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

Drawing Readily On His Invention, "That A

Great Sachem Ought Not To Be Put Into A Box For Killing Wolves Who Run

Into His Wigwam."

 

 

A Pleased Expression Lighted Up The Face Of The Captive Chief At The

Answer, Which He Perfectly Understood, As Indeed He Had Much That Had

Been Spoken. His Avoiding To Use The English Language, As Through

Ignorance, Having Had For Him, At Least, The Advantage Of Putting His

Examiners Off Their Guard, And Inducing Them To Speak More Freely In

His Hearing. The Tone Of Samoset's Voice, And The Reply, Satisfied The

Pequot That He Was Secure Of The Interpreter's Fidelity, And He

Stretched Out Both His Arms, As Though Grasping His Recovered Liberty.

 

  

Endicott Bent His Brow At The Reply, As A Suspicion Darted Through His

Jealous Mind; But The Stolid Mien Of The Indian, Who Bore The Look As

If He Had Been A Statue Carved Out Of The Heart Of The Cedars Of His

Native Hills, Baffled His Penetration. 

 

 

"Why Do I Distrust Him?" He Murmured, Under His Thick Moustache. "Yet

Is Distrust The Mother Of Safety, And In Our Situation A Duty."

 

  

"Let Him Return Now," Said Winthrop, "And Take Order That Every

Comfort Be Supplied Consistent With Safe Keeping. Noble Sassacus," He

Added, "It Grieves Me That We Meet And Part Thus."

 

  

The Savage, Who, Through The Whole Interview, Could Not Mistake The

Favorable Sentiments Of Winthrop, Answered As Before, In His Own

Pequot Tongue.

  

 

"Sassacus Understands The Thoughts Of Chiefs, For He Is One Himself.

The Voice Of The Long Knife (Alluding To The Rapier Worn By Winthrop)

Is Not So Unpleasant To Him As Those Of These Counsellors, And He

Hopes That What He Is About To Say Will Be Listened To As The Words Of

A Great Sagamore. Sassacus Is Very Tired Of Lying In A Box, But Not

Afraid To Die. Let Him Depart To His Own Country, Or If The White

Chief Will Kill, Let Him, With His Long Knife, Pierce The Bosom Of

Sassacus, For The Blood Of A Chief Should Be Shed By A Chief."

 

  

"It May Not Be, Noble Savage," Said Winthrop, Mournfully. "Such Is Not

Our Custom. Yet Be Not Cast Down, But Rely Upon Our Justice."

 

  

The Withdrawal Of The Captives Was A Signal For The Discussion Of What

Had Been Elicited By Their Examination. It Had Confirmed Suspicions

Before Entertained, And More Than That, Revealed An Intimacy Betwixt

The Knight And Pequots, A Warlike And Restless, Though Not Numerous

Tribe, Which Filled The Minds Of The Assistants With Apprehension. If

The Influence Of Sir Christopher (Whom Not One Doubted To Be A

Catholic) Extended As Far As They Suspected, He Might Make Himself A

Formidable Enemy. He Had Been Able To Induce The Chief Of The Pequots

To Intrust To Him His Own Sister, To Be Taught The Catholic Faith,

Doubtless Intending To Make Her Conversion The Means Of Extending

Among The Tribes The Superstitions Of Popery. The Success Of The Plan

Was Fraught With Danger To The Colony, For The New Religion Would Be A

Means Of Reconciling The Differences Of The Tribes, And Binding Them

Together, In A Common Union With The Eastern Indians, Already Much

Under The Influence Of The Romish Priests. Favored Secretly Or Openly

By The French Government, Which They Were Sure To Be, And Supplied

With Fire-Arms, They Might Become Too Powerful To Be Resisted, And,

Reversing The Campaign Of The Israelites In The Wilderness, Drive Out

Those Who Had Intruded Into Their Canaan, Only Themselves To Fall

Finally A Prey To The French, And To Have One Form Of Idolatry

Substituted For Another. Sternly Frowned Dudley, And Grimly Stroked

Endicott His Tufted Chin, As They Revolved Such Thoughts, And Inly

Vowed, As They Trusted In The God Of Jacob, That Such Things Should

Not Be. The Conclusion To Which The Council Came, Was That The Pequot

And The Woman Should Be Detained In Custody Until The Knight Was

Taken, Whose Capture They Considered Not Difficult, And That Then The

Fate Of The Three Should Be Decided.

