Rachel Dyer

by John Neal

Alas for the faith of the red men! alas for the faith of their white leaders! Before they saw the light of another day, the treaty was trampled under foot by the savages, and hardly a creature found within the four walls of the fort was left alive. The work of butchery —but no—no—I dare not undertake to describe the horrible scene.

And Burroughs.... What of Burroughs?—Did he escape or die?... Neither. He was carried away captive to the great lakes, and after much vicissitude, trial and suffering which lasted for upwards of a year, came to be an adopted Iroquois, and a voluntary hostage for the faith of the white men of Massachusetts-Bay. From this period we lose sight of him for a long while. It would appear however that he grew fond of a savage life, that his early affection for it sprang up anew, as he approached the deep of the solitude, where all that he saw and all that he heard, above or about him, or underneath his feet, reminded him of his youth, of his parentage and his bravery; that he began after a time to cherish a hope—a magnificent hope, for a future coalition of the red men of America; that he grew to be a favorite with Big Bear, the great northern chief, who went so far as to offer him a daughter in marriage; that he had already begun to reflect seriously on the offer, when the whites for whom he stood in pledge, were guilty of something which he regarded as a breach of trust—whereupon he bethought himself anew of a timid girl—a mere child when he left her, and beautiful as the day, who when the shadow of death was upon all that he cared for, when he was a broken-hearted miserable man without a hope on earth, pursued him with her look of pity and sorrow, till, turn which way he would, her eyes were forever before him, by night and by day. It was not with a look of love that she pursued him—it was rather a look of strange fear. And so, having thought of Mary Elizabeth Dyer, till he was ready to weep at the recollection of the days that were gone, the days he had passed in prayer, and the love he had met with among the white girls of the Bay, he arose, and walked up to the Great northern chief, who but for the treachery of the whites would have been his father, and stood in the circle of death, and offered himself up a sacrifice for the white countrymen of the child that he knew—the lovely and the pure. But no—the Big Bear would not have the blood of a brother.

You know the Big Bear, said he to the young men of the Iroquois that were gathered about him. Who is there alive to harm a cub of the Big Bear? I am your chief—who is there alive to harm the child of your chief? Behold my daughter!—who is there alive to strike her sagamore? Warriors—look at him—He is no longer a pale man—he is one of our tribe. He is no longer the scourge of the Iroquois. The beloved of our daughter—who is there alive to touch him in wrath?

Here all the warriors of the tribe and all the chief men of the tribe stood up; and but one of the whole drew his arrow to the head—the signal of warfare.

White man—brother, said the Big Bear. Behold these arrows! they are many and sharp, the arrows of him that would slay thee, but few—but few brother—and lo!—they are no more. Saying this, he struck down the arrow of death, and lifted the hatchet and shook it over the head of the stubborn warrior, who retreated backward step by step, till he was beyond the reach of the Big Bear.

Brother—would ye that we should have the boy stripped and scourged? said the Big Bear, with all the grave majesty for which he was remarkable. White man—behold these arrows—they are dripping with blood—they are sharp enough to cleave the beach tree. White man—whither would you go? Feel the edge of this knife. That blood is the blood of our brave, who would not obey the law—this knife is the weapon of death. Fear not—for the arrows and the knife are not for the pale man—fear not—beloved of her in whom we have put our hope. The arrows and the knife are not for him—but for the dogs that pursue him. Speak!

I will, said Burroughs, going up to the resolute young savage, who stood afar off, and setting his foot upon the bare earth before him with all his might—I will. Big Bear—father—I must go away. I found you in peace—Let me leave you in peace. Your people and my people are now at war. I cannot strike a brother in battle. The white men are my brothers.

Big Bear made no reply.

Farewell.... I must go away. I cannot be on either side when Big Bear and Long-knife are at war.

Good.