“They do look peaceful,” she replied mournfully; “but ah! Everell, man is ever breaking the peace of nature. It was such a night as this – so bright and still, when your English came upon our quiet homes.”
“You have never spoken to me of that night Magawisca.”
“No – Everell, for our hands have taken hold of the chain of friendship, and I feared to break it by speaking of the wrongs your people laid on mine.”
“You need not fear it; I can honour noble deeds though done by our enemies, and see that cruelty is cruelty, though inflicted by our friends.”
“Then listen to me; and when the hour of vengeance comes, if it should come, remember it was provoked.”
She paused for a few moments, sighed deeply, and then began the recital of the last acts in the tragedy of her people; the principal circumstances of which are detailed in the chronicles of the times, by the witnesses of the bloody scenes. “You know,” she said, “our fortress homes were on the level summit of a hill. Thence we could see as far as the eye could stretch, our hunting grounds, and our gardens, which lay beneath us on the borders of a stream that glided around our hill, and so near to it, that in the still nights we could hear its gentle voice. Our fort and wigwams were encompassed with a palisade, formed of young trees, and branches interwoven and sharply pointed. No enemy’s foot had ever approached this nest, which the eagles of the tribe had built for their mates and their young. Sassacus and my father were both away on that dreadful night. They had called a council of our chiefs, and old men; our young men had been out in their canoes, and when they returned they had danced and feasted, and were now in deep sleep. My mother was in her hut with her children, not sleeping, for my brother Samoset had lingered behind his companions, and had not yet returned from the water sport. The warning spirit, that ever keeps its station at a mother’s pillow, whispered that some evil was near; and my mother, bidding me lie still with the little ones, went forth in quest of my brother. All the servants of the Great Spirit spoke to my mother’s ear and eye of danger and death. The moon, as she sunk behind the hills, appeared a ball of fire; strange lights darted through the air; to my mother’s eye they seemed fiery arrows; to her ear the air was filled with death sighs.
“She had passed the palisade, and was descending the hill, when she met old Cushmakin. “Do you know aught of my boy?” she asked.
“Your boy is safe, and sleeps with his companions; he returned by the Sassafras knoll; that way can only be trodden by the strong-limbed, and light-footed.” “My boy is safe,” said my mother; “then tell me, for thou art wise, and canst see quite through the dark future, tell me, what evil is coming to our tribe?” She then described the omens she had seen. “I know not,” said Cushmakin, “of late darkness hath spread over my soul, and all is black there, as before these eyes, that the arrows of death have pierced; but tell me, Monoco, what see you now in the fields of heaven?”
“Oh, now,” said my mother, “I see nothing but the blue depths, and the watching stars. The spirits of the air have ceased their moaning, and steal over my cheek like an infant’s breath. The water spirits are rising, and will soon spread their soft wings around the nest of our tribe.”
“The boy sleeps safely,” muttered the old man, “and I have listened to the idle fear of a doting mother.”
“I come not of a fearful race,” said my mother.
“Nay, that I did not mean,” replied Cushmakin, “but the panther watching her young is fearful as a doe.” The night was far spent, and my mother bade him go home with her, for our pow-wows have always a mat in the wigwam of their chief. “Nay,” he said, “the day is near, and I am always abroad at the rising of the sun.” It seemed that the first warm touch of the sun opened the eye of the old man’s soul, and he saw again the flushed hills, and the shaded valleys, the sparkling waters, the green maize, and the gray old rocks of our home. They were just passing the little gate of the palisade, when the old man’s dog sprang from him with a fearful bark. A rushing sound was heard. “Owanox! Owanox! (the English! the English!”) cried Cushmakin. My mother joined her voice to his, and in an instant the cry of alarm spread through the wigwams. The enemy were indeed upon us. They had surrounded the palisade, and opened their fire.
“Was it so sudden? Did they so rush on sleeping women and children?” asked Everell, who was unconsciously lending all his interest to the party of the narrator.
“Even so; they were guided to us by the traitor Wequash; he from whose bloody hand my mother had shielded the captive English maidens – he who had eaten from my father’s dish, and slept on his mat. They were flanked by the cowardly Narragansetts, who shrunk from the sight of our tribe – who were pale as white men at the thought of Sassacus, and so feared him, that when his name was spoken, they were like an unstrung bow, and they said, ‘He is all one God – no man can kill him.’ These cowardly allies waited for the prey they dared not attack.”
“Then,” said Everell, “as I have heard, our people had all the honour of the fight.”
“Honour! was it, Everell – ye shall hear. Our warriors rushed forth to meet the foe; they surrounded the huts of their mothers, wives, sisters, children; they fought as if each man had a hundred lives, and would give each, and all, to redeem their homes. Oh! the dreadful fray, even now, rings in my ears! Those fearful guns that we had never heard before – the shouts of your people – our own battle yell – the piteous cries of the little children – the groans of our mothers, and, oh! worse – worse than all – the silence of those that could not speak – The English fell back; they were driven to the palisade; some beyond it, when their leader gave the cry to fire our huts, and led the way to my mother’s. Samoset, the noble boy, defended the entrance with a prince-like courage, till they struck him down; prostrate and bleeding he again bent his bow, and had taken deadly aim at the English leader, when a sabre blow severed his bowstring. Then was taken from our hearthstone, where the English had been so often warmed and cherished, the brand to consume our dwellings. They were covered with mats, and burnt like dried straw. The enemy retreated without the palisade. In vain did our warriors fight for a path by which we might escape from the consuming fire; they were beaten back; the fierce element gained on us; the Narragansetts pressed on the English, howling like wolves for their prey. Some of our people threw themselves into the midst of the crackling flames, and their courageous souls parted with one shout of triumph; others mounted the palisade, but they were shot and dropped like a flock of birds smitten by the hunter’s arrows. Thus did the strangers destroy, in our own homes, hundreds of our tribe.”
“And how did you escape in that dreadful hour, Magawisca – you were not then taken prisoners?”
“No; there was a rock at one extremity of our hut, and beneath it a cavity into which my mother crept, with Oneco, myself, and the two little ones that afterwards perished. Our simple habitations were soon consumed; we heard the foe retiring, and when the last sound had died away, we came forth to a sight that made us lament to be among the living. The sun was scarce an hour from his rising, and yet in this brief space our homes had vanished. The bodies of our people were strewn about the smouldering ruin; and all around the palisade lay the strong and valiant warriors – cold – silent – powerless as the unformed clay.”
Magawisca