 | CHAPTER XIII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
“But, peace be with him!
That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear.”
Measure for Measure.
Courage is both a comparative and an improvable
virtue. If the fear of death be a weakness common to
the race, it is one that is capable of being diminished
by frequent exposure, and even rendered extinct by
reflection. It was therefore with sensibilities entirely
changed from their natural course, that the
two individuals who were left alone by the retreat
of Philip, saw the nature and the approach of the
danger that now beset them. Their position near
the brook had so far protected them from the bullets
of the assailants; but it was equally obvious to both,
that in a minute or two the Colonists would enter
an encampment that was already deserted. Each,
in consequence, acted according to those opinions
which had been fostered by the habits of their respective
lives.
As Conanchet had no act of vengeance, like that
which Metacom had performed, immediately before
his eyes, he had, at the first alarm, given all his
faculties to the nature of the attack. The first
and the second enabled him to decide.
“Come,” he said hastily, but with perfect self-possession,
pointing as he spoke to the swift-running
stream at his feet; “we will go with the water; let
the marks of our trail run before.”
Submission hesitated. There was something like
haughty military pride in the stern determination
of his eye, which seemed reluctant to incur the
disgrace of a flight so unequivocal, and, as he might
have believed, so unworthy of his character.
“No, Narragansett!” he answered; “flee for thy
life, but leave me to reap the harvest of my deeds.
They can but leave my bones by the side of those
of this traitor at my feet.”
The mien of Conanchet was neither excited nor
displeased. He quietly drew the corner of his light
robe over a shoulder, and was about to resume his
seat on the stone from which he had but a minute
before arisen, when his companion again urged him
to fly.
“The enemies of a chief must not say that he
led his friend into a trap, and that when his leg was
fast he ran away himself, like a lucky fox. If my
brother stays to be killed, Conanchet will be found
near him.”
“Heathen, heathen!” returned the other, moved
nearly to tears by the loyalty of his guide; “many
a Christian man might take lessons from thy faith.
Lead on—I will follow, at the utmost of my speed.”
The Narragansett sprung into the brook, and
took its downward course—a direction opposite to
that which Philip had chosen. There was wisdom
in this expedient, for though their pursuers might
see that the water was troubled, there was no certainty
as to the direction of the fugitives. Conanchet
had foreseen this little advantage, and, with the instinctive
readiness of his people, he did not fail to
by the course taken by his warriors, who had retired
under shelter of the rocks.
Ere the two fugitives had gone any great distance,
they heard the shouts of their enemies in the encampment;
and soon after, scattering shot announced
that Philip had already rallied his people to resistance.
There was an assurance of safety in the latter
circumstance, which caused them to relax their
speed.
“My foot is not as active as in days that are past,”
said Submission; “we will therefore recover strength
while we may, lest we be yet taken at emergency.
Narragansett, thou hast ever kept thy faith with
me, and come of what race or worship in what
manner thou mayst, there is one to remember it.”
“My father looked with the eye of a friend on
the Indian boy, that was kept like a young bear in
a cage. He taught him to speak with the tongue of
a Yengeese.”
“We passed weary months together in our prison,
Chief; and Apollyon must have been strong in a
heart, to resist the opportunity of friendship in such
a situation. But, even there, my confidence and care
were repaid, for without thy mysterious hints, gathered
from signs thou hadst gleaned thyself during
the hunt, it would not have been in my power to
warn my friends that thy people contemplated an
attack, the unhappy night of the burning. Narragansett,
we have done many acts of kindness,
each in his own fashion, and I am ready to confess
this last not to be the least of thy favors. Though
of white blood and of Christian origin, I can almost
say that my heart is Indian.”
“Then die an Indian's death!” shouted a voice,
within twenty feet of the spot where they were
wading down the stream.
The menacing words were rather accompanied
cast his musket into the water, and turned
to raise his companion.
“It was merely age dealing with the slippery
stones of the brook;” said the latter, as he recovered
his footing. “That had well-nigh been a fatal discharge!
but God, for his own purpose, hath still
averted the blow.”
Conanchet did not speak. Seizing his gun, which
lay at the bottom of the stream, he drew his friend
after him to the shore, and plunged into the thicket
that lined its banks. Here they were momentarily
protected from missiles. But the shouts that succeeded
the discharge of the muskets, were accompanied
by yells that he knew to proceed from Pequots
and Mohegans, tribes that were in deadly
hostility to his own people. The hope of concealing
their trail from such pursuers was not to be indulged,
and for his companion to escape by flight he knew
to be impossible. There was no time to lose. In
such emergencies, with an Indian, thought takes the
character of instinct. The fugitives stood at the
foot of a sapling, whose top was completely concealed
by masses of leaves, which belonged to the
under-brush that clustered around its trunk. Into
this tree he assisted Submission to ascend, and then,
without explaining his own views, he instantly left
the spot, rendering his own trail as broad and perceptible
as possible, by beating down the bushes as
he passed.
