Down by the water where streaks of foam top the dark waves and the forms of two men loom dark and spectral, a boat is riding at anchor. While the boulders beat the surf into white foam and the branches of the elms wail and toss in the night wind, Smith and four of his men are trading with the Indians; others of his men are on guard against any treachery, while two of the men are placing the skins which they have bought into hogsheads. There are thirty or forty Indians when the bartering is at its height, and Smith is seen making a bargain with an Indian for a bale of beaver.
One of Smith's men, who notices a very fine skin an Indian is wearing, lifts it to show it to Smith. The Indian resents this act, and there seems to be resentment and fear among all the red men. The Englishmen stiffen to attention, but Smith, who feared neither man nor devil, goes among the Indians carrying a copper kettle and a gorgeous blanket. He held out his blanket persuasively and added several strings of beads. Then he draped the blanket on himself. The Indian at last reluctantly yields and takes off the skin, a beautiful black fox. The lights closed in around a group of Indians decked in their new robes.
Our attention is turned toward the shore once more where three English sailors hold a flag bearing the words: "Thomas Hunt— Patuxet—1615." Hunt enters stealthily at the right, and his attention is concentrated upon a spot where his trained eye has caught, a glimpse of something of greater interest than bird or fish. He is evidently scouting. Then appear at his signal a band of men moving in single file, who hide behind the bushes. Hunt too, as if hearing something, hides himself. Silently a shadowy procession moves from Town Brook, carrying pelts and fishing apparatus. A canoe is borne on the shoulders of two of them. They put the canoe down and all gather in a group to prepare for the day's fishing.
All unconscious of danger, they lay their weapons aside. Hunt rises and signals to his men, who quickly fall upon the Indians as they try to flee. Several stagger across the field fatally wounded, while most of the men are captured and bound. After they gag the Indians they force them toward the water's edge where a boat is waiting. As the group disappears, or is seen as a band of faint shadows, the despairing figure of Tisquantum, bound and struggling, is brought into relief.
There is darkness for a brief time then, as the lights come slowly on, they reveal an absolutely empty space where before were seen activity and plenty. The music for this scene, composed by Henry F. Gilbert, was of a character at once weird, awe-inspiring, almost magical, portraying by tone as plainly as by words the scene of desolation, sickness and death. It seemed as if there were an increasing sense of indefinite fear—a deep impression of solemnity and gravity, as if we were conscious of contact with the eternities.
A change as unusual as it was unwholesome came upon the ocean. "As the lights touched the water a purple glow that was to it like the ashen hue that beclouds the face of the dying. A filmy green spread over the land and there seemed to arise a miasmatic vapor like the breath of a brooding pestilence, which clung clammily to the earth and dulled all life." Every one felt the presence of trouble impending; one grave question breathed forth from the haunting music and, unspoken, trembled on every lip; one overmastering idea blended with and overpowered all others. "The land and sea were both sick, stagnant, and foul, and there seemed to arise from their unfathomable depths, drawn by the weird power of the music, horrid shapes that glared steadily into the strange twilight they had arisen to."
"Such a morbific, unwholesome condition" cast upon land and sea, and music that seemed to breathe forth such despair and desolation, could not but deeply move the audience.
One breathes more freely when the light falls upon a group of ten Englishmen, who appear in single file at the right. Thomas Dermer seems engaged in a very spirited conversation with Samoset, an Indian, while Tisquantum, another Indian, follows and seems absorbed in his own thoughts. While Dermer is engaged in conversation, a group of sailors pass near the water's edge, where they drop their burdens. They gaze out on the water as if looking for a boat. Tisquantum goes past Dermer and Samoset and stands looking off across the harbor, deep in gloomy thought.
>From out there, as darkness closes about the lonely figure on the shore, there is borne to our ears by the night wind the distant sound of voices chanting early sixteenth century music. The music continues while the various characters appear, and finally grows fainter until it can no longer be heard. A young boy appears on the left as if on his way to his morning labor. He is driving a horse that is hitched to a crude plow. There enters from the right a group of seven men and five women, who wear the costumes of religious pilgrims. They have the staff, the script, and the water bottle. Two of the number have been to Rome, for they wear the palm; two others show that they have been to Compostella, for they wear the shell; while two others have the bottle and bell, proving that they have been to Canterbury.
The next scene represented the Fleet Prison on the night of April 5, 1593. Two heaps of straw are seen, on which a man in Puritan garb is seated, writing rapidly. By the other heap sits a man on a stool, who is correcting some written pages. Both men wear chains. A woman stands by the second man with some papers. She seems to be waiting for the other sheets which the man is writing. As he passes the last to her she hides them all in the bosom of her dress.