The strong arm we are bearing,
For child and sire,

And council-fire,

The Foe shall rue our daring!"

The numbers ceased; and then sprang forth Quaquagh, To lead the circling war-dance-followed soon

By all the youthful warriors. Round they whirled-
Near, and still nearer, to the central fire,

Their lithe limbs twining, and their arms tossed high,
Waving their torches to the maddening notes

Of the fierce war-song, where the Yengee's name
Was wrought with burning curses.

Nanuntenoo, and all that ocean storm
Of wild Humanity was mute again;
For in the very motion was a soul

But arose

That o'er inferior minds asserted sway

66

Speak, chief! Bring all your reasons; I will hear." Williams arose; and all the swelling rage

Of that great gathering on his accents hung,

Like thunder poised upon the riven cloud,

By some sweet beam of sunshine wandering near,
Robbed of its fierceness-almost of its wrath-

But for a moment; then to wake again

In wilder fury. Calmly thus he spake,

And with the mild authority of one

Who knew he should be loved, although he chid.
"Listen, young brother: Thy great sachem sire
Made war on Uncas, then the Yengee's friend.
My brethren, in consenting to his death,
Doubtless considered him an enemy-
A prisoner of war, for having fought
Against their true ally. Nanuntenoo

Would do the like, should the like chance occur.'

The youthful chief responded: "When he woke
The buried hatchet, the great sachem sought
But to redress his wrongs-to chasten those
Who had oppressed his children. Father, hear:
When did the Yengees find a right to check
An independent sachem, when the foe

Wrought mischief in his borders? In the lands
That sachems had given, or in the corn
He proffered to the famished? In the life
He freely wasted in the Pequot war,
When, at their call, his warriors went forth
To pour their blood like water? At the time
When Uncas had enthralled him, he was known

To be the White Man's strong and true ally.
If Indians kill a brother, in whose hand
The chain of Peace is held, and brightens still,
We call it murder. Let the Yengees find

A name to please themselves. We have but one-
We call it MURDER! Chiefs, shall we forgive?"
The bursting war-cry answered, "Juhellike!"
And all the troubled atmosphere was rent
By one tremendous volley of deep sound.

Then a dark, withered hand was lifted up,
And," Hark! a Manittoo! a Manittoo !"*"
Echoed from lip to lip, and all was still.
Then venerable Magnus, gathering back
The sweeping whiteness of her silvery hair,
With a deliberate solemn accent spoke :
"Children of Narragansett, it is well.
But listen, children; mend the chain of peace
That binds us to each other. All must see
The stranger is a common enemy.

Sharpen the hatchet; make the bow-string sure.
Children, I had a dream; be still and hear:
The Manittoo of Visions came to me
With a frown awful and mysterious.
He waved a long white feather, and I saw
A sight of horror. Ay, be still and hear :
Our ancient graves, laid open and profound,
Gave up the mighty dead; and sachem's bones
Were scattered to enrich the White Man's soil."
She ceased; and, leaning back her shaking head,
Closed her prophetic eyes, and all was still.
Then Weetamoe, with one hand gently laid
On the queen-sachem's deeply furrowed brow,
Gazed in her face, as if she would have scanned
The Book of Fate within that aged form;
And, with a low appealing voice, she cried:
"Speak, mother, yet again-one word of life!"

A slight convulsive motion, quivering, passed
Along the shrivelled mouth-"Peace, daughter, peace.
The snows of fourscore winters have gone o'er
The head of Magnus. Shadows settle fast
Upon the once clear spirit. Children, hear:
Another vision followed with a clang

Of gathering hosts and war-cries terrible.

Then spoke the Yengee's thunder; and the hills
Leaped like young children to the battle-song.
Up woke the hatchet and the tomahawk,
And blood was poured like water.

All the dead

Lay still again, and slumbered quietly;
For they had drunken of the stranger's blood
By the fierce light of all his burning towns!
Children, the eye of Magnus groweth dim;
But one bright truth is beaming. Children, hear:
The Narragansetts never shall be slaves."

Low murmured the young queen-“ A Manittoo !"
And quick the words found echo. Every voice
Repeated and prolonged them, till the rocks
Cried to the hills afar, "A Manittoo!"

Then young Nanuntenoo, with one light bound,

Left his hereditary rock, and stood

Beside the fire, which now had just begun

To clasp a sapling oak, and wreathe its arms

Within the deadly folds of its embrace.

Like a young God, the heroic chieftain passed
Amid the curling flames, and, aiming well

With his true hatchet at the upright stem,

Cried with a voice of thunder, "Chieftains, strike!

