The Knight of the Golden Melice: A Historical Romance

by John Turvill Adams

"There is some mystery," said the Knight, "connected with this. Be sure the obscure varlet would not have sought thee out for such a purpose of his own motion, but was instigated thereto by another."

"Who could that be, and with what motive?"

"Nay, I judge no man; but, perhaps, it so happened that they who intended harm conferred a favor."

At this moment they saw approaching through the opening in the lodge a couple of squaws, bearing in their hands earthen pots, from which a warm steam was issuing. These they brought straight into the wigwam, and, placing them before the white men, invited them to eat. After a few words from the Knight, which the smiling faces of the women showed were well received, they retired, and the two friends addressed themselves to a business seldom disagreeable, and specially pleasant to them. In the one vessel they found pieces of broiled venison, and in the other a composition at that time peculiar to the Indians, but which has since become a favorite in New England, and still retains its Indian name of "succotash." It is a dish consisting of sweet corn and beans boiled together, and savored with some kind of meat, according to the taste. The meat preferred by the vitiated taste of the whites is pork; but inasmuch as swine were unknown at the time in the country, except in the civilized settlements—the unclean animal having been introduced by the Europeans—its place in the present instance was supplied by the more wholesome bear's meat, for such the experienced palate of the Knight pronounced it to be. At the completion of the meal, although it was early according to our habits, the unbroken silence that reigned around indicated that the Indians had retired to rest, and the two weary travelers, imitating their example, threw themselves on their couches.

Some hours had passed since they laid themselves down to sleep, when the Knight arose, and, after glancing at his companion, started, with a light and noiseless step, to leave the wigwam. At the opening he found a Taranteen, whom his stirring had wakened. With him the Knight exchanged some whispered words, and then took his way in the moonlight toward a lodge situated near the centre of the village, and conspicuous for its size. He met no interruption, and having arrived at the entrance, drew aside the skin which served for a door. The first object which caught his eye was a flame proceeding from some pieces of a resinous wood, which were supported by a sort of iron trestle standing on a rude table in the centre, and sending up spirals of smoke to escape by an aperture above. By means of the light which this cast, he was enabled to take a view of the apartment.

It was of an oblong shape, some forty feet long by twenty wide, and coming to a line at the top, and at first seemed destitute of furniture and of occupants. As the Knight stood hesitating, a voice from the remotest part of the wigwam addressed him.

"Welcome!" it said, in French, "true son of the Church! valiant soldier of the Cross! servant of Heaven! My soul hath been in travail to see thee; and now, laus Deo, its desire is gratified."

The Knight advanced in the direction whence the voice proceeded, and when he had passed on so far that his back was to the light, could see the speaker. He was one who, whatever were the mistakes of his creed, seems to have been animated by a purpose lofty to himself, and an ardent faith in its truth, and, therefore, honor be to his memory, as well as to all other brave spirits, who, like him, (though erring,) forget themselves for others. But he is worthy of description.

He was a man of about sixty years of age, somewhat under the middle size, but strongly made, and evidently capable of enduring great fatigue. His eyes were black and piercing, his complexion so dark as to be almost olive, and his features regular, the mouth being small and sharply chiseled and compressed. Thick, long, white hair covered his whole head, with the exception of a small round spot on the crown which was bare, revealing the mark of the priest, and fell upon his shoulders. He was habited in a long, closely-fitting robe of some coarse material, which had once been black, but was now faded and tarnished by time and exposure, and a hempen rope to keep it in place was girded about his loins. Such, as we have described him, was the famous Father Le Vieux, one of the most active and devoted among the French Jesuits in America.

Father Le Vieux had risen from his seat, and was advancing toward his visiter, when the latter first beheld him. As the two men drew nigh, the Knight sunk on his knees at the feet of the priest.