 

  

As For Samoset, He Sought Arundel At The Earliest Opportunity When He

Could Do So Unnoticed, And Acquainted Him With The Message Of The

Chief. With This Coadjutor It Was Easy To Establish A Communication

With His Friends In The Forest, The Consequences Of Which Will

Presently Be Seen.

 

Chapter XXXI (The Waithman Goode Of Silverwoode, That Bowman Stout And Hende, In Donjon Gloom Abides His Doom-- God Dele Him Gentil Ende. It Breaks True Herte To See Him Stert, When As The Small Birds Sing, And Then To Hear His

 

 

 

Old Ballad.

 

 

In Order To Secure The Person Of The Knight Of The Golden Melice,

Several Small Parties Were Dispatched To Scour The Forest--Another

Object Being To Protect The Remoter Colonists Against Wandering

Taranteens, Should Any Have The Temerity To Venture Near The

Settlement. A Reward Was Offered To The Indians For The Apprehension

Of Sir Christopher--Strict Injunctions Being Given That He Should Be

Taken Alive. An Increased Vigilance Also Was Exercised Over The Rude

Prison Wherein The Captives Were Confined--A Soldier Being Kept

Constantly On Guard Before Its Entrance.

 

 

 On The Plot In Front The Sentry Was Pacing His Round On A Night Which

Was Dark And Threatening. No Rain Had Fallen, But The Clouds Were

Constantly Becoming Denser, And It Was Plain That A Storm Might Soon

Be Expected. With The Wind Rose Also The Voice Of The Ocean, Murmuring

Along The Curving Shores Of The Bay, Distinctly Heard In The Silence

Of The Night By The Solitary Soldier, Whose Thoughts It Carried Back

To The Sea-Beaten Island He Had Left.

  

 

"An' My Guns Deceive Me Not," He Said To Himself, "It Should Be Past

Midnight. There Is No Moon, Nor Star, To Be Sure, To Tell By, But I

Have Mounted Guard Before, And My Feelings Let Me Know As Surely As A

Dial What's The Hour. Hark! (As A Measured Step Was Heard Approaching)

That Must Be Cowlson. Stand," He Cried, "And Give The Countersign!"

  

 

"Poh! Job Bloyce," Answered A Voice. "Yu Know My Croak As Well As

Your Own; But Babes And Sucklings Must Be Taught, And It Is Regular,

So I Will Let You Know Lest You May Have Forgotten--The Sling Of

David."

 

  

"Always Full Of Thy Nonsense," Said Bloyce. "But What Made Thee So

Late?"

 

  

"Late Is It? It Can Be But A Matter Of Ten Minutes Past Twelve, And It

Takes A Little While To Rub One's Eyes And Get Them Open After Being

Called. Hast Seen Or Heard Anything On Thy Watch?"

 

 

 "Nothing. I Had Better Have Been In My Warm Bed And Asleep,

Considering The Hoeing I Must Give My Corn-Field To-Morrow, Than Be

Watching A Skeary Indian And A Woman."

 

 

"Thou Hast Little Need To Trouble Thy Gizzard On That Score," Returned

Cowlson; "For, An' I Mistake Not Greatly, The Rain Will Fall Heavy

Enough To Spoil Thy Chance At Hoeing. It Is Blacker Than The Darkness

In Egypt. I Cannot See The Tip Of Thy Nose."

 

 

 

"That Is Of No Consequence. My Nose Is A White Nose And No Indian's,

And I Take It That It Is For The Copper Skins You Are To Watch."

 

 

 

"And They Will Be Still Harder To Be Seen. But I Care Not. I Am Good

For Ten Indians Any Day, Though I Expect Not That They Will Venture To

Sneak Into Our Streets, Be It Light Or Dark."

 

 

 "Nevertheless, Keep Your Eyes Open, For Thou Mayest Need Them; So Good

Night."

 

  

"Good Night, And Shut Thine Own, So Soon As Dame Bloyce Will Permit

Thee."

