But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway,

Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent

importance,

Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians!

Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley,

Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron,

Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed.

Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the

scabbard

Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance.

Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness,

Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult,

Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood,

Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret.

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful

away to the council,

Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming;

Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in de

portment,

Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to

heaven,

Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth.

God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting,

Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation;

So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of

the people!

Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant,

Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect;

While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible,

Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland,

And beside it, outstretched, the skin of a rattlesnake glittered,

Filled, like a quiver, with arrows; a signal and challenge of warfare,

Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance.

This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating

What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace,

Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting;

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder,

Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted,

Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior!

Then outspake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth,

Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger,

"What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses?

Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer

planted

There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils?

Truly the only tongue that is understood by a

savage

Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon!"

Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth,

Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language:

"Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other

Apostles;

Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with!"

But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing:

"Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth.

War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous,

Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge!"

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden,

contemptuous gesture,

Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets

Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the'

savage,

Saying, in thundering tones: "Here, take it! this is your answer!"

Silently out of the room then glided the glistening

savage,

Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent,

Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest.