diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-0.txt | 3549 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/75556-h.htm | 3735 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 977870 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/illus1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 73985 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/illus2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 78756 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/illus3.jpg | bin | 0 -> 91944 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/illus4.jpg | bin | 0 -> 86471 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75556-h/images/tp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 66100 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
11 files changed, 7301 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75556-0.txt b/75556-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..871fbc8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3549 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75556 *** + + + + + + LITTLE METACOMET + + OR + + THE INDIAN PLAYMATE + + BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH + + NEW YORK + THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. + PUBLISHERS + + Copyright, 1904, + BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY. + + _Published September, 1904._ + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + I. TIMID SUSAN AND HER NEIGHBORS + + II. LITTLE METACOMET + + III. HAYSTACK FRIENDSHIP + + IV. ANOTHER VISIT TO THE HERMIT + + V. HOW THE HERMIT TAMED BIRDS + + VI. THE FEATHERED CAT + + VII. LITTLE METACOMET'S QUAIL + + VIII. LITTLE METACOMET VISITS THE WHITE-WINGED BLACKBIRD + + IX. LITTLE METACOMET'S BLUE ROBIN + + X. THE CAT IN THE BAG--THE FROG RACE + + XI. THE SCHOOL OF THE WOODS + + XII. A FLYING MOUSE + + XIII. LITTLE METACOMET SEES HIMSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS + + XIV. ROGERS GOES TO THE INDIAN RACES + + XV. THE THUNDER BIRD + + XVI. THE TREE TRAP + + XVII. AN INDIAN CLAMBAKE + + XVIII. THE HEART OF MASSASOIT + + XIX. THE INDIANS PASS BY + + XX. KING PHILIP'S FORT + + XXI. DARK DAYS FOR LITTLE METACOMET + + XXII. ROGER PARTS WITH LITTLE METACOMET + + XXIII. SUSAN IS TIMID NO LONGER + + XXIV. TO THE PALM LANDS + + + + + PREFACE + + +The author's purpose in writing this book for young people is to +picture life in the New England woods in old Indian days, when +barbarism was passing under the influence of civilization. His mother +passed a part of her girlhood at Mt. Hope, and he was born near the Mt. +Hope Lands, at Warren, R. I., the Sowams of Massasoit, who protected +the Pilgrims and sheltered Roger Williams when the latter was forming +his views of liberty of conscience, or soul freedom, which have +entered into the constitution of every republic in the world. He used +to roam in the green groves of Swansea, has often met the last of the +Wampanoags at Lakeville, and as often pictured in his own mind the +charming life of an Indian boy in the green woods around the Mt. Hope +and Narragansett Bays in the days of the forest kings. + +This little nature book is an attempt to portray such a life. In +it the author has endeavored to picture, by much fact and a slight +framework of fiction, the life of Little Metacomet, the son of King +Philip, or Pometacom, or Metacomet, who followed his father, the great +chieftain, and his mother, the beautiful forest queen, before the +Indian war, and his mother during the war, and who was deported to the +Palm Islands after this last event. He has used Little Metacomet to +picture an Indian boy's life in the woods among the birds, animals, +and native races, and to tell the tale of what was most merciful in +Philip's war. + + + + + LITTLE METACOMET + + + + + CHAPTER I + + TIMID SUSAN AND HER NEIGHBORS + + +During the early settlement days of this country, before the great +Indian war of 1675, when the pioneers and the savages shared the land +on Mt. Hope Bay and the Narragansett Bay between them, there was a +little woman named Susan Barley who was much afraid lest she should +"see something." We may not wonder that she was so much afraid, for she +lived in the green groves of Swansea, which bordered on the Mt. Hope +lands, and the Assowamset pond country, at the time that the Indians of +Pokonoket began to be hostile towards the white people. + +Near her little cabin in the Swansea groves lived a very odd hermit +named William Blackstone, or, as he was generally called, Blaxton. He +founded Boston in apple orchards, and English roses, and then went +away to live all alone at a place which he called "Study Hill," near +Pawtucket Falls. He was a graduate of Oxford, England, but he loved +little birds and animals, and wished to live by himself that he might +study the soul. He made the birds and animals his brothers, and tamed +the forests around him, and the jays talked with him, and squirrels +lived with him, and hunted deer ran to him for protection. A bear and +her cubs would visit him among his apple trees, and the deer feed +around him like so many Jersey cows at the present time. At Study Hill +he wrote some ten volumes, probably of philosophy, which were burned in +the Indian wars. + +He used to travel about on a white ox, which he guided by a cord +running through a ring in the animal's nose. It was in the witchcraft +times, and some people may have thought that the white ox and his rider +were ghosts. Blackstone used to visit Roger Williams at Providence, +riding on this white ox. He probably did his courting at Boston in a +like way. We are giving here some of the curious incidents of a real +character. + +After his apple orchards had grown at Study Hill, now Lonsdale, +R.I.--where you may see his tomb in a yard of an immense cotton mill, +under the cornerstone of which he was finally buried, with the bones of +an ox, or an animal,--he would sometimes take a basket of the new fruit +to a place where Roger Williams preached, on the hill, probably near +Brown University, and when the good man of liberty of conscience had +ended a sermon, would say-- + +"Ho, ho! And here are refreshments from the trees of the Lord." + +He would then toss about his apples to the people who had assembled to +worship,--Quakers, Baptists, outcasts, Indians and all. + +"Ho, ho!"--they would sit down and eat the apples. + +All the forest people loved Blackstone, and the very birds seemed to +sing his praise. + +Near Blackstone and his orchards lived John Eliot, the Indian Apostle, +at Natick, where he preached to the Indians and had gathered an Indian +church. He was the minister of Roxbury Fields, and his grave may be +seen in Roxbury, in the Washington and Eustis Street Burying Ground, +where probably rests Anne Bradstreet, the first American poetess, +in the Dudley tomb. Eliot preached in many places near Natick, among +them on the high rock at the present Brook Farm, at West Roxbury; the +memorials of his Indian work are to be seen at Natick. Had all white +men been like him, there probably would have been no Indian war. + +What noble men were these--Blackstone, Roger Williams, and John Eliot! +The latter failed to convert the Indian tribes, but his influence saved +New England. King Philip told him in a friendly way that he cared no +more for his religion than for the bright button on his coat, and yet +the chieftain at one time was very much interested in Eliot's teaching. +King Philip had a good heart at times--but it was a double heart. + +The New England woods were like a menagerie in those days, full of +animals and birds. Turkeys and partridges scurried everywhere among the +white birches and green savins, and fat geese filled the coverts about +the ponds in the fall. On the open fields the Indians grew corn, which +they parched and pounded, and ate with clams and fish. + +Savages, though they were, the Indians led a charming life in the +woods, and the Indian boy had a lively wonder age in his youth, +when he was learning the secrets of the forests. Little Metacomet, +King Philip's or Metacomet's son, was a small naturalist of these +forests and waterways before the great war. He met the great pioneers, +Blackstone, Williams, and Eliot, he followed his father in the last +days of peace, and he hunted and fished and enjoyed the Indian +clambakes and autumn festivals. So let us take the little brown hand +of the boy Metacomet, and go forth into our story, when every covert +had an animal, and every tree a bird, and the Indians thought that this +abundant life would last forever. + +One day timid Susan said to her son Roger, a lad of some ten years-- + +"Let's go over to the hermit's and see what the world is about. I will +be careful not to touch anything." + +So the two went over to Study Hill to visit Blackstone, and the little +woman from the green groves of Swansea came timidly to the hermit's +door; for she had heard the strange tales of a phantom white ox in the +forest. + +The hermit came out to welcome her. + +"I'm proper glad I got here," said she. "I was afraid I might see +something. I came all the way from the green groves of Swansea." + +"What were you afraid you might see, good mother?" + +"The dead that wander; I'm never afraid of no living human, but I am +scary of the dead--they know all." + +"But the dead do not wander, little woman, to scare innocent people +like you. There are no ghosts outside of us--ships do not sail on the +land, nor cattle pasture in the sea." + +"You must be an infidel. Are you?" + +"No." + +"Sure--perfectly sure?" + +"Sure!" + +"And you've been to college?" She shook her head and added: + +"But Boston folks believe such things!" + +"They are led by a blind spirit of superstition." + +"Have you ever seen the rider on the white ox?" + +"Yes." + +"You don't tell me!--I'd fly right out of my head were I to see that. +Where did you see it?" + +"Here." + +The little mother's eyes grew. + +"There is no spirit rider of any white ox," said the hermit. "But, my +good woman, King Philip, John Eliot, and Roger Williams are coming here +to-morrow, and you and Roger must stay and see the great chieftain. +Perhaps the Indian chief will bring the Princess and Little Metacomet +with him." + +"But Joe, my husband, what will he do? He would think that the white ox +had got me." + +"I will send young John Quitumug to Swansea to tell your husband where +you are, and you will not see anything 'scary'." + +"Then I will stay." + +And in the morning came Roger Williams, sturdy, with an open face, +beautiful with the inner light. His spirit was full of loveliness, but +his language seemed strange. + +"Brother Blaxton, the Inward Voice said 'Come'--and I am here. Thee +surprises me; who is this little woman and her boy? What may thy name +be, woman?" + +"Susan, Joe's wife, of Swansea--they call him 'Onery Joe'--they say his +head was put on wrong--but he is good to me, ain't he, Roger?" + +A sudden sound rose in the air--"Netop!" (friend), said an Indian +runner, peeping out of the thick wood. Philip, the Forest King, was +coming. There was heard a breaking of dry twigs beneath mocassined +feet, behind the thick curtains of leaves. Wood birds flew up into the +air with notes of alarm. Presently the glimmering hazels opened like +a wicker gate, and King Philip and his family, with some grave and +stately warriors, came into view, and approached the place. + +With Philip came his wife, known as the Beautiful Princess, and Little +Metacomet, their son. The princess wore royal robes woven of river +grasses, and around her neck was a copper chain. The Pilgrim Fathers +had given two copper chains to Massasoit the lord of Lakonoket as a +pledge of eternal friendship. + +It was to be a peace day; the princess had come as a kind of rural +goddess of Peace: King Philip extended his hand to Blackstone, and the +world seemed filled with gladness. + +Presently the red bushes opened and the witch hazels that bloom in +the fall shook, at a place near the brook. A grave man appeared, and +Blackstone said-- + +"Thou art welcome, Father Eliot. I feared that thou wouldst not be able +to leave thy flock in Natick fields." + +Then Blackstone, Williams, and Eliot shook hands with each other and +with Philip, while the Indians looked on in wonder. + +More Indians came, and among them some praying Indians. They shook +hands with the three white men, but when they greeted King Philip's men +they followed the Indian custom of greeting. + +Blackstone made an Indian clambake that day near the Falls of the +Pawtucket, to King Philip, John Eliot and Roger Williams. Some Indian +children were there, and they gathered in the cool to play. + +It was October and the woods seemed to be on fire, they were so bright +in color. + +The princess, the wife of King Philip, whose name was Wootoneshanuske, +hung her papoose in a cradle on a tree near by and began to sing to it, +shaking the copper chain. + +The Indian cradle song of "Rock-a-bye, baby, upon the tree-top," though +of American origin, pictures the Indian cradle swinging in the woods. +The birds came to talk to the baby, the squirrels ran past it, and +stopped to chipper to it. The dogwood bloomed near it, and the early +leaves fell around it. + +When the Indian boy, Metacomet, began to run about, his dog went with +him. They played tag, and hid, and made hide-and-seek surprises of the +game. Then he flew a kite. The Indian boys flew kites that were made in +a peculiar way of fish bladders. It was a charm to them to see these +light boats rise and sail away in the air. + +At Indian clambakes Indian boys played "shinny" and games of skill +with the bow and arrow, and entered into long races. Eliot said of the +Indian children--"They play sly tricks upon dogs, and are much given to +singing." + +The grave white men on this serene day sang or repeated Psalms, after +which the Indians made music and sang, and with them sang the beautiful +Princess of the Copper Chain. + +The Indian music was simple; drums, rattles, and reeds or whistles. + +The princess stood apart from the rest, and sang as if to her baby in +the trees. + +The calling of birds by imitating the bird-call was amusement and music +with Little Metacomet. The birds whistled, and piped and drummed. So +did the boy. The black wild geese honked; so did the Indian. The dove +cooed; so did the mother to the baby, and so did the baby to the mother. + +There were singing forests then; a thousand birds sang together; in the +pearl red morning; before the shower; on the long evenings of June in +the still light. The Indian mother and her children had quick ears for +vocal nature. + +The winds of the seasons had their differing tones, and it was a joy +to hear the coming of the south wind, and a sadness to catch the first +piping of the north wind in the fall. + +The beautiful season of the year was the red part of November called +the Indian summer. The leaves seemed to burn; the walnuts and acorns +fell. The purple gentians bloomed. The moonrise blended with the +sunset. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + LITTLE METACOMET + + +Little Metacomet, the prince, was an usually bright Indian boy. His +quickness of feeling and of ear and eye pleased the royal Indians, for +it was expected that he would succeed his father in the sachemship. +The boy followed his parents at times from Mt. Hope, the royal seat, +to Kickemuit, Sowams, and the Assowamset Hill, near the great and +beautiful lake. He was the grandson of Massasoit, and like that great +monarch seems to have liked the English well. + +He had learned a little English very early in life from John Sassamon, +the interpreter to Philip, who had studied under John Eliot, and +became a teacher and preacher in the towns of the praying Indians. It +was Sassamon who later informed the English at Plymouth of the secret +purpose of Philip to unite the tribes for war against the English, +which caused Philip to demand his death. He was killed at Assowamset +Lake, near Philip's seat. The English arrested his executioners, which +Philip regarded as an interference with his own government, and this +fact was the direct cause of the great war. + +In the days when Sassamon was in the favor of the Indian court, Little +Metacomet met many of the English people to whom his father was +friendly, and heard the Indian teacher interpret for his father. So +English words were impressed upon his mind when he was very young. He +also had an uncle who had been to school in Cambridge. He loved nature, +and he came to be interested in nature lovers like Blackstone. + +There was one little animal with whom he became very friendly--the +chipmunk, or ground squirrel, sometimes called the painted or striped +squirrel. + +The ground squirrel was very industrious in the fall. He gathered corn, +grain, chestnuts, walnuts, acorns, and the like, and stored them away +in his little house under ground. He filled the inside of his cheeks, +which could be made a kind of pouch, with his foods, and he looked +like a squirrel with a toothache when he carried these down cellar. +He came up from his warm house looking very thin after putting these +storages on the shelves and in his chests, which may have been crevices +in hard earth, or hollows of rocks. + +Little Metacomet would whistle to him, or blow a shell, and he would +stand upon his feet, and seem to say-- + +"What now?" + +"Chipper, chipper, chipper," would say the Indian prince, and his +little companion of the woods would answer-- + +"Chipper, chipper, chipper," and then would be gone. + +Metacomet was often followed by his dog. When the dog spoke to the +ground squirrel, the latter had nothing more to say. He went. + +Metacomet and Roger liked each other as soon as they looked into each +other's face. We know our heart friends when we first see them. The +prince from the Mt. Hope Lands, warmed toward the boy from the green +groves of Swansea and wished to rub noses with him at once, after the +queer Indian fashion. + +"I wish I could have the Indian boy for a playmate," said Roger to his +mother. + +"What for?" + +"O, think what things he might show me in the woods: animals, birds, +flowers; he knows them all." + +Roger watched Little Metacomet. The prince was scarcely ten years old, +or about that age, but he seemed to see clearly into everything in +nature, and he was friendly to every one. He inherited the keenness and +sharpness of the Indian instinct. + +"I find that the boy has an eye for what is wonderful," said timid +Susan to Roger towards the end of the day. "We might ask him over to +the green groves of Swansea." + +The sun sprinkled the groves with long shadows. A little quail +whistled. Little Metacomet listened to the quail. He loved this bird of +the wild fields of the woods. There was something about the bird that +kindled his imagination and went to his heart. + +Presently he went over to his father and listened gravely to the speech +of his address. King Philip was beginning to distrust the English, but +he still desired to maintain peace. + +He was talking with Eliot when Little Metacomet came and stood by him. + +"I am true to my race," said the king, "but I can forgive. I forgave +a man who spoke evil of the dead. I can be merciful. Hawks are in the +sky. Suppose war should come and I were to fall, would you pity my +family? Here is Little Metacomet, would you be merciful to him?" + +"I would, as God is merciful to me," said Eliot. + +He desired the welfare of the Indian Prince. + +At first Little Metacomet walked apart from Roger, but he gradually +drew nearer to him. There was something in his heart that he wished to +express. + +He whistled and called a blue jay to him from the trees. He looked +towards Roger and smiled in a friendly way. Indian children do not +often smile. + +Then he went to Roger, and the latter put out his hand for him to +shake, but Little Metacomet drew back his hand. Instead, he lifted his +own hand and touched Roger on the nose. + +"You do not understand, my boy," said Father Eliot to Roger. "He wishes +to rub noses with you. It is the Indian custom. He will do it if you +will always be his friend." + +"I will be his friend," said Roger. + +"And I," said Father Eliot, "for his grandfather's sake, and the copper +chain of peace. I will always be a friend to Little Metacomet." + +The two boys walked apart again, and the heart of Eliot followed the +Indian, with a deeper interest. + +It was a glorious day. The world was still; nature blazed; the maples +were red; the oaks yellow; the gentians blue. Did a breeze move? It +brought down showers of leaves of crimson and yellow. + +The walls were purple with grapes; the swale meadows red with +cranberries. The jays talked in the trees. The migrating birds gathered +in flocks. The wild geese honked on high. The witch hazels bloomed amid +the falling leaves. + +Winter was delaying; a spell was on the earth, the waters, and in the +air. "The trumpets of the north," as the Indians call the cold winds, +were about to blow, but week by week they waited. Color was everywhere. +Then was the charmed spell of the ripened year; the harvest calm; the +rest of the spent forces of nature; all things in the silence were +parables of life. + +Night fell and the pine knots were lighted. + +Then a great supper was spread--samp, succotash, game, no-cake, nuts, +apples and oranges from over the sea, which Philip may never have seen +before. + +Susan was "scary of these great folks," but helped to wait on the +table. Roger shrank away into the dark corner of the room, and Little +Metacomet followed him there. The two boys sat down silently, but they +began to feel friendly towards each other, as before. At last Roger +touched the hand of Metacomet and then his small white hand grasped the +brown hand of the Indian boy. + +They did not speak. + +Metacomet's black eyes were turned upon the yellow-globed oranges and +red apples on the table. + +Presently the hermit sent Roger an orange and an apple. He did not +notice the Indian boy, for he was hidden behind Roger. + +Roger handed his orange to Little Metacomet. The Indian grasped it +eagerly. Roger then gave him the apple, which was seized as quickly. + +The two sat in silence. Then the Indian boy began to draw nearer to +Roger, nearer and nearer, and pushed his head slowly forward, and +rubbed his brown nose against Roger's nose many times. + +"I will be a king," said he. + +Father Eliot saw that the better heart of Massasoit was in the little +prince, the heart of the old sachem who had once worn the copper chain. + +Roger's heart went out to this child of the forest. The two were +friends for life after the pledge. + +After the feast there was a talk by the great fire. + +"If the two races would only come together like the hearts of these two +children, the Indians would be saved to civilization," said Eliot. + +"They might be made to come together by the same means; is that not so, +brother Eliot?" said Williams. + +"Will Little Metacomet here ever come to the throne of the forest +kings?" asked Blackstone. + +There was a silence. The Indian boy was standing by the red hickory +fire. What would be his destiny? + +Before the company lay down upon their mats in their rooms and lodges, +another queer thing happened. + +The little prince came to timid Susan, and put up his red hand to her +kerchief. + +"What would you have?" + +He shook his nose kindly, and she bent down her face. + +The two rubbed noses. + +"And now you must come over to the green groves of Swansea and see us +all some day," she said, her heart warming to the child. + +There was a light step behind her. It was that of the princess. They +too rubbed noses and parted. John Eliot prayed. Then all went to their +beds and mats, and the whip-poor-wills sang outside in the woods, and +the Indians crooned themselves to sleep. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + HAYSTACK FRIENDSHIP + + +The next morning the little mother and Roger went away. She said she +was terribly afraid that she would "see something" on the trail. + +"Do not fear," said the hermit. "It is I who ride the white ox, and I +will accompany you part of the way, and Father Eliot shall ride the ox." + +So they went into the forest trail, and Metacomet followed. + +They parted at last on the borders of the green groves of Swansea. + +"Little Prince," said timid Susan, "you love the oaks. I see that +you do. The squirrels love the oaks, too, and I see that you and the +squirrels which live under ground are friends. There are great oaks +and green mosses in Swansea. There are white birches there, and green +savins, and all around are mossy places where one can rest, and hear +the birds sing, and pick berries. The wild geese stop there in their +flight--oh, it is a lovely place, and my husband, Joe, he is a good +man, a wood-chopper. Won't you come over to our cabin some day, and see +Roger, and help him find things in the woods?--you know all about the +wonders of the woods, and we are near to them." + +The Indian lad turned to Roger and said, "I will come." + +"That will be fine!" said Roger clapping his hands at the prospect of a +playmate. + +"If anything should happen," said timid Susan, "we will not forsake +each other. We will always be true to each other, whatever may happen." + +So the timid woman and Roger and the Indian prince made a treaty of +peace. And they were very sincere. + +As they parted Little Metacomet said, "My heart will never forget." + +The very next day he came up from the river bend at Sowams to see +Roger. Timid Susan made some pancakes for him, and he said-- + +"Me will never forget; me will come two times mo' (again and again) and +will bring you things out of the woods." + +He now began to look for things in the woods that would cause Susan to +wonder. He liked to see her wonder "two times mo'"--again and again. + +There were great open places in the woods then full of tall grasses +and berry bushes. The redberry grew in them, the black alders, the +wild rose bushes and barberry bushes from whose berries candles were +made. The barberries lined the uplands. There lived the meadow birds +of windward ways. The snipe hid there, and the bobolink made the air +ring in summer when singing to his nesting mate. These meadowy places +were all bloom and song, and the little prince roamed among them, the +feathers on his head scarcely higher than last year's pussy-willows, +and the red-winged blackbirds following him in alarm and wonder. + +Susan was a simple woman, with a faithful heart. She lacked strong +sense or the expression of it, but she loved everybody. In the old +country she had been called "queer," a "little off," "touched in mind." +But she tried to make every one happy. + +When her husband, the woodman, bought of King Philip a piece of land, +he and Susan and Roger went there to live. It was summer, and the air +was all fragrance and song. There was a large flat stack of swale +meadow grass on the land. The family took shelter under it for a few +nights, while the woodman was building his cabin. + +Susan used to go out to the stack to rest often during the summer. +Many of the early New Englanders used to pray in the woods, and it was +thought that Susan used a hollow in the stack for this purpose. + +Some Indians frequently saw her sheltered by the stack. They came to +call her "The Lady of the Haystack," in Indian words. + +She used to give pancakes to the Indians who sat down to rest under the +great trees by her door. + +The Indians brought her corn husks and meal from the tribal mill, which +was near. She would make cornmeal cakes and roast them in the husks, +which she would share with the wayfarers under the trees. + +Little Metacomet began to come often and loiter about the cabin or +stack until he was seen. Susan would go out to invite him in, at first +very cautiously. + +"You hav'n't got no war-whoop in ye," she would sometimes say. + +The little prince would bow his head, as if it dropped from a pivot. + +"Then don't let it come out," she would say. "Follow me, now." + +Susan every day feared more and more that she would hear the war-whoop +notwithstanding that she was so friendly with the little prince. When +the loon cried in the night, she would say, "Never mind: I have the +little prince's heart. He will always be true to me." + +There were three things that Susan was afraid she would see or hear. +One was a ghost, after the old New England superstition, another, an +Indian conjurer, or medicine man, and the last was the _war-whoop_. + +"Why, I would be that scart," she used to say, "if I were to hear it, I +would go right out of my head, and never would come back." + +"Where would you go?" asked Roger one day, "if you should hear it +skittering along the air?" + +"I would fly to the old haystack, and hide in the hay, and put my +fingers on both ears and pray." + +She had a tame blue jay that used to scream after her in the trees as +if to frighten her. The roguish bird seemed to know that he could alarm +her, and to delight in it. He would make a sound like the turning of a +crank, after he had yelled his war-whoop. + +Poor Susan, when she was in trouble she resorted to the haystack, in +which was a cavern, where she said the Lord "covered her with his +wings." The little prince used to find her there when she was not in +the cabin, and he would take her surprises there, as wild strawberries, +flowers, birds and little animals. He once carried her there the rose +of birds, the red bird of the deep woods, whose disposition was as shy +as her own. + +"I must let him go," she said, while holding it in wonder. + +"Why?" asked the little prince. + +"Because his heart beats so fast. The Golden Rule was meant for birds, +too." + +"What is the Golden Rule?" + +And Susan let the red bird go, and taught Metacomet the Golden Rule in +the shadow of the haystack. + +There was one charm of the woods that is little valued to-day. It is +almost a lost art among us. It was the odors of the flowers and the +trees. The Indian women knew, or thought they knew, the value of all +roots and herbs as medicines, but they also found delight in the odors +of vegetation, like the nature-loving children of the Eastern world. +It was not the pungent rose, the sassafras and pennyroyal that most +attracted them, but the violet, the arbutus, the locust, the wild +honeysuckle, the spearmint, the bruised checkerberry, the musk plants, +and the sweet brier. The last exceeded all other plants in the subtlety +of its perfume. + +The faculty of scent of the Indian to enjoy all these fragrances was +highly developed. Nature to the wild man was more than to the pioneer; +the former lived in a fragrance which the man of towns knew but little. + +The Indian loved his own world. The rocks bloomed for him, the streams +filled their banks with flowers for him, the forests were his parks, +and he could see and hear more clearly and smell more keenly than the +toilers from over the sea. + +The Indian boy brought Susan the nosegays that had not the most showy +colors, but the sweetest odors. Among his surprises for her was a +"clear horn." There were certain horns that grew white towards the end +and were pointed with a clear substance like amber. The point of these +horns shone in the sunlight like gold. This clear horn was an emblem of +dignity and royalty. Suggestions of the use of the emblem of the clear +horn are to be found in the Hebrew Scriptures, and ancient art. + +"It shines," said Little Metacomet. + +"What shines?" asked Roger, who stood by admiring it. + +"The horn--let me hold it up to the sun." + +He held the top of the horn in a way that the sun might strike it. It +seemed to turn into fire; to burn; to send forth rays as from a flame +of gold. + +"It is like a king, with a crown on his head," said Susan. "May you +wear white robes and a crown of gold that will shine." + +The little prince did not quite comprehend this figure of speech. + +He stood in the sun for a long time, holding up the clear horn to the +sun to see the rays reflected from the top of it. The clear horn was a +kind of parable of life to the Indian priests, after the ancient Hebrew +thought, and even the prince saw a meaning in it. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + ANOTHER VISIT TO THE HERMIT + + +Little Metacomet liked to look into nature; his small mind probably did +not know that the hidden force and wisdom of the universe was there. +Blackstone, the hermit, studied nature in this broad way; he studied +animals to discover the human nature in them. + +As often as Little Metacomet went to timid Susan with one of his +surprises, she took him and Roger over to Study Hill to see the hermit. + +"He knows near upon everything," she would say. "There are few things +in heaven and earth that he don't know; we must go over and ask him." + +So the three would wander along the flowery ways of the green groves of +Swansea toward Pawtucket Falls where the hermit lived. + +Little Metacomet brought to Susan, one day, a fat woodchuck almost as +big as himself. The lazy animal struggled to get away, but the boy +held it fast. + +[Illustration: LITTLE METACOMET BROUGHT A FAT WOODCHUCK ALMOST AS BIG +AS HIMSELF.] + +He put it down on the split wood of the house, shut the door, and said: + +"He fats himself for winter, and he lives on his own fat all the winter +long. Why do not _we_ do so?" + +Timid Susan could not answer. + +"The ground squirrel lays up two winters' stores of food," said the +little prince. "He no fats himself. The woodchuck he is lean and hungry +in the spring; the ground squirrel he is no lean and hungry. He come +out of the ground all chipper, chipper. Why does the woodchuck fat +himself, and sleep, and the ground squirrel and crow lay up food for +themselves?" + +Timid Susan lifted her hands, and rolled her eyes. + +"The Lord only knows," she said, "except Mr. Blaxton. We will have to +go to Study Hill, and ask the hermit all about these things. I will put +on my slat sunbonnet, and we will go." + +They went, and timid Susan propounded to the hermit these simple +questions. + +"You know everything," said she, "you and the Lord. I am a poor, +simple creature, and I couldn't tell anyone how it is I think, and how +I know my own thoughts, nor even how it is that I raise my hand to my +head. How is it that you lift your hand to your head, Mr. Blaxton?" + +The hermit lifted his hand to his head and said nothing. + +"Wonderful, wonderful," said timid Susan, "now I know." + +She then put to him the questions of Little Metacomet: why did the +woodchuck fat himself for the winter and the crow make cribs in the +trees, and the ground squirrel cellars under ground? + +There was a blank look on the hermit's face. + +"Come with me," he said. + +He took them out to the stream which now bears his name. Some badgers +were building a dam there. They were felling a tree, sawing it with +their teeth in such a way that it would fall upon the half built dam. + +"Do you see," said he, "that they are sawing more on this side of the +tree than that, so that it will fall this way across the river? What +taught them to do that? If you will answer me, I will answer you." + +"Nature," said the little prince. + +"No, it is the wisdom unseen in nature," said the hermit. "The spirit +of the Eternal." + +"But what makes the ground squirrel make cellars?" + +"I can answer that," said timid Susan. "The ground squirrel is all +hands--his feet are little hands--and he's just like some of the rest +of us--he is _afore_-handed." + +She lifted her hands, and counted four. The hermit dropped his head and +laughed, as also did Roger; but Metacomet stood puzzled. He could not +comprehend the _four_. + +Having learned so much about nature, timid Susan and Roger returned to +the green groves of Swansea, and Little Metacomet to Sowams where were +bearded oaks and wild roses by the bright waterways. + + * * * * * + +The woodman, Mr. Barley, often came home from the forests worn with +work. + +"Susan," he would say, putting down his ax by his couch of hides, "the +wood-choppers do say that war is coming." + +"Never you mind," said Susan, "I have the heart of the little prince. +If the war-whoop comes it will pass us by. Philip is true to his own." + +There is a beautiful pond near Taunton called Winnecunett. This was +one of King Philip's country resorts. Its borders are rocks, like an +ancient ruin, but one interested in Indian lore ought to visit it, for +it shows the love that King Philip had for what was lovely in nature. +The wild geese flocked there. There grew the wild honeysuckle. There, +the pond lilies. King Philip had poetry in his nature, or he would not +have so loved the castle-like pond. + +Roger took his mother to this beautiful pond one day. It was summer +time. + +"The king, if he loves such places as these," said she, "will not harm +you and me, Roger. He has a better heart." + + + + + CHAPTER V + + HOW THE HERMIT TAMED BIRDS + + +William Blackstone, as we have said, was a keen lover of nature. It +made him happy to have a wild animal begin to follow him; to have the +birds come to him for protection and shelter, and for food in the +winter. This feeling grew. The ospreys used to build their great nests +near his house and to repair them by sticks of wood and new sea-weed +every year. If an animal climbed one of the trees where these nests +were, when the birds were rearing their young, the parent birds would +wheel over his house on Study Hill and scream for help. This touched +the heart of the hermit. He told the incident to Roger, and asked him +to bring any strange animals or birds that he could find to him. + +One summer day, bright Little Metacomet came again to timid Susan +with a new surprise. It was a nest with the most beautiful bird +sitting upon it that the boy had ever seen. The bird was rare and was +called the swamp robin. It was of a fiery crimson color, and had the +reputation of being a very shy bird. + +Timid Susan held up her hands, and rolled up her eyes. + +"Do my eyes dazzle me?" said she. "That is a mighty strange bird, all +fiery red; it might have come down from the sun. Why doesn't it fly?" + +"It can't," said Little Metacomet. + +"Why?" + +"It has eggs under her. She is going to hatch," meaning that the eggs +were about to hatch. + +"And she would rather die than leave her eggs, is that it? You darling +bird; you are bound by the cords of a mother's love." + +A bird of the same kind, the mate, had been following Little Metacomet +in the top of the trees. It flashed like a red flame of fire above the +nest, and rose into the air. The mother bird rose up from the nest a +little and uttered a cry. There were four eggs under her. + +"I wonder what kind of a bird that can be," said timid Susan. + +"Let's take it over to the hermit," said Roger, "and ask him all about +it. He knows almost everything." + +So again the three took the forest trail to the Falls of the Pawtucket +carrying the bird and nest. The other bird followed them in the trees. + +"Look!" said the Indian boy to the hermit, pointing to his treasure. + +"A redbird," said the hermit. "See how faithful her little heart is to +her nest. I love things that are faithful to their own." + +"I did not know but that you might find a cage for her," said Roger. + +"There is no need of cages," said the hermit. "Does it need any string +to tie that bird to her nest?" + +"But she would fly away when her eggs hatch, and we would lose her. +That would be a pity. She is the handsomest thing that flies." + +"I will not lose her," said the hermit. "Let me have her, and I will +keep her for you." + +"What makes her so red?" asked Little Metacomet. + +"You must ask the sun, the sky, the woods, and the hidden wisdom +there," said the hermit. + +He took the nest and went to a ladder that led up to a loft where was +a window with a shutter. He placed the nest before the open window +and left it there, and they all went out into the orchard, and talked +together merrily on the goodness of everything. To them everything +appeared good. Only the good see what is good. + +Mr. Barley was away in the wood at the charcoal pits, and would not +return that day, so the hermit persuaded them to stay over night, as +the princess was coming to see him the next morning. + +During the day the parent redbird came to the eaves of the house and +fed his little wife on her nest. + +The hermit and Metacomet and Roger slept in the loft that night where +the nest was. + +When the hermit blew out the candle, he said-- + +"We will be very still and not disturb the bird. Still, still." + +The night was hushed. There were fireflies in the air. The +whip-poor-wills sang in far trees. The moon rose high, and everything +seemed to swim in her rays as in a sea. The air was a sea of moonlight. + +There was heard a queer sound--it was a living sound--tick, tick. + +"What is that?" asked Roger. + +"Still, still," said the hermit. "That is the clock of life. +Listen--still, still." + +Pick--peck--peck. + +"That is the little bird in the egg," said the hermit. "Listen, still, +still." + +Pick, peck, peck. + +"What makes him do it?" said Roger. "How does he know that there is a +world outside the shell?" + +"Ask God that," said the hermit. "Still, still." + +They listened. Timid Susan came part way up the ladder and listened. + +"The little birds are pecking against the shells of their eggs," said +the hermit. "They are about to hatch." + +In the morning they found four egg shells outside of the nest. They did +not disturb the bird. + +When the princess came they showed her the four egg shells, and told +her the story. + +Little animals came out of the woods to the door. Some blue jays +flew into the house. A white goose with many goslings came up from +the pond, and even the wild crows cawed as if laughing in the near +tree-tops. + +"I have no need of any cages," said the hermit to the princess. "The +birds and animals all love me, and therein I am content." + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + THE FEATHERED CAT + + +The New England woods were full of wonders to the pioneer. Little +Metacomet delighted more and more to bring to Susan Barley things that +would most surprise her. Susan's way of lifting her hands and staring +upward as in amazement greatly delighted the Indian boy. It pleased +Roger as much as himself. + +He once brought her a bunch of yellow mocassins, or yellow +lady's-slippers, which so surprised her that she said that these "new +parts" must be near to heaven, and caused her to kiss the boy's hand. +He brought her once a bouquet of fringed gentian which so pleased her +that she rubbed noses with him, greatly to his delight. He brought +her also the "ghost flower," or the Indian-pipe, which she was almost +afraid to touch lest something should happen. The Indians claimed that +the Indian-pipe would cure fits. It grew everywhere in the marshy +woods. He brought her honeysuckles from the gray rocks. + +Susan Barley had a cat which was a wonder to the little boy. It was +Roger's playmate brought from over sea. + +The cat would nestle up to Metacomet, and purr, and purr, and purr. + +"The Indians have cats," said he. "They are _feathered_. Me find one +for you!" + +Roger laughed, while Susan raised her hands and uplifted her eyes in +wonder. + +"A feathered _cat_?" said she. "What do you think of that? I would shut +my eyes." + +"Me go bring you one," said Metacomet. + +He went out into the trails and forest ways. + +Then, the day after, he came back again, holding something to his +breast. + +He put this feathered something into Susan's hand. She held it out. It +was alive and seemed all eyes. + +"It has big eyes," said Roger, "but somehow it don't seem to see." + +"It sees in the night," said Little Metacomet. + +"Then it must be bewitched," said Susan. She laid it down on a mat and +it lay there as if it had lost all power of motion. + +The cat went to wonder at it. + +It snapped and spit. + +The cat started away. + +"What is it?" asked Roger. "What funny thing of the forest can that be?" + +"It is a feathered cat." + +"It is an owl," said Susan. "It does see in the night. It is all +feathers. Look, look." + +She ruffled the bird's feathers. + +"It has no body to speak of," said she. "Roger, go get a cage for the +feathered cat, and we will tame it. What does it eat?" + +"Mice," said Metacomet. + +"Then the kitten shall catch mice for it," said Roger. + +"The kitten might catch the owl," said Metacomet. + +The owl began to swell its feathers, and looked as big as an eagle. + +"Or the owl might catch the kitten," said Susan. "I am going to get a +mouse when the dark comes, and let the fur kitten and the feathered +kitten eat together." + +So Susan in this land of wonders brought up the owl and the kitten +together. + +But one day the owl was gone. The feathered cat had flown away, and it +never came back again. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + LITTLE METACOMET'S QUAIL + + +One morning Little Metacomet heard a quail piping in the open wood, +where were rocks and partridge berries. That music of the woods always +caused him to turn his quick ear. + +The quail was the Indian's true bird. Did the flock not sit around in +a circle at night on the brown and mottled leaves, their own color, so +that each one could fly away rapidly, and _scatter_, and did they not +all come back again after such a flight, at the call of their leader, +or little brown chief? Who elected the quail that called the flock a +leader, and how did he know that he was to act as leader in his kingdom? + +Oh, he was a shy, true-hearted bird, the quail of the white birch +woods. He loved nature, and he knew when the rain was gathering, though +the sun shone bright. He liked the bushes near the open meadows, the +banks near the ponds where the cranberries grew, and the fringed +gentians in the Indian summer. He loved to scoot, and to pipe, and to +lift his velvet head high, and draw it back again. + +Roger joined the Indian boy. + +"He is calling for you," said Little Metacomet, "What does he say?" + +"Ah, Bob-White," said Roger, repeating the Puritan interpretation. + +"Is your name Bob-White?" asked Little Metacomet. "It calls you Bob +White. The quail knows." + +He leaped, and lifted his hand. + +"Still, still." + +A brown bird was darting to and fro under the bushes--two of them. They +were carrying away something under their wings. + +"Still, still," said Little Metacomet, "they are moving their nest." + +The quails came to a heap of straw near the trail, and darted away to a +huge trunk of a tree where had gathered a pile of brown leaves. + +The way from their nest to this tree was brown; it was covered with +brown leaves of the last fall. The birds tried to spread themselves +out, so that the color might protect them. They came and went in this +swift but cautious way many times. + +"Let's go look," said Little Metacomet. + +There were two eggs left in the nest. + +"Let's go far, and see if they will come after them, now that we have +looked," said Little Metacomet. + +They went away some rods. The quails were true to their nest and to all +of the eggs. They came scurrying back and then they came no more. They +thought that they had moved their eggs from danger. + +Little Metacomet now called Roger "Bob-White," as he thought the quail +had named him so. + +The next day, Little Metacomet said-- + +"Bob-White, let us go to the nest, and see how many eggs are there. +Still, still." + +They went very softly back to the nest. There were shells of eggs to +be seen, scattered about, but no mother bird, nor any eggs. The mother +quail had hatched her brood, and hurried with them away farther from +danger. + +"Bob-White!" The whistle came from the far woods. + +"The quail is calling you," said Little Metacomet. + +"Bob-White!" The tone was pure, honest, and clear. + +"The quail is my bird," said Little Metacomet. "He calls you by name. +I like him for that. Let us both cover the quail from harm. He is my +bird--he is yours, he calls you by name. He is a little chief--I am a +little chief." + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + LITTLE METACOMET VISITS THE WHITE-WINGED BLACKBIRD + + +"I know a bird," said Little Metacomet to Roger one day. "Let's go and +visit him." Sassamon was with him. They traveled down to the Assowomset +Lakes. + +It was June. The wild roses were in bloom. Little Metacomet with +Sassamon led Roger, or "Bob-White," to a great pond surrounded by black +alders. It was nearly noon and the sun seemed to hang over the middle +of the pond. The Indian boy found a birch canoe on the border of the +pond. + +They went out on the water, under the shadows of some great trees, +Sassamon paddling. Small animals ran hither and thither as they passed +along. Suddenly Little Metacomet said-- + +"Hold, I see my baby brother." + +He pointed. A white rabbit was standing up on his haunches, like a +little child, or a baby made of white wool. + +"I no draw the bow," said he. "Good-morning, little brother of the +wood." + +[Illustration: "GOOD-MORNING, LITTLE BROTHER."] + +The white rabbit said nothing. The paddle struck a branch of a tree +under water which caused the boat to curve. They all turned their eyes +on the snag, and when they lifted them again "little brother" was gone. +He understood his opportunity. + +They glided along. The ospreys were wheeling and screaming overhead in +the blue sky, and the red robins flamed in a colonnade of tall trees, +which were bearded with green moss. + +They came to a covert of dark alders and leadlike hazels. Here seemed +to be a colony of blackbirds. They rose from the bushes into the sun. +The male birds had red spots on their wings. + +Sassamon ceased paddling that Roger might see the red wings which were +in alarm, and fluttered here and there in the sun. + +"That is not he," said Little Metacomet. "Wait and see my bird. I know +the nest. My bird is a wonder-wonder." + +He stepped on shore, and made his way through some tall grasses where +were clusters of the yellow lady's-slippers, the most beautiful flower +of the New England woods. He plucked one in full bloom, and cried-- + +"Ho, ho!" + +He shook a tall black alder. There was a nest in it, from which rose a +bird in great alarm. + +"Ho, ho--see the wonder-wonder!" + +The bird cried as if to nature for help. + +It was not a red-winged blackbird--the downy spots on its wings were +white. + +"Bob-White--here is a brother bird of the wood. I bring you to see a +brother bird of the wood. Shall I bring him down, Bob-White?" + +Roger admired the beautiful white-winged blackbird, and pitied his +distress. + +"Has he a nest?" + +"Yes, yes; come and see your brother bird, Bob-White." + +But the bird flew down to the lake, its wings quivering. + +"I see," said Roger. "No, you need not bring him down if he has a nest." + +"You have a heart," said Little Metacomet, returning. "Never I strike +a bird with a nest. Niquentum. See, he is going home." + +What did he mean by "Niquentum"? + +It was a law among the Indians that no one should stop or delay a +traveler who uttered that word, which spoke to the heart--"I am going +home." As a rule, when a traveler said that, he was going to his family +who needed him: home to a wedding; home to one sick or in distress; +home to help some one in misfortune; home to a funeral, to dig a grave, +or to bury the dead,--it was a sacred word. + +The Indian boy saw the white-winged blackbird going back to his nest. + +He showed Roger, or "Bob-White," his brother with the white sign on his +wing. + +They pushed on to a great pond,--there were three hundred and +sixty-five ponds in all this place, called the Assowomset Country,--and +sailed free into the lake. Here were many geese, and among them some +white geese which the Indian boy thought would delight Roger. Purple +water-lilies lined the shore. The berry bushes were in bloom, and they +landed and rested on some great shelves of rock under an osprey's +nest, which contained possibly a half cord of wood. + +While resting here and eating some powdered parched corn, they saw a +fat rattlesnake on a flat shelf of rock near by. + +Little Metacomet took up his bow. + +"I will show you something," said Sassamon. "Wait." + +He took from his pouch a pinch of tobacco, cut down a tall alder, put +the tobacco on the top end of it and reached it slowly towards the +reptile. + +The snake coiled, rattled, lifted its head in fiery anger, and +displayed its fangs. + +Sassamon with a steady arm dropped the tobacco into the serpent's open +mouth. The reptile uncoiled, rolled over, quivered, and was soon dead. + +Little Metacomet leaped up, and sang something that sounded odd to +Roger, and then began to dance. + +Late in the day the great pond seemed to turn to gold in the declining +light. Then they journeyed home. + +It was a time of superstitions. People believed in signs and wonders. +Roger found his father, the wood-chopper, very much depressed at home. + +"Don't tell her," he said, referring to Susan. "But what do you think +the Plymouth people have seen?" + +Roger could not answer. + +"An Indian scalp in the sky." + +"Where?" + +"On the moon." + +"I am afraid you have heard some bad news," said Susan, later. But the +wood-chopper did not reply. He only spread out his hands before the +fire. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + LITTLE METACOMET'S BLUE ROBIN + + +The blue jay was the bird companion of the Indian. + +He could laugh, mock, and pilfer, but he did the latter in such a +comical way as to cause even a red-face to smile. Very wild by nature +he could be made very tame, as tame as a kitten, if brought up from the +nest. Moreover, he could be called. A blue jay brought up from the nest +in the house would always live near a lodge or house, and return at the +whistle of its mistress. + +But the joy of the woods in the early spring was the blue robin, or +bluebird. The wild winter passed, ending in tempests, through which +spring broke; the cowslips began to line the still frozen streams and +soon to bloom amid the breaking ice; the maple buds turned red and +swelled. Then out of the woods came the blue robin, and notes as +lovely as the changing air announced the coming of spring. + +The blue pairs breasted some hard belated winds for a time. Then the +air was bloom and song, and they began to make their nests in some +hollow arm of a tree, near a lodge or house often, for the blue robin +was a home bird. + +Little Metacomet came up to the groves one day, and discovered on the +way some blue robins flying about the hollow of an oak, as in great +distress. He climbed up the tree, saw a hollow in a crotch, and ran his +hand down into the hollow, the blue robins flying and crying around his +head. + +Suddenly he found his arm in a coil as if a rope had been wound around +it. The coil was cold. It tightened. He drew his arm out of the hollow +and found that a black snake had coiled itself around it. The snake had +gone into the hollow probably to destroy the blue robins' nest. + +The black snake is not poisonous, and Little Metacomet was not +frightened. He was angered that the snake should have intruded upon the +blue robins. He seized it by his free hand, leaped down to the ground, +and ran for timid Susan's, saying-- + +"Now I will give her a surprise!" + +He did. + +He called--"Mother Susan, Mother Susan!" as he came to the door. + +Timid Susan opened the door, and shrieked-- + +"Roger, Roger, a snake has got Little Metacomet!" + +Little Metacomet rushed in to the cabin and shook off the snake, and +Susan pounded the reptile's head, and threw its body outside the door. + +"Where did it get you?" asked timid Susan. + +"I tore it out of the blue robins' nest. He went into a hole of the +tree to destroy the blue robins' eggs, or young." + +"Oh, oh!" said Susan. "The beautiful blue robins that bring the sky on +their wings." + +"The blue robins that paint themselves in the sky," said Little +Metacomet. "I am going to defend that nest." + +He went back to the tree, the others following him. He put his arm into +the hollow again, and took out a blue robin, the mother bird. + +"She has young," he called to Susan. + +"Take care," said Susan, "there may be another snake." + +He let the bird fly away, but she circled near, crying. + +"I will keep the bird from harm until her young have grown," said +Little Metacomet. + +"So you shall, and I will help you," said timid Susan. "And the bird +shall be ours. How many things we do own--we folks who live in the +forest." + +"I will help you, too," said Roger. + +Little Metacomet looked after the safety of the blue robin daily. The +parent birds came to know him. He did not need any cage for them. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + THE CAT IN A BAG--THE FROG RACE + + +In the summer, when the cloud of war was gathering, the last beautiful +season of the Indian race of the bays, the visits of Little Metacomet +to the Barley cabin in the green groves of Swansea were frequent. He +became more than ever a playmate of Roger, and the two searched the +groves as they then were, for the wonders of nature. + +The animals are gone now that then inhabited the woods of beautiful +oaks, green savins, white birches, and bright waters. The moose came +down from the north then, and there were bears and wolves and many +foxes. Buzzards' Bay was full of buzzards, and the coves, of waterfowl. + +But there were no cats, except wild cats, and when Little Metacomet +found a domestic cat, all gentleness and lovingness, at timid Susan's, +he thought the purring animal to be a wonder indeed. He himself had a +little fox dog, or a red dog that resembled a fox. It was quite tame +and followed him, and slept beside him in the lodge. + +One day, when a great tempest and downpour kept the boys indoors in the +green groves, the Indian playmate said to Roger-- + +"Let's trade." + +"What shall we trade?" + +"I will give you my dog for your cat. I like pussy; she purrs in my +arms. You need a little dog like mine. His nose is sharp." + +Timid Susan did not like the idea. + +"I would be afraid that his teeth would be sharp, too sharp for me. And +the cat is the only thing we have got that came from England. She seems +like one of the family. But there is little that we would not do for +you, Metacomet." + +Metacomet sat on the floor silent for a time. + +"Would you lend kitty to me? I will lend you my dog." + +"Yes, yes," said Susan. "I will give her to you, and you can keep her +here." + +"No, no. I want my mother to see her, and the papooses and all. Let me +take her to the lodges." + +"But how would you carry her? She would come back. Cats come back. They +see by scent. They see in the night. In the old country they carry them +in bags. I will make a bag for you to carry her in, and Roger shall go +with you to the oaks of Sowams when the bag is ready." + +"I will send back the dog with Roger, if he will follow him." + +So the trade was made, and timid Susan prepared a bag, hugged and +kissed the cat many times, until she purred, and then put her into the +bag and drew the string. + +The two boys with the bag, which seemed greatly agitated, went together +to Sowams and the little prince took the cat to his mother, who +welcomed her with wonder. + +When Roger was about to return, he called the dog after him, and +Metacomet said to the animal--"Go!" but he would not follow. So he put +a collar around his neck, and attached a long leather cord to it, and +Roger, pulling the animal along, compelled him to follow him. But the +dog did not seem at home in the cabin in the groves. He turned around +and around as if looking for his tail, and whined. He would not eat. +He seemed to be longing for the little prince, and the bountiful and +lively lodges. + +The next morning timid Susan let the dog out into the yard. In a moment +he was gone. "He went like a streak," said Susan. + +Just then they heard a sharp, glad "mew" in the road. Susan ran out in +surprise. The cat was coming as fast as her legs could bring her. + +"Wonder of wonders!" said Susan. "And what are we to do now? We will +have to go over to Study Hill and ask the hermit what it was that made +the dog go home and the cat come back. When Little Metacomet comes, +I will take my slat sunbonnet and we will go over there, and ask him +about these things." + +They went, on a long sunny day. They asked the hermit, and he looked +wonderfully wise. + +"The heart follows its own gravitations," said he. + +Timid Susan did not know any more what that meant than the little +prince himself. But they knew that was the true answer, and Susan +courtesied, and the prince's eyes blinked, and they were pleased to +hear the hermit add-- + +"The home is in the heart; the animal's is in the lair, and the bird's +in her nest, and all in their own country. Little animals love their +own, and they are good people whom animals will not leave. The cat was +true to Susan, and the dog to Metacomet, and you have all promised to +be true to each other." + +"Then we will not trade," said the Indian boy "and we will all be true +to each other--I to Roger, he to me, and both to his mother, and she to +us, and mother to you all." + +"How many will that be?" asked Susan. "Mr. Blaxton can tell. I seem to +lose my count." + +So as the cat and dog did not wish to trade homes, but were allowed to +stay with their own keepers. + +On their road home, that day, the three paused to rest upon a +moss-covered log, when they saw a toad leaping quickly along. + +"What hurries him?" asked Roger. + +"A snake is following him," said Metacomet. + +And sure enough a snake came swiftly after the toad and struck him, +evidently poisoning him. + +Little Metacomet struck the snake with a stick, breaking his back. + +There was a bed of plantain leaves in the moss under the trees. + +The toad turned and went to the plantain leaves, and seemed to suck +them, and to rub against them, and to spread himself out upon them. + +"They will cure him," said Metacomet. "Had he not found the plantain he +would have died. How did he know that the plantain would cure him?" + +But the others shook their heads. + +"They say," said Susan, "that the witch-hazels cure people of poisons. +How wonderfully nature works, and I, a poor, simple soul, don't +understand it as the hermit does. He knows what we don't know--there +are not many like him." + +Roger brushed the toad with a stalk of green leaves, gently. He leaped +away; he had evidently been cured by the plantain leaves. In what +school did he learn of the right doctor? + +"He seems to be running all right," said Roger's mother. + +The Indian boy grunted. "I could outrun him," he said. + +"Outrun him?" said timid Susan. "I would think that you might with +your nimble feet. I could." + +"No, no, mother Susan, not if I gave him a start; there is something in +him that you do not know about. Do you know how long a bullfrog's legs +are when he gets to going?" + +The little prince spread out his hands. + +"Let me take that big frog out of the water, and tickle him by a hazel +stick so that he will think it is a snake. Then when he begins to run, +you run with him, and if you outrun him, I will give you a string of +wampum." + +So Metacomet captured a big green frog. He cut down a hazel stick, +which did indeed look like a snake. + +Susan dropped the sticks that she had gathered and prepared to run with +the frog. Little Metacomet tickled the frog, and the frog made one +leap, and timid Susan kept pace with him. + +But he made another leap, more rapid than before, and another farther +and more rapid still. The Indian boy tried to wiggle the hazel after +him, but he was left behind. + +Then the frog got to going; leap, leap! he brought all the arts of +animal electricity into motion. He leaped quicker and quicker, higher +and higher, farther and farther. Susan ran, but she did not know how to +use electricity like the frog. At last the frog seemed to fly. + +Metacomet sat down by the way and laughed in the suppressed Indian +manner, while Roger rolled over and over in delight. + +The frog soon left timid Susan far behind, and came to a ferny brook +and dove into it from a high leap into the air. + +Poor Susan threw up her hands and sat down on a fern bank by the way, +saying-- + +"I am all tuckered out. I never would have believed it. I shut my eyes +to think of it. What surprising things do happen, if you stop to look. +How that frog did go! He could outrun a horse!" + +Yes, Susan, and some of the arts of the twentieth century were +illustrated in those long, high leaps. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + THE SCHOOL OF THE WOODS + + +In the green groves of Swansea was an Indian national mill which may +still be seen on the main road from Warren to Barneyville, about +half-way between the two towns. A stone wall runs over it. It is +worn smooth with the grindings of the corn, and was probably used by +generations of aborigines. + +Here gathered the native Indian races, and here it is probable the arts +and crafts of these races were taught before the great sickness, when +the Wampanoags were in their glory. + +The mill was not far from the simple cabin of timid Susan, and here the +sharp, hard stone probably furnished material for arrows. + +Little Metacomet was educated by the grinders and the arrow-makers +in places like these. On the shores he was taught to make spears and +arrows in the lodges, or saw how this work was done. In places like +the Indian mill he saw how mortars and pestles for pounding corn and +meals were made. At Mt. Hope Lands he saw how it was that the Indian +women painted their fabrics with pigeon-berry and how fruit was dried +for winter use. The great cloaks of the chieftains and sagamores were +probably painted there, for there were the royal lodges. + +His instructor may have been his mother, or his father's brother, who +died early in the Indian war, and who is said to have studied at the +Indian school at Cambridge. Though he was only a little boy, princes +were trained young in the Indian arts. + +The first thing that was taught such children was picture making, on +white birch bark. The books of the Indians were pictures on bark, and +these represented the sun, moon, stars and the manitous, or gods. + +The Indian boys were early taught to run. The Indian runners were +almost electric in their motions, and made quick journeys from Mt. Hope +or Sowams to Plymouth, or to the Narragansett country. + +Little Metacomet was probably taught to use the sassafras bow and to +feather his arrows from osprey-wings. The ospreys or fishing hawks +were very peaceable, dwelling among the great rugged oaks. They never +quarreled among themselves. But the great eagle sometimes attacked +them, and then they would gather for war against him. + +Little Metacomet was taught to attack the great eagle, and to help +the peaceable ospreys. When his arrow brought down the eagle with its +wings broken and torn, he received the applause of the arrow-makers, +spear-makers, mortar-makers, and basket-makers. + +In the winter canoes were hollowed from logs, and he was taught the +arts of fishing. He was told of the Great Spirit who dwelt in the happy +hunting-grounds in the regions of the sun. These places of departed +souls were said to be in the south. The Indians sang themselves to +sleep, by thoughts of the happy hunting-ground. + +The making of wampum was one of the arts of the Indian schools. Wampum +was made of shells, and was the Indian money. + +It was reckoned by "fathoms," or the length of the string. The making +of beads and ornaments of fur, feathers, and shells was also among +their arts. + +When the children of the braves began to grow rapidly, they were put +into the hardening process, or what might be termed physical education. +They were cast out into the cold in winter that they might endure cold; +they were tortured that they might learn never to complain. An old song +tells this story-- + + "The sun sets at night and the stars shun the day, + But glory remains when the light fades away. + Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain, + For the son of Alknomok will never complain." + +How to become stolid was one of the arts of this forest education. + +As the months passed on, the hostility of the Indians toward the white +people grew, and Susan every day talked with Roger about what would +happen if hostile Indians were to "come diving down the road, right +past her door." + +"Mother," Roger used to say, "they would remember what the little +prince has said of us. An Indian never harms a friend. The women all +know how we have treated Metacomet." + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + A FLYING MOUSE + + +It was a lovely summer day. The long mornings in New England in June +are almost days of themselves. Wild roses reddened the woods; there +were water-lilies on the ponds, that filled the air with fragrance; +the forest was all odor and song. It was glorious to live in days like +these. + +Little Metacomet had found a flying squirrel, and he hurried away from +Sowams to the green groves of Swansea with the leathery little animal +that performed such wonders among the tree-tops. + +He showed his prize to Roger and his mother. + +"This squirrel flies," said he. "He spreads himself out so--then he +makes wings of himself, and he goes through the air so-o-o. He has far +wings." + +Timid Susan thought the flying squirrel a most extraordinary kind of a +bird, and said-- + +"Let him go and run up the tall maple tree and see if he will fly." + +Little Metacomet gave the "squirrel bird," as he called him, his +liberty to run up the maple that was not connected with any other tree. +A great oak stood near it, on the edge of the wood. The squirrel ran +nimbly up the maple, and presently sailed away as on wings for the oak. + +"That beats the cow that jumped over the moon," said Roger. "Did you +ever know a rabbit to fly, or a deer or a moose?" + +The prince laughed and shook his head. + +"But I will bring you a flying mouse." + +Timid Susan's eyes grew round. + +"Wonder of wonders! a flying mouse. I have heard of singing mice, but +never one that flew. How high can he fly?" + +"All around the limb of a tree, and hang under the limb, and pick worms +with his back toward the ground." + +Metacomet went to the door. + +"There is one now, look, look!" + +He pointed to a witching little titmouse. + +"That is not a mouse, but a bird," said Roger. + +"No, no--he gets his living by his feet--see, see!" + +The bird whirled around a dead limb, clinging to it with his feet. As +he did this, picking grubs, he looked wonderfully like a mouse. + +"Well, well," said Susan, wonderingly, "we will have to go to the +hermit, and ask him what makes some squirrels fly, and some birds run +about trees and under the limbs like mice. He knows everything, almost. +Let me get my slat bonnet and we will go." + +So once more they went to Blackstone's home, and asked him questions, +after telling him the story of the bird squirrel and the mouse bird. + +"What makes these creatures do such things?" asked timid Susan. "There +seem to be a great many wonders in the world this year. What makes some +squirrels fly?" + +"Instinct," said the hermit. + +"And now won't you tell us what is instinct--I don't seem to be gifted +with much sense. You must know all these things." + +"Instinct is instinct," said the hermit. + +"How wonderful! I knew that you would know. 'Instinct is instinct.' +Where did it come from?" + +"From the divine wisdom in everything. Everything that lives has its +own gift. It is Little Metacomet's gift to see into nature." + +"What is my gift?" + +"To have a good, true heart; that is the greatest of all gifts." + +"Then you take me to be gifted woman. I will tell Joseph, my husband, +the wood-chopper, of what you say. He will be proud of me then, and +say--'What a wife I have got!' I will go home slowly, and get Little +Metacomet to gather me some water-lilies, flying squirrels and mousing +birds. Nature is proper interesting, if you only have eyes like Little +Metacomet. He sees into things that we don't know about at all." + +As she went out of the hermit's cabin, she looked up and said, + +"There are hawks in the air." + +Little Metacomet laid hold of her apron. + +"There are hawks in the air," he said. "I can see. I'll keep them away +for you; I will always keep you and Roger from harm. Hawks, hawks; +there are hawks in the heart." + +What did he mean, this boy of ten, this small philosopher? + +Timid Susan caught Little Metacomet's meaning. There were hawks in the +red man's heart, and there were Indians who were hostile to the white +people. They were becoming more and more numerous, and his father the +king sometimes found it difficult to restrain them from open violence. + +"I hope I will never live to hear the war-whoop," said Susan, and +Metacomet answered gravely, + +"I hope you never will." + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + LITTLE METACOMET SEES HIMSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS + + +Among many wonderful playthings of wood, metal and shell that Little +Metacomet had in his lodge were a bundle of notch-sticks, by which he +numbered the changes of the moon, and rising of the tide. His mother +had shown him how to make these calculations, and she had been taught +by a paniese, or Indian prophet. He came out to the groves one day, +and brought his notch-sticks with him, and he told timid Susan that he +could tell her when the moon was going to change. + +"Are you sure?" said she. "I'm powerful uncertain about the planets. +Suppose to-morrow night should be the full moon instead of the new +moon?" + +"No, no," said the little prince, "the paniese, he knows." + +"How does he know?" + +"Because things are always so. The Great Spirit he never changes his +notch-sticks." + +Timid Susan raised her hands. + +She had a looking-glass. She kept it covered for fear of the dust and +flies, and when the little prince was explaining to her how the Great +Spirit never changed his notch-sticks, a happy thought came to her. She +would show Little Metacomet his own face in the looking-glass. + +A tame blue jay came into the door, and lighted upon Little Metacomet's +crown of feathers, and the cat ran toward them with her back up to +drive the audacious bird away. + +Just here timid Susan took the curtain from the glass and lowered it, +so that the prince could see his face, and the bird with her pretty +head with its raised crown, and the cat with her humped back and +resentful eyes. + +The prince had never seen a looking-glass before. He had seen his +face in the clear water among the lilies, the water glass. But when +he saw himself now with his crown feathers, and the blue jay with her +crown feathers raised, and the resentful cat, he thought that all had +changed into two. He rolled over in surprise, the bird screamed, and +the cat drew back. + +The bird flew up to one of the beams under the roof, and expressed her +surprise in a series of shrieks that sounded like the turning of a +rusty crank. + +The cat ran down toward the glass, and found what seemed to be another +cat rushing towards her. She drew back and spit, and the other cat +seemed to do the same. + +Metacomet leaped up and went toward the other little Indian in the +glass, which seemed to mock him. + +"I am two to-day," said he, gazing into the glass. "Where did you get +the water face? I came here to surprise you and you surprised me. I +have a sun glass in the lodge that the English gave to my father. It +draws down the fire from the sun. Don't you think it is all great +conjuring? The notch-sticks they be always the same. Why are the +notch-sticks always the same over and over, why the moon full out and +be sharp again? It was so in the moons ago. Why?" + +Susan shook her head. + +"It is so because it was always so." + +And they knew as much as anybody knew about it--even the hermit. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + ROGER GOES TO THE INDIAN RACES + + +One day Little Metacomet came to timid Susan with a message that caused +her to stand long silent, with lifted hands and open mouth. + +"My father has sent for Roger." + +"But you scare me; I can't spare him; he is all I've got. What does the +king want him for?" + +"To see the races. He wants to be good to Roger because you have been +good to me--you give me pancakes." + +"What are the races?" + +"The races of the Indian boys at Mt. Hope. The boys race, jump over a +rock into the water, and swim, swim, swim, and he who runs and swims +the fastest and farthest, is given moccasins, and is made a runner." + +"And what is a runner?" + +"He carries words from one part of the country to another." + +"Roger, I will have to let you go. It will be better for us to do as +Philip wishes." + +So Roger went with Little Metacomet to Mt. Hope. + +It was a land of brightness, beauty, and history. Here the forest lords +may have reigned for a thousand years. + +The throne of Philip was a tall cliff, at whose foot ran a natural +spring. The cliff and spring are still to be seen. It faced the sea, +and over-looked the far forests, the Indian villages of Kickemuit and +Sowams, both of which were at natural springs near the sea. + +Here he lighted his council fires. Here he gathered his warriors to +national dances. Here he prepared to make his last hunt with a thousand +warriors, which he believed would end the dominion of the English race. + +Wetamoo, the warrior queen of his dead brother Alexander, reigned at +the sunny highlands of Pocasset, across the bay from the throne cliff +of Mt. Hope. + +Philip made Mt. Hope the place of his royal residence. Here were +the shell villages, the national cornfields, and the ancient +burying-ground of the Indian race. There were other royal places, but +this was the favored resort. + +What a beautiful elevation about the seas, these rocks were! The shores +were shaded by great oaks, and the rocks were green with savins. Here +the ospreys or fishing eagles made their nests and wheeled screaming +in the purple sky at noon. Here were the great river meadows where the +night heron wandered. Over the bay, where Fall River now is, were the +woods of Pocasset, grand with ancient trees and tangling vines. The +wild grape grew there, its vines purpling in the fall. There was sumac. +There the arbutus bloomed in the snow of early spring, the laurel +blazed in early summer and the wild aster and purple gentian fringed +the meadows. + +To the west from the great boulders on the summit of the Sugar Loaf +Mountain lay the cerulean expanse of the Narragansett, into which the +sail of Verazzumi had ventured, and found the shores a vineland. At the +foot of the mountain were shelving rocks where the Northmen are thought +to have landed in 1001. After the tradition, the first white child in +America was born there, near the place where now is the Sanitarium. To +the north ran the Kickemuit through cornfields, and sea meadows--where +grew the giant thatch of which cabin roofs were made. There were the +shell villages around the natural springs. + +It was a bright day in early spring, that of the races. Across the bay +came the skiff of Queen Wetamoo, seeming as light as air. The queen was +plumed, and bedecked with red robes and glittering pearl shells. She +was to crown the winner of the race. + +Her sister, Philip's wife, who was called the beautiful princess, +received her. Then the drums were beaten, and the tribe formed a +semicircle, with Philip on a black horse in the front, and the signal +was given, and the race began. + +Twelve or more youths started from the top of the hill and seemed to +fly over the ground and through the air. They wheeled down to a rock +on the borders of the bay, leaped the rock, and went swimming out into +the tide. The Indian warriors shouted and the women cried out and waved +their hands. + +An Indian boy, shorter but more nimble than the rest, won the race, and +came swimming back to receive the moccasins from Queen Wetamoo. + +Then Philip spread out his hands. The tribe formed a circle, and the +princess brought forward a pair of moccasins, decorated with pearl. + +The Indians' eyes were all fixed upon Roger. + +The princess came up to Roger, and laid one hand on his shoulder. + +"These are for you," she said. "You have a good mother. We have all +heard of the good woman of the haystack, who fries pancakes for the +young chief. Put up your foot." + +The princess put the shoes on Roger's feet, and said-- + +"Now carry my heart to your mother." + +A shout went up that seemed to pierce the sky, and Roger went home to +his mother, his heart almost bursting with pride and joy. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + THE THUNDER BIRD + + +The Indian's mind was full of poetry, and nature was like a book of +poems to it! The seasons published the poems year by year. + +Little Metacomet thought the cabin in the groves the most delightful of +the hiding-places of nature, for the lands of the rivers and bays were +to him the open world. He, too, liked the old haystack and the green +haystack meadows. + +There were great flocks of turkey-buzzards in those days, and they used +to gather about the ponds. These strange awkward birds that slanted as +they flew were yet picturesque, and the little prince would sometimes +amuse himself by scaring them up with a cry like a loon. The night +heron also came to these ponds, in the deep glens near the oaks. All +the birds seemed to like the haystack. + +It was a hot May-day afternoon, and Metacomet was at the groves. A +cloud like peaks of pearl filled the northern sky, and began to turn +black and to spread itself like a wing. The air was still, the heat +sweltering; birds spread their wings in the trees, and sat songless +with open bills. Crows flew low, and perched upon the haystack, cawing +shrilly. Not a leaf stirred. Even the flowers drooped. + +Timid Susan and Roger sat with the little prince in the cabin doorway. + +Suddenly Metacomet said-- + +"It is coming!" + +"What is coming?" said Roger. + +"The thunder bird." + +"I have never heard of that kind of a bird before. How does it look?" + +"It is spreading out its wings now." + +"Where?" + +"In the sky--I can see him--his wings are black; they cover the grove. +They will turn into fire in the sunset." + +Susan looked up through the oak boughs into the clear air. + +"He is beginning to shake his wings," said Metacomet. "He will flap +his wings soon, and make the winds to roll." + +A gust of wind shook the trees. + +"He is flapping his wings now." + +A low rumble was heard in the distance. The sun went out, and gusts of +wind followed. The buzzards flew about wildly. There was a whirlwind, +and everything seemed blowing away. + +"He is spreading his wings," said the prince, "and he will spit fire +soon; he shoots arrows. The haystack is gone clear away." + +There came a flash of lightning, which was followed by loud thunder. + +"He is shooting arrows," said the little prince. + +"You mean the cloud," said Susan. + +"He will fly over soon," continued the boy. "Then the rain will pour, +and he will draw his bow beautiful, and all the birds will chirrup." + +"A rainbow," said timid Susan. + +"No, no, a bow like my bow, a bow full of fiery arrows, a bow that +shows the Indian that bright things always follow dark things; there +would be no bow, without the thunder bird. He puts all his arrows into +his quiver as the sun goes down." + +The cloud mounted high, thundered heavily and poured down rain, and +the bow followed, lighting up its broken masses in the sunset. + +"The sky is gathering up the arrows of fire," said the little prince. + +"You see double," said Susan. "I saw no thunder bird until you showed +it to me in my mind. We would call the way that you see things poetry." + +Presently all the birds of the woods began to chirrup. The osprey +mounted high, and screamed. The blue jay uplifted its crown. The leaves +that had drooped freshened again. All nature was filled with joy. + +"I am happy, aren't you?" said the prince. + +"Yes, but what makes us all so happy, birds and all, even little +rabbits? See the little bunnies crossing the ways. The very crows are +happy. Oh, how good it seems to be alive!" + +"I am glad that the thunder bird is gone," said Roger, "but we would +not have felt all so glad if he had never come." + +"No," said Susan, "but see, the very earth seems glad, with us. See +the worms, bugs, and even little green snakes; I didn't know the earth +contained so many things under ground. And here comes the little gray +squirrel that buries its walnuts in the ground, each in a separate +place; he must count." + +"And hush, hear the quail whistle," said the prince. + +Everything was glad after the thunder bird had flown away, and the +night came with the earliest cricket, beautiful and still. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE TREE TRAP + + +Sometimes John Sassamon the interpreter accompanied the little prince +to the groves. He had become one of John Eliot's preachers, and he +spoke English well. He was a story-teller, and liked to tell stories in +the lodges by the round fires and by the pioneer's open hearth. + +On one occasion, when Roger and Metacomet had been begging him for +another story, he told them the tale of "The Tree Trap." + +"In the harvest moon. + +"_Waupi_, the wind it was blowing, and blowing, whoo-oo. It was fall, +Indian summer time, the time of Paupock, the partridge. + +"It was night--the moon rose when the sun fell; she was a night sun. In +the spring the moon shone all day--you could see her down in the cellar. + +"It was the time of the Honk,--the wild goose. 'Honk, honk, honk.' He +had talks in the ponds on whose banks the gentian grew. He talked in +the clouds, when he led the forked geese to the north. He talked like +this [softly] 'honk, honk, ker-honk.' That meant steer for the north. +The north had silver nights at that time of the year. + +"Mosk, the bear [the Dipper] grew bright then in the north, as Papone, +the winter, was coming on. + +"Little Wobin was a lively Indian boy--he set snares; he had a nature +for setting snares--he liked to hear the animals cry out and beg for +life in the snares. + +"Wassoquat was the walnut tree. Wobin made bows of the walnut trees. It +would bend and not break. + +"That night as Wobin was sitting in his house--Wetu, the house--the +trees began to thrash each other. There was a great walnut tree that +spread its arms over the house--Wetu, the house. + +"The tree was very old, and it began to creak, as the trees were +thrashing each other in the wind--Waupi, the wind. + +"And Wobin said, 'What makes the old walnut tree creak?' + +"The tree creaked louder, and Wobin could not sleep. So he said-- + +"'I will go to the tree, and ask him what makes him cry out with the +wind.' + +"He went to the tree, and said-- + +"'O Wassoquat, Wassoquat, what makes you cry out?' + +"And Wassoquat answered-- + +"'Come up to my mouth and see! Come up, O snare-setter, and see.' + +"So Wobin climbed up to the mouth of the tree. The squirrels ran out of +their nests of dry leaves when they heard him climbing, saying-- + +"'Run, run, the snare-setter, the snare-setter!' + +"He reached the mouth of the tree. It was open, and he said-- + +"'Wassoquat, why do you shriek? I cannot sleep.' + +"'I cannot sleep,' said the tree. 'I am thinking of the animals that +you have snared, and caused to suffer. How would you like to be a +snared deer?' + +"Wobin laughed. Then the walnut tree--Wassoquat--gave a shriek that +made the clouds scud over the moon--Munnannock, the moon. + +"Wobin said--'What must I do to stop you from crying?' + +"'Put your foot into my mouth,' said the tree. + +"Then Wobin put his foot down into the throat of the tree, Wassoquat, +and Wassoquat closed his mouth and held him there. Wobin, the +snare-setter, found himself in a snare. + +"'Wo-ough-wo-ough!' he cried. 'Oh, my leg, my leg! Let me go, wo-ough!' + +"He was held there in terrible pain. + +"'Wo-ough!' shrieked the snare-setter. + +"The wolves heard him, the Moattoquas, and they gathered around the +tree and barked at him; the Pequaus, the gray fox, came, and howled. +The Passough, the wild cat, came, and shrieked with him. + +"Then the beavers came up from the ponds, and they pitied him, and the +king beaver said-- + +"'If you will never snare us any more, we will cut down the tree.' + +"And they cut down the tree and Wobin always pitied thereafter a beast +or bird in a snare." + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + AN INDIAN CLAMBAKE + + +Near Sowams, on the Kickemuit river, was the Indian town of Kickemuit, +and between the water courses or bays ran a long peninsula towards the +island of Aquidneck and the ocean, called now the "Mt. Hope Lands." +Mt. Hope, the ancient burying-ground of the forest kings, crossed this +peninsula. In this delectable country, of bays and waterways, ancient +forests, and intersecting trails, were three springs: Massasoit Spring +at Sowams, Kickemuit Spring at Kickemuit, and the now so-called King +Philip's Spring at Mt. Hope. One of the roads leading to Mt. Hope is +now called Pometacom Avenue, on which is the immense Parker Mill. + +The Indian town of Kickemuit was a place of clambakes. The piles of +shells that accumulated, probably for centuries, may be seen on the +winding shores now, near the ever-flowing spring, which is now, or used +to be, bordered with water cresses. + +There probably in the Indian days were sloping cornfields, where fine +meadows are now. + +Little Metacomet one day said to timid Susan and Roger, that his +father, the chieftain, intended to invite them to one of the clambakes +of the Pokonokets. + +"I wouldn't see the powwow there, nor nothing, would I?" asked Susan. +"It would scare my head off to see him." + +The little prince looked puzzled. + +But timid Susan concluded to go to the clambake if she were invited by +the chief, whatever she might see. She could trust King Philip, the +princess and Metacomet. + +Susan, who was always afraid lest she should see something or touch +something, had one terror above all others, that she might meet with an +Indian powwow, or medicine man. She had heard of this strange character +who was believed to have gained his influence from the Evil One. + +"Oh, he is just awful," she used to say to her little Roger, "and it +would make you shut your eyes to the sun just to look at him. One +sight of him would put out the sun for me; snake skins hang all about +him, and they rattle, rattle, rattle; and he has horns and a tail, and +he leaps this way and that as though he were hung on springs; and he +yells, oh, the stars can hear him when he yells; he yells the yells +of yells, the medicine whoop, which is like the war-whoop. It makes +me shut my eyes just to think of him. If you were ever to see him, +run; let your little legs fly like drum-sticks. It would cure me of my +rheumatism just to look at him. I would shut my eyes tight, and just +fly if I were to meet him. Oh, oh!" + +She would throw her apron over her face, as she indulged in such +terrifying descriptions of the medicine man of whom she had heard in +Boston. Roger would sometimes stare with a fixed look of terror, and +sometimes laugh after one of these descriptions of the powwow, as the +medicine man was called by the English people. + +"But, mother, you could not fly; you have no wings, and he would get +you, and it might be that he wouldn't hurt you, but would cure you of +your rheumatism." + +"That he would, you may be sure of that. It makes my rheumatism go +away just to think of him at night. They say that he can turn his head +inside out. I don't know." + +The medicine man in his fantastic dress was no angel. He recalled +stories of evil and of the evil spirit. It was his purpose to make +himself as terrible as possible in order to scare disease away; he +tried so to engage the mind of the sick person with his antics as +to cause him to forget his disease awhile, and give nature a chance +to rally. On account of him, the English used to call the Indians +worshipers of evil spirits. + +"The powwow is nothing but a hooting _man_, just like any other man," +said Roger. + +"Yes, yes, you are a philosopher, Roger, that is so, but they do say +that he hoots awful. May I never hear him." + +In her lonely days in the wilderness, when she saw a band of Indians, +she would say: + +"I hope the powwow is not among them." + +She had lived in daily fear of this strange doctor, about whom the +Indians talked much, and of whose powers many wonderful things were +told. When Massasoit was sick nigh unto death, a powwow tried to +sustain his life by piercing cries, and by leaping around him. The +powwow was probably painted, and plumed with crows' and hawks' +feathers, and beat a drum, and rattled snake skins, just as all their +conjurers did. He was a product of superstition and ignorance and +derived his powers from his own imagination, and sometimes wrought +great cures by affecting the imagination of very sick people. +Passaconaway, the lord of the Merrimack, was a powwow, and they said of +him that he caused trees to dance. + +It was at this period of her forest life that there appeared at Susan +Barley's door one day a little Indian boy. He bore her a bit of wampum. +He was a very pretty boy, and scared Susan said-- + +"Come in, in the Lord's name. Maybe I will give you a pancake." + +At the word pancake the Indian boy's eyes twinkled, for he knew the +meaning of that word. + +"He has sent for you," said the child. + +"Who? Not the powwow, I hope. Oh, how my heart does flutter!" + +"No--not powwow. Philip! clambake!" said the boy brokenly. + +"You shall have a pancake, you nimble little ducky of an Indian boy." + +She bustled around and fried some pancakes while he watched her with +twinkling eyes. "Here, little boy of the woods, here is your pancake. +Have you a mother?" + +The child dropped his chin for yes. + +"Then I will send her two. These were fried in bear's grease and are +proper good." She said this by pointing to the bear's grease and +smacking her lips three times. + + * * * * * + +Susan and Roger set out for Kickemuit on the morning of the day +appointed for the Indian clambake. It was one of those dreamy days +of mellowed light, so well known in the bay country. The maples were +changing in swampy places. + +As they approached the place of the spring, Little Metacomet came out +of the lodge to meet them. + +The beautiful princess had dressed the Indian boy gayly for the festive +occasion. He wore on his head a crown of white and dark plumes. The +band of the crown consisted of pearly shells and the feathers, which +slanted backward like a mane, were from the wings of the sea eagle. +His tunic was woven of river grass and bark fiber, and was fringed. He +bore on his arm a round shield like a drum-head. It was stained with +pigeon berry and yellow ocher. His tunic was fringed, and his feet +were mocassined. He looked like a little warrior. The costume of the +princess was as gay, with a girdle of shells and feathers. + +[Illustration: HE LOOKED LIKE A LITTLE WARRIOR.] + +Near the lodges, under the great oaks, a bake was steaming. It +consisted of an oven of stone, filled with clams, cohangs, scollops, +scup, and other fish, covered with sea-weed and rock-weed. The scup was +the delicious fish of Mount Hope Bay. + +The tribe was there, and King Philip, the forest lord of Pokonoket, was +painted and plumed, and surrounded by his great captains, one of whom +was Annawon. + +The ancient oaks with their ospreys' nests slanted towards the flowing +spring, and under them were painted warriors and Indian girls. + +Down the stream came canoes, one of which bore Wetamoo, Philip's wife's +sister, glittering with fantastic ornaments made of the pearl of +shells. + +"You don't suppose the powwow will come, too?" said Susan to Roger. + +When the Indians were ready to open the bake, pipes rang out, drums +were beaten, skins were rattled, and the rock-weed and sea-weed were +thrown off of the steaming fish and bivalves. Then all sat down in a +circle, and the Indian girls and young braves served the great company. + +The afternoon sun was going down when the feast ended. In the evening +there was to be an Indian dance under the full moon, and a medicine man +was to perform. + +And now Susan had her fears realized when this terrible object came +rushing out of his lodge, leaping into the air, and rattling his dry +hides, shells and snake skins. + +She ran to the princess. + +"Oh, that I should ever see the like!" she said. "He has horns." + +"No hook," said the princess. "The animal is dead that wore the horns." + +"But he has a tail." + +"No danger," said the princess. "The animal is dead that wore the +tail." + +"But his voice goes up to the stars and makes me tremble." + +"The stars do not hear," said the princess. + +"I was so afraid that I would see something all along," said timid +Susan. "Let Roger and me go now." + +"No, no," said Little Metacomet. "Sassamon must go with you, and he is +going to dance, and the paniese, the prophet, is going to speak under +the moon, and Wetamoo will circle around with her braves. Stay, stay. I +will bring the medicine man to you and he will tell you who he is." + +So Metacomet sped away and presently returned with the medicine man. + +"Do not be afraid," said the Powwow. "I will defend you against all +evils. I am only an Indian decked out. See, these are not my horns, nor +this tail my tail, and the snakes that I rattle are dead snakes, and +the Indian's heart is true to all who are here to hear him. Tremble not +when I hoot. It is a friendly hoot for such as you." + +He uttered a fearful hoot and left the little woman smiling. + +The festival lasted nearly all the night, and King Philip danced with +Queen Wetamoo, while the two boys lay down on the green together, and +Susan leaned on the beautiful princess' arm. + +"Everything goes happy when hearts are right," said the princess. + +The moon at last sank low, the powwow ended, the land became shadowy +and still, and the pioneer's wife lay down beside the Indian princess +in the women's lodge, and Roger beside Little Metacomet, in the chief's +quarters, and the night heron wandered along the shore, and the loon +cried, and no one thought of harm. It was the calm before the great +war, whose war-whoop Susan so much feared that she might one day hear. + +When the people, white and red, retired to rest that night, the Indians +began to sing themselves to sleep. + +Once more Susan was alarmed when this singing began. She had never +heard the like before. _Boon--zoun--tarara_, like the whir of the +loon's wings in the night, or the cry of the loon when the waves were +beating on the rocks. But one by one the voices ceased, and then the +Indians began to snore. + +The timid woman did not dare to sleep. + +About one o'clock a queer form appeared at the door of the lodge. It +stood in the moonlight. It rose up and looked like a little man in furs. + +Susan could not keep still any longer. She rose up on her elbow and +touched the princess' arm. + +"There's a man in the door. See there." + +"Oh, that is a tame bear." + +"Let me call Little Metacomet." + +"No, give him a pancake." + +"Who? Metacomet?" + +"No, the bear." + +Susan followed the suggestion. + +The bear ate the pancake, and then came toward the little woman, who +was lying on the mat. + +"Oh, princess, he is coming!" + +"Give him another pancake." + +Susan followed this suggestion also. The bear ate the pancake, and +stretched himself out near the mat, and was as quiet as a kitten. Then +all of the forest were still, Indians, bears, and all. The moon went +down, and even the white woman became quiet amid lodges of Indians near +her and a little black bear beside her. + +Early in the morning, the blue jay came to the lodges and screamed, +"Wake up, wake up!" in a piercing tone. The bear woke up and walked +away. + +Such were primitive forest days. Susan prepared to go back to the +groves, when the powwow came out of his lodge, a kindly-faced Indian, +with all his toggery on his arm. + +"You fear," said he. "I bring you some presents. + +"Here are my horns; take them to the groves--then you no fear. + +"Here are my rattles; take them to the groves--then you no fear. + +"Here are my hides; take them to the groves--then you no fear. + +"And here is my heart; it is a friendly heart--it goes with you." + +Then Susan departed with a joyful mind. + +"I don't think that I will ever hear the war-whoop now," she said. +"What would I do if I should--what _would_ I do?" + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + THE HEART OF MASSASOIT + + +It was not long after this until the war-cloud darkened in the sky. + +There had come sudden messages to James Brown and Hugh Cole of Swansea. +They were from the better heart of King Philip. + +"The land air is fire; protect yourselves. I would help you, but I +cannot restrain my young braves now. The young warriors burn; I must +mount my black horse, and I give you warning. My heart is true to all +who have been true to Philip." + +Such in effect was the message. These men warned others. In a short +time, on a Sabbath day, several men were killed in the green groves of +Swansea by the Indians, near the place where is now the water-works on +the Kickemuit, or Serpentine. + +Timid Susan heard the terrible news from James Brown and Hugh Cole, and +also that these men were protecting themselves, and that James Brown +was hiding his valuables. The well is still shown near Touissit Station +where he hid his brass kettle, and with the well is associated a dismal +tale. + +Timid Susan trembled. + +"What will Little Metacomet do now?" asked Roger. + +"He will be as true to us as Philip has been to Mr. Brown and Mr. +Cole, and as he always has been to Mr. Blaxton, Father Eliot and Roger +Williams. An Indian never harms his friend." + +A strange figure appeared in the road, shy, fantastic. + +"Who is that, Roger?" + +"A barkeater." + +Susan looked at him in alarm. + +The Indian came toward the door, beckoning. He was painted and plumed. + +"There are hawks in the air," said he, the usual words meaning war. +"Little birds should take to the bushes. I bring you a word from Little +Metacomet; his heart is true to his friends. He says again, the young +chief, he says that if you are in danger he will seek you out, and +if he should be in danger, he wants you to find him. The places in +the world where hearts are true to each other have no war. The young +chief's heart is true." + +He uttered the thoughts in crude and broken words. + +"Tell Little Metacomet that we love him," said Susan to the barkeater. +"Whatever comes, I cannot forget that child's heart. He has the heart +of Massasoit." + +What was the heart of Massasoit? + +It is pleasing to try to answer this interesting question, for the +answer pictures what is best and noblest in Indian history. + +Few things so reveal the Indian nature as the conduct of Massasoit, or +Massasowat, on the occasion of the second visit of Edward Winslow to +Sowams, to the great sachem. + +As soon as Massasoit began to recover from his sickness, under the +treatment of the English, his heart overflowed with gratitude. + +Let us present this incident in Winslow's own words. + +"That morning he caused me to spend in going from one to another +amongst those that were sick in the town, requesting me to wash their +mouths, and give to each of them some of the same broth I gave him, +saying that they were good folk. This pains I took with willingness, +though it were much offensive to me. After dinner he desired me to +get him a goose or duck, and make him some pottage therewith, with as +much speed as I could. So I took a man with me, and made a shot at a +couple of ducks, some six score paces off, and killed one, at which +he wondered. So we returned forthwith, and dressed it, making more +broth therewith, which he much desired. Never did I see a man, so low +brought, recover in that measure in so short a time. + +"About an hour after, he began to be very sick, cast up the broth, and +began to bleed at the nose, and so continued the space of four hours. +Concluding now that he would die, they asked me what I thought of him. +I answered, his case was desperate, yet it might be it would save his +life; for if it ceased in time, he would forthwith sleep and rest, +which was the principal thing he wanted.--Not long after, his blood +stayed, and he slept at least six or eight hours. When he awaked, I +washed his face and bathed and suppled his beard and nose with a linen +cloth. But on a sudden, he chopped his nose in the water, and drew up +some therein, and sent it forth again with such violence, that he began +to bleed afresh. Then they thought there was no hope; but we perceived +it was but the tenderness of his nostril, and therefore told them. I +thought it would stay presently, as indeed it did. + +"The messengers whom I had sent to Plymouth for chickens for new broth +were now returned; but finding his stomach come to him, he would not +have the chickens killed, but kept them for breed. + +"Many, whilst we were there, came to see him; some, by their report, +from a place not less than a hundred miles. To all that came, one of +his chief men related the manner of his sickness, how near he was +spent, how his friends the English came to see him, and how suddenly +they recovered him to this strength they saw. Upon this, his recovery, +he brake forth into these speeches: + +"'Now I see the English are my friends, and love me; and whilst I +live, I will never forget this kindness they have showed me.' At our +coming away, he called Hobbamock, an interpreter, to him, and privately +revealed the plot before spoken of, against Master Weston's colony, +and so against us, saying himself also in his sickness was earnestly +solicited, but he would neither join therein, nor give way to any of +his. With this he charged him thoroughly to acquaint me by the way, +that I might inform the Governor thereof, at my first coming home. +Being fitted for our return, we took our leave of him; who returned +many thanks for our Governor, and also to ourselves for our labor and +love; the like did all that were about him. So we departed. + +"That night, through the earnest request of Conbatant, who till now +remained at Sowams, or Puckanokick, we lodged with him at Mattapuyst. +Here we remained only that night, but never had better entertainment +amongst any of them. The day following, in our journey, Hobbamock, told +me of the private conference he had with Massasowat, and how he charged +him perfectly to acquaint me therewith, as I showed before; which +having done, he used many arguments himself to move us thereunto. That +night we lodged in Namasket, and the day following, arrived at home." + +The simple story of this chicken broth, as we gather it from this +narrative, indicates that a benevolent service to the Indian races in +the right spirit might have changed the Indians into citizens, and +made useful people of them. The work of the Mayhews among them on +the Islands had this influence, as did the efforts to civilize the +Stockbridge Indians. + +Philip had at times the heart of the great Massasoit, and at other +times the revengeful feelings of a savage. Susan saw only one side of +his nature, and well did she hope that even yet she would not hear the +war-whoop. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE INDIANS PASS BY + + +But Susan was soon to hear the war-whoop which she so much dreaded. A +week went by after the visit of the barkeater, and she watched daily +for sign of the Indians, or for a visit from Little Metacomet. + +"He will come some day, sassafrassing along the trail," she would +remark to keep up her courage. But the Indian boy never came again +after this message. The hawks in the air had caused all the Indians to +keep close to Philip and his black horse. + +The terror grew. War with the Indians became every day more certain. +The pioneers barred their doors, and the wood-chopper ceased going +abroad into the forest. + +One day as Susan was returning from the old haystack meadow to her +cabin, a sound rose in the air--it rasped; it almost caused her heart +to stand still. + +It came from the old Indian mill. + +It was a fair day. The woods were full of bird song, and the bright air +hummed with insects. + +She caught off her slat bonnet. + +It came again. There was hate, intensest hate in the sound. + +It was like a war wind. + +"That is the war-whoop," she said. "Oh, that my ears should ever have +heard the sound!" + +The war-whoop was the death-knell of the Indian race. Revenge is +consuming, and they who conquer by it are conquered; "they who take the +sword shall perish by the sword." + +When the war-whoop first arose we do not know--it was an air-rasping, +heart-withering sound; it was formed in the throat--like the Greek +aspirate it rolled out in gutteral r, r, r's and seemed to smite the +sky. It made the ear shrink; and the heart wither; it shut the doors of +mercy; it was followed by the swift use of the tommyhawk and scalping +knife. + +A writer has tried to express it in the sound of a simulated +word--Shar-r-r-gar, but no word can express it; it was born of hate, +and only a heart of hate can roll it forth. + +In the war dances of Philip at Mt. Hope it arose in the night for a +summons to the tribes for the last time. In the wild war that followed +it startled Swansea, Taunton, Dearfield, Hatfield and Lancaster. It +died at Mt. Hope, when the sagamores were silenced, and where silence +was forced upon the last great forest king. + +Susan listened again to make sure of its direction, but meanwhile sped +to the cabin door, where stood Roger and his father. + +The sound pierced the air. It was repeated--it seemed to saw the air. + +"Oh, husband, they are coming! You say that I am timid--always fearing +something. But I am going out to meet them." + +The sound broke again on the air. It caused the birds to fly. + +"Oh, husband, that is the war-whoop!" + +She went boldly to the front of the cabin, and Roger and she looked out. + +An hundred or more Indians were in sight. They stopped when they saw +her. + +Their leader, who was plumed and painted, turned and faced the others, +and said something to them, in a deep low tone. + +Then he pointed to the cabin, and to Roger. + +Next he began to run down the road that passed the cabin, leaping, and +singing some wild refrains. The braves ran after him, repeating his +words. When they came near to the cabin, they ran faster than before. +Opposite the cabin, they leaped higher, and cried out more loudly, + +"Netop! netop!" + +[Illustration: THEY PASSED THE CABIN, LEAPING AND SINGING.] + +They passed the cabin, and were soon out of sight. + +They had passed by. + +"Netop!" It had a friendly, joyous sound. It passed the family by +pleasantly like the west wind. + +Roger remembered that Little Metacomet had used the word--that he had +pointed to him one day when he had met a sagamore, and said to the +latter "Netop." + +"It means friend," said he, "and King Philip has told his braves to +pass us by." + +They felt safe now, and went abroad at will, seeking tidings of Little +Metacomet. + +Roger finally went to the Indian mill to inquire for him, while his +mother hid in the bushes near the place. + +He received only one answer. + +"He is following his mother." + +"Oh, Roger," Susan would say, "think of it. Suppose it was you +following me--and I was fleeing, fleeing. I never knew how much store I +set by that little boy. Our people had to take up arms or perish. But, +oh, how I wish that Father Eliot could have won over the tribes to God, +and changed the hearts of all, as he did of many." + +"If Philip should be killed," asked Roger, "and the princess should be +thrown into prison, what would become of Little Metacomet?" + +"I would give him a home with us," she replied. "I would share my all +with him. I ought to--he has the heart of Massasoit." + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + KING PHILIP'S FORT + + +The Indian war came in 1674. + +The war-whoop startled the colonists everywhere: at Plymouth, near +Boston, and in the frontier settlements. + +Susan heard it again and again, at a distance, and shuddered to think +what cruel deed it might proclaim. + +Meanwhile the pioneers armed and resisted the onslaught of the Indians. + +Some time in 1675, perhaps in the beautiful autumn, Little Metacomet +followed his mother into the Narragansett Country, to a woods, near +what is now North Kingston. The Narragansett Indians were about to +unite with King Philip in an alliance to protect the Indian empire from +being overthrown by the white people. + +The question had been forced upon the Indian races, shall the Indian +tribes govern themselves, or be governed by the white man's laws? When +Philip's brother Wamsutta had been summoned to Plymouth, Philip took +the view that the authority of the ancient sachemship had been taken +away, and when the Plymouth magistrates had caused the arrest of the +slayers of Sassamon, he had sent messages to the neighboring tribes +that they must arm, unite, or perish. + +So war, terrible war, came. Philip had induced the Narragansetts on +the west side of Narragansett Bay to make common cause with them to +maintain the authority of the Indian races. The colonists resolved to +prevent this union which would be fatal to them. + +Philip knew the Indian lands of both the Mt. Hope and Narragansett +Bays. He knew that there was a very remarkable swamp near the sea at +Kingston in which a natural island of some four or more acres rose +out of a great morass. If he were to erect a fort on this island, the +morass would protect it, for the morass was shallow water and deep mud. +It was covered with bushes where swamp birds lived, where blackbirds +built their nests, and frogs croaked in spring, an army of frogs. +About it the crows built their nests in the high trees, and over it the +fishing hawks wheeled and screamed at noontime. + +Philip resolved to build a fort so strong it could not be taken, and +planned to house the women and children of the warriors there during +the coming winter, and to drill the braves of the Wampanoags and +Narragansetts for the destruction of the white race. + +He caused a wooden wall to be erected about this hard island in the +great circle of mud, a che-val-de-frise, and he also made walls of corn +that should afford protection, food and shelter. The fortress arose +amid the woody splendors of the autumn. It was a fort that, after his +own view, could never be taken. Into this large enclosure he gathered +some three thousand Indian people. Here he lit his council fires, +and held his war dances, and prepared, as he thought, to destroy New +England, blot out its settlements, and restore the Indian races to +their former estate. + +There was only one way that this fort could be approached, as he +thought, and that was by a secret bridge. No white man could know of +this secret bridge, he reasoned, and his reasoning would have been +right but for the treachery of an Indian named Peter whom he had made +an enemy. + +Into this fort, which it was deemed no enemy could so much as disturb +in winter, Little Metacomet entered one day, following his mother over +the hidden bridge. + +It was a sunny day in Indian summer. That night the harvest moon was to +rise and a council and dance were to be held. + +Little Metacomet clung to his mother, and looked up to the walls of +sharp elbows of trees, and the high bundles of corn. + +A thousand or more Indian women were there, and they hailed the Indian +queen of the Wampanoags and her little boy. They lifted their hands, +and waved them in a fantastic way to the fortress that they thought +never could be taken. When the princess sat down on the royal mats they +gathered around her. + +Little Metacomet touched his mother on the arm, and cast his great dark +eyes up to hers. + +"Mother, what would happen to us if the fortress _were_ to be taken?" + +"I know not what would happen to me, but you, you, Little Metacomet, +would lose your Kingdom of Pokonoket, the throne of your fathers at Mt. +Hope, and you would be made a prisoner. They might put me to death." + +"Oh, no, no! But they might send us both to Father Eliot, and he might +send us to Mother Susan. Oh, what if such things were to happen!" + +"But they can never happen. All the palefaces that live could not take +this fort. An enemy who tried to cross the morass would sink, sink, +sink, and find a grave in the mud." + +"But suppose the bogs were to freeze?" + +"The bogs do not freeze. They make only thin ice. The thin ice hangs on +the bushes when the water goes down, and when anyone tries to cross, it +goes crackle, crackle, with a hollow sound, ponk, ponk, ponk, ponk!" + +"And are we going out in the spring and kill the white people?" + +"Yes, we must, or you will never sit in your father's seat, by the +spring of morning sun at Mt. Hope." + +Then Little Metacomet was silent. At last he said: + +"They will spare Roger's people I know; for we are friends." + +That night there was a torch dance. Over it the broad moon rose like +a night sun. It was one of the last dances of the Wampanoags. Little +Metacomet lay down beside his mother after the drums had ceased to beat +and wondered how his friendship with little Roger the white boy, would +end. Would he ever rub noses with him again? + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + DARK DAYS FOR LITTLE METACOMET + + +The colonists determined to destroy the great Narragansett fort. For +this purpose they set forth from Plymouth with a strong force. One of +their leaders was Col. Benjamin Church, a man with a merciful heart, +but who from the work of war that he was compelled to do became known +as the "Indian fighter." It was the dark time of the year, cold, +freezing, snowing. They well knew how strong the Indian fort had been +made, but this was their opportunity to deal with a foe that must be +overcome quickly by their rude arms. + +An Indian by the name of Peter had become a deadly enemy to Philip, and +had been looking for the chance to have his revenge upon him. He went +to the leaders of the colonists. + +"There is but one way that you can approach the fort," said he, "and I +know that one way. It is by a sunken tree. It may be covered with ice, +but I can lead you to the secret place." + +He led a post of the men to the hidden bridge which was a fallen tree. + +Soon, upon this fatal day, the sheltered Indians were startled by the +sound of guns near the sharp walls of the fort. + +"O, Metacomet," said the princess to the Indian boy, "that sound goes +to my heart." + +"But the fort can never be taken; the water, the water!" + +"But the fire; how can we tell what fire may do?" + +A cry went up--"The English! the English! they have crossed the bridge!" + +We will not attempt to describe the battle that followed, that dreadful +night. But at last a great fire arose which seemed to mount up to +heaven. The barricade of great trees was burning; the corn walls were +burning. Higher and higher leaped the flames--the heavens themselves +seemed burning. The lodges burst into blaze. The women ran hither and +thither crying for mercy, the children clinging to them. None knew +where to go. + +"The English are upon us, and the bogs cannot help us!" + +Philip fled, and the survivors followed him. + +He gathered an army again and destroyed the border towns, Lancaster, +Medfield, Northampton, Sudbury, Marlborough. Other settlements also +were laid waste and, flushed with success, he said--"I will fight you +twenty years!" But he was defeated at Deerfield, and saw that his power +was at an end. + +Philip fled towards Pokonoket. His wife and the little prince with a +few of the women and children followed the Indian trail, that half +encircled the blue Narragansett on its way to the green groves of +Swansea. + +The princess beat her breast and wailed. + +"Oh, mother, don't make that sound," said the little prince. + +"It is for you, as well as your father." + +"Oh, mother, I can endure anything. I will go anywhere that you go. +Will they shoot my father? Why not go back to him?" + +"No, no, that would hinder him." + +"Let us go to Father Eliot." + +"No, no, he cannot help us." + +"Then what shall we do?" + +"We must flee and hide." + +"Timid Susan would hide us." + +"But she would be so much afraid. Let us go to Assowomset." + +There is a conical hill on the borders of Lake Assowomset, which is +now called "Philip's Seat." Near it Sassamon was murdered by Philip's +Indians for proving treacherous to their chief. It is near the place +of the old historic Sampson tavern, and the electric car now passes in +view of it as it reaches the border of the lake. The two great lakes +unite by a natural canal near it. + +The mother and son would travel hand in hand past Providence to Taunton +and Middleboro. The women would follow them, and Philip would gather +together the remnant of his army. Such must have been the thought of +the princess. + +But nearly a thousand Indian braves had fallen in the swamp-fight and +other battles. The rest were in flight. The English army had driven +them back at every point. That day, the 19th of December, 1675, the +Indian race in the New England colonies received its death-blow; that +day the empire that might have been Little Metacomet's, had the +ancient race triumphed, fell. + +There was nothing left for the little prince and his mother now but to +wander. + +They hurried towards Assowomset, hiding at times, traveling out of +the sight of chimneys and saying "Niquentum" when the Indians of the +forests asked them whither they were going. + +They reached Taunton, fugitives, and hid from the habitations of the +settlers in the woods. + +The princess' heart bled for Philip, and she wailed wherever she +rested, and Little Metacomet became silent. + +They did not stop in the green groves of Swansea to see Susan and +Roger. They dared not go to John Eliot, but they knew that the hearts +of these people, and that of Roger Williams, would pity them. + +"Warageen, warageen!" said the princess at last. "It is well--the +Manitou orders all things for the best." + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + ROGER PARTS WITH LITTLE METACOMET + + +A horseman came riding along the road by the cabin of timid Susan +Barley, and he swung his hat to her. + +"Great news!" said he. + +"What has happened now?" asked she. + +"Philip is fleeing--they are surrounding him." + +"Where is he?" + +"He is somewhere near Taunton." + +"And where is the princess and her boy?" + +"The women and children are following him. They will all be taken +prisoners--there is no more hope for Philip. It all had to be so. He +brought it upon himself. The white man or the red man had to perish." + +"I know," said Susan, "but I pity his wife." + +Roger stood in the door and listened. + +"I pity the little boy, too, don't you, Roger? What will they do with +him?" + +"Send him away probably, or perhaps give him to Father Eliot," said the +courier. + +"Sir," said Roger, "where are you going?" + +"I am going to Taunton to join the forces of Church. They think that +Philip is fleeing towards Mt. Hope, the Indian burying-ground: that he +is going home. They can pen him up there." + +"Sir?" + +"Well, boy?" + +"Will you let me ride behind you?" + +"Where would you go, Roger?" asked his mother. + +"I would try to find Little Metacomet. If he were to be taken prisoner, +I would try to help him. His heart is true to me. You once told me +never to forsake a true heart." + +"Oh, Roger, how can I spare you? You may get into trouble. What would I +do without you, Roger? When would you come back?" + +"The boy is an Injun, Roger," said the horseman. + +"But he has a human heart." + +"Well, go," said Susan. "Tell the princess, if you find her, that I +will shelter her, and go and plead to Father Eliot for her." + +"Well, come on, boy," said the rider--"these are hasty times--I must +hurry. There are hawks in the air yet, but the sky is clearing--we will +have peace before winter." + +Roger leaped upon the horse, and the two rode away. + +Timid Susan sat down at the door, and threw her apron over her head, +and cried with a throbbing heart. + +"It may be that we are all the friends that pity Philip's family, but +it had to come," said she, moving backwards and forwards, and clasping +her hands. + +Her husband, the woodman, came home with his axe on his shoulder. + +"Roger's gone," said she. + +"Where?" asked Mr. Barley. + +"To try to find Little Metacomet. They have surrounded Philip near +Taunton. I pity the little Indian boy, don't you? Think how he used to +come here, sassafrassing, and bringing me forest flowers, and queer +birds and all. And what good times he and Roger, who had no playmates, +used to have together and somehow it was he that caused the war-path +Indians to pass us by. I pity him, don't you?" + +"Yes, I pity any one in trouble, but it all had to be." + +It is not a long way from Swansea to Taunton, and the two riders soon +arrived at Taunton Green. + +They found that the Indians had been defeated near the Taunton River in +a skirmish, and a number of prisoners had been taken there. + +"Philip's wife is taken," said a guard on the green. + +"What has become of the little boy?" asked Roger, rising up on the +horse's back behind the man in the saddle. + +"Little Metacomet?" + +"Yes." + +"They took him with his mother." + +"Where are they?" + +"At Bridgewater. They put them in the pound, in the town: in the pen +for stray cattle." + +"Then I must go there," said Roger clambering down hastily. + +He inquired the way to Bridgewater. He turned toward it with nimble +feet. It was dark, and there were but few houses on the way, but he +arrived there before morning, and went to the town pen. + +He asked a soldier on guard if Little Metacomet was in the pen. + +"Yes, he is there," said the guard, and added: "Are you friendly to +him?" + +"Yes, he was my playmate. Can I see him?" + +"You can look through at him. It will not be for long. They are going +to send the prisoners to Plymouth." + +"What will they do with Metacomet and his mother?" + +"The squaw queen and the Indian boy? They will be likely to send them +away to the plantations on the islands." + +"But mother would give them a home." + +"Who is your mother?" + +"Susan Barley." + +"'Timid Susan?' Why, how you talk. Wouldn't she be afraid to house +Indians, and the queen, too? The white people would all hate her." + +Roger went to the pen. What a sight was there! The sun was rising +over the summer woods. The birds were on the wing. Nature was in the +fulness of beauty. Inside the pen, lying upon the ground and some mats, +were the captive Indians, and Little Metacomet was lying asleep beside +his mother. + +The white people had been kind to them. They had provided them with +good food, and had talked kindly to them the night before. They were +disposed to be merciful now, thinking that the end of the war was near. + +Roger went to the side of the pen where the little prince lay. + +"Metacomet?" + +The boy slept on. + +"Metacomet?" + +The little prince opened his eyes. + +"Roger, you Roger, and your heart is true to my heart! What will father +do now?" + +The princess awoke. + +"You, Roger Barley--the good Manitou bless you--you find us in +darkness. I never expected to see a morning like this. What made the +sun rise?" + +"What can I do for you?" + +"I don't know--they say that they will send me away, and Metacomet will +go with me." + +"Where will they send you?" + +"To the islands from which the oranges come, so they say. Oh, how could +I leave my chief, these lands, and all. Can you not do something for +us?" + +"Yes, I will go back to mother, and we will go to Father Eliot, and I +will plead for you as I would for my own. Good-bye, Metacomet." + +"Good-bye, Roger. Whatever may happen to me, my heart will always be +true to you." + +He spoke these things brokenly, but the meaning was clear. + +Roger lingered by the wall of the pound. His heart was full. He knew it +all had to be just as it was; but he pitied that little red face. + +Suddenly a sound caught the ear of them both. It caused Little +Metacomet to throw up his hands. + +"Bob-white, Bob-white!" + +"The quail," said Roger. + +In a woodland meadow a quail was calling, in a sweet musical voice. A +multitude of birds were singing in the surrounding trees, but the merry +quail's flute-like voice rang out distinct among them all. + +"He is calling you," said the little prince. "What will they do with +me?" + +"Mother will go to Boston to ask the magistrates to let you come and +live with us, in the groves." + +"The quails there called you, 'Bob-White'" said Little Metacomet. "What +good times we used to have there in the green groves of Swansea! I love +you, Bob-White, and the groves, and your mother. I think the twelve +moons of her. But what will become of _my_ mother? Whatever happens, I +must be true to her. Whatever comes, a boy's heart can be true; we can +all be true to each other. Massasoit was true, and my father is true to +those who have been true to him. Where is he now?" + +"Bob-white!"--the quail had whistled again, with love tones in his +voice. + +"Hear the heart of that swale meadow bird," said the prince. + +They listened, and Metacomet's eyes glowed despite his sorrow. + +"I must go now," said Roger. + +"I may never see you more," said Little Metacomet. "Netop, I shall +never see you more. Let us rub noses again. It is the last time--I +know it!" + +Metacomet was right. It was the last time. Roger never saw his Indian +playmate again. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + SUSAN IS TIMID NO LONGER + + +Roger went home to his mother and told his sad tale. Timid Susan rushed +to the door, and uttered a loud cry. + +Her husband, the woodman, was returning home, followed by his dog. + +"I am going," she said, "I cannot stay. You shall never again call me +'Timid Susan.' He saved us. I will save him if I can." + +"What has happened?" asked Mr. Barley in alarm. + +"They have taken Little Metacomet and put him in a pen," she said. "I +am going to Boston to appeal to the Governor. I will get my slat bonnet +and go. Saddle the horse for me. I am afraid of nothing. I promised the +boy that I would be true to him, and I will--I am not afraid of any +white ox, or Indians, or bears. If I meet any hostile Indians, I will +say _Niquentum_ and they will let me pass." + +"Susan," said Mr. Barley, in greater alarm, "the Indians are still +tomahawking the people, and there are new signs in the sky. Oh, Susan, +sit down in the door and be quiet. These are terrible times." + +"Hinder me not, as the Scripture says. I must go--I cannot stay. I have +given my word, and it must be kept. He saved us. 'Netop! Netop!' that +word sounds in my ears." + +So the wood-chopper saddled the horse for her, and she set out boldly +for Boston. + +She ran the horse over the turnpike, and shortened the way, by taking +forest trails. + +The Governor would not receive her, but the president of the governor's +council sent for her. + +"Your name is Susan Barley." + +"My name is Susan Barley. 'Timid Susan,' they used to call me, but I am +not afraid of the face of day." + +"And you came here to plead for the princess and Little Metacomet." + +"Give the Indian boy over to me," said Susan. "I will give him a +home. He used to be my boy's playmate, and he has the very heart of a +Massasoit. He saved us from an Indian band." + +"It cannot be done," said the magistrate, not unkindly; "other Indians +would begin to rally around the princess and her boy. They must be sent +out of the country." + +At this Susan began to plead more earnestly. + +"Stop," said the magistrate. "I tell you it cannot be done." + +So Susan rode away from Boston without result and again faced the +perils of the forests. But she heeded them not. Her heart was aching +for Metacomet. + +"I will go to Natick," she said to herself. "Father Eliot will listen +to me." + +Eliot greeted her warmly. + +"Mistress Barley, you have a true heart," said the good man. "I will go +to Boston and see what can be done. I will save the wife and child of +Philip if I can. I will do my best. 'Blessed are the merciful.'" + +Eliot went to Boston to plead for the Indian prisoners. His case was +delayed, until he found that the decision to transport them had +already been made. + +Little Metacomet and the princess had been taken out of the Bridgewater +pen, and sent to Plymouth, and there were sentenced to be carried away +to Bermuda and sold for slaves. + +The decision of the government struck Eliot to the heart. + +"_Sell_ Little Metacomet, who has the heart of Massasoit and the better +heart of King Philip?" + +His appeal to the Council against the transportation of Indian +prisoners of war shows his beautiful spirit. + +He said (we quote his own words): + +"To sell souls for money seemeth to me a dangerous merchandise. The +country is large enough; here is land enough for them and us. I beseech +the honored Council to pardon my boldness." + +The appeal was made in vain. The Puritans reasoned that the smoking +country and its new-made graves demanded that the family of Philip +be sent to some place whence they could never return to rekindle the +dissolving fires. + +Then Eliot came back to the green groves of Swansea to tell Susan and +Roger of his quest. + +"What will happen to Metacomet and his mother?" asked Susan eagerly. + +"The Council says that they must be transported," said Eliot gravely. + +"Where?" asked Roger. + +"To one of the Southern Islands--the West Indies--Bermuda," he said. + +"What will be done with them there?" asked Roger. + +"They will be released to some planter. It is all sunshine there--" + +"But their hearts would wither." + +"Roger, it must be so." + +Roger went to the door. The blue robins were fluting in the trees. The +quails were calling as at Bridgewater. The great oaks were full of +song, and the ponds of lilies. + +"Must I leave all these?" said Roger. + +"What do you mean?" asked his mother. + +"I am repeating to myself what I think Little Metacomet would say if he +knew all. But it must be. I never had such a playmate as Metacomet, +and I shall never find another. He knew the woods, the flowers, the +animals, and the birds. He had the heart of the woods. He was nature's +own child. I shall never see him again." + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + TO THE PALM LANDS + + +The ship that was to deport the Indians to the Palm Lands, or the +Islands, sailed away, probably from Plymouth. Among the prisoners was +Runneymarsh. He had known the princess and Metacomet well, and he +pitied the little prince who never came to his own. + +There is a legend that the princess leaped overboard and committed +suicide when she saw Mt. Hope, where Philip perished, and where was the +ancient burying-ground of the Indian kings, sinking in the sea. + +This story is merely poetic fancy, as far as we can determine. But with +what a heavy heart she must have seen the shores of Massachusetts Bay +and the Narragansett fade from view. + +"Will they never let us come back again?" asked Little Metacomet. + +"We cannot tell; after what has happened to us, we cannot tell +anything. We would never wish to come back to the land of the dead; +I would never wish to live amid the oaks of Pokonoket if you could +not rule; I would not wish to see you the king of the dead. The Great +Spirit will guide us as he guides the birds that go to the Palm +Islands. We are following the birds." + +They were taken to Bermuda, where all is sunshine, flowers and birds, +and were given over to a planter, probably on a sugar plantation or in +the indigo fields. + + * * * * * + +Many weeks had passed when, one day, Susan heard a strange report from +Boston. It was that old Runneymarsh had returned. + +"Let's go to him, Roger," said she, "and see if the prince still +remembers us." + +They went to Boston by the way of Natick, where the praying Indians had +perished. The bell rang hollow there. Father Eliot was gone, and his +preaching places were deserted, though the time would soon come when +the people could read his Indian Bible. + +They found old Runneymarsh on one of the islands in the harbor. He +described to them the Palm Islands; their glowing plantations, oranges, +pineapples, bananas and many fruits. + +"And Little Metacomet, does he still remember us?" asked Roger. + +"His one dream is of you. He hopes that you will bring him back again +to the oak of his fathers." + +"That can never be," said Susan. + +"I wish it might be so," said Roger, "but what did he say of us?" + +"He said whatever may come, fire, water, toil, hunger, abuse, torture, +that his heart will always be true to those who loved him in the green +groves of Swansea. 'The Lady of the Haystack will always be close to my +memory,' he said. 'Oh but she had a good heart!'" + +"Did he send any message to me?" asked Roger. + +"Yes." + +"What was it?" + +"He said--'Tell Roger, if you ever see him, that there are groves of +palms here, but I would give them all, if I could, for one pine; and +that there are thousands of parrots here, but I would be glad again if +I could hear a little quail of the woods say once more, 'Bob-White.'" + + + THE END + + * * * * * + + _Books By_ + + Hezekiah Butterworth + + + LITTLE SKY-HIGH + + 12mo., cloth, with frontispiece, 35c. + + The adventures of a Chinese boy, of good + birth, in a foreign land. + + + LITTLE METACOMET + + 12mo., cloth, with illustrations, 60c. net + Postage, 10c. + + The life of an Indian boy, son of King + Philip, in the woods of New England. + + + LITTLE ARTHUR'S + HISTORY OF ROME + + 12mo., illustrated, 60c and $1.25 + + A popular story of this great nation's men + and deeds, for young people. + + + THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. + + NEW YORK + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75556 *** diff --git a/75556-h/75556-h.htm b/75556-h/75556-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19fd6c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/75556-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3735 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Little Metacomet | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap { font-variant:small-caps; } + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.caption p +{ + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 0.25em 0; + font-weight: bold; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph2 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75556 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/tp.jpg" alt=""> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h1>LITTLE METACOMET</h1> + +<p>OR</p> + +<p class="ph1">THE INDIAN PLAYMATE</p> + +<p class="ph1">BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH</p> + +<p>NEW YORK<br> +THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. +PUBLISHERS</p><br> + +<p>Copyright, 1904,<br> +<span class="smcap">By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Published September, 1904.</i></p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr"></td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">I.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">Timid Susan and her Neighbors</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">II.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">Little Metacomet</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">III.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Haystack Friendship</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">IV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">Another Visit to the Hermit</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">V.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">How the Hermit Tamed Birds</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">The Feathered Cat</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">Little Metacomet's Quail</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">Little Metacomet Visits The White-Winged Blackbird</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">IX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Little Metacomet's Blue Robin</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">X.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">The Cat in the Bag—The Frog Race</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The School of the Woods</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">A Flying Mouse</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">Little Metacomet Sees Himself in a Looking-glass</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">Rogers goes to the Indian Races</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">The Thunder Bird</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">The Tree Trap</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">An Indian Clambake</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">The Heart of Massasoit</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XIX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">The Indians Pass By</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XX.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">King Philip's Fort</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXI.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">Dark Days for Little Metacomet</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Roger Parts with Little Metacomet</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">Susan is Timid no Longer</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><span class="smcap">To the Palm Lands</span></a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The author's purpose in writing this book for young people is to +picture life in the New England woods in old Indian days, when +barbarism was passing under the influence of civilization. His mother +passed a part of her girlhood at Mt. Hope, and he was born near the Mt. +Hope Lands, at Warren, R. I., the Sowams of Massasoit, who protected +the Pilgrims and sheltered Roger Williams when the latter was forming +his views of liberty of conscience, or soul freedom, which have +entered into the constitution of every republic in the world. He used +to roam in the green groves of Swansea, has often met the last of the +Wampanoags at Lakeville, and as often pictured in his own mind the +charming life of an Indian boy in the green woods around the Mt. Hope +and Narragansett Bays in the days of the forest kings.</p> + +<p>This little nature book is an attempt to portray such a life. In +it the author has endeavored to picture, by much fact and a slight +framework of fiction, the life of Little Metacomet, the son of King +Philip, or Pometacom, or Metacomet, who followed his father, the great +chieftain, and his mother, the beautiful forest queen, before the +Indian war, and his mother during the war, and who was deported to the +Palm Islands after this last event. He has used Little Metacomet to +picture an Indian boy's life in the woods among the birds, animals, +and native races, and to tell the tale of what was most merciful in +Philip's war.</p> + + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>LITTLE METACOMET</h2> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">TIMID SUSAN AND HER NEIGHBORS</p> + + +<p>During the early settlement days of this country, before the great +Indian war of 1675, when the pioneers and the savages shared the land +on Mt. Hope Bay and the Narragansett Bay between them, there was a +little woman named Susan Barley who was much afraid lest she should +"see something." We may not wonder that she was so much afraid, for she +lived in the green groves of Swansea, which bordered on the Mt. Hope +lands, and the Assowamset pond country, at the time that the Indians of +Pokonoket began to be hostile towards the white people.</p> + +<p>Near her little cabin in the Swansea groves lived a very odd hermit +named William Blackstone, or, as he was generally called, Blaxton. He +founded Boston in apple orchards, and English roses, and then went +away to live all alone at a place which he called "Study Hill," near +Pawtucket Falls. He was a graduate of Oxford, England, but he loved +little birds and animals, and wished to live by himself that he might +study the soul. He made the birds and animals his brothers, and tamed +the forests around him, and the jays talked with him, and squirrels +lived with him, and hunted deer ran to him for protection. A bear and +her cubs would visit him among his apple trees, and the deer feed +around him like so many Jersey cows at the present time. At Study Hill +he wrote some ten volumes, probably of philosophy, which were burned in +the Indian wars.</p> + +<p>He used to travel about on a white ox, which he guided by a cord +running through a ring in the animal's nose. It was in the witchcraft +times, and some people may have thought that the white ox and his rider +were ghosts. Blackstone used to visit Roger Williams at Providence, +riding on this white ox. He probably did his courting at Boston in a +like way. We are giving here some of the curious incidents of a real +character.</p> + +<p>After his apple orchards had grown at Study Hill, now Lonsdale, +R.I.—where you may see his tomb in a yard of an immense cotton mill, +under the cornerstone of which he was finally buried, with the bones of +an ox, or an animal,—he would sometimes take a basket of the new fruit +to a place where Roger Williams preached, on the hill, probably near +Brown University, and when the good man of liberty of conscience had +ended a sermon, would say—</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho! And here are refreshments from the trees of the Lord."</p> + +<p>He would then toss about his apples to the people who had assembled to +worship,—Quakers, Baptists, outcasts, Indians and all.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!"—they would sit down and eat the apples.</p> + +<p>All the forest people loved Blackstone, and the very birds seemed to +sing his praise.</p> + +<p>Near Blackstone and his orchards lived John Eliot, the Indian Apostle, +at Natick, where he preached to the Indians and had gathered an Indian +church. He was the minister of Roxbury Fields, and his grave may be +seen in Roxbury, in the Washington and Eustis Street Burying Ground, +where probably rests Anne Bradstreet, the first American poetess, +in the Dudley tomb. Eliot preached in many places near Natick, among +them on the high rock at the present Brook Farm, at West Roxbury; the +memorials of his Indian work are to be seen at Natick. Had all white +men been like him, there probably would have been no Indian war.</p> + +<p>What noble men were these—Blackstone, Roger Williams, and John Eliot! +The latter failed to convert the Indian tribes, but his influence saved +New England. King Philip told him in a friendly way that he cared no +more for his religion than for the bright button on his coat, and yet +the chieftain at one time was very much interested in Eliot's teaching. +King Philip had a good heart at times—but it was a double heart.</p> + +<p>The New England woods were like a menagerie in those days, full of +animals and birds. Turkeys and partridges scurried everywhere among the +white birches and green savins, and fat geese filled the coverts about +the ponds in the fall. On the open fields the Indians grew corn, which +they parched and pounded, and ate with clams and fish.</p> + +<p>Savages, though they were, the Indians led a charming life in the +woods, and the Indian boy had a lively wonder age in his youth, +when he was learning the secrets of the forests. Little Metacomet, +King Philip's or Metacomet's son, was a small naturalist of these +forests and waterways before the great war. He met the great pioneers, +Blackstone, Williams, and Eliot, he followed his father in the last +days of peace, and he hunted and fished and enjoyed the Indian +clambakes and autumn festivals. So let us take the little brown hand +of the boy Metacomet, and go forth into our story, when every covert +had an animal, and every tree a bird, and the Indians thought that this +abundant life would last forever.</p> + +<p>One day timid Susan said to her son Roger, a lad of some ten years—</p> + +<p>"Let's go over to the hermit's and see what the world is about. I will +be careful not to touch anything."</p> + +<p>So the two went over to Study Hill to visit Blackstone, and the little +woman from the green groves of Swansea came timidly to the hermit's +door; for she had heard the strange tales of a phantom white ox in the +forest.</p> + +<p>The hermit came out to welcome her.</p> + +<p>"I'm proper glad I got here," said she. "I was afraid I might see +something. I came all the way from the green groves of Swansea."</p> + +<p>"What were you afraid you might see, good mother?"</p> + +<p>"The dead that wander; I'm never afraid of no living human, but I am +scary of the dead—they know all."</p> + +<p>"But the dead do not wander, little woman, to scare innocent people +like you. There are no ghosts outside of us—ships do not sail on the +land, nor cattle pasture in the sea."</p> + +<p>"You must be an infidel. Are you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Sure—perfectly sure?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!"</p> + +<p>"And you've been to college?" She shook her head and added:</p> + +<p>"But Boston folks believe such things!"</p> + +<p>"They are led by a blind spirit of superstition."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen the rider on the white ox?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You don't tell me!—I'd fly right out of my head were I to see that. +Where did you see it?"</p> + +<p>"Here."</p> + +<p>The little mother's eyes grew.</p> + +<p>"There is no spirit rider of any white ox," said the hermit. "But, my +good woman, King Philip, John Eliot, and Roger Williams are coming here +to-morrow, and you and Roger must stay and see the great chieftain. +Perhaps the Indian chief will bring the Princess and Little Metacomet +with him."</p> + +<p>"But Joe, my husband, what will he do? He would think that the white ox +had got me."</p> + +<p>"I will send young John Quitumug to Swansea to tell your husband where +you are, and you will not see anything 'scary'."</p> + +<p>"Then I will stay."</p> + +<p>And in the morning came Roger Williams, sturdy, with an open face, +beautiful with the inner light. His spirit was full of loveliness, but +his language seemed strange.</p> + +<p>"Brother Blaxton, the Inward Voice said 'Come'—and I am here. Thee +surprises me; who is this little woman and her boy? What may thy name +be, woman?"</p> + +<p>"Susan, Joe's wife, of Swansea—they call him 'Onery Joe'—they say his +head was put on wrong—but he is good to me, ain't he, Roger?"</p> + +<p>A sudden sound rose in the air—"Netop!" (friend), said an Indian +runner, peeping out of the thick wood. Philip, the Forest King, was +coming. There was heard a breaking of dry twigs beneath mocassined +feet, behind the thick curtains of leaves. Wood birds flew up into the +air with notes of alarm. Presently the glimmering hazels opened like +a wicker gate, and King Philip and his family, with some grave and +stately warriors, came into view, and approached the place.</p> + +<p>With Philip came his wife, known as the Beautiful Princess, and Little +Metacomet, their son. The princess wore royal robes woven of river +grasses, and around her neck was a copper chain. The Pilgrim Fathers +had given two copper chains to Massasoit the lord of Lakonoket as a +pledge of eternal friendship.</p> + +<p>It was to be a peace day; the princess had come as a kind of rural +goddess of Peace: King Philip extended his hand to Blackstone, and the +world seemed filled with gladness.</p> + +<p>Presently the red bushes opened and the witch hazels that bloom in +the fall shook, at a place near the brook. A grave man appeared, and +Blackstone said—</p> + +<p>"Thou art welcome, Father Eliot. I feared that thou wouldst not be able +to leave thy flock in Natick fields."</p> + +<p>Then Blackstone, Williams, and Eliot shook hands with each other and +with Philip, while the Indians looked on in wonder.</p> + +<p>More Indians came, and among them some praying Indians. They shook +hands with the three white men, but when they greeted King Philip's men +they followed the Indian custom of greeting.</p> + +<p>Blackstone made an Indian clambake that day near the Falls of the +Pawtucket, to King Philip, John Eliot and Roger Williams. Some Indian +children were there, and they gathered in the cool to play.</p> + +<p>It was October and the woods seemed to be on fire, they were so bright +in color.</p> + +<p>The princess, the wife of King Philip, whose name was Wootoneshanuske, +hung her papoose in a cradle on a tree near by and began to sing to it, +shaking the copper chain.</p> + +<p>The Indian cradle song of "Rock-a-bye, baby, upon the tree-top," though +of American origin, pictures the Indian cradle swinging in the woods. +The birds came to talk to the baby, the squirrels ran past it, and +stopped to chipper to it. The dogwood bloomed near it, and the early +leaves fell around it.</p> + +<p>When the Indian boy, Metacomet, began to run about, his dog went with +him. They played tag, and hid, and made hide-and-seek surprises of the +game. Then he flew a kite. The Indian boys flew kites that were made in +a peculiar way of fish bladders. It was a charm to them to see these +light boats rise and sail away in the air.</p> + +<p>At Indian clambakes Indian boys played "shinny" and games of skill +with the bow and arrow, and entered into long races. Eliot said of the +Indian children—"They play sly tricks upon dogs, and are much given to +singing."</p> + +<p>The grave white men on this serene day sang or repeated Psalms, after +which the Indians made music and sang, and with them sang the beautiful +Princess of the Copper Chain.</p> + +<p>The Indian music was simple; drums, rattles, and reeds or whistles.</p> + +<p>The princess stood apart from the rest, and sang as if to her baby in +the trees.</p> + +<p>The calling of birds by imitating the bird-call was amusement and music +with Little Metacomet. The birds whistled, and piped and drummed. So +did the boy. The black wild geese honked; so did the Indian. The dove +cooed; so did the mother to the baby, and so did the baby to the mother.</p> + +<p>There were singing forests then; a thousand birds sang together; in the +pearl red morning; before the shower; on the long evenings of June in +the still light. The Indian mother and her children had quick ears for +vocal nature.</p> + +<p>The winds of the seasons had their differing tones, and it was a joy +to hear the coming of the south wind, and a sadness to catch the first +piping of the north wind in the fall.</p> + +<p>The beautiful season of the year was the red part of November called +the Indian summer. The leaves seemed to burn; the walnuts and acorns +fell. The purple gentians bloomed. The moonrise blended with the +sunset.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET</p> + + +<p>Little Metacomet, the prince, was an usually bright Indian boy. His +quickness of feeling and of ear and eye pleased the royal Indians, for +it was expected that he would succeed his father in the sachemship. +The boy followed his parents at times from Mt. Hope, the royal seat, +to Kickemuit, Sowams, and the Assowamset Hill, near the great and +beautiful lake. He was the grandson of Massasoit, and like that great +monarch seems to have liked the English well.</p> + +<p>He had learned a little English very early in life from John Sassamon, +the interpreter to Philip, who had studied under John Eliot, and +became a teacher and preacher in the towns of the praying Indians. It +was Sassamon who later informed the English at Plymouth of the secret +purpose of Philip to unite the tribes for war against the English, +which caused Philip to demand his death. He was killed at Assowamset +Lake, near Philip's seat. The English arrested his executioners, which +Philip regarded as an interference with his own government, and this +fact was the direct cause of the great war.</p> + +<p>In the days when Sassamon was in the favor of the Indian court, Little +Metacomet met many of the English people to whom his father was +friendly, and heard the Indian teacher interpret for his father. So +English words were impressed upon his mind when he was very young. He +also had an uncle who had been to school in Cambridge. He loved nature, +and he came to be interested in nature lovers like Blackstone.</p> + +<p>There was one little animal with whom he became very friendly—the +chipmunk, or ground squirrel, sometimes called the painted or striped +squirrel.</p> + +<p>The ground squirrel was very industrious in the fall. He gathered corn, +grain, chestnuts, walnuts, acorns, and the like, and stored them away +in his little house under ground. He filled the inside of his cheeks, +which could be made a kind of pouch, with his foods, and he looked +like a squirrel with a toothache when he carried these down cellar. +He came up from his warm house looking very thin after putting these +storages on the shelves and in his chests, which may have been crevices +in hard earth, or hollows of rocks.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet would whistle to him, or blow a shell, and he would +stand upon his feet, and seem to say—</p> + +<p>"What now?"</p> + +<p>"Chipper, chipper, chipper," would say the Indian prince, and his +little companion of the woods would answer—</p> + +<p>"Chipper, chipper, chipper," and then would be gone.</p> + +<p>Metacomet was often followed by his dog. When the dog spoke to the +ground squirrel, the latter had nothing more to say. He went.</p> + +<p>Metacomet and Roger liked each other as soon as they looked into each +other's face. We know our heart friends when we first see them. The +prince from the Mt. Hope Lands, warmed toward the boy from the green +groves of Swansea and wished to rub noses with him at once, after the +queer Indian fashion.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could have the Indian boy for a playmate," said Roger to his +mother.</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"O, think what things he might show me in the woods: animals, birds, +flowers; he knows them all."</p> + +<p>Roger watched Little Metacomet. The prince was scarcely ten years old, +or about that age, but he seemed to see clearly into everything in +nature, and he was friendly to every one. He inherited the keenness and +sharpness of the Indian instinct.</p> + +<p>"I find that the boy has an eye for what is wonderful," said timid +Susan to Roger towards the end of the day. "We might ask him over to +the green groves of Swansea."</p> + +<p>The sun sprinkled the groves with long shadows. A little quail +whistled. Little Metacomet listened to the quail. He loved this bird of +the wild fields of the woods. There was something about the bird that +kindled his imagination and went to his heart.</p> + +<p>Presently he went over to his father and listened gravely to the speech +of his address. King Philip was beginning to distrust the English, but +he still desired to maintain peace.</p> + +<p>He was talking with Eliot when Little Metacomet came and stood by him.</p> + +<p>"I am true to my race," said the king, "but I can forgive. I forgave +a man who spoke evil of the dead. I can be merciful. Hawks are in the +sky. Suppose war should come and I were to fall, would you pity my +family? Here is Little Metacomet, would you be merciful to him?"</p> + +<p>"I would, as God is merciful to me," said Eliot.</p> + +<p>He desired the welfare of the Indian Prince.</p> + +<p>At first Little Metacomet walked apart from Roger, but he gradually +drew nearer to him. There was something in his heart that he wished to +express.</p> + +<p>He whistled and called a blue jay to him from the trees. He looked +towards Roger and smiled in a friendly way. Indian children do not +often smile.</p> + +<p>Then he went to Roger, and the latter put out his hand for him to +shake, but Little Metacomet drew back his hand. Instead, he lifted his +own hand and touched Roger on the nose.</p> + +<p>"You do not understand, my boy," said Father Eliot to Roger. "He wishes +to rub noses with you. It is the Indian custom. He will do it if you +will always be his friend."</p> + +<p>"I will be his friend," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"And I," said Father Eliot, "for his grandfather's sake, and the copper +chain of peace. I will always be a friend to Little Metacomet."</p> + +<p>The two boys walked apart again, and the heart of Eliot followed the +Indian, with a deeper interest.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious day. The world was still; nature blazed; the maples +were red; the oaks yellow; the gentians blue. Did a breeze move? It +brought down showers of leaves of crimson and yellow.</p> + +<p>The walls were purple with grapes; the swale meadows red with +cranberries. The jays talked in the trees. The migrating birds gathered +in flocks. The wild geese honked on high. The witch hazels bloomed amid +the falling leaves.</p> + +<p>Winter was delaying; a spell was on the earth, the waters, and in the +air. "The trumpets of the north," as the Indians call the cold winds, +were about to blow, but week by week they waited. Color was everywhere. +Then was the charmed spell of the ripened year; the harvest calm; the +rest of the spent forces of nature; all things in the silence were +parables of life.</p> + +<p>Night fell and the pine knots were lighted.</p> + +<p>Then a great supper was spread—samp, succotash, game, no-cake, nuts, +apples and oranges from over the sea, which Philip may never have seen +before.</p> + +<p>Susan was "scary of these great folks," but helped to wait on the +table. Roger shrank away into the dark corner of the room, and Little +Metacomet followed him there. The two boys sat down silently, but they +began to feel friendly towards each other, as before. At last Roger +touched the hand of Metacomet and then his small white hand grasped the +brown hand of the Indian boy.</p> + +<p>They did not speak.</p> + +<p>Metacomet's black eyes were turned upon the yellow-globed oranges and +red apples on the table.</p> + +<p>Presently the hermit sent Roger an orange and an apple. He did not +notice the Indian boy, for he was hidden behind Roger.</p> + +<p>Roger handed his orange to Little Metacomet. The Indian grasped it +eagerly. Roger then gave him the apple, which was seized as quickly.</p> + +<p>The two sat in silence. Then the Indian boy began to draw nearer to +Roger, nearer and nearer, and pushed his head slowly forward, and +rubbed his brown nose against Roger's nose many times.</p> + +<p>"I will be a king," said he.</p> + +<p>Father Eliot saw that the better heart of Massasoit was in the little +prince, the heart of the old sachem who had once worn the copper chain.</p> + +<p>Roger's heart went out to this child of the forest. The two were +friends for life after the pledge.</p> + +<p>After the feast there was a talk by the great fire.</p> + +<p>"If the two races would only come together like the hearts of these two +children, the Indians would be saved to civilization," said Eliot.</p> + +<p>"They might be made to come together by the same means; is that not so, +brother Eliot?" said Williams.</p> + +<p>"Will Little Metacomet here ever come to the throne of the forest +kings?" asked Blackstone.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. The Indian boy was standing by the red hickory +fire. What would be his destiny?</p> + +<p>Before the company lay down upon their mats in their rooms and lodges, +another queer thing happened.</p> + +<p>The little prince came to timid Susan, and put up his red hand to her +kerchief.</p> + +<p>"What would you have?"</p> + +<p>He shook his nose kindly, and she bent down her face.</p> + +<p>The two rubbed noses.</p> + +<p>"And now you must come over to the green groves of Swansea and see us +all some day," she said, her heart warming to the child.</p> + +<p>There was a light step behind her. It was that of the princess. They +too rubbed noses and parted. John Eliot prayed. Then all went to their +beds and mats, and the whip-poor-wills sang outside in the woods, and +the Indians crooned themselves to sleep.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">HAYSTACK FRIENDSHIP</p> + + +<p>The next morning the little mother and Roger went away. She said she +was terribly afraid that she would "see something" on the trail.</p> + +<p>"Do not fear," said the hermit. "It is I who ride the white ox, and I +will accompany you part of the way, and Father Eliot shall ride the ox."</p> + +<p>So they went into the forest trail, and Metacomet followed.</p> + +<p>They parted at last on the borders of the green groves of Swansea.</p> + +<p>"Little Prince," said timid Susan, "you love the oaks. I see that +you do. The squirrels love the oaks, too, and I see that you and the +squirrels which live under ground are friends. There are great oaks +and green mosses in Swansea. There are white birches there, and green +savins, and all around are mossy places where one can rest, and hear +the birds sing, and pick berries. The wild geese stop there in their +flight—oh, it is a lovely place, and my husband, Joe, he is a good +man, a wood-chopper. Won't you come over to our cabin some day, and see +Roger, and help him find things in the woods?—you know all about the +wonders of the woods, and we are near to them."</p> + +<p>The Indian lad turned to Roger and said, "I will come."</p> + +<p>"That will be fine!" said Roger clapping his hands at the prospect of a +playmate.</p> + +<p>"If anything should happen," said timid Susan, "we will not forsake +each other. We will always be true to each other, whatever may happen."</p> + +<p>So the timid woman and Roger and the Indian prince made a treaty of +peace. And they were very sincere.</p> + +<p>As they parted Little Metacomet said, "My heart will never forget."</p> + +<p>The very next day he came up from the river bend at Sowams to see +Roger. Timid Susan made some pancakes for him, and he said—</p> + +<p>"Me will never forget; me will come two times mo' (again and again) and +will bring you things out of the woods."</p> + +<p>He now began to look for things in the woods that would cause Susan to +wonder. He liked to see her wonder "two times mo'"—again and again.</p> + +<p>There were great open places in the woods then full of tall grasses +and berry bushes. The redberry grew in them, the black alders, the +wild rose bushes and barberry bushes from whose berries candles were +made. The barberries lined the uplands. There lived the meadow birds +of windward ways. The snipe hid there, and the bobolink made the air +ring in summer when singing to his nesting mate. These meadowy places +were all bloom and song, and the little prince roamed among them, the +feathers on his head scarcely higher than last year's pussy-willows, +and the red-winged blackbirds following him in alarm and wonder.</p> + +<p>Susan was a simple woman, with a faithful heart. She lacked strong +sense or the expression of it, but she loved everybody. In the old +country she had been called "queer," a "little off," "touched in mind." +But she tried to make every one happy.</p> + +<p>When her husband, the woodman, bought of King Philip a piece of land, +he and Susan and Roger went there to live. It was summer, and the air +was all fragrance and song. There was a large flat stack of swale +meadow grass on the land. The family took shelter under it for a few +nights, while the woodman was building his cabin.</p> + +<p>Susan used to go out to the stack to rest often during the summer. +Many of the early New Englanders used to pray in the woods, and it was +thought that Susan used a hollow in the stack for this purpose.</p> + +<p>Some Indians frequently saw her sheltered by the stack. They came to +call her "The Lady of the Haystack," in Indian words.</p> + +<p>She used to give pancakes to the Indians who sat down to rest under the +great trees by her door.</p> + +<p>The Indians brought her corn husks and meal from the tribal mill, which +was near. She would make cornmeal cakes and roast them in the husks, +which she would share with the wayfarers under the trees.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet began to come often and loiter about the cabin or +stack until he was seen. Susan would go out to invite him in, at first +very cautiously.</p> + +<p>"You hav'n't got no war-whoop in ye," she would sometimes say.</p> + +<p>The little prince would bow his head, as if it dropped from a pivot.</p> + +<p>"Then don't let it come out," she would say. "Follow me, now."</p> + +<p>Susan every day feared more and more that she would hear the war-whoop +notwithstanding that she was so friendly with the little prince. When +the loon cried in the night, she would say, "Never mind: I have the +little prince's heart. He will always be true to me."</p> + +<p>There were three things that Susan was afraid she would see or hear. +One was a ghost, after the old New England superstition, another, an +Indian conjurer, or medicine man, and the last was the <i>war-whoop</i>.</p> + +<p>"Why, I would be that scart," she used to say, "if I were to hear it, I +would go right out of my head, and never would come back."</p> + +<p>"Where would you go?" asked Roger one day, "if you should hear it +skittering along the air?"</p> + +<p>"I would fly to the old haystack, and hide in the hay, and put my +fingers on both ears and pray."</p> + +<p>She had a tame blue jay that used to scream after her in the trees as +if to frighten her. The roguish bird seemed to know that he could alarm +her, and to delight in it. He would make a sound like the turning of a +crank, after he had yelled his war-whoop.</p> + +<p>Poor Susan, when she was in trouble she resorted to the haystack, in +which was a cavern, where she said the Lord "covered her with his +wings." The little prince used to find her there when she was not in +the cabin, and he would take her surprises there, as wild strawberries, +flowers, birds and little animals. He once carried her there the rose +of birds, the red bird of the deep woods, whose disposition was as shy +as her own.</p> + +<p>"I must let him go," she said, while holding it in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked the little prince.</p> + +<p>"Because his heart beats so fast. The Golden Rule was meant for birds, +too."</p> + +<p>"What is the Golden Rule?"</p> + +<p>And Susan let the red bird go, and taught Metacomet the Golden Rule in +the shadow of the haystack.</p> + +<p>There was one charm of the woods that is little valued to-day. It is +almost a lost art among us. It was the odors of the flowers and the +trees. The Indian women knew, or thought they knew, the value of all +roots and herbs as medicines, but they also found delight in the odors +of vegetation, like the nature-loving children of the Eastern world. +It was not the pungent rose, the sassafras and pennyroyal that most +attracted them, but the violet, the arbutus, the locust, the wild +honeysuckle, the spearmint, the bruised checkerberry, the musk plants, +and the sweet brier. The last exceeded all other plants in the subtlety +of its perfume.</p> + +<p>The faculty of scent of the Indian to enjoy all these fragrances was +highly developed. Nature to the wild man was more than to the pioneer; +the former lived in a fragrance which the man of towns knew but little.</p> + +<p>The Indian loved his own world. The rocks bloomed for him, the streams +filled their banks with flowers for him, the forests were his parks, +and he could see and hear more clearly and smell more keenly than the +toilers from over the sea.</p> + +<p>The Indian boy brought Susan the nosegays that had not the most showy +colors, but the sweetest odors. Among his surprises for her was a +"clear horn." There were certain horns that grew white towards the end +and were pointed with a clear substance like amber. The point of these +horns shone in the sunlight like gold. This clear horn was an emblem of +dignity and royalty. Suggestions of the use of the emblem of the clear +horn are to be found in the Hebrew Scriptures, and ancient art.</p> + +<p>"It shines," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"What shines?" asked Roger, who stood by admiring it.</p> + +<p>"The horn—let me hold it up to the sun."</p> + +<p>He held the top of the horn in a way that the sun might strike it. It +seemed to turn into fire; to burn; to send forth rays as from a flame +of gold.</p> + +<p>"It is like a king, with a crown on his head," said Susan. "May you +wear white robes and a crown of gold that will shine."</p> + +<p>The little prince did not quite comprehend this figure of speech.</p> + +<p>He stood in the sun for a long time, holding up the clear horn to the +sun to see the rays reflected from the top of it. The clear horn was a +kind of parable of life to the Indian priests, after the ancient Hebrew +thought, and even the prince saw a meaning in it.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">ANOTHER VISIT TO THE HERMIT</p> + + +<p>Little Metacomet liked to look into nature; his small mind probably did +not know that the hidden force and wisdom of the universe was there. +Blackstone, the hermit, studied nature in this broad way; he studied +animals to discover the human nature in them.</p> + +<p>As often as Little Metacomet went to timid Susan with one of his +surprises, she took him and Roger over to Study Hill to see the hermit.</p> + +<p>"He knows near upon everything," she would say. "There are few things +in heaven and earth that he don't know; we must go over and ask him."</p> + +<p>So the three would wander along the flowery ways of the green groves of +Swansea toward Pawtucket Falls where the hermit lived.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet brought to Susan, one day, a fat woodchuck almost as +big as himself. The lazy animal struggled to get away, but the boy +held it fast.</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> + <p>LITTLE METACOMET BROUGHT A FAT WOODCHUCK ALMOST AS BIG AS HIMSELF.</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>He put it down on the split wood of the house, shut the door, and said:</p> + +<p>"He fats himself for winter, and he lives on his own fat all the winter +long. Why do not <i>we</i> do so?"</p> + +<p>Timid Susan could not answer.</p> + +<p>"The ground squirrel lays up two winters' stores of food," said the +little prince. "He no fats himself. The woodchuck he is lean and hungry +in the spring; the ground squirrel he is no lean and hungry. He come +out of the ground all chipper, chipper. Why does the woodchuck fat +himself, and sleep, and the ground squirrel and crow lay up food for +themselves?"</p> + +<p>Timid Susan lifted her hands, and rolled her eyes.</p> + +<p>"The Lord only knows," she said, "except Mr. Blaxton. We will have to +go to Study Hill, and ask the hermit all about these things. I will put +on my slat sunbonnet, and we will go."</p> + +<p>They went, and timid Susan propounded to the hermit these simple +questions.</p> + +<p>"You know everything," said she, "you and the Lord. I am a poor, +simple creature, and I couldn't tell anyone how it is I think, and how +I know my own thoughts, nor even how it is that I raise my hand to my +head. How is it that you lift your hand to your head, Mr. Blaxton?"</p> + +<p>The hermit lifted his hand to his head and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful, wonderful," said timid Susan, "now I know."</p> + +<p>She then put to him the questions of Little Metacomet: why did the +woodchuck fat himself for the winter and the crow make cribs in the +trees, and the ground squirrel cellars under ground?</p> + +<p>There was a blank look on the hermit's face.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," he said.</p> + +<p>He took them out to the stream which now bears his name. Some badgers +were building a dam there. They were felling a tree, sawing it with +their teeth in such a way that it would fall upon the half built dam.</p> + +<p>"Do you see," said he, "that they are sawing more on this side of the +tree than that, so that it will fall this way across the river? What +taught them to do that? If you will answer me, I will answer you."</p> + +<p>"Nature," said the little prince.</p> + +<p>"No, it is the wisdom unseen in nature," said the hermit. "The spirit +of the Eternal."</p> + +<p>"But what makes the ground squirrel make cellars?"</p> + +<p>"I can answer that," said timid Susan. "The ground squirrel is all +hands—his feet are little hands—and he's just like some of the rest +of us—he is <i>afore</i>-handed."</p> + +<p>She lifted her hands, and counted four. The hermit dropped his head and +laughed, as also did Roger; but Metacomet stood puzzled. He could not +comprehend the <i>four</i>.</p> + +<p>Having learned so much about nature, timid Susan and Roger returned to +the green groves of Swansea, and Little Metacomet to Sowams where were +bearded oaks and wild roses by the bright waterways.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The woodman, Mr. Barley, often came home from the forests worn with +work.</p> + +<p>"Susan," he would say, putting down his ax by his couch of hides, "the +wood-choppers do say that war is coming."</p> + +<p>"Never you mind," said Susan, "I have the heart of the little prince. +If the war-whoop comes it will pass us by. Philip is true to his own."</p> + +<p>There is a beautiful pond near Taunton called Winnecunett. This was +one of King Philip's country resorts. Its borders are rocks, like an +ancient ruin, but one interested in Indian lore ought to visit it, for +it shows the love that King Philip had for what was lovely in nature. +The wild geese flocked there. There grew the wild honeysuckle. There, +the pond lilies. King Philip had poetry in his nature, or he would not +have so loved the castle-like pond.</p> + +<p>Roger took his mother to this beautiful pond one day. It was summer +time.</p> + +<p>"The king, if he loves such places as these," said she, "will not harm +you and me, Roger. He has a better heart."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">HOW THE HERMIT TAMED BIRDS</p> + + +<p>William Blackstone, as we have said, was a keen lover of nature. It +made him happy to have a wild animal begin to follow him; to have the +birds come to him for protection and shelter, and for food in the +winter. This feeling grew. The ospreys used to build their great nests +near his house and to repair them by sticks of wood and new sea-weed +every year. If an animal climbed one of the trees where these nests +were, when the birds were rearing their young, the parent birds would +wheel over his house on Study Hill and scream for help. This touched +the heart of the hermit. He told the incident to Roger, and asked him +to bring any strange animals or birds that he could find to him.</p> + +<p>One summer day, bright Little Metacomet came again to timid Susan +with a new surprise. It was a nest with the most beautiful bird +sitting upon it that the boy had ever seen. The bird was rare and was +called the swamp robin. It was of a fiery crimson color, and had the +reputation of being a very shy bird.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan held up her hands, and rolled up her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Do my eyes dazzle me?" said she. "That is a mighty strange bird, all +fiery red; it might have come down from the sun. Why doesn't it fly?"</p> + +<p>"It can't," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"It has eggs under her. She is going to hatch," meaning that the eggs +were about to hatch.</p> + +<p>"And she would rather die than leave her eggs, is that it? You darling +bird; you are bound by the cords of a mother's love."</p> + +<p>A bird of the same kind, the mate, had been following Little Metacomet +in the top of the trees. It flashed like a red flame of fire above the +nest, and rose into the air. The mother bird rose up from the nest a +little and uttered a cry. There were four eggs under her.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what kind of a bird that can be," said timid Susan.</p> + +<p>"Let's take it over to the hermit," said Roger, "and ask him all about +it. He knows almost everything."</p> + +<p>So again the three took the forest trail to the Falls of the Pawtucket +carrying the bird and nest. The other bird followed them in the trees.</p> + +<p>"Look!" said the Indian boy to the hermit, pointing to his treasure.</p> + +<p>"A redbird," said the hermit. "See how faithful her little heart is to +her nest. I love things that are faithful to their own."</p> + +<p>"I did not know but that you might find a cage for her," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"There is no need of cages," said the hermit. "Does it need any string +to tie that bird to her nest?"