Chapter 23

These the sole accents from his tongue that fell, But volumes lurked below that fierce farewell.

BYRON.

When Sassacus left Spikeman, it was only to step into a lodge not half a dozen rods distant. Though smaller than the one into which the prisoner had been introduced, it was superior in comfort, as was, indeed, to be expected, being that of the Sagamore himself. Here he found the soldier, Philip Joy.

"What means this, Sassacus?" exclaimed the soldier, as the Pequot entered. "Was it not our covenant that the life of the white man should be spared?"

"My brother did not mean what he said when he asked that his enemy might be permitted to run away. Who, when he catches a wolf, says, 'Wolf, Indian set the trap only to see whether it would hold fast your legs. The wise hunter talks not so, but strikes the wolf on the head.'"

"Sassacus," said Joy, "this may not be. If you had caught Master Spikeman, by your own cunning, it might have been different; but it was the white girl and I who devised the scheme, and I told you where to place the ambuscade, which has been successful. Were you to murder this man, the guilt would rest more on Prudence and me than on you, whose savage and un-Christian notions may partly excuse so dreadful an act."

"My brother's heart is soft, like moss, but the heart of Sassacus is a stone. My brother must learn to harden his heart, and he shall soon behold a punishment becoming a great Sagamore. My brother thinks and feels like a Christian. Good! but he must let Sassacus feel like an Indian."

"Let him go," said Joy, "and he shall pay you store of wampompeag and colored cloth. Of what use can it be to you to put him to a horrid death?"

"Wampompeag and colored cloth are good, but Sassacus is a great chief, and they cannot make him forget an injury. Before the white men came, his ancestors punished and rewarded, and he will not surrender the prerogative of his family."

"By the bones of my father," swore the soldier, "I will not permit this cold-blooded murder. Hated I him ten-fold more than I do, I would defend his life at the hazard of my own. Where is my gun?" he demanded fiercely, seeking after it. "Who has dared to remove it?"

"Sassacus took it away, that his brother might do no mischief with it," said the Pequot.

"False Indian!" exclaimed the soldier, passionately; "call me not again your brother. I will have nothing to do with one whose promises cannot bind, and who loves revenge more than honor."

"Sassacus never breaks his word, but, if he did, it would be only imitating the white men. Would my brother speak to my prisoner, whom, at this moment, he loves more than the justice of an Indian?"

"Why should I speak to him, when I should hear only curses?"

"Then remain here to behold the punishment of the bad white man."

He strode out of the lodge, while the soldier, burning with indignation, disposed himself so that, unseen, he might notice all that was done, and determined, unarmed as he was, to interpose.

Presently Sassacus re-appeared, emerging from the larger lodge, followed by the Assistant, whose arms were bound again, and who was conducted by two savages, holding him by either arm. They led him straight to the pile around the stake, which the Chief ordered to be lighted, and whose billowy flames were kept rolling up by additions, from time to time, of the dry wood which lay in abundance around. Seated on a log not far from the fire, whose heat might indeed be felt, Sassacus commanded his prisoner to be brought before him.

"Bad white man," he said, "look on yon flames! Are they like that hell which thy powaws say is prepared for such as thou?"

Spikeman turned his ghastly face away from the blaze, with a shudder, but he said nothing.

"The white man is silent," said Sassacus. "He acknowledges the justice of his doom. Lead him to the fire."

Spikeman, notwithstanding the horror of his situation, succeeded in a measure in concealing his feelings, and, affecting an indifference to his fate, advanced a few steps with the two Indians, who held his arms, when, suddenly making a violent effort, he burst the withes with which he was carelessly bound, and, throwing them both off, started to run. The opportunity had probably been given purposely by the savages, for their diversion, and in order to protract the terrors of the captive, and knowing that flight was impossible. But, blinded by the glare of the fire, Spikeman remarked not a trunk of a tree in his path, and, stumbling over it, fell to the ground, bruised and torn, and before he could rise, found himself again held fast. Cursing his ill luck, he made no further resistance, but sullenly suffered himself to be led back. Philip Joy, on seeing Spikeman break away, started from his place of concealment; so that the two were confronted on the latter's return. The sight of Philip awoke a hope in Spikeman's bosom, who begged him to intercede with the savage.

"I have done so already," answered Philip; "but he will not listen to me, and has deprived me of my arms."

"Speak to him again--he will regard what you say. Save my life, and I will make recompense a thousandfold for any wrong I have done you or him."

The Pequot, smiling, stood by, quietly listening to the colloquy, and before Philip could address him, said:

"Did Sassacus promise his white brother to let the dog (pointing to Spikeman) run away?"

"You did; but care no more for your word than if you were no chief."

"My brother's, is a pappoos speech. Sassacus never broke his word; he only tried whether the dog was as brave as he was bad. White man," he added, turning to the Assistant, "thou art free. A great chief disdains to give thee the death of a warrior. Go back to thy people, and tell them what return the Sagamore of the Pequots makes for thy breach of hospitality. His promise to his brother saves thy life this time. But, beware! A Sagamore does not forget. Be a snail that keeps its head within its shell. If the snail puts it out, Sassacus will step upon it. Depart."

He gave directions to a couple of his sanops to conduct the Assistant to the verge of the forest, and, turning away, walked to his lodge. He was followed by Philip, who had now recovered from his amazement, and, understanding the conduct of the chief, felt ashamed at his own want of discernment and distrust.

"Is my brother satisfied?" inquired the Pequot.

"Sagamore," answered Philip, "I wronged thee. It shall be a lesson to make me more cautious in judging of thy actions."

"It is well. My brother will hereafter remember that the thoughts of a chief do not always shine in his face or sound in his words. My brother will forgive me," he added, smiling, "for shutting his eyes a little while very tight. It was that my brother might be the more pleased when he opened them."

"A trusty friend, this Indian, after all, in his way, (thought Philip, as he gazed on the face of the Pequot, which had settled into its usual gravity), and loves a jest, too. Who would have thought it? Methinks he has the better of it with Master Spikeman, though I misdoubt if he considers the score as settled."

As for the Assistant, thus suddenly and unexpectedly reprieved from a shocking death that seemed certain, he was stupified at the abrupt change in his circumstances, and, as he hurried on, half doubted whether it were not a dream. As he threaded the intricacies of the wood, he had time to compare and weigh events, and was thus enabled to come to some sort of conclusion. He recollected now many little things in the conduct of Prudence, which would have opened the eyes of any one not blinded by an absurd passion, and saw how, while seeming not averse to his pursuit, she had, in fact, only tempted on from one folly to another, until his whole being lay disclosed to her, without herself making any corresponding return. He doubted not that she had been all the time in correspondence with Joy, and with him had concerted the plan whereby he had been betrayed into the hands of the savage, to be outraged and mocked, and made to suffer all but the bitterness of death. He gnashed his teeth with rage as these reflections stormed through his mind, and, far from being grateful for his deliverance, resolved to exert the whole force and subtlety of which he was capable, to revenge himself on his tormentors. The fire of his indignation burnt not so fiercely against the Pequot, yet he, too, was embraced in the schemes for vengeance, for Spikeman fully comprehended, from his parting words, that the enmity betwixt them could be satisfied only by the destruction of one or both. Turning all these things over in his mind, he quickly formed a plan, which he determined to put as soon as possible into execution.

The dawn broke before his guides left the Assistant; but it was too early to venture to return home, instead of which, he sought his store-house, and there passed, meantime, awhile, brooding over schemes of revenge. Of himself he was powerless; it was therefore necessary to set other forces at work, and, in the letters which had been received reflecting on the character of the Knight, he thought he saw the means of driving, not only him, but Arundel also, out of the colony; and they being once removed, he trusted to his ingenuity to rid himself of the simple soldier and the Indian. The political power of the colony, in short, was to be compelled to effect his private designs. This, in the condition of the little State, was no difficult enterprise. In a strange land, hemmed in by savages, whose power they were unable to estimate with any degree of certainty, and who, however contemptible singly, were formidable by reason of their number--upon whose friendship they could never securely rely--on the eve of a war, probably, with the Taranteens--distrustful of even some of their own people, who murmured at the severity of the discipline they were subjected to--the government felt that they had need of all the eyes of Argus, and of as many ears, to guard against the dangers by which they were beset. They were like, in one respect, to the timorous rabbit, snuffing the faintest hint of danger in the breeze; but unlike him in that, they sought safety, not in avoiding, but in anticipating and confronting danger.

"Dear life!" cried Dame Spikeman, as the haggard face of her husband presented itself in the morning, "where hast thou been all the night? You look mightily cast down, and--O Lord! Heaven forgive me!--you have a wound on the side of your head. Husband, what is the matter?"

"Why, dame," answered the Assistant, "is it a new thing for me to be absent one night? Bethink thee how often my occasions call me to the plantation?"

"Out upon the weariful plantation! O, sweetheart!" said the jealous but fond wife, "I like not these absences. But, how got you this hurt?" she inquired, parting his hair on the temple, and exposing the dried blood.

"It is only a scratch I received in the forest, and hardly worthy thy notice, dame. But where is Mistress Eveline? and I see not Prudence?"

"The young lady is still in her chamber, and, as for the waiting maid, I heard her but five minutes since singing away as if there were no music in the world but her own. Truly, it sounded more like a snatch from some profane ballad than a godly hymn. I will tutor her about this levity. Now do not be angry, dear life," added the dame, whose heart was made more tender, and her tongue more communicative, by the anxieties she had suffered during the night, on her husband's account; "but I have fancied that you looked at the girl oftener, sometimes, than was becoming in a man who had a wedded wife who never said him nay."

"Fie, Dame," said the Assistant, laughing, and pinching, and kissing her still tempting cheek; "what crazy fancies be these? Consider my years, and profession, and dignity, and, most of all, my love for thee. Why, this is very midsummer madness."

"I suppose I am foolish," replied the dame, wiping a tear away, "but I feared, lest the girl might derive some encouragement from it, though otherwise, Prudence is a good lass, and obedient, and I have no other fault to find with her; but I recollect now, when I was a girl, how I did feel when you came near me, and I have not got over all these feelings yet, nor do I choose that Prudence should have them. So, dear husband, it were safer for the girl that you should look oftener at me, and less at her."

"My good, and faithful, and loving wife!" exclaimed the Assistant, enclosing her in his arms, and feeling something like compunction at the moment, "you deserve a better mate. But trouble not thyself with such misgivings. Do not this wrong, sweet, to thine own charms, and to my profession and station, as one of the congregation and a magistrate."

"Nay," answered the pleased wife, "I distrusted thee not so much as the presumption of the damsel; and if the devil goes about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, as we know he does, from the precious book, what place is more likely for him to be in than these awful woods, filled with red heathens, whom I take to be little better than his children; and whom would he sooner devour, than a pretty maiden like Prudence?"

"Enough of this, dame," said the Assistant, with difficulty suppressing a smile at his help-mate's simplicity. "Bethink thee, that though thy loving words are a feast to the spirit, the body requires more substantial fare?"

"True, and you shall have it forthwith, although, you wicked man, I did sleep hardly a wink for thinking of thee." So saying, the dame hurried off to hasten the morning meal.

The Assistant watched the countenances of Eveline and her attendant that morning at breakfast, and, in spite of the efforts of the former to appear unconstrained, and the demureness of the latter, detected, he thought, sufficient to justify his suspicions. He doubted not that the girl had betrayed his weakness to her young mistress, and that all along he had been a laughing-stock for both. "I will teach them," he said to himself, as he reflected with bitterness on his failure, "how to offend one who has the power and the will to crush them. The banishment of her minion, who, a love-sick swain, has followed her across the sea, only to be sent back a disappointed fool, will answer for my young lady; and as for the girl, the slitting of Joy's ears and nose, and an acquaintance of her own pretty feet with the stocks, will suffice. It shall not be said that the sword of the magistrate was put into my hands in vain."

While the Assistant was busying his brain with machinations like these, the opportune arrival of another ship from London, with letters to himself, containing accusations against Sir Christopher Gardiner, filled his heart with joy, and furnished additional means to facilitate his purpose. Without delay, he took them to Winthrop, and demanded a private audience. After reading the letters received by Spikeman, the Governor opened his desk, and handed to his councillor others addressed to himself, and which had arrived by the same opportunity. Greedily did the Assistant devour their contents, and unbounded, though concealed, was his joy at finding them in one particular of the same purport as his own. His face, however, was sad, and his voice mournful, as, returning the epistles, he said--

"A grievous thing is it, that hypocrisy, so finished, should walk the earth. It is a day of rebuke and of scandal to us, as magistrates, that we should be so deceived."

"I am not altogether convinced," said Winthrop, who, steady in his friendships, and prepossessed from the beginning in favor of the Knight, was loth to think evil of him, "that these charges are true. My own letters mention them only as reports--thine speak of them more positively. Vouch you for the truth of your correspondent?"

"There is no man more truthful," answered Spikeman, who, had it been necessary, would have been a guaranty for Beelzebub himself. "I have known him long. He has never deceived me, nor can I imagine motive therefor now."

"So fair, and yet so false!" murmured Winthrop; "and yet we know that the evil one appears sometimes as an angel of light. I will not trust in human appearance more. What shall be done with him on his return?"

"Let him be sent out of the colony, and they who are leagued in his plots with him," said Spikeman. "I understand now the wonderful eagerness of Master Arundel to be joined with him in this embassy. Birds of a feather, says the proverb, do fly with greatest joy together. Out upon this false Knight, for his pretended love of retirement; upon his leman, this lady Geraldine, forsooth; and this squire of dames, Master Miles Arundel, whose counterfeited affection for my ward may be only another cloak for most pernicious plots."

"Thou art becoming suspicious of all the world. Master Spikeman," said Winthrop, smiling.

"And is it not time to be suspicious, when those who have been honored with the confidence of our government, and to whom we have entrusted an important matter, are discovered to be no better than landlaufers and conspirators?"

"Dost distrust the good faith of the Knight in his embassy?" inquired the Governor.

"A bitter fountain cannot send forth sweet water, and should even the undertaking of this false Knight be successful in appearance, would not my suspicion be quieted."

"Come, Master Spikeman, remember that you may be called to sit as a judge on the fate of this gentleman, and that it becomes men in our positions to keep the mind free from injurious prepossessions, for only thus may justice, which is a ray from the effulgent countenance of Him who sits on the circle of the heavens, be attained."

"This is no private matter of mine own," answered the Assistant, "but a thing of public concernment; and I humbly trust, should ever my voice be demanded in its decision, that it will be raised to the glory of God, and the advancement of the interests of the colony which he has planted. But I should consider myself derelict to duty, and unworthy of the trust committed to me, were I to hold back my honest judgment, in view of the evidence now before me, subject to such modification as further examination may give rise to, especially when that judgment is asked for by the honored head of our oppressed Israel."

"It is my purpose," said Winthrop, rising, wherein he was imitated by the other, "to call together, this evening, at this place, for the due consideration of this subject, such of the Assistants as may be here present in Boston, and to advise with them thereupon, when and where I shall hope to be favored with the presence and counsel of my friend, whose zeal is never slack in aught that may redound to the welfare of the Commonwealth."

"My presence, God willing, may be depended on, worshipful sir," answered Spikeman.

A meeting of the Assistants was accordingly held at the house of the Governor the same evening, and the subject of the letters received from England, and the course to be pursued in view of their contents, considered in all their aspects. No great diversity of opinion prevailed in respect to the necessity of caution, in reposing any further confidence in Sir Christopher; but as for the proceedings to be adopted on his return, there was a considerable difference of sentiment. The more moderate, and least prejudiced against the Knight, at the head of whom was Winthrop, advised that he should be received with all honor, and the charges laid privately before him, in the first instance, and an opportunity afforded him to refute them. This they urged was the more just and honorable mode, inasmuch as the accusations came not before them invested with any judicial authority. But an opposite party, headed by Spikeman, strenuously insisted on another course. They contended, that in a matter of the kind, severity, and even what might look like precipitation, was better than a slackness, which might defeat their object. They pressed the point, that such was the number of letters received (some of them by private persons) reflecting on the character of Sir Christopher, it was impossible the information they contained should be concealed from the public, and that, consequently, even before the return of the Knight, news of it would reach his house. This, they said, would put the false Lady Geraldine on her guard, and afford opportunity to destroy papers, or whatever else might be in existence to inculpate the Knight. It was, therefore, their opinion, that the lady, with whatever might be found in the house to assist their judgment, should be instantly seized, and such other measures taken as to insure the arrest of Sir Christopher. There was, however, too much nobleness of feeling in a majority of the Council to relish invading the privacy of a female, on mere suspicion, while her protector was absent, engaged in business of the State. Winthrop looked displeased at the suggestion, and even the brow of the rough Dudley was corrugated into a haughty frown. As usually happens between differing opinions, a half measure was resolved upon, which satisfied neither party. It was to keep so strict a watch, that the moment of Sir Christopher's return should be known, and a file of armed men despatched by night, who should serve partly as a guard of honor, and partly as a restraint upon the person, to escort him to Boston. At the same time, with apologies for its necessity, his books and papers were to be secured, and the lady brought in all honor with him. This was the plan, should the Knight visit his house before coming to Boston; but if he arrived at the settlement first, he was to be detained and examined, after an account of his mission had been received.