Here stands the Pale-Face.† Every tomahawk

*The Indians believed that a god dwelt in the breast of the aged; hence very old persons were revered as prophets.

It is a common practice with the Indians to fight the symbol of their enemy, under the form of a lighted brand, and this act is also considered a virtual oath of allegiance to their sachem.

That would not deaden in to-morrow's sun,
As if a cloud were on the face of Heaven,
Strike now for Magnus!-strike for Weetamoe!
Strike for the murdered! for our fathers' graves,
Our wives, our children, and our liberty!"
With a fierce echo all their hatchets chimed
To the wild war-song, as around they flew,
Whirling with strange contortions, till at last
The flames had done their work, and ashes told
The fated emblem's story.

Potok rose.

There was a riving fierceness in his eye
That spoke a spirit of o'ermastering power,
Joined with a love of truth and liberty,
That burned him like a passion. "It is well.
We, the Great Spirit's children, need not go
And ask the Pale-Face how to worship him.
Hear, brothers: We are men; the rights of man
Were born within us. If they are infringed,
Our own free hatchets and our own strong hands
Know how to guard them. Brothers, I have done."
Once more fierce Pomham swung his axe on high,
And once now woke the answering battle-cry;
Then troubled Silence reassumed her throne,
And the dark chiefs relapsed to living stone.
As the last echo died upon the ear,

A voice half tremulous, yet rich and clear,
Breathed like Sowhannieu,* when the thunder-car
Sends its last softened rumbling from afar :
"The sachem is not wise. Go, snatch away
Meat from the hungry panther; yet forbear
To break the chain of peace. Nanuntenoo
Has power to make a friend or deadliest foe;
Then let his wisdom weigh the question well.
Go; count the stars-the forest leaves-the sand
That whitens at our feet upon the strand-
Then count the Yengees. Brother, it is vain.
Be wise, and mend the links and keep the chain.
If hundreds fall, or yield themselves to thee,
Thousands will come o'er yon heaving sea.
Be wise, young sachem. Plant the tree of peace.
Its roots are strong. Its greenness shall not cease.
We'll sit beneath its shadow, with our sons,
Our wives our daughters, and our little ones;
And the Great Spirit, God of white and red,
O'er us and ours his kindliest dews will shed;
Our valleys shall be rich with golden corn-
Our orchards like the blush of fairest morn-
Together we will chase the flying deer,

Then lay ourselves to rest-and sleep together here."
"Uprooted is the tree-like yonder oak,

Thrust upward by the treacherous lightning's stroke!
The hatchet is unburied. All they do

Kindles the vengeance of Nanuntenoo.

Our arrows hunger. They will truly fly.

Let him who wakes our vengeance never fear to die."
He paused. The expression of a tenderer thought
Stole in upon his voice. His burning eye
Grew soft and tearful, as its glances sought
The face of Williams. "Father, it is vain.
But thou art true. Canonchet loves thee well.
His father loved thee. So his deeds will tell.
Thou hast been kind to us these many years,
Made our paths pleasant-wiped away our tears;
Father, thou should'st not wear that lying skin,
For a true Indian spirit burns within.

"This is the pleasingest, warmest wind in the climate and desired of the Indians, making fare weather ordinarily; and therefore they have a tradition that to the south-west, which they call Sowhanniew, the gods chiefly dwell; and there the soules of all their great and good men and women goe."— ROGER WILLIAMS.

Fear not; but trust the young Nanuntenoo-
His father's friend will ever find him true.
Sooner he'd fall among the nameless dead,

Than suffer aught to wrong one white hair of thy head!"
Once more dark Ninigret arose. Unmoved

By the o'erwhelming multitude, he spoke.

My brother sachem's son, Nanuntenoo;
Now let thy silence gather wisdom. Hear,
The Yengee is our brother. He was sent
By the Great Spirit, who regardeth us
As his peculiar children for our good.
Brother, be still, and listen. There are sounds
Of many instruments upon the air;

These tell of peace. They speak of brotherhood.
Then let us go and learn the cunning work
Of our white brother. See the big canoe
Riding on Narragansett's roaring waves,
Defying their great anger. Let us learn,
Like manittoos, to mock the raging storm.
Our brother offers peace; but from his hand
Leapeth the living thunder. Brother, hear.
When the big thunder speaks-the fire goes forth-
When every lodge is desolate and still-
And Narragansett, like a mourning mother,
Weeps o'er her buried children, the fallen chief

May sit him down upon this very rock-
And, looking backward to this council fire-
Shed tears, to think that Ninigret's few words
Fell on his ears like water upon flint,
To pass without impression. I have done."
No single voice was heard supporting him,
As, strong in moral courage, he sat down,
To bide the stirring tempest. But there woke
No mob-wakening hiss-no riotous tongue;
The Indians reverence courage-and they knew
There must be that within the sachem's soul,
Which, daring thus oppose, could bide the shock.
But not without a struggle could they bend
Their fiery spirits to decorum's law;

And angry eyes flashed out, and bosoms swelled,
With boiling passions choked.

Nanuntenoo

Again stretched forth his own untrammell'd arm;
And breathless interest hung upon his words.
"The Narragansett sachem is a rock.
He leaneth not on shadows-is not moved
By curling smoke-nor fears the flaming fire.
Father, I cannot hear a sound of peace
In all the white man's borders. Instruments
Of every fashion have a clanking voice,
As they were forging chains. Nanuntenoo
Hath the true Indian blood within his veins.
He cannot fashion the smooth sentences
That drop, like honey, from the Yengee's lip-
Honey that hath a sting within its sweets,
More deadly than the fell Wesanashaunck,*
When he breathes venom o'er the groaning land.
Ah, father!-look! The fetters are on thee!
Hear the true story. Listen, Ninigret.
An aged sachem-he, a sachem's son-
Strong in the fight-and in the council wise-
Rich too in lands and honors-must go forth,
Like a chid errand boy, and tell his thoughts-
And promise on the paper to be good;
But should an injured Narragansett turn

To chasten one who wronged him-straight again
The sachem forth is summoned; and his lands-
His corn-his wampum-all delivered up-
Because his children know an Indian's rights,

* They called the spirit of the plague, or of any pestilence, Wesanashaunck.

Father, our own free thoughts are still OUR OWN

And these strong hands, and all these throbbing hearts,
That leap for death, when life is slavery!

If any wrong us, we have not to ask

The Yengee where to seek for our revenge-
Our fathers taught us. And if any give

A pledge of kindness, neither shall we go
To learn if we may cherish in our hearts
The ever-living germ of gratitude.
Father, our knives are ready. I have done."
The deafening clamor of a thousand cries
Wrought in one volume of intensest sound,
Told the young chieftain that his father's tribes
Were true in their allegiance to him.

But one voice rose above the clamor. "Hear.
Call in the messengers." The sachem spoke.
And when dark Waban*-gentle, dignified-
Came, followed by twelve Yengees, all was still,
The chiefs were cold as each were turned to stone,
Or were the very rock he sate upon.

Slowly the messengers, with step of fear,
Passed the dividing flood of human life,
And stood before the sachem. Not a sound,
Save the retreating echo of their steps,
Announced the strangers' coming.

"Waban, hear."

Those simple words disturbed the electric chords
That thrilled in every bosom; for the soul
Of fierce Nanuntenoo inferior minds
Engrossed, as ocean swallows up the flood
Of tributary waters. "Hath a bird
Played gossip to the Yengee? Did it say,
A swarm of flies hath eaten up our wood-
Our land is ashes-and our rocks are soft-
That some wild monster, with a giant thirst,
Hath drunk up Narragansett-and our streams
In deep astonishment and fear have fled?
That the pale Yengee blood hath filled our hearts,
Spoiling the crimson torrent, that hath boiled
For centuries in Narragansett veins-

That our old hills forget the battle-cry,

And listen only to the coward's wail?

It is not strange, then, he should dare to send
An offer of dishonorable peace!

Go, tell thy sachem it is all a lie.

Our streams are full. Our soil is deep and strong.
Our rocks are firm. Our forests throng with food.

Our own blue Narragansett pours his tide

In all the majesty of freedom still!

Tell him our hands are strong-our spirits free

The crimson hue is deepening in our blood.

And while we have one rock-or stream-or tree

We hurl back our defiance. To thy chief,
Nanuntenoo sends greeting. Let his ear
Bend to the message all these arrows tell.
This for the murder of my noble sire-

Waban was a distinguished Christian Indian. He is described by Mr. Gookin, one of the early missionaries, as "a person of great prudence and piety." He lived at Natich, where a Christian community was established, which went by the name of the Praying Indians. Waban was there made a ruler of fifty; and subsequently a justice of the peace. He was a shrewd and efficient officer. The following is said to be a copy of a warrant he once issued, which, as it is characteristic, I transcribe. "You, you big constable, quick you catch um, Jeremiah Offscow, strong you hold um-safe you bring um afore me Waban-Justice peace."

A young justice once asked Waban what he would do when Indians got drunk, and quarrelled. He replied "Tie um all up; and whip um plaintiff-whip um fendant-whip um witness." Â shrewd policy

that.