 

  

The Two Knew Not, So Dark Was The Night, That A Third Person Stood So

Near To Them That He Had Overheard The Whole Of Their Dialogue. Soon

After The Departure Of The First Sentinel, His Successor, Cowlson,

Seemed To Consider It Of Very Little Importance To Make His Rounds

With Much Diligence, And To Be More Intent On Protecting Himself From

The Rain, Which Began To Fall, Than To Perform His Duty. He,

Therefore, After A Few Turns, Ensconced Himself As Comfortably As

Possible On The Lee Side Of The Building During The Violence Of The

Storm, Taking Advantage Of Occasional Intermissions To Resume His

Walk. The Stranger Waited Until The Little Vigilance Of The Sentinel

Was Relaxed, And, Noting Exactly The Place Where He Had Bestowed

Himself, Stole Noiselessly Back To A Group Of Three Or Four Persons.

Here A Whispered Conversation Was Carried On Until The Rain Began To

Pour More Violently, When, As If They Thought It A Favorable Moment

For Their Enterprise, The Whole Party Began To Move Forward In Indian

File--That Is To Say, Following One Another In A Line--Led By The Man

Who Had Overheard The Conversation Of The Soldiers. Such Was The Noise

Made By The Falling Drops, And So Dark The Night, That They Had

Approached Close To The Sentry Before He Became Aware Of Any One's

Presence. An Accidental Slipping Of One Of The Men Betrayed Them, And,

Presenting His Piece, He Demanded The Countersign.

 

  

"The Sling Of David," Was The Reply, And The Sentry Dropped The Breech

Of The Musket On The Earth. He Had Hardly Done So Before He Was

Violently Seized. A Strong Hand Grasped His Throat; Another Was

Applied To His Mouth; His Piece Was Wrested From Him, And, Disarmed

And Unable To Utter A Cry, He Was Hurled To The Ground. His Hands And

Feet Were Then Bound; A Gag Inserted Into His Mouth; His Coat Taken

Off And Muffled Around His Head To Stifle The Least Sound, And He Was

Then Removed To A Little Distance Behind The Building, And One Left To

Guard Him And Give Notice Of Any Approach. The Rest Of The Party Next

Proceeded To The Door Of The Cabin Occupied By The Jailer Bars. A

Light Was Burning Inside, But It Was Impossible, Through The Oiled

Paper, To See Anything Within. He Who Appeared To Be The Leader,

Having Disposed His Men On Each Side Of The Door, Rapped Upon It. No

Answer Was Returned, And It Was Not Until After Repeated Rappings, And

The Patience Of The Strangers Was Becoming Exhausted, And They Had

Begun To Consult Respecting Bursting Open The Door, When Some One Was

Heard Moving And Growling At The Disturbance Of His Slumbers.

 

 

 "Who Is There?" He Demanded, Impatiently.

 

  

A Low Voice From The Outside Now Entreated To Be Let In, For A Moment,

Out Of The Rain.

 

 

 "Nay," Returned Bars. "You Put No Foot Into My House, At This Time Of

Night, Without The Countersign."

  

 

"The Sling Of David," Replied The Voice.

 

  

"All Right," Said Bars, Beginning To Unbar The Door, "But What Do

You"--

  

 

He Was Unable To Finish The Sentence, For, As Soon As The Door Turned

On Its Hinges, A Rush Was Made By Those On The Outside, And Poor Bars,

Half Clothed, Rudely Upset On The Floor. "Murder," He Undertook To

Cry, But His Throat Was Choked Whenever He Attempted To Make A Sound,

And He Was Soon Disposed Of In Like Manner As The Sentinel, And Thrust

Into A Corner, After Having Discovered That His Assailants Were

Indians. All This, With However Little Noise Accomplished, Could Not

Be Done Without Disturbing Dame Bars, Who, From The Closet Where She

Slept, Inquired What Was The Matter. One Of The Party Thereupon

Gliding Over The Floor With Moccasoned Feet, Presented Himself With

Finger On Lip Before Her. Terror Benumbed The Tongue Of The Poor Woman

At The Sight, And The Cry She Strove To Utter Died In Her Throat. By

Smiles And Gestures The Indian Endeavored To Satisfy Her That No

Injury Was Designed, And Then, As If To Confirm His Peaceable

Intentions, Retired, Drawing The Door After Him; And Frightened,

Though In Some Slight Degree Re-Assured, The Dame Employed The Respite

In Clothing Herself In Her Day-Apparel.

  

 

Meanwhile, One Of The Indians, Who Had Found Two Or Three Large Keys

Tied Together, Had Taken Them From The Peg Where They Hung And

Proceeded To The Prison. His Actions Evinced A Strange Familiarity

With