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twg_000012924700 | must," replied Bradford gently. "And as Squanto reports that the boy shaped his course for Manomet, my idea is that it were well for us to take our boat and coast along the headland and so on in the course we came at first, observing the shore, and noting such points as may be of use in the future. Mayhap | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924701 | we shall come as far as the First Encounter, and make out whether those salvages whom Squanto calls the Nausets are still so dangerously disposed toward us. At any rate we will try to discover our creditors for the seed-corn springing so greenly over yonder." "Pity that Winslow hath gone to Sowams to visit Massasoit," remarked the captain dryly. "We | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924702 | shall miss his subtle wit in these delicate affairs of state." "Yes, and if it comes to blows we shall miss no less Stephen Hopkins's doughty arm," replied Bradford. "But sith both are gone, we had better leave the Elder in charge of the settlement along with Master Allerton, John Howland, who is a stout man-at-arms, John Alden, Gilbert Winslow, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924703 | Dotey, and Cooke." "Seven men in all." "Yes, and with Winslow and Hopkins away, that leaves ten of us to go on this expedition, and I shall take Lister lest he brawl with Dotey, and Billington not only that he is the boy's father, but lest he raise a sedition in the camp." "Well thought on. I tell thee thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924704 | hast a head-piece of thine own, Will, though thou art so mild spoken." Bradford laughed with a glance of affectionate recognition of the soldier's compliment, and then the two arranged the details of the proposed expedition, while Alden standing straight and still as a statue watched the gloom of night blotting all the color from sky, and sea, and shore, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924705 | even as the fog crept stealthily in swallowing all before it, and a great dumb wave of sorrow and dismay surged up from his own heart, and swallowed all the brightness of his life. Suddenly from the Town Square at the foot of the hill rose the sound of a drum not inartistically touched, and both the governor and the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924706 | captain rose to their feet. "Bart Allerton hath learned to use the drumsticks as if he had served with us in Flanders," said the soldier complacently, as they turned down the little sinuous footpath. "Yes," replied the governor gravely. "He does credit to thy teaching, Captain, and yet methinks there may be danger that a vain delight in his own | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924707 | performance may cause the lad, and haply others, to forget that this, for lack of a bell, is our call to prayer. Couldst thou find it in thy heart, Myles, to direct that in future the drum shall sound but three heavy and unmodulated beats?" "Oh ay, if it will please thee better, Will. Didst ever read of the tyrant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924708 | Procrustes?" "What of him?" "Only that he would force all men to fit to one measure, though he dragged the life out of them. Dost fancy the God to whom we shall presently pray is better pleased with a dreary noise than with some hint at melody? Alden, come on, lad, 't is time for prayers, and thy woesome face | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924709 | suits the occasion. What's amiss, lad?" "Naught's amiss, master," replied the youth more briefly than his wont, and with a sudden spring from a projecting bowlder he passed the two elder men and arrived first at the Common house. "That younker's face and voice are not so blithe as might be. Hast been chiding him, Myles?" asked Bradford as they | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924710 | followed down the hill. "Nay," replied the captain. "But like enough he's thwarted at missing the chance of a brush with the redskins to-morrow, and 't is a pity." "Nay, Myles, look not so pensive on 't," responded the governor laughing. "There are men, believe it if you can, who love the smell of roses better than of blood. To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924711 | my fancy John Alden--but there, light jesting is surely ill befitting the hour of prayer." . "SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, JOHN!" Further information gathered by Squanto and Hobomok from the Indian guests who were constantly in and out of the village proved that John Billington had wandered as far as Manomet, and that Canacum, the sachem of that place, had sent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924712 | him on with some Nauset braves who were visiting him, as a present or perhaps hostage to Aspinet, chief of the Nausets and Pamets. The course of the rescuing party was thus determined, and, apart from the recovery of little Billington, Bradford was glad of the opportunity of offering payment to the Nausets for the corn borrowed from the mysterious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924713 | granary near the First Encounter, and also much desired to hear an explanation of the grave containing the bones of the French sailor and little child. It was, therefore, with considerable satisfaction that he next morning led his little party to the water side, and embarked them just as the sun rising joyously from out the blue, blue sea, sent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924714 | a handful of merry shafts to tip each wave with glory and glance in harmless flame from every point of armor or of weapon in the pinnace, as the crew moved every man to his appointed place, the captain pushing sturdily with an oar while John Alden, half in, half out the water, heaved mightily at the bows hanging at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924715 | the foot of the Rock. "Once more! Now again! There she floats!" cried the captain. "One more shove, John! There, there, enough! Fare thee well, lad, and mind the business I bade thee take in hand!" "Ay, master," replied the youth, but as he stepped upon the Rock, and shook the waters from his mighty limbs, he heaved a sigh | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924716 | so ponderous that surely it helped to fill the mainsail now curving grandly to the gathering breeze. But the summer day ripened to noon, and waned until the sun all but touched the crest of Captain's Hill, before the young man gave over the work at which he had labored like a Titan all day long, and going down to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924717 | the brook at a point where the captain and he had dug a semicircular basin and paved it about with white sea-pebbles by way of a lavatory, he made his toilet, chiefly by throwing the clear cool water in bucketfuls over his head and neck, and then rubbing himself with a coarse towel until the crisp hair curled vivaciously, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924718 | the fair skin glowed out from under its coat of sunbrown in strong relief to the white teeth and blue eyes that made the face so comely in its strength. A little brushing of the dark doublet and leathern small-clothes, the low russet boots and knitted hose that completed his costume, and the unwilling envoy strolled down the hill to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924719 | Elder Brewster's cottage and paused unseen and unheard outside the open door. It was the quiet time in the afternoon when the rougher labors of the day were ended, and the housewife might rest herself with the more delicate tasks of spinning, knitting, or needlework, for it was in these, "the good old days" we all so plaintively lament, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924720 | the distich-- "Man may work from sun to sun But woman's work is never done"-- originated, and was something more than a bitter jest. In the elder's busy household all the women were using this hour for their own refreshment. Mistress Brewster was lying upon her bed, Mary Chilton had taken her knitting and gone to sit awhile with Desire | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924721 | Minter and Elizabeth Tilley, and Priscilla drawing her quaintly carved spinning-wheel into the middle of the room so that she could look out of the window giving upon the brook and distant Manomet, was spinning some exquisitely fine linen thread, with which she purposed to weave cambric delicate enough for kerchiefs and caps. As she spun, she sang as the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924722 | birds sing, that is from the heart, and not from the score; and now it was a blithe chanson brought by her mother from her French home, and now it was a snatch of some Dutch folks-lied or some Flemish drinking-song, and again the rude melody of an old Huguenot hymn, the half devout, half defiant invocation of men who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924723 | prayed with naked swords in their hands. But suddenly into the sonorous strains of Luther's Hymn broke the joyous trill of a linnet's song, and the bird alighting upon a neighboring poplar seemed challenging the unseen songster to a trial of skill. The stately hymn broke off in a little burst of laughter; and then accepting the challenge, the girl | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924724 | took up the linnet's strain in an unworded song, sweeter, richer, more full of joy, and love, and sunshine than his own, until the little fellow with an angry chirp and flirt of the wings flew onward to the forest where he knew no such unequal contest awaited him. "Well done, maid!" exclaimed Alden stepping in at the open door. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924725 | "Thou hast so outsung the bird that he hath flown." "Nay, methinks he flew because he saw an owl abroad, and owls are ever grewsome neighbors to poor little songsters," replied Priscilla dryly, and, pressing the treadle swiftly she drew out her cobweb thread with such earnest care that she could not look up at the tall and comely guest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924726 | who awkwardly stood awaiting some more hospitable greeting. Receiving none, he presently subsided upon a stool hard by the spinning-wheel, and after watching its steady whirl for some moments said,-- "What a fine thread thou drawest, Priscilla." "'T is hardly stout enough to hang a man, and yet stout enough for my purposes, good John." "Wilt weave it on Master | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924727 | Allerton's loom when 't is done?" "Mayhap I'll weave it on a pillow into lace, as the maids in fair Holland are used to do." "Dost know their art?" "Ay. Jeanne De la Noye to whom I writ a letter by thy hand, John, she taught me, and I overpassed my teacher ere I was done. What thinkst thou, John, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924728 | would be said or done should I weave some ells of spanwide lace and trim my Sunday kirtle therewith? Mistress White, nay, Mistress Winslow that is now, would rend it away with her own fingers." "And yet Master Winslow weareth cambric ruffs on occasion, and his dame hath a paduasoy kirtle and mantle, and so had Mistress Carver, and some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924729 | others of our company." "Marry come up! How wise the lad hath grown! Hast been pondering women's clothes instead of the books the Captain gives thee to study, John?" A change passed over the young man's face. The careless allusion had recalled his errand, and moreover linked itself with a memory Priscilla had willfully evoked. He was silent for a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924730 | moment, and then pushing his seat a little farther from the wheel he quietly said,-- "Well do I like thy merry mood, Priscilla, and care not though thou flout me ever so sharply, but mine errand to-day is somewhat of importance, and I pray thee to listen seriously." "Nay, good lad, waste not such solemnities on me. 'T will be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924731 | Sunday in three days, and thou canst take the elder's place, and let him learn of thee how soberly and seriously to exhort a sinner." "Priscilla, wilt thou be serious?" "As death, John. What is it?" "I writ a letter for thee to thy friend Jeanne De la Noye"-- "'T is a sad truth, John." "And methought there was in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924732 | it some word that pointed to--to"-- "Yes; good youth, that pointed to--to--and what then?" "That pointed to some contract, or mayhap naught more than some understanding"-- "If 't was a word that pointed to any understanding of thee and thy stammerings, John Alden, I pray thee speak it without more ado. Say out what is in thy mind if indeed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924733 | there is aught there." "Well then, art thou promised to Jacques De la Noye, and is he coming here to wed thee?" The rich color of Priscilla's cheek deepened to crimson and the slender thread in her hand snapped sharply, but in an instant she recovered herself, and deftly joining the thread exclaimed.-- "See now what mischief thy folly hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924734 | wrought! Of a truth there's no call to complain of blindness in thy speech now, Master Alden. But still I have noted that if thou canst drive a bashful youth out of his bashfulness, there are no bounds to his forwardness." "Loth were I to offend thee, Priscilla, and that thou knowest right well, but I fain would have an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924735 | answer to my query. If 't is a secret, thou knowest I will keep it." "Nay, I'll keep it myself, and not trouble thee with what proved too burdensome for myself." "But Priscilla, I am sent to thee with a proffer of marriage, and if thou 'rt already bespoke 't is not fitting that thou shouldst hear it." "Thou 'rt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924736 | sent, John Alden!" exclaimed the girl dropping the thread, and pressing her foot upon the treadle until it creaked. "Who sent thee?" "Captain Standish." "Sent thee! Was it too much honor to a poor maid for him to do his own errand?" "Nay, be not angered, Priscilla, although he feared thou wouldst be." "Ah, he did fear it, did he. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924737 | Then why did he do it?" "Why, he feared that thou wert angry already, and he would have thee know he stood in terror, and dared not present himself"-- "John Alden, art thou and thy master joined in league to flout and insult me, an orphaned maid? If thou hast an errand from Captain Standish to me, say it out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924738 | in as few words as may be, or I will never speak word to thee again." Perhaps the sight of that suddenly pallid face, those blazing eyes and brave scornful mouth, steadied the young man's nerves, as cowards in the camp have been known to become heroes in the field; at any rate his brow cleared, his voice grew assured, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924739 | and rising to his feet with a certain solemnity he said,-- "Thou 'rt right, Priscilla, and I have done sore discredit thus far to the honorable master on whose errand I come. Captain Standish, as no doubt thou knowest, spake with thy father before he died of a marriage in time to come between him and thee"-- "Nay, I knew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924740 | it not, nor am bound by any such speech," interposed Priscilla hastily; but Alden continued unmoved,-- "Captain Standish took it that thou didst know, and feared that thou hadst felt his silence to be some want of eagerness"-- "Ay, I see! He feared that I was angered that he had not wooed me across his wife's and my father's graves, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924741 | and so thrust thee forward to bear the first outburst of my fury! 'T was kindly thought on if not over-valiant, and 't is an honorable, a noble office for thee, John, who hast at odd times thrown me a soft word thyself." "Oh maiden, maiden, wilt thou trample to death the poor heart that thou knowest is all thine | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924742 | own! I 'throw thee a soft word now and again'! Why, thou knowest but too well how I hang like a beggar on thy footsteps to catch even a careless word that thou mayst fling to me! Thou knowest that I love thee, maid, as blind men love sight, and dying men water, and"-- "_Then why don't you speak for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924743 | yourself, John?_" demanded Priscilla quietly, and a dainty smile softened the proud curve of her lips, and a gleam of tenderness quenched the fire of her eyes; but John, his eyes fixed upon the ground, saw it not. "Ah Priscilla, 't is not kind to try me thus!" cried he. "Sure thou hast triumphed often enough in despising my humble | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924744 | suit, without wounding me afresh to-day, and when I fain would rally my poor wits to honorably fulfill the embassage that brings me here. Sith I may not hope to call thee mine, maiden, I could better bear to see thee the wife of the noble soldier whom I serve than of any other man, be he Fleming or Dutchman | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924745 | or what not, so that thou art not promised." "Go on, then, and say thy knight's message most worthy squire, and let us make an end on 't." "Thou knowest the captain for thyself, Priscilla, but mayhap thou knowest not that he cometh of noble lineage, a race that hath borne coat-armor since Norman William led them across the Channel"-- | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924746 | "Didst not bring some heraldic tree or chart to dazzle mine eyes withal?" inquired Priscilla, mockingly; but the ambassador, determined not again to be turned from his purpose, went on,-- "Among his ancestors are men of noble deeds and proud achievements who have carried the name of Standish of Standish in the forefront of battle, and in King's Councils, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924747 | have ranked among the princes of the idolatrous Church to which they still cling; but among them all, Priscilla, hath never risen a braver, or a nobler, or a more honorable man than he who woos thee"-- "Did he bid thee say all that also?" "Nay, Priscilla, there's a time for all things, and I must feel it unworthy of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924748 | thy womanhood to so perversely jeer and flout at a good man's love, when 't is honestly offered thee." "Nor would I, John. But I have heard naught of any love offered me by Myles Standish. Thou hast offered in his name some coat-armor, and a long lineage, and courage both ancestral and of his own person, and--what else? I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924749 | forget, but surely there was no love among these commodities. Didst drop it by the way, or did the captain forget to send it, John?" "Mayhap, he kept it back to give it thee by word of mouth, Priscilla, and if he did, it is a treasure even thou shouldst not despise, for never did I see a nature at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924750 | once so brave, so strong, and so tender. Thou knowest how sorely ill I was six weeks or so by-gone, and none did a hand's turn for me but the captain, nor needed to, for never was nurse so delicate of touch, so unwearied, so cheerful, and so full of device as he. No woman ever equaled him in those | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924751 | matters where we long for woman's tendance, and yet never a soldier played the man more valiantly where man's work was in hand. Ah Priscilla, 't is a heart of gold, a man among ten thousand, a tower of strength in danger, and a tender comforter in suffering that is offered thee--be wise beyond thy years, and answer him comfortably." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924752 | "And hast thou done, John? Hast said all thy say?" "Ay, maid." "Then clear thy memory of it all, and make room for the answer I will give thee." "And let it be a gentle one, Priscilla." "Oh, thou knowest how to dress an unwelcome message in comely phrase better than any man of mine acquaintance, unless it be Master | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924753 | Winslow," retorted Priscilla bitterly. "So try thy skill on simple NO, for 't is all I have to say." "But Priscilla, but maiden, bethink thee--be not so shrewd of tongue"-- "Nay, wilt have my reasons, Master Envoy? Well then, I care not for a man who cares not to do his own wooing. I care not for a man so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924754 | well assured that I will be held by what he avers is my dead father's bidding, that he can let weeks and months roll by or ever he finds time to convince himself of the matter. I care naught for coat-armor, nor for pedigree, I, whose forbears were honest bourgeoisie of Lyons who scrupled not to give up all for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924755 | conscience sake, while this man is neither Papist like his kinsfolk, nor Independent like these he lives among. And I care not for a red beard, nor for widowers, nor for men old enough to be my sire"-- "Nay, he is but six-and-thirty, maiden." "And I am naught-and-twenty, and I am a-weary of thy chat, John Alden, and I fain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924756 | would be alone, so I wish thee good e'en--and a keener wit." "But Priscilla," gasped the poor fellow as the wheel was pushed so suddenly aside that he had to spring out of its way, while its mistress whirled past him and up the clumsy stair leading to her nook in the loft of the cabin. "But Priscilla!" came back | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924757 | in wrathful mimicry from the head of the stair, and while Alden still stood bewildered, in at the open door flocked Mary Chilton, and Desire, and Elizabeth, their girlish laughter bubbling over at some girlish jest, and with a muttered greeting Alden stalked through their midst and was gone. "He came looking for Priscilla, and is grumly at not finding | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924758 | her," whispered Elizabeth Tilley; but Mary Chilton with a wise nod replied, as one who knows,-- "Did he but know it, she's not ill inclined to him when all is said. Unless I sore mistake she'll say yea next time he asks her." . THE MYSTERIOUS GRAVE. "A fair and goodly day!" exclaimed Standish ever sensitive to the aspects of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924759 | nature, although never allowing himself to be mastered by any extremity of weather. "Ay," replied Bradford. "And yet methinks that cloud rising over Manomet hath a stormy look." "Let us once weather the Gurnet's Nose, and a south wind will not harm us," ventured Billington, whose out-of-door prowlings had at least made him weatherwise. "Ay, if south wind is all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924760 | that it means," said Doctor Fuller gravely. "But to my mind yon cloud is of no common kind. It minds me shrewdly of those whirlwind or cyclone clouds that used to fright us in the China Seas when I sailed them as a lad." "Say you so, Surgeon!" replied Bradford looking uneasily at the cloud rapidly rising and enlarging in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924761 | the southern horizon. "Be ready with the sheets, Peter Browne and Cooke, and Francis Eaton had best stand with Latham at the helm." "Look! Look you there! 'T is a waterspout!" cried Fuller, pointing excitedly at the cloud, which, driven on with furious force by an upper current of wind unfelt below, was now bellying in a marked and abnormal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924762 | fashion, while from the lowest point of the convexity appeared a spiral column of dense vapor rapidly elongating itself toward the sea whose waters assumed a black and sullen aspect, disturbed by chopping counter currents of short waves, which gradually, as the waterspout neared them, fell into its rotary motion, rising at the centre of the whirlpool into a column | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924763 | of foaming water, a liquid stalagmite climbing to meet the stalactite bending to it from above. "If we had but a heavy gun!" cried Warren. "They say to hit the waterspout in the centre where it joins the other from below will disperse it." "Knocks the wind out of it," explained Billington. "But we have nothing better than these bird | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924764 | guns," cried Standish contemptuously touching with his foot the pile of weapons covered with a tarpaulin lying in the bottom of the boat. "And it drives down upon us like a charge of horse. Here, let me to the helm." "There is no way upon the boat, Captain," expostulated Eaton. "No man can steer without a wind." "Thou 'rt right, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924765 | friend," replied the captain gravely, as he felt the rudder give beneath his hand. "There's naught to do but tarry until Master Waterspout declareth his pleasure." "Until God declareth His pleasure," amended Bradford quietly. "Men, let us pray." And baring his head the governor poured forth a strong and manful petition to Him who rideth upon the wings of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924766 | wind and reigneth a King forever over His own creation. Standish standing upright beside the useless tiller bared his head and listened reverently, but always with an eye to the waterspout and to the clouds, and as a deep-throated Amen rose from his comrades he gave the tiller a shove and joyously cried,-- "A puff, a breath! Enough to steer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924767 | us past!" And the boat feeling her helm again careened gently to the little gust of wind out of the west, and slid away upon her course, while the waterspout, more furious in its speed at every instant, swept past and out to sea, where it presently broke and fell with a thunderous explosion. "Another crowning mercy!" exclaimed Bradford devoutly, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924768 | and Standish answered with his reticent smile,-- "Had Master Jones of the Mayflower been here, he would have more than ever felt 't is better to be friends than foes with prayerful men." To the waterspout succeeded light and baffling winds so that labor as they might, it was fully dark when the Pilgrim pinnace entered what is now Barnstable, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924769 | then Cummaquid Harbor. Anchoring for safety, they lay down to get such rest as the position afforded, and woke betimes in the morning to find themselves high and dry in the centre of the harbor, the channel encircling them and making up toward the land. Upon the shore as seen across this channel appeared some savages gathering clams and muscles. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924770 | Bradford at once dispatched Squanto and Tockamahamon, who had come along as guides and interpreters, to interview these men and barter for some of the shellfish, but in a very short time the envoys came splashing merrily back with an invitation for the white men to land and breakfast with Janno, the chief of the Mattakees, who was, the fishermen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924771 | said, close at hand. They also corroborated the statement that the missing boy had gone down the Cape with the Nausets, and would be found at Eastham, Aspinet's headquarters. "I see no reason for gainsaying such a comfortable proposal," said Bradford turning with a smile to Standish who cheerily replied,-- "Nor I, so that they leave hostages aboard, and we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924772 | carry every man his piece ashore." "We must e'en wade for it, sith there is neither dry ground for footing nor water for swimming," suggested Browne stripping off hose and shoon; but as Bradford and Standish began to follow his example they were prevented by the Indians, who offered each a back to the two chiefs, at the same time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924773 | intimating to the others that if they would but wait all the company should be similarly accommodated. The doctor accepted, but Browne and the rest preferred their own legs as a dependence, and the whole party presently reached shore, where Janno, the handsome and courteous young chief of the Mattakees, stood with several of his pnieses or nobles around him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924774 | ready to receive them. Squanto at once stood forth as interpreter, and so flowery and mellifluous were the phrases of welcome that he interpreted, that the captain edging toward Bradford muttered,-- "I hope Master Warren will look well after the hostages left aboard, for all this is too sweet to be wholesome. I mistrust treachery, Governor." "Nay, I mistrust Squanto, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924775 | Captain," replied Bradford laughing. "The poor fellow doth glorify himself at some cost to the truth, I fancy." "Beshrew me but before another month I'll know enough of their jargon to need no lying interpreter," muttered Standish, and he kept his word. The Indian breakfast, already nearly ready, proved both toothsome and plentiful. It consisted of lobsters, clams, and muscles, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924776 | both cooked and raw, ears of green maize roasted in the husk, and no-cake, that is to say, pounded corn mixed with water and baked in the ashes, the germ and animus of hoe-cake, bannocks, Johnnycake, and all the various forms of maize-bread so well known throughout our land. Breakfast over Janno rather timidly inquired if the white chiefs would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924777 | permit the visit of an old squaw of his tribe who much desired to see them. "Surely if the good woman hath occasion to speak with us," replied Bradford amiably. "Why doth the chief seem to mistrust our willingness?" "Squaw no speak to brave in council," explained Squanto with an air of shocked propriety; but before he could further explain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924778 | a bowed and decrepit figure emerged from one of the little huts on the edge of the woods and slowly approached the white men who stepped forward to meet her, desiring Squanto to assure her of welcome. Coming so close to the little group that Standish muttered, "Sure she is minded to salute us," the poor old crone peered into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924779 | the face of one after another of the white men, then wofully shook her head and began to mutter in her own tongue with strange gesticulations, but as he heard them Squanto uttered a shrill cry of terror, and the sachem stepping forward spoke some words of stern command, before which the old woman humbly bowed and became silent. "What | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924780 | is it? Would she curse us? What is her grievance? What is her story?" demanded Bradford half indignantly, and Squanto, after some conference with the sachem, informed them that this woman, once called Sunlight-upon-the-Waters, but now known as The-Night-in-Winter, had been mother of seven tall sons who filled her wigwam with venison, and shared their corn and tobacco with her; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924781 | but three of these sons were among the captives entrapped and sold to slavery by Hunt, and the other four had perished in the plague brought down upon the red men by the curse of The-White-Fool who died about the same time; and thus The-Night-in-Winter, having just cause, hated the white men as she hated death and the devil, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924782 | wished to curse them as The-White-Fool had cursed her people, but the sachem would not let her, and now she was doubly bereft of her children, since she might not even avenge them. "'T is a piteous tale," said Bradford gently when Squanto had finished. "And we cannot be amazed that this poor heathen mother should thus feel. There is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924783 | warrant for it among the classics, Surgeon; Medea and others were moved in the same fashion. But Squanto, explain to her that we and all honest white men abhor the course of Master Hunt, and had we found him at such commerce we would have delivered her sons, and thee too, Squanto, out of his hands. Tell her our mind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924784 | is to deal honestly and Christianly by all men, and here, give her this fair chain, and this length of red cloth. Tell her that she would do ill to curse us, for we are friends to her and her people." "And ask who was The-White-Fool, and what his story," demanded Standish as Squanto finished rendering the governor's message. "Squanto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924785 | know that in himself. Every Pokanoket know that," replied Squanto, while Janno muttered gloomily in his own tongue,-- "All red men know The-White-Fool's curse. All feel it." So Squanto in his broken yet picturesque phrases told how "many snows ago" a large French ship was wrecked farther down the Cape and nearly everything aboard was lost. Several of her crew, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924786 | however, came safely ashore and made a sort of camp with some earthwork defenses on the mouth of the Pamet River. "Why men, we saw it, and mused upon the marks of European skill and training," exclaimed Standish. "Ay, and the house hard by, and the marvelous grave with the fair-haired man and infant so curiously embalmed," added Fuller. "Truly, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924787 | this is passing strange!" murmured Bradford. "But get on with thy story, Tisquantum." The Frenchmen were quiet and peaceable enough, Tisquantum could not but allow, and yet his people would not permit them to dwell unmolested, perhaps from some vague fear of ancient prophecy that a pale-faced race should come from the rising sun and drive the red men into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924788 | the western seas; perhaps from some race-hatred lying below the savage's power of expression; at any rate, as Tisquantum finally declared with a significant gesture,-- "Sagamore, powahs, pnieses, braves, all men say, It is not good for pale men with hair like the sunrise to live among the red men whose hair is like the night. Let them be gone!" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924789 | "And what did the red men do about it, Squanto?" asked Standish sternly, while in his eyes kindled the danger light before which Squanto quailed, yet sullenly replied,-- "Red man find what you call wolf around his wigwam, red man send arrow through his head." "Do you mean, you heathen, that you murdered these helpless, shipwrecked white men? Murdered them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924790 | in cold blood?" demanded Standish, seizing Gideon's hilt and half drawing him from his scabbard. "Tisquantum not here. Tisquantum not Mattakee, not Nauset; Tisquantum Patuxet, where white men live," hastily replied Squanto; while Bradford suggested in a rapid aside, "Best leave go thy sword and restrain thy wrath, Captain, or we be but dead men. Look at the faces of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924791 | those men behind the sachem. Already they finger their tomahawks." "More like, thy timidity will give the savages courage to fall upon us, and we shall share the fate of these, who though naught but Frenchmen were at least white, and wore breeches," retorted Standish angrily. The color flashed into Bradford's cheek, but after an instant's silence he quietly replied,-- | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924792 | "Thou knowest well enow, Standish, that my timidity is not for myself but for these, and yet more for the helpless ones we have left behind. I trust when it comes to blows, the Governor of Plymouth will be found where he belongs, next to her fiery Captain." "Be content, Will, be content. Once more thou 'rt right and I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924793 | all wrong. 'T is not the first time nor the last, but let us ask in all patience what these fellows mean with their White-Fool. Sure they have not made me out so suddenly as this, have they?" "Nay, Myles, I trow no man but thyself will ever call thee fool, nay, nor overly white, either!" and glancing at the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924794 | Captain's bronzed face lighted once more by its smile of grim humor, Bradford turned to Squanto and bade him explain in the hearing of both savages and white men the meaning of this reference, and also the fate of the French mariners cast ashore at Eastham. Squanto nothing loth to display his oratory struck an attitude, and with native eloquence | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924795 | and much gesticulation described, first, the storm which four years ago had driven the French brig upon the sands; then the efforts of the mariners to launch their boats, their defeat, and the breaking up both of boats and brig; then the arrival upon shore of thirteen men, two of whom died of wounds and exhaustion. The eleven survivors finding | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924796 | some wreckage upon the beach proceeded the next morning to build themselves a shelter, and finally erected the cabin and threw up the earthwork discovered by the Pilgrims in their second exploration. Up to this point the Indians had been content to curiously watch the proceedings of these interlopers, but finding that they were establishing themselves permanently, they held a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924797 | council and resolved that they should die, partly in atonement for the outrage done to the red men some two years before by Hunt the kidnapper, and partly from some vague fear lest the strangers with their superior knowledge and appliances should conquer and injure the proper owners of the soil. Not choosing to assault them openly, for the men | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924798 | were brave, alert, and well armed, the Indians laid in wait around the spring where they must daily go for water, watched them as they went afield in pursuit of game, in fact harassed them at every turn, until of the eleven but three were left alive, and they, so broken in strength, courage, and hope, that they were easily | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000012924799 | captured and reduced to slavery. One remained here at Nauset, and the other two were sent, one to the Massachusetts, the other to the Namasket tribes, where they were kept as the mock and victims of the brutal sport of the savages. The one who remained at Nauset was the best looking, and evidently the most attractive of the three, | 60 | gutenberg |
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