then remain here to behold the punishment of the bad white man."
He strode out of the lodge, while the soldier, burning with
indignation, disposed himself so that, unseen, he might notice all
that was done, and determined, unarmed as he was, to interpose.
Presently Sassacus re-appeared, emerging from the larger lodge,
followed by the Assistant, whose arms were bound again, and who was
conducted by two savages, holding him by either arm. They led him
straight to the pile around the stake, which the Chief ordered to be
lighted, and whose billowy flames were kept rolling up by additions,
from time to time, of the dry wood which lay in abundance around.
Seated on a log not far from the fire, whose heat might indeed be
felt, Sassacus commanded his prisoner to be brought before him.
"Bad white man," he said, "look on yon flames! Are they like that hell
which thy powaws say is prepared for such as thou?"
Spikeman turned his ghastly face away from the blaze, with a shudder,
but he said nothing.
"The white man is silent," said Sassacus. "He acknowledges the justice
of his doom. Lead him to the fire."
Spikeman, notwithstanding the horror of his situation, succeeded in a
measure in concealing his feelings, and, affecting an indifference to
his fate, advanced a few steps with the two Indians, who held his
arms, when, suddenly making a violent effort, he burst the withes with
which he was carelessly bound, and, throwing them both off, started to
run. The opportunity had probably been given purposely by the savages,
for their diversion, and in order to protract the terrors of the
captive, and knowing that flight was impossible. But, blinded by the
glare of the fire, Spikeman remarked not a trunk of a tree in his
path, and, stumbling over it, fell to the ground, bruised and torn,
and before he could rise, found himself again held fast. Cursing his
ill luck, he made no further resistance, but sullenly suffered himself
to be led back. Philip Joy, on seeing Spikeman break away, started
from his place of concealment; so that the two were confronted on the
latter's return. The sight of Philip awoke a hope in Spikeman's
bosom, who begged him to intercede with the savage.
"I have done so already," answered Philip; "but he will not listen to
me, and has deprived me of my arms."
"Speak to him again--he will regard what you say. Save my life, and I
will make recompense a thousandfold for any wrong I have done you or
him."
The Pequot, smiling, stood by, quietly listening to the colloquy, and
before Philip could address him, said:
"Did Sassacus promise his white brother to let the dog (pointing to
Spikeman) run away?"
"You did; but care no more for your word than if you were no chief."
"My brother's, is a pappoos speech. Sassacus never broke his word; he
only tried whether the dog was as brave as he was bad. White man," he
added, turning to the Assistant, "thou art free. A great chief
disdains to give thee the death of a warrior. Go back to thy people,
and tell them what return the Sagamore of the Pequots makes for thy
breach of hospitality. His promise to his brother saves thy life this
time. But, beware! A Sagamore does not forget. Be a snail that keeps
its head within its shell. If the snail puts it out, Sassacus will
step upon it. Depart."
He gave directions to a couple of his sanops to conduct the Assistant
to the verge of the forest, and, turning away, walked to his lodge. He
was followed by Philip, who had now recovered from his amazement, and,
understanding the conduct of the chief, felt ashamed at his own want
of discernment and distrust.
"Is my brother satisfied?" inquired the Pequot.
"Sagamore," answered Philip, "I wronged thee. It shall be a lesson to
make me more cautious in judging of thy actions."
"It is well. My brother will hereafter remember that the thoughts of a
chief do not always shine in his face or sound in his words. My
brother will forgive me," he added, smiling, "for shutting his eyes a
little while very tight. It was that my brother might be the more
pleased when he opened them."
"A trusty friend, this Indian, after all, in his way, (thought Philip,
as he gazed on the face of the Pequot, which had settled into its
usual gravity), and loves a jest, too. Who would have thought it?
Methinks he has the better of it with Master Spikeman, though I
misdoubt if he considers the score as settled."
As for the Assistant, thus suddenly and unexpectedly reprieved from a
shocking death that seemed certain, he was stupified at the abrupt
change in his circumstances, and, as he hurried on, half doubted
whether it were not a dream. As he threaded the intricacies of the
wood, he had time to compare and weigh events, and was thus enabled to
come to some sort of conclusion. He recollected now many little things
in the conduct of Prudence, which would have opened the eyes of any
one not blinded by an absurd passion, and saw how, while seeming not
averse to his pursuit, she had, in fact, only tempted on from one
folly to another, until his whole being lay disclosed to her, without
herself making any corresponding return. He doubted not that she had
been all the time in correspondence with Joy, and with him had
concerted the plan whereby he had been betrayed into the hands of the
savage, to be outraged and mocked, and made to suffer all but the
bitterness of death. He gnashed his teeth with rage as these
reflections stormed through his mind, and, far from being grateful for
his deliverance, resolved to exert the whole force and subtlety of
which he was capable, to revenge himself on his tormentors. The fire
of his indignation burnt not so fiercely against the Pequot, yet he,
too, was embraced in the schemes for vengeance, for Spikeman fully
comprehended, from his parting words, that the enmity betwixt them
could be satisfied only by the destruction of one or both. Turning all
these things over in his mind, he quickly formed a plan, which he
determined to put as soon as possible into execution.
The dawn broke before his guides left the Assistant; but it was too
early to venture to return home, instead of which, he sought his
store-house, and there passed, meantime, awhile, brooding over schemes
of revenge. Of himself he was powerless; it was therefore necessary to
set other forces at work, and, in the letters which had been received
reflecting on the character of the Knight, he thought he saw the means
of driving, not only him, but Arundel also, out of the colony; and
they being once removed, he trusted to his ingenuity to rid himself of
the simple soldier and the Indian. The political power of the colony,
in short, was to be compelled to effect his private designs. This, in
the condition of the little State, was no difficult enterprise. In a
strange land, hemmed in by savages, whose power they were unable to
estimate with any degree of certainty, and who, however contemptible
singly, were formidable by reason of their number--upon whose
friendship they could never securely rely--on the eve of a war,
probably, with the Taranteens--distrustful of even some of their own
people, who murmured at the severity of the discipline they were
subjected to--the government felt that they had need of all the eyes
of Argus, and of as many ears, to guard against the dangers by which
they were beset. They were like, in one respect, to the timorous
rabbit, snuffing the faintest hint of danger in the breeze; but unlike
him in that, they sought safety, not in avoiding, but in anticipating
and confronting danger.
"Dear life!" cried Dame Spikeman, as the haggard face of her husband
presented itself in the morning, "where hast thou been all the night?
You look mightily cast down, and--O Lord! Heaven forgive me!--you have
a wound on the side of your head. Husband, what is the matter?"
"Why, dame," answered the Assistant, "is it a new thing for me to be
absent one night? Bethink thee how often my occasions call me to the
plantation?"
"Out upon the weariful plantation! O, sweetheart!" said the jealous
but fond wife, "I like not these absences. But, how got you this
hurt?" she inquired, parting his hair on the temple, and exposing the
dried blood.
"It is only a scratch I received in the forest, and hardly worthy thy
notice, dame. But where is Mistress Eveline? and I see not Prudence?"
"The young lady is still in her chamber, and, as for the waiting maid,
I heard her but five minutes since singing away as if there were no
music in the world but her own. Truly, it sounded more like a snatch
from some profane ballad than a godly hymn. I will tutor her about
this levity. Now do not be angry, dear life," added the dame, whose
heart was made more tender, and her tongue more communicative, by the
anxieties she had suffered during the night, on her husband's account;
"but I have fancied that you looked at the girl oftener, sometimes,
than was becoming in a man who had a wedded wife who never said him
nay."
"Fie, Dame," said the Assistant, laughing, and pinching, and kissing
her still tempting cheek; "what crazy fancies be these? Consider my
years, and profession, and dignity, and, most of all, my love for
thee. Why, this is very midsummer madness."
"I suppose I am foolish," replied the dame, wiping a tear away, "but I
feared, lest the girl might derive some encouragement from it, though
otherwise, Prudence is a good lass, and obedient, and I have no other
fault to find with her; but I recollect now, when I was a girl, how I
did feel when you came near me, and I have not got over all these
feelings yet, nor do I choose that Prudence should have them. So, dear
husband, it were safer for the girl that you should look oftener at
me, and less at her."
"My good, and faithful, and loving wife!" exclaimed the Assistant,
enclosing her in his arms, and feeling something like compunction at
the moment, "you deserve a better mate. But trouble not thyself with
such misgivings. Do not this wrong, sweet, to thine own charms, and to
my profession and station, as one of the congregation and a
magistrate."
"Nay," answered the pleased wife, "I distrusted thee not so much as
the presumption of the damsel; and if the devil goes about as a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, as we know he does, from the
precious book, what place is more likely for him to be in than these
awful woods, filled with red heathens, whom I take to be little better
than his children; and whom would he sooner devour, than a pretty
maiden like Prudence?"
"Enough of this, dame," said the Assistant, with difficulty
suppressing a smile at his help-mate's simplicity. "Bethink thee, that
though thy loving words are a feast to the spirit, the body requires
more substantial fare?"
"True, and you shall have it forthwith, although, you wicked man, I
did sleep hardly a wink for thinking of thee." So saying, the dame
hurried off to hasten the morning meal.
The Assistant watched the countenances of Eveline and her attendant
that morning at breakfast, and, in spite of the efforts of the former
to appear unconstrained, and the demureness of the latter, detected,
he thought, sufficient to justify his suspicions. He doubted not that
the girl had betrayed his weakness to her young mistress, and that all
along he had been a laughing-stock for both. "I will teach them," he
said to himself, as he reflected with bitterness on his failure, "how
to offend one who has the power and the will to crush them. The
banishment of her minion, who, a love-sick swain, has followed her
across the sea, only to be sent back a disappointed fool, will answer
for my young lady; and as for the girl, the slitting of Joy's ears and
nose, and an acquaintance of her own pretty feet with the stocks, will
suffice. It shall not be said that the sword of the magistrate was put
into my hands in vain."
While the Assistant was busying his brain with machinations like
these, the opportune arrival of another ship from London, with letters
to himself, containing accusations against Sir Christopher Gardiner,
filled his heart with joy, and furnished additional means to
facilitate his purpose. Without delay, he took them to Winthrop, and
demanded a private audience. After reading the letters received by
Spikeman, the Governor opened his desk, and handed to his councillor
others addressed to himself, and which had arrived by the same
opportunity. Greedily did the Assistant devour their contents, and
unbounded, though concealed, was his joy at finding them in one
particular of the same purport as his own. His face, however, was sad,
and his voice mournful, as, returning the epistles, he said--
"A grievous thing is it, that hypocrisy, so finished, should walk the
earth. It is a day of rebuke and of scandal to us, as magistrates,
that we should be so deceived."
"I am not altogether convinced," said Winthrop, who, steady in his
friendships, and prepossessed from the beginning in favor of the
Knight, was loth to think evil of him, "that these charges are true.
My own letters mention them only as reports--thine speak of them more
positively. Vouch you for the truth of your correspondent?"
"There is no man more truthful," answered Spikeman, who, had it been
necessary, would have been a guaranty for Beelzebub himself. "I have
known him long. He has never deceived me, nor can I imagine motive
therefor now."
"So fair, and yet so false!" murmured Winthrop; "and yet we know that
the evil one appears sometimes as an angel of light. I will not trust
in human appearance more. What shall be done with him on his return?"
"Let him be sent out of the colony, and they who are leagued in his
plots with him," said Spikeman. "I understand now the wonderful
eagerness of Master Arundel to be joined with him in this embassy.
Birds of a feather, says the proverb, do fly with greatest joy
together. Out upon this false Knight, for his pretended love of
retirement; upon his leman, this lady Geraldine, forsooth; and this
squire of dames, Master Miles Arundel, whose counterfeited affection
for my ward may be only another cloak for most pernicious plots."
"Thou art becoming suspicious of all the world. Master Spikeman," said
Winthrop, smiling.
"And is it not time to be suspicious, when those who have been honored
with the confidence of our government, and to whom we have entrusted
an important matter, are discovered to be no better than landlaufers
and conspirators?"
"Dost distrust the good faith of the Knight in his embassy?" inquired
the Governor.
"A bitter fountain cannot send forth sweet water, and should even the
undertaking of this false Knight be successful in appearance, would
not my suspicion be quieted."
"Come, Master Spikeman, remember that you may be called to sit as a
judge on the fate of this gentleman, and that it becomes men in our
positions to keep the mind free from injurious prepossessions, for
only thus may justice, which is a ray from the effulgent countenance
of Him who sits on the circle of the heavens, be attained."
"This is no private matter of mine own," answered the Assistant, "but
a thing of public concernment; and I humbly trust, should ever my
voice be demanded in its decision, that it will be raised to the glory
of God, and the advancement of the interests of the colony which he
has planted. But I should consider myself derelict to duty, and
unworthy of the trust committed to me, were I to hold back my honest
judgment, in view of the evidence now before me, subject to such
modification as further examination may give rise to, especially when
that judgment is asked for by the honored head of our oppressed
Israel."
"It is my purpose," said Winthrop, rising, wherein he was imitated by
the other, "to call together, this evening, at this place, for the due
consideration of this subject, such of the Assistants as may be here
present in Boston, and to advise with them thereupon, when and where I
shall hope to be favored with the presence and counsel of my friend,
whose zeal is never slack in aught that may redound to the welfare of
the Commonwealth."
"My presence, God willing, may be depended on, worshipful sir,"
answered Spikeman.
A meeting of the Assistants was accordingly held at the house of the
Governor the same evening, and the subject of the letters received
from England, and the course to be pursued in view of their contents,
considered in all their aspects. No great diversity of opinion
prevailed in respect to the necessity of caution, in reposing any
further confidence in Sir Christopher; but as for the proceedings to
be adopted on his return, there was a considerable difference of
sentiment. The more moderate, and least prejudiced against the Knight,
at the head of whom was Winthrop, advised that he should be received
with all honor, and the charges laid privately before him, in the
first instance, and an opportunity afforded him to refute them. This
they urged was the more just and honorable mode, inasmuch as the
accusations came not before them invested with any judicial authority.
But an opposite party, headed by Spikeman, strenuously insisted on
another course. They contended, that in a matter of the kind,
severity, and even what might look like precipitation, was better than
a slackness, which might defeat their object. They pressed the point,
that such was the number of letters received (some of them by private
persons) reflecting on the character of Sir Christopher, it was
impossible the information they contained should be concealed from the
public, and that, consequently, even before the return of the Knight,
news of it would reach his house. This, they said, would put the false
Lady Geraldine on her guard, and afford opportunity to destroy papers,
or whatever else might be in existence to inculpate the Knight. It
was, therefore, their opinion, that the lady, with whatever might be
found in the house to assist their judgment, should be instantly
seized, and such other measures taken as to insure the arrest of Sir
Christopher. There was, however, too much nobleness of feeling in a
majority of the Council to relish invading the privacy of a female, on
mere suspicion, while her protector was absent, engaged in business of
the State. Winthrop looked displeased at the suggestion, and even the
brow of the rough Dudley was corrugated into a haughty frown. As
usually happens between differing opinions, a half measure was
resolved upon, which satisfied neither party. It was to keep so strict
a watch, that the moment of Sir Christopher's return should be known,
and a file of armed men despatched by night, who should serve partly
as a guard of honor, and partly as a restraint upon the person, to
escort him to Boston. At the same time, with apologies for its
necessity, his books and papers were to be secured, and the lady
brought in all honor with him. This was the plan, should the Knight
visit his house before coming to Boston; but if he arrived at the
settlement first, he was to be detained and examined, after an account
of his mission had been received.