The Knight Of The Golden Melice by John Turvill Adams (cat reading book txt) 📕

A Whole Whereon The Eye Rested With

Pleasure. Prudence, (You Have Guessed It Was She,) After Looking At

The Reflection Of Herself Awhile, And Smoothing Down A Stray Tress Or

Two, Selected From The Flowers In Her Hand Some Of The Most Beautiful,

And Humming A Tune, Commenced Arranging Them In Her Hair. She Was Some

Little Time About Her Toilette, Either Because Her Taste Was Difficult

To Be Suited, Or Because Her Employment Afforded An Excuse For Looking

At What Was Certainly More Attractive Than The Flowers Themselves. She

Was So Long About Their Arrangement, That She Had Hardly Completed It,

And Had Time To Twist Her Neck Into Only Five Or Six Attitudes, To See

How They Became Her, When A Rustling Was Heard In The Bushes, And

Immediately The Assistant Spikeman Stood By Her Side.

 

 

 

"Verily, Sweet Maiden," He Said, "Thine Eyes Outshine The Stars, Which

Will Soon Twinkle In The Sky, And The Flowers Around Thee Pine With

Envy At Beholding A Blush Lovelier Than Their Own."

 

  

A Sudden And Unpleasant Interruption Put A Stop To The Fine Speeches

Of The Debauched Hypocrite, For He Had Hardly Concluded The Sentence,

When, Without A Warning, A Strong Hand Grasped His Throat, And He Was

Hurled With Irresistible Violence To The Ground. As The Assistant Was

Lying Prostrate On His Face, He Could Hear Prudence, With Screams,

Each Fainter Than The Former, Running In The Direction Of The

Settlement, While, Without A Word Being Spoken, His Arms Were

Violently Forced Upon His Back And Bound, An Operation Which His

Struggles Were Unable To Prevent. This Being Performed, He Was

Suffered To Rise, And, Upon Gaining His Feet, He Saw Himself In The

Presence Of Sassacus. The Blood Fled The Cheeks And Lips Of Spikeman

As He Beheld The Savage, And Felt That He Was In The Hands Of One

Whom, Without Cause, He Had Injured, And Who Belonged To That Wild

Race, With Whom Revenge Is A Duty As Well As A Pleasure. His Knees

Trembled, And He Was In Danger Of Falling To The Ground, As The

Thought Of Death, Whereof Horrid Torments Should Be The Precursors,

Flashed Through His Mind. But The Trepidation Was Only Momentary, And

Soon, With The Hardihood Of His Audacious Nature, He Steeled Himself

To Dare Whatever Should Follow--And It Marks The Character Of The Man,

That The Bitterness Of The Moment Was Aggravated At The Thought Of The

Vanishing Of The Fond Dreams With Which He Had Idly Fed His

Imagination.

  

 

His Captor Called Out In His Own Language, And Presently Another

Indian Came Running Up. A Few Words Passed Between Them, When The

Latter Stepping Forward, Sassacus Made A Motion To Spikeman To Follow,

Placing Himself At The Same Time In The Rear. Resistance Would Have

Been Unavailing, And Could Serve No Other Purpose Than To Rouse The

Passions Of The Indians, And Invite Immediate Injury. Something Might

Yet Happen To His Advantage. He Might Be Rescued, Or Effect His

Escape, Or The Chapter Of Accidents Might Have Something Else

Favorable, He Knew Not What, In Store. The Assistant, Therefore,

Quietly Submitted, And Followed As Ordered.

  

 

Their Course Lay Directly Through The Densest Portions Of The Forest,

And As The Rapidity Of Their Progress Was Impeded By The Constrained

Position Of The Captive's Arms, Sassacus, As If In Contempt Of Any

Effort To Escape, Cut The Ligatures With The Knife That Hung At His

Neck, Intimating The Motive At The Same Time By An Acceleration Of

Speed. As Spikeman Was Thus Hurried Along, His Thoughts Went After

Prudence, And He Wondered What Had Become Of Her. Notwithstanding His

Own Peril, He Felt (And It Proves The Deep Interest He Cherished For

The Girl) A Melancholy Pleasure In The Hope That She Had Escaped, Not

That Even Though She Had Fallen Into The Hands Of The Savages, He

Would Have Entertained Fears For Her Life, But She Might Have Been

Doomed To A Hopeless Captivity, Far Away From Friends, Whom She Was

Never To See Again, And Condemned, In Some Distant Wigwam, To Exchange

The Comforts Of Civilization For A Wild Life, Which, To Her, Could

Bring Only Wretchedness. Bad As Was Spikeman, And Lamentable As Might

Be His Infatuation For The Girl, There Was Even In That, Something

Which Redeemed It From Being Utter Evil.

  

 

Daylight Had Now Faded Entirely Away, But The Indians Abated Not Their

Speed, And Pursued Their Course In A Straight Line, As Though Guided

By An Infallible Instinct. In This Manner They Proceeded For Nearly

Two Hours, And, At The Expiration Of The Time, Arrived At A Collection

Of Three Or Four Lodges Of The Rudest Structure. Several Of The

Natives Were Lying On The Ground, Smoking Their Pipes, But They Took

No Other Notice Of The Newcomers Than Looking At Them As They Came Up.

Sassacus Led The Way Into The Largest Wigwam, And, Having Directed His

Prisoner To Sit Down, Left The Cabin.

 

  

Spikeman Knew Well Enough That, With All This Seeming Inattention, He

Was Vigilantly Watched, Yet Could He Not Forbear From Walking To The

Entrance, Looking Around At The Same Time, If, By Chance, He Might

Espy A Weapon. He Saw None, However, And Two Stout Indians Made

Motions To Him To Return. Meditating On His Situation, And Casting

About In His Mind For Expedients, Either To Evade His Captors Or To

Change The Resolution Of The Pequot Chief, Which, He Doubted Not,

Aimed At His Life, He Resumed His Seat. He Was Unable To Remain More

Than A Few Moments In Quiet, And Presently Again Approached The

Opening, And This Time Beheld A Sight Which Curdled His Blood.

  

 

It Was A Stake Driven Into The Ground, At A Distance Of Not More Than

A Rod From Where He Stood, Around Which Several Indians Were Heaping

Up Faggots Of Dry Sticks And Broken Branches. Spikeman Shuddered, And

Tasted, In Almost As Lively A Manner As If He Were Already

Experiencing Them, The Agonies That Awaited Him, For He Could Not

Doubt That The Preparations Were Made On His Account. The Conduct Of

His Keepers, Therefore, Was Unnecessary, Who Pointed First To The

Pile, And Then To Himself, Intimating Thereby That One Was Designed

For The Other. The Effect Produced On Him Was Such That He Could

Hardly Restrain Himself From Attempting To Burst Through His Guards,

Either By Some Miracle To Get Free, Or To Obtain An Easier Death From

The Tomahawk Or Arrow. But In All The Horrors Of These Dreadful

Moments, The Mind Of Spikeman Remained As Clear As Ever, And He Saw

Plainly The Impossibility Of Evasion, And The Folly Of Supposing That

The Indians Would Be Tempted To Throw A Tomahawk, Or Discharge An

Arrow Against An Unarmed Man, Whereby They Might Rob Themselves Of The

Fiendish Pleasure They Anticipated--Besides, Thought The Miserable

Spikeman, I Should Be More Likely To Receive The Stroke Of Death When

Their Passions Are Excited, Than At Present; And With A Desperate

Calmness, And Striving To Defy The Worst, He Awaited What Should

Happen.

 

 

Chapter XXIII (These The Sole Accents From His Tongue That Fell, But Volumes Lurked Below That Fierce Farewell.)

Byron.

 

 

When Sassacus Left Spikeman, It Was Only To Step Into A Lodge Not Half

A Dozen Rods Distant. Though Smaller Than The One Into Which The

Prisoner Had Been Introduced, It Was Superior In Comfort, As Was,

Indeed, To Be Expected, Being That Of The Sagamore Himself. Here He

Found The Soldier, Philip Joy.

  

 

"What Means This, Sassacus?" Exclaimed The Soldier, As The Pequot

Entered. "Was It Not Our Covenant That The Life Of The White Man

Should Be Spared?"

  

 

"My Brother Did Not Mean What He Said When He Asked That His Enemy

Might Be Permitted To Run Away. Who, When He Catches A Wolf, Says,

'Wolf, Indian Set The Trap Only To See Whether It Would Hold Fast Your

Legs. The Wise Hunter Talks Not So, But Strikes The Wolf On The

Head.'"

  

 

"Sassacus," Said Joy, "This May Not Be. If You Had Caught Master

Spikeman, By Your Own Cunning, It Might Have Been Different; But It

Was The White Girl And I Who Devised The Scheme, And I Told You Where

To Place The Ambuscade, Which Has Been Successful. Were You To Murder

This Man, The Guilt Would Rest More On Prudence And Me Than On You,

Whose Savage And Un-Christian Notions May Partly Excuse So Dreadful An

Act." 

 

 

"My Brother's Heart Is Soft, Like Moss, But The Heart Of Sassacus Is A

Stone. My Brother Must Learn To Harden His Heart, And He Shall Soon

Behold A Punishment Becoming A Great Sagamore. My Brother Thinks And

Feels Like A Christian. Good! But He Must Let Sassacus Feel Like An

Indian."

 

 

"Let Him Go," Said Joy, "And He Shall Pay You Store Of Wampompeag And

Colored Cloth. Of What Use Can It Be To You To Put Him To A Horrid

Death?"

  

 

"Wampompeag And Colored Cloth Are Good, But Sassacus Is A Great Chief,

And They Cannot Make Him Forget An Injury. Before The White Men Came,

His Ancestors Punished And Rewarded, And He Will Not Surrender The

Prerogative Of His Family."

 

  

"By The Bones Of My Father," Swore The Soldier, "I Will Not Permit

This Cold-Blooded Murder. Hated I Him Ten-Fold More Than I Do, I Would

Defend His Life At The Hazard Of My Own. Where Is My Gun?" He Demanded

Fiercely, Seeking After It. "Who Has Dared To Remove It?"

 

  

"Sassacus Took It Away, That His Brother Might Do No Mischief With

It," Said The Pequot.

 

  

"False Indian!" Exclaimed The Soldier, Passionately; "Call Me Not

Again Your Brother. I Will Have Nothing To Do With One Whose Promises

Cannot Bind, And Who Loves Revenge More Than Honor."

 

 

 

"Sassacus Never Breaks His Word, But, If He Did, It Would Be Only

Imitating The White Men. Would My Brother Speak To My Prisoner, Whom,

At This Moment, He Loves More Than The Justice Of An Indian?"

 

 

"Why Should I Speak To Him, When I Should Hear Only Curses?"

  

 

"Then Remain Here To Behold The Punishment Of The Bad White Man."

  

 

He Strode Out Of The Lodge, While The Soldier, Burning With

Indignation, Disposed Himself So That, Unseen, He Might Notice All

That Was Done, And Determined, Unarmed As He Was, To Interpose.

 

  

Presently Sassacus Re-Appeared, Emerging From The Larger Lodge,

Followed By The Assistant, Whose Arms Were Bound Again, And Who Was

Conducted By Two Savages, Holding Him By Either Arm. They Led Him

Straight To The Pile Around The Stake, Which The Chief Ordered To Be

Lighted, And Whose Billowy Flames Were Kept Rolling Up By Additions,

From Time To Time, Of The Dry Wood Which Lay In Abundance Around.

Seated On A Log Not Far From The Fire, Whose Heat Might Indeed Be

Felt, Sassacus Commanded His Prisoner To Be Brought Before Him.

  

 

"Bad White Man," He Said, "Look On Yon Flames! Are They Like That Hell

Which Thy Powaws Say Is Prepared For Such As Thou?"

 

 

Spikeman Turned His Ghastly Face Away From The Blaze, With A Shudder,

But He Said Nothing.

  

 

"The White Man Is Silent," Said Sassacus. "He Acknowledges The Justice

Of His Doom. Lead Him To The Fire."

 

  

Spikeman, Notwithstanding The Horror Of His Situation, Succeeded In A

Measure In Concealing His Feelings, And, Affecting An Indifference To

His Fate, Advanced A Few Steps With The Two Indians, Who Held His

Arms, When, Suddenly Making A Violent Effort, He Burst The Withes With

Which He Was Carelessly Bound, And, Throwing Them Both Off, Started To

Run. The Opportunity Had Probably Been Given Purposely By The Savages,

For Their Diversion, And In Order To Protract The Terrors Of The

Captive, And Knowing That Flight Was Impossible. But, Blinded By The

Glare Of The Fire, Spikeman Remarked Not A Trunk Of A Tree In His

Path, And, Stumbling Over It, Fell To The Ground, Bruised And Torn,

And Before He Could Rise, Found Himself Again Held Fast. Cursing His

Ill Luck, He Made No Further Resistance, But Sullenly Suffered Himself

To Be Led Back. Philip Joy, On Seeing Spikeman Break Away, Started

From His Place Of Concealment; So That The Two Were Confronted On The

Latter's Return. The Sight Of Philip Awoke A Hope In Spikeman's

Bosom, Who