 | CHAPTER III. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
“Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book;
he hath not eaten paper as it were; he hath not drunk ink: his
intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal—only sensible
in the duller parts.”
Love's Labor Lost.
“Here cometh Faith, to bring us tidings of the
hamlet,” said the husband of the woman whose
character we have so feebly sketched, as he took
his seat in the piazza, at the early hour and in
the group already mentioned. “The Ensign hath
been abroad in the hills, throughout the night, with
a chosen party of our people; and perchance she
hath been sent with the substance that they have
gathered, concerning the unknown trail.”
“The heavy-footed Dudley hath scarce mounted
to the dividing ridge, where report goeth the prints
of moccasons were seen,” observed a young man, who
in his person bore all the evidences of an active
and healthful manhood. “Of what service is the
the weariness of its leader?”
“If thou believest, boy, that thy young foot is
equal to contend with the sinews of Eben Dudley,
there may be occasion to show the magnitude of
thy error, ere the danger of this Indian out-breaking
shall pass away. Thou art too stubborn of will,
Mark, to be yet trusted with the leading of parties
that may hold the safety of all who dwell in the
Wish-Ton-Wish within their keeping.”
The young man looked displeased; but, fearful
that his father might observe and misinterpret his
humor into a personal disrespect, he turned away,
permitting his frowning eye to rest, for an instant,
on the timid and stolen glance of a maiden, whose
cheek was glowing like the eastern sky, as she busied
herself with the preparations of the table.
“What welcome news dost bring from the sign
of the Whip-Poor-Will?” Content asked of the
woman, who had now come within the little gate
of his court. “Hast seen the Ensign, since the party
took the hill-paths; or is it some traveller who hath
charged thee with matter for our ears?”
“Eye of mine hath not seen the man since he
girded himself with the sword of office,” returned
Faith, entering the piazza and nodding salutation
to those around her; “and as for strangers, when
the clock shall strike noon, it will be one month to
the day that the last of them was housed within
my doors. But I complain not of the want of custom,
as the Ensign would never quit the bar and
his gossip, to go into the mountain-lots, so long as
there was one to fill his ears with the marvels of
the old countries, or even to discourse of the home-stirrings
of the colonies themselves.”
“Thou speakest lightly, Faith, of one who merits
thy respect and thy duty.”
The eye of the former studied the meek countenance
an intenseness and a melancholy that showed her
thoughts were on other matters, and then, as if
suddenly recalled to what had passed, she resumed—
“Truly, what with duty to the man as a husband,
and respect to him as an officer of the colony,
Madam Heathcote, the task is not one of easy bearing.
If the King's representative had given the
colors to my brother Reuben, and left the Dudley
with the halberd in his hand, the preferment would
have been ample for one of his qualities, and all the
better for the credit of the settlement.”
“The Governor distributed his favor according
to the advice of men competent to distinguish merit,”
said Content. “Eben was foremost in the bloody
affair among the people of the Plantations, where
his manhood was of good example to all in company.
Should he continue as faithful and as valiant, thou
mayst yet live to see thyself the consort of a Captain!”
“Not for glory gained in this night's marching,
for yonder cometh the man with a sound body, and
seemingly with the stomach of a Cæsar—ay, and
I'll answer for it, of a regiment too! It is no trifle
that will satisfy his appetite, after one of these—
ha! pray Heaven the fellow be not harmed—truly,
he hath our neighbor Ergot in attendance.”
“There is other than he too, for one cometh in
the rear whose gait and air are unknown to me—
the trail hath been struck, and Dudley leadeth a
captive! A savage, in his paint and cloak of skin, is
taken.”
This assertion caused all to rise, for the excitement
of an apprehended inroad was still strong in
the minds of those secluded people. Not a syllable
more was uttered, until the scout and his companion
were before them.
The quick glance of Faith had scanned the person
of her husband, and, resuming her spirits with
first to greet him with words:
“How now, Ensign Dudley,” said the woman,
quite possibly vexed that she had unguardedly betrayed
a greater interest in his welfare than she
might always deem prudent. “How now, Ensign,
hath the campaign ended with no better trophy
than this?”
“The fellow is not a chief, nor, by his step and
dull look, even a warrior; but he was, nevertheless,
a lurker nigh the settlements, and it was thought
prudent to bring him in;” returned the husband,
addressing himself to Content, while he answered
the salutation of his wife with a sufficiently brief
nod. “My own scouting hath brought nothing to
light, but my brother Ring hath fallen on the trail
of him that is here present, and it is not a little that
we are puzzled in probing, as the good Doctor Ergot
calleth it, into the meaning of his errand.”
“Of what tribe may the savage be?”
“There hath been discussion among us, on that
matter,” returned Dudley, with an oblique glance
of the eye towards the physician. “Some have said
he is a Narragansett, while others think he cometh
of a stock still further east.”
“In giving that opinion, I spoke merely of his
secondary or acquired habits,” interrupted Ergot;
“for, having reference to his original, the man is
assuredly a White.”
“A White!” repeated all around him.
“Beyond a cavil; as may be seen by divers particulars
in his outward conformation, viz: in the
shape of the head, the muscles of the arms and of
the legs, the air and gait, besides sundry other signs,
that are familiar to men who have made the physical
peculiarities of the two races their study.”
“One of which is this!” continued Dudley, throwing
up the robe of the captive, and giving his companions
removed all his own doubts. “Though the
color of the skin may not be proof positive, like
that named by our neighbor Ergot, it is still something,
in helping a man of little learning to make
up an opinion in such a matter.”
“Madam!” exclaimed Faith so suddenly as to
cause her she addressed to start—“for the sake of
Heaven's mercy! let thy maidens bring soap and
water, that the face of this man may be cleansed of
its paint.”
“What foolishness is thy brain set upon?” rejoined
the Ensign, who had latterly affected some of that
superior gravity which might be supposed to belong
to his official station. “We are not now under the
roof of the Whip-Poor-Will, wife of mine, but in
the presence of those who need none of thy suggestions
to give proper forms to an examination of office.”
Faith heeded no reproof. Instead of waiting for
others to perform that which she had desired, she
applied herself to the task, with a dexterity that
had been acquired by long practice, and a zeal that
seemed awakened by some extraordinary emotion.
In a minute, the colors had disappeared from the
features of the captive, and, though deeply tanned
by exposure to an American sun and to sultry winds,
his face was unequivocally that of one who owed
his origin to an European ancestry. The movements
of the eager woman were watched with curious interest
by all present; and when the short task was
ended, a murmur of surprise broke simultaneously
from every lip.
“There is meaning in this masquerade,” observed
Content, who had long and intently studied the dull
and ungainly countenance that was exposed to his
scrutiny by the operation. “I have heard of Christian
men who have sold themselves to gain, and
who, forgetting religion and the love of their race,
to pursue rapine in the settlements. This wretch
hath the subtlety of one of the French of the Canadas
in his eye.”
“Away! away!” cried Faith, forcing herself in
front of the speaker, and, by placing her two hands
on the shaven crown of the prisoner, forming a sort
of shade to his features. “Away with all folly,
about the Frenchers and wicked leagues! This is
no plotting miscreant, but a stricken innocent! Whittal—my
brother Whittal, dost know me?”
The tears rolled down the cheeks of the wayward
woman, as she gazed into the face of her witless
relative, whose eye lighted with one of its occasional
gleamings of intelligence, and who indulged in a
low, vacant laugh, ere he answered her earnest interrogatory.
“Some speak like men from over sea,” he said,
“and some speak like men of the woods. Is there
such a thing as bear's meat, or a mouthful of hommony,
in the wigwam?”
Had the voice of one, long known to be in the
grave, broken on the ears of the family, it would
scarcely have produced a deeper sensation, or have
quickened the blood more violently about their
hearts, than this sudden and utterly unexpected discovery
of the character of their captive. Wonder
and awe held them mute for a time, and then Ruth
was seen standing before the restored wanderer,
her hands clasped in the attitude of petition, her
eye contracted and imploring, and her whole person
expressive of the suspense and excitement which
had roused her long-latent emotions to agony.
“Tell me,” said a thrilling voice, that might
have quickened the intellect of one even duller
than the man addressed, “as thou hast pity in thy
heart, tell me, if my babe yet live?”
“'Tis a good babe,” returned the other; and then
manner, he bent his eyes with a species of stupid
wonder on Faith, in whose appearance there was
far less change, than in the speaking but wasted
countenance of her who stood immediately before
him.
“Give leave, dearest Madam,” interposed the
sister: “I know the nature of the boy, and could
ever do more with him than any other.”
But this request was useless. The system of
the mother, in its present state of excitement, was
unequal to further effort. Sinking into the watchful
arms of Content, she was borne away, and, for a
minute, the anxious interest of the handmaidens
left none but the men on the piazza.
“Whittal—my old playfellow, Whittal Ring;”
said the son of Content, advancing with a humid
eye to take the hand of the prisoner. “Hast forgotten,
man, the companion of thy early days? It
is young Mark Heathcote that speaks.”
The other looked up into his countenance, for a
moment, with a reviving recollection; but shaking
his head, he drew back in marked displeasure, muttering
loud enough to be heard—
“What a false liar is a Pale-face! Here is one
of the tall rogues, wishing to pass for a loping boy!”
What more he uttered his auditors never knew,
for he instantly changed his language to some dialect
of an Indian tribe.
“The mind of the unhappy youth hath even
been more blunted, by exposure and the usages of
a savage life, than by Nature,” said Content, who
with most of the others had been recalled, by his
interest in the examination, to the scene they had
momentarily quitted. “Let the sister deal tenderly
with the lad, and, in Heaven's time, shall we learn
the truth.”
The deep feeling of the father clothed his words
something like the solemnity of an official examination
succeeded to the irregular and hurried interrogatories,
which had first broken on the dull intellect
of the recovered wanderer.
The dependants took their stations, in a circle,
around the chair of the Puritan, by whose side was
placed Content, while Faith induced her brother to
be seated on the step of the piazza, in a manner
that all might hear. The attention of the brother,
himself, was drawn from the formality of the arrangement,
by placing food in his hands.
“And now, Whittal, I would know,” commenced
the ready woman, when a deep silence denoted the
attention of the auditors, “I would know, if thou
rememberest the day I clad thee in garments of
boughten cloth, from over sea; and how fond thou
wast of being seen among the kine in colors so gay?”
The young man looked up in her face, as if the
tones of her voice gave him pleasure; but, instead
of making any reply, he preferred to munch the
bread with which she had endeavored to lure him
back to their ancient confidence.
“Surely, boy, thou canst not so soon have forgotten
the gift I bought, with the hard earnings of a
wheel that turned at night. The tail of yon peacock
is not finer than thou then wast—But I will
make thee such another garment, that thou mayst
go with the trainers to their weekly muster.”
The youth dropped the robe of skin that covered
the upper part of his body, and making a forward
gesture, with the gravity of an Indian, he answered—
“Whittal is a warrior on his path; he has no
time for the talk of the women!”
“Now, brother, thou forgettest the manner in
which I was wont to feed thy hunger, as the frost
pinched thee, in the cold mornings, and at the hour
not call me woman.”
“Hast ever been on the trail of a Pequot?
Know'st how to whoop among the men?”
“What is an Indian whoop, to the bleating of
thy flocks, or the bellowing of cattle in the bushes?
Thou rememberest the sound of the bells, as they
tinkled among the second growth of an evening?”
The ancient herdsman turned his head, and
seemed to lend his attention, as a dog listens to an
approaching footstep. But the gleam of recollection
was quickly lost. In the next moment, he yielded
to the more positive, and possibly more urgent,
demands of his appetite.
“Then hast thou lost the use of ears; else thou
wouldst not say that thou forgettest the sound of
the bells.”
“Didst ever hear a wolf howl?” exclaimed the
other. “That's a sound for a hunter! I saw the
Great Chief strike the striped panther, when the
boldest warrior of the tribe grew white as a craven
Pale-face at his leaps!”
“Talk not to me of your ravenous beasts and
Great Chiefs, but rather let us think of the days
when we were young, and when thou hadst delight
in the sports of a Christian childhood. Hast forgotten,
Whittal, how our mother used to give us leave
to pass the idle time in games among the snow?”
“Nipset hath a mother in her wigwam, but he
asketh no leave to go on the hunt. He is a man;
the next snow, he will be a warrior.”
“Silly boy! This is some treachery of the savage,
by which he has bound thy weakness with the fetters
of his craftiness. Thy mother, Whittal, was a
woman of Christian belief, and one of a white race;
and a kind and mourning mother was she over thy
feeble-mindedness! Dost not remember, unthankful
of heart! how she nursed thy sickly hours in boyhood,
wants? Who was it that fed thee when a-hungered,
or who had compassion on thy waywardness, when
others tired of thy idle deeds, or grew impatient of
thy weakness?”
The brother looked, for an instant, at the flushed
features of the speaker, as if glimmerings of some
faintly distinguished scenes crossed the visions of
his mind; but the animal still predominated, and
he continued to feed his hunger.
“This exceedeth human endurance!” exclaimed
the excited Faith. “Look into this eye, weak one,
and say if thou knowest her who supplied the place
of that mother whom thou refusest to remember—
she who hath toiled for thy comfort, and who hath
never refused to listen to all thy plaints, and to
soften all thy sufferings. Look at this eye, and
speak—dost know me?”
“Certain!” returned the other, laughing with a
half-intelligent expression of recognition; “'tis a
woman of the Pale-faces, and I warrant me, one
that will never be satisfied till she hath all the furs
of the Americas on her back, and all the venison
of the woods in her kitchen. Didst ever hear the
tradition, how that wicked race got into the hunting-grounds,
and robbed the warriors of the country?”
The disappointment of Faith had made her too
impatient to lend a pleased attention to this tale;
but, at that moment, a form appeared at her side,
and by a quiet and commanding gesture directed
her to humor the temper of the wanderer.
It was Ruth, in whose pale cheek and anxious
eye, all the intenseness of a mother's longings might
be traced, in its most touching aspect. Though so
lately helpless and sinking beneath her emotions,
the sacred feelings which now sustained her seemed
to supply the place of all other aid; and as she
had not believed it necessary to offer succor, or
to interpose with remonstrance. Her quiet, meaning
gesture seemed to say, `proceed, and show all
indulgence to the weakness of the young man.'
The rising discontent of Faith was checked by habitual
reverence, and she prepared to obey.
“And what say the silly traditions of which you
speak?” she added, ere the current of his dull ideas
had time to change its direction.
“'Tis spoken by the old men in the villages, and
what is there said is gospel-true. You see all around
you, land that is covered with hill and valley, and
which once bore wood, without the fear of the axe,
and over which game was spread with a bountiful
hand. There are runners and hunters in our tribe,
who have been on a straight path towards the setting
sun, until their legs were weary and their eyes
could not see the clouds that hang over the salt
lake, and yet they say, 'tis everywhere beautiful as
yonder green mountain. Tall trees and shady woods,
rivers and lakes filled with fish, and deer and beaver
plentiful as the sands on the sea-shore. All this land
and water the Great Spirit gave to men of red skins;
for them he loved, since they spoke truth in their
tribes, were true to their friends, hated their enemies,
and knew how to take scalps. Now, a thousand
snows had come and melted, since this gift was
made,” continued Whittal, who spoke with the air
of one charged with the narration of a grave tradition,
though he probably did no more than relate
what many repetitions had rendered familiar to his
inactive mind, “and yet none but red-skins were
seen to hunt the moose, or to go on the war-path.
Then the Great Spirit grew angry; he hid his face
from his children, because they quarrelled among
themselves. Big canoes came out of the rising sun,
and brought a hungry and wicked people into the
like women. They begged room for a few wigwams,
and said if the warriors would give them
ground to plant, they would ask their God to look
upon the red-men. But when they grew strong,
they forgot their words and made liars of themselves.
Oh, they are wicked knaves! A Pale-face
is a panther. When a-hungered, you can hear him
whining in the bushes like a strayed infant; but
when you come within his leap, beware of tooth
and claw!”
“This evil-minded race, then, robbed the red
warriors of their land?”
“Certain! They spoke like sick women, till they
grew strong, and then they out-devilled the Pequots
themselves in wickedness; feeding the warriors with
their burning milk, and slaying with blazing inventions,
that they made out of the yellow meal.”
“And the Pequods! was their great warrior dead,
before the coming of the men from over sea?”
“You are a woman that has never heard a tradition,
or you would know better! A Pequot is a
weak and crawling cub.”
“And thou—thou art then a Narragansett?”
“Don't I look like a man?”
“I had mistaken thee for one of our nearer neighbors,
the Mohegan Pequods.”
“The Mohicans are basket-makers for the Yengeese;
but the Narragansett goes leaping through
the woods, like a wolf on the trail of the deer!”
“All this is quite in reason, and now thou pointest
to its justice, I cannot fail but see it. But we have
curiosity to know more of the great tribe. Hast
ever heard of one of thy people, Whittal, known
as Miantonimoh—'tis a chief of some renown.”
The witless youth had continued to eat, at intervals;
but, on hearing this question, he seemed suddenly
to forget his appetite. For a moment he look-ed
solemnity—
“A man cannot live for ever.”
“What!” said Faith, motioning to her deeply-interested
auditors to restrain their impatience—
“has he quitted his people? And thou lived with
him, Whittal, ere he came to his end?”
“He never looked on Nipset, nor Nipset on him.”
“I know nought of this Nipset; tell me of the
great Miantonimoh.”
“Dost need to hear twice? The Sachem is gone
to the far land, and Nipset will be a warrior when
the next snow comes!”
Disappointment threw a cloud on every countenance,
and the beam of hope, which had been kindling
in the eye of Ruth, changed to the former
painful expression of deep inward suffering. But
Faith still managed to repress all speech among
those who listened, continuing the examination, after
a short delay that her vexation rendered unavoidable.
“I had thought that Miantonimoh was still a
warrior in his tribe,” she said. “In what battle did
he fall?”
“Mohican Uncas did that wicked deed. The
Pale-men gave him great riches to murder the Sachem.”
“Thou speakest of the father; but there was
another Miantonimoh; he who in boyhood dwelt
among the people of white blood.”
Whittal listened attentively; and after seeming
to rally his thoughts, he shook his head, saying before
he again began to eat—
“There never was but one of the name, and
there never will be another. Two eagles do not
build their nests in the same tree.”
“Thou sayest truly,” continued Faith; well
knowing that to dispute the information of her brother,
me of Conanchet, the present Narragansett Sachem
—he who hath leagued with Metacom, and hath
of late been driven from his fastness near the sea—
doth he yet live?”
The expression of the brother's countenance underwent
another change. In place of the childish
importance with which he had hitherto replied to
the questions of his sister, a look of overreaching
cunning gathered about his dull eye. The organ
glanced slowly and cautiously around him, as if its
owner expected to detect some visible sign of those
covert intentions he so evidently distrusted. Instead
of answering, the wanderer continued his meal,
though less like one who had need of sustenance,
than one resolved to make no communications which
might prove dangerous. This change was not unobserved
by Faith, or by any of those who so intently
watched the means by which she had been
endeavoring to thread the confused ideas of one so
dull, and yet who at need seemed so practised in
savage artifice. She prudently altered her manner
of interrogating, by endeavoring to lead his thoughts
to other matters.
“I warrant me,” continued the sister, “that thou
now beginnest to call to mind the times when thou
led'st the cattle among the bushes, and how thou
wert wont to call on Faith to give thee food, when
a-weary with threading the woods in quest of the
kine. Hast ever been assailed by the Narragansetts
thyself, Whittal, when dwelling in the house of a
Pale-face?”
The brother ceased eating. Again he appeared
to muse as intently as was possible, for one of his
circumscribed intellects. But shaking his head in
the negative, he silently resumed the grateful office
of mastication.
“What! hast come to be a warrior, and never
roof of a wigwam?”
Whittal laid down the food, and turned to his
sister. His face was teeming with a wild and fierce
meaning, and he indulged in a low but triumphant
laugh. When this exhibition of satisfaction was
over, he consented to reply.
“Certain,” he said. “We went on a path, in the
night, against the lying Yengeese, and no burning
of the woods ever scorched the 'arth as we blackened
their fields! All their proud housen were turned
into piles of coals.”
“And where and when did you this act of brave
vengeance?”
“They called the place after the bird of night;
as if an Indian name could save them from an Indian
massacre!”
“Ha! 'Tis of the Wish-Ton-Wish thou speakest!
But thou wast a sufferer, and not an actor, brother,
in that heartless burning.”
“Thou liest like a wicked woman of the Pale-faces,
as thou art! Nipset was only a boy on that
path, but he went with his people. I tell thee, we
signed the very 'arth with our brands, and not a
head of them all ever rose again from the ashes.”
Notwithstanding her great self-command, and the
object that was constantly before the mind of Faith,
she shuddered at the fierce pleasure with which
her brother pronounced the extent of the vengeance,
that, in his imaginary character, he believed he
had taken on his enemies. Still cautious not to destroy
an illusion which might aid her, in the so-long-defeated
and so-anxiously-desired discovery, the
woman repressed her horror, and continued—
“True—yet some were spared—surely the warriors
carried prisoners back to their village. Thou
didst not slay all?”
“All.”
“Nay—thou speakest now of the miserables who
were wrapt in the blazing block; but—but some,
without, might have fallen into thy hands, ere the
assailed sought shelter in the tower. Surely—surely
thou didst not kill all?”
The hard breathing of Ruth caught the ear of
Whittal, and for a moment he turned to regard her
countenance in dull wonder. But again shaking
his head, he answered in a low, positive tone—
“All;—ay, to the screeching women and crying
babes!”
“Surely there is a child—I would say there is a
woman, in thy tribe, of fairer skin and of form different
from most of thy people. Was not such an
one led a captive from the burning of the Wish-Ton-Wish?”
“Dost think the deer will live with the wolf, or
hast ever found the cowardly pigeon in the nest of
the hawk?”
“Nay, thou art of different color thyself, Whittal,
and it well may be, thou art not alone.”
The youth regarded his sister a moment with
marked displeasure, and then, on turning to eat, he
muttered—
“There is as much fire in snow, as truth in a lying
Yengeese?”
“This examination must close,” said Content,
with a heavy sigh; “at another hour, we may hope
to push the matter to some more fortunate result;
but, yonder cometh one charged with especial service
from the towns below, as would seem by the
fact that he disregardeth the holiness of the day,
no less than by the earnest manner in which he is
journeying.”
As the individual named was visible to all who
chose to look in the direction of the hamlet, his
sudden appearance caused a general interruption
to the interest which had been so strongly awakened
in the valley.
The early hour, the gait at which the stranger
urged his horse, the manner in which he passed the
open and inviting door of the Whip-Poor-Will, proclaimed
him a messenger, who probably bore some
communication of importance from the Government
of the Colony to the younger Heathcote, who filled
the highest station of official authority in that distant
settlement. Observations to this purport had
passed from mouth to mouth, and curiosity was actively
alive, by the time the horseman rode into
the court. There he dismounted, and, covered with
the dust of the road, he presented himself, with
the air of one who had passed the night in the saddle,
before the man he sought.
“I have orders for Captain Content Heathcote,”
said the messenger, saluting all around him with
the usual grave but studied courtesy of the people
to whom he belonged.
“He is here to receive and to obey,” was the
answer.
The traveller wore a little of that mysteriousness
that is so grateful to certain minds, which, from
inability to command respect in any other manner,
are fond of making secrets of matters that might as
well be revealed. In obedience to this feeling, he
expressed a desire that his communications might
be made apart. Content quietly motioned for him
to follow, leading the way into an inner apartment
of the house. As a new direction was given, by this
interruption, to the thoughts of the spectators of
the foregoing scene, we shall also take the opportunity
to digress, in order to lay before the reader
some general facts that may be necessary to the
connexion of the subsequent parts of the legend.
| CHAPTER III. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish | |