Part 3

“And now, my brother, rightly worship we, When to Cawtantowit we make our prayer? Or when for help to Chepian we flee, And pray that us from every harm he spare? For every harm is all his own, we see, And good Cawtantowit has ne’er a share-- Then why should not I Chepian sue to be Much sparing of his harm to mine and me?”

XXX.

Williams made answer, “When red warriors brave The fight’s dark tempest and for glory die, Does Waban tremble whilst the battles rave, And at the hurtling arrows wink his eye? Or, basely cowering, does he mercy crave Of the red hatchet o’er him lifted high? Who prays to Chepian is a cringing slave, And, dying, fills at last a coward’s grave.”

XXXI.

Strongly these words to Waban’s pride appealed; Yet back upon him did the memory rush Of by-gone ages, and of many a field Where fought his fathers, who with victory flush, Not to Cawtantowit, but to Chepian kneeled, And thanked his aid.--They cowards! and the blush, That in their worship fear should seem revealed, Was scantly by his tawny hue concealed.

XXXII.

At last he said, “My brother doubtless knows-- He has a book which his Great Spirit wrote: Brave were my fathers, yet did they repose With hope in Chepian, and his aid besought When forth they marched to shed the blood of foes; But maybe they, like Waban, never thought That they were cowards, when they fiercely prayed That Evil One to give their vengeance aid.

XXXIII.

“Waban will think, and should it seem like fear-- Waban ne’er shrunk when round him battle roared, And at the stake when bound, his torturers near, Among the clouds thy brother’s spirit soared And scorned her foes--but should it seem like fear To worship Chepian, whom his sires adored, He will no more be that dread demon’s slave; For ne’er will Waban fill a coward’s grave.”

XXXIV.

Thus in grave converse did they pass the day, Till night returning brought them slumbers sweet; And, with the morrow, shone the sun’s broad ray Serenely down on Waban’s lone retreat. Then Williams might have journeyed on his way, But doubt and darkness still restrained his feet; And so with Waban made he further stay To learn about the tribes that round him lay.

XXXV.

Hence may he secretly to Salem write, And friends approving, still his plans arrange; For Waban soon will bear his peltry light To Salem’s mart, and there may interchange The mute epistles, meant for friendly sight,-- Unseen of eyes inimical or strange, Lest rumor of them reach the bigot’s ear, And persecution find him even here.

XXXVI.

Among the several tribes around to go, And sound the feelings of each different clan, Seemed not unmeet; but little did he know How they might treat a pale-faced outlawed man, Friendless and homeless, wandering to and fro, And flying from his own white brethren’s ban; They, for a price, might strike the fatal blow, Or bear him captive to his ruthless foe.

XXXVII.

Better it were, so deemed our Father well, To seek and win the savage by degrees, Since to his lot the dangerous duty fell, (For such did seem high Heaven’s all-wise decrees), To found unarmed a State where rung the yell Of barbarous nations on the midnight breeze; Against the scalping-knife with no defence Or safeguard but his heart’s benevolence.

XXXVIII.

With only this, his buckler and his brand-- This, yet unproved and doubted by the best,-- In cheerless wilds, mid many a savage band, Spurned from his home, by Christian men opprest, Must he the warrior’s weapon turn, his hand Unnerve, and gently o’er his rugged breast Gain mastery. The panther by the hare Must be approached and softened in his lair.

XXXIX.

That night, returning from the accustomed pool, Came Waban laden with the beavers’ spoils, And joy seemed dancing in his very soul As he displayed the produce of his toils; Much he rejoiced, and Williams heard the whole,-- How long he watched, how many were his foils; Then how the cunning beasts were captured all, As through the fractured ice they sought to crawl.

XL.

“Bravely,” said Williams, “has my brother done, No more the cunning wights will mock his skill. Waban is rich; will he not hie him soon To the pale wigwams, and his girdle fill With the bright wampum?--Ere to-morrow’s sun Shall hide behind the crest of yonder hill, Waban may gain the pale-faced stranger’s town, And in his brother’s wigwam sit him down.”

XLI.

“The hunter goes,” said Waban in reply; Then fired his calumet and curled its smoke, And silent sate in all the dignity Which conscious worth can give the human look. But when the fragrant clouds to mount on high Had ceased, he from the bowl the embers shook, And spread on earth the brown deer’s rustling hide, Expanding to the eye its naked side.

XLII.

Then thus he spake: “My brother doth require Waban to show where neighboring Sachems reign;-- Doubtless he seeks to light his council fire Within some good and valiant chief’s domain, That he may shun the persecutor’s ire, And pray his God without the fear of men. On Waban’s words my brother may repose, Whilst these far feet imprint the distant snows.”

XLIII.

Then from the hearth a quenchéd brand he took, And on the skin traced many a curving line; Here rolled the river, there the winding brook, Here rose the hills, and there the vales decline, Here spreads the bay, and there the ocean broke, Along red Waban’s map of rude design. The work now finished, he to Williams spoke, “Here, brother, on the red man’s country look.

XLIV.

“Here’s Waban’s lodge, thou seest it smokes between Dark rolling Seekonk and Cohannet’s wave;[8] Both floods on-flowing through their borders green, In Narraganset’s basin find their grave. O’er all the country ’twixt those waters sheen Reigns Massasoit, Sachem good and brave; Yet he has subject Keenomps far and near, Who bring him tribute of the slaughtered deer,

[8] Cohannet, the Indian name for Taunton, is here applied to the river.

XLV.

“And bend his battle bow.--Strong is he now, But has been stronger. Ere dark pestilence Devoured his warriors--laid his hundreds low,-- That Sachem’s war-whoop roused to his defence Three thousand bow-men; and he still can show A mighty force, whene’er the kindling sense Of common wrong does in the bosom glow, And prompts to battle with the offending foe.

XLVI.

“His highest chief is Corbitant the stern; He bears a fox’s head and panther’s heart, He ’gainst Awanux does in secret turn, Sharps his keen knife, and points his thirsty dart; His council fires in Mattapoiset[9] burn, Of Pokanoket’s woods his licensed part. Cruel he is, and terrible his train-- Light not your fires within that wolf’s domain.

[9] Mattapoiset, now Swansey.

XLVII.

“Here, tow’rd the winter, where the fountains feed These rolling rivers, do the Nipnets dwell; They Massasoit bring the skin and bead, And rush to war when rings his battle yell; Valiant are they, yet oft their children bleed, When the far West sends down her Maquas fell; Warriors who hungry on their victims steal, And make of human flesh a dreadful meal.

XLVIII.

“Here lies Namasket tow’rd the rising sun; There Massasoit spends his seasons cold; The warriors there are led by Annawan, Of open hand and of a bosom bold; Here farther down, Cohannet’s banks upon, Spreads broad Pocasset, strong Apannow’s hold; The bowmen there tread Massasoit’s land, E’en to Seconnet’s billow-beaten strand.

XLIX.

“Still tow’rd the rising sun might Waban show And count each tribe, and each brave Keenomp name; But then his brother does not wish to go Nearer the pale-face and the fagot’s flame; But rather tow’rd the tomahawk and bow, And would the friendship of the red man claim: Therefore will Waban, on the western shores, Count Narraganset’s men and sagamores.

L.

“Two mighty chiefs--one cautious, wise and old, One young and strong, and terrible in fight-- All Narraganset and Coweset hold; One lodge they build, one council fire they light; One sways in peace, and one in battle bold; Five thousand warriors give their arrows flight; This is Miantonomi, strong and brave, And that Canonicus, his uncle grave.[10]

[10] See note.

LI.

“Dark rolling Seekonk does their realm divide From Pokanoket, Massasoit’s reign; Thence sweeping down the bay, their forests wide Spread their dark foliage to the billowy main; Thence tow’rd the setting sun by ocean’s side, Stretches their realm to where the rebel train, Ruled by grim Uncas, with their hatchets dyed In brother’s blood, on Pequot stream abide.[11]

[11] See note.

LII.

“Canonicus is as the beaver wise, Miantonomi as the panther bold; But tow’rd the faces pale their watchful eyes Are oft in awful thinking silence rolled; And often in their heaving bosoms rise Thoughts that to none but Keenomps they have told; They seem two buffaloes the herds that lead, Scenting the hunters gathering round their mead.

LIII.

“When first his fire Awanux kindled here, Haup’s[12] chief was weak, and broken was his heart; Disease had swept his warriors far and near, And at his breast looked Narraganset’s dart; Awanux gave him strength, and with strange fear Did M’antonomi at the big guns start; He dropt his hatchet; but his hate remains, And only counsel wise his wrath restrains.

[12] Haup, or Mount Hope, the summer residence of Massasoit.

LIV.

“He sees the strangers spreading far around, And earth turn pale as fast their numbers grow, And fiercely would he to the battle bound, And for his country strike the deadly blow, But that behind the Pequot’s yells resound, And on his left the Nipnet bends the bow; And even thus his hatchet scarcely sleeps,-- It dreams of Haup, and in its slumber leaps.

LV.

“But, brother, still Miantonomi is A valiant Sachem--yea, and generous too, And gray Canonicus is just and wise, His hands are ever to his tongue most true; If from their lands my brother’s smoke should rise, Whate’er those Sachems promise, they will do; But Waban still doth not his friend advise To cross the Seekonk where their country lies.

LVI.

“Brother, attend and hear the reasons why;-- There at Mooshausick dwells a dark pawaw, Who hates Awanux, doth his God defy, And Chepian worships with the deepest awe; He’ll give my brother’s town a cloudy sky, And to his councils under-sachems draw; E’en now he whets the Narraganset knife, Points at our clan, and thirsts for human life.

LVII.

“Safer on Seekonk’s hither border may My brother build, and wake his council blaze; Clear are the meads--the trees are swept away By mighty burnings in our fathers’ days. There early verdure spring and flow’rets gay, Long grows the grass, and thrifty is the maize; And good old Massasoit’s sheltering wing Will shield thy weakness from each harmful thing.”

LVIII.

“Brother, I thank thee,” said our Founder here, “Oft have I seen thy chief on Plymouth’s shore; I will to-morrow seek those meadows clear, And thy fair Seekonk’s hither banks explore. But will not Waban pass Namasket near, Where oft that wise and good old Sagamore, Brave Massasoit, spends the season drear?” “He will, my brother”--“Then let Waban hear:

LIX.

“Tell thou that Sachem, generous and wise, That Williams lingers in thy cabin low, That he his children and his country flies, To shun the anger of a Christian foe; And that to him his pale friend lifts his eyes, And asks protection.--Tell him that his woe Springs from this thought, and from this thought alone, God can be worshipped but as God is known.”

LX.

A pause ensued, and Waban silent sate; Yet to himself his lips repeating were; At length he answering broke the pause sedate, “Waban remembers, and the talk will bear.” Then he in silence fired his calumet, And gave its vapors to the wigwam’s air, Whilst Williams wrote, with stationery rude, His first epistle from the lonely wood.

LXI.

’Twas on the inner bark stript from the pine, Our Father penciled this epistle rare; Two blazing pine-knots did his torches shine, Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair; He wrote his wife the brief familiar line, How he had journeyed, and his roof now where; And that poor Waban was his host benign, And bade her cheer and gave him blankets fine.

LXII.

Then bade her send the Indian presents, bought When first they suffered persecution’s thrall,-- The strings of wampum, and the scarlet coat, The tinseled belt and jeweled coronal; The pocket Bible, which his haste forgot, For he had cheering hopes of Waban’s soul; Then gave her solace to the bad unknown, That God o’errules and still protects his own.

LXIII.

And to the hunter Williams now presents The secret charge, with all directions meet; For Waban means to take his journey hence Ere dawns the day upon his lone retreat; And then once more did sleep our Founder’s sense And knowledge steal away till morn complete; When he awoke and found his host was gone, The lodge all silent, and himself alone.

LXIV.

His fast he broke with the accustomed prayer, And trimmed him for his walk to Seekonk’s side; Calm was the morn, and pure the winter air, As from the wigwam forth our Founder hied; So tall the pines--so thick the branches were, That, through their screens, the heavens were scarce espied; But melting snows and dripping foliage prove The South blows warmer in the fields above.

LXV.

Now from the swamp to upland woods he past, Where leafless boughs branched thinner overhead, And saw the welkin by no cloud o’ercast, And felt the settled snows give firmer tread. Now all was calm, no wild and thundering blast Mixed earth with heaven, as through the boughs it sped; And far as eye the boundless forest traced, Glimmered the snow and stretched the lonely waste.

LXVI.

Onward he went, the magnet still his guide, And through the wood his course due westward took; Across his path, with antlers branching wide, The red deer often from the thicket broke; The timid partridge, at his rapid stride, On whirring wings the sheltering bush forsook, And the wild turkey foot and pinion plied, Or from her lofty bough uncouthly cried.

LXVII.

At last a sound like murmurs from the shore Of far-off ocean, when the storm is bound, Grows on his ear, increasing more and more As he advances, till the woods resound And seem to tremble with the constant roar Of many waters--Ay, the very ground Beneath him quivers,--and, through arching trees Bright glimmering and gliding on, he sees

LXVIII.

The river flowing to its dizzy steep ’Twixt fringing forests, from so far as sight Can track its course, and, rushing, oversweep The rocky precipice all frothy white, With noise like thunder in its headlong leap, And springing sun-bows o’er its showery flight, And bursting into foam, tumultuous go Down the deep chasm, to smoke and boil below.

LXIX.

Thence, hurrying onward through the narrow bound Of banks precipitous, its torrents go, Till by the jutting cliffs half wheeling round, They pass from sight among the hills below. There paused our Father, ravished with the sound Of the wild waters, and their rapid flow, And there, alone, rejoiced that he had found Thy Falls, Pawtucket, and where Seekonk wound.

LXX.

And as he dallied on its margin still, His restless thought did on the future pause: Here might his children drive the busy mill, Here whirl the stones, here clash the riving saws; But little did he think the torrent’s will Would ever yield so far to human laws, As from the maid the spindle to receive And spin for her, and her fair raiment weave.

LXXI.

Reluctantly he left the scene, and fast Down Seekonk’s eastern bank pursued his way, Seeking for Waban’s meads; yet often cast His glances o’er the river, where the gray Primeval giants, meet for keel or mast, Stood, towering and distinct, in proud array; And wore to his presaging eyes the air Of lofty ships and stately mansions fair.

LXXII.

Still onward, by the eastern bank he sped; Here stretched the thicket deep, there swampy fen, Here sunk the vale, there rose the hillock’s head; Oaks crowned the mound, and cedars gloomed the glen, Where’er he moved;--at length his footsteps led Where a bright fountain, sparkling like a gem, Burst from the caverned cliff, and, glittering, wound Its copious streamlet, with a murmuring sound,

LXXIII.

Far down the glade; and groves of cedars green, With woven branches on the winter side, Repelled the northern storm, whilst clear and sheen, Crisped by its pebbly bed, the glancing tide Gleamed in the sun, or darkened where the screen Of boughs o’erhung its music-murmuring glide;-- It laughed along;--and its broad Southern glade Was bordered deep by woods of massy shade.

LXXIV.

Charmed with the scene, our sire explored the place, And penetrated deep the thickets round; At length his vision opened on a space Level and broad, and stretching without bound Southward afar; nor rose o’er all its face A tree, or shrub, or rock, or swelling mound; Yet, in large herds dotting the snows, appear, With antic gambols, the far bounding deer;

LXXV.

And, further down, the Narraganset flood, Unfurrowed yet by keel--its fretted blue With isles begemmed, and skirted by the wood Of far Coweset,--opens on his view; So long he had beneath the forest trod, That, when the prospect on his vision grew, His soul as from a prison seemed to fly And range in thought through an immensity.

LXXVI.

Raptured he paused.--Here then was Waban’s mead; In yonder little glen, the fountain by, He’d rear his shelter--here his flocks should feed, Cropping the grass beneath the summer sky; There by his cot he’d sow the foodful seed, And round his garden raise a paling high; And there at twilight, should his herds be seen, Following the tinkling bell from pastures green.

LXXVII.

Ay, here, in fancy, did he almost see A lovely hamlet in the future blest, Where Christians all might mutually agree To leave their God to judge the human breast; A place of refuge whitherto might flee The hapless exile for his faith opprest, And find his lately trammelled conscience free, And for the scourge and gibbet--charity.

LXXVIII.

He thought he saw the various spires ascending Of many churches, all of different kind, And heard the Sabbath bells harmonious blending Their calls to worshippers of various mind; And saw the people as harmonious wending To several worships, as their faith inclined; And felt that Deity might bend the ear, Such harmony from various chords to hear.

LXXIX.

But still across his mind a shadow came-- A doubt that seemed a superstitious fear; For yet no Indian throng, with loud acclaim, Had bid the welcome of Whatcheer! Whatcheer! Till when he should be tossed;--as did proclaim That nameless stranger--that mysterious seer;-- But from Haup’s Sachem he a grant will gain; Such were best welcome from that Sachem’s train.

LXXX.

Full of this thought, he turned at close of day, And gained the humble lodge as night came down; And he could scarcely brook the short delay, Till Waban, coming from the white man’s town, Should from Namasket, where the Sachem lay, The cheering welcome bring, or blasting frown; For thou, Soul-Liberty, couldst then no more Than build thy hopes on that rude sagamore.

CANTO THIRD.

[SCENES. The Wigwam--Massasoit and other Chiefs--The Wilderness--A Night in the Wilderness--The Narraganset or Coweset Country--Coweset Height.]

No pain is keener to the ardent mind, Filled with sublime and glorious intents, Than when strict judgment checks the impulse blind, And bids to watch the pace of slow events To time the action;--for it seems to bind The ethereal soul upon a fire intense, Lit by herself within the kindling breast, Prompting to act, while she restrains to rest.

II.

Two nights had passed, and, Waban lingering still, Williams began to doubt his steadfast faith; Quick was his foot o’er forest, vale and hill, His swerveless eyes aye keeping true his path. Why does he tarry? and the doubts instil Suspicions in our Sire of waking wrath Against his purpose in the barbarous clan, Whose fears e’en then on future dangers ran.

III.

But on the morrow’s morn, while Williams mused,-- Anxious and wondering at the long delay,-- The wigwam’s entrance, by the deer-skin closed, Abruptly opened, and a warrior gay Glided within it. To the sight unused Of Keenomp trimmed as for the battle fray, Williams, recoiling, gazed with fixed surprise On the fierce savage and his fearful guise.

IV.

The eagle’s plumes waved round his hair of jet, Whose crest-like lock played lightly o’er his head; On breast and face the war-paints harshly met, Down from his shoulders hung his blanket red, With seeming blood his hatchet haft was wet,-- Its edge of death was by his girdle stayed; Bright flashed his eyes, and, ready for the strife, Gleamed in his hand the dreadful scalping-knife.

V.

He placed a packet, bound, in Williams’ hands, And fired his pipe, and sitting, curled its smoke, The while our Founder broke the hempen bands, And gave the contents an exploring look. There found he, answered, all his late commands To Waban, ere the wigwam he forsook; And from his wife a brief epistle too, Which told her sorrows since their last adieu:

VI.

How came the messengers with arméd men To search her mansion for “the heretic;” How his escape provoked their wrath--and then How they condemned him for his feigning sick; But with the thought consoled themselves again, That he had perished in the tempest thick; God’s righteous retribution, setting free Their Israel from his heinous heresy.

VII.

But, as he reads, the warrior starting cries, “War! war! my brother.”--Williams drops his hand, And at the voice perceives, in altered guise Till now unknown, the generous Waban stand Erect and tall, with fiercely flashing eyes, The while he pressed the hatchet in its band; “Brother, there’s war!” “With whom?” our Founder said; “Have I not friends among my brothers red?”

VIII.

“Haup’s valiant Sachem is my brother’s friend,” Red Waban answered; “and I come before Him, and the train of Keenomps who attend Him, coming here--our mightiest Sagamore-- To ask my brother that his aid he lend ’Gainst Narraganset’s hatchet stained with gore; Miantonomi lifts it o’er his head, Gives the loud whoop, and names our valiant dead.”

IX.

No time there was for Williams to reply Ere near the lodge there rose a trampling sound, And warriors entered, stained with every dye, Crested and plumed, with--to their girdles bound-- The knife and hatchet; whilst the battle cry Burst from the crowds that flocked the lodge around, And lighted up, in every Keenomp’s eye That stared within, a dreadful sympathy.

X.