The expedient of the faithful Narragansett was
completely successful. Before he had got a hundred
yards from the place, he saw the foremost of the
hostile Indians hunting like blood-hounds on his
footsteps. His movement was slow, until he saw
that, having his person in view, all of the pursuers
had passed the tree. Then, the arrow parting from
the bow was scarce swifter than his flight.
The pursuit now partook of all the exciting incidents
and ingenious expedients of an Indian chase.
Conanchet was soon hunted from his cover, and
obliged to trust his person in the more open parts
of the forest. Miles of hill and ravine, of plain, of
rocks, of morass and stream, were crossed, and still
the trained warrior held on his way, unbroken in
spirit and scarce wearied in limb. The merit of a
savage, in such an employment, rests more on his
bottom than on his speed. The three or four Colonists,
who had been sent with the party of amicable
Indians to intercept those who might attempt to
escape down the stream, were early thrown out;
and the struggle was now entirely between the
fugitive and men equally practised in limb and ingenious
in expedient.
The Pequots had a great advantage in their number.
The frequent doublings of the fugitive kept
the chase within the circle of a mile, and as each
of his enemies tired, there were always fresh pursuers
to take his place. In such a contest, the result
could not be questionable. After more than two
hours of powerful exertion, the foot of Conanchet
began to fail, and his speed very sensibly to flag.
Exhausted by efforts that had been nearly supernatural,
the breathless warrior cast his person prostrate
on the earth, and lay for several minutes as
if he were dead.
During this breathing-time, his throbbing pulses
grew more calm, his heart beat less violently, and
the circulation was gradually returning to the tranquil
flow of nature in a state of rest. It was at this
moment, when his energies were recruited by rest,
that the chief heard the tread of the moccasons on
his trail. Rising, he looked back on the course over
which he had just passed with so much pain. But
a single warrior was in view. Hope for an instant
regained the ascendancy, and he raised his musket
cool, long, and it would have been fatal, had not the
useless tick of the lock reminded him of the condition
of the gun. He cast the wet and unserviceable
piece away, and grasped his tomahawk; but a band
of Pequots rushed in to the rescue, rendering resistance
madness. Perceiving the hopelessness of his
situation, the Sachem of the Narragansetts dropped
his tomahawk, loosened his belt, and advanced unarmed,
with a noble resignation, to meet his foes.
In the next instant, he was their prisoner.
“Bring me to your chief,” said the captive, haughtily,
when the common herd into whose hands he
had fallen would have questioned him on the subject
of his companions and of his own fate. “My
tongue is used to speak with Sachems.”
He was obeyed, and before an hour had passed,
the renowned Conanchet stood confronted with his
most deadly enemy.
The place of meeting was the deserted encampment
of the band of Philip. Here most of the pursuers
had already assembled, including all of the
Colonists who had been engaged in the expedition.
The latter consisted of Meek Wolfe, Ensign Dudley,
Sergeant Ring, and a dozen private men of the
village.
The result of the enterprise was, by this time,
generally known. Though Metacom, its principal
object, had escaped; yet, when it was understood
that the Sachem of the Narragansetts had fallen
into their hands, there was not an individual of the
party who did not think his personal risk more than
amply compensated. Though the Mohegans and
Pequots restrained their exultation, lest the pride
of their captive should be soothed by such an evidence
of his importance, the white men drew around
the prisoner with an interest and a joy they did not
care to conceal. Still, as he had yielded to an Indian,
to the clemency of his conquerors. Perhaps some
deeply-pondered schemes of policy had its influence
in this act of seeming justice.
When Conanchet was placed in the centre of the
curious circle, he found himself immediately in
presence of the principal chief of the tribe of the
Mohegans. It was Uncas, son of that Uncas whose
fortunes had also prevailed, aided by the whites, in
the conflict with his father, the hapless but noble
Miantonimoh. Fate had now decreed, that the
same evil star, which had governed the destinies of
the ancestor, should extend its influence to the second
generation.
The race of Uncas, though weakened of its power,
and shorn of much of its peculiar grandeur, by a
vicious alliance with the English, still retained most
of the fine qualities of savage heroism. He, who
now stood forth to receive his captive, was a warrior
of middle age, of just proportions, of a grave though
fierce aspect, and of an eye and countenance that
expressed all those contradictory traits of character
which render the savage warrior almost as admirable
as he is appalling. Until this moment, the rival
chieftains had never met, except in the confusion
of battle. For a few minutes, neither spoke.
Each stood regarding the fine outlines, the eagle
eye, the proud bearing, and the severe gravity, of
the other, in secret admiration, but with a calmness
so immovable, as entirely to conceal the workings
of his thoughts. At length, they began to assume
miens suited to the part each was to enact in the
coming scene. The countenance of Uncas became
ironical and exulting, while that of his captive grew
still more cold and unconcerned.
“My young men,” said the former, “have taken
a fox skulking in the bushes. His legs were very
long; but he had no heart to use them.”
Conanchet folded his arms on his bosom, and the
glance of his quiet eye seemed to tell his enemy.
that devices so common were unworthy of them
both. The other either understood its meaning, or
loftier feelings prevailed; for he added, in a better
taste—
“Is Conanchet tired of his life, that he comes
among my young men?”
“Mohican,” said the Narragansett chief, “he has
been there before; if Uncas will count his warriors,
he will see that some are wanting.”
“There are no traditions among the Indians of
the islands!” said the other, with an ironical glance
at the chiefs near him. “They have never heard
of Miantonimoh; they do not know such a field as
the Sachem's plain!”
The countenance of the prisoner changed. For
a single instant, it appeared to grow dark, as if a
deep shadow were cast athwart it; and then every
feature rested, as before, in dignified repose. His
conqueror watched the play of his lineaments, and
when he thought nature was getting the ascendancy,
exultation gleamed about his own fierce eye; but
when the self-possession of the Narragansett returned,
he affected to think no more of an effort that
had been fruitless.
“If the men of the islands know little,” he continued,
“it is not so with the Mohicans. There was
once a great Sachem among the Narragansetts; he
was wiser than the beaver, swifter than the moose,
and more cunning than the red fox. But he could
not see into to-morrow. Foolish counsellors told
him to go upon the war-path against the Pequots
and Mohicans. He lost his scalp; it hangs in the
smoke of my wigwam. We shall see if it will know
the hair of its son. Narragansett, here are wise
men of the Pale-faces; they will speak to you. If
with your tribe.”
Uncas then turned away, leaving his prisoner to
the interrogatories of his white allies.
“Here is the look of Miantonimoh, Sergeant
Ring,” observed Ensign Dudley to his wife's brother,
after he had contemplated for a reasonable time
the features of the prisoner. “I see the eye and
the tread of the father, in this young Sachem. And
more, Sergeant Ring; the chief favors the boy we
picked up in the fields some dozen years agone, and
kept in the block for the matter of many months,
caged like a young panther. Hast forgotten the
night, Reuben, and the lad, and the block? A fiery
oven is not hotter than that pile was getting, before
we dove into the earth. I never fail to think of it,
when the good Minister is dealing powerfully with
the punishments of the wicked, and the furnaces
of Tophet!”
The silent yeoman comprehended the disconnected
allusions of his relative, nor was he slow in seeing
the palpable resemblance between their prisoner
and the Indian boy whose person had once been so
familiar to his eye. Admiration and surprise were
blended, in his honest face, with an expression that
appeared to announce deep regret. As neither of
these individuals, however, was the principal personage
of their party, each was fain to remain an
attentive and an interested observer of that which
followed.
“Worshipper of Baal!” commenced the sepulchral
voice of the divine; “it has pleased the King
of Heaven and Earth to protect his people! The
triumph of thy evil nature hath been short, and
now cometh the judgment!”
These words were uttered to ears that affected
deafness. In the presence of his most deadly foe,
and a captive, Conanchet was not a man to suffer
on the speaker, nor could the most suspicious
or the most practised eye have detected in his mien
his knowledge of the English language. Deceived
by the stoicism of the prisoner, Meek muttered a
few words, in which the Narragansett was strangely
dealt by, denunciations and petitions in his favor
being blended in the quaint and exaggerated fashions
of the times; and then he submitted to the interference
of those present, who were charged with
the duty of deciding on the fate of the Indian.
Although Eben Dudley was the principal and the
efficient military man in this little expedition from
the valley, he was accompanied by those whose authority
was predominant in all matters that did not
strictly appertain to the executive portion of the
duty. Commissioners, named by the Government of
the Colony, had come out with the party, clothed
with power to dispose of Philip, should that dreaded
chief, as was expected, fall into the hands of the
English. To these persons the fate of Conanchet
was now referred.
We shall not detain the narrative to dwell on the
particulars of the council. The question was gravely
considered, and it was decided with a deep and
conscientious sense of the responsibility of those
who acted as judges. Several hours were passed
in deliberation, Meek opening and closing the deliberations
by solemn prayers. The judgment was
then announced to Uncas, by the divine himself.
“The wise men of my people have consulted together,
in the matter of this Narragansett,” he said,
“and their spirits have wrestled powerfully with
the subject. In coming to their conclusion, if it
wear the aspect of time-serving, let all remember,
the Providence of Heaven hath so interwoven the
interests of man with its own good purposes, that
to the carnal eye they may outwardly seem to be
in good faith to our ruling principle, which is good
faith to thee and to all others who support the altar
in this wilderness. And herein is our decision:
We commit the Narragansett to thy justice, since
it is evident that while he is at large, neither thou,
who art a feeble prop to the church in these regions,
nor we, who are its humble and unworthy
servitors, are safe. Take him, then, and deal with
him according to thy wisdom. We place limits to
thy power, in only two things. It is not meet that
any born of humanity, and having human sensibilities,
should suffer more in the flesh than may be
necessary to the ends of duty: we therefore decree
that thy captive shall not die by torture; and, for
the better security of this our charitable decision,
two of our number shall accompany thee and him
to the place of execution; it being always supposed,
it is thy intention to inflict the pains of death.
Another condition of this concession to a foreordered
necessity, is, that a Christian minister may be at
hand, in order that the sufferer may depart with
the prayers of one accustomed to lift his voice in
petitions to the footstool of the Almighty.”
The Mohegan chief heard this sentence with deep
attention. When he found he was to be denied the
satisfaction of proving, or perhaps of overcoming,
the resolution of his enemy, a deep cloud passed
across his swarthy visage. But the strength of his
tribe had long been broken, and to resist would
have been as unprofitable as to repine would have
been unseemly. The conditions were therefore accepted,
and preparations were accordingly made
among the Indians to proceed to judgment.
These people had few contradictory principles to
appease, and no subtleties to distract their decision.
Direct, fearless, and simple in all their practices,
they did little more than gather the voices of the
They knew that fortune had thrown an implacable
enemy into their hands, and they believed that self-preservation
demanded his life. To them it mattered
little whether he had arrows in his hands, or had
yielded himself an unarmed prisoner. He knew the
risk he ran in submitting, and he had probably consulted
his own character, rather than their benefit,
in throwing away his arms. They therefore pronounced
the judgment of death against their captive,
merely respecting the decree of their white allies,
which had commanded them to spare the torture.
So soon as this determination was known, the
Commissioners of the Colony hastened away from
the spot, with consciences that required some aid
from the stimulus of their subtle doctrines, in order
to render them quiet. They were, however, ingenious
casuists; and as they hurried along their
return path, most of the party were satisfied that
they had rather manifested a merciful interposition,
than exercised any act of positive cruelty.
During the two or three hours which had passed
in these solemn and usual preparations, Conanchet
was seated on a rock, a close but apparently an unmoved
spectator of all that passed. His eye was
mild, and at times melancholy; but its brightness
and its steadiness remained unimpaired. When his
sentence was announced, it exhibited no change;
and he saw all the pale-men depart, with the calmness
he had maintained throughout. It was only as
Uncas, attended by the body of his party and the
two white superintendents who had been left, approached,
that his spirit seemed to awaken.
“My people have said that there shall be no more
wolves in the woods,” said Uncas; “and they have
commanded our young men to slay the hungriest
of them all.”
“It is well!” coldly returned the other.
A gleaming of admiration, and perhaps of humanity,
came over the grim countenance of Uncas,
as he gazed at the repose which reigned in the firm
features of his victim. For an instant, his purpose
wavered.
“The Mohicans are a great tribe!” he added;
“and the race of Uncas is getting few. We will
paint our brother so that the lying Narragansetts
shall not know him, and he will be a warrior on the
main land.”
This relenting of his enemy had a corresponding
effect on the generous temper of Conanchet. The
lofty pride deserted his eye, and his look became
milder and more human. For a minute, intense
thought brooded around his brow; the firm muscles
of his mouth played a little, though scarcely enough
to be seen, and then he spoke.
“Mohican,” he said, “why should your young
men be in a hurry? My scalp will be the scalp of a
Great Chief to-morrow. They will not take two,
should they strike their prisoner now.”
“Hath Conanchet forgotten any thing, that he is
not ready?”
“Sachem, he is always ready—But”—he
paused, and spoke in tones that faltered,—“does
a Mohican live alone?”
“How many suns doth the Narragansett ask?”
“One: when the shadow of that pine points
towards the brook, Conanchet will be ready. He
will then stand in its shade, with naked hands.”
“Go,” said Uncas, with dignity; “I have heard
the words of a Sagamore.”
Conanchet turned, and passing swiftly through
the silent crowd, his person was soon lost in the
surrounding forest.
| CHAPTER XIII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish | |