Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

And, with a lofty demeanour, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain:

"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Watta

wamat

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman,
But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by light-

ning,

Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Watta

wamat?""

Then he unsheathed his knife, and whetting the blade on his left hand,

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, Saying, with bitter expression, and look of sinister mean

ing:

"I have another at home, with the face of a man on the

handle;

By-and-by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children!"

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles

Standish:

While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his

bosom,

Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered,

"By-and-by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak

not!

This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us!

He is a little man; let him go and work with the women!"

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians

Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow

strings,

Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush.

But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them

smoothly;

So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the

fathers.

But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and

the insult,

All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish,

Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his

temples.

Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and snatching his knife from its scabbard,

Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness

upon it.

Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop,

And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the

lightning,

Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran before it. Frightened the savages filed for shelter in swamp and in thicket,

Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat,

Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward,

Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his

fathers.

There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay,

above them,

and

Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the

white man.

Smiling, at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth:

"Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength, and his stature,

Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see now

Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you!"

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish.

When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Ply

mouth,

And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church

and a fortress,

All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage.

Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish;

Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valour.

VIII.

THE SPINNING-WHEEL.

MONTH after month passed away, and in autumn the ships of the merchants

Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the

Pilgrims.

All in the village was peace; the men were intent on their

labours,

Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with

merestead,

Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the

meadows,

Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the

forest.

All in the village was peace; but at times the rumour of war

fare

Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scouring the land with his forces,

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies,
Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations.
Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and

contrition

Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river, Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish.

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest.

Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with

rushes;

Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of

paper,

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded. There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard: Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the

orchard.

Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from

annoyance,

Raghorn, the snow-white steer, that had fallen to Alden's

allotment

In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet penny

royal.

Oft when his labour was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer

Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla,

Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of

friendship.

Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling;

Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his

garden;

Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sun

day

Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs,

How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always, How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil,

« ПредишнаНапред »