</p> + +<p>"But she would fly away when her eggs hatch, and we would lose her. +That would be a pity. She is the handsomest thing that flies."</p> + +<p>"I will not lose her," said the hermit. "Let me have her, and I will +keep her for you."</p> + +<p>"What makes her so red?" asked Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"You must ask the sun, the sky, the woods, and the hidden wisdom +there," said the hermit.</p> + +<p>He took the nest and went to a ladder that led up to a loft where was +a window with a shutter. He placed the nest before the open window +and left it there, and they all went out into the orchard, and talked +together merrily on the goodness of everything. To them everything +appeared good. Only the good see what is good.</p> + +<p>Mr. Barley was away in the wood at the charcoal pits, and would not +return that day, so the hermit persuaded them to stay over night, as +the princess was coming to see him the next morning.</p> + +<p>During the day the parent redbird came to the eaves of the house and +fed his little wife on her nest.</p> + +<p>The hermit and Metacomet and Roger slept in the loft that night where +the nest was.</p> + +<p>When the hermit blew out the candle, he said—</p> + +<p>"We will be very still and not disturb the bird. Still, still."</p> + +<p>The night was hushed. There were fireflies in the air. The +whip-poor-wills sang in far trees. The moon rose high, and everything +seemed to swim in her rays as in a sea. The air was a sea of moonlight.</p> + +<p>There was heard a queer sound—it was a living sound—tick, tick.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"Still, still," said the hermit. "That is the clock of life. +Listen—still, still."</p> + +<p>Pick—peck—peck.</p> + +<p>"That is the little bird in the egg," said the hermit. "Listen, still, +still."</p> + +<p>Pick, peck, peck.</p> + +<p>"What makes him do it?" said Roger. "How does he know that there is a +world outside the shell?"</p> + +<p>"Ask God that," said the hermit. "Still, still."</p> + +<p>They listened. Timid Susan came part way up the ladder and listened.</p> + +<p>"The little birds are pecking against the shells of their eggs," said +the hermit. "They are about to hatch."</p> + +<p>In the morning they found four egg shells outside of the nest. They did +not disturb the bird.</p> + +<p>When the princess came they showed her the four egg shells, and told +her the story.</p> + +<p>Little animals came out of the woods to the door. Some blue jays +flew into the house. A white goose with many goslings came up from +the pond, and even the wild crows cawed as if laughing in the near +tree-tops.</p> + +<p>"I have no need of any cages," said the hermit to the princess. "The +birds and animals all love me, and therein I am content."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE FEATHERED CAT</p> + + +<p>The New England woods were full of wonders to the pioneer. Little +Metacomet delighted more and more to bring to Susan Barley things that +would most surprise her. Susan's way of lifting her hands and staring +upward as in amazement greatly delighted the Indian boy. It pleased +Roger as much as himself.</p> + +<p>He once brought her a bunch of yellow mocassins, or yellow +lady's-slippers, which so surprised her that she said that these "new +parts" must be near to heaven, and caused her to kiss the boy's hand. +He brought her once a bouquet of fringed gentian which so pleased her +that she rubbed noses with him, greatly to his delight. He brought +her also the "ghost flower," or the Indian-pipe, which she was almost +afraid to touch lest something should happen. The Indians claimed that +the Indian-pipe would cure fits. It grew everywhere in the marshy +woods. He brought her honeysuckles from the gray rocks.</p> + +<p>Susan Barley had a cat which was a wonder to the little boy. It was +Roger's playmate brought from over sea.</p> + +<p>The cat would nestle up to Metacomet, and purr, and purr, and purr.</p> + +<p>"The Indians have cats," said he. "They are <i>feathered</i>. Me find one +for you!"</p> + +<p>Roger laughed, while Susan raised her hands and uplifted her eyes in +wonder.</p> + +<p>"A feathered <i>cat</i>?" said she. "What do you think of that? I would shut +my eyes."</p> + +<p>"Me go bring you one," said Metacomet.</p> + +<p>He went out into the trails and forest ways.</p> + +<p>Then, the day after, he came back again, holding something to his +breast.</p> + +<p>He put this feathered something into Susan's hand. She held it out. It +was alive and seemed all eyes.</p> + +<p>"It has big eyes," said Roger, "but somehow it don't seem to see."</p> + +<p>"It sees in the night," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"Then it must be bewitched," said Susan. She laid it down on a mat and +it lay there as if it had lost all power of motion.</p> + +<p>The cat went to wonder at it.</p> + +<p>It snapped and spit.</p> + +<p>The cat started away.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Roger. "What funny thing of the forest can that be?"</p> + +<p>"It is a feathered cat."</p> + +<p>"It is an owl," said Susan. "It does see in the night. It is all +feathers. Look, look."</p> + +<p>She ruffled the bird's feathers.</p> + +<p>"It has no body to speak of," said she. "Roger, go get a cage for the +feathered cat, and we will tame it. What does it eat?"</p> + +<p>"Mice," said Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"Then the kitten shall catch mice for it," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"The kitten might catch the owl," said Metacomet.</p> + +<p>The owl began to swell its feathers, and looked as big as an eagle.</p> + +<p>"Or the owl might catch the kitten," said Susan. "I am going to get a +mouse when the dark comes, and let the fur kitten and the feathered +kitten eat together."</p> + +<p>So Susan in this land of wonders brought up the owl and the kitten +together.</p> + +<p>But one day the owl was gone. The feathered cat had flown away, and it +never came back again.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET'S QUAIL</p> + + +<p>One morning Little Metacomet heard a quail piping in the open wood, +where were rocks and partridge berries. That music of the woods always +caused him to turn his quick ear.</p> + +<p>The quail was the Indian's true bird. Did the flock not sit around in +a circle at night on the brown and mottled leaves, their own color, so +that each one could fly away rapidly, and <i>scatter</i>, and did they not +all come back again after such a flight, at the call of their leader, +or little brown chief? Who elected the quail that called the flock a +leader, and how did he know that he was to act as leader in his kingdom?</p> + +<p>Oh, he was a shy, true-hearted bird, the quail of the white birch +woods. He loved nature, and he knew when the rain was gathering, though +the sun shone bright. He liked the bushes near the open meadows, the +banks near the ponds where the cranberries grew, and the fringed +gentians in the Indian summer. He loved to scoot, and to pipe, and to +lift his velvet head high, and draw it back again.</p> + +<p>Roger joined the Indian boy.</p> + +<p>"He is calling for you," said Little Metacomet, "What does he say?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Bob-White," said Roger, repeating the Puritan interpretation.</p> + +<p>"Is your name Bob-White?" asked Little Metacomet. "It calls you Bob +White. The quail knows."</p> + +<p>He leaped, and lifted his hand.</p> + +<p>"Still, still."</p> + +<p>A brown bird was darting to and fro under the bushes—two of them. They +were carrying away something under their wings.</p> + +<p>"Still, still," said Little Metacomet, "they are moving their nest."</p> + +<p>The quails came to a heap of straw near the trail, and darted away to a +huge trunk of a tree where had gathered a pile of brown leaves.</p> + +<p>The way from their nest to this tree was brown; it was covered with +brown leaves of the last fall. The birds tried to spread themselves +out, so that the color might protect them. They came and went in this +swift but cautious way many times.</p> + +<p>"Let's go look," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>There were two eggs left in the nest.</p> + +<p>"Let's go far, and see if they will come after them, now that we have +looked," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>They went away some rods. The quails were true to their nest and to all +of the eggs. They came scurrying back and then they came no more. They +thought that they had moved their eggs from danger.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet now called Roger "Bob-White," as he thought the quail +had named him so.</p> + +<p>The next day, Little Metacomet said—</p> + +<p>"Bob-White, let us go to the nest, and see how many eggs are there. +Still, still."</p> + +<p>They went very softly back to the nest. There were shells of eggs to +be seen, scattered about, but no mother bird, nor any eggs. The mother +quail had hatched her brood, and hurried with them away farther from +danger.</p> + +<p>"Bob-White!" The whistle came from the far woods.</p> + +<p>"The quail is calling you," said Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"Bob-White!" The tone was pure, honest, and clear.</p> + +<p>"The quail is my bird," said Little Metacomet. "He calls you by name. +I like him for that. Let us both cover the quail from harm. He is my +bird—he is yours, he calls you by name. He is a little chief—I am a +little chief."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET VISITS THE WHITE-WINGED BLACKBIRD</p> + + +<p>"I know a bird," said Little Metacomet to Roger one day. "Let's go and +visit him." Sassamon was with him. They traveled down to the Assowomset +Lakes.</p> + +<p>It was June. The wild roses were in bloom. Little Metacomet with +Sassamon led Roger, or "Bob-White," to a great pond surrounded by black +alders. It was nearly noon and the sun seemed to hang over the middle +of the pond. The Indian boy found a birch canoe on the border of the +pond.</p> + +<p>They went out on the water, under the shadows of some great trees, +Sassamon paddling. Small animals ran hither and thither as they passed +along. Suddenly Little Metacomet said—</p> + +<p>"Hold, I see my baby brother."</p> + +<p>He pointed. A white rabbit was standing up on his haunches, like a +little child, or a baby made of white wool.</p> + +<p>"I no draw the bow," said he. "Good-morning, little brother of the +wood."</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> + <p>"GOOD-MORNING, LITTLE BROTHER."</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>The white rabbit said nothing. The paddle struck a branch of a tree +under water which caused the boat to curve. They all turned their eyes +on the snag, and when they lifted them again "little brother" was gone. +He understood his opportunity.</p> + +<p>They glided along. The ospreys were wheeling and screaming overhead in +the blue sky, and the red robins flamed in a colonnade of tall trees, +which were bearded with green moss.</p> + +<p>They came to a covert of dark alders and leadlike hazels. Here seemed +to be a colony of blackbirds. They rose from the bushes into the sun. +The male birds had red spots on their wings.</p> + +<p>Sassamon ceased paddling that Roger might see the red wings which were +in alarm, and fluttered here and there in the sun.</p> + +<p>"That is not he," said Little Metacomet. "Wait and see my bird. I know +the nest. My bird is a wonder-wonder."</p> + +<p>He stepped on shore, and made his way through some tall grasses where +were clusters of the yellow lady's-slippers, the most beautiful flower +of the New England woods. He plucked one in full bloom, and cried—</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!"</p> + +<p>He shook a tall black alder. There was a nest in it, from which rose a +bird in great alarm.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho—see the wonder-wonder!"</p> + +<p>The bird cried as if to nature for help.</p> + +<p>It was not a red-winged blackbird—the downy spots on its wings were +white.</p> + +<p>"Bob-White—here is a brother bird of the wood. I bring you to see a +brother bird of the wood. Shall I bring him down, Bob-White?"</p> + +<p>Roger admired the beautiful white-winged blackbird, and pitied his +distress.</p> + +<p>"Has he a nest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; come and see your brother bird, Bob-White."</p> + +<p>But the bird flew down to the lake, its wings quivering.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Roger. "No, you need not bring him down if he has a nest."</p> + +<p>"You have a heart," said Little Metacomet, returning. "Never I strike +a bird with a nest. Niquentum. See, he is going home."</p> + +<p>What did he mean by "Niquentum"?</p> + +<p>It was a law among the Indians that no one should stop or delay a +traveler who uttered that word, which spoke to the heart—"I am going +home." As a rule, when a traveler said that, he was going to his family +who needed him: home to a wedding; home to one sick or in distress; +home to help some one in misfortune; home to a funeral, to dig a grave, +or to bury the dead,—it was a sacred word.</p> + +<p>The Indian boy saw the white-winged blackbird going back to his nest.</p> + +<p>He showed Roger, or "Bob-White," his brother with the white sign on his +wing.</p> + +<p>They pushed on to a great pond,—there were three hundred and +sixty-five ponds in all this place, called the Assowomset Country,—and +sailed free into the lake. Here were many geese, and among them some +white geese which the Indian boy thought would delight Roger. Purple +water-lilies lined the shore. The berry bushes were in bloom, and they +landed and rested on some great shelves of rock under an osprey's +nest, which contained possibly a half cord of wood.</p> + +<p>While resting here and eating some powdered parched corn, they saw a +fat rattlesnake on a flat shelf of rock near by.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet took up his bow.</p> + +<p>"I will show you something," said Sassamon. "Wait."</p> + +<p>He took from his pouch a pinch of tobacco, cut down a tall alder, put +the tobacco on the top end of it and reached it slowly towards the +reptile.</p> + +<p>The snake coiled, rattled, lifted its head in fiery anger, and +displayed its fangs.</p> + +<p>Sassamon with a steady arm dropped the tobacco into the serpent's open +mouth. The reptile uncoiled, rolled over, quivered, and was soon dead.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet leaped up, and sang something that sounded odd to +Roger, and then began to dance.</p> + +<p>Late in the day the great pond seemed to turn to gold in the declining +light. Then they journeyed home.</p> + +<p>It was a time of superstitions. People believed in signs and wonders. +Roger found his father, the wood-chopper, very much depressed at home.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell her," he said, referring to Susan. "But what do you think +the Plymouth people have seen?"</p> + +<p>Roger could not answer.</p> + +<p>"An Indian scalp in the sky."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"On the moon."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you have heard some bad news," said Susan, later. But the +wood-chopper did not reply. He only spread out his hands before the +fire.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET'S BLUE ROBIN</p> + + +<p>The blue jay was the bird companion of the Indian.</p> + +<p>He could laugh, mock, and pilfer, but he did the latter in such a +comical way as to cause even a red-face to smile. Very wild by nature +he could be made very tame, as tame as a kitten, if brought up from the +nest. Moreover, he could be called. A blue jay brought up from the nest +in the house would always live near a lodge or house, and return at the +whistle of its mistress.</p> + +<p>But the joy of the woods in the early spring was the blue robin, or +bluebird. The wild winter passed, ending in tempests, through which +spring broke; the cowslips began to line the still frozen streams and +soon to bloom amid the breaking ice; the maple buds turned red and +swelled. Then out of the woods came the blue robin, and notes as +lovely as the changing air announced the coming of spring.</p> + +<p>The blue pairs breasted some hard belated winds for a time. Then the +air was bloom and song, and they began to make their nests in some +hollow arm of a tree, near a lodge or house often, for the blue robin +was a home bird.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet came up to the groves one day, and discovered on the +way some blue robins flying about the hollow of an oak, as in great +distress. He climbed up the tree, saw a hollow in a crotch, and ran his +hand down into the hollow, the blue robins flying and crying around his +head.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he found his arm in a coil as if a rope had been wound around +it. The coil was cold. It tightened. He drew his arm out of the hollow +and found that a black snake had coiled itself around it. The snake had +gone into the hollow probably to destroy the blue robins' nest.</p> + +<p>The black snake is not poisonous, and Little Metacomet was not +frightened. He was angered that the snake should have intruded upon the +blue robins. He seized it by his free hand, leaped down to the ground, +and ran for timid Susan's, saying—</p> + +<p>"Now I will give her a surprise!"</p> + +<p>He did.</p> + +<p>He called—"Mother Susan, Mother Susan!" as he came to the door.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan opened the door, and shrieked—</p> + +<p>"Roger, Roger, a snake has got Little Metacomet!"</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet rushed in to the cabin and shook off the snake, and +Susan pounded the reptile's head, and threw its body outside the door.</p> + +<p>"Where did it get you?" asked timid Susan.</p> + +<p>"I tore it out of the blue robins' nest. He went into a hole of the +tree to destroy the blue robins' eggs, or young."</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh!" said Susan. "The beautiful blue robins that bring the sky on +their wings."</p> + +<p>"The blue robins that paint themselves in the sky," said Little +Metacomet. "I am going to defend that nest."</p> + +<p>He went back to the tree, the others following him. He put his arm into +the hollow again, and took out a blue robin, the mother bird.</p> + +<p>"She has young," he called to Susan.</p> + +<p>"Take care," said Susan, "there may be another snake."</p> + +<p>He let the bird fly away, but she circled near, crying.</p> + +<p>"I will keep the bird from harm until her young have grown," said +Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"So you shall, and I will help you," said timid Susan. "And the bird +shall be ours. How many things we do own—we folks who live in the +forest."</p> + +<p>"I will help you, too," said Roger.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet looked after the safety of the blue robin daily. The +parent birds came to know him. He did not need any cage for them.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE CAT IN A BAG—THE FROG RACE</p> + + +<p>In the summer, when the cloud of war was gathering, the last beautiful +season of the Indian race of the bays, the visits of Little Metacomet +to the Barley cabin in the green groves of Swansea were frequent. He +became more than ever a playmate of Roger, and the two searched the +groves as they then were, for the wonders of nature.</p> + +<p>The animals are gone now that then inhabited the woods of beautiful +oaks, green savins, white birches, and bright waters. The moose came +down from the north then, and there were bears and wolves and many +foxes. Buzzards' Bay was full of buzzards, and the coves, of waterfowl.</p> + +<p>But there were no cats, except wild cats, and when Little Metacomet +found a domestic cat, all gentleness and lovingness, at timid Susan's, +he thought the purring animal to be a wonder indeed. He himself had a +little fox dog, or a red dog that resembled a fox. It was quite tame +and followed him, and slept beside him in the lodge.</p> + +<p>One day, when a great tempest and downpour kept the boys indoors in the +green groves, the Indian playmate said to Roger—</p> + +<p>"Let's trade."</p> + +<p>"What shall we trade?"</p> + +<p>"I will give you my dog for your cat. I like pussy; she purrs in my +arms. You need a little dog like mine. His nose is sharp."</p> + +<p>Timid Susan did not like the idea.</p> + +<p>"I would be afraid that his teeth would be sharp, too sharp for me. And +the cat is the only thing we have got that came from England. She seems +like one of the family. But there is little that we would not do for +you, Metacomet."</p> + +<p>Metacomet sat on the floor silent for a time.</p> + +<p>"Would you lend kitty to me? I will lend you my dog."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Susan. "I will give her to you, and you can keep her +here."</p> + +<p>"No, no. I want my mother to see her, and the papooses and all. Let me +take her to the lodges."</p> + +<p>"But how would you carry her? She would come back. Cats come back. They +see by scent. They see in the night. In the old country they carry them +in bags. I will make a bag for you to carry her in, and Roger shall go +with you to the oaks of Sowams when the bag is ready."</p> + +<p>"I will send back the dog with Roger, if he will follow him."</p> + +<p>So the trade was made, and timid Susan prepared a bag, hugged and +kissed the cat many times, until she purred, and then put her into the +bag and drew the string.</p> + +<p>The two boys with the bag, which seemed greatly agitated, went together +to Sowams and the little prince took the cat to his mother, who +welcomed her with wonder.</p> + +<p>When Roger was about to return, he called the dog after him, and +Metacomet said to the animal—"Go!" but he would not follow. So he put +a collar around his neck, and attached a long leather cord to it, and +Roger, pulling the animal along, compelled him to follow him. But the +dog did not seem at home in the cabin in the groves. He turned around +and around as if looking for his tail, and whined. He would not eat. +He seemed to be longing for the little prince, and the bountiful and +lively lodges.</p> + +<p>The next morning timid Susan let the dog out into the yard. In a moment +he was gone. "He went like a streak," said Susan.</p> + +<p>Just then they heard a sharp, glad "mew" in the road. Susan ran out in +surprise. The cat was coming as fast as her legs could bring her.</p> + +<p>"Wonder of wonders!" said Susan. "And what are we to do now? We will +have to go over to Study Hill and ask the hermit what it was that made +the dog go home and the cat come back. When Little Metacomet comes, +I will take my slat sunbonnet and we will go over there, and ask him +about these things."</p> + +<p>They went, on a long sunny day. They asked the hermit, and he looked +wonderfully wise.</p> + +<p>"The heart follows its own gravitations," said he.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan did not know any more what that meant than the little +prince himself. But they knew that was the true answer, and Susan +courtesied, and the prince's eyes blinked, and they were pleased to +hear the hermit add—</p> + +<p>"The home is in the heart; the animal's is in the lair, and the bird's +in her nest, and all in their own country. Little animals love their +own, and they are good people whom animals will not leave. The cat was +true to Susan, and the dog to Metacomet, and you have all promised to +be true to each other."</p> + +<p>"Then we will not trade," said the Indian boy "and we will all be true +to each other—I to Roger, he to me, and both to his mother, and she to +us, and mother to you all."</p> + +<p>"How many will that be?" asked Susan. "Mr. Blaxton can tell. I seem to +lose my count."</p> + +<p>So as the cat and dog did not wish to trade homes, but were allowed to +stay with their own keepers.</p> + +<p>On their road home, that day, the three paused to rest upon a +moss-covered log, when they saw a toad leaping quickly along.</p> + +<p>"What hurries him?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"A snake is following him," said Metacomet.</p> + +<p>And sure enough a snake came swiftly after the toad and struck him, +evidently poisoning him.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet struck the snake with a stick, breaking his back.</p> + +<p>There was a bed of plantain leaves in the moss under the trees.</p> + +<p>The toad turned and went to the plantain leaves, and seemed to suck +them, and to rub against them, and to spread himself out upon them.</p> + +<p>"They will cure him," said Metacomet. "Had he not found the plantain he +would have died. How did he know that the plantain would cure him?"</p> + +<p>But the others shook their heads.</p> + +<p>"They say," said Susan, "that the witch-hazels cure people of poisons. +How wonderfully nature works, and I, a poor, simple soul, don't +understand it as the hermit does. He knows what we don't know—there +are not many like him."</p> + +<p>Roger brushed the toad with a stalk of green leaves, gently. He leaped +away; he had evidently been cured by the plantain leaves. In what +school did he learn of the right doctor?</p> + +<p>"He seems to be running all right," said Roger's mother.</p> + +<p>The Indian boy grunted. "I could outrun him," he said.</p> + +<p>"Outrun him?" said timid Susan. "I would think that you might with +your nimble feet. I could."</p> + +<p>"No, no, mother Susan, not if I gave him a start; there is something in +him that you do not know about. Do you know how long a bullfrog's legs +are when he gets to going?"</p> + +<p>The little prince spread out his hands.</p> + +<p>"Let me take that big frog out of the water, and tickle him by a hazel +stick so that he will think it is a snake. Then when he begins to run, +you run with him, and if you outrun him, I will give you a string of +wampum."</p> + +<p>So Metacomet captured a big green frog. He cut down a hazel stick, +which did indeed look like a snake.</p> + +<p>Susan dropped the sticks that she had gathered and prepared to run with +the frog. Little Metacomet tickled the frog, and the frog made one +leap, and timid Susan kept pace with him.</p> + +<p>But he made another leap, more rapid than before, and another farther +and more rapid still. The Indian boy tried to wiggle the hazel after +him, but he was left behind.</p> + +<p>Then the frog got to going; leap, leap! he brought all the arts of +animal electricity into motion. He leaped quicker and quicker, higher +and higher, farther and farther. Susan ran, but she did not know how to +use electricity like the frog. At last the frog seemed to fly.</p> + +<p>Metacomet sat down by the way and laughed in the suppressed Indian +manner, while Roger rolled over and over in delight.</p> + +<p>The frog soon left timid Susan far behind, and came to a ferny brook +and dove into it from a high leap into the air.</p> + +<p>Poor Susan threw up her hands and sat down on a fern bank by the way, +saying—</p> + +<p>"I am all tuckered out. I never would have believed it. I shut my eyes +to think of it. What surprising things do happen, if you stop to look. +How that frog did go! He could outrun a horse!"</p> + +<p>Yes, Susan, and some of the arts of the twentieth century were +illustrated in those long, high leaps.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE SCHOOL OF THE WOODS</p> + + +<p>In the green groves of Swansea was an Indian national mill which may +still be seen on the main road from Warren to Barneyville, about +half-way between the two towns. A stone wall runs over it. It is +worn smooth with the grindings of the corn, and was probably used by +generations of aborigines.</p> + +<p>Here gathered the native Indian races, and here it is probable the arts +and crafts of these races were taught before the great sickness, when +the Wampanoags were in their glory.</p> + +<p>The mill was not far from the simple cabin of timid Susan, and here the +sharp, hard stone probably furnished material for arrows.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet was educated by the grinders and the arrow-makers +in places like these. On the shores he was taught to make spears and +arrows in the lodges, or saw how this work was done. In places like +the Indian mill he saw how mortars and pestles for pounding corn and +meals were made. At Mt. Hope Lands he saw how it was that the Indian +women painted their fabrics with pigeon-berry and how fruit was dried +for winter use. The great cloaks of the chieftains and sagamores were +probably painted there, for there were the royal lodges.</p> + +<p>His instructor may have been his mother, or his father's brother, who +died early in the Indian war, and who is said to have studied at the +Indian school at Cambridge. Though he was only a little boy, princes +were trained young in the Indian arts.</p> + +<p>The first thing that was taught such children was picture making, on +white birch bark. The books of the Indians were pictures on bark, and +these represented the sun, moon, stars and the manitous, or gods.</p> + +<p>The Indian boys were early taught to run. The Indian runners were +almost electric in their motions, and made quick journeys from Mt. Hope +or Sowams to Plymouth, or to the Narragansett country.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet was probably taught to use the sassafras bow and to +feather his arrows from osprey-wings. The ospreys or fishing hawks +were very peaceable, dwelling among the great rugged oaks. They never +quarreled among themselves. But the great eagle sometimes attacked +them, and then they would gather for war against him.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet was taught to attack the great eagle, and to help +the peaceable ospreys. When his arrow brought down the eagle with its +wings broken and torn, he received the applause of the arrow-makers, +spear-makers, mortar-makers, and basket-makers.</p> + +<p>In the winter canoes were hollowed from logs, and he was taught the +arts of fishing. He was told of the Great Spirit who dwelt in the happy +hunting-grounds in the regions of the sun. These places of departed +souls were said to be in the south. The Indians sang themselves to +sleep, by thoughts of the happy hunting-ground.</p> + +<p>The making of wampum was one of the arts of the Indian schools. Wampum +was made of shells, and was the Indian money.</p> + +<p>It was reckoned by "fathoms," or the length of the string. The making +of beads and ornaments of fur, feathers, and shells was also among +their arts.</p> + +<p>When the children of the braves began to grow rapidly, they were put +into the hardening process, or what might be termed physical education. +They were cast out into the cold in winter that they might endure cold; +they were tortured that they might learn never to complain. An old song +tells this story—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">"The sun sets at night and the stars shun the day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But glory remains when the light fades away.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the son of Alknomok will never complain."</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>How to become stolid was one of the arts of this forest education.</p> + +<p>As the months passed on, the hostility of the Indians toward the white +people grew, and Susan every day talked with Roger about what would +happen if hostile Indians were to "come diving down the road, right +past her door."</p> + +<p>"Mother," Roger used to say, "they would remember what the little +prince has said of us. An Indian never harms a friend. The women all +know how we have treated Metacomet."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">A FLYING MOUSE</p> + + +<p>It was a lovely summer day. The long mornings in New England in June +are almost days of themselves. Wild roses reddened the woods; there +were water-lilies on the ponds, that filled the air with fragrance; +the forest was all odor and song. It was glorious to live in days like +these.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet had found a flying squirrel, and he hurried away from +Sowams to the green groves of Swansea with the leathery little animal +that performed such wonders among the tree-tops.</p> + +<p>He showed his prize to Roger and his mother.</p> + +<p>"This squirrel flies," said he. "He spreads himself out so—then he +makes wings of himself, and he goes through the air so-o-o. He has far +wings."</p> + +<p>Timid Susan thought the flying squirrel a most extraordinary kind of a +bird, and said—</p> + +<p>"Let him go and run up the tall maple tree and see if he will fly."</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet gave the "squirrel bird," as he called him, his +liberty to run up the maple that was not connected with any other tree. +A great oak stood near it, on the edge of the wood. The squirrel ran +nimbly up the maple, and presently sailed away as on wings for the oak.</p> + +<p>"That beats the cow that jumped over the moon," said Roger. "Did you +ever know a rabbit to fly, or a deer or a moose?"</p> + +<p>The prince laughed and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"But I will bring you a flying mouse."</p> + +<p>Timid Susan's eyes grew round.</p> + +<p>"Wonder of wonders! a flying mouse. I have heard of singing mice, but +never one that flew. How high can he fly?"</p> + +<p>"All around the limb of a tree, and hang under the limb, and pick worms +with his back toward the ground."</p> + +<p>Metacomet went to the door.</p> + +<p>"There is one now, look, look!"</p> + +<p>He pointed to a witching little titmouse.</p> + +<p>"That is not a mouse, but a bird," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"No, no—he gets his living by his feet—see, see!"</p> + +<p>The bird whirled around a dead limb, clinging to it with his feet. As +he did this, picking grubs, he looked wonderfully like a mouse.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Susan, wonderingly, "we will have to go to the +hermit, and ask him what makes some squirrels fly, and some birds run +about trees and under the limbs like mice. He knows everything, almost. +Let me get my slat bonnet and we will go."</p> + +<p>So once more they went to Blackstone's home, and asked him questions, +after telling him the story of the bird squirrel and the mouse bird.</p> + +<p>"What makes these creatures do such things?" asked timid Susan. "There +seem to be a great many wonders in the world this year. What makes some +squirrels fly?"</p> + +<p>"Instinct," said the hermit.</p> + +<p>"And now won't you tell us what is instinct—I don't seem to be gifted +with much sense. You must know all these things."</p> + +<p>"Instinct is instinct," said the hermit.</p> + +<p>"How wonderful! I knew that you would know. 'Instinct is instinct.' +Where did it come from?"</p> + +<p>"From the divine wisdom in everything. Everything that lives has its +own gift. It is Little Metacomet's gift to see into nature."</p> + +<p>"What is my gift?"</p> + +<p>"To have a good, true heart; that is the greatest of all gifts."</p> + +<p>"Then you take me to be gifted woman. I will tell Joseph, my husband, +the wood-chopper, of what you say. He will be proud of me then, and +say—'What a wife I have got!' I will go home slowly, and get Little +Metacomet to gather me some water-lilies, flying squirrels and mousing +birds. Nature is proper interesting, if you only have eyes like Little +Metacomet. He sees into things that we don't know about at all."</p> + +<p>As she went out of the hermit's cabin, she looked up and said,</p> + +<p>"There are hawks in the air."</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet laid hold of her apron.</p> + +<p>"There are hawks in the air," he said. "I can see. I'll keep them away +for you; I will always keep you and Roger from harm. Hawks, hawks; +there are hawks in the heart."</p> + +<p>What did he mean, this boy of ten, this small philosopher?</p> + +<p>Timid Susan caught Little Metacomet's meaning. There were hawks in the +red man's heart, and there were Indians who were hostile to the white +people. They were becoming more and more numerous, and his father the +king sometimes found it difficult to restrain them from open violence.</p> + +<p>"I hope I will never live to hear the war-whoop," said Susan, and +Metacomet answered gravely,</p> + +<p>"I hope you never will."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET SEES HIMSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS</p> + + +<p>Among many wonderful playthings of wood, metal and shell that Little +Metacomet had in his lodge were a bundle of notch-sticks, by which he +numbered the changes of the moon, and rising of the tide. His mother +had shown him how to make these calculations, and she had been taught +by a paniese, or Indian prophet. He came out to the groves one day, +and brought his notch-sticks with him, and he told timid Susan that he +could tell her when the moon was going to change.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?" said she. "I'm powerful uncertain about the planets. +Suppose to-morrow night should be the full moon instead of the new +moon?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said the little prince, "the paniese, he knows."</p> + +<p>"How does he know?"</p> + +<p>"Because things are always so. The Great Spirit he never changes his +notch-sticks."</p> + +<p>Timid Susan raised her hands.</p> + +<p>She had a looking-glass. She kept it covered for fear of the dust and +flies, and when the little prince was explaining to her how the Great +Spirit never changed his notch-sticks, a happy thought came to her. She +would show Little Metacomet his own face in the looking-glass.</p> + +<p>A tame blue jay came into the door, and lighted upon Little Metacomet's +crown of feathers, and the cat ran toward them with her back up to +drive the audacious bird away.</p> + +<p>Just here timid Susan took the curtain from the glass and lowered it, +so that the prince could see his face, and the bird with her pretty +head with its raised crown, and the cat with her humped back and +resentful eyes.</p> + +<p>The prince had never seen a looking-glass before. He had seen his +face in the clear water among the lilies, the water glass. But when +he saw himself now with his crown feathers, and the blue jay with her +crown feathers raised, and the resentful cat, he thought that all had +changed into two. He rolled over in surprise, the bird screamed, and +the cat drew back.</p> + +<p>The bird flew up to one of the beams under the roof, and expressed her +surprise in a series of shrieks that sounded like the turning of a +rusty crank.</p> + +<p>The cat ran down toward the glass, and found what seemed to be another +cat rushing towards her. She drew back and spit, and the other cat +seemed to do the same.</p> + +<p>Metacomet leaped up and went toward the other little Indian in the +glass, which seemed to mock him.</p> + +<p>"I am two to-day," said he, gazing into the glass. "Where did you get +the water face? I came here to surprise you and you surprised me. I +have a sun glass in the lodge that the English gave to my father. It +draws down the fire from the sun. Don't you think it is all great +conjuring? The notch-sticks they be always the same. Why are the +notch-sticks always the same over and over, why the moon full out and +be sharp again? It was so in the moons ago. Why?"</p> + +<p>Susan shook her head.</p> + +<p>"It is so because it was always so."</p> + +<p>And they knew as much as anybody knew about it—even the hermit.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">ROGER GOES TO THE INDIAN RACES</p> + + +<p>One day Little Metacomet came to timid Susan with a message that caused +her to stand long silent, with lifted hands and open mouth.</p> + +<p>"My father has sent for Roger."</p> + +<p>"But you scare me; I can't spare him; he is all I've got. What does the +king want him for?"</p> + +<p>"To see the races. He wants to be good to Roger because you have been +good to me—you give me pancakes."</p> + +<p>"What are the races?"</p> + +<p>"The races of the Indian boys at Mt. Hope. The boys race, jump over a +rock into the water, and swim, swim, swim, and he who runs and swims +the fastest and farthest, is given moccasins, and is made a runner."</p> + +<p>"And what is a runner?"</p> + +<p>"He carries words from one part of the country to another."</p> + +<p>"Roger, I will have to let you go. It will be better for us to do as +Philip wishes."</p> + +<p>So Roger went with Little Metacomet to Mt. Hope.</p> + +<p>It was a land of brightness, beauty, and history. Here the forest lords +may have reigned for a thousand years.</p> + +<p>The throne of Philip was a tall cliff, at whose foot ran a natural +spring. The cliff and spring are still to be seen. It faced the sea, +and over-looked the far forests, the Indian villages of Kickemuit and +Sowams, both of which were at natural springs near the sea.</p> + +<p>Here he lighted his council fires. Here he gathered his warriors to +national dances. Here he prepared to make his last hunt with a thousand +warriors, which he believed would end the dominion of the English race.</p> + +<p>Wetamoo, the warrior queen of his dead brother Alexander, reigned at +the sunny highlands of Pocasset, across the bay from the throne cliff +of Mt. Hope.</p> + +<p>Philip made Mt. Hope the place of his royal residence. Here were +the shell villages, the national cornfields, and the ancient +burying-ground of the Indian race. There were other royal places, but +this was the favored resort.</p> + +<p>What a beautiful elevation about the seas, these rocks were! The shores +were shaded by great oaks, and the rocks were green with savins. Here +the ospreys or fishing eagles made their nests and wheeled screaming +in the purple sky at noon. Here were the great river meadows where the +night heron wandered. Over the bay, where Fall River now is, were the +woods of Pocasset, grand with ancient trees and tangling vines. The +wild grape grew there, its vines purpling in the fall. There was sumac. +There the arbutus bloomed in the snow of early spring, the laurel +blazed in early summer and the wild aster and purple gentian fringed +the meadows.</p> + +<p>To the west from the great boulders on the summit of the Sugar Loaf +Mountain lay the cerulean expanse of the Narragansett, into which the +sail of Verazzumi had ventured, and found the shores a vineland. At the +foot of the mountain were shelving rocks where the Northmen are thought +to have landed in 1001. After the tradition, the first white child in +America was born there, near the place where now is the Sanitarium. To +the north ran the Kickemuit through cornfields, and sea meadows—where +grew the giant thatch of which cabin roofs were made. There were the +shell villages around the natural springs.</p> + +<p>It was a bright day in early spring, that of the races. Across the bay +came the skiff of Queen Wetamoo, seeming as light as air. The queen was +plumed, and bedecked with red robes and glittering pearl shells. She +was to crown the winner of the race.</p> + +<p>Her sister, Philip's wife, who was called the beautiful princess, +received her. Then the drums were beaten, and the tribe formed a +semicircle, with Philip on a black horse in the front, and the signal +was given, and the race began.</p> + +<p>Twelve or more youths started from the top of the hill and seemed to +fly over the ground and through the air. They wheeled down to a rock +on the borders of the bay, leaped the rock, and went swimming out into +the tide. The Indian warriors shouted and the women cried out and waved +their hands.</p> + +<p>An Indian boy, shorter but more nimble than the rest, won the race, and +came swimming back to receive the moccasins from Queen Wetamoo.</p> + +<p>Then Philip spread out his hands. The tribe formed a circle, and the +princess brought forward a pair of moccasins, decorated with pearl.</p> + +<p>The Indians' eyes were all fixed upon Roger.</p> + +<p>The princess came up to Roger, and laid one hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"These are for you," she said. "You have a good mother. We have all +heard of the good woman of the haystack, who fries pancakes for the +young chief. Put up your foot."</p> + +<p>The princess put the shoes on Roger's feet, and said—</p> + +<p>"Now carry my heart to your mother."</p> + +<p>A shout went up that seemed to pierce the sky, and Roger went home to +his mother, his heart almost bursting with pride and joy.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE THUNDER BIRD</p> + + +<p>The Indian's mind was full of poetry, and nature was like a book of +poems to it! The seasons published the poems year by year.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet thought the cabin in the groves the most delightful of +the hiding-places of nature, for the lands of the rivers and bays were +to him the open world. He, too, liked the old haystack and the green +haystack meadows.</p> + +<p>There were great flocks of turkey-buzzards in those days, and they used +to gather about the ponds. These strange awkward birds that slanted as +they flew were yet picturesque, and the little prince would sometimes +amuse himself by scaring them up with a cry like a loon. The night +heron also came to these ponds, in the deep glens near the oaks. All +the birds seemed to like the haystack.</p> + +<p>It was a hot May-day afternoon, and Metacomet was at the groves. A +cloud like peaks of pearl filled the northern sky, and began to turn +black and to spread itself like a wing. The air was still, the heat +sweltering; birds spread their wings in the trees, and sat songless +with open bills. Crows flew low, and perched upon the haystack, cawing +shrilly. Not a leaf stirred. Even the flowers drooped.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan and Roger sat with the little prince in the cabin doorway.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Metacomet said—</p> + +<p>"It is coming!"</p> + +<p>"What is coming?" said Roger.</p> + +<p>"The thunder bird."</p> + +<p>"I have never heard of that kind of a bird before. How does it look?"</p> + +<p>"It is spreading out its wings now."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In the sky—I can see him—his wings are black; they cover the grove. +They will turn into fire in the sunset."</p> + +<p>Susan looked up through the oak boughs into the clear air.</p> + +<p>"He is beginning to shake his wings," said Metacomet. "He will flap +his wings soon, and make the winds to roll."</p> + +<p>A gust of wind shook the trees.</p> + +<p>"He is flapping his wings now."</p> + +<p>A low rumble was heard in the distance. The sun went out, and gusts of +wind followed. The buzzards flew about wildly. There was a whirlwind, +and everything seemed blowing away.</p> + +<p>"He is spreading his wings," said the prince, "and he will spit fire +soon; he shoots arrows. The haystack is gone clear away."</p> + +<p>There came a flash of lightning, which was followed by loud thunder.</p> + +<p>"He is shooting arrows," said the little prince.</p> + +<p>"You mean the cloud," said Susan.</p> + +<p>"He will fly over soon," continued the boy. "Then the rain will pour, +and he will draw his bow beautiful, and all the birds will chirrup."</p> + +<p>"A rainbow," said timid Susan.</p> + +<p>"No, no, a bow like my bow, a bow full of fiery arrows, a bow that +shows the Indian that bright things always follow dark things; there +would be no bow, without the thunder bird. He puts all his arrows into +his quiver as the sun goes down."</p> + +<p>The cloud mounted high, thundered heavily and poured down rain, and +the bow followed, lighting up its broken masses in the sunset.</p> + +<p>"The sky is gathering up the arrows of fire," said the little prince.</p> + +<p>"You see double," said Susan. "I saw no thunder bird until you showed +it to me in my mind. We would call the way that you see things poetry."</p> + +<p>Presently all the birds of the woods began to chirrup. The osprey +mounted high, and screamed. The blue jay uplifted its crown. The leaves +that had drooped freshened again. All nature was filled with joy.</p> + +<p>"I am happy, aren't you?" said the prince.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what makes us all so happy, birds and all, even little +rabbits? See the little bunnies crossing the ways. The very crows are +happy. Oh, how good it seems to be alive!"</p> + +<p>"I am glad that the thunder bird is gone," said Roger, "but we would +not have felt all so glad if he had never come."</p> + +<p>"No," said Susan, "but see, the very earth seems glad, with us. See +the worms, bugs, and even little green snakes; I didn't know the earth +contained so many things under ground. And here comes the little gray +squirrel that buries its walnuts in the ground, each in a separate +place; he must count."</p> + +<p>"And hush, hear the quail whistle," said the prince.</p> + +<p>Everything was glad after the thunder bird had flown away, and the +night came with the earliest cricket, beautiful and still.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE TREE TRAP</p> + + +<p>Sometimes John Sassamon the interpreter accompanied the little prince +to the groves. He had become one of John Eliot's preachers, and he +spoke English well. He was a story-teller, and liked to tell stories in +the lodges by the round fires and by the pioneer's open hearth.</p> + +<p>On one occasion, when Roger and Metacomet had been begging him for +another story, he told them the tale of "The Tree Trap."</p> + +<p>"In the harvest moon.</p> + +<p>"<i>Waupi</i>, the wind it was blowing, and blowing, whoo-oo. It was fall, +Indian summer time, the time of Paupock, the partridge.</p> + +<p>"It was night—the moon rose when the sun fell; she was a night sun. In +the spring the moon shone all day—you could see her down in the cellar.</p> + +<p>"It was the time of the Honk,—the wild goose. 'Honk, honk, honk.' He +had talks in the ponds on whose banks the gentian grew. He talked in +the clouds, when he led the forked geese to the north. He talked like +this [softly] 'honk, honk, ker-honk.' That meant steer for the north. +The north had silver nights at that time of the year.</p> + +<p>"Mosk, the bear [the Dipper] grew bright then in the north, as Papone, +the winter, was coming on.</p> + +<p>"Little Wobin was a lively Indian boy—he set snares; he had a nature +for setting snares—he liked to hear the animals cry out and beg for +life in the snares.</p> + +<p>"Wassoquat was the walnut tree. Wobin made bows of the walnut trees. It +would bend and not break.</p> + +<p>"That night as Wobin was sitting in his house—Wetu, the house—the +trees began to thrash each other. There was a great walnut tree that +spread its arms over the house—Wetu, the house.</p> + +<p>"The tree was very old, and it began to creak, as the trees were +thrashing each other in the wind—Waupi, the wind.</p> + +<p>"And Wobin said, 'What makes the old walnut tree creak?'</p> + +<p>"The tree creaked louder, and Wobin could not sleep. So he said—</p> + +<p>"'I will go to the tree, and ask him what makes him cry out with the +wind.'</p> + +<p>"He went to the tree, and said—</p> + +<p>"'O Wassoquat, Wassoquat, what makes you cry out?'</p> + +<p>"And Wassoquat answered—</p> + +<p>"'Come up to my mouth and see! Come up, O snare-setter, and see.'</p> + +<p>"So Wobin climbed up to the mouth of the tree. The squirrels ran out of +their nests of dry leaves when they heard him climbing, saying—</p> + +<p>"'Run, run, the snare-setter, the snare-setter!'</p> + +<p>"He reached the mouth of the tree. It was open, and he said—</p> + +<p>"'Wassoquat, why do you shriek? I cannot sleep.'</p> + +<p>"'I cannot sleep,' said the tree. 'I am thinking of the animals that +you have snared, and caused to suffer. How would you like to be a +snared deer?'</p> + +<p>"Wobin laughed. Then the walnut tree—Wassoquat—gave a shriek that +made the clouds scud over the moon—Munnannock, the moon.</p> + +<p>"Wobin said—'What must I do to stop you from crying?'</p> + +<p>"'Put your foot into my mouth,' said the tree.</p> + +<p>"Then Wobin put his foot down into the throat of the tree, Wassoquat, +and Wassoquat closed his mouth and held him there. Wobin, the +snare-setter, found himself in a snare.</p> + +<p>"'Wo-ough-wo-ough!' he cried. 'Oh, my leg, my leg! Let me go, wo-ough!'</p> + +<p>"He was held there in terrible pain.</p> + +<p>"'Wo-ough!' shrieked the snare-setter.</p> + +<p>"The wolves heard him, the Moattoquas, and they gathered around the +tree and barked at him; the Pequaus, the gray fox, came, and howled. +The Passough, the wild cat, came, and shrieked with him.</p> + +<p>"Then the beavers came up from the ponds, and they pitied him, and the +king beaver said—</p> + +<p>"'If you will never snare us any more, we will cut down the tree.'</p> + +<p>"And they cut down the tree and Wobin always pitied thereafter a beast +or bird in a snare."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">AN INDIAN CLAMBAKE</p> + + +<p>Near Sowams, on the Kickemuit river, was the Indian town of Kickemuit, +and between the water courses or bays ran a long peninsula towards the +island of Aquidneck and the ocean, called now the "Mt. Hope Lands." +Mt. Hope, the ancient burying-ground of the forest kings, crossed this +peninsula. In this delectable country, of bays and waterways, ancient +forests, and intersecting trails, were three springs: Massasoit Spring +at Sowams, Kickemuit Spring at Kickemuit, and the now so-called King +Philip's Spring at Mt. Hope. One of the roads leading to Mt. Hope is +now called Pometacom Avenue, on which is the immense Parker Mill.</p> + +<p>The Indian town of Kickemuit was a place of clambakes. The piles of +shells that accumulated, probably for centuries, may be seen on the +winding shores now, near the ever-flowing spring, which is now, or used +to be, bordered with water cresses.</p> + +<p>There probably in the Indian days were sloping cornfields, where fine +meadows are now.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet one day said to timid Susan and Roger, that his +father, the chieftain, intended to invite them to one of the clambakes +of the Pokonokets.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't see the powwow there, nor nothing, would I?" asked Susan. +"It would scare my head off to see him."</p> + +<p>The little prince looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>But timid Susan concluded to go to the clambake if she were invited by +the chief, whatever she might see. She could trust King Philip, the +princess and Metacomet.</p> + +<p>Susan, who was always afraid lest she should see something or touch +something, had one terror above all others, that she might meet with an +Indian powwow, or medicine man. She had heard of this strange character +who was believed to have gained his influence from the Evil One.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is just awful," she used to say to her little Roger, "and it +would make you shut your eyes to the sun just to look at him. One +sight of him would put out the sun for me; snake skins hang all about +him, and they rattle, rattle, rattle; and he has horns and a tail, and +he leaps this way and that as though he were hung on springs; and he +yells, oh, the stars can hear him when he yells; he yells the yells +of yells, the medicine whoop, which is like the war-whoop. It makes +me shut my eyes just to think of him. If you were ever to see him, +run; let your little legs fly like drum-sticks. It would cure me of my +rheumatism just to look at him. I would shut my eyes tight, and just +fly if I were to meet him. Oh, oh!"</p> + +<p>She would throw her apron over her face, as she indulged in such +terrifying descriptions of the medicine man of whom she had heard in +Boston. Roger would sometimes stare with a fixed look of terror, and +sometimes laugh after one of these descriptions of the powwow, as the +medicine man was called by the English people.</p> + +<p>"But, mother, you could not fly; you have no wings, and he would get +you, and it might be that he wouldn't hurt you, but would cure you of +your rheumatism."</p> + +<p>"That he would, you may be sure of that. It makes my rheumatism go +away just to think of him at night. They say that he can turn his head +inside out. I don't know."</p> + +<p>The medicine man in his fantastic dress was no angel. He recalled +stories of evil and of the evil spirit. It was his purpose to make +himself as terrible as possible in order to scare disease away; he +tried so to engage the mind of the sick person with his antics as +to cause him to forget his disease awhile, and give nature a chance +to rally. On account of him, the English used to call the Indians +worshipers of evil spirits.</p> + +<p>"The powwow is nothing but a hooting <i>man</i>, just like any other man," +said Roger.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, you are a philosopher, Roger, that is so, but they do say +that he hoots awful. May I never hear him."</p> + +<p>In her lonely days in the wilderness, when she saw a band of Indians, +she would say:</p> + +<p>"I hope the powwow is not among them."</p> + +<p>She had lived in daily fear of this strange doctor, about whom the +Indians talked much, and of whose powers many wonderful things were +told. When Massasoit was sick nigh unto death, a powwow tried to +sustain his life by piercing cries, and by leaping around him. The +powwow was probably painted, and plumed with crows' and hawks' +feathers, and beat a drum, and rattled snake skins, just as all their +conjurers did. He was a product of superstition and ignorance and +derived his powers from his own imagination, and sometimes wrought +great cures by affecting the imagination of very sick people. +Passaconaway, the lord of the Merrimack, was a powwow, and they said of +him that he caused trees to dance.</p> + +<p>It was at this period of her forest life that there appeared at Susan +Barley's door one day a little Indian boy. He bore her a bit of wampum. +He was a very pretty boy, and scared Susan said—</p> + +<p>"Come in, in the Lord's name. Maybe I will give you a pancake."</p> + +<p>At the word pancake the Indian boy's eyes twinkled, for he knew the +meaning of that word.</p> + +<p>"He has sent for you," said the child.</p> + +<p>"Who? Not the powwow, I hope. Oh, how my heart does flutter!"</p> + +<p>"No—not powwow. Philip! clambake!" said the boy brokenly.</p> + +<p>"You shall have a pancake, you nimble little ducky of an Indian boy."</p> + +<p>She bustled around and fried some pancakes while he watched her with +twinkling eyes. "Here, little boy of the woods, here is your pancake. +Have you a mother?"</p> + +<p>The child dropped his chin for yes.</p> + +<p>"Then I will send her two. These were fried in bear's grease and are +proper good." She said this by pointing to the bear's grease and +smacking her lips three times.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Susan and Roger set out for Kickemuit on the morning of the day +appointed for the Indian clambake. It was one of those dreamy days +of mellowed light, so well known in the bay country. The maples were +changing in swampy places.</p> + +<p>As they approached the place of the spring, Little Metacomet came out +of the lodge to meet them.</p> + +<p>The beautiful princess had dressed the Indian boy gayly for the festive +occasion. He wore on his head a crown of white and dark plumes. The +band of the crown consisted of pearly shells and the feathers, which +slanted backward like a mane, were from the wings of the sea eagle. +His tunic was woven of river grass and bark fiber, and was fringed. He +bore on his arm a round shield like a drum-head. It was stained with +pigeon berry and yellow ocher. His tunic was fringed, and his feet +were mocassined. He looked like a little warrior. The costume of the +princess was as gay, with a girdle of shells and feathers.</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> + <p>HE LOOKED LIKE A LITTLE WARRIOR.</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>Near the lodges, under the great oaks, a bake was steaming. It +consisted of an oven of stone, filled with clams, cohangs, scollops, +scup, and other fish, covered with sea-weed and rock-weed. The scup was +the delicious fish of Mount Hope Bay.</p> + +<p>The tribe was there, and King Philip, the forest lord of Pokonoket, was +painted and plumed, and surrounded by his great captains, one of whom +was Annawon.</p> + +<p>The ancient oaks with their ospreys' nests slanted towards the flowing +spring, and under them were painted warriors and Indian girls.</p> + +<p>Down the stream came canoes, one of which bore Wetamoo, Philip's wife's +sister, glittering with fantastic ornaments made of the pearl of +shells.</p> + +<p>"You don't suppose the powwow will come, too?" said Susan to Roger.</p> + +<p>When the Indians were ready to open the bake, pipes rang out, drums +were beaten, skins were rattled, and the rock-weed and sea-weed were +thrown off of the steaming fish and bivalves. Then all sat down in a +circle, and the Indian girls and young braves served the great company.</p> + +<p>The afternoon sun was going down when the feast ended. In the evening +there was to be an Indian dance under the full moon, and a medicine man +was to perform.</p> + +<p>And now Susan had her fears realized when this terrible object came +rushing out of his lodge, leaping into the air, and rattling his dry +hides, shells and snake skins.</p> + +<p>She ran to the princess.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that I should ever see the like!" she said. "He has horns."</p> + +<p>"No hook," said the princess. "The animal is dead that wore the horns."</p> + +<p>"But he has a tail."</p> + +<p>"No danger," said the princess. "The animal is dead that wore the +tail."</p> + +<p>"But his voice goes up to the stars and makes me tremble."</p> + +<p>"The stars do not hear," said the princess.</p> + +<p>"I was so afraid that I would see something all along," said timid +Susan. "Let Roger and me go now."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Little Metacomet. "Sassamon must go with you, and he is +going to dance, and the paniese, the prophet, is going to speak under +the moon, and Wetamoo will circle around with her braves. Stay, stay. I +will bring the medicine man to you and he will tell you who he is."</p> + +<p>So Metacomet sped away and presently returned with the medicine man.</p> + +<p>"Do not be afraid," said the Powwow. "I will defend you against all +evils. I am only an Indian decked out. See, these are not my horns, nor +this tail my tail, and the snakes that I rattle are dead snakes, and +the Indian's heart is true to all who are here to hear him. Tremble not +when I hoot. It is a friendly hoot for such as you."</p> + +<p>He uttered a fearful hoot and left the little woman smiling.</p> + +<p>The festival lasted nearly all the night, and King Philip danced with +Queen Wetamoo, while the two boys lay down on the green together, and +Susan leaned on the beautiful princess' arm.</p> + +<p>"Everything goes happy when hearts are right," said the princess.</p> + +<p>The moon at last sank low, the powwow ended, the land became shadowy +and still, and the pioneer's wife lay down beside the Indian princess +in the women's lodge, and Roger beside Little Metacomet, in the chief's +quarters, and the night heron wandered along the shore, and the loon +cried, and no one thought of harm. It was the calm before the great +war, whose war-whoop Susan so much feared that she might one day hear.</p> + +<p>When the people, white and red, retired to rest that night, the Indians +began to sing themselves to sleep.</p> + +<p>Once more Susan was alarmed when this singing began. She had never +heard the like before. <i>Boon—zoun—tarara</i>, like the whir of the +loon's wings in the night, or the cry of the loon when the waves were +beating on the rocks. But one by one the voices ceased, and then the +Indians began to snore.</p> + +<p>The timid woman did not dare to sleep.</p> + +<p>About one o'clock a queer form appeared at the door of the lodge. It +stood in the moonlight. It rose up and looked like a little man in furs.</p> + +<p>Susan could not keep still any longer. She rose up on her elbow and +touched the princess' arm.</p> + +<p>"There's a man in the door. See there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is a tame bear."</p> + +<p>"Let me call Little Metacomet."</p> + +<p>"No, give him a pancake."</p> + +<p>"Who? Metacomet?"</p> + +<p>"No, the bear."</p> + +<p>Susan followed the suggestion.</p> + +<p>The bear ate the pancake, and then came toward the little woman, who +was lying on the mat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, princess, he is coming!"</p> + +<p>"Give him another pancake."</p> + +<p>Susan followed this suggestion also. The bear ate the pancake, and +stretched himself out near the mat, and was as quiet as a kitten. Then +all of the forest were still, Indians, bears, and all. The moon went +down, and even the white woman became quiet amid lodges of Indians near +her and a little black bear beside her.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning, the blue jay came to the lodges and screamed, +"Wake up, wake up!" in a piercing tone. The bear woke up and walked +away.</p> + +<p>Such were primitive forest days. Susan prepared to go back to the +groves, when the powwow came out of his lodge, a kindly-faced Indian, +with all his toggery on his arm.</p> + +<p>"You fear," said he. "I bring you some presents.</p> + +<p>"Here are my horns; take them to the groves—then you no fear.</p> + +<p>"Here are my rattles; take them to the groves—then you no fear.</p> + +<p>"Here are my hides; take them to the groves—then you no fear.</p> + +<p>"And here is my heart; it is a friendly heart—it goes with you."</p> + +<p>Then Susan departed with a joyful mind.</p> + +<p>"I don't think that I will ever hear the war-whoop now," she said. +"What would I do if I should—what <i>would</i> I do?"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE HEART OF MASSASOIT</p> + + +<p>It was not long after this until the war-cloud darkened in the sky.</p> + +<p>There had come sudden messages to James Brown and Hugh Cole of Swansea. +They were from the better heart of King Philip.</p> + +<p>"The land air is fire; protect yourselves. I would help you, but I +cannot restrain my young braves now. The young warriors burn; I must +mount my black horse, and I give you warning. My heart is true to all +who have been true to Philip."</p> + +<p>Such in effect was the message. These men warned others. In a short +time, on a Sabbath day, several men were killed in the green groves of +Swansea by the Indians, near the place where is now the water-works on +the Kickemuit, or Serpentine.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan heard the terrible news from James Brown and Hugh Cole, and +also that these men were protecting themselves, and that James Brown +was hiding his valuables. The well is still shown near Touissit Station +where he hid his brass kettle, and with the well is associated a dismal +tale.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan trembled.</p> + +<p>"What will Little Metacomet do now?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"He will be as true to us as Philip has been to Mr. Brown and Mr. +Cole, and as he always has been to Mr. Blaxton, Father Eliot and Roger +Williams. An Indian never harms his friend."</p> + +<p>A strange figure appeared in the road, shy, fantastic.</p> + +<p>"Who is that, Roger?"</p> + +<p>"A barkeater."</p> + +<p>Susan looked at him in alarm.</p> + +<p>The Indian came toward the door, beckoning. He was painted and plumed.</p> + +<p>"There are hawks in the air," said he, the usual words meaning war. +"Little birds should take to the bushes. I bring you a word from Little +Metacomet; his heart is true to his friends. He says again, the young +chief, he says that if you are in danger he will seek you out, and +if he should be in danger, he wants you to find him. The places in +the world where hearts are true to each other have no war. The young +chief's heart is true."</p> + +<p>He uttered the thoughts in crude and broken words.</p> + +<p>"Tell Little Metacomet that we love him," said Susan to the barkeater. +"Whatever comes, I cannot forget that child's heart. He has the heart +of Massasoit."</p> + +<p>What was the heart of Massasoit?</p> + +<p>It is pleasing to try to answer this interesting question, for the +answer pictures what is best and noblest in Indian history.</p> + +<p>Few things so reveal the Indian nature as the conduct of Massasoit, or +Massasowat, on the occasion of the second visit of Edward Winslow to +Sowams, to the great sachem.</p> + +<p>As soon as Massasoit began to recover from his sickness, under the +treatment of the English, his heart overflowed with gratitude.</p> + +<p>Let us present this incident in Winslow's own words.</p> + +<p>"That morning he caused me to spend in going from one to another +amongst those that were sick in the town, requesting me to wash their +mouths, and give to each of them some of the same broth I gave him, +saying that they were good folk. This pains I took with willingness, +though it were much offensive to me. After dinner he desired me to +get him a goose or duck, and make him some pottage therewith, with as +much speed as I could. So I took a man with me, and made a shot at a +couple of ducks, some six score paces off, and killed one, at which +he wondered. So we returned forthwith, and dressed it, making more +broth therewith, which he much desired. Never did I see a man, so low +brought, recover in that measure in so short a time.</p> + +<p>"About an hour after, he began to be very sick, cast up the broth, and +began to bleed at the nose, and so continued the space of four hours. +Concluding now that he would die, they asked me what I thought of him. +I answered, his case was desperate, yet it might be it would save his +life; for if it ceased in time, he would forthwith sleep and rest, +which was the principal thing he wanted.—Not long after, his blood +stayed, and he slept at least six or eight hours. When he awaked, I +washed his face and bathed and suppled his beard and nose with a linen +cloth. But on a sudden, he chopped his nose in the water, and drew up +some therein, and sent it forth again with such violence, that he began +to bleed afresh. Then they thought there was no hope; but we perceived +it was but the tenderness of his nostril, and therefore told them. I +thought it would stay presently, as indeed it did.</p> + +<p>"The messengers whom I had sent to Plymouth for chickens for new broth +were now returned; but finding his stomach come to him, he would not +have the chickens killed, but kept them for breed.</p> + +<p>"Many, whilst we were there, came to see him; some, by their report, +from a place not less than a hundred miles. To all that came, one of +his chief men related the manner of his sickness, how near he was +spent, how his friends the English came to see him, and how suddenly +they recovered him to this strength they saw. Upon this, his recovery, +he brake forth into these speeches:</p> + +<p>"'Now I see the English are my friends, and love me; and whilst I +live, I will never forget this kindness they have showed me.' At our +coming away, he called Hobbamock, an interpreter, to him, and privately +revealed the plot before spoken of, against Master Weston's colony, +and so against us, saying himself also in his sickness was earnestly +solicited, but he would neither join therein, nor give way to any of +his. With this he charged him thoroughly to acquaint me by the way, +that I might inform the Governor thereof, at my first coming home. +Being fitted for our return, we took our leave of him; who returned +many thanks for our Governor, and also to ourselves for our labor and +love; the like did all that were about him. So we departed.</p> + +<p>"That night, through the earnest request of Conbatant, who till now +remained at Sowams, or Puckanokick, we lodged with him at Mattapuyst. +Here we remained only that night, but never had better entertainment +amongst any of them. The day following, in our journey, Hobbamock, told +me of the private conference he had with Massasowat, and how he charged +him perfectly to acquaint me therewith, as I showed before; which +having done, he used many arguments himself to move us thereunto. That +night we lodged in Namasket, and the day following, arrived at home."</p> + +<p>The simple story of this chicken broth, as we gather it from this +narrative, indicates that a benevolent service to the Indian races in +the right spirit might have changed the Indians into citizens, and +made useful people of them. The work of the Mayhews among them on +the Islands had this influence, as did the efforts to civilize the +Stockbridge Indians.</p> + +<p>Philip had at times the heart of the great Massasoit, and at other +times the revengeful feelings of a savage. Susan saw only one side of +his nature, and well did she hope that even yet she would not hear the +war-whoop.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">THE INDIANS PASS BY</p> + + +<p>But Susan was soon to hear the war-whoop which she so much dreaded. A +week went by after the visit of the barkeater, and she watched daily +for sign of the Indians, or for a visit from Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"He will come some day, sassafrassing along the trail," she would +remark to keep up her courage. But the Indian boy never came again +after this message. The hawks in the air had caused all the Indians to +keep close to Philip and his black horse.</p> + +<p>The terror grew. War with the Indians became every day more certain. +The pioneers barred their doors, and the wood-chopper ceased going +abroad into the forest.</p> + +<p>One day as Susan was returning from the old haystack meadow to her +cabin, a sound rose in the air—it rasped; it almost caused her heart +to stand still.</p> + +<p>It came from the old Indian mill.</p> + +<p>It was a fair day. The woods were full of bird song, and the bright air +hummed with insects.</p> + +<p>She caught off her slat bonnet.</p> + +<p>It came again. There was hate, intensest hate in the sound.</p> + +<p>It was like a war wind.</p> + +<p>"That is the war-whoop," she said. "Oh, that my ears should ever have +heard the sound!"</p> + +<p>The war-whoop was the death-knell of the Indian race. Revenge is +consuming, and they who conquer by it are conquered; "they who take the +sword shall perish by the sword."</p> + +<p>When the war-whoop first arose we do not know—it was an air-rasping, +heart-withering sound; it was formed in the throat—like the Greek +aspirate it rolled out in gutteral r, r, r's and seemed to smite the +sky. It made the ear shrink; and the heart wither; it shut the doors of +mercy; it was followed by the swift use of the tommyhawk and scalping +knife.</p> + +<p>A writer has tried to express it in the sound of a simulated +word—Shar-r-r-gar, but no word can express it; it was born of hate, +and only a heart of hate can roll it forth.</p> + +<p>In the war dances of Philip at Mt. Hope it arose in the night for a +summons to the tribes for the last time. In the wild war that followed +it startled Swansea, Taunton, Dearfield, Hatfield and Lancaster. It +died at Mt. Hope, when the sagamores were silenced, and where silence +was forced upon the last great forest king.</p> + +<p>Susan listened again to make sure of its direction, but meanwhile sped +to the cabin door, where stood Roger and his father.</p> + +<p>The sound pierced the air. It was repeated—it seemed to saw the air.</p> + +<p>"Oh, husband, they are coming! You say that I am timid—always fearing +something. But I am going out to meet them."</p> + +<p>The sound broke again on the air. It caused the birds to fly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, husband, that is the war-whoop!"</p> + +<p>She went boldly to the front of the cabin, and Roger and she looked out.</p> + +<p>An hundred or more Indians were in sight. They stopped when they saw +her.</p> + +<p>Their leader, who was plumed and painted, turned and faced the others, +and said something to them, in a deep low tone.</p> + +<p>Then he pointed to the cabin, and to Roger.</p> + +<p>Next he began to run down the road that passed the cabin, leaping, and +singing some wild refrains. The braves ran after him, repeating his +words. When they came near to the cabin, they ran faster than before. +Opposite the cabin, they leaped higher, and cried out more loudly,</p> + +<p>"Netop! netop!"</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""> + <div class="caption"> + <p>THEY PASSED THE CABIN, LEAPING AND SINGING.</p> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<p>They passed the cabin, and were soon out of sight.</p> + +<p>They had passed by.</p> + +<p>"Netop!" It had a friendly, joyous sound. It passed the family by +pleasantly like the west wind.</p> + +<p>Roger remembered that Little Metacomet had used the word—that he had +pointed to him one day when he had met a sagamore, and said to the +latter "Netop."</p> + +<p>"It means friend," said he, "and King Philip has told his braves to +pass us by."</p> + +<p>They felt safe now, and went abroad at will, seeking tidings of Little +Metacomet.</p> + +<p>Roger finally went to the Indian mill to inquire for him, while his +mother hid in the bushes near the place.</p> + +<p>He received only one answer.</p> + +<p>"He is following his mother."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger," Susan would say, "think of it. Suppose it was you +following me—and I was fleeing, fleeing. I never knew how much store I +set by that little boy. Our people had to take up arms or perish. But, +oh, how I wish that Father Eliot could have won over the tribes to God, +and changed the hearts of all, as he did of many."</p> + +<p>"If Philip should be killed," asked Roger, "and the princess should be +thrown into prison, what would become of Little Metacomet?"</p> + +<p>"I would give him a home with us," she replied. "I would share my all +with him. I ought to—he has the heart of Massasoit."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">KING PHILIP'S FORT</p> + + +<p>The Indian war came in 1674.</p> + +<p>The war-whoop startled the colonists everywhere: at Plymouth, near +Boston, and in the frontier settlements.</p> + +<p>Susan heard it again and again, at a distance, and shuddered to think +what cruel deed it might proclaim.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the pioneers armed and resisted the onslaught of the Indians.</p> + +<p>Some time in 1675, perhaps in the beautiful autumn, Little Metacomet +followed his mother into the Narragansett Country, to a woods, near +what is now North Kingston. The Narragansett Indians were about to +unite with King Philip in an alliance to protect the Indian empire from +being overthrown by the white people.</p> + +<p>The question had been forced upon the Indian races, shall the Indian +tribes govern themselves, or be governed by the white man's laws? When +Philip's brother Wamsutta had been summoned to Plymouth, Philip took +the view that the authority of the ancient sachemship had been taken +away, and when the Plymouth magistrates had caused the arrest of the +slayers of Sassamon, he had sent messages to the neighboring tribes +that they must arm, unite, or perish.</p> + +<p>So war, terrible war, came. Philip had induced the Narragansetts on +the west side of Narragansett Bay to make common cause with them to +maintain the authority of the Indian races. The colonists resolved to +prevent this union which would be fatal to them.</p> + +<p>Philip knew the Indian lands of both the Mt. Hope and Narragansett +Bays. He knew that there was a very remarkable swamp near the sea at +Kingston in which a natural island of some four or more acres rose +out of a great morass. If he were to erect a fort on this island, the +morass would protect it, for the morass was shallow water and deep mud. +It was covered with bushes where swamp birds lived, where blackbirds +built their nests, and frogs croaked in spring, an army of frogs. +About it the crows built their nests in the high trees, and over it the +fishing hawks wheeled and screamed at noontime.</p> + +<p>Philip resolved to build a fort so strong it could not be taken, and +planned to house the women and children of the warriors there during +the coming winter, and to drill the braves of the Wampanoags and +Narragansetts for the destruction of the white race.</p> + +<p>He caused a wooden wall to be erected about this hard island in the +great circle of mud, a che-val-de-frise, and he also made walls of corn +that should afford protection, food and shelter. The fortress arose +amid the woody splendors of the autumn. It was a fort that, after his +own view, could never be taken. Into this large enclosure he gathered +some three thousand Indian people. Here he lit his council fires, +and held his war dances, and prepared, as he thought, to destroy New +England, blot out its settlements, and restore the Indian races to +their former estate.</p> + +<p>There was only one way that this fort could be approached, as he +thought, and that was by a secret bridge. No white man could know of +this secret bridge, he reasoned, and his reasoning would have been +right but for the treachery of an Indian named Peter whom he had made +an enemy.</p> + +<p>Into this fort, which it was deemed no enemy could so much as disturb +in winter, Little Metacomet entered one day, following his mother over +the hidden bridge.</p> + +<p>It was a sunny day in Indian summer. That night the harvest moon was to +rise and a council and dance were to be held.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet clung to his mother, and looked up to the walls of +sharp elbows of trees, and the high bundles of corn.</p> + +<p>A thousand or more Indian women were there, and they hailed the Indian +queen of the Wampanoags and her little boy. They lifted their hands, +and waved them in a fantastic way to the fortress that they thought +never could be taken. When the princess sat down on the royal mats they +gathered around her.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet touched his mother on the arm, and cast his great dark +eyes up to hers.</p> + +<p>"Mother, what would happen to us if the fortress <i>were</i> to be taken?"</p> + +<p>"I know not what would happen to me, but you, you, Little Metacomet, +would lose your Kingdom of Pokonoket, the throne of your fathers at Mt. +Hope, and you would be made a prisoner. They might put me to death."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no! But they might send us both to Father Eliot, and he might +send us to Mother Susan. Oh, what if such things were to happen!"</p> + +<p>"But they can never happen. All the palefaces that live could not take +this fort. An enemy who tried to cross the morass would sink, sink, +sink, and find a grave in the mud."</p> + +<p>"But suppose the bogs were to freeze?"</p> + +<p>"The bogs do not freeze. They make only thin ice. The thin ice hangs on +the bushes when the water goes down, and when anyone tries to cross, it +goes crackle, crackle, with a hollow sound, ponk, ponk, ponk, ponk!"</p> + +<p>"And are we going out in the spring and kill the white people?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we must, or you will never sit in your father's seat, by the +spring of morning sun at Mt. Hope."</p> + +<p>Then Little Metacomet was silent. At last he said:</p> + +<p>"They will spare Roger's people I know; for we are friends."</p> + +<p>That night there was a torch dance. Over it the broad moon rose like +a night sun. It was one of the last dances of the Wampanoags. Little +Metacomet lay down beside his mother after the drums had ceased to beat +and wondered how his friendship with little Roger the white boy, would +end. Would he ever rub noses with him again?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">DARK DAYS FOR LITTLE METACOMET</p> + + +<p>The colonists determined to destroy the great Narragansett fort. For +this purpose they set forth from Plymouth with a strong force. One of +their leaders was Col. Benjamin Church, a man with a merciful heart, +but who from the work of war that he was compelled to do became known +as the "Indian fighter." It was the dark time of the year, cold, +freezing, snowing. They well knew how strong the Indian fort had been +made, but this was their opportunity to deal with a foe that must be +overcome quickly by their rude arms.</p> + +<p>An Indian by the name of Peter had become a deadly enemy to Philip, and +had been looking for the chance to have his revenge upon him. He went +to the leaders of the colonists.</p> + +<p>"There is but one way that you can approach the fort," said he, "and I +know that one way. It is by a sunken tree. It may be covered with ice, +but I can lead you to the secret place."</p> + +<p>He led a post of the men to the hidden bridge which was a fallen tree.</p> + +<p>Soon, upon this fatal day, the sheltered Indians were startled by the +sound of guns near the sharp walls of the fort.</p> + +<p>"O, Metacomet," said the princess to the Indian boy, "that sound goes +to my heart."</p> + +<p>"But the fort can never be taken; the water, the water!"</p> + +<p>"But the fire; how can we tell what fire may do?"</p> + +<p>A cry went up—"The English! the English! they have crossed the bridge!"</p> + +<p>We will not attempt to describe the battle that followed, that dreadful +night. But at last a great fire arose which seemed to mount up to +heaven. The barricade of great trees was burning; the corn walls were +burning. Higher and higher leaped the flames—the heavens themselves +seemed burning. The lodges burst into blaze. The women ran hither and +thither crying for mercy, the children clinging to them. None knew +where to go.</p> + +<p>"The English are upon us, and the bogs cannot help us!"</p> + +<p>Philip fled, and the survivors followed him.</p> + +<p>He gathered an army again and destroyed the border towns, Lancaster, +Medfield, Northampton, Sudbury, Marlborough. Other settlements also +were laid waste and, flushed with success, he said—"I will fight you +twenty years!" But he was defeated at Deerfield, and saw that his power +was at an end.</p> + +<p>Philip fled towards Pokonoket. His wife and the little prince with a +few of the women and children followed the Indian trail, that half +encircled the blue Narragansett on its way to the green groves of +Swansea.</p> + +<p>The princess beat her breast and wailed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, don't make that sound," said the little prince.</p> + +<p>"It is for you, as well as your father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, I can endure anything. I will go anywhere that you go. +Will they shoot my father? Why not go back to him?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, that would hinder him."</p> + +<p>"Let us go to Father Eliot."</p> + +<p>"No, no, he cannot help us."</p> + +<p>"Then what shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"We must flee and hide."</p> + +<p>"Timid Susan would hide us."</p> + +<p>"But she would be so much afraid. Let us go to Assowomset."</p> + +<p>There is a conical hill on the borders of Lake Assowomset, which is +now called "Philip's Seat." Near it Sassamon was murdered by Philip's +Indians for proving treacherous to their chief. It is near the place +of the old historic Sampson tavern, and the electric car now passes in +view of it as it reaches the border of the lake. The two great lakes +unite by a natural canal near it.</p> + +<p>The mother and son would travel hand in hand past Providence to Taunton +and Middleboro. The women would follow them, and Philip would gather +together the remnant of his army. Such must have been the thought of +the princess.</p> + +<p>But nearly a thousand Indian braves had fallen in the swamp-fight and +other battles. The rest were in flight. The English army had driven +them back at every point. That day, the 19th of December, 1675, the +Indian race in the New England colonies received its death-blow; that +day the empire that might have been Little Metacomet's, had the +ancient race triumphed, fell.</p> + +<p>There was nothing left for the little prince and his mother now but to +wander.</p> + +<p>They hurried towards Assowomset, hiding at times, traveling out of +the sight of chimneys and saying "Niquentum" when the Indians of the +forests asked them whither they were going.</p> + +<p>They reached Taunton, fugitives, and hid from the habitations of the +settlers in the woods.</p> + +<p>The princess' heart bled for Philip, and she wailed wherever she +rested, and Little Metacomet became silent.</p> + +<p>They did not stop in the green groves of Swansea to see Susan and +Roger. They dared not go to John Eliot, but they knew that the hearts +of these people, and that of Roger Williams, would pity them.</p> + +<p>"Warageen, warageen!" said the princess at last. "It is well—the +Manitou orders all things for the best."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">ROGER PARTS WITH LITTLE METACOMET</p> + + +<p>A horseman came riding along the road by the cabin of timid Susan +Barley, and he swung his hat to her.</p> + +<p>"Great news!" said he.</p> + +<p>"What has happened now?" asked she.</p> + +<p>"Philip is fleeing—they are surrounding him."</p> + +<p>"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"He is somewhere near Taunton."</p> + +<p>"And where is the princess and her boy?"</p> + +<p>"The women and children are following him. They will all be taken +prisoners—there is no more hope for Philip. It all had to be so. He +brought it upon himself. The white man or the red man had to perish."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Susan, "but I pity his wife."</p> + +<p>Roger stood in the door and listened.</p> + +<p>"I pity the little boy, too, don't you, Roger? What will they do with +him?"</p> + +<p>"Send him away probably, or perhaps give him to Father Eliot," said the +courier.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Roger, "where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to Taunton to join the forces of Church. They think that +Philip is fleeing towards Mt. Hope, the Indian burying-ground: that he +is going home. They can pen him up there."</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Well, boy?"</p> + +<p>"Will you let me ride behind you?"</p> + +<p>"Where would you go, Roger?" asked his mother.</p> + +<p>"I would try to find Little Metacomet. If he were to be taken prisoner, +I would try to help him. His heart is true to me. You once told me +never to forsake a true heart."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, how can I spare you? You may get into trouble. What would I +do without you, Roger? When would you come back?"</p> + +<p>"The boy is an Injun, Roger," said the horseman.</p> + +<p>"But he has a human heart."</p> + +<p>"Well, go," said Susan. "Tell the princess, if you find her, that I +will shelter her, and go and plead to Father Eliot for her."</p> + +<p>"Well, come on, boy," said the rider—"these are hasty times—I must +hurry. There are hawks in the air yet, but the sky is clearing—we will +have peace before winter."</p> + +<p>Roger leaped upon the horse, and the two rode away.</p> + +<p>Timid Susan sat down at the door, and threw her apron over her head, +and cried with a throbbing heart.</p> + +<p>"It may be that we are all the friends that pity Philip's family, but +it had to come," said she, moving backwards and forwards, and clasping +her hands.</p> + +<p>Her husband, the woodman, came home with his axe on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Roger's gone," said she.</p> + +<p>"Where?" asked Mr. Barley.</p> + +<p>"To try to find Little Metacomet. They have surrounded Philip near +Taunton. I pity the little Indian boy, don't you? Think how he used to +come here, sassafrassing, and bringing me forest flowers, and queer +birds and all. And what good times he and Roger, who had no playmates, +used to have together and somehow it was he that caused the war-path +Indians to pass us by. I pity him, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I pity any one in trouble, but it all had to be."</p> + +<p>It is not a long way from Swansea to Taunton, and the two riders soon +arrived at Taunton Green.</p> + +<p>They found that the Indians had been defeated near the Taunton River in +a skirmish, and a number of prisoners had been taken there.</p> + +<p>"Philip's wife is taken," said a guard on the green.</p> + +<p>"What has become of the little boy?" asked Roger, rising up on the +horse's back behind the man in the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Little Metacomet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"They took him with his mother."</p> + +<p>"Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"At Bridgewater. They put them in the pound, in the town: in the pen +for stray cattle."</p> + +<p>"Then I must go there," said Roger clambering down hastily.</p> + +<p>He inquired the way to Bridgewater. He turned toward it with nimble +feet. It was dark, and there were but few houses on the way, but he +arrived there before morning, and went to the town pen.</p> + +<p>He asked a soldier on guard if Little Metacomet was in the pen.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is there," said the guard, and added: "Are you friendly to +him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he was my playmate. Can I see him?"</p> + +<p>"You can look through at him. It will not be for long. They are going +to send the prisoners to Plymouth."</p> + +<p>"What will they do with Metacomet and his mother?"</p> + +<p>"The squaw queen and the Indian boy? They will be likely to send them +away to the plantations on the islands."</p> + +<p>"But mother would give them a home."</p> + +<p>"Who is your mother?"</p> + +<p>"Susan Barley."</p> + +<p>"'Timid Susan?' Why, how you talk. Wouldn't she be afraid to house +Indians, and the queen, too? The white people would all hate her."</p> + +<p>Roger went to the pen. What a sight was there! The sun was rising +over the summer woods. The birds were on the wing. Nature was in the +fulness of beauty. Inside the pen, lying upon the ground and some mats, +were the captive Indians, and Little Metacomet was lying asleep beside +his mother.</p> + +<p>The white people had been kind to them. They had provided them with +good food, and had talked kindly to them the night before. They were +disposed to be merciful now, thinking that the end of the war was near.</p> + +<p>Roger went to the side of the pen where the little prince lay.</p> + +<p>"Metacomet?"</p> + +<p>The boy slept on.</p> + +<p>"Metacomet?"</p> + +<p>The little prince opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Roger, you Roger, and your heart is true to my heart! What will father +do now?"</p> + +<p>The princess awoke.</p> + +<p>"You, Roger Barley—the good Manitou bless you—you find us in +darkness. I never expected to see a morning like this. What made the +sun rise?"</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—they say that they will send me away, and Metacomet will +go with me."</p> + +<p>"Where will they send you?"</p> + +<p>"To the islands from which the oranges come, so they say. Oh, how could +I leave my chief, these lands, and all. Can you not do something for +us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will go back to mother, and we will go to Father Eliot, and I +will plead for you as I would for my own. Good-bye, Metacomet."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Roger. Whatever may happen to me, my heart will always be +true to you."</p> + +<p>He spoke these things brokenly, but the meaning was clear.</p> + +<p>Roger lingered by the wall of the pound. His heart was full. He knew it +all had to be just as it was; but he pitied that little red face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a sound caught the ear of them both. It caused Little +Metacomet to throw up his hands.</p> + +<p>"Bob-white, Bob-white!"</p> + +<p>"The quail," said Roger.</p> + +<p>In a woodland meadow a quail was calling, in a sweet musical voice. A +multitude of birds were singing in the surrounding trees, but the merry +quail's flute-like voice rang out distinct among them all.</p> + +<p>"He is calling you," said the little prince. "What will they do with +me?"</p> + +<p>"Mother will go to Boston to ask the magistrates to let you come and +live with us, in the groves."</p> + +<p>"The quails there called you, 'Bob-White'" said Little Metacomet. "What +good times we used to have there in the green groves of Swansea! I love +you, Bob-White, and the groves, and your mother. I think the twelve +moons of her. But what will become of <i>my</i> mother? Whatever happens, I +must be true to her. Whatever comes, a boy's heart can be true; we can +all be true to each other. Massasoit was true, and my father is true to +those who have been true to him. Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"Bob-white!"—the quail had whistled again, with love tones in his +voice.</p> + +<p>"Hear the heart of that swale meadow bird," said the prince.</p> + +<p>They listened, and Metacomet's eyes glowed despite his sorrow.</p> + +<p>"I must go now," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"I may never see you more," said Little Metacomet. "Netop, I shall +never see you more. Let us rub noses again. It is the last time—I +know it!"</p> + +<p>Metacomet was right. It was the last time. Roger never saw his Indian +playmate again.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">SUSAN IS TIMID NO LONGER</p> + + +<p>Roger went home to his mother and told his sad tale. Timid Susan rushed +to the door, and uttered a loud cry.</p> + +<p>Her husband, the woodman, was returning home, followed by his dog.</p> + +<p>"I am going," she said, "I cannot stay. You shall never again call me +'Timid Susan.' He saved us. I will save him if I can."</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" asked Mr. Barley in alarm.</p> + +<p>"They have taken Little Metacomet and put him in a pen," she said. "I +am going to Boston to appeal to the Governor. I will get my slat bonnet +and go. Saddle the horse for me. I am afraid of nothing. I promised the +boy that I would be true to him, and I will—I am not afraid of any +white ox, or Indians, or bears. If I meet any hostile Indians, I will +say <i>Niquentum</i> and they will let me pass."</p> + +<p>"Susan," said Mr. Barley, in greater alarm, "the Indians are still +tomahawking the people, and there are new signs in the sky. Oh, Susan, +sit down in the door and be quiet. These are terrible times."</p> + +<p>"Hinder me not, as the Scripture says. I must go—I cannot stay. I have +given my word, and it must be kept. He saved us. 'Netop! Netop!' that +word sounds in my ears."</p> + +<p>So the wood-chopper saddled the horse for her, and she set out boldly +for Boston.</p> + +<p>She ran the horse over the turnpike, and shortened the way, by taking +forest trails.</p> + +<p>The Governor would not receive her, but the president of the governor's +council sent for her.</p> + +<p>"Your name is Susan Barley."</p> + +<p>"My name is Susan Barley. 'Timid Susan,' they used to call me, but I am +not afraid of the face of day."</p> + +<p>"And you came here to plead for the princess and Little Metacomet."</p> + +<p>"Give the Indian boy over to me," said Susan. "I will give him a +home. He used to be my boy's playmate, and he has the very heart of a +Massasoit. He saved us from an Indian band."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be done," said the magistrate, not unkindly; "other Indians +would begin to rally around the princess and her boy. They must be sent +out of the country."</p> + +<p>At this Susan began to plead more earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Stop," said the magistrate. "I tell you it cannot be done."</p> + +<p>So Susan rode away from Boston without result and again faced the +perils of the forests. But she heeded them not. Her heart was aching +for Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"I will go to Natick," she said to herself. "Father Eliot will listen +to me."</p> + +<p>Eliot greeted her warmly.</p> + +<p>"Mistress Barley, you have a true heart," said the good man. "I will go +to Boston and see what can be done. I will save the wife and child of +Philip if I can. I will do my best. 'Blessed are the merciful.'"</p> + +<p>Eliot went to Boston to plead for the Indian prisoners. His case was +delayed, until he found that the decision to transport them had +already been made.</p> + +<p>Little Metacomet and the princess had been taken out of the Bridgewater +pen, and sent to Plymouth, and there were sentenced to be carried away +to Bermuda and sold for slaves.</p> + +<p>The decision of the government struck Eliot to the heart.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sell</i> Little Metacomet, who has the heart of Massasoit and the better +heart of King Philip?"</p> + +<p>His appeal to the Council against the transportation of Indian +prisoners of war shows his beautiful spirit.</p> + +<p>He said (we quote his own words):</p> + +<p>"To sell souls for money seemeth to me a dangerous merchandise. The +country is large enough; here is land enough for them and us. I beseech +the honored Council to pardon my boldness."</p> + +<p>The appeal was made in vain. The Puritans reasoned that the smoking +country and its new-made graves demanded that the family of Philip +be sent to some place whence they could never return to rekindle the +dissolving fires.</p> + +<p>Then Eliot came back to the green groves of Swansea to tell Susan and +Roger of his quest.</p> + +<p>"What will happen to Metacomet and his mother?" asked Susan eagerly.</p> + +<p>"The Council says that they must be transported," said Eliot gravely.</p> + +<p>"Where?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"To one of the Southern Islands—the West Indies—Bermuda," he said.</p> + +<p>"What will be done with them there?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"They will be released to some planter. It is all sunshine there—"</p> + +<p>"But their hearts would wither."</p> + +<p>"Roger, it must be so."</p> + +<p>Roger went to the door. The blue robins were fluting in the trees. The +quails were calling as at Bridgewater. The great oaks were full of +song, and the ponds of lilies.</p> + +<p>"Must I leave all these?" said Roger.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked his mother.</p> + +<p>"I am repeating to myself what I think Little Metacomet would say if he +knew all. But it must be. I never had such a playmate as Metacomet, +and I shall never find another. He knew the woods, the flowers, the +animals, and the birds. He had the heart of the woods. He was nature's +own child. I shall never see him again."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph2">TO THE PALM LANDS</p> + + +<p>The ship that was to deport the Indians to the Palm Lands, or the +Islands, sailed away, probably from Plymouth. Among the prisoners was +Runneymarsh. He had known the princess and Metacomet well, and he +pitied the little prince who never came to his own.</p> + +<p>There is a legend that the princess leaped overboard and committed +suicide when she saw Mt. Hope, where Philip perished, and where was the +ancient burying-ground of the Indian kings, sinking in the sea.</p> + +<p>This story is merely poetic fancy, as far as we can determine. But with +what a heavy heart she must have seen the shores of Massachusetts Bay +and the Narragansett fade from view.</p> + +<p>"Will they never let us come back again?" asked Little Metacomet.</p> + +<p>"We cannot tell; after what has happened to us, we cannot tell +anything. We would never wish to come back to the land of the dead; +I would never wish to live amid the oaks of Pokonoket if you could +not rule; I would not wish to see you the king of the dead. The Great +Spirit will guide us as he guides the birds that go to the Palm +Islands. We are following the birds."</p> + +<p>They were taken to Bermuda, where all is sunshine, flowers and birds, +and were given over to a planter, probably on a sugar plantation or in +the indigo fields.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Many weeks had passed when, one day, Susan heard a strange report from +Boston. It was that old Runneymarsh had returned.</p> + +<p>"Let's go to him, Roger," said she, "and see if the prince still +remembers us."</p> + +<p>They went to Boston by the way of Natick, where the praying Indians had +perished. The bell rang hollow there. Father Eliot was gone, and his +preaching places were deserted, though the time would soon come when +the people could read his Indian Bible.</p> + +<p>They found old Runneymarsh on one of the islands in the harbor. He +described to them the Palm Islands; their glowing plantations, oranges, +pineapples, bananas and many fruits.</p> + +<p>"And Little Metacomet, does he still remember us?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"His one dream is of you. He hopes that you will bring him back again +to the oak of his fathers."</p> + +<p>"That can never be," said Susan.</p> + +<p>"I wish it might be so," said Roger, "but what did he say of us?"</p> + +<p>"He said whatever may come, fire, water, toil, hunger, abuse, torture, +that his heart will always be true to those who loved him in the green +groves of Swansea. 'The Lady of the Haystack will always be close to my +memory,' he said. 'Oh but she had a good heart!'"</p> + +<p>"Did he send any message to me?" asked Roger.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What was it?"</p> + +<p>"He said—'Tell Roger, if you ever see him, that there are groves of +palms here, but I would give them all, if I could, for one pine; and +that there are thousands of parrots here, but I would be glad again if +I could hear a little quail of the woods say once more, 'Bob-White.'"</p> + + +<p class="ph2">THE END</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p class="ph2"><i>Books By</i></p> + +<p class="ph2">Hezekiah Butterworth</p> + + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE SKY-HIGH</p> + +<p class="ph2">12mo., cloth, with frontispiece, 35c.</p> + +<p class="ph2">The adventures of a Chinese boy, of good +birth, in a foreign land.</p> + + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE METACOMET</p> + +<p class="ph2">12mo., cloth, with illustrations, 60c. net +Postage, 10c.</p> + +<p class="ph2">The life of an Indian boy, son of King +Philip, in the woods of New England.</p> + + +<p class="ph2">LITTLE ARTHUR'S +HISTORY OF ROME</p> + +<p class="ph2">12mo., illustrated, 60c and $1.25</p> + +<p class="ph2">A popular story of this great nation's men +and deeds, for young people.</p> + + +<p class="ph2">THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.</p> + +<p class="ph2">NEW YORK</p> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75556 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75556-h/images/cover.jpg b/75556-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..776fcc6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75556-h/images/illus1.jpg b/75556-h/images/illus1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..44c50e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/illus1.jpg diff --git a/75556-h/images/illus2.jpg b/75556-h/images/illus2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8ac2da --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/illus2.jpg diff --git a/75556-h/images/illus3.jpg b/75556-h/images/illus3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..916fe15 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/illus3.jpg diff --git a/75556-h/images/illus4.jpg b/75556-h/images/illus4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4fe9fd8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/illus4.jpg diff --git a/75556-h/images/tp.jpg b/75556-h/images/tp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..73fed4d --- /dev/null +++ b/75556-h/images/tp.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4e2caf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #75556 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75556) |
