Part 4

Amid the train came Massasoit old, But not too old for direst battle fray; Strong was his arm as was his spirit bold; His judgment, bettered by experience gray, The wildest passions of his tribe controlled, And checked their fury in its headlong way; Still with the whites his peace he had maintained, The terror of whose aid his foes restrained.

XI.

There too came Corbitant, austere of mood, And Annawan, who saw, in after times, Brave Metacom, and all of kindred blood, Slain, or enslaved and sold to foreign climes; And strong Appanow, of Pocasset’s wood, And other chiefs of names unmeet for rhymes; And round our Father, in the fearful trim Of savage war, they gathered, wroth and grim.

XII.

Each fired his pipe, and seat in silence took; Around the room a dreadful ring they made;-- Their eyes stared fiercely through the wreathing smoke, And luridly their gaudy plumage played, The while, obscured, they did scarce earthly look, But seemed like fiends in their infernal shade; And still the vapors rose and naught they spoke, Till Massasoit thus the silence broke:

XIII.

“And is my brother here? What does he seek? Tow’rd Wamponand, upon the passing wing, A singing bird there went; its opening beak Was by Namasket’s wigwam heard to sing That thou art friendless, homeless, poor and weak, Seeking protection from an Indian King. Do the white Sagamores their vengeance wreak, E’en as the red ones, on their brethren?--Speak.”

XIV.

Sire Williams answered: “’Twas no idle song Sung by that bird which passed Namasket near; I am an exile these drear wilds among, And hope for kindness from the red men here. Oft had thy friendship to the pale-faced throng, That first Patuxet[13] peopled, reached my ear; And a whisper told me thou wouldst still be kind To those who fly, and leave their all behind.”

[13] Patuxet is the Indian name for Plymouth.

XV.

Then rose the tawny monarch of the wood To speak his memory, as became a chief; And back he cast his crimson robes, and stood With naked arm outstretched a moment brief; Commanding silence by that attitude, And to his words attention and belief. Often he paused, his eyes on Williams fixt, Whilst rang applause his weighty words betwixt.

XVI.

“Brother,” he said, “full many a rolling year Has cast its leaves and fruitage on the ground, And many a Keenomp, to his country dear, Has sate in death beneath his grassy mound, Since first the pale Awanux kindled here His council blaze, and so began to found His tribes and villages, and far and near, With thundering arms, to wake the red man’s fear.

XVII.

“Brother, attend! When first Awanux came, He was a child, not higher than my knee; Hunger and cold consumed and pinched his frame; Houseless on yonder naked shore was he; Waves roared between him and his corn and game, Snows clad the wilds, and winter vexed the sea; His big canoe shrunk from the angry flood, And death was on the barren strand he trod.

XVIII.

“Brother, attend! I gave the infant food; My lodge was open and my fire was warm; He gathered strength, and felt a richer blood Renew the vigor of his wasted arm; He grew--waxed strong--the trees began to bud; He asked for lands a little town to form; I gave him lands, and taught him how to plant, To fish and hunt,--for he was ignorant.

XIX.

“Brother, attend! Still did Awanux grow; Still did he ask for land;--I gave him more-- And more--and more, till now his hatchet’s blow Is at Namasket heard, with crash and roar Of falling oaks, and, like the whit’ning snow, His growing numbers spread my borders o’er; Scarce do they leave a scant and narrow place Where we may spread the blanket of our race.”

XX.

Here paused the chief, as if to ask reply; Of thankless guests he spoke, and seemed to say That the white strangers grasped too eagerly, Nor heeded aught their benefactor’s sway. Ne’er to the Indian did our Sire deny His share of Heaven’s free gifts; and, to allay The ominous mistrust, he answered mild The dusky king of Pokanoket’s wild:

XXI.

“Brother, I know that all these lands are thine, These rolling rivers, and these waving trees,-- From the Great Spirit came the gift divine; And who would trespass upon boons like these? I would take nothing, if the power were mine, Of all thy lands, lest it should Him displease; But for just meed shouldst thou some part resign, Would the Great Spirit blame the deed benign?”

XXII.

“’Tis not the peäg,” said the sagamore, “Nor knives, nor guns, nor garments red as blood, That buy the lands I hold dominion o’er-- Lands that were fashioned by the red man’s God; But to my friend I give, and take no more Than to his generous bosom seemeth good; But still we pass the belt, and for the lands, He strengthens mine, and I make strong his hands.”

XXIII.

“Weak is my hand, brave chief,” our Sire replied; “Aid do I need, but none can I bestow; Yet on the vacant plain, by Seekonk’s tide, I fain would build, and peaceful neighbors know; But if my brother has that plain denied, Far tow’rds the setting sun will Williams go, And on the lands of other chiefs abide, Whose blankets are with ampler room supplied.”

XXIV.

As thus our Founder spake, this murmur low Circled that savage group of warriors round, “The stranger will to Narraganset go!” “A hungry wolf shall in his path be found!” Rejoined stern Corbitant, whose eyes did glow With kindling wrath;--then from his belt unbound His hatchet and beneath his blanket hid;-- Warrior to warrior glanced, as this he did.

XXV.

Again Haup’s Sachem broke the fearful pause: “Brother, be wise; I gave thy brethren lands; They smoked my pipe, and they espoused my cause; They made me strong; and all the neighboring bands Forsook the Narraganset Sachem’s laws[14] And mine obeyed.--We weakened hostile hands; All dropt their arms and looked, but looked in vain, For my white friends to measure back the main.

[14] See notes to Canto Fourth.

XXVI.

“This leaf, which budded of their hope, now dies; The Narraganset warriors crest their hair; Their hatchets keen from troubled slumber rise And through Coweset make their edges glare; Chiefs strike the war-post,--blood is in their cries, And fierce their yells cleave Pokanoket’s air; They count already with revengeful eyes The future scalps of vanquished enemies;--

XXVII.

“And all for Wampanoag’s life-blood crave. On Seekonk’s marge the storm of war will burst; Lands might I give thee there but that the wave Will there run red with human slaughter first. And yet my brother and his friends are brave; His bulwarks there with guardian thunders pierced, Might frown on harm;--for surely he would fight Both for his own and for the giver’s right.

XXVIII.

“And when the Narragansets by our arms Are from the Seekonk driven far away, No more molested by the wild alarms Of scalping knife and tomahawk’s affray, We may together sit, secure from harms, And smoke the calumet from day to day; And our descendants, all the years to come, Have but one fire--one undivided home.”

XXIX.

“Brother,” said Williams, “these thou seëst are Hands that the blood of man ne’er crimsoned yet; Oft do I lift them to the God of prayer-- Ah! how unseemly if with slaughter wet! But to the hostile Sachems I could bear The pipe of peace, thy snow-white calumet, And quench the flame of strife--how better far Than win thy lands by all-devouring war!

XXX.

“With Waban for my guide, in friendly guise, Sachem, I would the arduous task essay To heal those ancient feuds by counsel wise, And quell the wrath begotten long away; Were this not better than the sacrifice Of armies slain in many a bloody fray? Then may I plant, and, in each neighboring clan, Meet with a friend where’er I meet a man.

XXXI.

“Ha! Yengee,” said the Sachem, “wouldst thou go To soothe the hungry panther scenting blood? Say, canst thou bid Pawtucket’s downward flow Turn and run backward to Woonsocket’s wood? The path to peace is shut;--the eager foe Sharpens his darts, and treads his dances rude, And through the trembling groves the war-whoop trills From bleak Manisses[15] to the Nipnet hills.

[15] Manisses--Block Island.

XXXII.

“Yengee! thou seest these Wampanoags brave-- They are my Keenomps in the battle fray; Would it become Haup’s sagamore to crave Inglorious rest for warriors strong as they? They shrink from nothing but a dastard’s grave: Bound to the stake, upon their lips would play The smile of scorn. How can they crouch and cry For peace?”--he said; and Williams made reply:

XXXIII.

“The Great Spirit, almighty o’er the Whole, Wields earth at will and moulds the hearts of men; At his command torrents may backward roll, The hare may gambol in the panther’s den; In Him I trust, and in His strength my soul Is more than armies.--Let your brother then Ask for himself, if not for thee or thine, That on these lands the sky of peace may shine.

XXIV.

“How could your brother plant, where all around War’s tempest raging pours its showers of blood? Where from each thicket bursts the war-whoop’s sound, And death in ambush lurks in every wood? When would the feet of his dear friends be found To pass along the blood-stained solitude, And bring their all--their dearer far than life-- Beneath uplifted axe and scalping knife?”

XXXV.

Upon our Father’s words to meditate, That wise old chief kept silence for a space; Thus far he had prolonged the shrewd debate, And inly striven his bounties to retrace-- Not, as it seemed at first, from growing hate, But so to magnify his purposed grace, That what he gave should be right worthy thought Of the much needed succor that he sought.

XXXVI.

“Keenomps!” at length thus spake the Sagamore, “Shall our white brother, not for me or mine, But for himself, seek Narraganset’s shore, Disperse the clouds, and let the sunlight shine From the blue sky of peace?--Our wounds are sore But hatchets none too keen; and our design May profit by delay, if he will light His council fire and gathering friends invite.

XXXVII.

“His bow’s now broken, and his knife now dull,-- But when his warriors shall around him throng-- Its sharpened edge will thirst to peel the skull Of Narraganset foe;--and he, more strong, Will wield a mightier weapon, and, more full Of valor, help us guard ourselves from wrong; Whilst many a soul he sends to join the ghosts That cry for vengeance round Sowaniu’s coasts.

XXXVIII.

“On Seekonk’s marge--our battle-stained frontier-- His town will rise, and warlike will he feel; The foe must pass him if he strike us here; Our brother then will hang upon his heel, Hinder his progress, and salute his ear With the big thunders and the muskets’ peal; Lo! from the east the Tarrateen no more Dare pass the Yengee by the ocean shore.”

XXXIX.

As ceased the chief, a fierce smile lit the eyes And curled the muscles of those men of blood; They feared the number of their enemies; This hope was cheering, and all answered--good! All save stern Corbitant, whose visage is Dark and portentous as a slumbering flood, Whose silent bosom holds the imaged storm, And seems the tempest that the skies deform.

XL.

Then rose each Keenomp, in his turn, and spake: Each said his knife was sharp, his hands were strong; But still such counsel as his chief might take He should deem wise, and so advise his throng. At length stern Corbitant did silence break;-- But first unloosened from its leathern thong His scalping knife, and then a circle true With its bare point upon the earth he drew.

XLI.

“So move the hunters,” the grim sachem said, Then near the centre made of scores a few; “Here do the moose and deer the thickets thread To certain death from them whose feet pursue; Do not the Yengees thus around us spread? Are we not hunted thus our forests through? Will Haup’s brave Sachem yield Awanux aid, While weep the spirits of his kindred dead?”

XLII.

“Go! thou dark Corbitant!” the old chief cried, “Unarmed, the stranger seeks our vacant land,-- Far from his friends would plant by Seekonk’s tide, His blood within the hollow of our hand. When to the stranger has a chief denied Food, fire, and space his blanket to expand? Hunted by him!--when come his friends he may, If timid deer we are, turn off the beasts of prey.

XLIII.

“He goes, and goes but for himself alone, To ask that peace between the nations be, And if the belt of Narraganset won He bring to Haup, ’twill be received by me. Now do I charge you, Keenomps, all as one, That on his path no lurking wolves ye be. Who dares with purpose fell his way to haunt, Dies by this hand--e’en were he Corbitant.

XLIV.

“Do thou, swift Waban, with the Yengee go, And point the way to Narraganset’s clan; If thou dar’st walk before the bended bow, Bring back the talks, that we the words may scan; In all things else to him obedience show-- He is thy sachem--be thou Winiams’[16] man. But it were safe that thou the pipe should’st bear Without that painted face and pluméd hair.”

[16] The Wampanoags could not say _l_, but used _n_ in place of it.

XLV.

Then Williams brought his strings of wampum bright, And to the Keenomps each a present made, Which each received, and, mimicking the white, His thanks returned, and uncouth bow essayed; And Corbitant’s grim visage seemed to light With something like a smile that o’er it strayed, To see the wampum wreath our Founder flung, Where glittering on his breast the bauble hung.

XLVI.

To Haup’s old chief a belt, with tinselry Enchased, he gave, and trimmed with gilded wire; Which when he donned, the warriors gazed in glee Upon their Sachem in such brave attire; Then filing singly, each in his degree, They leave the lodge, and through the woods retire; The chief appointing Haup, whereat to be To hear the issue of the embassy.

XLVII.

Waban and Williams only tarried there, And for the journey soon began to trim; The red man doft his plumes, and loosed his hair, And cleansed his visage of its colors grim; Our Founder chose his Indian gifts to bear, And pipe of peace, as well becoming him; And forth they sallied, as from middle sky The sun looked down between the branches high.

XLVIII.

Waban went foremost, upon nimble feet, Through ancient grove and over woodland glade;-- His long black hair and blanket red, so fleet He went, streamed backward in the breeze he made; Often his form did out of sight retreat Behind the crag--behind the thicket’s shade-- And then his voice, along the echoing wood, Told when he paused, or where his way pursued.

XLIX.

At length upon Pawtucket’s marge they stood; They heard the thunder of his falls below; Though narrow was the pass, yet deep the flood, And frail the ice to bridge its dangerous flow; But on the bank a giant of the wood, A towering hemlock, waved its lofty bough; Waban his keen-edged hatchet promptly plied; It bowed, it fell, and bridged the sounding tide.

L.

Upstayed thereon from bank to bank they past, And now they travel under hostile sway: The night around them gathers thick and fast, Till, as more doubtful grows their devious way. Their blankets on the frozen earth they cast, And light the fire, and wait the coming day;-- When safely they their journey may pursue, And greet the chiefs they seek in season due.

LI.

Williams that night lay on the snow-clad ground, With nothing o’er him but the starry blue; In parchéd maize and water pure he found A sweet repast, that woke devotion true; For while he saw the soul constrained and bound, With wings enthralled, but not her eagle view, One pious prayer made every suffering light,-- That he might free and speed her heavenward flight.

LII.

The red man smoked his pipe, or trimmed the fire, And to our Father many a story told Of barbarous battles and of slaughter dire That on Pawtucket’s marge befell of old;-- How always son inherited from sire The same fierce passions in like bosom bold; And wondered that his pale-faced chief could dare The pipe between such angry Sachems bear.

LIII.

“Ten summers since, on yonder margin green,” He thus continued in a sadder tone, “A strong old hunter--Keenomp he had been Of many deeds--dwelt with his daughter lone: She, like the bright-eyed fawn, whose beauteous mien So charms the hunter that he stands like stone; He, like the brawny stag, with burning eye And antlers broad, and sinews that defy

LIV.

“The well-aimed shaft. Then Waban was a boy; And, lonely, loved to go, by moonlight dim Or dewy morn, to see, all life and joy, The Bright-Eyed Fawn. But ah! it chanced to him One morn to seek her at her home’s employ-- And, O! what havoc there!--what horrors grim! The old man lay in gore!--his daughter gone! His lodge in ashes! But the dewy lawn

LV.

“Showed prints of hostile feet. Waban is true-- He followed on the trail--a devious route; Far up the winding stream the morning dew Betrayed their steps, and hers with theirs; here out They turned--leaping from rock to rock, they drew Still onward far, until a thrilling shout, From far Woonsocket, died on Waban’s ears: He pauses--listens--and again he hears--

LVI.

“The _Pequot’s_ yell! My Sachem sure has seen The well-drawn arrow leave the red man’s bow; So Waban went--the steps he made between Him and his foes no memory left--e’en now Waban is there; and, from behind a screen, Formed by the leaf of bush and bending bough, He saw the Bright-Eyed Fawn, bound to the stake-- The fagots heaped around--the flames awake!

LVII.

“Two warriors, standing, mock her cries, and four, In the fire-water drenched, lie here and there In slumber deep, from which they woke no more. One arrow Waban sent;--through shoulder bare Transfixed, one scoffer fell, and quenched in gore His kindling brand. Then, springing from his lair, As panther springs, with the bright glancing knife Did Waban dart, and, hand to hand in strife,

LVIII.

“Cleft down the second, who, with wild amaze, But faintly fought;--straight from the Bright-Eyed Fawn The bands were cut, and from the rising blaze She springs unscathed. The slumberers on the lawn Were not forgot: they slept--they sleep--yet gaze (If gaze that be which is all sightless); dawn, Noon, and night, are one. Broad Antler’s ghost Wandered not long upon Sowaniu’s coast;

LIX.

“Fully avenged, he sought the spirit band Of his brave fathers, whilst the daughter, won By Waban from the cruel Pequot’s hand, Dwelt in his lodge, the mother of his son. All now are gone--gone to the spirit land, And Waban’s left all desolate and lone.” Such tales the evening hours beguiled, and filled With breathless zest, or with blank horror chilled.

LX.

They slept at last, though piercing cold the night, And round them howled the hungry beasts of prey; Nor broke their slumber, till the dawning light Gleamed in the east,--when they resumed their way. Encrusted hard and flashing far and bright, The snow sent back the rising solar ray; Mooshausick’s wave was bridged from shore to shore, And safe they passed the solid water o’er.

LXI.

Westward till now his course did Waban draw; He shunned Weybosset, the accustomed ford, Where dwelt dark Chepian’s priest, that grim Pawaw, Who well he knew the Yengee’s faith abhorred, And who, perchance, if he our Founder saw Bearing the pipe of peace, might ill accord With such kind purpose, and, on evil wing To Narraganset’s host strange omens bring.

LXII.

Now down the western bank their course they speed, Passing Pawtuxet in their onward way; And fast doth Indian town to town succeed, Some large, some small, in populous array; And here and there was many an ample mead, Where green the maize had grown in summer’s ray, And forth there poured, where’er they passed along, Of naked children many a gazing throng.

LXIII.

Their small sunk eyes, like sparks from burning coal, On the white stranger stared; but when they spied The Wampanoag, they began to roll With all the fury--mimicking the pride-- Of their fierce fathers; and the savage soul, Nursed e’en in youth on thoughts in carnage dyed, Instinctively, with simultaneous swell, Sent from their lips the unfledged battle yell.

LXIV.

Their little bows they twanged with threatening mien, Their little war-clubs shook to tell their ires; Their mimic scalping-knives they brandished keen, And acted o’er the stories of their sires; And had their fathers at this moment seen (For they were gone to Potowomet’s fires), Our Founder’s guide, they might have caught the tone Of their young urchins, and the hatchet thrown.

LXV.

Still village after village smoked; the woods All swarmed with life as forward still they fared; For numbers great, but not for multitudes So numberless, had Williams been prepared; Was it for him to tamper with the moods Of these fierce savages, whose arms were bared, Whose souls were ripe, and stalwart bodies trim, For the wild revelry of slaughter grim?

LXVI.

How could he hope a safe abiding place, Far in these forests, and his friends so few-- Among a wild and blood-besotted race, That naught of laws divine or human knew; Their wars proceeding oft from mad caprice, Their hearts as hard ’s the tomahawks they threw:-- Would his temerity by Heaven be blest? Would God nurse zephyrs on the whirlwind’s breast?

LXVII.

Whilst musing thus, and onward moving still, His soul o’ershadowed with suspicious fears, He gained the summit of a towering hill, And downward gazed.--Far stretched beneath appears A woodland plain; and murmurs harsh and shrill, As from accordant voices, on his ears Rise from the midmost groves, and o’er the trees, A hundred smokes curl on the morning breeze.

LXVIII.

And now to sight, through leafless boughs revealed, Now hid where thicker branches wove their screen, Bounding and glancing, in swift circles wheeled Men painted, plumed, and armed with weapons sheen, And flashing clear or by the trees concealed,-- Glimmering again and waved with threatening mien,-- The lifted tomahawks and lances bright Seemed to forestall the frenzied joy of fight.

LXIX.

Mixed with the sound of voices and of feet, Alternate slow and fast, the hollow drum Its measured rote or rolling numbers beat, And ruled in various mood the general hum;-- Now slow the sounds, now rapid their repeat, Till at a sudden pause, did thrilling come That tremulous far undulating swell, From out a thousand lips, the warrior’s yell;--

LXX.

As ’twere from frantic demons. And the face Of Waban paled--then darkened as he said, “The Narragansets there their war-dance trace, They count our scalps, and name our kindred dead; This heart grows big--it cannot ask for peace; ’Twould rather rot upon a gory bed Than hear the spirits of its sires complain, And call for blood,--but ever call in vain.”

LXXI.