The Pilgrims of New England / A Tale of the Early American Settlers

by Mrs. J. B. Webb

CHAPTER XXIV.

'The voices of my home! I hear them still!
They have been with me through the stormy night—
The blessed household voices wont to fill
My hearts clear depths with unalloyed delight!
I hear them still unchanged; though some from earth
Are music parted, and the tones of mirth—
Wild silvery tones, that rang through days more bright,
Have died in others—yet to me they come
Singing of boyhood back!—the voices of my home!' HEMANS.

One Sabbath evening, a few months after the events related in the last chapter, and when the short second Indian summer, that so often returns late in the month of September, was at its height, the inhabitants of New Plymouth were assembled at their meeting-house on 'the Burying Hill,' and engaged at their usual devotions. None were left in their dwellings except those whom age or sickness prevented from joining the rest of the congregation, or those who were necessarily detained by the care of young children.

The habitation of Rodolph Maitland was, therefore, deserted by all but Janet, who would gladly have gone that evening to listen to the husband of her young mistress; for Roger Williams was to lead the prayers of the congregation, and to deliver to them the customary address. But Ediths little girl demanded her care; and old Janet took too much pride and pleasure in the interesting child to repine at having the charge of her, even though it prevented her from attending at the meeting-house on the first occasion of Roger's officiating there since his marriage.

Little Edith was just beginning to walk alone, and it was her delight to play in the bright sunny garden, and pluck the gay flowers that still bloomed there in profusion. She was thus engaged, and murmuring a sweet but inarticulate song that her mother had attempted to teach her, when Janet, apprehending no danger, returned for a moment to the house, to perform some domestic duty.

Just then a stranger, followed by a large dog, entered the garden by the wicket gate that led towards the forest, and stood silently gazing around him, without at first observing the happy and occupied child. He was tall and of a commanding appearance; and his costume, which was richly ornamented in the Indian fashion, bespoke him to be a native of high rank. But had any one closely examined his countenance, they would have discovered beneath those long dark lashes, and clearly marked eyebrows, the deep blue eye of the Saxon race, which was also indicated by the rich brown hair, that, now unconcealed, waved across his manly forehead. A keen eye would also have detected on the features of that seeming Indian Sachem an expression of deep thought and strong emotion, that told of old remembrances not yet obliterated, and of feelings that belonged to home and kindred.

Yes! Henrich was, indeed, absorbed in those recollections that were revived in his breast by the sight of objects once so familiar, but which many years had elapsed since last he had looked on. Much was changed: but much was still the same. The rude hut commodious log-house that once stood on that site was now replaced by a substantial and picturesque dwelling in the Elizabethan style of architecture, whose deep bay windows were hung with the sweet single roses that were natives of the woods, and other flowering plants; while wreaths of the well-known Virginian creeper, now glowing in its scarlet hue of autumn, climbed to the summit of the carved gables and pinnacles that ornamented the building, and hung from thence in rich festoons.

On the front of this dwelling the evening sun fell brightly, and its slanting beams likewise partially illuminated the garden with long streaks of light, while other parts were thrown into strong shadow by the trees and shrubs that grew among the flower-beds. One of these—a noble tulip-tree—rose in the centre of the enclosure and stretched its giant arms wide on every side. On this tree the eyes of the wanderer rested long; and then he approached it, and stood looking wistfully towards a bower that was situated near the old tree, and over which the creepers fell in wild luxuriance.

Was it a tear that glittered in that warlike stranger's eye, as a ray from the western sun fell on his face through the thick overhanging foliage? And did those manly limbs tremble as he clasped his hands over his face, and sank on the rustic seat beneath the tulip-tree?

'I cannot enter the house!' he exclaimed, in a low voice. 'I cannot seek those loved ones there where once we dwelt in happiness together; and where, perhaps, none now remain to welcome the wanderer home! O, that some one would appear who might tell me of their fate!'

Henrich spoke to himself in his native tongue. He could not speak a strange language in that old familiar spot; and his voice attracted the notice of the little girl, who was now slowly moving towards him, her hands filled with the spoils of the flower-beds. She stopped, and gazed at the stranger, and then uttered a faint cry of fear that at once roused Henrich from his reverie. His eyes fell on the lovely child, and instantly his memory recalled the features and expression of his brother Ludovico, to whom the little Edith bore a strong resemblance.

With an irresistible impulse he sprang forward, and caught the little girl in his arms, and sought, by caresses, to soothe her fears, and hush her cries of terror. But those cries had caught the watchful ear of Janet; and, with all the speed that she could use, she came running from the house, merely anticipating that her charge had fallen down, or was alarmed at finding herself alone.

What was, then, her terror and amazement at seeing her in the arms of an Indian! One instant she stood rivetted to the spot, not knowing how to act. The next she turned, and again hurried in to the house, from whence she escaped by a back door, and sped breathlessly towards 'the Burying Hill.' She knew that the service was over—for the last strains of the parting hymn had been borne down by the evening breeze as she left the house—and therefore she would find help and succor from the returning congregation. That deep, melodious sound had been heard by Henrich also; and it had struck a chord in his heart that vibrated almost to agony. The stillness and abstraction of his look, as he listened to the dying cadence, silenced the cries of the little child. She gazed into his upturned eyes; and, possibly, she felt that those eyes had an expression that was neither strange nor terrible—for now she suffered the stranger to seat himself again on the bench beneath the tulip tree, and place her gently on his knee.

Such was the picture that met the eyes of Edith, and her husband, and parents, as they rushed into the garden, followed by the trembling and exhausted Janet.

'My child! my Edith! shrieked the young mother and sprang towards the tree. That name told a long history to the wanderer which his heart had already guessed. The Indian warrior rose, but he did not fly. No! he only met the terrified mother; and as he placed her child in her trembling arms, he folded them both in his own.

In amazement and indignation at this rude action, Roger now caught his arm, and in the Indian tongue, inquired hastily—

'Who are you? and what can cause this freedom?'

I am Henrich Maitland!' exclaimed the stranger; 'and the Lord has brought me back to my home once more.'

Oh, the music—the thrilling, startling music—of those words to the ears and hearts of those who bad so long believed him dead! The surprise and joy were too intense for Helen, and she sank fainting into the arms of her long-lost son: while Rodolph grasped his hand, and exclaimed with deep emotion—

'Now, God be praised! my brave, my blessed son! Surely His mercies are infinite, and His ways past finding out! Now I know why my heart yearned so strangely towards the Indian Chief who saved my life in the Fort of Mystic; and why his voice had such a thrilling and familiar tone, that spoke of home, and bygone years. Look on me, my Henrich, and say, do you not recognise the English soldier whom your generous interference preserved from a dreadful death?'

The change in Rodolph's dress, and his own overpowering emotions, had hitherto prevented Henrich from discovering that, in the noble-looking man whom he was proud to call his father, he also beheld that gallant British officer whose appearance had so powerfully attracted him in the conflict of Fort Mystic. But when he looked into that fine countenance, he well remembered every feature; and he wondered why he, had not known him, even when they met so unexpectedly in the excitement of the battle.

That was a happy hour; and, in the joy of meeting so many that he loved, Henrich for awhile forgot that any one was missing. But soon be looked around, as if seeking some familiar object, which did not meet his eye. He feared to ask for Ludovico: but his father saw the inquiring look, and guessed its import.

'He is gone!' he said, gently. 'Your brother did not remain with us long after you had left us; and his young spirit is now where we believed that yours had long been dwelling in peace. He would have rejoiced to see this day, dear Henrich; for he, as well as Edith, mourned your loss sincerely. But he is happy now, and we will not regret him. The Lord has restored to us one of our sons in a manner so strange, and under such extraordinary circumstances, that we can hardly realise the blessing. Tell us, Henrich, how this has been brought about.'

The violent agitation occasioned by such a meeting had now somewhat subsided; and the wanderer could calmly relate the story of his adventures, while his mother and sister sat on each side of him, gazing fondly at his much-changed, but still familiar countenance; and the scarcely less interested Janet seated herself on the turf, with little Edith on her knees. Rodolph and Roger Williams also reclined on the ground, and all were impatient for the narrative.

'Our group is not complete,' said Henrich. 'Come hither, Rodolph!' And then, addressing his dog in the Indian language, he made him lie down at his feet.

'Then my ears did not deceive me?' exclaimed Maitland. 'When you left me, Henrich, in the midst of that fearful fray, I thought I heard you pronounce my name; and the sound startled me strangely. Have you, then, called your unconscious companion by your father's name; and in all your wanderings, and your trials, and temptations, has that name been dear to you?'

Heaven only knows how dear! replied the Sachem. The remembrance of my parents, and all they taught me in my childhood, has been not only my joy and consolation, but my safeguard also. You will find me very unlearned and ignorant in all worldly knowledge, for I have had no means of keeping up the little I had acquired. But, God be praised! I have been kept from forgetting Him, and the Saviour in whom you taught me to put my trust. Nor have I been quite alone in my faith. One there is of whom I shall have much to tell you in the course of my history, who has been, and is, my spiritual companion and support. I have had many blessings!'

'How truly is it declared, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord"!' exclaimed Helen, as she raised her eyes in grateful gratitude to Heaven. Now she and Rodolph felt that they had, indeed, recovered their lost son—not for time alone, but for eternity.

Henrich's long and adventurous story was told: and so many were the questions and the comments that it called forth, that long are it was finished the light of day had all departed, and been replaced by the softer rays of the unclouded moon. It was with mingled feelings of disappointment and of gratitude, that Henrich's friends heard of his marriage with an Indian female. But as he described her character, and spoke of her sincere and humble faith, and of all that she had been to him since the first day of his captivity, they became more than reconciled to the alliance, and thanked God who had so mercifully provided their son with such a friend and companion, to cheer his otherwise lonely life. They, and Edith also, felt impatient to become acquainted with this new relative, whom they were already prepared to love; and, as she was now dwelling near Cape Cod with her father and the rest of her tribe, they hoped to do so before the winter set in.

Henrich promised that this hope should be compiled with; but it was a source of sorrow and disappointment to his family, when they heard that he was pledged to the aged Tisquantum never to take his only and beloved child from him as long as he lived. He could not, therefore, at present change his mode of life, or take up his abode at New Plymouth but must return to dwell with his Indian friends, and fill the place of Tisquantum's son and representative, until the old man should be gathered to his fathers.

The days that Henrich passed in the home of his childhood flew rapidly away. All his old friends gathered around him to welcome him on his unexpected return, and to offer their congratulations to his happy parents and sister. The joy of the venerable Brewster at again beholding his young friend and pupil, and at finding him still a sincere and intelligent Christian, was very great; and even among those who had never known him, his adventurous story, and his frank and engaging manners, excited the deepest interest. Between himself and his brother-in-law, Roger Williams, a strong and lasting friendship was established; and when the time arrived for Henrich to return to Paomet, Roger proposed to accompany him, and assist in escorting his wife and child to pay their promised visit to New Plymouth. This offer was gladly accepted; and the English minister and the Indian Chief set out on foot. The journey was comparatively easy to men who had long been accustomed to such toils and difficulties as both Henrich and Roger had, for years, been inured to, and they reached Paomet very quickly.

But sorrow met them there. The first sound that fell on their ears as they approached the village was the Indian dirge for a departing soul. Henrich listened for a moment to catch the exact direction from whence the ominous sound proceeded, and then darted forward with such velocity, that Roger, active as he was, could with difficulty follow him. Henrich hastened towards a large dwelling at the upper end of the village; and entering the low door, he beheld a sight which, though it filled his heart with unaffected grief, was yet, in some sense, a relief to his fears.

It was not for his wife or child that the wail was being made. It was Tisquantum who lay on the bed of death, and who turned his dim and sunken eyes towards him as he passed the threshold. The old man smiled a joyful welcome, and held out his trembling hand to greet him. And Oriana—who was seated on the ground by her father's bedside, in an attitude of deep and silent sorrow—sprang to her feet with a cry of joy, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, burst into a flood of long-suppressed tears.

'You are come at lest,' she exclaimed. 'You are come in time to see my father die, and to receive his blessing. O, Henrich! how I have hoped end preyed for your return. I feared you would be too late; and my beloved father has something to confide to you—I know he has—which will fill your soul with joy. Father,' she continued, in a calmer voice, as she led Henrich to his side, and joined their hands in her own—' Father, say those blessed words again. Tell your son that you believe and love the Christian's God, and that you desire to die in this faith.'

Henrich was surprised. He had not hoped that Tisquantum had been thus far influenced by what he had seen and heard of the Christian religion, and his joy was equal to his astonishment.

He looked inquiringly at the old Chief's countenance, and pressed his withered hand. At length, in a feeble, but calm and decided voice, Tisquantum spoke.

'My son, it is true. I have observed and listened, but I have held my peace. When you were a boy, you talked to me of the Christian's God, and I smiled in my soul at your ignorance. Then I found that you believed in the Great Mahneto, and I was satisfied. But for years I have studied your character, to find out why, young as you were, I felt for you a respect that I never felt for any human being except my own heroic father. At last, I understood that it was because your religion made you true, and brave, and good, and kept you from committing any of the crimes that I saw others guilty of. If all your nation acted as you have done, Henrich, their coming to this land would have proved a blessing indeed to the red men, and our people would not hate them, and seek to destroy them, as I once sought to do. But enough of this. My strength is failing. Henrich, your example has taught me that your God is holy, and just, and good; it has made me feel the truth of the Christian's religion.'

Tears of humble joy and gratitude glistened in Henrich's eyes at this confession. He knelt beside the dying convert, and bowed his head upon the bed; but his heart was too full to allow him to express his thanksgivings audibly. Oriana was equally affected; but another form knelt beside them, and another deep rich voice arose in prayer, which was uttered fluently in the Indian language, and in which the hearts of all present joined fervently, although the speaker was a stranger to all but Henrich.

It was Roger Williams, who had been an unobserved witness of the foregoing deeply interesting scene, and had listened, with deep and grateful emotion, to the words of the expiring Chief. He now spoke the feelings of all his auditors, and, with his wonted power and eloquence, poured forth a fervent prayer for the aged 'babe in Christ,' and blessed the God of all spirits that it had pleased Him, even 'in the eleventh hour,' to call the heathen Chief into the fold of Christ.

When his prayer was finished, Henrich presented his friend and brother to his father-in-law, and told him that, from his lips, he might bear all that one of the Lord's most zealous and devoted ministers could tell him of holy and eternal things. Gladly the old man availed himself of this opportunity of obtaining instruction, end being prepared for what he now earnestly desired—an admittance by baptism into the once despised religion of the white men.

For this task no man was more fitted than Roger Williams. He well knew how to deal with Indian prejudices, and bow to call forth the affections, by the relation of the simple and touching truths of the gospel. Tisquantum heard with a willing and teachable spirit, and he believed, and was at peace. His life was rapidly ebbing away, and no time was to be lost; for though he rallied a little after the arrival of Henrich and Roger, it was evident that his time on earth could only be counted by hours.

The following morning, therefore, at his own earnest desire, he was
baptised by Williams, in the presence of his rejoicing children, and of
Jyanough and Mailah, who formed a little congregation of sincere
Christians in the midst of an heathen population.

The venerable Chieftain did not long survive his admission into the pale of the visible church of Christ. His strength faded hour by hour; but he was calm and collected to the last. He gave to Henrich all his parting directions for the government of his people, if he still continued to live among them, and to be their Sachem. 'But,' he added, 'I know that your heart is with your own people, and that you desire to return to your former home. I cannot blame you; for I well know the yearning of spirit that draws a man to his kindred, and to his fathers house. And Oriana will go with you, and make your home and your people her own. If this is to be, then let Jyanough be Sachem in your stead. He also is just and upright, and will guide my warriors with courage and wisdom. There is none besides yourself to whom I could so confidently leave them. And now, farewell, my children! May the good God in whom you trust receive my sinful soul for His Son's sake; and may his blessing rest on those who have led me into the truth.'

Tisquantum had been supported in his bed, while he thus took leave of his sorrowing relatives and friends. He now lay down, and never rose again. Neither did he utter many more words; but lay as if engaged in thought and prayer, and occasionally fixed his failing eyes with fond affection on his child and Henrich. At length they gently closed, and the venerable old Chief slept the sleep of death.

Oriana's grief was deep and sincere, for she had loved her father almost passionately; but she did not now 'sorrow as those without hope'; and, ere long, she was calm. The funeral was conducted in the simple manner of the Puritans; and all Tisquantum's warriors stood respectfully and silently round his grave, while Williams addressed them in their own language, and exhorted them to follow the example of their departed Chief, and examine the faith of the Christians, and embrace it to the salvation of their souls.

Not long after the death of Tisquantum, and before the severity of winter prevented the journey being practicable, Henrich and his wife took leave of the Nausetts, and of their Christian friends, Jyanough and Mailah; and, accompanied by Roger Williams, and two or three Indian attendants who desired to follow their fortunes, took their way towards New Plymouth. Their departure from Paomet was much regretted, for they were greatly beloved by the red men. But the promotion of Jyanough to the Chieftainship gave general satisfaction; and there were even some who thought it was more consistent with their dignity and independence, to be governed by one of their own race, rather than by a pale-face, let his personal qualities he ever so estimable.

Henrich's heart beat high when he again arrived at his father's dwelling, and presented his wife and child to his parents and his sister. He cast searching glances at their countenances, to read their feelings at thus greeting an Indian as their near relative; but he saw no expression that could give him pain. On the contrary, the native grace and beauty of Oriana, and the gentle refinement of her manner, evidently struck them with surprise and pleasure, and made upon them all a most favorable impression. Nor did a further acquaintance lessen this kindly feeling. It was impossible to know Oriana, and not to love her; and she was soon regarded as a daughter and a sister by all her husband's relatives; while the young Ludovico was cherished and caressed by all the household, and by none more than by his little cousin Edith.

The Maitlands were now a happy family; and when, in the ensuing spring, their daughter and her husband again left them to return to their distant home at Providence, they felt they had still a daughter left to them in the Indian wife of their beloved Henrich. This long-lost son did not again leave them, except to pay occasional visits with Oriana to their Nausett friends. But he fixed his permanent home at Plymouth, where his knowledge of the Indian language and manners, and the influence he continued to possess among the Nausetts and other neighboring tribes, enabled him frequently to render important services both to his own countrymen, and the red natives. His own merits, likewise, won for him the love and respect of the settlers of New Plymouth, who appreciated the unaffected devotion, and the simple truthfulness, of his character; and felt that such men as Rodolph Maitland and his son added glory to the history of 'the Pilgrim Fathers.'

End of Project Gutenberg's The Pilgrims of New England, by Mrs. J. B. Webb