The next morning proved bright and fair, as lovely a day as one could
desire; no cloud in the sky save the light fleecy ones that are not
the presage of a storm. Our friends in the cottages gathered about
their breakfast tables in rare good spirits, in spite of the fact that
Walter was to leave them that day, by the evening boat, for his first
experience of life away from home and mother.
The lad appeared in high spirits, partly real but partly only assumed,
to hide the sinking of heart that at times oppressed him at the thought
of so long a separation from her who had been almost all the world to
him from babyhood till now, when he began to consider himself on the
very verge of manhood.
She saw it if no one else did, and her tender mother heart ached for
her "baby boy." For herself too, that she must do without him and his
loving caresses, for months, and know that he was exposed to many a
trial and temptation from which mother love could not shield him. But
oh, there was comfort in the thought that her best Friend was his
also, and would still be as near as ever to both mother and son; still
to them, as to all His children, the Hearer and Answerer of prayer.
"Well, what is to be done to-day?" asked Rosie, when the meal had
fairly begun.
"I propose a visit to 'Tonomy Hill' for one thing," said Captain
Raymond, addressing his remark to the company in general.
"Where is that, and what particular claim has it upon our attention?"
queried Mr. Dinsmore in return.
"It is about a mile and a half north of Newport," replied the captain.
"Tonomy is an abbreviation of Miantonomoh, the name of a Narragansett
sachem whose seat it was in early times. It is a rocky eminence and the
commanding site of a small fort or redoubt during the Revolutionary
war. It is said to be the highest land upon the island except Quaker
Hill, which you will remember we saw toward the northern end as we
sailed round on Saturday."
"Ah, yes! where the battle was fought between the British and our
forces under Greene and Sullivan."
"Is there anything to be seen there--on Tonomy Hill--but the ruin of
the little fortification?" asked Rosie.
"Yes," replied the captain. "The hill is 270 feet above the bay, and
from it we may obtain a fine view on all sides. On the south and west
the city and harbor of Newport, and many islands in the harbor with the
remains of fortifications--Canonicut, with its ruined fort, for one.
Ah, I am forgetting that you saw all from the _Dolphin_ the other day!
Still we could not from there take in the whole view at once as we may
from the hill top.
"Looking oceanward beyond the city, we can see Fort Adams; and, with a
spy-glass, the dim outline of Block Island; beyond it in the Atlantic,
perhaps, if your eyes are good, a faint view, a little more to the
eastward, of the nearest shore of Martha's Vineyard; also of some of
the islands in Buzzard's Bay.
"On the east can be seen Warren and Bristol, and the top of Mount Hope,
the throne of King Philip. To the north there will be a good view of
Narragansett Bay and the towns along its shores."
"Indeed, captain, you make it seem very well worth while to go there,"
observed Mrs. Dinsmore.
"I think that when we get there and look about and around, upon all
that is to be seen, you will be still better convinced of it," returned
the captain. "In addition to what I have already mentioned we can look
upon a large part of the cultivated fields of this island, and find
them rich in natural productions as well as in historical associations."
"Oh, let us go by all means!" exclaimed Violet. "Perhaps our little
folks might not care for it, or might find the climb up the hill too
fatiguing, but they can be left in the yacht or carriage, whichever the
trip is made in."
"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed little Elsie, "I should very much rather go up
that hill with the rest of you, if you will only let me!"
"Well, dear, I should like to let you do as you prefer, but, of course,
it must be just as your papa says," replied Violet, smiling down
affectionately into the eager, pleading little face.
"And papa says you may go if you wish to," said the captain, in his
kind, pleasant tones.
"Me too, papa?" asked Ned eagerly.
"Yes, you too, if you wish to, son," replied his father. "I think even
my baby boy will enjoy the drive, the climb up the hill, and the lovely
view from its top."
"We are going to drive, are we, papa?" queried Lucilla.
"Yes; I have ordered carriages from Newport to be here by nine o'clock;
so that all who wish can drive. But should anyone prefer the yacht it
is at their service. Also, it will be welcome to any who desire a sail
afterward."
After a little more talk, first among themselves, then along with the
occupants of the other cottage, it was decided that all would take the
drive to Tonomy Hill and see the view; then some would drive elsewhere,
others would board the yacht and have a sail.
The engaged vehicles were already at hand, and in a few minutes the
entire company of adults and children were on the way to Tonomy Hill.
All, old and young, greatly enjoyed the drive, and the captain was
plied with questions about this object and that. The windmills
particularly interested little Elsie and Ned. Their father explained
what they were, and why there were so many of them, that they were
made necessary by the absence of streams sufficiently strong to turn
water-wheels, and, of one standing at the junction of the main road and
the lane leading to the Hill, he remarked: "That is an old, old one,
built years before the Revolutionary War. At the time of the war it and
the dwelling-house near by were owned by a man named Hubbard. He was
one of the many Americans whom Prescott turned out of their houses, to
take shelter in barns and other miserable abiding places, while his
soldiers took possession of their comfortable homes."
"What a shame!" exclaimed Ned. "Papa, I'm glad we don't have those bad
fellows here now."
"So am I," replied his father. "We ought to thank God every day for
making us so free, and giving us this dear land of our own. I hope my
boy will always remember to do so."
Reaching the top of the hill, they found the view from it all that
the captain had said. Calling attention to it, now on this side, now
on that, he named the different towns and other objects worthy of
particular attention. Mount Hope was one, and again he spoke of it as
the former home of King Philip.
"Papa," said Elsie, "who was he? I thought we never had any king in our
country."
"The Indians used to have them, and he was king of one of their
tribes," was the reply.
"Is there a story about him, papa?" she asked.
"Yes. Would you like to hear it?"
"Oh, yes, sir! yes, indeed! you know I always like stories."
"Yes; even if they are rather sad; as this one is. But if you wish, I
will tell you a little about it now; perhaps more at another time."
"Oh, tell it all, if you please, Brother Levis," said Rosie. "I don't
believe any one of us would object to hearing it."
Several of the others joined in the request, and the captain, ever
ready to oblige, began at once.
"His original name was Metacomet, but he is frequently spoken of as
King Philip and also as Pometacom. His father was Massasoit, whose
dominions extended from this Narragansett Bay to Massachusetts.
Massasoit took two of his sons, Metacomet and Wamsutta, to Plymouth and
asked that English names might be given them. His request was granted,
one being called Philip and the other Alexander.
"Upon the death of the father, Alexander became chief in his stead, but
soon died suddenly, of poison, it was supposed, and Philip became chief
or king in his stead. He was a bright, enterprising man; sagacious,
brave, and generous. He soon perceived that his people were being
robbed by the whites, who took possession of the best lands, and killed
off the game and the fish upon which the Indians had been used to
subsist.
"Philip's tribe was known as the Wampanoags, or Pokanokets, and their
principal village was there upon Mount Hope. They, and other tribes
as well, felt that they had been greatly injured by the whites, and
planned an offensive alliance against them.
"Philip began his war preparations by sending the women and children
of the tribe away from Mount Hope to the Narragansetts for protection.
Then he warned some of the whites with whom he was friendly of the
coming storm, that they might seek places of safety, and, when they
were gone, bade his followers swear eternal hostility to the whites.
"A dreadful war followed, beginning on the 24th of June, 1675, and
lasting for more than a year. The whites suffered a great deal, but the
Indians still more. Particularly the Narragansetts, who were treated
with great cruelty because they had given shelter to the Wampanoags and
their families.
"They had a fort on an elevation of three or four acres surrounded by
a swamp, studded with brambles and thick underbrush. There were three
thousand Indians in it--mostly women and children. The whites surprised
them, burned their palisades and straw-covered wigwams, and the poor
creatures were burned, suffocated, butchered, frozen, or drowned. Six
hundred warriors and a thousand women and children were killed, and all
the winter provision of the tribe destroyed. Their chief, Canonchet,
escaped then, but was captured and killed the next summer.
"It was on the 12th of the next August that a renegade Indian guided
a large party of white men to the camp of the Wampanoags. The Indians
were asleep, King Philip among them. After the first shot or two he
woke, sprang to his feet, gun in hand, and tried to escape, but, as he
stumbled and fell in the mire, was shot dead by a treacherous Indian.
His death ended the war."
"Poor fellow!" sighed Grace. "He was certainly treated with great
injustice and cruelty. I don't see how the whites could be so blind to
the fact that the Indians had the best right to this country, and that
it was wicked to rob them of their lands."
"Self-interest is apt to have a very blinding influence," said her
father. "And I am afraid we must acknowledge that the whites were the
first aggressors, in their grasping seizure of so much of the land of
which the Indians were the original and rightful possessors."
All having now looked their fill, they returned to their carriages
and drove to other points of interest, one of them Whitehall, the old
residence of Bishop Berkeley. It was a place that all cared to see,
especially a room in it formerly occupied by the dean, where was a
fireplace, ornamented with Dutch tiles, placed there by the dean
himself.
"Oh, how old they must be!" exclaimed Grace.
"Yes, not much, if at all, under two hundred years old," said Walter.
"It sometimes seems odd how much longer things may last than people."
"In this world, you mean," said his grandfather; "but do not forget
that man is immortal, and must live somewhere to all eternity."
"And Bishop Berkeley is no doubt spending his eternity in a far
lovelier paradise than that with which he was familiar in this world,"
remarked Mrs. Travilla.
"Yes, indeed! 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,'" quoted
Evelyn softly, thinking of the dear father who had left her for the
better land years ago.