RUTH HARLAND;

THE MAID OF WEATHERSFIELD,

By W. J. HAMILTON,

AUTHOR OF “ EAGLE EYE,” ‘ TWIN scouts,” “ EPH PETERS,” ETO.

LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS,
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE,

 
 
RUTH HARLAND.

 

CHAD eB i:
THE PEQUODS.

Aaione the few tribes of Indians in New England never
seduced by the powder and promises of the English, the
Pequods were most numerous and fieree. Their hunting-
grounds were situated in Connecticut, and their principal
seat was upon the Mystic river. The English, following
their customs in regard to the savages, sent commissioners
to this tribe, who were received by the savages with sullen
indifference, and a disposition was constantly shown to
break out into open mutiny. They had always looked upon
the coming of the whites as a bad thing for them, and made
war upon the chief, Massasoit, because he had received the
strangers kindly. Their bands roved about the country,
from the mouth of the river to the borders of Massa-
chusetts, committing all sorts of depredations upon the
settlers. In the year 1634, two commissioners and traders,
Captains Stone and Norton, visiting the tribe, were
treacherously murdered. In August of the same year, the
entire family of a settler, named Weeks, was destroyed.
Our forefathers were not the men to take these matters
coolly. Preparations were at once set on foot to break
the power of this warlike tribe. They were not yet pre-
pared for the open rupture, and seeing that they had

 
 

 
 

6 RUTH HARLAND.

aroused the ire of the English, they did their best to allay
the flame. With true Indian cunning, they consented to
meet the English in council, and sent messengers to the
Governor of the colonies, Josiah Winslow. He received
them sternly, and ordered the messengers to return and
call the chiefs to the council. They sent a deputation in
answer to this demand.

It was in the latter part of August, when the three
chiefs who formed the embassy came into Boston, return-
-ing the angry looks of the citizens whom they passed with
interest. They were led by the soldier who had been sent
out to conduct them into the presence of Winslow, who
sat in the council-chamber of his mansion, surrounded by
the men of mark, who had been chosen to guide the affairs
of the colonies. They were men for the times—men who
were chosen by nature to be the founders of a great
people. With a gravity and decorum only equalled by
that of the Indians themselves, they waited for the entrance
of the savage deputation. *

The leader of the savages was a tall chief, with a neck-
lace of panther-claws about his brawny neck. He had
the long, straight locks of the Indian, crowned by the
eagle-feathers of a chief. A belt of wampum was passed
about his waist and knotted over the right hip. Into this
was thrust the knife and hatchet which their habitual
caution causes them to wear at all times. His face was of
the Roman cast, and his compressed lips and lofty air
spoke the hereditary chieftain, conscious of his power.

His companions were ordinary chiefs, not so richly
dressed as the one who entered first, and stood in the

   

 

+p

  
eh ri

+p

THE INDIAN AMBASSADORS. qT

centre of the great apartment. There sat Winslow, the
brains of the council in state matters; Endicott, the
captain of the forces of the colony; and a score of others,
afterward famous in the annals of our early Indian wars.
Standing just behind the Governor’s chair, stood a young
man, who, as he will bear a prominent place in this
chronicle, deserves mention. He was of middle size, but
showing, whenever he moved, a power of muscle scarcely
to be looked for. He had a quick, active eye, an open
face, showing an indomitable will. This was Captain John
Mason, a man who had already distinguished himself in the
Indian wars of his own colony. He was dressed in a green
hunting-garb, which he had adopted as the uniform of his
men, over whom his epaulet showed his rank. Leaning
upon the back of the Governor’s chair, he listened to his
questions and answered them, until the entrance of the
savages, when he stood erect’ and looked at them. They |
seemed somewhat disconcerted at seeing Captain Mason,
and paused a moment, as if meditating retreat. But the
pride of the leading chief overcame the momentary fear his
presence created, and he looked steadily at the Governor.
“The chiefs of the Pequods are here,” said he. “ They
have come from the far land of the Pequods, because the

old father sent for them. The Pequods have learned to
‘reverence grey hairs, and they have come at the call of the

grey head. Has the old father anything to say?”

“ Who is it that speaks?” said Winslow. ‘He should
have a name.”

“ Mennawan is the brother of Sassacus, head sachem of
the Pequod nation. When he rises to speak in their

 
  

himself, and bade them not stay in the land of the Pequods.

8 RUTH HARLAND.

councils, the old men listen to his words. The Narragan-
setts know him. They have heard his voice upon the war:
path, and when he walks the woods, they hide from him ir
the caves. The Mohegans, who are dogs and the sons of
dogs, tremble at the name of Mennawan.”

“ Tt is well,” said Winslow. “ We are very glad that
so great a chief as Mennawan has come, for we have some-
thing to say which he must ring in the ears of his brother.
The English would be at peace with the Pequods, All
men are brothers.”

“ How!” said the chief. “Is not my skin red?”

No man knew better than Winslow how to deal with a
proud chief, and his answer was apt :—

‘“« My red brother is right. My skin is white and his is
red. But what of that? The blood of my heart is as red
as the chief’s.”

Mennawan bowed in silence. “The old father has
spoken well, and Mennawan is now sure that all men should
be brothers. The Pequods will be so to the white men.”

“ Do brothers turn the edge of the hatchet against each
other? ”

“ Who have done so?”

“The Pequods have been upon the war-path. Two
men were sent into the country of the Pequods. They
went to get fur, and were willing to sell powder and shot
for it. They never came back; has my brother heard of

- these men?”

“ Mennawan is not a liar. He has heard that such men
came into the land of the Pequods. He spoke to them

    
    
   
  
    
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
    
  
   
     

   
 

THE CHIEF'S DEFENCE. 9

The white men had not done well by the Pequods, and
they were angry. The old men did their best to keep the
young men quiet. But they were hungry for scalps. They
followed the white chiefs when they left the Pequod vil-
lage. When the young men had slain our white brothers,
they dared no more come back to our villages. They
wander about in the woods, and sleep in the tree-tops and
in the dens of bears. If they come into the village of the
Pequods, they will take them and cut the broad mark of
the tribe from their breasts, and turn them loose in the
woods again. The hearts of our chiefs are right.”

“ We have been told that a white man and his family
have been killed by your young men upon the banks of the
great river, All were slain—the man, his wife, and six
children. This work also was done by Pequods,” said
Winslow. :

“his is true. It is not for Mennawan to deny it. But
the dogs who took the scalps of the two traders were those
who killed the white man, his squaw and pappooses.
Mennawan is sorry, but they are in the woods.”

“ What reason do they give for killing them?” asked
Winslow.

“ They had never spoken with the great father,” said
the wily chief, ‘and found that all men are brothers. They

had lived so long in the woods that they had learned to
- believe that the banks of the great river belonged to the
Pequods, and that white men had no business to come upon
the lands of the Pequods. They are young, and their
blood is hot.”

The council could not fail to see the sarcasm conveyed
     
   
  
 
 
     
    
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

RUTH HARLAND.

in the words of the chief. He wished them to understand
that the English had no right to build upon the banks of
the Connecticut.

“ These foolish young men say,” continued the chief,
“that they can no longer paddle their great canoe down to
the great water to take fish, because they have to paddle
under the great guns of the Yengees, and they fear the
big thunder. It scares away the deer. I myself have
passed by, where trees that have grown since our grand-
fathers were buried, have been laid low. ‘This is not good
in the eyes of the Indians. They are afraid, if this keeps
on, there will not be a tree upon the banks of the river,
which will give them shade when they are tired. Perhaps
they were wrong to think so. Of course they were, since
the grey-heads say it; and yet, as I look about me, what
do I see? I stand upon the land of the Wampanoags, and
it is not the same. When the feet of Mennawan last
pressed it (he was young then), a tree grew upon the spot
where he stands, and he killed a deer under its branches.
Tf Mennawan were a brave of the Pequods, and not a chief,
he might think as they do, that the Yengees score the earth
too hard with their axes.” .

“ Chief, what mean you ?”

“Tt is not well that men should come into the hunting-
grounds of the Indians, who will not let the trees grow.
If they cut away all the trees in the woods, a chief must
travel many a weary mile before he can kill a deer. He
would have hard work to feed his hungry children, his
squaws and pappooses.”

“ You are wandering, chief. Speak to the point. What
   

    

THE TREATY ACCEPTED. il

shall be done with the men of your tribe who have killed
our brothers ?”

“Tt is the first time since the Pequods were a nation
that they had to speak to another for their deeds. But
let it be so. Sassacus would have peace, and he is chief
sachem of the tribe. If aman of the Pequods has done a
wrong to the Yengees, he shall suffer for it.”

“ Sassacus says well. He is a great chief. Our captain
has told us what we ought to do, to protect ourselves
from these outrages. Mr. Secretary, by your favour, read
to the council the articles we have drawn up.

The Secretary rose, taking up a parchment which lay
before him. Upon this was written the articles of an
agreement, in substance as follows :—

.The Pequods shall deliver to the English all who have
been concerned in the murder of the two English captains
or of the Weeks family. And in future, in case outrages
were committed, the chiefs were to deliver all concerned.
The next article gave up to the English all that portion
of land lying within the limits of the colony of Connec-
ticut ; and they were to treat the settlers kindly in all
cases, and not make war upon the Indian allies of the
English. The third article gaye to Englishmen desiring
to trade with the tribe perfect security at all times, while
in the land of the Pequods.

Captain Mason, who understood the language of the
Pequods, translated the articles for the benefit of the
chiefs, who listened with great attention to the statement;
When it was finished, the three gravely gave their assent
through Mennawan, who had acted as spokesman.
  

12 RUTH HARLAND.

“The chiefs have heard the words of wisdom which are
set down upon the talking-paper. They are glad to do
something for their white friends, and what they ask is
only just. The men who have killed the Yengees are no
longer the friends of the Pequods. We will send braves
into the woods, who will find them in the holes into which
they have crawled for shelter. We will bring them bound
to the grey head. Is it not well said, chiefs of the
Pequods ?”

“Tt is well} said Wequash, one of the chiefs.

“The words of Mennawan have found a way into the
heart of Imbotam. He is a chief of the Pequods. It is
well,” answered the other.

“ My father will give this talking-paper to the chiefs.
They will carry it to the tribe, and every sachem will put
his mark upon it,” said Mennawan.

Winslow handed him the paper. He folded it up and
put it in his bosom.

“ There is a little more to say,” said Mennawan. “ The
Narragansetts have been the enemies of the Pequods. But
Miantonomah, chief of the Narragansetts, is no longer so,
since he has smoked a pipe with the Yengees. Let me
go, then, and find the chief, that I may smoke a pipe in
the name of my people.”

“Ugh!” said Wequash; “this is good.” The other
chief signified his assent.

* Miantonomah is here,” said a stern voice. ‘Let Men-

- nawan look him in the face.”

As he spoke, the great head of the Narragansett nation
stepped out in front of the rest, and regarded his former

  
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
THE PEQUOD AND NARRAGANSETT CHIEFS. 13

enemy with fixed earnestness. Mennawan returned his
gaze. ‘The chief of the Narragansetts was a noble type of
his race, descended from that Canonicus who held power
when the English landed at Plymouth. This haughty
chief sent, as a declaration of war, to the Governor Brad-
ford a bundle of arrows wrapped in rattlesnake skin, The
Governor filled the skin with powder and shot and returned .
it. The sachem thought better of it, and made a treaty
with the English. From that time they had been friendly
to the English, and the treaty with Canonicus had been
continued under Miantonomah.

“Sachem of the Narragansett,” said Mennawan, proudly,
“the chief of the Pequods never yet met the man whom he
dared not look in the face. But why should he boast? He
is not unknown; his deeds were not done in a corner. He
has struck those who were his enemies with a heavy hand.
Many scalps hang in his lodge.”

“ And is the name of Miantonomah never heard in the
wigwams of the Pequods?” asked the sachem, laying his
hand upon his arm.

“Mennawan cannot lie. The hand of the sachem has
been in battle, and many Pequods have died by his weapon.
Many have been slain upon both sides. It is well then,
since the old chief has told us that we are brothers (and if
the white men are our brothers, whose blood alone is like
ours, surely we, whose skin and blood are both dark, ought
to be so), that we make peace.”

“The land of the Narragansett is very wide,” replied
Miantonomah. “It is more than a bird’s flight from this
to the Pequods. Why then should we quarrel, since both

 
 

 
 

14 RUTH HARLAND.

have enough. here are deer in the land of the Pequods as
well as in that of the Narragansetts. We are ready to be
friends of our red brothers.”

“Tt is many years, Miantonomah, since the Yengees landed
upon these shores. The red men were happy. They fought
each other when they were angry, and made peace when
they were tired. The fish they drew from the great Salt
Lake and the rivers gave them food. Want never came
into their wigwams. These strangers came. When Canoni-
cus sent them a bundle of arrows, they sent back powder

and shot. We did not know what powder and shot were
then. We have learned since. But the Pequods have not,

been friendly to the Yengees. They were foolish enough
to think that the land was their own, and the Yengees had

_ no right to drive them from their own land. They were
wrong; the Narragansetts have taught them better, and

they ought to be glad.”
At this cut at his nation’s subserviency to the English,

_ Miantonomah frowned angrily, and Mennawan, seeing that
he had galled him, artfully failed to press the point, and
_ went on :—

“The Pequods see that all who are friends with the

 Yengees do well. Even the Mohegans, who are dogs, and

the sons of dogs, are braver since they have made the Yen-

gees their friends. They are not fools, and they want
_ powder, and shot, and muskets. Why should we not do as
_ they have done ? i

Miantonomah smiled grimly. He began to understand
the peaceful mood of the chief.

“ Let there be peace between us,” said he. “If we get

 

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
    
THE DEPUTATION RETURNS HOME. 15

tired of keeping quiet, it is very easy for us to dig up the
hatchet.”

“ Must we be friends with the Mohegans?” asked Men-
nawan, turning to the captain.

“ Yes,” replied Mason. “The Mohegans are friends
with the English.”

“ Let the ‘Indian Slayer’ listen,” said the chief. “‘ The
Mohegans can never be the true friends of the Pequods.
We will not make war upon them, because they are the
servants of the Yengee. But they are dogs.”

“ Uncas would make that assertion of you, probably.”

“ Uncas is a man,” cried Mennawan. “ He has taken
scalps. But the hair of his own scalp-lock shall dry in a
Pequod lodge.”

“ Let that pass. It is the order of the Governor that
you make ready for your return. Come to the fort, and
you shall receive presents for the chiefs.”

Mennawan and his associates passed from the council,
led by Mason, who had already received the name of
“Indian Slayer” from the tribes. The next day they re-
turned, taking with them the presents they had received,

and the parchment upon which the articles of the treaty
were set down.

CHAPTER II.
THE HENCHMAN AND HIS HORSE.

Captain Enpicorr met Mason, after the departure of
the chiefs, outside the Governor’s house. His countenance
was bright, as he took the latter by the hand.

 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

 

    
   

RUTH HARLAND.

“This matter is happily settled, John,” said he.

The face of John Mason showed no answering bright-
ness. He turned away with a sigh.

“Took you, Endicott,” said he; “I am not in favour of
any treaty with the Pequods, because it is not in their
natures to keep them. Treachery is as natural for them as
to lope through the woods. All that Mennawan may say
will not serve to convince me that he is in earnest in this
treaty.”

“How say you, Sir Captain! Do you think he will fail
in any of the terms ?”

“Ay! Do we not know the hatred of the tribe to any-
thing English? They have sworn to possess again their
hunting-grounds, upon which Hartford now stands. My
word for it—the word of a soldier who never failed—
treachery was in the mind of Mennawan when he made this
treaty. Again, he said that the men who murdered my
friends so treacherously were in the woods. They may
be, but I know that the scalps were borne into the Pequod
village by those murderers, elevated upon a pole, and all
the village came out to do them honour. Did you hear
the conversation between Mennawan and the sachem of the
Narragansetts ?”

“T understand not their language.”

“ He spoke of the happiness the Indians enjoyed before
we came, and galled the proud sachem to the quick by
bringing up his subserviency to us. Do not be surprised,
if, before many days, you hear that the Pequods are in the
wigwams of the Narragansetis. Not all your power, I
am fearful, after you have suffered them to make peace
CAPTAIN MASON’S FEARS. 17

with Miantonomah, will keep them friendly. I know his
proud spirit was touched by the underhand reproaches of
Mennawan.”

“T doubt this, John. Much as [ honour your judgment
in most matters, I must still say that I think the peace will
be final.”

“No peace will be final with Sassacus, sachem of the
Pequods. He is a man of noble, independent spirit,

though a savage. I have met him; and though he may,

allow this treaty to stand for a while, yet he will break out
again when time serves him. I have seen more of the
. Pequods than you, and the Romans were not prouder of
their origin than they. The smaller tribes hold them in
great awe, and are tributary to them. They hate the
Mohegans with the most deadly hatred, because they have
always been our friends. You will understand from this
that they cannot be fast friends to us, since they hate our
allies.”

“But they sought peace with the Narragansetts.”

“True; but the Narragansetts are the most powerful
enemies they have, and they hope to keep them quiet, even
though they will not help them, when they break out again,
We, who dwell in Connecticut, are in the most danger, and
hence I am hot upon the subject. If you could have
looked, as I did, upon the dreadful scenes of our frontier—
if you had seen the Weeks family, scalped and bloody,
lying amid the smoking ruins of their house, you would
say, as I say to-day, no quarter to the accursed savages.
Strike, and spare not.”

“Did you come up alone from Hartford, John?”

 
 

 

18 RUTH HARLAND,

“Not so. I was attended by Salvation Green, an honest
man, though not fair to look upon.”

“Mine honest friend, Salvation! Where may we find
him? J would fain enjoy an hour’s chat with him before
you go hence.”

“Tf that be your desire, yonder he sits, under the
boughs of the elms. See you what he hath in his hand ?
There is nothing of use or ornament which Salvation can-
not carve with his knife. Let us go and see what he has
now.”

They walked on, and joined the object of their conversa-
tion, who sat under an elm, by the side of the street upon

-which they stood. He was a remarkable character, this

henchman of John Mason. In person, as he sat under the
tree, he appeared to be of ordinary height; but, as he un-
wound his long legs, which had been coiled under him as
he sat on the ground, and rose to meet his friends, he
showed an altitude of six feet four inches. He was one
of those “ double-jointed” men found only in America,
whose real power is only known when it is tried. If the
time had been a century later, he would have been called a

representative Yankee, if the old true description of these —

famous men is the true one. His hair was of that unhappy
description known as “tow,” and his friends frequently
awakened his ire by comparisons between it and the wool
of a sheep. His head was set upon a remarkably long
neck, and, as if the weight of the first member were too
much for the last, he carried it very much on one side.
His eyes were blue, and their good-natured light almost
redeemed the homeliness of his figure. But his mouth was

   
  
  
   
    
   
  
    
  
   
  
    
  
 
 
    

fe
eee eT RE RO eae st aoe

a

:

|

MR. SALVATION GREEN. 19

the final blot upon his unlucky face. Description of it is
not necessary, further than to say that one of his wild
comrades in the company of Captain Mason, made the
remarkably sweeping assertion, that, when he opened his
mouth, his head was half off.

He had been whittling, for at this early date our frontier
men had that dexterous sleight with the jack-knife which
has since become historic. Mason stooped, and took up
the box which still lay upon the ground, and found what
he had been doing. A perfect set of chessmen, with the
exception of a single rook which he held, partly finished,
in his hand, lay in the box. The pawns were archers, with
arrows drawn to the head. The castles had flags waving
from the turrets, and the knights were mounted, with
spears in their hands.

“ ‘You let it be,” said Salvation.

“For whom are you making this, Salvation?” asked

_ Endicott.

“What would you give to know?”

“Surely you will tell us; or, perhaps, you intend them
for sale. I will give a goodly sum for such a set.”

“ How much?”

“You are ever ready for a trade, Salvation. Why do
you not give them to my worthy friend, Captain Endicott ?”
said Mason.

“°Tain’t my way,” replied Salvation, coolly. “‘’Sides,
he nor you can’t have these. I made them for some one
else.”

“ But who?”

“ That’s tellin’. S’pose I was to say Ruth Harland ?”

 
 
 

20 RUTH HARLAND.

The captain turned upon him somewhat sharply, at the
mention of this name. But the immovable face of Salva- —
tion, even if he had intended it for a thrust at his captain, .
as Endicott thought likely, told no tales. .

“ Nice girl, Ruth,” he went on, quietly. “I ain’t forgot —
how she nursed me when I got that arrer in the side, in the
swamps down by Pokanoket. Thought then I should
make her something, and here ’tis.”

“ Where did you, get the model?”

“ Saw ’em once at the Governor’s, down at Hartford,”

“Ts it possible you remember how to make them, after
so long?” asked Endicott.

“ Hasy enough. I looked at ’em close, ’cause I heard
Ruth say she had no chessmen, and wanted a set.” .

Endicott looked at his young friend, and was somewhat
astonished to see that his face was flushed. He shrewdly
conjectured that Captain John Mason had something to do
with Mistress Ruth Harland.

“T bethink me now of a worthy pastor of that name,
who left us some time since, and went to your colony to
work for his Master. Where is he stationed ?”

“ At the little colony we call by the name of Weathers-
field. There are not many in his flock, perhaps thirty in
all, but he is satisfied to do the work assigned him.”

“T remember Mistress Ruth now; she was a comely
damsel. When do you return to Hartford ?”

“ At once; having expressed my doubis of the faith of
the Pequods, it is fitting that I should return to my duty.
Not many months will pass before you will hear of sad deeds

upon the border.” ]
i
;

  

   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
oo

ly

of
Ye

WILL THEY KEEP FAITH? 21

“Jt may well be as you say, John. What think you,
Salvation? JI have heard it said that you have shrewdness
beyond your looks. We have made peace with the
Pequods, and they have promised to give up to us all the
murderers of our people. Will they keep their faith ?”

* Course not.”

Mason looked at his friend with a smile at this confirma-
tion of his own opinion. John Endicott did not drop the
matter,

“ Why do you think the savages will not keep faith with
us ?”

“?ain’t their natur’, Ive followed Cap'n Mason in his
scrimmages, and I find that the whole natu’ of the animal
called Injin is all in one word—blood. They rest some-
times, when they git tired of blood-suckin’, but it’s only a
rest. Even the Mohegans, and they are the best of the
race, when they git in a scrimmage, go mad after scalps.
The Pequods will keep quiet until they have made pease
and smoked the pipe with Miantonomah, and then they
will pitch in worse than ever.”

Endicott saw that the two men had no faith in the
Pequods, and left them, looking somewhat disconcerted ;
for he had great faith in the two men, who had fought the
Indians in Connecticut, which, at this time, was more dis-
turbed than any colony, from its advanced position,”

“We will go, Salvation,” said Mason. “ Where are our
horses ?” F

“They are in the stables of Thomas Marshall,” replied
Salvation.

“Go quickly, and fetch them, J will walk on, and meet

 
     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

RUTH HARLAND.

you at the other side of the town. We have far to ride
to-day.”

Salvation hurried away, taking tremendous strides. In
a short time he overtook his superior, mounted upon one
steed, while he led the other by the bridle. The horse of
Mason was a blooded animal, one of the few which had
been imported for the use of the colony. In the wars they
were of no use whatever, for had the cavaliers attempted
to use them, they would have suffered great loss. Cortez
would never have conquered the Mexicans, had they
possessed such a country as that in which the Pilgrims
landed. Horsemen would have little room to swing their
sabres. Footmen, who could plunge into the bushes, and
meet the skulkers in their own way, were the only men who
could be used. And under such men as the occasion called
forth—Mason, Endicott, Church, Standish, and the like—
they at last, though only after bloody battles, broke the
power of every tribe.

The subaltern was mounted upon a long-legged, ewe-
necked beast, with a wandering, vicious-looking eye, which
would have warned a horseman away from his heels. But
the Yankee had lived too long, and had made the ac-
quaintance of his animal too well, to suffer his horse to get
the better of him in any way. There was no vice which

flesh, and especially horse-flesh, is heir to, which was not

possessed in the highest and worst degree by this remark-
able beast. Any person unacquainted with the horse and
his rider, would have wondered why the Yankee kept his
feet thrust out in front so far, instead of permitting them
to hang at ease by his horse’s side. This precautionary
SALVATION ON HORSEBACK. 23

measure was soon proved to be a good one by the vicious
brute, which pitched suddenly forward on his knees. A
- less experienced rider would have been hurled headlong
from the saddle. But Salvation’s feet struck the ground
as soon as the knees of Tribulation—as he had long ago
christened his steed—and he remained calmly seated in his
saddle, until such time as the quadruped thought proper to
rise to his fect, shake his obstinate head, and pace slowly
forward, only meditating what next to do.

“ Cap’n !” said Salvation.

“Well!” said the other, looking back at his strange
companion.

“Tt’s a-comin’ !”

“ What is coming ?”

“ Tribulation’s tantrums.”

The captain laughed—for he well knew what that meant.
When Tribulation once got started, he did not cease until
he had run through the entire rdle of vicious tricks. As
often as this was undertaken, so often Salvation conquered
in the end. But the conquest never cowed the spirit of the
. animal in the least, and he was ready, whenever he took it
into his vicious head, to go over with his tricks again.
First, he “ bucked,” and, to describe this vice, the words of
a distinguished writer will do :—

“The thing is, in itself, dreadful enough without per-
mitting ideal minds to make it worse than it is by ponder-
ing upon the mystery of the still more fearful word. I
hasten then to define ‘bucking’ as a violent perpendicular
leaping to the height of several feet, the animal landing
perfectly stiff-legged, with an effect jarring to the nerves

 
  

 
  
 

24 RUTH HARLAND.

of the most rugged constitution, and producing in the most —
hermetically-sealed countenance what refined doctors now- —
a-days call ‘nasal hemorrhagia.’ ”

This was the feat which Tribulation tried, and Salvation,
who had been through the mill too many times not to be
prepared, rose in his stirrups, with his limbs flexed, and
suffered himself to subside gracefully into the saddle each
time the fore feet struck the ground. After trying this
several times, with no visible effect upon the rider, and to —
the intense enjoyment of the captain, who drew aside from
the scene of action to witness the struggle, Tribulation —
settled down for a moment, in order to gather his faculties, —
and then began to plunge, kick, and reat, accompanying —
the action by a series of shrill neighs. Salvation was in
no way disconcerted by the eccentric action of the brute, —
but locked his long legs under the animal, as his long —
limbs easily allowed, and waited for something else.

“ Pretty, ain’t it?” he said.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Tribu- |
lation fell, as if struck down by a rifle ball. It was some-
thing new, and only the remarkable agility of Salvation
saved him from broken bones. How he unlocked his limbs
and got out of reach in the second of space allowed him
before his horse’s body struck the ground was a mystery to
the captain, who stood looking on, and could not repress a
ery of consternation as the horse fell. But the sturdy ©
backwoodsman sat astride of his property, spurring him —
vigorously to make him rise. This he did, after a while, in |
a confused and uncertain manner, as if he began to have a —
dim perception that he had a master after all, But the

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  
   

ese

ae Se .|

    

TRIBULATION IN HIS TANTRUMS. 25

beast was not ready to give up yet, and began to run
backward at full speed, whereupon the rider pulled hard
on the rein as if to assist in the operation. If Salvation
had attempted to drive his animal forward, in all pro-
bability he would have continued backing. But, when he
felt the check of the snaffle, he attempted to roll over upon
his rider.

The man merely dropped to his feet, and stood over his
fractious beast, lifting, for the first time, a heavy whip,
which hung at his saddle. When Tribulation rose to his
feet, this began to fall upon him with stunning force. He
bit, kicked, and plunged as before. But the hand upon his
snaffle was like iron, and he knew it, and stood trembling,
with the sweat dropping from his reeking hide.

“He's got enough of it,” said Salvation, dropping the
whip, and speaking to the horse in a soothing tone. “Soh
—gently—old boy. Why will you force me to whip you,
and stop us on our way? See to your pistols, Cap'n. We
must take to the woods, and the cover is thick enough to
hide a red, scalpin’ savage. The tribes ain’t so friendly as
they was.”

“Tam armed,” said Mason, touching the long musket at
his saddle-bow, “as becomes a man who makes his home in
the woods. Sooth to say, I am troubled in my mind. The
men of these colonies came hither from the purest motives,
but they begin to harp upon many doctrines, and I fear
they will not awake from their delusion until it is too late.
The counsels of the wise and good Roger Williams would
have done much to quiet the savages. Yet see: because
he dared say that the King could not give us land that did
 

26 RUTH HARLAND.

not belong to him, they have driven him away from the ©
colonies and he is building up a refuge for the oppressed, —
and hath well named it, Providence.”

“Is Roger Williams gone ?”

“Yes. The Narragansetts gave him shelter, and after
that land upon which to build up a home.”

“T have heard it said that the Indians love him.”

“They do; for he never yet promised that which he did
not perform.”

“Hark !” cried Salvation, lifting his hand. “Hear you
nothing.”

“T hear the cry of the birds, and the sound of the wind
in the trees.” .
“My ears are better. A runner comes. Make ready

your musket.”
As he ceased speaking, an Indian appeared at a turn in
the path, hurrying forward on the trail.

 

CHAPTER III.
RUTH.

WEATHERSFIELD, known in the early annals of the
colony, stood upon the bank of the Connecticut, below
Hartford. It had first been settled hy a hardy company,
who forced their way through the almost impassable wilder-
ness of New England to this beautiful spot. The founding
of this colony had been the first opéning for the anger of i
the Pequods, who claimed the valley of the Connecticut to
the borders of Massachusetts. Weathersfield, therefore,
was planted in the very midst of their territory. They

i
MENNAWAN AT WORK. 27

looked with jealousy and distrust upon the white men, and
the murder of the Virginian, Stone, and his partner, was
the result.

The Pequods claimed, and it is not fully known with
how good reason, that the slain man was brutal and over-
bearing, and being intoxicated, was slain by two of their
men in self-defence. This plea was not put forward at the
council, as the acute Mennawan reasoned that the Hnglish
would not hear of any such thing, and would demand
nothing short of the surrender of the men. This they
thought best to promise, though it was far from the inten-
tion of either Mennawan or the chief sachem, Sassacus, to
give up the man-slayers, whom they looked upon favour-
ably, as the first who had rebuked the invaders of their
soil,

Mennawan, after parting with the English, made his way
through the wilderness, which, as he had been accustomed
to travel from boyhood, he was well acquainted with in all
its points, and struck the Connecticut above Hartford.

Before this, after giving to the other chiefs their instruc-
tions, he sent one of them to the Narragansetts, and the
other to the Wampanoags, still under the rule of the famous
chief, Massasoit. He took a canoe upon the river, and
paddled downward, taking care to pass Hartford in the
night, as he feared that he might be detained to answer for
the murder of Stone. Proceeding silently for half an hour,
after passing Hartford, he paddled to the shore, took a
hasty meal from some parched corn and yenison in his

wallet, wrapped his blanket about him, and laid down to
rest, :

 
 

  

28 RUTH HARLAND.

With the early dawn he was again in motion, and ©
entered Weathersfield before nine in the morning. Being —
in no fear of being detained by their weak colony, he boldly ©
entered the small settlement, then consisting of a dozen —
families, who had clustered about their favourite pastor, —
Arthur Harland.

England sent to these infant colonies some of their —
brightest and purest minds—and among these was Arthur
Harland. Educated for the Church, he might have claimed —
any ecclesiastical honour as his own. But, with that un-—
swerving faith which was a prominent characteristic of our —
pilgrim sires, he forsook all, left behind him the graves of —
his fathers, to found a new home and new ties upon the '
inhospitable shores of New England, more friendly, after —
all, than the then named Merry England. He had brought —
with him to the new world a precious wife and daughter. ©
The first had sunk under the hardships of the march from —
Boston. The other yet remained, growing more beautiful —
every day, the light of her father’s household.

Ruth sat upon the step of the rude log-cabin, which had
been built for their pastor by his flock, when Mennawan —
entered the village. His bow of the stoutest ash was —
swung lightly over his shoulder. At the sight of the
maiden he paused and addressed her in broken English, of
which he had picked up a little in his intercourse with the
whites. uth, who had at different times held some inter-
course with the Indians who visited the village, greeted the
chief kindly, and invited him to enter. :

“No wait long,” said he. “Tired and hungry. Rest
little while, den go on,”

  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
 
  
 
 
    
  
   
en ee ko

iS

THE CHIEF SEES RUTH. 29

«Has the chief been long upon the path through the
woods ?” asked she.

“The road is long to the villages of the whites, by the
Big Water. Mennawan has been to the wigwams of the
grey heads, and had a talk. The Pequods are now friends
with the English.”

“Tam glad of that. Iam very much pleased to hear
it. Why should we quarrel with the red men ?”

“The Pequods are a great nation. Before the white
men came, the tribes trembled at the very name, and Sassa-
cis could walk from the banks of the great river to the Big
Water alone, and no man dared lay a hand upon his scalp.
Wé are strong yet, but the dogs who have been the slaves
of our tribe are fr'ends with the Pequods, and are saucy to
& great chief.”

Ruth led the way into the house, and placed before the
chief bread and meat, and waited wpon him with gentle
grace until he was satisfied. He watched furtively the
motions of her slight figure. He did not stay after he had
broken his fast; but thanked his entertainer in his senten-
tious Indian manner. He had passed out, and coming
back as a thought seemed to strike him, he laid his dark
finger upon her arm.

“ Let the white girl listen to the words of a great chief.
A time may come when the bad blood may spring up be-
tween the red-men and their white brothers. When it does,
it may be well to have a friend with the Pequods. The
white girl has been kind to Mennawan. He came into the
wigwam, and she gave him bread and meat and kind words.
An Indian never forgets.”

 
  

 

 

 

80 RUTH HARLAND.

Ruth made a suitable acknowledgment of his kind words,
and he took from his belt a peculiar bone, covered with —
strange hieroglyphics. !

“Take this charm,” he said. “And if at any time you
show it to a Pequod when you are in danger, and speak
the name of Mennawan, your life will be safe.” )

He took up his blanket, which he had dropped, ana went —
quickly away, while Ruth went into the study which had
been set apart for her father. The old man sat by the lat-_
tice with an open Bible on his knees. He was a man whose ©
face had that absolute power seldom given to man. No-—
thing but the consciousness of motives wholly pure could
have given him that exalted look. His long white hair, —
parted in the centre of a lofty brow, swept down upon his —
shoulders. He raised his eyes from the sacred volume
at her entrance, and smiled. ?

“ Who left you but now ?” he asked.

“ An Indian of the Pequod nation, dear father.”

“ What did he seek?” |

“ He was tired and hungry, and asked for bread and |
meat. I gave it to him at his request.”

* And you did right. It is more blessed to give than to |
receive. No stranger, be he Indian, white man, or black,
shall ever be turned out from the door of Arthur Harland, |
while he has a loaf. What is that you hold in your hand, —
and observe so earnestly ?” /

“Tt was given me by the savage who was here. He
spoke strangely of coming peril, and told me that it would
be a safeguard against his tribe, if I spoke his name.”

* Do vou remember it? ”

  
 
 

 
   
RUTH RECEIVES A PLEDGE. 3)

“Jt is a strangely musical one, and I remember—
Mennawan.”

“Say you so? He is a second chief of the nation.
Let me see this pledge.”

She placed the bone in his hands, and he gazed at it in-
tently for some moments. At last he spoke again :—

“Write the name in your tablets, Ruth, and preserve
the charm. I have learned something of the symbols of
these tribes, and I know that this is the totem of the Pe-
quods. Such a pledge, coupled with the name of a famous
chief, would doubtless save your life, even if you fell into
the hands of the savages, as, in the providence of God,
you may yet do, I am glad you have pleased the chief.
And what did he say of coming troubles ?”

“ He spoke in a bitter way of the tribes who are friendly
to the whites, and also said that he had made a treaty with
our friends on the shores of Massachusetts Bay.”

“T remember now. The young man of war, whom they
call Mason, was sent by our elders to the capital, that he
might lay before them the burdens we have borne so long
at the hands of the savages. They did not wish to have
Open war, and sent messengers to the council, and, I doubt
not, the chief was one of them.”

“He spoke of the length of the path to the shores of
the Big Water.”

“Tt is so, then. You must keep the charm, for it may
be of use to us yet. Do you know if Captain Mason, the
Valiant young man who hath so often put to the sword the

_ ®hemies of God's Israel in this colony, returned from his

journey am
ae

 
32 RUTH HARLAND.

Ruth, with a confusion which the occasion did not seem
to warrant, replied that she had been informed that the
young captain had not returned, but must by this time be
upon his way.

“ Sooth to say,” said the venerable man, “ I put not my
faith in these wicked heathen, who compass us round about.
Surely, it is better for the watchmen to be upon the wall,
night and day, when the foemen compass it round about.
J would not that the valiant young captain should be gone
from hence. He is our strong tower and our defence.
Cannot you speak something in favour of the worthy
youth ?”

Ruth uttered a disconnected speech, to the effect that

Captain Mason had the good word of many, but, for her
part, she had nothing to say. Her manifest confusion sur-
prised the worthy pastor, for, like most men who are im-
mersed in books, he had too little to do with the world
about him, and had taken small account of the courtship
which had been going on under his very nose, ever since
the captain’s first visit to Weathersfield, The occasion of
his coming had been the wounding of his faithful henchman,
Salvation Green, who received an arrow from the thicket.
He had been taken into the residence of the pastor, as a
matter of course, and the fair hands of Ruth had ministered
to his wants and tended his wounds with sisterly care.
Captain John Mason, coming often to see how his man
fared, took a fancy to the bright face of his nurse, and an
intimacy grew up between them. Salvation, now convales-

cent, looked on with quiet satisfaction, for he regarded
his leader as a model man, and his fair nurse as something

 
  

 

 
 
  
    
 

HOW THE CAPTAIN WAS SMITTEN. 33

more than mortal. He laughed in his inmost soul at the
blindness of the old pastor, who saw nothing in the con-
tinued yisits of Captain Mason more than a feeling of
anxiety for the safety of a good soldier. ‘ Why,” Salva-
tion sagely remarked, “did he think the Cap’n was sich a
greeny as to be afraid for me, because I had an arrer-hole
below the left elbow? Not a bit of it. But an excuse is
a fust-rate thing. I ’members how I used to go to see
Faith Tribner, down at Hartford. One day I left a belt
there, and, as true as you live, as often as I went for that
belt, P’'d forgit it, and it was nigh on to a year before I
took it home! That was about the time Faith married
that little dried-up tailor down at Hartford, and said I was
a sawney. Now, in my mind, I am the captain’s belt, and
he won’t take me home until he has to.”

This sage conclusion of the woodman appears to have
been the right one, and even after he had fully recovered,
the captain made many errands to Weathersfield. From
this, my readers will understand why Miss Ruth stammered
so prettily over the name of the captain.

But we left the pastor looking at his danghter in ag-
tonishment, over the top of his spectacles; for to him it
seemed that she wished to take from the young man praise
which he thought well merited.

“ Why, child, what evil hath he done?”

“None whatever, dear father.”

“ But you speak as if he were not worthy of praise. The
rulers at Hartford speak of him as a man wise beyond his
Years, and brave in his battles with the heathen. It may

not seem meet to thee, that I, a disciple of peace, should
OG

 
 

    

    
 

RUTH HARLAND.

speak well of one who lives by the sword. Yet, truly, we
are commanded to be zealous, even'to slaying, in the good
cause. Surely we were not sent into the wilderness to
suffer our wives and little ones to be put to the sword,
while there lived valiant ones to strike in our defence ?”

This was the faith of the Puritans. They did not believe
in tamely bowing their heads to the scalping-knife, and
their stern motto, “ Trust in God, but keep your powder
dry,” brought them safely through manifold dangers.

“Do you think the savages will keep faith with us?”
asked Ruth.

“T trust them not. Their natures are cruel, and they
delight in scenes of blood. While it is their interest to be
silent, they will do so. Captain Mason, who hath spokea
often with me upon this subject, believes as I do, that we
are in peril here. Who is at the door? Admit him, who-
ever it may be.”

Ruth went to the door, and admitted a man of com-:
manding presence, whose face was covered in such a way
that she could only make out a clear, bright eye, shining
through the folds of his muffler.

“ Speak to the worthy Arthur Harland, fair damsel, and
say that a stranger seeks admission to his presence.”

“ Enter,” said Ruth. ‘“ Our doors are open to all,”

“Yet it might not be so, if you knew to whom you gave
entrance, fair maiden. But deliver my message to your
father.”

Ruth, wondering who this strange man might be, went
to her father with the message, and at his request con-
ducted the stranger into his study.

 

 
 

 

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 35

“Bid the maiden leave us for the present, as I have
much to say to thee alone.”

Ruth, obeying the quiet motion of her father’s hand,
turned and left the room. The stranger stood up before
Harland, throwing off the mufflers which had, until this
moment, shrouded his face, and revealed a strikingly
marked countenance—a face indicating unswerving faith
and will—a face,much like that of the man whom he now
stood before. Such a man might be a martyr in a good
cause.

Harland had started when the voice of the stranger fell
upon his ears, for it awakened old memories. But, as his
eyes fell upon the venerable face before him, he sprung
forward, holding out both hands and crying :—

“Roger Williams! Thank God that I see thee again.”

“Then it doth please thee, old friend, to see the exile,
the proscribed man, who has the ban of the colony upon
his guiltless head. Then you turn not away from the old
college friend, though a sort of outlaw.”

“You know me, dear Roger. Arthur Harland is not
the man to forget an old friend. I have given my influence
for your recall from banishment, but I fear that it will be
in vain. It is a sad thought, that we, who fled from
distant England to escape the persecution of a sect, should
follow their pernicious example in our own land. But
what can we do against many? Weathersfield is founded
by men who desire that men should act according to con-
science in all matters, but it is yet under the rule of the
colonies, and their laws are ours.”

Roger Williams, the great Reformer, had been, by the
: Cee

 
 

  

36 : RUTH HARLAND.

persecution of his own people, driven from the colonies at
the head of Massachusetts Bay, a proscribed man. His
principles were too much in advance of the age in which
he lived —a far-reaching mind, which looked into events
as likely to happen, and could not bind itself entirely to
the staid, sober realities of the present.

It had been the intention of the magistrates, when they
issued the edict of banishment against this wonderful man,
to remove him entirely from the colonies; and the act
plainly stated, that if he did not leave the jurisdiction of
the colonies, or returned again, that he was to be removed
by force.

But the decree did not quiet the rising storm, or daunt
the brave heart of the Reformer. He went quietly about,
preaching as usual to the few who would listen to his
words; and the court having extended the time, so that
he could leave in the spring, greater troubles arose. His
enemies complained to the court that he stirred up the
people by his treachery, and that a number of disaffected
brethren proposed to break off from the Massachusetts
colony, and form a settlement at the head of Narragansett
Bay, under the leadership of Roger Williams.

This was enough toarouse the dread of the Puritans.
The thought was a terrible one io- them, that a colony of
Anabaptists should spring up so near their own. ‘The
court decided that it was best to seize this obnoxious
person, convey him on board a ship waiting in Boston
harbour, and send him to England.

A summons was sent to him to attend the session of the
. general court in Boston, This was in the midst of winter ;

 

 
 
cei

HISTORY OF ROGHR WILLIAMS. 87

his health had been impaired by his labours, and he refused
to appear, giving his reasons.

This did not suit the magistrates, and a warrant was
issued to Captain Underhill to take him. He went to
Salem, and found the house tenanted only by the family of
Williams. The bird had flown. Fully determined not to
return to England, the preacher plunged into the trackless
forest, skirting the shores of Massachusetts Bay.

Turning his back upon the place where he had so long
vindicated the truth, he buried himself in the forest, with-
out companions, in the rigour of a New England winter.
From that time he was an exiled man, for the stern
doctrines of the Puritans would have prompted them to -
destroy him, if he had dared to return.

It is a sad commentary upon the history of the times,
that this brave old man should be driven out by his own
people, and find a welcome home in the cabins of the
Narragansetts. It had been his care, while in the colony,
to engage the friendship of the Indians, and he so far
succeeded, that when he presented himself in the village,
and claimed their hospitality, it was freely given.

He spent some weeks in the cabins of Canonicus and
Miantonomah, and then went into the country of the
Wampanoags. Massasoit, now an old man, greeted him
kindly. He gave him a grant of land, upon the Sekonk
river, where he built a cabin, and began to plant. Here, a
number of faithful friends, who had followed his movements
with solicitude, joined their old pastor, and he hoped to be
able to plant a colony, which should be an asylum for the
oppressed,

 
  

 

88 RUTH HARLAND.

But the Christian settlers of Massachusetts were not yet
satisfied. They had driven him from their midst, but he
had now built within the limits of their charter, and if he
remained, he must obey their laws. He received a kindly-
worded letter from Governor Winthrop, informing him of
the fact, and desiring hive to remove across the water. To
this note he made answer that he would at once take
measures for removal.

With his five companions, he left the pleasant spot which
had been given him, and crossed the bay, intending to find
a place upon the other side. The Indians met him upon
the western bank, with the salutation, “ What cheer, Netop
(friend) ; what cheer ? ”

In the end of June, 1636, the great founder of Rhode
Tsland began the settlement, called by him Providence
Plantation. More than two hundred years have passed ;
the Indian tribes who inhabited the spot have not a repre-
sentative upon earth. But the great city of Providence
now stands, an enduring monument of the unswerving faith
of its founder.

Although the colonies had gladly driven Roger Wil-
liams away, yet they had never ceased to remember
his influence over the savages. And the time was near at
hand, when they were to claim the aid of the wonderful old
man, who had nothing to thank them for but the perse-
cution which had made an asylum for the oppressed in the
New World. But men forget their evil deeds quickly,
and when that time came, they readily called upon him for
help.

We turned aside a little from the plot of the story to

 

 
 
BOTH PRIEST AND FATHER. 39

saya word of. this extraordinary man—first, because he
will bear a place in the story, and it is necessary that we
should have his record before us, lest it should be difficult
to believe that he endured such hardships; and next, be-
cause he is a type of the men of the time, of whom we may
justly be proud.

He turned his smiling face towards his friend, at the
last words of the other.

“Thou sayst truly, old friend, and yet we must not
speak ill of our rulers. I, who have been most oppressed
by them, do not revile them. They were misled by false
doctrine—by an inhuman creed. It was, after all, a happy
thing for me, that they cast me out from their midst; it
hath made me a new man, and to my poor people it hath
been a blessing which cannot be told. They are happy,
and if they differ, they let the elders judge of right and
wrong.”

“TI have heard of such things in the days of Mel-
chisedek,” said Harland, with a smile ; “both priest and
king.”

“Priest and father,” said Williams, proudly. ‘“ The five
who came to dwell with me at Sekonk are now many, but
they take the bread of life from my lips still.”

“Have you trouble with the Indians ?”

“No. We have no cause of quarrel with them. We
purchase our land of the owners of the soil. What hath
his Majesty the King of England to do with that to which he
never had any other title than that an Englishman first set
his foot upon it? I go to the man who is rightful owner,
the chieftain Canonicus, and his chief men, They had de.

 
 

40 RUTH HARLAND.

termined that the English should never settle in their
territory. Not thousands or tens of thousands should
make an entrance into the bay. Only the language, ac-
quaintance, and favour which I had acquired over them
obtained this favour for me.”

“ How much of your land do you retain?” asked the
other.

“ My wants are small, and I could do nothing with the
large grant which was given me by the sachem. The faith-
ful friends who shared my exile had families, so I made it
common property. I was selfish, too, for I kept to my
own use two fields which I had planted with my own
hands.”

' “Tt is a long distance to Providence Plantation. How
did you come here?”

“In my own boat, in company with two trusty friends,
who wait for me at the river.”

“ Why did you come ?”

“JT came to warn you. My intercourse with the Indians
gave me an opportunity to gain much information. I
would not use it to their hurt, but when their course is
evil I must speak. The Pequods are a bloody-minded
race, and they thirst for the blood of the English. They
have sworn to engage the tribes in a conspiracy to sweep
the whites from the continent. In this conspiracy they
design to number the Narragansetts, the Pokanokets, and:
the Nipmucks.”

* But they have made a treaty.”

“What are treaties to the Pequods? Do you think
that I would leave my pleasant home, at my age, for an
    

   

THE WARNING. Al

idle tale? Though the people of Massachusetts have used
me ill, my heart still yearns toward them, for they were
once of my flock. I love them so well, that I have taken
the oar again, in my old age, to do them good. Bear these
tidings to the Council at Hartford. Say to them that I,
Roger Williams, vouch for it as true, and will do my best
to suppress it. For myself, I must return to my people.”

“ Surely not now.”

“This very hour. My boat waits, and there is no time
to waste. Give my kindest wishes to your child, who is a
comely damsel, and better fitted for the safety of Boston
or Providence than this place.”

The old men shook hands and parted. One going with
a sturdy stride, which age could not take from him, to his
boat by the river-bank, and the other to lay his head upon
the rude table before him, and dream of the days when
they were boys in school and then students at Oxford.
Here, in their old age they were strangely brought to-
gether

 

CHAPTER IV.
SALVATION IN DIFFICULTIES.

Tur Indian who met the two adventurers in the forest
was Wequash, one of the three who had been sent to the
Narragansetts. He did not see them until close upon
them, as he was hurrying on with his eyes bent upon the
trail. When he did look up at the sound of the horses’
feet, his face exhibited no surprise or fear, and he continued
his course until close to the captain’s side.

“The white men follow a blind path” he said, laying
 

  

RUTH HARLAND.

his hand upon the rein of the horse, and checking his
progress. “ Let them turn back and make it more plain.”

“JT do not understand you,” said Mason. “The path
between us and the red men is now made very plain.”

“Mennawan has spread a cloud over the path. He
would not have it seen. He has taken the belts of the
Yengees, but he laughs at them now, and spits upon them
in the dark woods. Listen: Mennawan has been to the
cabins that are built by the great river, and has seen there
a maiden fair as the flowers in the meadows. He would
have her come into his lodge.”

“Ha!” cried the other. “ What maiden?”

“ She is the daughter of the old prophet with the grey
hair. The one who nursed the long white man when he
had an arrow in his flesh.”

“ Darn it,” cried Salvation, “but that is too much. Does
the greasy Indian look so high as that ?”

“ Mennawan is second chief of the Pequods,” replied the -
Indian, with a proud look. “ He is not to blame for look-
ing on the white maiden. But the Yengees are now my
friends, and I will not do them a wrong. The chief is
making bad blood between the Narragansetts and the
Yengees. This is not well, and a chief who has given his
word has no right to do it. We will keep faith with
them, if we can.”

“When did Mennawan visit Weathersfield?” asked
Mason, keeping down his passion as well as he could.

“When the chiefs were on the path to the council at
Shawmut” (Boston).

“ Where is he now?” .

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
   
SALVATION AND THE BEAR. 43

“ He has gone to the nation. His path will take him
near the door of the old prophet.”

Mason suppressed a gesture of rage, and began to ques-
tion the chief closely. From the information he received,
he thought it prudent to return to Boston, and take We-
quash with him. Salvation was sent on to Weathersfield
and Hartford, with instructions to tell no one but the
council what he had heard. After getting his instructions,
he pursued his course at an easy pace, while Mason and
the Indian turned back upon the trail. ‘Tribulation shook
his obstinate head when the attempt was made to ford the
river, and his master, knowing that it was useless to urge
him just then, and feeling a little hungry, picketed him near
by and bujlt a fire. He had cooked a little meat, and was
eating #¥with a keen relish, when Tribulation erected his
ears and gave utterance to aloud snort. Salvation sprung
to his feet and looked to his rifle, while his horse, dragging
the picket from its place, ran up to him in alarm.

The cause of this was soon manifest. For the bushes
bent and cracked under a heavy body, and a huge black
bear came out into the opening. The place where they
stood was upon the Connecticut, about three miles below
Weathersfield, and the time, the morning of Roger
William’s visit to that place.

The tall Yankee was brave as a lion, and feared no
danger. Instead of mounting his horse, as he should have
done, he waited for a shot at the bear, which came at him
much after the manner of a cat, when approaching an
object of which it has some doubt, in a sidelong, hesitating
way,

 
    

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
  

RUTH HARLAND.

Salvation fired carelessly, and the bullet touched the
shoulder-blade of the animal, and inflicted a flesh-wound
in the neck, which elicited an angry growl. Rising upon
its hind feet, the bear cast a single look at the hunter, and
then leaped at him. This was too much for Tribulation,
and he fled before his master could mount, leaving him at
the mercy of the mad beast. The hunter was not a man
easily frightened, but even he didnot care to meet the hug
of a bear, knowing that it was certain death. There was
nothing for it but a run, and he laid himself down to his
work as he only knew how, while the hear lumbered along
in his rear.

In looking at a bear, one would be inclined to think that:
a man could outrun him with the greatest ease. But such
is not the case, as poor Salvation found before he had run
a hundred yards along the river-bank; for, looking back,
hardly twenty feet intervened between himself and the
furious beast.

A tree stood upon the river-bank, leaning over the
stream. Into this he climbed, and located himself in the
forks. The body leaned so much, that he had walked up
with great ease, and stood prepared to defend his position.
Of one thing he was certain—Bruin could not hug him
there.

“ Oh, Tribulation,” he muttered. “ You don’t know
what trouble you have got your master into this day.”

The bear did not climb the tree at once, but placed his
huge paws upon the body, and stood looking at the man,
the blood dripping from the wounded shoulder. Perhaps
it might have been the awe of man which restrained hin—
THE DEATH STRUGGLE. 45

perhaps he waited for rest. At any rate, some moments
passed before he attempted to climb the tree. This time
Salvation spent in loading his rifle in order to get another
shot at the bear. He succeeded in wounding him despe-
rately, but not in such a way as to disable. With a roar
of anguish the beast began to climb, while the Yankee
stood with his clubbed rifle ready, and waited for the
attack.

At the first blow he made, bruin raised his paw and the
piece flew out into the air, landing on the greensward,
twenty feet from the base of the tree. He had now
nothing but his knife, and he drew it with the determination
to fight as long as possible.

In order to reach the spot where he stood, it was
necessary to put his paw upon a projecting limb, close to
Salvation’s side. Each time he did so, Salvation gashed it
with his knife. After this had been twice repeated, the
bear threw himself forward with his whole power, and
forced Salvation to fall back, but not before he had
wounded his enemy again.

He crept out upon a long limb overlooking the water,
followed by the furious animal. There was no escape.
Below him ran the river, deep and dark. Before him the
bear, foaming with rage; and his only weapon was the
knife. He was not long in making up his mind what to do.

Placing his knife in his teeth, he grasped a limb above
his head, and shook the limb rapidly, whenever the bear
placed his foot upon it. Bruin greeted this measure with
a growl of manifest disapprobation, tottering uneasily upon
his perch.

 

 
     
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
    
  
    
  
 
   
   

RUTH HARLAND.

“Don’t like it, do you, old mug-o’-hate?” cried Salvation.
“Come out, if you dare !”

As if he heard the challenge, and understood it as well,

the brute obeyed. When the hot breath was upon him,
so Close had he come, the pioneer threw himself backward,
and disappeared in the dark water, which was full thirty
| feet: below.
i} When Salvation rose to the surface, Bruin was also in
the water, for the violence with which the branch rebounded
threw him from it, and sent him tumbling heels over head
into the stream. Fora short space the brain of the animal
was of no use to him, so great was the shock he had re-
ceived. But the moment he recovered, he swam swiftly
toward Salvation, dyeing the water with his blood.

“Stubborn brute,” muttered Salvation. “Why don’t
you die?”

This appeared to be furthest from the thoughts of
Hl the animal. Seeing that he would be overtaken, the man
| dived and rose some distance below. Inthe meantime, the
(| current had swept his opponent further down-stream, so
that Salvation rose almost in the paws of the bear.
| During the struggle he had clung to the knife, hoping
that it might be of use to him. As he dived again he took
it from his belt, while the animal, somewhat amazed at his
disappearance, paddled to and fro, searching for the object
of his wrath.

All at once the water about him was dyed with the blood
from a new wound—for the hunter, diving beneath, had
_ plunged his sharp knife into his vitals. The wound was
i mortal, and, after an ineffectual struggle or two, the huge
SAVED FROM DROWNING. 47

beast turned upon his side, and floated unresistingly down
the stream.

The struggle had carried the two combatants far out
into the river, and, as his adversary gave up, Salvation
knew, for the first time, that he had lost blood in the en-
counter, and had not strength to gain the shore. As he
struggled feebly in the current, a cheerful voice called
out :—

“Make courage, friend! Keep up.”

Looking in the direction of the sound, he saw the boat
of Roger Williams, propelled by two stout oarsmen, coming
down like the wind. He struck out with new hope, and
was taken up by the men who had come to his rescue, more
dead than alive.

They carried him to the shore, where Roger made use
of the medicinal skill which he had acquired among the
Indians in restoring him to consciousness. He was suc-
cessful, and the strong constitution of the pioneer soon got
the better of his weakness. ;

“Thou art badly hurt,” said Roger, as his queer patient
tried to rise.

“ Not so badly, I hope, as to lack the power to belabour
Tribulation, whom I see grazing yonder as quietly as if he
had not been the cause of all this trouble; darn him!”

Roger rebuked him mildly.

“T am a rough woodsman,” said Salvation; “but I am
not the less grateful to the men who have saved my life.
May I ask your name, sir ?”

“Men call me Roger Williams,” replied the Reformer.

“The time may come,” said Salvation, “when I can do

 
 
 

BOS. RUTH HARLAND.

something for you. I ain’t going to talk about it. I
don’t spose talking would do any good, or make you
believe I mean what I say any more. But if you ever
need the help of a strong arm, sich a one as mine, for in-
stance, call on Salvation Green.”

Roger Williams gaye him his hand with that winning
grace which characterised him through all his eventful life.
Hi “Thou art an honest man,” said he, “though thy train-
ing has been of the woods and the hills. But I have found
| kind friends even among the savages in my time, and why
not now, in one of mine own blood. I thank thee for thy
promise, and if I ever feel the need of the strong arm of
which you speak, I will call you first of all.”

“ Where are you bound?”

“To Providence Plantation,” replied Roger.

“Shall I go with you, and help guard you?”

“ T have no fear; the Indians love me well.” °

Salvation regarded him with a look of wonder. “ Then
you are the only white man between Salem and the
Floridas who is loved by them. I don’t trust their love,
and don’t you either. They ain’t to be trusted. They’re
| @ erawlin’, sneakin’, stealin’, murderin’ race, and-I don’t
care who knows it. Kind to you they may have been, and
they may keep quiet while you live; but the time will come
when their knives will be sharpened for the scalps of the
ill good people of Providence, as they now aré for ours.”

* How know you that?” asked Roger, quickly.

“ The hand of Providence, among other good gifts, and
a variety of bad ones gave me eyes and ears. I heard it
from an Indian, and I have seen their tricks, time and time

     
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
    

    

THE PUNISHMENT OF TRIBULATION. 49

again. I’m something of a scout, you must know, and I
intend to go to the Pequod lodges and see what they are
about.”

“Dare you trust yourself in their country, Sir Scout ?”

“TJ am not easily scared. I'll go there, and so will my
horse, Tribulation. Which reminds me that I must pay
him off for serving me such a trick.”

“ You surely will not go among the Pequods with that
wound ?”

‘One day in the hands of Mistress Ruth Harland, who
is the best leech in these parts, will set me right. I shall
then go on. You are going, and I want to say a word.
You may think that you have no friends in the colony, and
they gave you good cause so to think. But you are wrong.
There are hundreds of hearts which remember you kindly,
and pray that your colony may prosper well.”

“ Thou givest me heart,” said Roger. “I had some
cause to love the colonies, and to doubt their love for me
Thou art going into danger, my son. The prayers of an
old man are with thee. are thee well.”

The voyagers then put out from shore, and pulled down
the stream with hasty strokes. Salvation watched until he
could see them no more, and then turned back to catch
Tribulation. That too acute animal, plainly secing what
was in store for him, dodged his master for half an hour,
and was finally entrapped by a handful of salt, which Sal-
vation took from a pouch at his side, Salvation mounted,
and belaboured the stubborn beast until he plunged into
the stream; and swam safely to the other side. Five
minutes after, Salvation rode into the streets of the little
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

RUTH HARLAND,

town, and straight to the residence of the old pastor.
Ruth came to the lattice at the unwonted sound of a horse’s
feet, and seeing who was there, ran down to the little
wicket to welcome the scout. Tribulation was assigned to
the care of a little negro, who had followed the fortunes of
his old master to the new world. Jupe was an odd cha-
racter, nearly a dwarf, possessing an unbounded love for
his young mistress. A smile from her would make him
happy, and he performed every duty imposed upon him
with the greatest joy. Service, to him, was another name
for happiness.

“Fi, Jupe!” said the scout, who knew the boy well,
“Rub him down, give him a feed of hay, and keep away
from his heels.”

Jupe, who had a wholesome fear of Tribulation, took
the halter at arm’s length, and called to the horse to come.
But, at that particular moment, the animal refused to stir,
planted his feet firmly, and regarded the efforts of the boy
with the indifference of the ox in the fable, when a gnat
lighted upon his horn.

“Take him along, Jupe,” said Ruth, who knew nothing
of the character of the horse.”

“ Ain’t I a-tryin’?” cried Jupe. “ You come along,
you ole mule. Git up!”

Tribulation remained obdurate.

“See yer, you! Don’ you see what you're a-doin’?
You're a-keepin’ Miss Ruth a-waitin’. Come now; w’at’s
de use? Be good, can’t yer, say? Come along to de
stable. Give you lots and slathers to eat; will so—’deed
Twill, Ob, go way. ’Tain’t right, dis yer ain’t; ’tain’t

 

 

   
    

   

A NIGGER IN DIFFICULTIES. 51

even proper. Will you come? Oh, Marse Green, you
make him! Why, de—Adversary—(dat’s de name, ain’t it,
Miss Ruth?) don’ you stop larfin’, and come yer an’ help a
feller. Tek’ car’ yowre own hoss, nex’ time, see if you
don’t. Darn ole rusty barebones, ain’t fit for a nigger to
ride! Hi, up, dar’!”

But Tribulation was stedfast in his purpose to remain
where he was, and the entreaties of Jupe were unavailing.

“Tiook out for fun,” whispered the scout to Ruth, as
the negro dropped the halter in despair. “ When I speak,
just see what old Trib does. Take hold of him!”

As the scout said the last words in a loud voice, the
negro again grasped at the bridle. To his dismay, he
found that the words were not addressed to him, but to
the horse, which rushed at him with open mouth. This
was too much for the equanimity of poor Jupe, who fled
with a yell of surprise and fear, closely followed by Tribu-
lation, who desired to take possession of the rusty old hat
which covered Jupe’s woolly head. Up the walk which
led to the door of the cabin went the darkey, closely
pursued by the horse, whose eyes fairly bulged with
delight. He overtook the boy just at the door, seized the
hat in triumph, and wheeled about, while the scared
servant fled into the house. ‘Tribulation, with many
prances and shrill neighs, brought back the hat, and laid it
at his master’s feet. The scout fondled him a moment, as
he said :—- |

“T taught him that trick. When I say ‘Take hold of
him? he knows what it means as well as any man, and it
is great fun to see them dive at each other.”
 

 

 

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

52 RUTH HARLAND

‘“ Hasn't he hurt poor Jupe?” asked Ruth, in some
concern.

“Not a bit of it, The nig is pretty well scared though.”

At this moment the darkey thrust his head cautiously
out of the door, in search for his enemy.

“ Jupe,” said his mistress, “ come here.”

For the first time in his life Jupe refused to obey an
order from Ruth. But his present fear of Tribulation was
too strong.

“ Qome here, I say, and take care of this horse.”

“No, I won't. "Taint fa’r to ask it of a poor nigger.
Dat ain’t no horse, dat ain’t. Dat’s de debble.”

“ Jupe !”

“Tis, tell you. S’pose I don’ know! ‘Tried to swaller
me hull, dat he did. You go way, Mister Green. Tek
ear’ yow own horse, ef you sets him on me.”

“ But, Jupe, I order you to take the horse.”

“Now don’t, Miss Ruth. Don’ you do dat ar’ T's
afraid, I is. Don’ like to go near dat hoss, scarcely.”

Ruth looked at the scout with a smile. ‘It is too bad
to plague him,” said she, “Let me take the horse to the
stable.”

“Take him,” said the scout, with a grin; adding, in an
undertone, “if you can.”

Ruth took the halter, and called the horse, but the
animal refused to move. But Ruth approached, fondled
and coaxed him for a few moments. When she called
again, the horse followed like a dog.

“Take my hat,” said Salvation. ‘ You are the only
man, woman, or child, except myself, who could ever tame
 

 
   

RUTH’S LATEST CONQUEST. 53

old Tribulation. And you beat me, for I do it by flog-
ging, and you by coaxing.”

From that hour the horse evinced a strange affection for
the beautiful girl. When she came near him, the animal
would turn his head and follow the girls motions, never
seeming satisfied unless she touched and fondled him. For
Jupe he manifested great contempt, and chased him back
to the house whenever he made his appearance in the
pasture, in which he was placed; for it was more than a
week before the scout was ready to set out upon the trail.

 

CHAPTER YV.
THE CHIEF AT HOME.

Mennaway, after leaving the cabin of Harland, shaped
his course at once for the Pequod village, which was
situated near the Mystic river, in the present town of
Groton. This was the largest village of the nation, and
contained some hundred inhabitants. The head sachem,
Sassacus, made his residence at this place, and tried cases
which came under his jurisdiction as head of the tribe. In
sending the deputation to Boston, Sassacus had only acted
upon a preconceived plan for lulling asleep the fears of the
English, for at no time had he intended to make perma-
nent peace with them. This haughty chief had early fore-
seen that the English were destined, ultimately, to possess
the land, unless driven out by violence, and his present
design was, as Roger Williams had stated, to bury the
hatchet with all the tribes with whom he was at war, and
engage them in a confederacy which should sweep the

  
 

 

    

    

RUTH HARLAND.

English from the face of the earth. It is more than
probable that, but for the efforts of Roger Williams, this
design would have been carried out. How far it might
have been successful, is impossible to state. But a war
would have been the result, greater than any which ever
scourged New England. The cunning displayed by
Sassacus in perfecting his plan was worthy of a great mind.
Tf it had been the deed of an ancient Roman or Grecian,
it would have been extolled in prose and verse as the effort
of a great man, who loved his country, to sweep the
invader from his soil. But as it was the act of a savage
red-man, it only meets execration. Sassacus had a heart
filled with the pride of being head of a great nation,
greater than any of the robber clans from which sprung the
heroes of Greece and Rome. We can hardly blame him,
if, he made an effort to uphold his failing power, even at
the expense of human blood. The village was surrounded
by a fort, built after the Indian fashion—a deep ditch,
protected by an abattis of fallen trees, with the branches
pointing outward. Within, strong palisades of long poles,
driven into the ground and inclining inward, furnished pro-
tection for the archers, who might stand upon elevated
platforms running round the inside. There were three
principal entrances ; upon the south, west, and east. The
Mystic covered the northern side. The work itself was
proof against anything in the shape of musketry, and there
was no danger of their enemies bringing artillery against
them. Secure in this place, and knowing that it was
stronger than any fortification of the kind within that
country, the Pequods defied the English,
THE TWO PEQUOD CHIEFS. 55

Sassacus was seated in his wigwam, studying a plan. for
action upon the return of the deputation. While at this
work, the lodge curtain was lifted, and an Indian entered
and stood with bowed head, waiting until he had permission
to give his errand.

“ Speak,” said Sassacus.

‘“* Mennawan has returned.”

“ Let him enter.” :

The messenger retired, and the brother of Sassacus
entered. With the freedom which only a very great chief had
a right to use in the presence of the sachem, he advanced
to the centre of the room, and sunk down upon a mat at
the side of his brother. For some moments neither spoke,
when the silence was broken by Sassacus.

“ My brother is welcome. Is he hungry or thirsty?”

“ Mennawan has broken bread in the wigwams of the
whites.”

The brow of the chief darkened.

“ Was there no corn in a Pequod lodge, that a great
chief of the nation should go into the wigwams of our
enemies? Has Mennawan done well in this?”

“ The heart of Mennawan is pure,” replied the other,
laying his hand upon his breast with a gesture of proud
self-possession. ‘ He knows he is right. We have made
a treaty with the Yengees. We must put them to sleep,
like the green snake which looks out of the bush upon a
bird, and then we will strike. I have gone into the wig-
wam of the old prophet by the river, and have listened, to
the words of the ‘Swaying Reed’ Her voice has a plea-
sant sound in the ears of a chief.”

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

RUTH HARLAND.

“Ts Mennawan a chief of the Pequods, and has he
taken the belts of the Yengees, to be their friends? ”

“Tf a Mohegan had asked the question, the answer
would have been a knife in the heart. But Sassacus is my
sachem, and my brother. He wounds my heart with his
words.”

The sachem gave him his hand without another word.
The two sat and smoked in silence.

“JT was wrong,” said Sassacus. “I hate the Yengees,
and the words came too’ quickly, What has Mennawan
done at Shawmut ?”

“ The Yengees held a long talk, and threatened us much.
The heart of Mennawan burned to give them back their
threats, but he gave soft words instead. Hearken. I have
made a peace with Miantonomah, and sent Wequash to
him with wampum and to smoke a pipe. There is much to
do. The talking-paper, which waits only for your mark,
the arrow of the Pequod nation, binds us to give up the
two men who killed the white traders. They would have
no less, and I told them that the murderers hid in the
- woods, and that the Pequods could not find them. They
would have them, that they might hang them by the neck.”

“This is well,” said Sassacus. “TI have spoken to the
braves, and they are indeed in the woods, and a Pequod
shall not find them. Good; go on.”

“ The ‘Indian Killer’ stood by the chair of the white
chief, and told him what to do.”

“A curse upon him,” said Sassacus, angrily. “ He isa
dog, and his scalp shall dry in the smoke of a Pequod
lodge. Hehas taken a name which will be his destruction,

 
THE ALTERCATION. 57

What said the son of the bad Manitou, the evil spirit
which dwells in darkness and blood? Does he make it a
boast that he has slain men whose skins are red? A pro-
phet of the nation has spoken, and his words are death to
the Pequods or the Yengees. One or other must die, and
dwell no longer in this land. What of that? If the
Indians are doomed, they go to the ‘happy hunting-
grounds,’ and chase the deer by the pleasant river. No
Yengees can come to the place of their rest.”

The striking countenance of the chief lighted up with
enthusiasm as he proceeded. His form straightened up
proudly, and his eyes began to blaze, as if in imagination
he saw before him the enemies of his nation.

“But the Indians shall still possess the land,” he said.
“We shall call the tribes together, and the sound of the
battle shall ring through the border. You have been in
the lodges by the great river. The vengeance of the
nation shall fall upon them first. Were they in fear, or
did they sleep, until the war-cry is sounded in their ears?
Let Mennawan speak.”

“They dream not of danger,” replied the other, quietly.
“The old men sit in the lodges, the women rest beside
them, and the young men plant their corn in the fields,”

Tt is well.”

“Mennawan must speak. The council has said these
must suffer. Now hear the words of a great chief. It is
not well all these should die. Is not the nation great, and
do they not need corn? Let us take these men, and make
them work in our fields, as our women do now, and let
them sit in the wigwam and nurse our children, as the

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

RUTH HARLAND.

white women do. Do we not love our women, that we
make them do the labour of oxen?”

“The chief has not spoken well,” again answered the
sachem. “He has stopped too long in the wigwams at
Shawmut. There is only one path marked out, and both
Yengee and Pequod cannot tread it. One must give way
to the other. If we spare these men, they are only the
young of the serpent, who will bite us when we do not
think of it. Do you take the young panther to your wig-
wam, and feed it? If you do so, you are safe until its
claws are grown, and then it will seize you by the throat,
and rend you. These Yengees are young panthers. The
old ones may be slain, but the young ones will grow. If
the Pequods would live and be happy, the Yengees must
fall.”

Mennawan restrained the determined look which his face
. had taken when the proposition was first made. He had
evidently determined, for some secret purpose of his own,
to spare the people of Weathersfield. This had been de-
termined upon since his visit to that place. He rose, and
paced angrily to and fro in the wigwam. At last he
stopped in his hurried walk, and faced his stern brother
with blazing eyes.

“Ts Mennawan a child, that he may not do as he likes ?
He has gone through the woods to the wigwams at Shaw-
mut. I say, the white men are mine. I ask no help from
the men of Sassacus. I laid the plan—I did the work—I
will carry. out the plan—and I will not slay the prisoners.”

“Said I not well,” said the sachem, ‘that the chief had
taken the belts of the Yengees? The ‘Swaying Reed’

 

 
 
DUTY AND INCLINATION. 59

has spoken in the breath of the Hast Wind, and his heart is
soft like that of a girl’s. Let him not strive to throw
dust. The eyes of the Pequod sachem are so good that
he can see through a very thick cloud. He knows what
has been done. Mennawan has been in the wigwams of the.
Yengees, and has heard the voice of the ‘Swaying Reed.’
His brother is not angry, but he is very sad that so great
a chief has gone astray. He will not make answer to
what he has said yet.”

“ What will the sachem do?” asked Mennawan, with a
sneer.

“We will go to the Yengee village, and look upon the
‘Swaying Reed.’ We can then tell better whether the
chief is right in being so tender to our enemies. Come.”

He rose, took his brother by the arm, and led him
from the lodge. As they came out into the open space,
the lodge-curtain opposite was lifted, and a woman came
forth from the wigwam, holding a child in her arms. She
had straight, regular features, and was, withal, a fair
specimen of forest comeliness and grace. Sassacus paused
suddenly, and laid his hand quickly upon the arm of the
other, so as to arrest his steps while he pointed to the
pair, who evidently did not see the lookers-on. The
Woman was bending over the boy, with all a mother’s
tenderness, while he was stroking her face with his hands.

“ Who is this?” asked the wily chief, in a low tone, still
looking at the mother and her child.

“his is Metamora, the wife of Mennawan.”

‘Ts she the daughter of a great chief 2”

“Her father is old; but he has heen very brave,”

 
   

 

 

   
 

 

 

 

 

RUTH HARLAND.

replied the other, slowly, without removing his eyes from
the forms of his wife and child.

“Js not this the son of Mennawan which she holds in
her arms?”

“ Mennawan cannot lie. It is his son.”

“Ts it a fool, that it’s father fears to own it?”

“Not so; he will be a warrior in his tribe in his youth,
a chief when he is a man, and when old he will sit in
council.” z

* Who shall teach him to’ be a great warrior ?”

* Metamora.”

‘“ Has not the woman been a good wife to the chief ?”

“ Why should I belie her? There is 110 better woman in
the village of the Pequods than the wife of Mennawan.”

“Why then has the heart of the chief left his bosom,
and gone to dwell in that of the ‘Swaying Reed? Let
not Mennawan speak and say that his heart is still in the
keeping of Metamora. Perhaps he did not know it, but
the eyes of a sachem saw that he was not the same man
who set out to Shawmut, seven suns ago. See, Metamora
comes, and brings the child.”

Conscious of the agony he was inflicting upon his
brother by this course, the sachem persisted in it, knowing
that it was the only way to secure the destruction of the
hated whites.

The woman, looking up for a moment, for the first time
perceived the presence of the chiefs, and a flash of joy
illuminated her brown face as she recognized her husband.
She approached with that shrinking deference which the
Indian woman is accustomed to pay to her husband, and,
 

  

MENNAWAN SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 61

bending lightly upon one knee, held up to him the laugh-
ing boy, who held out his hands to his father. Sassacus
darted a strange look at his brother, a look of mingled
anger and commiseration, as he took the boy from her
hands, and forced himself to smile upon her.

“The chief has been long upon the trail,” said the
Woman, softly. ‘“ Will he come into his lodge, and let a
woman of his tribe, one who loves him well, make a soft
pillow for his head, and drive away everything which
would wake him ?”

“ Mennawan is indeed tired,” said her husband. “ Let
Metamora go, and make the skins soft for his rest, and
soon he will come, and bring the boy.”

As he spoke, he raised her from the earth where she
knelt, and with an impulse of tenderness seldom seen in an
Indian he kissed her upon the forehead, and then dismissed
her to her duty. Sassacus, the moment she was gone,
laid his hand upon the brown shoulder of his brother again,
to attract his attention.

“Let the brother of the sachem look in his face. He
is not angry. His heart is great toward his brother. But
the sight of the face of Metamora, and of her child, has
touched his heart. She has been very true to her chief.
And now, holding her son and his against his breast, he is
thinking of the white girl, whom we call the ‘Swaying
Reed.’ Does not the face of Metamora turn you again
to your people?”

“The heart of Mennawan is always with his people,
Those who say he is the friend of the Yengees, lie! He
is not a traitor. But he has looked upon the face of the

 

  
 

 

 

 

    

 

RUTH HARLAND.

‘Swaying Reed,’ and she is very fair. See, Mennawan has
a large heart and a large lodge. He will not forget
Metamora. She can never be less to him than the mother
of his boy. He will always love her. But there is room

in his lodge for the ‘Swaying Reed.’ A great chief has

spoken. She shall share the lodge with Metamora.”

“ But the ‘Swaying Reed’ is only one. The chiefs would
be glad to save her life, since it is the wish of a great war-
rior. But the women of the village would laugh, if we
came back to them with our knives as bright as when we
went forth. Why need we save all?”

“ Tet us talk no more of this, now. Metamora stands
in the doorway of the cabin, and waits forme. But not a
drop of blood must be shed in that village.”

Saying this, he turned away and entered his lodge. Sas-
sacus looked after him for some moments, and then began
to prepare himself for a march. In a short time he came
forth, fully equipped, and left directions with a leading
chief as to what must be done in the village during his
absence. This done, he slung his long bow across his
shoulders and started out in the direction of the forest, to
the west.

After going about two miles, he turned abruptly aside
rom the main path, and plunged deeper into the bushes.
A few steps brought him to the edge of a deep swamp,
such as were common in this part of Connecticut. Parting
the bushes which covered the entrance to the swamp, he
stepped upon the body of a fallen tree, and feeling his way
with caution, entered into a circular opening in the midst
of the swamp.

   
\.

 

    

THE MEETING AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 63

The place was vacant, and the chief sat down upon a
login the attitude of a man who expected to wait, leaned
back against a tree, and fell into a doze. He was awakened
in the course of an hour by a rustling in the bushes which
covered the log upon which he had entered. Starting
hastily to his feet, he fitted an arrow to his bow, but
lowered it when he saw that the person who was coming
belonged to his own party in the village, a chief of con-
siderable importance. Greeting him with a nod of recog.
nition, they sat down in silence, and waited still.

A half hour passed, during which they were joined by
three others, all chiefs, and wholly opposed to the pacific
measures of Mennawan. They entered from different
points in the swamp, by passages known only to them, and
took their places in the silent group according to rank.

When the sachem left the village, he had given orders to
the head chief to have his partisans leave the village by
different routes, while Mennawan slept, and meet him at
this place. Under various pretexts, they had obeyed, and
how all were here, in number something more than a dozen.

Sassacus looked over the body of tried warriors with a
grim smile. Not one among them but had sworn to stand
by him in his plot against the accursed Yengees, no matter
how bloody his design. Others, who favoured the plans of
Mennawan, desired to turn the tables upon the Yengees,
by making them work in their fields. The latter party
Were by far the smallest, and gained much ill-will from the
majority.

“ Are all here?” asked Sassacus.

“ Yes,” said the next chief. “ Let the sachem speak,”

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

RUTH HARLAND.

CHAPTER. VI.

WHAT SALVATION WAS DOING.

Ir may have been that the brave scout spent a longer
time in reaching a convalescent state after his encounter
with Bruin, than he would have done under ordinary cir-
cumstances. His nurse was so bewitching, that he almost
forgot his duty, though he never was foolish enough to fall
in love. But it was pleasant for the rough hunter to have

such a nurse, and besides, he was grateful to her for her.

kindness upon another occasion still, when he had come
into her hands wounded by an Indian shaft. Nevertheless,
he finally mounted and turned Tribulation’s obstinate head
in the direction of the Pequod village, whittling as he rode.

He had paused in the forest path, just at its point of
intersection with another coming from the river, to cut
down a pine stick, when the light tread of a moccasined
foot startled him. Dismounting quickly, he led his horse
down the latter, out of sight of the main path. Trained
to remain quiet in such peril, Tribulation stood without
lifting a hoof at the touch of his master’s hand, while the
latter stole forward to reconnoitre. Four Indians were
eoming down at a quick pace, all of whom were known to
Salvation as chiefs in the Pequod nation, friendly to Sas-
sacus. He knew that these men could not be banded to-
gether for any unimportant purpose, They were in their
war-paint, a strange thing when the nation had just made
peace with all the tribes.

“ Well, then,” muttered the scout, * what are you after
now? Sharp is the word.”

   
 

/

}

  
SALVATION OVERHEARS A PLOT. 66

He followed them with his eyes until they reached a
thicket by the river, into which they went. He determined
to follow them, and hastily tying Tribulation to a stunted
sapling, he pressed forward in pursuit, watching every
motion of the Indians. When about a mile from the vil-
lage, they paused in a secluded spot in the woods, threw
themselves indolently upon the moss, and entered into con-
versation.

“You tell me, now, Chico, what we must do,” said a
burly fellow, who had not been present at the meeting in the
swamp.

“ J tell,” said Chico, who was the sachem’s right-hand
man in any enterprise. ‘ The great chief, Mennawan, has
looked upon a pale-face maiden, who is more lovely than
Metamora, and his heart has gone out after her. We were
sorry before, when he spoke of sparing many Yengees, but
it-is worse now. He has spoken with an angry tongue,
and said that not a hair shall fall from the head of
a Yengee in the village yonder. This is very wrong.
We are very sorry that it is so, but the sachem, who loves
the chief, has determined that he shall not have his will.”

““ What he do 2?” asked the other.

“He will take this maiden, and hide her away from the
chief. When she is gone, he will forget her, and turn
again to Metamora.”

“Ugh! good!” was the short reply. Salvation, who
. had heard indistinctly what was said thus far, determined to
approach nearer. <A large tree, in falling, had struck
another, and now inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees,

its top hanging directly over the heads of the group,
D

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

66 RUTH HARLAND.

Placing his moccasined foot lightly upon the trunk, he
ascended cautiously, and reached the shelter of the thick
foliage. With a praiseworthy effort for his comfort, he
found a seat upon some lithe branches, and began to whittle,
after spreading out his homespun coat, so that no shavings
should fall upon the ground beneath, thus affording a
practical illustration of the “ruling passion,” while he lis-
tened to the conversation below. It was evident, soon, that
these men had been instructed to take Ruth prisoner, and
bear her to a secure hiding-place in the woods. It was
the intention of Sassacus to lay the blame upon certain
outlaws, who had been driven into the woods for various
crimes. Salvation listened with ill-concealed anger to their
plan, which was a good one. In the isolated position of
the different buildings, they felt sure they could approach
unperceived in the early evening, and take the maiden to
the woods before help could come. They said, further,
that they would remain in this place until dusk.

“ Would you!” thought Salvation. “ Youare the chaps
to carry off Miss Ruth, I don’t think. Perhaps you didn’t
reckon on a person vulgarly called Sal Green. All the
same, my dears, I am coming down, and it’s odd if I don’t
get to Weathersfield before you.”

He rose, put the shavings and knife in his pocket, and
began the descent, using the same caution which had
marked the ascent. Placing his foot upon a small branch
upon the side of the trunk, it parted with a loud crack.
’ Kyery Indian started up with a yell of fear, and saw the
tall form of the famous scout coming down from the trunk,
in a fashion which he had not intended. His first act
“ THERE'S MANY A SLIP.” 67

would seem to bea strange one. He advanced towards
Chico with extended hand, saying, in English :—

“ How do you do, brother?”

“What cheer, Netop?” said Chico, receiving the hand.
“ What my brother do here ?”

Salvation now spoke in the Indian tongue.

“The rattlesnake crawls on the ground, but he cannot
get into the tree-top. The hunter was very tired, and he
went into the tree to sleep. He had not slept long, when
he was wakened by the voice of his red brothers. As he
zame down to greet them, the limb broke, and he fell.”

“Did not my brother crawl in the tree-top that he
might listen to the words of his red friends?” ©

“Would he have given them the hand of friendship if
this were so?”

Chico paused. He knew that the scout had gone into
the tree with the express intention of hearing every word
said by them, and that in trying to escape, he had unin-
tentionally fallen into their hands. He determined to make
him prisoner, but knowing the desperate courage he pos-
sessed, he cast about for a way to seize him before he could
do him an injury. His countenance cleared up, as if he
were satisfied. ‘

“Has my white brother been in the wigwams of the
Yengees ?”

“ Yes,” replied Salvation.

‘Ts the ‘ Indian-Killer’ there ?”

“No, he is at Hartford.” The scout made this answer
because he did not wish to let the chief know that his cap-
tain had-returned to Boston.

D2

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

68 RUTH HARLAND.

“Where go now, brother ?”

“To strike a deer for the white prophet.”

“Jt is good. The old man must have food, and he has
no son to kill game for him. The young men of his tribe
should keep his wigwam always full. The ‘Long Arms’
has said well. Let him go and strike a deer for the old
prophet. But first let him take his red brother again by
the hand, and shake it after the manner of the Yengees.”

A malicious gleam came into the eyes of the Indian, and
the acute backwoodsman understood his plan in a moment.
But he gave him his hand, and was not surprised when the
fingers of the Indian closed upon his, with the intention of
holding him, until his friends could seize him. They un-
derstood the plan, and closed upon him at once. To the
first he administered a kick, which doubled him up, and
sent him flying off against a tree, upon which his head

. struck with great force, rendering him senseless. Against
the next he delivered a back-handed blow, a mere touch, it
would seem, which sent him to earth, with the blood gush-
ing from mouth and nostrils. In the meantime, he had
closed his iron fingers upon the palm of Chico, driving the
bones into the flesh, such was the power of his grip. The
Indian, who had sought to do the same for him, found him-
self checkmated by his own move. So great was his agony,
that he did not think of drawing his weapons, but only of
releasing his hand from the vice in which it was placed.
Seeing the fourth savage draw back, Salvation dashed his
left hand full in the face of their leader, and then released
him, knowing that his right hand would be of little use to

him for many a day. The maimed member dropped

 

   

j
|

|

 
ONE AGAINST FOUR. 69;

powerless by his side, and he himself fell to the earth,
while Salvation made a rush at the remaining savage, who
eluded the blows which he launched at him with both fists,
wounded him with his hatchet, and closed with the knife.
Salvation, who did not care to grapple, fearing the re-
covery of the fellows who cumbered the moss at his feet,
dodged the blow, and struck out again at the Indian
with his right hand. But the man to whom he was now
opposed was noted for his great agility in the tribe, and
dropping on one knee, the blow passed over him, at the
same time he launched a stroke from his keen blade, full at
the breast of the scout. With no time to parry, he threw
himself backward, kicking the knife out of his opponent's
hand as he fell. With a determination which showed him
worthy of the trust imposed in him by his sachem, the chief
threw himself upon the fallen man, and tried to pinion him
to the earth. Salvation was ready, and grasped him by
the throat with his left hand, as he drew his knife with his
right.

The Indian saw his danger, and with remarkable agility
wrested himself free from the grasp of his powerful enemy,
and endeavoured to pick up his knife. Before he could do
this, he was prostrated by the powerful arm of the hunter.
The moment this was done, he looked for his musket. It
stood against the body of the tree, where he had set it
upon his first fall, while the conversation with Chico was
going on. Grasping his trusty weapon, he looked about
him hastily.

The savage whom he had kicked sat against a tree, with —
his hands pressed hard upon the abdominal region, The

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

70 RUTH HARLAND.

second was rising, at the same time drawing a hatchet from
his belt. Chico was applying friction to his right hand, hop-
ing to get the use of it sufficiently to get an arrow into the
body of the “ Long Arms.” Without staying to dwell too
long upon these things, he turned his back upon the scene
of his late combat, and ran down the forest-path, in the
direction of the spot where he had left his horse.

His flight acted with surprising effect upon the savages.
Chico, taking a knife in his left hand, instantly bounded
forward on the trail, opening like a hound upon the scent.
The one sitting against the tree followed, drawing a bow
upon the hunter as he ran. ‘The shaft was well aimed, and
whistled through the buckskin flap of his hunting-shirt just
grazing the thigh.

Salvation had no fear of being overtaken. He was
known far and near as a powerful runner, and the Indians
hardly expected to overtake him. Nevertheless, they
followed him, hoping that something would happen which
would throw him into their hands.. He plunged into the
path in which he had left Tribulation, and emerged again
mounted upon that famous beast, whirling his rifle about
his head as he bounded forward at full speed. As he
looked back a moment at his pursuers, an accident, which
sometimes throws the game into the hands of our enemies,
when we think it is all our own, put him into their hands,
at the very moment when they gave him up entirely.

A huge tree, growing close to the path, sent a strong
shoot across it, about the height of a horseman’s breast.
Tribulation bowed his head, and went under it easily
enough. If Salvation had been looking ahead, he might
ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. 71

have done the same. But he was not, and the strong
branch swept him from the saddle, and flung him, bruised
sadly, to the earth. His rifle and knife flew out of his
hands, and were secured by the Indians. When he re-
covered from the shock he lay under the hoofs of Tribula-
tion, who was striking viciously at every Indian who dared
approach. He had already peeled off a portion of the
scalp of one who had attempted to drag him away, by a
touch of her forefoot.

“Go in, old Trib,” said he, looking out from -his unas-
Sailable position. ‘You are doing well.”

In answer, the horse made a savage bite at Chico and
took off his head-dress, tearing out with it a large portion
of his scalplock. The irate savage retreated, and beckoned
to his comrades, one of whom fitted an arrow to the string
of his bow.

“Took you here, ‘Long Arms.’ You not come out an’
give up, I shoot dat hoss.”

“No,” said Salvation. “Don’t shoot old Trib. ae
it out with me. He ain’t to blame.” :
“Won't do it. No can fight,” cried- Chieo, cee:
“How can fight when no ak hand. Mashed so feels like
ho hand dere.” $

“< Want to shake hands again ?” asked the scout.

“You talk any more, me kill. Now, spose you come

Sut, good. S’pose you not come out, shoot dat hoss.”

“Oh, I'll come out,” said he, suiting the action to the
word. “JZ am coming out. And I want to know why
You are taking me prisoner ?” a

“What you do in tree, when Indian. sit down to talk,

 
 

 

72 RUTH HARLAND.

eh? S’pose we let you go now, you tell ‘Swaying Reed’
dat we goin’ to take her ’way. How we like dat? You
creep—creep—climb tree—hear what Indian say—try to
erawl down—fall—kill Indian—ugh !”

“ You commenced first !”

“How I commence—what I do?”

“ You tried to hold me.”

“Den you squeeze. Ugh,” said the Indian, with a
grimace of pain. “ Well, no talk any more now. Come
to Pequod camp, and Sassacus say what you do, Dat
your hoss ?”

SOMES.”

“ He mine now.”

“ T s'pose so.”

“ Me ride ’im. You walk now.”

Salvation grinned, even while the savages were binding
his arms with green withes. He could well imagine what
sort of a figure a bad horseman (as the eastern Indians are
proverbially) would cut upon the back of Tribulation.
But Chico had said he would ride him, and, with the
stubborn faith in his own powers for which the Indian is
famous, approached the horse, which greeted his approach
by laying back his ears and fidgeting nervously upon the
ground. As Chico came near, he struck at him viciously
with both forefeet, aid commenced an animated contra-
dance, keeping his front continually toward the chief.

“Why he do dat, eh?” said the chief, pausing in per-
plexity.

“Ob, git on him,” said the scout. “ Whoa, Trib.
Steady, old boy! Keep so.”
A LESSON IN HORSEMANSHIP. 73

Hearing the voice of his master, the horse stopped and
turned his head toward him as if to ask what he meant by
such conduct. Chico took advantage of the moment to
mount, awkwardly, to be sure, but still getting into the
saddle.

“ Now then !” said Salvation. ‘Go it.”

Among the many tricks which he had taught Tribulation
when a colt, and which had afterward given him an infinity

of trouble, was the habit of going through several vicious
actions directed against the peace of mind and safety of
body of the person upon his back, upon hearing certain
words spoken by his master. No sooner did he hear the
words from his master’s mouth than he “bucked” at once,
fearfully jarring the nerves of his rider, who nevertheless
clung to him with desperate earnestness.

But “bucking ” is tiresome to the horse as well as rider,
and when he had shaken up the chief to an extent which
he had never deemed possible, Trib suddenly went down
upon his haunches. Out of the saddle rolled Chico, and
did not step rolling, until he brought up against a tree
upon the other side of the path. Leaping up, he mounted
again, to which the horse made no sort of objection, and
turned his head down the path, designing to return to the
Spot where the combat took place, to see after their
wounded companion, and prepare for the capture of Ruth.

But Tribulation had no intention whatever of going yet.
He planted his feet upon the earth and refused to go.
Chico got out his knife and pricked him. It needed only
this to arouse all the devil in his horse nature, and all his
hoofs were off the ground at the same moment, He lashed

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OE 4 RUTH HARLAND.

out vigorously with his hind feet, and varied this amuse-
ment by pawing the air with his fore feet, and manifested
an insane desire to climb one of the trees near at hand.
Chico pulled hard upon his right hand rein and brought
him to his feet. Then he went into the air again and
ended by’ casting poor Chico over his head, amid the
laughter of his. companions—for an Indian can see a joke
of this kind, if no other.

Chico gave up in despair, and another tried it, with no
better success. After all had failed, Salvation told them
that the horse would allow no one to ride him but himself.
But in their rage, they desired to immolate the unhappy
beast. It was only at the earnest entreaty of Salvation
that he was spared, and was led along by his master.

At the place where the fight took place they found their
comrade, who was dressing his wound himself. Chico
aided him, and then, as it was getting dusk, he left Salva-
tion in the care of the wounded man, after taking the
precaution to put upon him half a dozen ingenious hitches,
and set out toward the village, telling the guard to
tomahawk him upon the spot if he made any trouble,

 

CHAPTER VIL.
A MEETING AND A SEPARATION.

On the afternoon of the day in which the branch played
Salvation such a trick, John Mason arrived at Weathers-
field. He had taken the chief Wequash to Boston, where
his story was listened to with attention, and it was deter-
mined to send men out into the different tribes to see how
1
}
|
|

 

 

 

  

THE LOVERS. 75

far the conspiracy was intended to reach. Salvation had
undertaken the mission to the Pequods, and was in a fair
way to reach the village, though not in the manner he had
expected.

John Mason made at once for the cabin of the pastor.
He knew the way well. The gossips of Weathersfield, and
there were gossips in these good old days, opined that
worshipful Captain Mason found the company of Mistress
Ruth Harland pleasant, and good naturedly hoped that it
might come to good; for every one in Weathersfield
wished Ruth well, and believed strongly in the profession
of Captain Mason, though not given to strife with carnal
weapons. ;

There were love passages between them at the meeting,
with which we will not weary the apathetic reader. The
Captain then inquired for Salvation.

“He has been gone since early morning,” said Ruth.

“‘ Did he speak of his mission?”

“He said that it led him into the village of Sassacus.”

“J would he had not gone. I have learned so much of
their designs since we last met that I have great fear for
his safety.”

“You make much of him.”

“He has twice saved my life. Rude in form and rough
in speech though he is, Salvation Green has the heart of
ahero. The Indians fear hin—our elders respect him. I
would sooner trust him than half the soldiers in our co-
lonies with an important military trust. His acute brain,
like a sponge, absorbs all it touches. He thinks much, is a
great observer, and knows the woods like a printed book—

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

76 RUTH MARLAND.

better, in good sooth; for his talent does not run far. in
the way of letters.”

“ Salvation and I are sworn friends,” said Ruth, with a
light laugl. “ Besides, I have conquered his stubborn
horse, Tribulation. How did his beast ever get such a
name?”

“ You would not inquire, if you knew the brute as I do.
Salvation looks for his tantrums, as he calls them, as often
as he mounts, and is more surprised if he fails to go
through his performances than if he does. One thing I
will say of the beast. When his master is in a dangerous
place, he knows it, and then all signs fail, and he becomes
the most trusty beast I ever saw. You say you conquered
him. How was that?”

She recounted the affair of poor Jupe with the horse,
and how she had coaxed him into submission. Mason
laughed heartily as he thought of the comical figure poor
Jupe must have cut flying up the path.

“ How is it that Salvation did not go out sooner on his
mission ?”

“ His wounds detained him.”

“ His wounds?”

“T forgot to tell you. He had an encounter with a bear,
which forced him into the river, where he killed it. He was
badly cut in the fight, and would have been drowned, but
for the coming of Roger Williams.”

“ You speak in riddles. There is but one Roger
Williams, and he should be out yonder in his new colony,
instructing them in the principles, true ones too, for which
he was exiled. Ruth Harland, I love that man. ‘The co-
 

einai,

 

 

  

AN INTERESTING CONVERSATION. 77

lony have sent him into exile, but after years shall see him
looked up to as a model among men, as the champion of a
right cause in the midst of a bigoted people. But he
surely was not here.”

“ He was. He spent an hour or more in close com-
panionship with my father, who was his dearest friend long
ago in college.”

“JT would have given much to see him. But how did
he save Salvation ? ”

Ruth related the incident as she had heard it from the
lips of the scout. Of course, it was modestly told with
regard to himself, for he never bragged to his friends—that
was reserved for his enemies, to whom he sometimes gave
an overdose.

“So, so,” said Mason, when she had concluded the story.
“he great Reformer has not left his heart behind him. It
was like Roger Williams to leave the comfort and safety he
enjoyed, and embark upon a perilous voyage for the good
of a people who had given him nothing but hard words.
Tt will be like him, when he is asked to use his influence to
keep the knives of the Narragansetts from their throats,
They need him now.”

“ What do you mean?”

“ Roger Williams is to be called upon to go to Narra-
gansett, and use his great power over Miantonomah to
prevent the league with the Pequods. I seek Salvation to
send him upon this mission. If he does not return in three
days, I must either go myself or find another messenger, for
the case is urgent.”

“ The journey through the wilderness is of great per i

 

  
 

 

 

 

78 RUTH HARLAND.

dear John,” said Ruth, in a faltering voice. “TI wish you
would not go.”

* Not more perilous than the one I have just finished in
perfect safety, dearest Ruth. Remember that the life of a
soldier is one of constant peril. ‘I magnify mine office.’
It is a guard for the weak, at least in this land. They who
have chosen to make it their labour should never look back.”

* And I would not have you do so, John,” replied the
girl, proudly—placing a hand upon either shoulder and look-
ing up into his face. “The duty is before you, and though
my woman’s heart'may be weak for a moment in thinking
of the danger to one I love so well, yet it is over soon. Be
faithful in your duty, and may God prosper you in it.”

“That's my own brave girl,” cried the soldier, touching the

lips so near his own. ‘“ But it may be that I shall not go.
Good faith, I have enough to do in other ways. What with
the absence of my trusty retainer, Green, and the loss of
my second man, Fight-the-good-Fight Wilson, near the
Mystic, I am burdened like a pack-horse in these times.”

“ You look worn. What work have you on hand now?”

“T have promised Captain Endicott, of Salem, that I
will send him fifteen men for his expedition to Block
Island. I must raise these men very quickly, within the
three days I have allowed myself before I start for Provi-
dence.”

“ What is amiss at Block Island? ”

“ A trader, one Captain Jones, going to the island for
skins, was set upon by the natives and killed. Our people
demanded the murderers, and the chiefs refuse to give them
up. Captain Endicott has undertaken to punish them, and

 
MASON’S PREDICTION. 79

he must have men. The times are black ones for the
colonies. The Indians have been wronged in many cases,
and bloody wars, rising from a series of such wrongs, must
be the result. I can prophesy the end, bué much blood
must be shed before that end is attained.”

* How will it end?”

“ These tribes, which muster now in our own colony
four thousand bowmen, will be exterminated. Remember
the wars of Cortez in Mexico. True, our men are not
altogether clothed in steel, but our weapons are better, and
the loss of the Indians must be very great, compared to
ours. Their-love of ardent spirits will be another enemy.
The white race must conquer.

“ One of the chiefs stopped at the cabin some days since,
and I gave him something to eat. He had been at the
council at Boston—Shawmut, he called it,”

“ Did he give his name ? ”

“ Mennawan.”

“ Ah! was he alone ?”

$ Yeas”

“ Then Wequash told us the truth. The other chief has
gone to the Narragansetts, to say that a deputation of
great chiefs will soon be on the way. What induced the
chief to stop here? Can it mean trouble for Weathersfield ?”

‘“’ Why should it ?”

“* Because they do not throw away a step in these busy
times. If he stopped here, there was a meaning in it. Has
he been here before ?”

“¢ Once.”

* When was that?”

 
 

 

 

 

80 RUTH HARLAND.

“‘ When he started on the journey to Boston. He asked
for drink, and I gave it to him.”

Mason stood in thought for some moments, leaning
against a door-post, and tapping the hilt of his sword ner-
vously all the while, and humming a tune in an abstracted
manner. He was evidently ill at ease, and the girl saw it.

“ What do you think? ”

“T don’t know well what to think. I am afraid it will
end badly for Weathersfield. The bending of a twig and
the turning of every straw is of account in these perilous
times. This visit of the chief's may and may not be of
meaning. It is more than likely he came with a purpose.
What that purpose may be I will not undertake to say.
Where is your father? ”

“ He went out an hour since to visit Holdfast Carter.”

“ How is his health ?”

“ Tt could not be better.”

* T had hoped to see him, but I must make all haste to
Hartford, to gather men. If Salvation returns to Weathers-
field before I do, say to him that he must await my return
in this place.”

“ When does Endicott go upon his mission to Block
Island ?”

“T cannot tell. There is a certain rule to go through
before they can do anything in Massachusets Bay Colony.
Hyen in the old world they are not so dilatory. When
they get ready, they have a valiant leader in Captain Endi-
cott. But I am wasting time in pleasure, I must go.”

“Can you not wait for my father?”

“I think best to hasten my affairs as much as possible.”

 
 

 

 

 
  

AN EVENING RAMBLE, 81

* How shall you proceed ? ”

“ To try these Pequods, I shall send a small boat into
their country for the purpose of trade. If they use hostile
measures against them, we shall have a better pretext than
at present.”

“ Shall you ride up?”

“ No ; I shall trouble your people with the care of my
horse until my return, and shall borrow a canoe to go to
Hartford.”

Bidding her a tender farewell, he left the house, and
went down to the river-side. She stood in the doorway
and watched him as he conversed with a settler who stood
by the water, in regard to a boat. The affair was soon
settled, and he took a bark-canoe and pushed out, hand-
ling his paddle with the ease and grace of a practised back-
woodsman.

As her father did not return, Ruth strolled out-of the
house to the river, and, after exchanging salutations with
the man from whom her lover had borrowed the canoe,
pursued her way along the bank in the direction he had _
taken. The man called after her to be careful and not
stray too far in these troublous times, to whom she made
answer that she would be in no peril, and went thought-
lessly on her way in the mellow afternoon sunlight, until
she had put quite a distance between herself and the
village.

Sitting down at last to watch the sunset, with all her
heart going out after her absent lover, she did not note fully
the flight of time, until the sun had sunk out of sight
behind the trees beyond the eastern shore. She had

  
 

 

 

 

 

82 RUTH HARLAND.

gathered the wild flowers which grew profusely at her feet,
and carelessly twined them into a chaplet with deft fingers,
singing all the time, in a low tone, the strange old melodies
in which the members of the Puritan Church delighted,
whose harsh lines on her lips sounded inexpressibly sweet.

The shadows deepened about her, and at last she rose in
some alarm, as she saw how far they stretched across the
water from the tall old pines. Turning, with her crown of
flowers upon her head, she would have returned to the
house, but she found her way impeded by a tall savage, no
other than Chico, who had come up unobserved, and stood
by her side.

Repressing an exclamation of terror, the girl looked him
boldly in the face, and asked himin English what he wanted.

“Walk woods, ‘Swaying Reed,’” was his reply.

She was well enough acquainted with the Indian tongue
to know that she was a prisoner. But she ventured to
reason with the savage. Mason had taught her many
short questions and answers of their dialect and she made
. use of them now.

“‘ What have I done ?”

“No use talk,” said Chico, sententiously. “Walk
woods !”

“ Are not the Yengees the friends of the Pequods?”

“ Always fren’s,” replied Chico. ‘Course dey fren’s.
Come.”

Seeing that he was firm, Ruth, putting out all her
- strength, pushed him over a log near which he stood, and
ran along the river-bank, with a scream which aroused the
ire of the Indian, who feared that some stroller like himself

 
 

 

  

RUTH A PRISONER. 83

might hear her. She was not fated to run far, before she
plunged into the arms of one of the companions of Chico,
who had placed himself in her path. In an instant his
hand was over her mouth and his tomahawk raised in a
threatening manner, which at once silenced her screams.

“ Yengee girl make noise, me kill and scalp,” said Chico,
as he came forward.

She saw the virtue of silence, and said not a word as a
savage placed himself on either side of her and led her
away into the woods, while a third followed, carefully ob-
literating the trail they made. She was astonished to find
that the tread of her captors was almost noiseless, but see-
ing that they used this care to cover the trail, she planted
her feet as heavily as possible each time they touched the
ground, though in such a way that the savages did not
notice it at first. The savage who was covering the trail
drew their attention to the fact that their captor stepped
more heavily than seemed at all proper or necessary. But
she refused to understand them when called upon to amend
her course, and in despair they were forced to carry her.

They had been more successful than had heen anti-
cipated. After sneaking about the village during the fore-
noon, and the greater part of the afternoon, they had seen
her leave the village for her walk. They had nothing to
do but to follow and seize her upon the first fitting oppor-
tunity.

They hurried away by narrow forest-paths to the place
where they had left their wounded friend and prisoner.
They found Salvation safe, for even his ingenuity could not
break out of the hitch in which they had placed him. A

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

84 RUTH IARLAND,

discussion now arose what to do with Tribulation, whom
the scout had tied to a sapling for safe keeping before he
was bound in like manner. Those who had suffered by his
fractious behaviour hesitated between a desire to avenge
themselves for their injuries, and a wish to save him for
future use. In this discussion Salvation joined loudly, beg-
ging for the life of his favourite, and at last suggesting
that Ruth should ride him.

“Ugh!” said Chico. “Chief can’t ride him. S’pose
squaw do better?”

“ Ef an English girl were such a slouch at riding as
you fellows, we wouldn’t own her. Ruth, are you afraid
to ride the horse?”

ONO.”

“ Can’t ride him, tell you,” cried Chico. “ Fall off.”

“ You let her try it, that’s all,” replied the irrepressible
scout, who appeared to look upon captivity as a capital
joke, and was in high good humour. The chief complied,
taking care to fit an arrow to the string ready to shoot the
norse, if she tried to escape.

Ruth went close to the animal, patted her neck and
mounted without trouble, to the intense surprise of the
savages, who looked to see her dashed to the ground. A
murmur of admiration ran through their ranks at her
skill. Chico now sent one of his comrades in front, cau-
tioning him to be always ready with his weapon. Next
came Ruth, and behind her the scout. A warrior marched
on each side, and Chico, like a skilful general, brought up
the rear, overlooking the cavalcade. In this order they
broke out of the woods into the open bottom lands to the

 

 
 

 

ARRIVAL OF THE CAPTIVES. 85

west of the Connecticut, the glory and delight of the Pe-
quod nation. Here the party turned aside from the village,
and breaking through the swamp, reached the open space
where Sassacus had held the meeting with his partisans.
The chief was there before them, and rose to his feet as
they came into the swamp, greeting them in calm courtesy.

“The ‘Swaying Reed’ is very welcome to the land of
the Pequods. They have waited her coming a long time,
and are glad to see her face. She is very welcome.”

“Why have I been torn from my home?” demanded the
girl, sharply, unawed by the presence of so many savage
enemies. ‘I ask you again, as I have asked this man, are
not the English and the Pequods friends ? ”

“'Yengees are very good friends to the Pequods,” re-
plied the chief, with bitter emphasis. ‘So good are they
that they love everything belonging to the tribe; and they
love our hunting-grounds most of all.”

Ruth could not reply to the sarcasm of the chief, for
the cupidity of the English was beyond question.

“We have prepared a place for the ‘Swaying Reed,’ ”
the chief said, after pausing to note the effect of his words.
He pointed to the centre of the island. A cabin had been
built of boughs, and was warm enough for the season.

“ You will stay here,” said the sachem, “until you are
wanted. It may be soon—or it may be a long time. A
guard will be with you at all times, to give you meat and
keep away harm. An Indian girl is in the lodge, who
will be your servant. You are very welcome.”

He took her by the hand and led her to the lodge,
giving her up to the care of a young girl, who listened

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

86 RUTH HARLAND.

patiently to his commands, which he delivered in his own
tongue. Ruth followed her into the hut, while Sassacus
returned to meet Salvation, who had listened to the con-
versation without a word.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
GREEK MEETING GREEK.

Satvation stood leaning against a tree, by the side of
the horse, which commenced cropping the short green grass
of the island. The attitude of the hunter was one of the
most reckless indifference to the casual observer, though in
truth he was watching every motion of his captors and
longing for an opportunity for escape. Sassacus regarded
the capture of this man as a worthy event, as he was the
friend and companion of John Mason, known by the name
of the “ Indian Killer.” :

“* My brother has the longest pair of legs in the Pequod
country,” was the first salutation of the chief. ‘“ He has
been using them again, and they have played him false.
What does the ‘Long Arms’ in the midst of a Pequod
camp?”

“ Ask those that brought me, sachem,” was the sturdy
reply. “ You may take the word of a man who is all
white, that I wouldn’t be here if I could help it. Your
own rascals brought me.”

“How is this?” cried the sachem, in seeming surprise.
“ Does my brother say that he does not come here as a
_ friend? Why are his arms bound? ”

“That uneasy vagabond, Chico, whose hand will not be
  

 

  

87

 

SALVATION BEFORE SASSACUS.

 

of much use to him for a week, tied me as you see.
can’t even whittle.”
- © What had my brother done to them ?”

“Not a thing,” he asserted. “ Not a darned thing.”

“This cannot be. The Pequods do not make war upon
their friends. Let the chief speak, and say why this great
brave is here. He would blind the eyes of the great
sachem of the Pequods.”

Chico stepped forward, and held up his maimed hand.

“Tam a chief,” he cried, angrily. “I gave my hand to
the ‘Long Arms’ in the forest. He had crept like a
squirrel into the tree-top, to listen to the words of Chico
and his friends. A limb broke and he fell to the ground.
But Chico gave him his right hand. A bad spirit is in
the ‘Long Arms,’ and he crushed the hand of the chief.
See, it is weak, and I cannot close the fingers. Was
this the act of a friend? I called to my friends, and they
took their weapons in their hands to take the ‘ Long
Arms.’ He ran away, but a limb caught him by the head
and threw him to the ground, and we took him and brought
him here.”

“That's all right, chief, except in one or two points. In
the first place, you set your dogs on me before I raised a
finger. Then I squeezed your hand and knocked you
down. "T'was a good blow, Chico; even you ought to
allow that.”

“ Chico will drink the heart’s blood of a dog of the
Yengees,” said the chief.

“You left out the fact that I laid every one of you out
before I ran, old fellow. I didso. You went down under

    
   
    
   
   
   
  
 

  

    
   
   
   
   

en

 
 
    
 

 

 

88 RUTH HARLAND.

my arms and feet like grass before the mower. One: of
you has an ache in the place where he puts his breakfast.
Another lacks a few of his teeth and is branded on the
head by the forefoot of Tribulation. A sickly crowd, all
through, I calculate.”

The band glared at him, panting for breath. How was
it that he dared defy them, when he was entirely in their
power? Sassacus alone remained unmoved.

“Jt is enough,” he said. “The council of the nation
must decide whether you have done well or ill. Let the
‘Long Arms’ be taken to our village.”

“ Rather stay here,” said he.

The chief looked at him angrily.

“ Sassacus does not eat his words. Let the Yengee go
to our village. Keep him well, and do not talk to Menna-
wan about the ‘Swaying Reed.’”

“Why not?” thought Salvation, who never lost sight of
anything likely to be of use to him.

“Let the horse remain here. The Yengee maiden may
wish to go away, and he would be useful. Keep the white
man safe. If you fail, look to it, for you call down the
vengeance of a sachem of the nation, whose name is
Sassacus.”

“ Let me speak to the white girl,” said the scout.

“No,” replied Sassacus.

“ Miss Ruth,” cried he, in a raised voice. She appeared
at the doorway of the cabin. ‘“ Keep up a good heart, and
this will end well yet.”

“Shut mouth,” shouted Sassacus, in a rage, “else me

kill you.”

 
  

 

    

THE SCOUT GROWS DESPERATE, 89

Salvation had said all he wanted, and at once took his
way out of the swamp, followed by the chief. Once out-
side, the latter left the party, not wishing to be known as
having met them, and returned to the village by a different
route. Soon after, the chiefs came in with the captives,
and were greeted with exclamations of joy by a crowd of
women and boys who hurried out to meet them, while the
warriors remained at the stations they had occupied before,
simply turning their heads to look at the captive. His
name became known, and ran like wildfire through the
village. “Tong Arms” was known to the tribes along
the border as the most daring scout and spy who had ever

-entered their country. A crowd began to gather to hear

the tale of his capture, but were sturdily ordered to stand
aside by the unfortunate Chico, who was in anything but
good humour.

A lodge was hastily prepared for his reception, and a
guard placed about it. In passing to his prison he looked
up, and met the eyes of the chief Mennawan fixed upon
him, with an expression which he could not analyse. It
contained no triumph at his capture, whatever. But the
curtain of the lodge was dropped, and he was left to medi-
tate upon the mutability of human affairs.

“ Consarn it,” he muttered. “I’m in for it now, I’m
afraid. What luck—first, that darned old limb had to
break, when I was coming down from the tree. Wal, I
licked ’em all, and was going off on old Trib’s back, as
fast as she could run, when another pesky limb had to put
its oar in. Darned ef I don’t think, ef I was to try to
hang myself on a limb, that it would break and let me

  
 

 

90 RUTH HARLAND.

fall, What is. the matter with Mennawan? He didn’t
look as though he was glad to see me. Shonldn’t be
surprised ef I had a visit from that feller yet.

Two days passed, and he saw no one but his guards.
The brave fellow kept up his courage well, but he longed
for the free breath of the woods in which he had lived so
long. Years of wild adventure, of roamings through the
almost impassable wilderness of the eastern country, fight-
ing with bear, panther, or Indian, as the case might be, had
made him love the woods.

Then he thought of Ruth, whom he loved for her own
kindness to him, and because she was to be the wife of his
leader. He had no doubt of his ability to rescue her, if he
could gain his own liberty. But his guards gave him no
chance. ‘They all feared the anger of Sassacus, and kept
their eyes open, to the intense rage of Salvation.

* Darn ’em. They won’t even let a man whistle. Tf
they would only give me my knife now, and some sticks. I
feel just mad enough,” he thought, on the morning of the
third day, “to make a break for it, and risk life and limb
for liberty. I might make it go, I reckon. Though every-
thing is in favour of my getting an arrow through the
body before I had run twenty rods. Now who is coming ?”

The last exclamation was caused by a bustle near the
doorway. ‘The next moment the lodge curtain was lifted,

and Mennawan came into the place. He looked haggard

and anxious, and his clothes were dusty with travel. He
ordered the guard to keep away from the door, while he
talked with the Yengee, which he obeyed. —

“T have come to see my white brother,” said the chief.

engl sean S

 
 

 

MENNAWAN SEEKS FOR RUTH. 91

“It is time some one came to see me,” said the other.
“ When do you mean to let me out of this?”

“ This is not my work,” said he, angrily. “ Chico, who
is a son of the bad Manitou, and the tool of Sassacus, has
broken the bond I made with the Yengees. Let him not
come within reach of my tomahawk, or I will slay him with
my hand.”

There was a pause of some moments. The Indian
had something to say, and did not know how to begin.
He sat looking at the face of the hunter, which expressed
nothing but careless indifference. At length, he resumed:—

“ T have been to the white village by the river.”

seYros |” :

‘The hearts of the Yengees are very sad. A sorrow
has come upon the heart of the old white prophet. Would
my white brother like to know what this trouble is?”

* OF course.”

“ His daughter, whom the Indians call the ‘Swaying
Reed,’ because her form is as graceful in motion as the
reeds by the river-bank, has been stolen.”

“ Just so.”

“ The heart of Mennawan is sad for the white prophet,
He would do anything to help find the girl.”

“ Wal, what are you goin’ to do?”

“The white men are searching far and near upon the
river. But, Mennawan is very wise. He found the place
_ where she sat down to rest, and many tracks of moccasins
upon the ground. He followed the trail. It led him to a
place in the woods, where men had fought together. One
was a white man, and four were Pequods.”

 
 

 

 

 

92 RUTH HARLAND.

“ How did you know that?”

“ Mennawan knows the fashion of a Pequod moccasin.”

“ But, I wear moccasins as well.”

“Do you walk as we do? Come, we have no time to
waste. The white man ran away and got to his horse. I
read this in the tracks. The fight came before the maiden
reached the spot, and the same Indians who took the
maiden took the man.”

“ Well reasoned; go on.”

“ On the spot where they fought, I found this,” he went
on, producing a button. “I place it beside the button
upon the coat of my brother. It is the same. My brother
is the man who fought with the Indians. Then he must
have seen the maiden. Let him tell where she is hidden
to a chief.”

So irresistible had been the array of facts which the
wily chief had brought forward, that the scout could find
_ no assailable point in his armour. As a necessary conse-
quence, he was forced into questions, in which the Yankee
nation have excelled beyond all others, since his day.

“What do you want of the girl?”

“ Have I not said that her father waits for her in his
lonely cabin? He is very old; his hairs are white as the
snows in winter. How can the old man rest when he
knows not where his daughter is, the fairest flower that
blooms in the meadow of his heart.”

“ Do you mean to take her back to him if you find her ?”

This was a poser for the chief, who was very far from
any such intention. He evaded a direct answer in a
manner worthy of a witness in a criminal trial.

 

 
 

THE SECRET REVEALED. 93

“ Mennawan has promised the old prophet that he will
try to find the ‘Swaying Reed.’ ”

“Oh, you are a knowing one,” thought Salvation. “ But
Tll try you in another way yet.” Then he added, aloud:
“ What will you do for the man who can show you where
the ‘Swaying Reed’ is hidden ? ”

“Tf the Long Arms will speak, and tell the chief where
she has been hidden, he shall be set free.”

“ Shall I take the ‘Swaying Reed’ with me?”

“ Let my brother listen. His tongue is as long as his
legs, and they are very long. It is not well for a great
chief to have so long a tongue. My brother knows where
to find the ‘Swaying Reed” He dare not say that he
does not, for he will not look in the face of a great chief
and tellalie. The tracks in the woods lay before the
eyes of a great chief like a printed book of the white
men. They told him how the ‘Long Arms’ crawled into
the tree-top, and listened to the words of Chico—how he
tried to come softly down, and the limb broke, so that he
fell to the ground—how he fought bravely against them
all, and was only taken because a limb caught him and
threw him to the ground. Let us talk like men and not
like children.”

“ What do you want of me?” asked the scout, casting
a look of admiration at the chief, whom he respected for
his genius in woodcraft.

‘“‘ Tell me where I may find the ‘Swaying Reed ?’”

“Do you promise in any case to save her life?”

“The question is. good. She shall not die. It is the
word of a great chief,”

 

 
 

 

 

94 RUTH HARLAND.

“Come closer then, so that the guard shall not know
what we are saying, and I will tell you.”

The chief drew nearer, and for half an hour listened to
the words which Salvation poured into his ears. He listened
earnestly, seldom interrupting him to ask questions. He
described the position of the swamp, the manner af enter-
ing it, and the fixtures of the island.

“ My white brother has kept his word in this. He has
told me all he knows, and the chief will not forget his own
promise.”

With these words he left the lodge, leaving the other to
' decide at his leisure whether he had done well in telling all
to the chief. His acute mind had already penetrated the
other’s secret, and he knew that he loved the girl, and that
she would remain a captive until he could effect her
escape.

But he also saw through the designs of Sassacus. He
feared that Mennawan, by his love for Ruth, might grow
soft-hearted, and stop short of the extermination of the
English. The hunter knew him well enough to be certain
that the chief would kill Ruth sooner than have her stand
in the way of his designs.

‘When Mennawan left the lodge, he made his way at
once to that of Sassacus. He found him absent, and with
him the leading chiefs who were his partisans. He at once
returned to the lodge and set Salvation at liberty, bidding
him make the best use of his legs in getting out of the
Pequod country. His rifle was given back to him, to-
gether with the powder-horn and bullet-pouch.

“The way is long to the place from which my brother

 

 

$a
came,” said the chief. “But though he may tire in the
way, he had better go back; this country is not for him.”

Salvation lingered about the village as long as he dared,
but fearing the return of Sassacus, he set out, first asking
the chief what was to be done with Ruth ?

* Trouble not yourself,’ was the reply. ‘She shall be
cared for.”

The scout shouldered his piece, and set off at a brisk
pace. With his weapons in his hands and a fair start, he
defied the Pequod nation.

 

CHAPTER IX.
THE RIVALS.

An hour after the departure of Salvation, Sassacus re-

petty chiefs of his faction, had set out from the place
almost as soon as the scout. Though he knew this man’s
errand perfectly, the chief allowed him to proceed, as he
too desired the return of Sassacus. He found Mennawan
waiting for him in the lodge, smoking calmly.

“ J hear of strange things,” cried the sachem, more ex-
citedly than ever before in his life. ‘ What is this that
comes to my ears ?” =

“ The ears of the sachem are his own,” replied Menna-
wan, looking at him calmly. ‘“ He can tell best what he
has heard.”

«« A runner has come to me to say that the ‘Long Arms’
is gone.”
. © The runner told the truth ; the ‘Long Arms’ is gone,”
said the chief, with undisturbed serenity.

 

  

PLAYING AT GROSS PURPOSES. 95°

turned to the village in great haste. A runner, one of the

    
   
 
 
 
    
    
  
   
   
   
   
    

 

 
   
 

96 RUTH HARLAND.

“ “Why was it done?”

“Because I have a brother who is too fast—one who
wishes the Pequod nation well, but who will destroy it.
Are our plans ripe? Is it good policy to take prisoners
before we have secured the Narragansetts? Where is
Wequash, who was once so great a friend of Sassacus?
He is with the Yengees, and has told them that the
Pequods mean to make war against them.”

Sassacus started, for this was new to him. The runner
who brought the news had only come in half an hour before.

“ How do you know this ?”

“ Kucheca has come.”

erat oner

“ He has brought much news. The Yengees are gather-
ing men for our brothers on the island, who have killed a
man, and as they come this way, they demand the men who
killed the Yengee trader before.”

Sassacus looked disconcerted. His brother had made
capital for himself and his faction during his absence.

“Tt was not a time to take prisoners. I set the white
man at liberty, and all will go well. We shall tell the
Yengees that Wequash has lied, and they will believe us.”

“ Tt ig well,” said the sachem, recovering the self-posses-
sion which had left him for a moment. Mennawan eyed
his brother fixedly for a short space, and then spoke again :—

“ When we talked before, Sassacus promised to do a —
certain thing. Has he done so?”

“ What does my brother mean ?”

“ He said he would see the ‘Swaying Reed.’ Has he
done so?”

 
 

THE SACHEM CUECKMATED. 97

The disconcerted look returned to his face, but he an-
swered, “ Yes.” :

“ T went to the village the other day, and the maiden
was not there. Where is she?”

The other looked at him without answer.

“ T returned to the village, hoping to see her here. For
I said, ‘ My brother has found her worthy to be the wife of
a great chief, and has taken her for him.’ If he has done
so, let him bring her, and give her up to me.”

“ Tt is so,” said Sassacus, glad of any loophole at which
to escape. “She is more beautiful than the morning. But
the white man was in the village, and he might return and
say that we had taken the daughter of the white prophet
and kept her in our lodges. I have kept her hidden lest
he should see her. Now he has gone, she has only to be
sent for, and she will come to the village.”

‘Shall she be given up to me, when she comes? ”

The cunning of the sachem came back with this ques-
tion.

* What? Will you take her into the lodge of Meta-
mora, and give her the child to keep? Would it not be
better that she should remain the prisoner of Chico until
you have sent Metamora away ?”

“Metamora has been a good wife. She has kept the
lodge fire of Mennawan bright for seven winters,” said
the other, relenting a little. “The chief would be sad if
She went away from the lodge, and he would not give the
‘Swaying Reed’ the child to keep. She is too young to
bear such a burden, and she does not love the child. But

the lodge of Mennawan is very large. There is room for
; RK

 
 

98 s RUTH HARLAND.

the ‘Swaying Reed’ and for Metamora. ‘The chief is
very wise.”

“ Mennawan does not sing in the ears of a dead dog,’
answered Sassacus. “ He knows the nature of a Pequod
woman. She would never be content with half a heart,
nor stay in the lodge of one who had ceased to care for
her. Let my brother listen. I will take the ‘Swaying

teed,’ and keep her until Mennawan has told his wife that
he will take another in her place.”

“ Let it be so,” said the other, rising abruptly. “ Let
us go for her.”

“ Will Mennawan do so? If he comes into the village
with the ‘Swaying Reed,’ men will es that he loves her,
and Metamora will hear it too soon.”

“ Mennawan will not be answerable to a squaw for his
deeds. I have said, let us go forth and bring in the
maiden. Why should we waste words? Let us go,”

Sassacus rose with an angry gesture. The other had
forestalled him. The words spoken at the outset told him
that the chief was aware that he had taken Ruth prisoner,
and he meant to remove her to another place. His en-
treaties were of no avail, and his brother joined the party

which brought Ruth into the village, walking by the side
of the horse with folded arms. Sassacus had refused to
go, but stood in the doorway of his wigwam watching the
entrance of the party. He was wholly unselfish in his de-
sire to keep the thoughts of his brother away from Ruth.
Nothing short of extermination would satisfy him, and he
could not go on without the aid of Mennawan, next to
himself the most powerful man in the nation. That which
A SPECTACLE 99

Shakespeare calls “the vice of mercy,” had until this
time been lacking in his composition. But it was not
cruelty which prompted the entire destruction of the
whites. He regarded it as the best for his nation, because
it would free their land from the hated Yengees ; and best
for the latter, because it would deter others from follow-
ing their examples and sharing their fate. The slackness
of Mennawan, who had been so hot until now, came at an
inopportune moment for their cause. He sympathized
with the Indian wife, who would lose the love of her hus-
band for this stranger.

He was thinking of her at the moment when the return
party came in sight, and an angry light came into his eye.
But he controlled himself with a powerful effort, as Meta-
mora came out of the opposite lodge and took a station
near him, where she could see them as they passed in.
The brow of the Indian woman was clouded, but she had
dressed herself in Indian finery to please her husband’s
eye. Perhaps some shadow of the coming fate rested
upon the unfortunate creature, and she had determined to
struggle, as a woman might, to maintain her position in
her husband’s lodge.

The dark eye of the chief, in passing, dwelt upon the
woman who had been faithful to him so long, in a kind of
self-reproaching tenderness, as she stood with bowed head
close to his path. A rare smile flitted across her brown
face, and the countenance of the sachem became more
hopeful. It fell again as his glance rested upon the
Captive, and read in her face the beauty which had taken
the wild heart of Mennawan captive.

 
 

 

100 RUTH HARLAND.

The lodge which had been occupied by the scout was
fitted up for the use of the captive, and Ruth and her at-
tendant at once disappeared within it. Mennawan did not
return to the cabin, but stood leaning against a post with
folded arms. The words which Ruth had spoken were in
his ears: “I gave you bread when you were hungry, and
you repay it thus.”

He stood in a pensive attitude, watching without in-
terest the efforts of an Indian lad to mount Tribulation
(in which he signally failed, or was thrown every time he
apparently succeeded), when he heard a light step at his
side, and turning, beheld his wife, who had advanced from
her first position to address him.

The chief half turned his head as if to address her, and
then, seeming to recollect, he assumed an air of haughty
indifference, and fixed his eyes again on the efforts of the
boy. Metamora remained in her submissive attitude until
her lord and master thought proper to again turn and
notice her.

“The place for the wife of a good chief is in the lodge
of her husband,” said he, at length. “ Why, then, is
Metamora here ?”

“Metamora is a woman,” replied the wife. “She lives
in the sunlight of her warrior’s smile. If her sun is clouded,
_ her eyes rain dew. She has seen that the chief is sad, and
she would be glad to bear a little of his sorrow.”

“Let Metamora return to the lodge,” said he, with a
proud inclination of the head, “and Mennawan will follow.
She shall know the sorrow which is upon the heart of her
chiefi—she shall bear some portion of it.”

 
 

METAMORA LEARNS THE WORST. 101

A glad light broke over the face of Metamora. She
went at once to the lodge and her husband followed. They
sat an hour together, and he told her all. Told her that
he loved the “ Swaying Reed,” and that she could no longer
hold the first place in his house and lodge. She sat like
one stunned, hearing in her stupor his offers to build her a
lodge by herself, where she might live as a widow and
nurse his boy, and teach him how to strike the enemy.

Then he rose and left the lodge, leaving her to fight
against the hell of contending passions in her wild heart.
If she had been less true to her husband, the blow would
not have fallen so heavily. As it was, it crushed her.

She sat without movement for an hour, gazing upon the
face of the boy, who lay sleeping upon the blankets. Her
agony grew greater as she gazed.

 

CHAPTER X.
SALVATION ON THE WAR-PATH.

Ir is not to be supposed that Salvation meant to leave
his fair friend at the mercy of her savage enemies. But he
wisely decided that he could do far more for her free, than
if he remained in the village. Turning away from the
beaten war-trail, he lay down in a secluded spot, and
meditated upon the turn affairs had taken, and the best
way to free the girl from the clutches of the savages. He
had penetrated the motives of Mennawan in their inter-
view, and had told him all he knew, because he feared what
might be the fate of Ruth if left in the power of the sachem.
The love of the chief for her would at least save her life.

 
 

102 RUTH HARLAND,

As he lay there in the shadow, a footstep stirred the
leaves. He rose cautiously upon one knee, and looked out
of the underbrush. The tread of the comer was light and
uncertain, and could only be the tread of a woman. It
was; for as the slanting beams of the sun shone through
the leaves, they fell upon the bowed head of Metamora,
coming slowly through the forest, with her child in her arms.

The forest woman had wrestled with her anguish until it
became too great for her to bear, and then rising from the
skins upon which she had cast herself after the chief left,
she put off the gorgeous robes with which she had adorned
herself to please him, and painted her face black. <A
moment’s reflection taught her that this would expose her
purpose too soon, She therefore washed off the sombre
colour, took the many trinkets and garments he had given
her, and left the lodge, making her way at once to the
lodge in which Ruth was confined. The guard, at her
importunity, allowed her to enter the prisoner’s lodge.
Ruth faced the visitor with a questioning look; but Meta-
mora stood motionless, studying the white face like a book,
as if she would read there how it was that her warrior’s
heart had left her to go out to the stranger. She appeared
satisfied, and said in her low musical voice :—

“ Why has the ‘Swaying Reed’ left her own home, and
come into the wigwams of the Pequods? Were there no
young braves of her own tribe to be found who wanted
wives ?”

Ruth looked at her in amazement. The chief had not
yet spoken to her of his purpose to take her into his lodge,
though he had been uniformly kind to her.

 

 

 

 

 
 

A JEALOUS SQUAW. 103

“ The white girl does not understand,” said Metamora,
with bitter emphasis. “She does not understand, because
she will not. She thinks it nothing to tread upon the heart
of an Indian woman, because she has no heart herself. An
Indian woman has a heart, and she is sad when all she has _.
loved and hoped for passes away like a shadow on the sky.
She was very proud when Mennawan took her into his
lodge, because he had chosen her out of all the Pequod
women. It is all the harder now, when she is used to
being the first of the Pequod women, since Sassacus has no
wife.”

“ What is this to me?” asked Ruth, in utter astonish-
ment. “What have I to do with your being the first
woman in the tribe?”

The eyes of the royal creature began to blaze, as she
thought she was mocked by the other.

“Do you make sport of my misery?” she gasped, turn-
ing upon her in a rage. “ Daughter of a wicked spirit, you
have come to the Pequod village in an unhappy hour.”

“TJ do not understand you,” said Ruth.

“Have you not stolen the heart of the chief from his
wife? What woman was there in the cabins of the
Pequods who could win a glance from the warrior of
Metamora, until you came? And does he not love you
now?”

s Mennawan ?”

& Yos.”

“ Do you think, my poor girl, that I would listen to him
for a moment ?”

“You are too cunning for me,” replied the Indian

 
 

104 RUTH HARLAND.

fiercely. “J will hear your words no more. The love
of Mennawan was all I had to live for. That is gone, and
now I have only to die, and my boy shall not stay behind,
to be trodden under foot by those who hate him. TI have
brought you the robes you will wear when you are taken
into his lodge. I bring you the presents he gave me, when
he broke the stick of marriage with me by the running
stream. Take them, since you must, for Metamora will no
longer stand in the way of the ‘Swaying Reed.’”

“What do you intend to do? I will never be the wife
of the chief.”

“J will not listen to your words,” almost screamed the
woman. ‘ You throw dust in my eyes to blind me. I
will not have it so.”

With these words she rushed from the lodge, caught up
her boy, and fled from the village, leaving her ornaments
lying at the feet of her rival, who tried in vain to detain
her. It was at this time that she startled the scout, as he
lay hidden in the forest.

“ What's the matter with that woman?” muttered Sal-
vation. ‘Looks kind o’ wild. Guess it won't hurt to
follow her and see what comes of it.”

He rose carefully, and left the place, following in the
footsteps of Metamora. She quickened her pace after she
passed him, turning off in the direction of the Mystic, which
lay gleaming in the sunshine, a short distance from the
path they had pursued until this time. Salvation, stopping
when she did, so that their footfalls should come together,
managed to keep close to her, until she stopped at the river
brink,

ad

 

 
 

 

A WOULD-BE SUICIDE. 105

By stealthy approaches, he gained a point some twenty
feet from the spot where she stood, holding the boy in her
arms. Some maternal instinct taught her to bend over the
boy; he looked up into her face with a laugh. She fell
upon her knees upon the bank, and broke into short ejacu-
lations in the Indian tongue, addressed to the Indian deity.
From her disjointed utterances, Salvation gained the know-
ledge of her identity.

“ See there now,” he muttered. ‘“ That old thief has
turned this woman out of his lodge to make room for Ruth
Harland, who would see him further before she would let
him tech her. Just see what a beast a man can make of
himself if he only tries! Such a chief as that to fall in love
with little Ruth! That Injin woman is a stunner. How
she loves that old red rip, consarn him! T'll take the job,
if she'll agree to let it out, of lickin’ that man of hers out
of his moccasins. Hullo! What is she up to now? T’'ll
cut him into tinder, I swow. There she goes!”

This last exclamation was elicited by a strange action
on the part of Metamora. She stood erect upon the bank,
crying out a farewell to earth, air, and sky, clasped her
boy closer in her arms, gave a despairing look around her,
and leaped. This was the end. Goaded by her wrongs—

Spurned by contumely—
Burning insanity,

Cold inhumanity,
~ Into her rest—

she fell into the river. Salvation heard the ery, and
understood it.
The head of the unfortunate wife of Mennawan had

 
 

 

106 RUTH HARLAND.

hardly disappeared beneath the bright water, when he
plunged head foremost aftet the drowning woman. The
water flashed upward from his descending form, and the
swift current swept him down a little.

He rose quickly, watching the surface with an observant
eye. A few bubbles upon the surface only told where the
body was rising. In a moment more, her floating hair ap-
peared upon the surface, and he made a dash at it. She
sunk before he could reach her, and he dived in pursuit, this
time seizing her by the flowing locks, and dragging her to
the surface, with the boy still clasped in her arms. Swim-
ming to the bank, he bore her out upon the greensward.
Tenderly as a woman he lifted her head upon his knee, and
chafed her hands. She recovered, with a gasp and cry, as
she saw the brown face of the scout above her.

“Don't be skeered, gal,” said he, in a soothing tone.
“Sal Green isn’t the man to make war upon wimmin.
You're kinder weak now. Don’t try to talk. Yes, the
boy—you want him. Wal, he’s all right, I calculate. The
little shaver kept his mouth shut, for a wonder.”

“ Why is the Yengee here ?” she asked. “ Does he take
the right from the Indian to die in the river ?”

“ Mhere, there, gal; you feel bad now. In a little while
you will be ready to thank me. But don’t try that again.
“Paint the way to do it. I forbid it; and I know enough
of Injin customs to be sure that you don’t dare to commit
suicide, until I say so. And you may be pretty certain
that won’t be soon.” :

“My life is yours,” said the woman, moodily. “ You
must do with me as you please. An Indian whose life has

 

 

  
 

 

SALVATION ENLIGHTENS THE SQUAW. 107

been saved holds it as the gift of the one who saves her.
When he tells her to die, she will go.”

“ Now, what’s the use of talkin’ that way ?” cried Salva-
tion. “You keep on that way, and I will git mad. I
know I will. I ain’t the man to take advantage of a
woman. If I don’t let you die, it is because you are
wrong. Can you sit up now?”

“Yes,” replied Metamora.

“ Wal, you see here. I don’t want you to tell me why
-you have tried to do this. I’m sharp enough to under-
stand it without. Your husband wants to marry the
‘Swaying Reed, and has put you out of his lodge. You
come here and try to drown yourself. I step in and say
no, Isn’t that about the right of it?”

Metamora answered by a look of utter despair, which
went to the heart of her rough friend. ;

“Now, don’t you take on,” said he, quickly, ‘(Don’t
you worry, and we will make it all right in a jiffy. You
thought a good deal of this vagabond husband of yours,
didn’t you ?”

“ Mennawan, is a great chief,” said the woman, with a
haughty look.

“See that, now. He turns her out, and she takes up his
eause in amoment. You thought a good deal of the chief.”

“Her warrior should be all in the world to a Pequod
woman.”

“ Just so. You would like to have him take you back
into his lodge.”

She gave him an eager look, The great wish of her
heart beamed out of her eyes.

 
 

 

108 RUTIT HARLAND.

“That is my answer,” the scout said. “It don’t matter.
Now, let you and I put our heads together, and see what
we can do. I believe that you and I can take her away
from the chief, and when she is gone he will call you back.”

“Does the Yengee speak of the ‘Swaying Reed?”

COMES;

“Metamora went to her at early morning, and she
scorned her.”

“You are wrong,” was the quick response. “ Taint
like Ruth Harland to scorn anyone. You did not under-
stand her.”

“She spoke as if she would not go into the lodge of the

chief when he asked her. How could this be ?”
. “J will tell you,” replied the scout. ‘In her own
village is one whom she loves, and whose wife she has pro-
mised to be. Would it be right if she was false to one
with whom she has broken the sacred stick of marriage,
even for a great chief like Mennawan ?”

The face-of the woman brightened again.

“Does the Yengee speak true words? Let him not
make sport of a woman who is very sad indeed.”

“Don’t you think it. Ruth Harland wouldn’t marry
the chief if he was to go down on his knees. Now, listen
tome. We must get Ruth away from here. Once safe
_ in the village, you may be sure that he will never see her
again.”

“What can I do?” asked Metamora, rising quickly.
“ Tell me.”

“She will do,” muttered the scout. “It is all right.
All T have to do is to keep her from taking the bit in her

 
a

 

$y

 

 

 

    

A PLOT CONCOCTED. 109

mouth, and ruining the plan by too much haste.” Then to
Metamora: ‘“ Look at me, woman. Your life is in my
hands, and you must do as I say. Go back to the village,
and go wherever the chief tells you to go. In my opinion,
you will find that he has seen Ruth, and been repulsed by
her. He will be angry; never mind that, for he will not
be angry with you. He cannot do without some one to
keep his lodge, and since he cannot have Ruth, he will
keep you.”

Salvation took out his knife and began to whittle.

“The chief has not sent me out of his lodge; but he
ade me make ready, and when he brought the Yengee
girl to sit in it, I should have a lodge of my own, where I
might live like a widow, and teach the boy to be a great
warrior. The brain of a Pequod woman is not cool like
the Yengees. When she is wronged, her head burns like a
flame. Metamora sought to cool it in the river.”

“Don’t try it ag’in. Where do they keep the horse
they took from me?”

“Tt is an evil spirit. The son of Chico has broken his
leg in trying to ride him. He goes to and fro through the
village.”

“Good. How many guards are there at the lodge of
the ‘Swaying Reed?’ ”

“ Two, in the night.”

“Good again. Now we can manage this. Go back,
and when you hear my whistle three times repeated in the
woods, go as near the lodge of the prisoner as you dare,
and wait.”

“Tt shall be done,’ replied Metamora, taking up the

  
 

110 RUTH HARLAND. =

boy, who was tumbling about, umoticed by them, upon the
grass. He kicked vigorously, preferring his liberty. She
turned away from the spot, when a thought seemed to
strike her, and she returned.

“Where is one thing I had forgotten, and which the
Yengee must swear. The Pequod woman has said that
she loves the chief. Let the Yengee swear that he shall
come to no harm.”

“¥ shall not look for him, and only to save my own life
and the life of the ‘Swaying Reed’ will I strike him.”

“Yt is said. If he comes in your way, with his weapons
in his hands, it is a part of your duty to strike, and strike
hard.”

“Remember the whistle,” said he, repeating it softly, so
that she could mark the sound. “Three times repeated.”

Metamora nodded assent.

“Tf you could manage it so that your husband should
sleep pretty soundly to-night, it would be a good thing.
So that any noise we might make would not arouse him.”

“T will give him a drink which will make him sleep until
the morning.”

“Good. I wish every man in the village had a taste of
the same herb. Where will you get it ?”

“ Tt is here,” she replied, stooping as she spoke to gather
an herb growing at her feet. ‘A little will produce sleep.
More still, and the one who drinks will wake on the other
side of the Happy River.”

She folded the leaves into a small compass and put them
in a little pouch at her side. With another word of cau-
tion from Salvation, she hurried away.”

 
  

—— ee

 

 

A PROWL IN THE VILLAGE. iil

“That’s it !” he cried, snapping his fingers. “It takes
a woman, when her blood is up. Now, for some hiding-
place, and at night, hey! for the Pequod village.” With
these words he hid himself in the woods, and whittled all
the afternoon.

CHAPTER XI.
IN THE VILLAGE AND OUT OF IT.

Tur night came, and such a night as suited the intention
of the scout. Before dusk, clouds began to roll up in the
sky and the wind rose in fitful gusts, feeling damp when it
struck the face of the man, whittling and whistling in his
hiding-place in the woods, a mile away from the Pequod
village.

“ Rain !” thought Salvation.

Rain it was. At seven it began to fall, and he covered
the lock of his rifle with a buckskin sheath. or himself
he cared nothing. He had been out in too many storms
to care for a warm dash of rain. He had chosen a place,
too, under the overhanging boughs of an old pine, whose
branches swept the ground, and were almost impervious to
the rain.

By the time the storm was at its height, he was ready
to go, and creeping out of his hiding-place, started for the
village. The lights were out, and he had nothing to guide
him but his knowledge of the ground, obtained from a
hasty view as he left the village that morning.

Groping his way in the pitchy darkness, in the midst of
the falling rain, he struck sharply against some object

 

  
 

112 RUTH HARLAND.

which lay in his course. Bending down, he passed his
hand quickly over and over it, to find what it was. It
was a strangely shaped stone, which he had passed in the
morning. Recognising it by the touch, he tightened his
belt, laid his rifle down by it, knowing that it could be of
no possible use to him in the village, where cunning was
the best weapon, and silence indispensable, and prepared
for his perilous enterprise.

“The storm is on my side,” he murmured. ‘“ The
scoundrels will keep in their lodges. Now, old knife,
another sort of stick to whittle.”

He kept the knife in his hand as he entered the village,
not knowing at what moment he might run against one of
the Indian guards, a yell from whom would be ruin to his
plan.

He was soon among: the lodges, and pressed on until he
was in the opening in the centre. He stopped once or
twice to look into the lodges through the crevices of the
curtains, and saw the braves lying at.ease upon bearskins,
by the blazing lodge fires. They were nothing to him, and
he passed on until he found, still guided by the sense of
touch, the post which stood near the door of the sachem’s
lodge. The storm was now at its loudest, and he gave the
signal, which to the untrained ear was only the whistling of
the wind about the lodges. Metamora heard it, however,.
and emerged from the lodge. He gave another short
whistle, which guided her to his side.

“ Have you put the chief to sleep ?” he whispered.

“ He will not wake until morning.”

“ Where is the horse?”

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

PREPARED FOR ACTION. 113

“ He lies outside the village, a little way from the sacred
stone.”

“ What is the sacred stone?”

She whispered a description in his ear, and he recognised
the place where he had left his rifle.

“ Are the guards at their posts ?” he asked.

“Yes. Saybosay lies at the back of the lodge, but he
is sleepy. Sangaree is at the door.”

“Does anyone lie in the lodge except the ‘Swaying
Reed?’ ”

ON Oss

“No women? You are sure?”

“he daughter of Sassacus has gone to her own lodge,”
she replied.

“That is well. What arms has Sangaree ?”

“ A hatchet and a knife.”

“The man must die,” said he, sternly. “If I could
save him I would do it; but he must die.”

“Spare him not,” skid the woman. “He is an enemy of
Mennawan.”

“ Ah ha,” he thought. “He is a doomed man. Come
out of the village, where we can talk more freely, and tell
me what you have done since you returned.”

She took his hand, knowing the intricacies of the village
best, and Jed him to a retired spot, where, sheltered by the
lodges, she told the incidents of that afternoon.

Mennawan had visited his prisoner soon after his wife
left the lodge. She stood in a kind of maze, looking at
the confused mass of Indian finery which lay at her fect, as
the injured wife had left them. The chief came in with a

 

  
 

114 RUTH MARLAND.

noiseless step, and stood regarding her some time before
she saw him. At length the magnetic influence which
warns us of the gaze fixed upon us caused her to raise her
head, and she met the fixed glance of the chief, having an

expression which she could not misinterpret, even without

the visit of the chief’s wife.

“Ts the ‘Swaying Reed’ in good health ?” he asked.

“How can a bird which is in a-cage sing as freely as
one which is free and in its own woods? The ‘Swaying
Reed’ cannot live away from her people.”

“The Pequod country is not a cage,” replied Mennawan.
“The ‘Swaying Reed’ may whisper as she will, and none
shall say she shall not. Let her make new friends and a
new home, for she must stay in the lodges of the Pequods.”

“Tt cannot be.”

“Tt must be. A chief of the Pequods says it, and who
shall say that Mennawan speaks in vain.

“You have the power to keep me a prisoner,” answered
the heroic girl. “But my friends will avenge me.”

“‘ Not a prisoner,” replied the chief, quickly. ‘ There is
a warm fire and a large lodge open for the ‘Swaying
Reed.’ It is the lodge of the second chief of the Pequods,
the lodge of Mennawan.”

“Ts the lodge empty ?” cried Ruth. ‘ Has not the chief
a wife already ?”

“ Tt is true,” he replied, with utmost gravity. “ But the
chief is very rich. He can keep two lodge-fires bright.
Metamora shall have a lodge to herself, and the ‘Swaying
Reed’ shall sing in her place.”

“ Among my people a man may not put away his wife

 

 

 
 

 

 

“ SWAYING REED” IS OBSTINATE. 115

without a cause. Let the chief look at these things which
lie at my feet. Does he know them ?”

« They are the garments worn by the wife of the chief.
They will be the ‘Swaying Reed’s.’ Who has given them
to her ?”

“Your wife.”

“ Metamora is very wise. She knows what is best, and
has brought these. She will have a lodge of her own, and
teach the boy how great a chief he has for his father, and
how he may learn to be like him.”

“Chief,” said the girl, coming close to him, “I will
never come into your lodge.”

“Why should the Yengee girl waste words. I have
chosen her to be the light of my lodge. I would have
struck against the breast of my own brother if he had not
given her up to me. I sent away Metamora for your sake,
who has lain in my bosom for seven years, and who is most
beautiful of all the Pequod girls. I have spared the life
of the ‘Long Arms,’ who has shed the blood of many
warriors. The ‘Swaying Reed’ must and shall be my
wife.”

“J will die first.”

“ You will shrink from the torture. No, the white girl
must do as I say.”

With these words he strode from the lodge, leaving the
girl to her own thoughts. The chief returned to his lodge.
Here he remained some time, until the lodge curtain was
softly lifted, and Metamora, returning from her perilous
adventure, and with wet garments from the recent plunge,
entered the lodge. He did not speak to her, and she

 
 

116 RUTH HARLAND.

wrapped the boy in a bearskin, and laid him down near
by the lodge-fire.

* Will the chief eat ?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, with a gloomy look.

She said no more, but busied herself with her household
duties. He watched the motions of her light, active
figure, as she moyed to and fro, with a slight feeling of
compunction that he had allowed his thoughts to leave her,
and go after a stranger. Her work done, she returned to
him, and asked, in a low tone :—

“ When must Metamora find a new lodge?”

“J cannot tell,” he answered, in the same tone. “The
‘Swaying Reed’ is obstinate.”

Metamora’s- heart bounded for joy, and her happiness
showed itself in her face. The chief looked at her closely,
and noticed for the first time that the garments had been
wet. He alluded to it.

“ You have been in the water ?”

YX e8.*

“The boy has been in the water ?”

‘Ele has.”

“ How is this, Metamora ?”

“The chief had no longer a place in his heart for Meta-
mora. Her heart was very sad, and the river beckoned
her to come down and rest. She took the boy in her arms
and fell.”

“ A bad spirit came into the heart of Metamora. She
must drive away this bad thought from her heart. How
was she saved ?”

“The ‘Long Arms’ pulled her out of the river.”

 

 
oe

 

 

  

METAMORA’S VISIT TO RUTH. 117

“Tt is well. Let not Metamora think that she is not
still beloved by Mennawan. But a rich chief can afford to

have two wives.”

She said no more, and after a little he spoke again :—

“ Where is the ‘ Long Arms?”

“ He went away into the woods.”

“He has long legs. He had better use them in getting
out of the Pequod country, or his scalp will dry in the
smoke of a lodge. My head aches. Make a drink which
will bring sleep to my eyes.”

She started. ven while sne was thinking of the best
way to do it, he gave her the opportunity sought. Pre-
paring the drink quickly, she gave it to him, and then took
his head upon her knees and soothed him into sleep. This
done, she rose, and made her way into the wigwam of
Ruth.

‘“‘ Metamora has come,” said she, “to tell the ‘Swaying
Reed’ that she is very sorry for what she said to-day; she
was much mad. Her heart was sore for her warrior. But
the ‘Swaying Reed’ spoke truly ; she did not want to go
into the lodge of the chief. Listen: you have a friend in
the forest; the ‘ Long Arms’ waits for the night to come,
and then he will endeavour to set you free. Metamora
will help.

Before she had time to thank her, the Tndian was gone.

 

Sangaree had not slept upon his post. Wrapped in his
blanket, he paced to and fro before the lodge, with one
hand upon his hatchet and the other upon his knife. Chico
had given him strict injunctions to be careful and see that

 

 
 
 

118 RUTH HARLAND.

no trick of the opposite faction should get the captive out
of his hands.

The sound of the falling rain, and the dull sough of the
wind among the rude lodges, prevented the sound of steps
from reaching his ears, and the thick darkness hid from his
sight the dark form which stole slowly around the lodge,
with something bright glittering in the single ray of light
coming from the lodge. Step by step, the dark figure
approached, moving with a stealthy footfall as it came near
the unconscious sentinel. When only six feet separated
them, there was a sudden bound, a flash of steel, a dull
blow, and the body of Sangaree sunk to the ground.

Ruth, whose senses’ in captivity were remarkably acute,
heard the blow, while the sentry on the other side slum-
bered, unconscious of the death of his friend.

“ Hist ! there,” whispered Salvation. “ Are you ready,
Ruth?” fi

Placing her hand within his, without uttering a word, he
led her from’ the lodge and hurried away from the village,
until he reached the sacred stone. .A whistle, well known
to the faithful animal, called Tribulation to his side. We
have said that in danger the animal never failed, and he
showed his qualities that night. Salvation snounted, with-
out saddle or bridle, and took Ruth up before him, after
she had spoken to him first, so that he knew who rode him,
and turned his head to the north. The Indian woman left
them at the sacred stone, and returned to her lodge. Her
share in the escape was never discovered, for, when the
alarm was raised, she was sleeping by her husband’s side.
Sangaree was found dead, with a cloven skull, the foot-

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ESCAPE EFFECTED. 119

prints of the scout were heavy upon the soft soil, and they
laid the escape at the door of the daring companion of
John Mason.

They rode all night, for, half an hour after they had
started, the moon shone through the clouds, the storm was
ended, and taking the river for a guide, they dashed into
Weathersfield at early morning. Mason had just returned,
and was raging like a lion because nothing had been done
to recover the lost girl.

Tribulation shared with Salvation the encomiums of the
settlers, because he had carried the couple through that
perilous ride without saddle or bridle, and had not in-
dnlged in any of his “ tantrums” on the way.

The danger of his daughter induced Mr. Harland to
listen to the advice of his young friend, Captain Mason,
and remove with his family to Hartford. He was not a
day too soon, for, soon after, every inhabitant of Weathers-
field was carried away captive by the Pequods. This was
the work of Mennawan, who was anxious to recover Ruth,
and who only saved the party, lest she should perish in the
massacre.

Soon after the return of the minister to Hartford, Mason
and Ruth were married, to the intense satisfaction of Sal-
vation, who, next to marrying her himself, was pleased in
seeing her united to his friend and commander.

Soon after the marriage, the Pequod war broke out, and
Mason took command of the forces operating against them.
The exciting scenes through which they passed cannot be
contained in the limits of a book like this.

Mennawan took an active part against them;ever retain-

 

 
 
120 RUTH HARLAND.

ing an intense hatred of the leader, Mason, and his lieu-
tenant, Salvation Green, aided and abetted by his horse,
Tribulation, who had his “tantrums” while he retained life.
Reader, the story is ended.

 

LONDON: W. J. JOHNSON, PRINTER, 121, FLEET STREET,