 | CHAPTER VII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
“Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten of the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?”
Macbeth.
An hour later presented a different scene. Bands
of the enemy, that in civilized warfare would be
called parties of observation, lingered in the skirts
of the forest nearest to the village; and the settlers
still stood to their arms, posted among the buildings,
or maintaining their array at the foot of the palisadoes.
Though the toil of securing the valuables
continued, it was evident that, as the first terrors
of alarm had disappeared, the owners of the hamlet
began to regain some assurance in their ability to
make it good against their enemies. Even the
women were now seen moving through its grassy
street with greater seeming confidence, and there
was a regularity in the air of the armed men, which
denoted a determination that was calculated to
impose on their wild and undisciplined assailants.
But the dwelling, the out-buildings, and all the
implements of domestic comfort, which had so lately
contributed to the ease of the Heathcotes, were
completely in the possession of the Indians. The
open shutters and doors, the scattered and half-destroyed
furniture, the air of devastation and waste,
and the general abandonment of all interest in the
protection of the property, proclaimed the licentious
disorder of a successful assault. Still the work
of destruction and plunder did not go on. Although
here and there might be seen some warrior, decorated,
according to the humors of his savage taste,
the building, every hand had been checked, and
the furious tempers of the conquerors had been
quieted, seemingly by the agency of some unseen
and extraordinary authority. The men, who so
lately had been moved by the fiercest passions of
our nature, were suddenly restrained if not appeased;
and, instead of that exulting indulgence of
vengeance which commonly accompanies an Indian
triumph, the warriors stalked about the buildings
and through the adjacent grounds, in a silence which,
though gloomy and sullen, was marked by their
characteristic submission to events.
The principal leaders of the inroad, and all the
surviving sufferers by the defeat, were assembled
in the piazza of the dwelling. Ruth, pale, sorrowing,
and mourning for others rather than for herself,
stood a little apart, attended by Martha and
the young assistant, whose luckless fortune it was to
be found at her post, on this eventful day. Content,
the stranger, and Mark, were near, subdued and
bound, the sole survivors of all that band they had
so recently led into the conflict. The gray hairs
and bodily infirmities of the Puritan spared him the
same degradation. The only other being present,
of European origin, was Whittal Ring. The innocent
stalked slowly among the prisoners, sometimes
permitting ancient recollections and sympathies to
come over his dull intellect, but oftener taunting
the unfortunate with the injustice of their race,
and with the wrongs of his adopted people.
The chiefs of the successful party stood in the
centre, apparently engaged in some grave deliberation.
As they were few in number, it was evident
that the council only included men of the highest
importance. Chiefs of inferior rank, but of great
names in the limited renown of those simple tribes,
conversed in knots among the trees, or paced the
of their superiors.
The least practised eye could not mistake the
person of him on whom the greatest weight of authority
had fallen. The turbaned warrior, already
introduced in these pages, occupied the centre of
the group, in the calm and dignified attitude of an
Indian who hearkens to or who utters advice. His
musket was borne by one who stood in waiting,
while the knife and axe were returned to his girdle.
He had thrown a light blanket, or it might be better
termed a robe of scarlet cloth, over his left shoulder,
whence it gracefully fell in folds, leaving the
whole of the right arm free, and most of his ample
chest exposed to view. From beneath this mantle,
blood fell slowly in drops, dying the floor on which
he stood. The countenance of this warrior was
grave, though there was a quickness in the movements
of an ever-restless eye, that denoted great
mental activity, no less than the disquiet of suspicion.
One skilled in physiognomy might too have
thought, that a shade of suppressed discontent was
struggling with the self-command of habits that
had become part of the nature of the individual.
The two companions nearest this chief were, like
himself, men past the middle age, and of mien and
expression that were similar, though less strikingly
marked; neither showing those signs of displeasure,
which occasionally shot from organs that, in spite
of a mind so trained and so despotic, could not
always restrain their glittering brightness. One
was speaking, and by his glance, it was evident
that the subject of his discourse was the fourth and
last of their number, who had placed himself in a
position that prevented his being an auditor of what
was said.
In the person of the latter chief, the reader will
recognise the youth who had confronted Mark, and
first driven the Colonists from the meadows. The
eloquent expression of limb, the tension of sinews,
and the compression of muscles, as last exhibited,
were now gone. They had given place to the
peculiar repose that distinguishes the Indian warrior
in his moments of inaction, quite as much as it
marks the manner of one schooled in the forms of
more polished life. With one hand he leaned lightly
on a musket, while from the wrist of the other,
which hung loose at his side, depended, by a thong
of deer's sinew, a tomahawk from which fell drops
of human blood. His person bore no other covering
than that in which he had fought, and, unlike
his more aged companion in authority, his body had
escaped without a wound.
In form and in features, this young warrior might
be deemed a model of the excellence of Indian
manhood. The limbs were full, round, faultlessly
straight, and distinguished by an appearance of extreme
activity, without being equally remarkable
for muscle. In the latter particular, in the upright
attitude, and in the distant and noble gaze which so
often elevated his front, there was a close affinity to
the statue of the Pythian Apollo; while in the full,
though slightly effeminate chest, there was an equal
resemblance to that look of animal indulgence, which
is to be traced in the severe representations of Bacchus.
This resemblance however to a Deity that is
little apt to awaken lofty sentiments in the spectator,
was not displeasing, since it in some measure
relieved the sternness of an eye that penetrated
like the glance of the eagle, and that might otherwise
have left an impression of too little sympathy
with the familiar weaknesses of humanity. Still
the young chief was less to be remarked by this
peculiar fullness of chest, the fruit of intervals of
inaction, constant indulgence of the first wants of
of those, who either counselled in secret near, or
paced the grounds about the building. In him, it
was rather a point to be admired, than a blemish;
for it seemed to say, that notwithstanding the evidences
of austerity which custom, and perhaps character,
as well as rank, had gathered in his air, there
was a heart beneath that might be touched by the
charities of humanity. On the present occasion, the
glances of his roving eye, though searching and full
of meaning, were evidently weakened by an expression
that betrayed a strange and unwonted confusion
of mind.
The conference of the three was ended, and the
warrior with a turbaned head advanced towards his
captives, with the step of a man whose mind had
come to a decision. As the dreaded chief drew near,
Whittal retired, stealing to the side of the younger
warrior, in a manner that denoted greater familiarity,
and perhaps greater confidence. A sudden thought
lighted the countenance of the latter. He led the
innocent to the extremity of the piazza, spoke low
and earnestly, pointing to the forest, and when he
saw that his messenger was already crossing the
fields, at the top of his speed, he moved, with calm
dignity, into the centre of the group, taking his station
so near his friend, that the folds of the scarlet
blanket brushed his elbow. Until this movement,
the silence was not broken. When the great chief
felt the passage of the other, he glanced a look of
hesitation at his friends, but resuming his former air
of composure, he spoke:
“Man of many winters,” he commenced, in an
English that was quite intelligible, while it betrayed
a difficulty of speech we shall not attempt imitating,
“why hath the Great Spirit made thy race
like hungry wolves?—why hath a Pale-face the
stomach of a buzzard, the throat of a hound, and the
the snow: thou rememberest the young tree a sapling.
Tell me; why is the mind of a Yengeese so
big, that it must hold all that lies between the rising
and the setting sun? Speak, for we would know
the reason, why arms so long are found on so little
bodies?”
The events of that day had been of a nature to
awaken all the latent energies of the Puritan. He
had lifted up his spirit, with the morning, in the customary
warmth with which he ever hailed the Sabbath;
the excitement of the assault had found him
sustained above most earthly calamities, and while
it quickened feelings that can never become extinct
in one who has been familiar with martial usages,
it left him, stern in his manhood, and exalted in his
sentiments of submission and endurance. Under
such influences, he answered with an austerity that
equalled the gravity of the Indian.
“The Lord hath delivered us into the bonds of
the heathen,” he said, “and yet his name shall be
blessed beneath my roof! Out of evil shall come
good; and from this triumph of the ignorant shall
proceed an everlasting victory!”
The chief gazed intently at the speaker, whose
attenuated frame, venerable face, and long locks,
aided by the hectic of enthusiasm that played beneath
a glazed and deep-set eye, imparted a character
that seemed to rise superior to human weakness.
Bending his head in superstitious reverence,
he turned gravely to those who, appearing to possess
more of the world in their natures, were more
fitting subjects for the designs he meditated.
“The mind of my father is strong, but his body
is like a branch of the scorched hemlock!” was the
pithy declaration with which he prefaced his next
remark. “Why is this?” he continued, looking severely
at the three who had so lately been opposed
skins like the blossom of the dog-wood, and yet
their hands are so dark that I cannot see them!”
“They have been blackened by toil, beneath a
burning sun,” returned Content, who knew how to
discourse in the figurative language of the people in
whose power he found himself. “We have labored,
that our women and children might eat.”
“No—the blood of red men hath changed their
color.”
“We have taken up the hatchet, that the land
which the Great Spirit hath given might still be
ours, and that our scalps might not be blown about
in the smoke of a wigwam. Would a Narragansett
hide his arms, and tie up his hands, with the war-whoop
ringing in his ears?”
When allusion was made to the ownership of the
valley, the blood rushed into the cheek of the warrior
in such a flood, that it deepened even the natural
swarthy hue; but, clenching the handle of his
axe convulsively, he continued to listen, like one
accustomed to entire self-command.
“What a red man does may be seen,” he answered,
pointing with a grim smile towards the orchard;
exposing, by the movement of the blanket, as he
raised his arm, two of the reeking trophies of victory
attached to his belt. “Our ears are open very
wide. We listen, to hear in what manner the hunting-grounds
of the Indian have become the plowed
fields of the Yengeese. Now let my wise men hearken,
that they may grow more cunning, as the snows
settle on their heads. The pale-men have a secret
to make the black seem white!”
“Narragansett—”
“Wampanoag!” interrupted the chief, with the
lofty air with which an Indian identifies himself
with the glory of his people—then glancing a milder
look at the young warrior at his elbow, he added,
good—Narragansett, or Wampanoag—Wampanoag,
or Narragansett. The red men are brothers and
friends. They have broken down the fences between
their hunting-grounds, and they have cleared
the paths, between their villages, of briars. What
have you to say to the Narragansett?—he has not
yet shut his ear.”
“Wampanoag, if such be thy tribe,” resumed
Content, “thou shalt hear that which my conscience
teacheth is language to be uttered. The God of an
Englishman is the God of men of all ranks, and
of all time.” His listeners shook their heads doubtingly,
with the exception of the youngest chief,
whose eye never varied its direction while the
other spoke, each word appearing to enter deep
within the recesses of his mind. “In defiance of
these signs of blasphemy, do I still proclaim the
power of him I worship!” Content continued; “My
God is thy God; and he now looketh equally on the
deeds, and searcheth, with inscrutable knowledge,
into the hearts of both. This earth is his footstool;
younder heaven his throne! I pretend not to enter
into his sacred mysteries, or to proclaim the reason
why one-half of his fair work hath been so long
left in that slough of ignorance and heathenish
abomination in which my fathers found it; why
these hills never before echoed the songs of praise,
or why the valleys have been so long mute. These
are truths hid in the secret designs of his sacred
purpose, and they may not be known, until the last
fulfilment. But a great and righteous spirit hath
led hither men, filled with the love of truth and
pregnant with the designs of a heavily-burthened
faith, inasmuch as their longings are for things pure,
while the consciousness of their transgressions bends
them in deep humility to the dust. Thou bringest
against us the charge of coveting thy lands, and
This cometh of ignorance of that which hath been
abandoned, in order that the spirit of the godly
might hold fast to the truth. When the Yengeese
came into this wilderness, he left behind him all
that can delight the eye, please the senses, and feed
the longing of the human heart, in the country of
his fathers: for fair as is the work of the Lord in
other lands, there is none that is so excellent as
that from which these pilgrims in the wilderness
have departed. In that favored isle, the earth groaneth
with the abundance of its products; the odors
of its sweet savors salute the nostrils, and the eye
is never wearied in gazing at its loveliness.—No:
the men of the Pale-faces have deserted home, and
all that sweeteneth life, that they might serve God;
and not at the instigations of craving minds, or of
evil vanities!”
Content paused, for as he grew warm with the
spirit by which he was animated, he had insensibly
strayed from the closer points of his subject. His
conquerors maintained the decorous gravity with
which an Indian always listens to the speech of
another, until he had ended; and then the Great
Chief, or Wampanoag, as he had proclaimed himself
to be, laid a finger lightly on the shoulder of
his prisoner, as he demanded—
“Why have the people of the Yengeese lost
themselves on a blind path? If the country they
have left is pleasant, cannot their God hear them
from the wigwams of their fathers? See—if our
trees are but bushes, leave them to the red man;
he will find room beneath their branches to lie in
the shade. If our rivers are small, it is because the
Indians are little. If the hills are low and the
valleys narrow, the legs of my people are weary
with much hunting, and they will journey among
them the easier. Now what the Great Spirit hath
whose skins are like the light of the morning should
go back towards the rising sun, out of which they
have come to do us wrong.”
The chief spoke calmly, but it was like a man
much accustomed to deal in the subtleties of controversy,
according to the fashion of the people to
whom he belonged.
“God hath otherwise decreed,” said Content.
“He hath led his servants hither, that the incense
of praise may arise from the wilderness.”
“Your Spirit is a wicked Spirit. Your ears have
been cheated. The counsel that told your young
men to come so far, was not spoken in the voice of
the Manitou. It came from the tongue of one that
loves to see game scarce, and the squaws hungry.
Go—you follow the mocker, or your hands would
not be so dark.”
“I know not what injury may have been done
the Wampanoags, by men of wicked minds, for
some such there are, even in the dwellings of the
well-disposed; but wrong to any hath never come
from those that dwell within my doors. For these
lands, a price hath been paid; and what is now seen
of abundance in the valley, hath been wrought by
much labor. Thou art a Wampanoag, and dost
know that the hunting-grounds of thy tribe have
been held sacred by my people. Are not the fences
standing, which their hands placed, that not even
the hoof of colt should trample the corn? and when
was it known that the Indian came for justice
against the trespassing ox, and did not find it?”
“The moose doth not taste the grass at the root;
he liveth on the tree! He doth not stoop to feed on
that which he treadeth under foot! Does the hawk
look for the musketoe? His eye is too big. He can
see a bird. Go—when the deer have been killed,
the Wampanoags will break down the fence with
strong. A cunning Pale-face hath made that fence;
it shutteth out the colt, and it shutteth in the Indian.
But the mind of a warrior is too big; it will not be
kept at grass with the ox.”
A low but expressive murmur of satisfaction from
the mouths of his grim companions, succeeded this
reply of the chief.
“The country of thy tribe is far distant,” returned
Content, “and I will not lay untruth to my soul,
by presuming to say whether justice or injustice
hath been done them in the partition of the lands.
But in this valley hath wrong never been done to
the red man. What Indian hath asked for food,
and not got it? If he hath been a-thirst, the cider
came at his wish; if he hath been a-cold, there was
a seat by the hearth; and yet hath there been reason
why the hatchet should be in my hand, and why
my foot should be on the war-path! For many seasons
we lived on lands, which were bought of both
red and white man, in peace. But though the sun
shone clear so long, the clouds came at last. There
was a dark night fell upon this valley, Wampanoag,
and death and the brand entered my dwelling, together.
Our young men were killed, and—our
spirits were sorely tried.”
Content paused, for his voice became thick, and
his eye had caught a glimpse of the pale and drooping
countenance of her who leaned on the arm of
the still excited and frowning Mark for support.
The young chief listened with a charmed ear. As
Content had proceeded, his body was inclined a little
forward, and his whole attitude was that which
men unconsciously assume when intensely occupied
in listening to sounds of the deepest interest.
“But the sun rose again!” said the great chief,
pointing at the evidence of prosperity which were
everywhere apparent in the settlement, casting at
his youngest companion. “The morning was clear,
though the night was so dark. The cunning of a
Pale-face knows how to make corn grow on a rock.
The foolish Indian eats roots, when crops fail and
game is scarce.”
“God ceased to be angry;” returned Content
meekly, folding his arms in a manner to show he
wished to speak no more.
The great chief was about to continue, when his
younger associate laid a finger on his naked shoulder,
and, by a sign, indicated that he wished to hold
communication with him apart. The former met
the request with respect, though it might be discovered
that he little liked the expression of his companion's
features, and that he yielded with reluctance,
if not with disgust. But the countenance of
the youth was firm, and it would have needed more
than usual hardihood to refuse a request seconded
by so steady and so meaning an eye. The elder
spoke to the warrior nearest his elbow, addressing
him by the name of Annawon, and then, by a gestue
so natural and so dignified that it might have
graced the air of a courtier, he announced his readiness
to proceed. Notwithstanding the habitual
reverence of the aborigines for age, the others gave
way for the passage of the young man, in a manner
to proclaim that merit or birth, or both, had united
to purchase for him a personal distinction, which
far exceeded that shown, in common, to men of his
years. The two chiefs left the piazza in the noiseless
manner of the moccasoned foot.
The passage of these dignified warriors towards
the grounds in the rear of the dwelling, as it was
characteristic of their habits, is worthy of being
mentioned. Neither spoke, neither manifested any
womanish impatience to pry into the musings of the
other's mind, and neither failed in those slight but
commodious and the footing sure. They had
reached the summit of the elevation so often named,
ere they believed themselves sufficiently retired to
indulge in a discourse which might otherwise have
enlightened profane ears. When beneath the shade
of the fragrant orchard which grew on the hill, the
senior of the two stopped, and throwing about him
one of those quick, nearly imperceptible, and yet
wary glances, by which an Indian understands his
precise position, as it were by instinct, he commenced
the dialogue. The discourse was in the dialect of
their race, but as it is not probable that many who
read these pages would be much enlightened were
we to record it in the precise words in which it has
been transmitted to us, a translation into English,
as freely as the subject requires, and the geniuses
of the two languages will admit, shall be attempted.
“What would my brother have?” commenced he
with the turbaned head, uttering the guttural sounds
in the low, soothing tones of friendship, and even of
affection. “What troubles the Great Sachem of
the Narragansetts? His thoughts seem uneasy. I
think there is more before his eye, than one whose
sight is getting dim can see. Doth he behold the
spirit of the brave Miantonimoh, who died, like a
dog, beneath the blows of cowardly Pequots and
false-tongued Yengeese? Or does his heart swell,
with longing, to see the scalps of treacherous Pale-faces
hanging at his belt? Speak, my son; the
hatchet hath long been buried in the path between
our villages, and thy words will enter the ears of a
friend.”
“I do not see the spirit of my father,” returned
the young Sachem; “he is afar off, in the hunting-grounds
of just warriors. My eyes are too weak to
look over so many mountains, and across so many
rivers. He is chasing the moose in grounds where
young man to tell him which way the trail leadeth.
Why should I look at the place where the Pequot
and the Pale-face took his life? The fire which
scorched this hill hath blackened the spot, and I can
no longer find the marks of blood.”
“My son is very wise—cunning beyond his winters!
That which hath been once revenged, is forgotten.
He looks no further than six moons. He
sees the warriors of the Yengeese coming into his
village, murdering his old women, and slaying the
Narragansett girls; killing his warriors from behind,
and lighting their fires with the bones of red men.
I will now stop my ears, for the groans of the slaughtered
make my soul feel weak.”
“Wampanoag,” answered the other, with a fierce
flashing of his eagle eye, and laying his hand firmly
on his breast, “the night the snows were red with
the blood of my people, is here! my mind is dark:
none of my race have since looked upon the place
where the lodges of the Narragansetts stood, and
yet it hath never been hid from our sight. Since
that time have we travelled in the woods, bearing
on our backs all that is left but our sorrow; that
we carry in our hearts.”
“Why is my brother troubled? There are many
scalps among his people, and see, his own tomahawk
is very red! Let him quiet his anger till the night
cometh, and there will be a deeper stain on the axe.
I know he is in a hurry, but our councils say it is
better to wait for darkness, since the cunning of the
Pale-faces is too strong for the hands of our young
men.”
“When was a Narragansett slow to leap, after
the whoop was given; or unwilling to stay, when
men of gray heads say 'tis better? I like your counsel;
it is full of wisdom. Yet an Indian is but a
man! Can he fight with the God of the Yengeese?
skin he red!”
“I look into the clouds, at the trees, among the
lodges,” said the other, affecting to gaze curiously
at the different objects he named, “but I cannot
see the white Manitou. The pale-men were talking
to him when we raised the whoop in their fields,
and yet he has not heard them. Go—my son has
struck their warriors with a strong hand; has he
forgotten to count how many dead lie among the
trees with the sweet-smelling blossoms?”
“Metacom,” returned he who has been called
the Sachem of the Narragansetts, stepping cautiously
nearer to his friend, and speaking lower, as
if he feared an invisible auditor; “thou hast put
hate into the bosoms of the red men, but canst thou
make them more cunning than the Spirits? Hate
is very strong, but cunning hath a longer arm.
See,” he added, raising the fingers of his two
hands before the eyes of his attentive companion,
“ten snows have come and melted, since there stood
a lodge of the Pale-faces on this hill. Conanchet
was then a boy. His hand had struck nothing but
deer. His heart was full of wishes. By day he
thought of Pequot scalps, at night he heard the
dying words of Miantonimoh. Though slain by
cowardly Pequots and lying Yengeese, his father
came with the night into his wigwam, to talk to his
son. `Does the child of so many great Sachems
grow big?' would he say; `is his arm getting strong,
his foot light, his eye quick, his heart valiant? Will
Conanchet be like his fathers?—when will the young
Sachem of the Narragansetts become a man?' Why
should I tell my brother of these visits? Metacom
hath often seen the long line of Wampanoag Chiefs,
in his sleep? The brave Sachems sometimes enter
into the heart of their son?”
The lofty-minded, though wily Philip struck his
“They are always here. Metacom has no soul
but the spirit of his fathers!”
“When he was tired of silence, the murdered
Miantonimoh spoke aloud,” continued Conanchet,
after permitting the customary courteous pause to
succeed the emphatic words of his companion. “He
bade his son arise, and go among the Yengeese,
that he might return with scalps to hang in his
wigwam; for the eyes of the dead chief liked not
to see the place so empty. The voice of Conanchet
was then too feeble for the council-fire; he said
nothing—he went alone. An evil spirit gave him
into the hands of the Pale-faces. He was a captive
many moons. They shut him in a cage, like a tamed
panther! It was here. The news of his ill-luck
passed from the mouths of the young men of the
Yengeese, to the hunters; and from the hunters it
came to the ears of the Narragansetts. My people
had lost their Sachem, and they came to seek him.
Metacom, the boy had felt the power of the God of
the Yengeese! His mind began to grow weak; he
thought less of revenge; the spirit of his father
came no more at night. There was much talking
with the unknown God, and the words of his enemies
were kind. He hunted with them. When he met
the trail of his warriors in the woods, his mind was
troubled, for he knew their errand. Still he saw
his father's spirit, and waited. The whoop was
heard that night; many died, and the Narragansetts
took scalps. Thou seest this lodge of stone, over
which fire has passed. There was then a cunning
place above, and in it the pale-men went to fight
for their lives. But the fire kindled, and then
there was no hope. The soul of Conanchet was
moved at that sight, for there was much honesty in
them within. Though their skins were so white,
not be spoken to, and the place became like the
coals of a deserted council-fire. All within were
turned to ashes. If the spirit of Miantonimoh rejoiced,
it was well; but the soul of his son was very
heavy. The weakness was on him, and he no longer
thought of boasting of his deeds at the war-post.”
“That fire scorched the stain of blood from the
Sachem's plain?”
“It did. Since that time I have not seen the
marks of my father's blood. Gray heads and boys
were in that fire, and when the timbers fell, nothing
was left but coals. Yet do they, who were in the
blazing lodge, stand there!”
The attentive Metacom started, and glanced a
hasty look at the ruin.
“Does my son see spirits in the air?” he asked
hastily.
“No, they live; they are bound for the torments.
In the white head, is he who talked much with his
God. The elder chief, who struck our young men
so hard, was then also a captive in this lodge. He
who spoke, and she, who seems even paler than
her race, died that night; and yet are they now
here! Even the brave youth, that was so hard to
conquer, looks like a boy that was in the fire! The
Yengeese deal with unknown Gods; they are too
cunning for an Indian!”
Philip heard this strange tale, as a being educated
in superstitious legends would be apt to listen; and
yet it was with a leaning to incredulity, that was
generated by his fierce and indomitable desire for
the destruction of the hated race. He had prevailed,
in the councils of his nation, over many similar signs
of the supernatural agency that was exercised in
favor of his enemies, but never before had facts so
imposing come so directly and from so high a source
before his mind. Even the proud resolution and farsighted
by such testimony, and there was a single moment
when the idea of abandoning a league that seemed
desperate took possession of his brain. But true to
himself and his cause, second thoughts and a firmer
purpose restored his resolution, though they could
not remove the perplexity of his doubts.
“What does Conanchet wish?” he said. “Twice
have his warriors broke into this valley, and twice
have the tomahawks of his young men been redder
than the head of the woodpecker. The fire was
not good fire; the tomahawk will kill surer. Had
not the voice of my brother said to his young men,
`let the scalps of the prisoners alone,' he could not
now say `yet do they now stand here!”'
“My mind is troubled, friend of my father. Let
them be questioned, artfully, that the truth be
known.”
Metacom mused an instant; then smiling, in a
friendly manner, on his young and much moved
companion, he made a sign to a youth who was
straying about the fields, to approach. This young
warrior was made the bearer of an order to lead
the captives to the hill, after which the two chiefs
stalked to and fro in silence, each brooding over
what had passed, in a humor that was suited to his
particular character and more familiar feelings.
| CHAPTER VII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish | |