Anonymous.

While with rapid steps through the tempestuous night the retiring party were seeking the forest, one of them, the only one in the dress of the whites, and who for that reason had not ventured into the cabin of the jailer, but had kept watch on the outside, approaching Sassacus, said:

"Let the feet of the chief be swift, for many warriors will be after him with the morning light."

"My brother!" said the delighted Sagamore, recognizing the voice of Arundel. "Let not my brother be afraid. The forest loves Sassacus, and tells him all its secrets."

"Yet remain not here, my friend, my Sassacus, nor be troubled about Neebin. I will take care of her, and she shall be restored to thee."

"Sassacus trusts his young white brother," said the Indian, "He hears Neebin singing by the river of the Pequots."

"We part here, and perhaps forever," said Arundel. "Farewell, Sagamore. A nobler heart than thine never beat in savage or Christian bosom. I will never forget you."

He wrung the hand of the chief, and, turning, was instantly lost in the darkness.

The occasion permitted no further words, and, as the two separated, it was with a glow of pleasure on the part of each. Arundel reflected with satisfaction on the success of his enterprise, and the Sagamore's enjoyment of his recovered freedom was heightened by the thought that he had been remembered by one who had so much attracted him. The young man succeeded in reaching his quarters without being discovered, and we now leave him, to accompany those with whom he had been associated.

So well had their measures been taken, and with such good fortune executed, that they were already deep in the woods before the settlement was aroused by the alarm given by the sentinel.

"They may make as much noise as they choose, for their own pleasure," said Philip, laughing, as the report of the culverins, which startled the colonists from their sleep, were heard; "but it is only a useless pother, and a vain rubbing of drowsy eyes. I should like to see how valiant Captain Endicott will look, when he finds that the bird has flown."

"In thy present habiliments of a savage?" said the Knight.

"Nay," answered the soldier. "I care not to be seen naked, and stained up like an Aberginian. I was half ashamed of myself, especially before the lady, though there was not much light."

"It were well," said the Knight, "to cast our slough before we chance to be seen by Indians, notwithstanding they may be friendly. We must retire deep, too, into the forest, for I mistake much the character of Winthrop and his council, if desperate means be not adopted to avenge the doings of this night."

This indeed appeared to be the opinion of all, to judge from the haste with which they pushed steadily on, resting not until they had reached the wigwam of the chief whereto Spikeman had been taken. Here, the first care of the white men was to wash off the paint from their persons, not without a half-jesting objection from the Sagamore.

"The two friends of Sassacus," he said, "have Indian hearts; why should they not keep their Indian skins? Let them come with me, and they shall become great sachems over the tribes that listen to the voice of the little salt lake."

Philip, who was in high spirits at the success of their enterprise, and whose philosophy enabled him always to enjoy the present moment, was ready with an answer.

"A tempting offer," he said; "and, by the head of King Charles, (his favorite oath), better, I trow, than this hand-to-mouth life we have lately been leading. Plenty of bear's meat and venison, and no prisons, Sagamore! Verily, thy words are pleasant."

"The deer shall come to lick the hands of my brothers, and the bear offer his steaks, and they will be as free as the wind on the tops of the hills. They shall also have many squaws, and young wives shall smile on them when the old are wrinkled and cross."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Philip. "I misdoubt whether that would suit all round. But, Sagamore, if I should ever have the luck to get a nice white squaw, I will ask her opinion; and if she fancies the plan of my having half a dozen wives, I will consider it."

"A truce to this trifling," said Sir Christopher. "It is all sport with thee, Philip, but dost not remark it begins to be earnest with the chief?"

"He is quick-witted enough to understand," answered Joy. "Why, Sir Christopher, these salvages laugh so seldom, that they ought to be encouraged when they begin. I fear me that the long faces of the folk at the settlement are catching, and that the poor Indians are more than half spoiled already. Now, according to my judgment, it is a human privilege to laugh. Some say, to be sure, that dogs and horses laugh, but I never heard anything that amounted to more than a snicker, and that I suppose they caught from being with people."

"Sassacus," said the Knight, "this is no longer any place for thee. The white men are at this moment seeking me, and will soon be also on thy track, and show no mercy. The voices of thy tribe are shouting thy name through the forest, and calling thee home. Here and now we part."

"Sassacus is troubled," replied the Sagamore, "about his little sister. How shall he answer his mother, when she asks after Neebin?"

"Neebin is in no danger," said the Knight; "and though she were, thy remaining could do no good. But I will stay, and if artifice can avail—for force we have none—Neebin shall be restored to her mother."

"My brother speaks well," said the Sagamore, having thus secured another guardian for the sister whom he tenderly loved. "He shall stay, but Sassacus will return to the river of the Pequots, and will speak a loud word in the ears of his tribe, and they shall fill their quivers with arrows, and sharpen their tomahawks, and many will come back with him to ask for Neebin. Sassacus will go alone, and will leave Towanquattick."

"Leave not the Paniese behind," said the Knight. "That were only to expose him to unnecessary danger."

But the chief was not be diverted from his purpose. To every objection he replied: "A great chief takes not back the word he has spoken. Were he to do so, what would become of the respect of his people?"

Yet, notwithstanding the peremptory tone wherewith he had announced his determination, very soft was the voice, and gentle the manner of the Sagamore, as he addressed his follower:

"Towanquattick," he said, "is my friend, and will watch over the little Pequot bird that has strayed into the trap of Owanux."

"Towanquattick will watch," was the answer.

"Stay to teach the little bird to fly away, or until I return with my warriors. Sassacus goes now like a brook just starting from the ground; but he will come back like a mighty river when angry 'Hpoon pours its swollen waters into the salt lake. Sassacus hath said."

The words were pronounced with a dignity and gravity that impressed those who heard them, and seemed to communicate some of the daring of the speaker; but the wiser Knight saw the rashness of their import, and determined to convince the Sagamore of the impolicy of the course proposed. Taking him for that purpose on one side, that the chief might speak uninfluenced by the presence of his follower, he represented to him the superior strength of the English, and the impossibility of prevailing in any contest until a complete union was established among the tribes.

"Behold!" he said: "these strangers are as one man, and across the salt lake come in ships from time to time fresh forces. They are clad in armor thy arrows' cannot pierce, and wield the thunder and the lightning. What have the Pequots to oppose, but naked bodies and uncertain arrows?"

"Owanux are few, and the Indians many," replied the Sagamore. "Sassacus will bury the tomahawk with the Narraghansetts, and exchange wampompeag with the Taranteens, and they unite against the strangers. The eyes of Sassacus are opened. There can be no peace with Owanux."

"Good!" answered the Knight, whose apprehensions, lest plans which he cherished might be defeated by the precipitancy of the chief, were quieted by the answer, knowing that the pacification of the tribes among themselves was no easy matter, and would require time. "Good! the eyes of the Sagamore are sharp. He is wise when he says that he will do nothing until he has made friends with the Narraghansetts and the Taranteens. Farewell, then, and be that the compact between us."

The chief now turned away, and, calling Towanquattick, the two began to dig a hole in the ground with pointed sticks. The white men, looked on in silence, rightly judging it to be some ceremony, and waiting for its explanation. After a cavity of a foot in depth, and about the same diameter was dug, the Indians ceased their labor, and the chief answered the wondering eyes of his friends.

"This hole," he said, "shall tell all Indians who see it of the captivity of Sassacus, and of the white men, his deliverers."

"I never heard before of a hole talking," said Joy.

"It will talk," said the chief. "When Sassacus passes by with his Paniese he will tell them that here was a great parting, and Towanquattick will do so also, and they shall tell it it to their children, and so the tale shall run, as the waters of a spring follow one another until they become a lake. So the hole shall speak, long after I have departed with my friends for the happy hunting grounds. Hole!" he added, addressing it as if it were capable of understanding what he said, "Sassacus is sad because he leaves Neebin behind, but say thou not that. Say to all who behold thee, that Soog-u-gest and Sassacus were friends; say that when Owanux put Sassacus into a box, Soog-u-gest and two other white men, and Towanquattick, let him out; say that Soog-u-gest and the other white men, and Towanquattick, remain to watch that no harm shall happen to Neebin, whom Owanux have made a prisoner; and say that Sassacus has gone after his warriors. This is enough for thee, O hole, to remember. Forget not lest thou be ashamed."

While the Pequot chief was speaking, the Paniese paid the strictest attention, evidently striving to fasten the speech in his memory. It was a custom common among the natives, though witnessed by the Knight and Joy for the first time, whereby, on the same principle that more civilized communities erect monuments to perpetuate the memory of events, the Indians transmitted to posterity matters of interest. The hole was usually dug either by the side of some traveled path or on the spot where the event desired to be commemorated took place. They who passed by naturally inquired into its meaning, and the facts, known to few at first, became of public notoriety.

When the ceremony was completed, the Sagamore of the Pequots, as if unwilling by further words to confuse the record, turned away in silence, and took his solitary way through the forest, to seek the seat of his tribe.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Dryden.

The colonists were exasperated at the breaking of the prison, justly concluding that it was not entirely the work of Indians, notwithstanding Bars, faithful to the impression made on him by the gold pieces, stoutly maintained such to be the fact; and that Cowlson was unable to contradict him. But it was, after all, only suspicion—a suspicion, too, that pointed at various persons. While some, with a lucky sagacity, ascribed the violence done their authority to the Knight, as a leader; there were those who suspected others, of whom they would gladly be rid. For, however desirous the great bulk of the colonists were that only they of their own moral habits and modes of thinking should be connected with their enterprise, it was impossible completely to exclude the obnoxious. Some would creep in, and the colony resembled a draught of fishes from the rivers in the spring, when the schools are running; wherein, although the great majority are shad or salmon, occasional intruders of other scales and stripes are found. This little minority were watched with Argus eyes—every transgression being visited with exemplary punishment—the hand of Justice being made heavier by two considerations, viz: difference of opinion, and a desire to drive away recusants, who were regarded as vessels doomed to destruction, and whose presence was held to be dangerous. That was no era of toleration, but of fierce, intractable dogma. The breach betwixt Protestants then was almost, if not quite, as wide as between Protestants and Catholics now. Opinion, bold, enthusiastic opinion, calling itself by the gracious name of saving faith, usurped the place and prerogative of reason; and, as from a Papal chair, denounced, as damnable error, whatever harmonized not with itself. In this strife of ignorances, the amenities and charities of life were lost sight of and forgotten; and, if not quite trampled out of existence, it was owing more to that celestial spark which, with a dimmer or a brighter light, guides every man who comes into the world than to the lessons of the teachers. Men were dismissed from the colony, or otherwise punished, on bare suspicion of wrong-doing or wrong-thinking. Nor is it unlikely that hostility in high places may have availed itself of this laxity of law to gratify private malignity.

Hence, let it not be wondered at, that, in consequence of the prison breach, several innocent persons were arrested, whose modes of life or principles of faith came not up to the orthodox standard. If their apprehension answered no other purpose, it, at least, served to weaken the desire of the suspected persons to remain where they were not wanted.

Hitherto the magistrates had been foiled, but failure only increased their vigilance and activity. Additional men were despatched to scour the woods; word was sent to Salem and to Plymouth, and co-operation to capture the fugitives asked for; rewards were offered for their seizure; and, in fine, no means omitted which indomitable will and ingenuity could devise. So hot, at length, became the chase, that, familiar as they were with the woods, Sir Christopher and his companions found it difficult to avoid capture. They had it, indeed, in their power to place themselves in comparative safety, either by following the steps of the Pequot chief, or seeking the Taranteens—for to the west they dared not go, for fear of the tribes in that direction, who were at feud with those on the Atlantic border—but various considerations interfered to prevent. With neither Sir Christopher nor the Indian was mere personal safety a ruling motive. The former had not abandoned all hope of changing the strange resolution of Sister Celestina, with whom he determined, on accomplishing her release, to proceed with Neebin to the country of the Pequots—in this way only transferring their labors to another place—and with the latter, the charge wherewith he was entrusted was too sacred for any cause to be neglected. Flying from their posts, even though bands of enemies were after them, was therefore not to be thought of. As for Philip, his wild, reckless nature took pleasure in their adventurous mode of life; satisfied, besides, that were he even made prisoner, no serious punishment could befall him, unless his participation in the prison-breach became known, which, he confided too much in the fidelity of his associates to believe was possible. Seldom daring, therefore, to discharge their fire-locks, but depending principally on the arrows of the Indian, and snares they set for subsistence, occasionally aided by the friendly natives with whom the Knight was a favorite, and constantly changing their places, the three continued to elude the search, and the baffled soldiers were obliged to return, digesting their disappointment as they might, and asserting that those whom they sought had left the neighborhood. To make assurance sure and to stimulate the Indians to exertions, which the magistrates were certain had never been made, higher rewards were offered for the capture of Sir Christopher in particular, which, it was supposed, the cupidity of the natives would be unable to resist.

Among the Indians trusted by Sir Christopher, none had contrived to secure a greater share of his confidence than Quecheco, the frequent and favored companion of his hunts. The skill of the Indian in hunting had, at first, recommended him to the Knight, and afterwards, the interest of the latter in his protegé was increased by the attention with which Quecheco listened to instruction and by the intelligence of his questions. Hitherto he had always been found faithful, in consequence whereof the haunts of the outlyers were not concealed from him, and he was employed to procure information from the English settlements, and depended on, generally, as a confederate. Quecheco was not without affection; in proof whereof, he had withstood the bribe at first offered for the capture of Sir Christopher, but his feeble virtue finally succumbed. There was one temptation which he was unable to withstand. He had frequently been a witness of the effectiveness of the gun in the hands of the Knight, and, with a hunter's love, conceived a longing to possess one. This was no easy matter to be accomplished, furnishing guns to Indians being strictly prohibited, and such weapons taken away whenever found in their possession. Quecheco now thought he saw an opportunity of gratifying a desire that had become a mania, and determined that a gun should be the price of his friend's liberty.

With this view, at one of his visits to Plymouth, or Accomack, he sought Governor Bradford, with whom he was acquainted, and proposed to deliver the Knight into his hands, in consideration of the coveted gun and a certain quantity of powder and ball. Much as was desired the capture of Sir Christopher, Bradford hesitated, but finally promised the bribe, stipulating for the life of the Knight, considering that the rule might bear infringement in a single instance, for the sake of the object to be attained; and from that moment Quecheco begun his work of treachery.

In consequence of the activity of the search, the fugitives had been obliged not only often to change their hiding-place, but sometimes to remove to a considerable distance from Boston. One of their favorite resorts was near Plymouth, both because they were less likely to be suspected to lurk in a vicinity where the Knight had no acquaintances, and also on account of a greater abundance of game. Here the two white men often remained without Towanquattick, who, less liable to discovery, hovered around the spot where was the sister of his Sagamore.

Such being the state of things, Quecheco selected the neighborhood of Plymouth (on account of the absence of Towanquattick, betwixt whom and himself a feeling of mutual dislike existed, caused in his jealous mind by the favor which the Knight had lately shown the Pequot, and which he esteemed a derogation of his rights) as the theatre of his plot, and here we find Sir Christopher at this moment.

"Our larder is exhausted, Philip," said the Knight one morning, "and must be replenished. Shall we try our fortune together?"

"I am always ready," answered Philip. "It is two days since I stretched my legs, and, by my halidome, I shall forget how to use them, without more practice."

"Methinks," replied the Knight, smiling, "it is less than a week since I saw legs much resembling thine moving with marvellous celerity."

"When this copper-hide here showed us Venn's band, within a hundred yards of the old wigwam, right under Winthrop's nose, in the swamp. Aye, it was high time to be moving; but it was unkind of Venn to burn our quarters, seeing that I had been a sergeant in his company.

"Quecheco, my line fellow," said Sir Christopher, "thou didst us a service on that day not to be forgotten, and now we must look to thee for another. Where shall we hunt?"

"Let Soog-u-gest and Quecheco go a little towards Accomack, where I saw yesterday some deer, and the sanop toward the setting sun," answered the Indian.

"Go thou with Philip, and I will take my chance alone," said the Knight:

"The chief must not go alone," said the Indian. "Quecheco will go to carry the deer which Soog-u-gest will shoot."

"A sensible Indian," said Philip. "Take him with you, Sir Christopher. For my part, I do not want his copper skin gliding like a snake among the bushes; and, Sir Christopher, look sharp, and see if I bring not back as much game as you and your friend."

"I accept the challenge," said the Knight, good-humoredly, "and will take him, since you prefer to go alone."

"I will none of him. He is thy valley-doo-doo—a murrain on mounseer for his hard words; and why a waiting-man should be called a valley, more than a mountain, or a river, doth pass my understanding."

"An interesting mystery. Yet is its solution unnecessary at the present. Get thy bow and quiver, Quecheco, and we will see by evening how Philip's boastings will turn out."

"And, hark ye, red-skin," cried the soldier, "take care that thou bring back Soog-u-gest, as thou callest Sir Christopher, safe, and with a good appetite to eat my game."

In spite of his habitual self-possession, the Indian started. A guilty conscience began already to affright him, and for an instant he fancied his purpose detected.

"What ails thee?" asked the Knight, regarding him with a quick, keen glance.

"Quecheco hurt his foot," answered the Indian, with a limp, and bending down to hide his face from the sharp eyes.

"Poor fellow, then, remain behind, and we will hunt for thee, who hast done so often for us."

"Quah!" exclaimed the Indian, with a gesture of disdain, "It is nothing. See, Quecheco can run like a deer," And with that he sprung round with great agility, as if to make good his words.

"Enough," said the Knight; "reserve thy breath until it is wanted."

The course taken by the two was toward the south, as recommended by the savage, in order to find the herd which he said he had seen the day before.

"Why, then, brought you back no venison!" asked the Knight.

"The deer was quicker than the arrow of Quecheco," returned the Indian; "but he will not escape," he added, looking with admiring eyes at Sir Christopher's gun, "the round stone which Soog-u-gest will throw at him."

"I have often seen thee," said the Knight, "gaze at my piece with such eyes as the sight of thy squaw, after long absence, might kindle up. Were it not sure to be thy ruin, I could find it in my heart to give it thee."

The eyes of Quecheco flashed. "Give me the stick," he cried, "that makes a loud noise, and Quecheco will do a great thing."

"I have done wrong," thought the Knight, "in raising his expectations. Nay, Quecheco," he said, "it would be taken away from thee by the white men, and who would sell thee powder and ball!"

"Nin-e-yi-u wa-wee," (it is well,) said the Indian. "Soog-u-gest flies so high that he sees a great way, and Quecheco spoke like a pappoose. What has he to do with guns?"

The gift of the gun would have diverted the savage from his purpose, by awakening the affection which covetousness had put to sleep, and probably altered the fate of Sir Christopher and himself; but the answer of the Knight dispelled the hope that for a single instant warmed the heart of Quecheco with better feeling, and he persisted in his original design.

They had walked several miles without seeing any game of importance, or such as was thought worthy of other attention than the arrows of the Indian, before they reached the spot indicated by him as where he had marked the deer the day previous. It was a falsehood invented by Quecheco, and great was his astonishment, on approaching, to behold a herd of a dozen of these timid creatures.

It was a sort of lawn, of six or seven acres in extent, with a few trees scattered over it, where they were feeding. The shape of the ground was an irregular oblong, in some places not more than a hundred yards across, and in others of double the distance, being like a basin, at a depression of twenty or thirty feet below where the Knight stood, concealed by trees and bushes. At the bottom flowed a small, rapid stream, perhaps three rods wide, interposing itself betwixt him and the herd. Sir Christopher had visited the locality before, and was familiar with its features; and expecting game, from the story of Quecheco, had taken care to approach with the wind in his face, to avoid the scent of his person being carried to the delicate nostrils of the animals while he stepped noiselessly along. The Indian, in order the better to carry out his meditated deceit, had been imitating the Knight's conduct, and on the discovery of the deer, his hunter's instinct induced him to continue what his hypocrisy had begun. Selecting the finest buck from the herd, Sir Christopher levelled his piece and fired. A single instant stood, with erected heads, the beautiful creatures, as if stupefied with astonishment, and then all but one vanished in the wood—all but the stricken buck, who made one bound, and fell to the earth. The prodigious leap testified to the extremity of his terror and his hurt; and vain struggles to rise from his knees, to its fatal character. With eyes fixed upon the struggling deer, the Knight reloaded his gun, and then bounded down the declivity after him.

Arrived at the margin of the stream, he discovered a canoe drawn up a little way on the bank, approaching which, to push it into the water, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a number of Indians. They were the confederates of Quecheco, who had been for some time lying in wait in the thick bushes. Simultaneously rushing forward, they attempted to seize him; but this was no easy matter. A resolute, athletic man, with body and sinews hardened; by his hunter's life, and accustomed to exercise command over the natives, Sir Christopher shook roughly off the hands laid on him, and shouting, "ha, villains!—death to traitors!" presented his gun, before the terror of whose fatal lightning his assailants recoiled. Keeping the muzzle of the piece directed at them, and threatening with it any one who made a motion to draw near, the Knight succeeded in getting the canoe afloat, when, jumping in, he pushed from the shore. With a pole found in the canoe, he strove to urge it across the stream; but, embarrassed with watching his enemies, and swept down by the current, the effort was attended with great difficulty. Meanwhile, the savages, who had hitherto forborne any act that might endanger life, bearing in mind their instructions, became apprehensive of losing him, and excited by his resistance, began to shoot arrows at him. One of the missiles took effect in the right arm of the Knight, just above the elbow, and the pole dropped from his hand. At the same instant the canoe struck against a submerged rock and upset. Taking advantage of the accident, the Indians sprung into the water, and succeeded in mastering his person.

"Quecheco," said the Knight, reproachfully, as he stood upon the bank, "is it thou, and thou, too, Negabamat, who treat me as an enemy? Why this violence?"

"Soog-u-gest is wanted among his own people," said Quecheco, who had possessed himself of the much coveted gun which had fallen into the water. "Indians will not hurt him."

"Quecheco, thou art a villain," said the Knight; "but if not an incarnate demon, outrage me not further than is necessary for thy base purpose."

Thus spoke Sir Christopher, seeing that preparations were made to confine his arms with withes. The Indians said something among themselves, and at length Quecheco replied:

"Soog-u-gest always speaks the truth. Let him promise not to run away, and his arms shall be free."

"I promise," said the Knight, who, in spite of his treatment, could not but feel pleased at this evidence of the confidence in his truth with which he had inspired the natives. "Take the powder horn and bullets," he added, detaching them from his person. "I will attend you."

At a sign from Quecheco the Indians released Sir Christopher, nor seemed after that to trouble themselves much with watching him.

An Indian, who had crossed the stream, now returned bearing the slain buck on his back, and threw it down on the grass, and his companions with pleased faces gathered around it. Sir Christopher, notwithstanding the unpleasantness of his situation, could not avoid smiling.

"Nature's children!" he said to himself, "It would have pained me had I unfortunately killed one of them. Blessed Jesu, I thank thee for saving me from bloodshedding."

He threw himself on the ground, and watched their proceedings in cooking the venison with some interest, for he was hungry, and, when it was ready, partook of it with them as though they had been a party of friendly hunters, nor would any one have suspected that he was a prisoner. Having thus placed himself on terms as little disagreeable as possible with his captors, Sir Christopher endeavored, while they were under the influence of the welcome dinner, to dissuade them from their purpose in regard to himself, but on this point he found remonstrance useless. The Indians were not inclined to talk about it, and either preserved a total silence, or simply said that the white chief at Accomack had sent them. When they had eaten up the buck, they started with the Knight in the direction of Plymouth.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Morton's New England's Memorial.

The ancient town of Plymouth has probably about as much resemblance to what it was two hundred years ago, as an ante-diluvian at a like age had to his boyhood. Were Governor Bradford, whose worth is more quaintly than poetically delineated in the above lines, Captain Miles Standish, Master Thomas Prince, or any other worthies of those days of peaked hats and falling bands to revisit the scenes of their pilgrim labors, I fancy that they would find it difficult at first to recognize them. By the eternal features, only, of nature, the sparkling waters of the bay, the waving line of its shore, and by the eminences not wholly levelled, would the site be identified, and the likeness traced. Only with memory, assisted by these marks, might they be able, as the moonbeams fell upon their pale faces, and they stroked their solemn beards, to exclaim—here stood our Plymouth.

As it presented itself that day to the eyes of Sir Christopher Gardiner, surrounded by his Indian escort, it seemed an inconsiderable village lying on the slope of a hill, dropping towards the sea. A broad street, some eight hundred yards long, led down the hill, and was crossed nearly in the middle by another, the ends of which were protected by gates made of solid planks—the fourth end, viz: that on the hay, being without any barricade. The houses were rude and small, constructed of hewn planks, and stood in areas, around which were thrown fences made also of plank, serving as very effectual stockades against any sudden attack, and bidding defiance to the simple enginery of the natives. Near the centre was the Governor's house (built in like manner), and in front of it, at the intersection of the streets, a square block, answering the purposes of a fort, and mounted with four patereros, or small cannon, commanded the streets and four points of entrance. On the top of the hill, a large square edifice with a flat roof, whereupon were placed six cannons, shooting balls of four or five pounds, dominated the surrounding country. The upper part of this building served for a fort, and the lower for public worship and meetings generally. On the whole, as against arrows and tomahawks, it was a very pretty fortified place, and would not have been found fault with by Vauban himself, could he have had the good fortune to behold it.

The Knight passed through one of the open gates, which were closed only at night, and proceeded straight to the residence of the Governor. Here he was delivered by the Indians to Bradford, who chid them for wounding Sir Christopher. They excused themselves on the ground of his resistance, declaring that the wound was trivial, and had merely numbed his arm for a moment. (Such, indeed, proved to be a fact, when, shortly afterwards, the broken piece of the arrow was cut out.) The Indians were dismissed with the promised presents, Quecheco being permitted to retain the coveted gun of the Knight as part of his reward. A moment's digression to record the fate of the savage, and we will return to Sir Christopher.

Proud was the Indian of his new acquisition, with its gold and silver ornaments, so far surpassing in beauty all other pieces he had seen, and affectionately he caressed it, calling it his week-su-buck otaw, (sweetheart,) and often repeating, gee-wawee-fee-yi-ee, i.e., you are welcome. He was alone in the forest, the others having departed in different directions, and was on his way to Boston, where he expected to get more of the powder and ball for which he had covenanted. It was the day after his treachery, and he had nearly accomplished his journey, only three or four miles remaining between him and his place of destination, when he heard a rustling in the bushes, and saw Towanquattick advancing. He had first been seen by the Pequot, who, recognizing him, came unsuspiciously forward. Instantly saw Quecheco the consequences of being found by Towanquattick in possession of the gun, with which the latter was familiar as the property of Sir Christopher, and this thought, combining with his hatred, made him suddenly raise the weapon and fire at the approaching Pequot. The forest rang with the report, and as Quecheco, unpractised in the use of fire-arms, having discharged the piece but a few times, recovered himself, he beheld Towanquattick fitting an arrow to his bow. Seizing the tomahawk out of his belt, Quecheco hurled it at the Pequot as the arrow whizzed from the string, but both weapons failed of their mark. Drawing his own tomahawk, the Pequot in turn threw it at his foe, who escaped by a sudden movement of the body.

The two Indians now stood regarding one another with looks of rage, and took the knives off their necks. Neither spoke a word. Each understood the other, and with flashing eyes watched to take an advantage. They were both powerful men, well matched in size and age, and equally armed, so that upon fortune and skill, more than upon brute strength, the result was likely to depend.

Presently, each grasping the knife in his right hand, and bending over, ready for a spring, they began, with eyes fixed on one another, to move round and round, watching for a favorable opportunity to make the fatal dart. Thus, occasionally increasing the rapidity of their movements, then relaxing their swiftness again, they moved in circles several times, but without drawing within striking distance. The thought occurred to both of throwing the knife, which, if skilfully done, might terminate the contest, but the consideration that if the stroke failed, the unsuccessful combatant would be left at the mercy of the other, deterred from the hazardous experiment. After various feints and stratagems foiled, by mutual cunning the two foes stopped, as if by agreement, to devise more effectual schemes of destruction. In this truce of a moment, the eyes of Quecheco fell upon a tomahawk lying near the feet of his opponent, and unobserved by him. His efforts were now directed to getting possession of the weapon, and he re-commenced the system of attack he had practised. It was no difficult thing, by a series of retreats and advances, and constant changes of position, to entice the Pequot, ignorant of the other's design, from the place whereon he stood, and presently the foot of Quecheco touched the missile. The movement of his foe's limbs in searching for the tomahawk had caught the notice of Towanquattick, and before it was touched by Quecheco's foot he had seen it. At the sight, throwing aside the caution he had practised, the Pequot sprung straight at his enemy, and, without seeking to protect himself, plunged his knife into the breast of Quecheco. The force of the blow threw the stooping savage upon his back, and before he could rise, the tomahawk, caught from the ground by the hand of the Pequot, crashed into the brain of the dying traitor. Drawing out, then, the knife, the Pequot, with a rapid turn that indicated a practised hand, passed it round the head of his foe, and tearing off the bloody trophy, hung it at his girdle. A little while the Pequot stood contemplating the body, and as his eyes wandered from the corpse to the gun, which lay on the ground, and back again to the corpse a ferocious gleam of gratified revenge, like the lurid gleam of fires at night, swept over his swarthy face. Picking up, then, the gun, the knives and tomahawks, and stripping the corpse of the articles containing the powder and bullets, the Indian started in search of Joy.

Meanwhile, the Knight had been entertained with all humanity and honor by the Governor of Plymouth; nor was other treatment to be expected from the learned and accomplished Bradford. In appearance he was somewhat less than fifty years of age, with a mild and thoughtful expression of countenance, which revealed to the close observer as much of the meditative student as of the man of action. A thorough receiver and admirer of the principles of the sect to which he belonged, it was the business of his life to illustrate them by his learning, and enforce them by his example.

That strange charm of manner for which the Knight of the Golden Melice was so distinguished, his persuasive voice and intellectual cultivation, failed not to exert their wonted fascination over one so likely to be influenced by exactly such qualities and acquirements as Bradford, and, indeed, nowhere were they calculated to exercise so great a power as in a country where they were uncommon.

The two gentlemen had met before, but the interview had never ripened into acquaintance; and now, that fortune had thrown them together in relations which might seem none of the most agreeable, but which the kindness of the one and the polish of the other hid in flowers, it appeared as if they were welcome to both.

"We have become acquainted under singular circumstances, Sir Christopher," said Bradford, a day or two after the Knight came to Plymouth; "and, although wishing they were somewhat different, I can scarcely regret the providence which has brought so every way accomplished a gentleman to honor my roof. Your mind, wonderfully imbued with the gentler humanities, sweetly accords with mine own, and when you are gone I shall look back with refreshment and a sad longing to our thoughtful conferences. Never have the strains of the divine harper of Israel, whether exulting in the favor of Jehovah or sorrowing for sin, so affected my spirit as when read by you in the original speech of Eden."

"For your kind expressions, right worshipful sir," answered the Knight, "and the delicate attentions which make my imprisonment sweet, receive my unforgetting gratitude. I, too, whatever unjust suspicion may inflict, will revert to these our religious and philosophic hours, wherein we discussed questions nobler than those which, in the shades of Tusculum, engaged the minds of the great Roman orator and of his friends, with a satisfaction which shall not run out with the sands in the hour-glass of time."

"If outraged, by I scarcely know what wild reports, for the moment," replied Bradford, "I entreat you to forgive it, and to believe me that I believe them not. Remember that David fled before his enemies, yet the Lord delivered him and brought him to great honor."

"I am not worthy to be joined in thought with the Shepherd King, who, to the ringing strings of the harp, warbled inspiration," said the Knight. "Yet, noble sir, do I accept your words of cheer, and they shall be a buoy to bear me up as I cross this tempestuous Jordan. When is it your purpose that I should depart? Accompany you me, or go I melancholy, alone?"

"As for the first question, you shall remain at your pleasure, or until Governor Winthrop requires your presence; as for the latter, though unable to leave home at present, I hope shortly to be at leisure. Thus generally can I answer, but present or absent, my best wishes shall attend you."

The above conversation is sufficient to give an idea of the relation of the Governor and Knight to one another, and of the feelings of both. In truth, the enjoyment of Sir Christopher was almost as great as Bradford's, and neither manifested any desire to shorten their intercourse. Every leisure moment devoted the Plymouth Governor to his agreeable companion—their conversations turning more on questions of literature than on political matters. These latter, the Knight avoided, seeking thereby to impress the other with the opinion, that he felt but little interest in them.

In this manner passed the time, until one morning the Governor announced that messengers had arrived from Winthrop, commissioned to wait on Sir Christopher to his presence.

"I grieve," said Bradford, "that I cannot go with you. Matters of instant importance demand my presence here, but so far as friendly words in a letter may avail they shall not be wanting. May it please you to be ready at your convenience, and meanwhile I will prepare my epistle."

At the time appointed, four armed men appeared at the Governor's house to receive the prisoner. To them Sir Christopher was delivered by Bradford, who, at the same time, handed them a letter for Winthrop.

Upon the departure of one whose presence had imparted so much pleasure; from whom no unguarded word of censure or impatience had escaped, and who had revealed a mind adorned with such rich stores of culture, the scholastic Bradford sought his study, a small room, or closet, well supplied with books, to meditate on what had happened and to pursue his studies. Absorbed in his books, hours passed away unheeded, and he remarked not the opening of the door and entrance of a serving-man, who, seeing his master engaged, waited respectfully until he should be noticed. At length Bradford looked up and demanded his business.

"This," said the man, "was found in the chamber of Sir Christopher Gardiner." So saying, he handed to the Governor a small leathern pocket-book, such as were used for making memoranda, and withdrew.

Bradford, on being left alone, turned the book several times in his hand with a doubting air, then placing it at a little distance before him, leaned his head on his elbow, and began to muse.

"Publico utilitati cedet jus privatum," he said at last aloud, and opened the book. He had hardly glanced his eyes at the page, when they lighted up, and he seemed to read with intense interest.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, after reading through several leaves: "was ever man worse deceived? Here have I been harboring in my house and taking to my bosom a concealed Papist, as this writing sufficiently discloses. Nor yet a born Papist either, laboring under a delusion sucked in with mother's milk, but a recreant Protestant, a voluntary seeker after error; for here are written down the memorial of his shame, the very time and place where and when he struck hands with Anti-Christ, the name of the university where he assumed the scapula, as the blinded errorists call two woollen bands, the one crossing the breast and the other the back, one of those ridiculous mummeries whereby, with other devices and unseemly grimaces, they have contrived to bring the cross itself of the Redeemer into disrespect, and the degrees in superstition taken by this wretched backslider. Woe is me! How can the arch-deceiver assume the form of an angel of light! Yet is here no name written. The memorandum may refer to some-one else. But that cannot be. Himself is meant. Why should he carry about with him a note of this kind respecting another? This betrayer of treachery, this touchstone of truth, shall off forthwith to Winthrop, and be the antidote to the bane of my letter."

Thus murmured Governor Bradford, grieved as well as vexed at the deceit, as he supposed it to be. With a rapid hand, he wrote an account of his discovery, and entrusting it, with the note-book, to a messenger, commanded him to hasten after the soldiers from Governor Winthrop, and deliver to them the package.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Spenser's Faery Queen.

It was with some embarrassment that Governor Winthrop received his prisoner, though none was manifested in the mien of Sir Christopher. On the contrary, his manner indicated conscious innocence, and just that degree of resentment which a well-balanced mind and good temper might be expected to exhibit under the circumstances. If there was any change in his bearing, he was a trifle haughtier, as presuming on his rank—a trait never noticed in him before, and it showed itself by his speaking first, without waiting to be addressed, the moment he entered the presence of the Governor.

"By what authority," he demanded with some sternness, "is it, that I, a free-born Englishman, innocent of crime, have a price set on my head, and am hunted by savages bribed for that purpose?"

Before making a reply, the Governor intimated his desire to be left alone with the Knight, whereupon those present retired.

"You inquire by what authority you are arrested," said Winthrop. "I answer, by that authority vested in me by charter, as the ruler of a State; by common law, and by common sense. The question is not asked by one with the endowments of Sir Christopher Gardiner because he is ignorant, but for some other reason."

"Is it in humanity," returned the Knight, "not to be annoyed at the outrage? How bitterly," he added, looking sorrowfully at Winthrop, "is the pain of the wound aggravated by the knowledge from whose quiver flew the arrow!"

"I may not choose between my duty and my inclination," responded the Governor. "I were, otherwise, more unworthy than I am of the awfully responsible station which Providence hath assigned me. It shall never be said that, through favor or other motive, I buried the one talent committed to my keeping."

"I dared not, at my entrance," replied the Knight, who strove to make his tone and demeanor conciliatory, "entertain the thought that a friendly feeling toward me lurked in his bosom, by whose mandate my helpless household has been invaded in the night and made prisoners, and my house turned into a heap of ashes."

"It was by no order of mine," said Winthrop, hastily, "that the house was burned, and I lament its destruction as deeply as yourself. How it caught fire, is to me unknown; but if by the act of our people and not of the savages, ample recompense shall be made."

"How shall that be determined? But I will not waste my words thereupon. The loss of my house and other property is insignificant, compared with the cruel wrong done the Lady Geraldine and the dishonor to my name."

"She, whom you call the Lady Geraldine, has been treated with all courtesy; and, considering what, in the judgment of the Council, has been proved against her, with more than she is entitled to. For yourself, every opportunity shall be granted to clear off the clouds of suspicion hovering over you."

"Only a clear field and no favor do I desire for myself; but for the persecuted lady, my cousin, I pledge you my knightly word that any charges reflecting upon her character as a virtuous and godly lady, are infamous and false. You perceive, right worshipful sir, that I do not pretend to be ignorant of the accusations which inventive malice, hatched out of what cockatrice egg I know not, has brought against my suffering cousin, but I pronounce them, again, alike dastardly and without truth."

"If so, she is, indeed, greatly wronged, though partly responsible herself therefor, as having confessed the same."

"Then have strange means been employed to make her acknowledge a lie," said the Knight, warmly, "for any such confession were utterly untrue. I have heard of wretches, who, upon the rack, in order to escape its intolerable agonies, have accused themselves of all sorts of crimes of which they were innocent. Is this the way you have abused my relative?"

"Sir Christopher," answered Winthrop, mildly, "you know as well as I that such practices are alien to the spirit of British law and unused by us. Touching this unhappy female, I think it meet to say no more at present, but will wish you success in the vindication of yourself."

"For myself," replied the Knight, "I care little. The character of a man is like a garment, which, when soiled, may be washed and restored to a likeness of its pristine beauty; that of a woman resembles white paper, whereupon if a drop of blood has ever fallen, it may never be erased. But what are the accusations devised against me?"

"Sir Christopher," answered Winthrop, with some hesitation, "it were hardly orderly to communicate them to you now. Before the Council, perhaps, should you hear them first. And yet see I no reason why, in harmony with the merciful spirit of our law, they should not be disclosed. We desire to overpower no man by surprise, or to deprive truth of a single aid. You shall know."

Here Winthrop entered into the particulars, which it is, we trust, unnecessary to set down, as the reader is supposed to be already informed of them. He mentioned the contents of the letters from England, but did not exhibit them, concealing nothing except what appertained to the examination of the Lady Geraldine, all inquiries respecting which he either evaded or directly refused to answer. Courteously, indeed, was it done; nor could Sir Christopher deny that the information was rightfully withheld. It was only in accordance with the usual proceedings of courts of justice, when those who are considered accomplices are examined apart from one another, in order that they may not, by a knowledge of each other's answers, be better able to frame their own.

To every accusation Sir Christopher opposed a steady denial. "That falsely suspected as I am," he said, "of other crimes and misdemeanors, I should also be deemed an usurper of a title that does not belong to me, surprises me not. But grant me time to send home (as the English in the colonies affectionately call England to this day,) and I will prove my knighthood honorably won upon a stricken field, by irrefragable testimony. I will not deny that I have the honor of an acquaintance with Sir Ferdinando Gorges, but I am in no sense his agent, nor in any wise hold communication with him, save as a friend. For the note-book found at my lodgings, and deemed conclusive proof that I am a Catholic, I aver that the memorandum therein contained refers not to myself but to one whom it concerns not you that I should name; and it furnishes no evidence against me, except what arises out of the fact that I acknowledge one who is of Rome to be my friend."

"Whatever my private thoughts," said Winthrop, "it were useless to express them, seeing that thy fate hangs not entirely upon me. With no unnecessary severity," he continued, in a kinder tone than he had hitherto adopted during the conversation, "will I treat one, whom, before these unhappy suspicions were raised, I was beginning to love as a brother; and, if thou wilt pledge me thine honor neither to attempt escape, nor by word or deed to practise aught against the Commonwealth, thou shalt have liberty of the precincts of the settlement until the Council shall take further orders."

"I accept thine offer," answered Sir Christopher, "and plight thee my knightly troth to observe the conditions. And in this, my adversity, it is a consolation to know that the noblest spirit who is to sit in judgment on me, believes me not wholly lost to the duties and sensibilities of a gentleman."

The Governor, without reply, summoned Lieutenant Venn, who was in waiting; and, after communicating to him the conclusion to which he had come, requested him to escort the Knight to his lodging.

A few days passed, during which Sir Christopher was seemingly in the full enjoyment of freedom, though closely watched. He attempted to speak with the Lady Geraldine, but was refused permission; and upon her being told of his desire, she sent him word that she had no wish to see him. No objection, however, was interposed to his intercourse with Arundel, who, with his lovely mistress, did all in their power to console the Knight and the unhappy lady in their misfortunes. The relation which the latter stood to the colony affected not the young people, except to excite their sympathies for those whom they considered unjustly suspected and prosecuted.

It might be supposed that in these circumstances Sir Christopher would betray some anxiety or gloom. Far from it. The command over his emotions which nature and discipline had given him, concealed his trouble of mind. He seemed to think but little of himself, and to be principally occupied with the approaching nuptials of Arundel and Eveline, who, immediately thereafter, were to sail for England in the ship commanded by the jolly Captain Sparhawk. The ceremony, in order to give it the greater dignity, was to be performed by Winthrop himself, the right to tie the mystical knot being, among these planters of new customs in a new world, confined to the civil magistrate. Strongly, at first, did the young lady object, and it needed all the eloquence of her lover, and all her affection for him, to prevail upon her to dispense with the priestly blessing. However, there was no alternative, if they meant to be married before their departure; and the circumstances of their situation and mutual inclination were persuasive arguments. Voyages, too, were not then as safe as now; and to the romantic girl contemplating the dangers of the sea, there was something sweet and even fascinating in the thought, that if she perished, she should die in the arms of her husband. This last consideration, above all, prevailed to overcome her scruples, and the uncanonical marriage was accordingly determined upon.

At length the day arrived for the hearing of Sir Christopher, and, attended by Arundel, he presented himself before the Council. It is unnecessary to enter into details. The result is all that need be stated. The accusations contained in the letters, though denied by the Knight, (who vehemently protested against the liberties taken with those addressed to himself, on which latter was founded the charge of being in correspondence with Sir Ferdinando Gorges, the most dreaded enemy of the colony,) obtained credence with his judges. Winthrop blushed when reproached with the violation of the letters; but the rough Dudley justified and commended the act, as fidelity to public interests. There was a settled conviction in the minds of all of the Assistants, that the Lady Geraldine was other than she seemed; and the conclusion they had arrived at concerning her were not of a nature to operate favorably for the Knight. The memorandum in the note-book was also considered weighty evidence. It was recollected, that long before suspicions were conceived concerning Sir Christopher, and when he stood highest in the favor of the principal inhabitants, he had, in speaking of his travels in foreign parts, mentioned that he was at the very place where, and at the time when the scapula was assumed; and his ascribing the reference to another, was regarded as only an awkward attempt at deception. It was thought plainly to betray him as a member of a religious order among the Roman Catholics. Winthrop himself was of that opinion, and that, without more, was sufficient to support an unfavorable decision. The idea of having covert Papists lurking in their midst was not to be tolerated, and, by whatever means, they were to be got rid of. Allusion was made to his embassy to the Taranteens, and services rendered on that and other occasions, but they were deemed insufficient to neutralize his guilt; yet, in consideration of those services, they forbore to inflict any severe punishment. The sentence of the Council was, that both the Knight and lady should be sent back to England in the next ship, and forbidden to return.

"All England shall ring with the report of your injustice," cried Sir Christopher, when the decision was announced. "Ye do yourselves more wrong than me, and the time will come when ye shall hang your heads with shame for the deed. Ye have power, it is true, to extrude me from this new world, but my presence will be a bane to you in the old. I go with solemn protest against your violence."

"Enough," said Winthrop, rising with dignity, "of threats which we notice not, because we are above them. The men who are founding an empire, whose future extent and power human sagacity cannot limit, and who, for the sake of present liberty of thought and action, and of prospective blessings for their descendants, have renounced and count as naught the vanities of this world, fear no arm of flesh. Their shield is the Lord of Hosts. This Council is dissolved."

CHAPTER XXXVI.