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"I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine

was the folly. What has a rough old soldier. grown grim and

gray in the harness, Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the

wooing of maidens ? ’T was but a dream,—let it pass,—let it vanish

like so many others! What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and

is worthless; Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it

away, and henceforward Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of

dangers !" Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and

discomfort, While he was marching by day or lying at night

in the forest, Looking up at the trees, and the constellations be

yond them.

After a three days' march he came to an In

dian encampment Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the

sea and the forest;

Women at work by the tents, and the warriors,

horrid with war paint, Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking to

gether; Who, when they saw from afar the sudden ap

proach of the white men, Saw the flash of the sun on breastnlate and sabre

and musket, Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from

among them advancing, Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs

as a present; Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts

there was hatred. Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers

gigantic in stature, Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king

of Bashan; One was Pecksuot named, and the other was

called Wattawamat. Round their necks were suspended their knives in

scabbards of wampum, Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp

as a needle. Other arms had they none, for they were cunning

and crafty.

“Welcome, English!" they said,—these words

they had learned from the traders Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaf

fer for peltries. Then in their native tongue they began to parley

with Standish, Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok,

friend of the white man, Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for

muskets and powder, Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with

the plague, in his cellars, Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother

the red man! But when Standish refused, and said he would

give them the Bible, Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast

and to bluster. Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front

of the other, And, with a lofty demeanor, 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 Wattawamat

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 lightning, Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons

about him, Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the

brave Wattawamat?'” 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

meaning : “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, in

sulting 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,

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