"The flying rumors gathered as they rolled;
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all who told it added something new,
And all who heard it made enlargement too;--
In every ear it spread--on every tongue it grew."
POPE'S "_Temple of Fame_."
Ignorant, of course, of the events which had occurred during his
absence, the Knight started from the Indian village in high spirits,
as it appeared to Arundel, at the success of his embassy.
"These savages are more placable than I anticipated," said Sir
Christopher, "for it must be admitted that, in appearance at least,
they have cause for grievous resentment. One might almost suspect
that, since their late defiance, a suspicion of the truth had somehow
penetrated their untutored minds. At any rate, no war-whoop will be
heard for the present, and we have been received and treated with all
courtesy."
"A gentler race of wild chivalry," said the young man, "doth surely
nowhere exist. Their free and careless lives make me more than ever in
love with nature, and long shall I remember the noble Taranteens with
pleasure."
"Admired you them enough to cast in your lot with them," said the
Knight, with a smile, "I doubt not that you might become a king over
regions as extensive as those which owe allegiance to the sceptre of
our gracious monarch, Charles."
"My admiration soars not to that height; yet, to my imagination, is
there something delightful in the condition of these children of
nature, thoughtful only of to-day, and careless of tomorrow, when
compared with that of the painful delvers of civilization. The former
are birds flying freely in the air; the latter, poultry scratching in
a barn-yard."
Sir Christopher laughed good naturedly at the sally of his friend.
"Verily," he said, "were it not for thy mistress, I do believe thou
hadst remained amongst the Taranteens. Unfortunate for them is it that
civilization has an ally in love. Were this life all," he added,
gravely, his whole manner changing, "there were some reason in what
you say. It were wisdom, then, to sport like insects in sunbeams--to
sink at night into dreamless sleep. But such is not man's destiny.
What infinite concernments hang on the present moment! How imperative
and urgent is our duty to wean these poor heathen from their wild ways
and false creed, that they may be rescued from the intolerable
perdition that awaits all who are not of Holy Church."
"It surely is a lamentable future for the poor creatures," said the
young man; "and yet I suppose it must be so, because the learned of
all creeds, which call themselves Christian, do agree therein. Ah, me!
poor Sassacus!"
"I opine," said the gentle Knight, "that the flames of hell will be
tempered to such poor wretches, in consideration of their ignorance."
"It is horrible to think of," said Arundel, shuddering; and, as if
desirous to change the subject, he inquired, "May I ask, without
offence, after the country of Sassacus?"
"Assuredly you may. It is some hundred miles to the south of
Boston--the principal villages of the Pequots being on a river of the
same name, and on a lesser stream called the Mystic, and along the
reverberating shores of the Atlantic. It is a pleasant land of bright
waters, and fair valleys, and towering hills, fit to produce a race of
hardy warriors."
"Hast thou visited it thyself?"
"Once, on a hunting expedition, did I wander thus far, and partake of
the hospitality of the Pequot Chief, who, in return, was prevailed
upon to visit my poor quarters."
"I wonder what induces the noble savage to linger so long about
Massachusetts Bay, after having made his visit to you, and confess to
some apprehensions on his account."
"Have no fear on that score," said the Knight, cheerfully. "Sassacus
is prudent as well as brave, and, as you saw on the night when he was
attacked by the Taranteens, has some of his men with him; besides, the
Aberginians are at peace with his tribe."
"It is only the ingenious malice of the Assistant Spikeman that I
dread."
"Be assured, also, on that head. He will not venture into Boston
during our absence, and will so carefully keep out of the way as to
allow no opportunity for violence."
How mistaken was the Knight, is already known; but the most consummate
tact and profoundest wisdom are not able to guard against every
possible emergency.
With conversations of this kind did the two companions beguile the
way, on their journey homeward, which occupied somewhat less time than
it took to reach the Indian village. It was early in the morning--that
is to say, the sun had just risen--when they stood on the edge of the
clearing within which stood the Knight's habitation. Here they were
met by an Indian, who, to Sir Christopher's inquiry if all was well,
answered, sententiously, "All well." On arriving at the house, they
found the soldier, Philip, who manifested his joy at seeing them again
in a manner contrasting somewhat with that of the phlegmatic native.
After the demonstrations of welcome, Philip said, "I know not, Sir
Christopher, whether you have not got away from one danger, only to
fall into another. According to my thinking, a man of any spirit may
better trust himself with the salvages, whom I find nice, reasonable
people enough, who will not interfere with him if he will let them
alone, than with the meddlesome, crop-eared knaves down on the Bay."
"Remember in whose presence you are speaking, Philip," said the
Knight, "and that it becomes not me to hear those whose ambassador I
am, evil spoken of."
"I crave pardon," said Philip; "but, if all tales be true, they
deserve no such forbearance. It was out of no friendship, they sent
you to be murdered by them Taranteens, nor will they fire a culverin
at your return."
"Out with thy news, at once," cried the impatient Arundel, "nor stand
there hanging fire, like a musket when the priming is wet. What hast
to tell?"
"Ill news, Master Arundel, folk say can travel a mile, while good is
putting on his boots; but you seem not to be contented with its haste.
Nay," added Philip, noticing that the Knight began to show impatience,
"an' you will have it. It is little less than treason, I fear, they
are charging against Sir Christopher. It is a kind of Guy-Fawks plot
they are accusing him of hatching--that is to say, that he means to
make himself king of both colonies."
"Is that all, Philip," said the Knight, laughing. "By our lady, I have
heard worse stories about myself many a time, since I lived in these
woods."
"I tell thee, Sir Christopher," said the soldier, earnestly, "this is
no laughing matter. If I were in thy place, I would either fall back
on Sassacus and his tribe of Pequots, or gather me forthwith a few
hundred salvages, under arms, if you mean to stand your ground. It is
true, bows and arrows are beggarly things against muskets, in a fight
at arms-length, but at close quarters, knives and tomahawks can do
somewhat."
"But, good Philip," said the Knight, "thy words convey little
information. Canst not be more precise?"
"All I know," said the soldier, "is, that they say the trouble comes
from certain letters which have just arrived from England, charging
you, Sir Christopher, with I know not what horrid crimes. The person
who told me was sure they were very bad; but what they were, knew,
forsooth, no better than I."
"Perhaps the Lady Geraldine will be able to clear up the mystery,"
said the Knight to Arundel. "Let us dismiss all thought of it for the
present. There will be time enough hereafter to disquiet ourselves."
"And I will hie me presently," said Arundel, "to Boston, to inform the
Governor of your arrival, and to discover, if that be possible, what
means the nonsense that has taken possession of Philip, unless Lady
Geraldine can explain it, which will save me the trouble. Is it your
pleasure to accompany me, or remain you later?"
"I have some trifling duties to attend to," answered Sir Christopher,
"and shall remain. It will be enough for thee, with all convenient
dispatch, to inform him of the successful issue of our mission."
They now entered the house together, and the Knight went immediately
to seek the lady. He was absent but a short time, and, on his return,
stated that the only information she had was derived from the soldier.
"She bade me say," he added, "that her prayers have been earnest on
thy behalf, and that she welcomes thee again to thy friends."
The young man, (who, meanwhile, had been listening to a communication
from Philip,) as was meet, returned thanks, and desired his dutiful
service to be presented to the lady.
Upon parting, Sir Christopher instructed him respecting his message.
"Present to the Governor," he said, in conclusion, "my congratulations
on the successful issue of our enterprise. Now may the husbandman,
fearless, sow his seed, and his wife and little ones look with
confidence for his return. Midnight treachery and savage cruelty shall
not be known, but each one expect with a joyful heart the rising of
the sun. But I counsel no attempt at nearer approach. It is better
that the English and the Taranteens should avoid one another. Only
therein is safety. Say also that I purpose, after needful rest, to
wait upon him tomorrow, to enjoy once more the charm of his gracious
society, and to possess him more fully of our deeds."
With these parting words, he waived adieu, and, turning, sought the
apartment of Lady Geraldine.
The door was opened, as before, by the little Indian girl, Neebin,
who, as soon as she had admitted the Knight, ran to the side of the
lady, and, falling on her knees, began with curious eyes to examine a
book which the lady held in her lap.
The Knight looked affectionately at the child, and, approaching her,
placed his hand upon the raven hair that fell low upon the shoulders,
and, caressing the bent head, said gently:
"Good little Neebin! Has she learned all about the pretty pictures?"
The girl turned up to him her bright eyes, and, in better English than
that commonly used by the Indians, and even with a pronunciation that
approached correctness, replied:
"No--Neebin knows very little now, but the lady says the book will
talk to her by and by."
It was one of those illuminated missals on which, for want of other
occupation, and sometimes with a feeling of superstitious piety, the
monks spent incredible pains, and often a capricious and wonderful
ingenuity, which the half-reclaimed little savage was looking at. As
if unable to satisfy her curiosity fast enough, she turned the leaves
over with childish impatience, uttering now and then a cry of delight
as she beheld the figure of a bird or of a quadruped, while her eyes
would sadden as they fell upon the mournful face of the crucified
Saviour, whose image was delineated in several parts of the book.
"She knows all her letters," said Sister Celestina, whose true
character as a Catholic and a nun the reader has long ago divined "and
I permit her, as a reward, to look at the missal whenever she has been
diligent."
"Your task is something like taming a young hawk," said the Knight.
"Neebin is not a hawk!" exclaimed the child. "Hawks do not wear
clothes, nor yellow chains, nor can they say _Pater noster_ and _Ave
Maria_."
"No," said the lady; "nor have they a soul to be saved, like Neebin."
"What is a soul?" inquired the girl.
Tears dimmed the eyes of Sister Celestina at the question, and, before
she could reply, the Knight said:
"Thou hast asked a question, Neebin, which puzzles wiser heads; but it
is something which lives when the body becomes dust."
"O, yes," said the child. "I have heard the lady (for so she had been
taught to call Sister Celestina) talk about it. How does it look?"
"There thou askest a question beyond the boundaries of knowledge. No
one has returned from the grave to answer it," said the Knight.
"I know," said the child; "my mother told me. It is Neebin's soul
which looks at her when she bends over a clear spring; it lives in the
water."
"I have tried," said the lady, "to impart the idea, but it seems only
to begin to dawn upon her mind. I trust, by Heaven's grace, (crossing
herself,) it will grow and bear fruit to the glory of sweet Jesus's
name."
"What magnificent results do flow from seemingly insignificant
causes!" said Sir Christopher. "A spark shall light a conflagration of
a mighty city; an acorn shall bear an oak to waft armies over oceans
to conquest; and the conversion of a child to the true faith may
change the destinies of nations. It may be thy blessed lot, Celestina,
to plant a seed which shall grow into a tree, whose branches shall
cover earth with grateful shade, and reach to heaven. There was a time
when, influenced by the example of a king or queen, whose mind divine
grace had illuminated, whole multitudes rushed to be laved in the
saving waters of baptism. Wherefore should not those days return? Now
doth the suffering Church mourn like a pelican in the wilderness, and
though she gives her blood in streams from her torn bosom--alas! how
flows that crimson river, as if in vain!"
"Not all in vain," said the lady. "Cheering accounts of the progress
of our missionaries in the Southern portions of this vast continent
reach us from time to time, and the prayers of the Church are
sanctifying the land from the flood of the Mississippi to the forests
of Canada. But tell me now, Sir Christopher, of thine adventures."
The Knight looked significantly at the Indian girl.
"Neebin," said the lady, "take the book and examine it by thyself. Sir
Christopher and I desire to be alone. But beware that thou show it to
no one, for all are not privileged like thee to see its beautiful
pictures."
The child took the missal, but lingered, as if unwilling to depart,
and it was not until after a more decided repetition of the command,
that, with a pout, she left the room.
"Whom of the holy fathers saw you?" inquired Sister Celestina, after
the door was shut.
"Only Father Le Vieux," answered Sir Christopher, "and he charged me
with a commission which I now discharge." So saying, he took from his
bosom the letter which the Jesuit missionary had entrusted him with,
and handed it to the lady.
Sister Celestina took it, and, imprinting a kiss upon the epistle
which had come from the holy father's hand, laid it on the table.
"Let my presence be no restraint," said the Knight. "I have nought to
say, which can be of equal importance with anything that comes from
Father Le Vieux."
"Thanks for your courtesy," said the lady; and, taking up the letter,
she broke the wrapper wherein it was contained, and which was fastened
together by means of some unknown cement or gum, and commenced its
perusal.
Perhaps the Knight had some design in desiring her to open it in his
presence, for, during the whole time while she was engaged in reading,
he watched her countenance, as if he expected to see the contents of
the letter there; and though her training had been as complete as his
own, yet, by reason of her more delicate organization, she was unable
so to conceal her emotion that it should be entirely unobserved. The
faintest possible color suffused her face as she proceeded, and when
she raised her eyes at the conclusion, they had in them a look which,
though it baffled the sagacity of her keen observer, betrayed a
something which he did not like. It was not triumph, nor despondency,
nor joy, nor grief, but, according to the fancy of Sir Christopher, a
strange mingling of them all. The two had been in the habit, on their
arrival in the country, and for some time thereafter, to show to each
other their letters--a custom from which the Knight had never
departed, but which, of late, had been observed with less
scrupulousness by the lady; and he noticed now, that, instead of
handing the epistle to him, as formerly, she hid it in her bosom.
Something, indeed, she said about its being from her confessor, but
the explanation, though natural, did not satisfy. He made no remark,
however, but proceeded to give an account of what had befallen him and
his companion. He told her how, by an arrangement with Mesandowit,
(who had been sent by the Taranteens to inquire of him whether their
second, viz., their hostile embassy, would be in danger from the
English, and which, in consequence of Sir Christopher's assurances,
had been ventured upon,) they had been taken prisoners--of the
conversation which passed between himself and Father Le Vieux, and of
the means resorted to, in order to remove Arundel from the Indian
village. The lady listened with a pleased ear to the recital, and, at
its conclusion, expressed her gratification at the dexterity with
which the business had been managed, and the success which had crowned
it.
"The holy saints and angels have watched over you, to guard you in
your ways," she said, "and it proves the Divine approbation."
"Truly, Celestina, is such a belief necessary, else would the things I
am called sometimes to do, break me down with their oppressive weight.
Only by its means can I satisfy myself, when the commands of my
superiors seem to conflict with mine honor."
"Honor!" exclaimed sister Celestina--"what is it but a delusive
phantom, whereby ye men are frighted from the noblest undertakings?
What right has such a consideration to interfere, when you are called
upon to act by them who are set over you, and whom you are bound to
obey? It is a deadly sin to dream that they may err, and granting that
they do, on them and not on you rests the responsibility."
"True; yet speak not slightingly of a feeling which is ever the parent
of glorious deeds. Was it not inspired by honor, that the Roman
Regulus returned to certain torture and death? that the chivalrous
King of Israel, when fainting with thirst, poured out to the Lord the
water for which his soul longed? that gallant hearts innumerable have
crimsoned the battle-field with their hearts blood, rather than that
even a suspicion should soil their escutcheon?"
"Were a profane heretic, or an accursed Jew, or a misguided heathen,
to set these up to himself as ensamples, it might be excused," said
the sister, scornfully; "but what has the soldier, who has enlisted
under the banner of the blessed St. Ignatius, to do with imaginations
alike fantastic and full of a sounding frenzy? Was it for the glory of
God that these men died, or because they coveted the praise of the
world, and gratified a ferocious instinct of their nature?"
"I deny not the superior nobility of the principle of my order,"
returned the Knight, "inasmuch as it excludes selfishness, save as it
is of necessity, connected with the aspiration for salvation; still
can I not be mistaken in the admiration of a sentiment which lifts man
above all baseness, and prompts him to achieve exploits that shall
send his name reverberating through the halls of princes and the
cabins of laborers, to be warbled by the lips of beauty at the
festival, or shouted in front of the charging host. Yet, mistake me
not, Celestina, but believe, that while my heart loves not honor less,
my understanding renders a deeper homage to the principle of Ignatius.
But whither hath my wandering talk strayed?" he added, checking
himself. "I did desire, after delivering thy letter, to say, that it
is my purpose to follow hard on the heels of Master Arundel, and also
to caution thee to continue to keep carefully concealed, during my
absence, the sacred crucifix, and whatever else might betray us to our
enemies. Forgive me that I give this advice, but I see that thou hast
relaxed thy watchfulness over the missal."
"The warning is unnecessary. Nightly is the blessed cross, whereon the
hands of his holiness have been laid, deposited with my missal and
rosary in our place of concealment. And as for Neebin, fear not to
trust her. She is as jealous of her treasure as could be thou or I.
But leave me not until you receive tidings from the heretics. These
ill-omened reports I like not. They may, indeed, be idle, yet it is
only, prudence to wait."
"I care not for them, yet, to pleasure thee, would I do more. I will
remain, according to thy wish, and, meanwhile, to-night, seek
Sassacus, who soon returns to his distant tribe."
"Be it so, then," said the lady. "Neebin." she called to the Indian
girl, who was in the adjoining apartment, and who, at the summons,
came running up; "give me now the book, and I will tell thee a story
about one of the pictures."
The Knight understood this as a signal to withdraw, and accordingly
took his leave.
The lady, on his departure, instead of talking with the child,
returned her the missal with no excuse, and drawing the letter of
Father Le Vieux from her bosom, commenced reading it again.
"My judgment, then," she murmured, "is confirmed by that of the holy
father. Thus writes he: 'I fear, my daughter, that the leaven hath not
done its perfect office. There be many called, but alas, how few are
fit for the work! In some things hesitancy is a deadly sin. Let the
faint hearted step aside, that more vigorous souls may take their
place.' Whatever may be the consequences," she continued to herself,
"I feel cheered, in that my course will be approved by the father.
Thou knowest, holy Mary, that it was through no ignoble motive, but
only for thy glory I did this thing, whereof, alas! my poor woman's
heart more than half repented. Oh! pity, that one endowed with so many
gracious qualities as Sir Christopher, should lack the iron firmness
which gives consistency and dignity to life, and that his weakness
compelled me to that which I would not, for the world, his noble
nature should suspect: But since this letter from the father, no doubt
assails me. The course I have adopted I will pursue, nor shall my
constant soul falter. Sooner shall the needle desert the beloved
pole."
The face of the woman assumed an expression of indomitable resolution.
She looked like one incapable of a weakness--like one who, mastered by
an engrossing purpose, feels that all else is trivial, and to be as
little regarded as the dust which the traveller shakes from his soiled
garment.