Read Ebook: Strange Stories of Colonial Days by Various

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Ebook has 519 lines and 41474 words, and 11 pages

The red besiegers, having exhausted their arts of attack and met with heavy loss, for musket-balls told with terrible effect against flint arrows, determined to starve out the little garrison. It was on the morning of the third day that a rider galloped furiously from the west to the bank of the Myanos, where the log bridge had been destroyed by the Indians. Dutch Cornelis had ridden daringly through the midst of them. A band of howling braves swarmed almost at his horse's tail. He leaped his beast into the river amid the whizzing arrows, several of which stung both steed and rider sharply. Captain Underhill, with a score of colonists, sallied out from the palisades, driving the redskins from their front and opening a heavy fire on those lining the opposite bank. Under cover of this Cornelis landed safely. He had been sent on from Byram to New Amsterdam with Patrick's letter, and it was only by hard spurring that he had made such speed in return. He brought the good news that even then a company of Dutch musketeers was on the march.

The women and children trooped out of the block-house to hear the tidings. Cornelis cast his eyes over them with agony stamped on his usually stolid face.

"Mein vrouw! mein gildren!" the Dutchman groaned. "What for you leave dem to de mercy of de savage?" with a look of fierce reproach at the two English captains.

"Nay! nay! Cornelis, blame us not," they answered, almost in a breath. "We were sharp beset. 'Twas not easy to gather in all the outlying people in season. There be others as well not saved in the block. The savage, too, is far more friendly to you than to us English. There's right good hope that at the worst the lost are but captives."

This cold comfort seemed to madden the bereaved man. Muttering to himself in his own tongue, and darting wild looks around, as if his brain were turned and he were about to run amuck, he suddenly sprang on his horse, which panted there, fagged and dripping.

"Oben der gate!" he shouted, in a tone so commanding that, though several tried to seize his horse's head by the bit, fearing some act of desperate folly, others unbarred the entrance. Cornelis dashed through as swiftly as an Indian arrow. Two miles of clearing and forest lay between him and his cabin. The way was thick with savages thirsting for blood. Cornelis spurred on, numb to all sense of danger. The smoke even yet curled from the embers of smouldering homesteads at every turn. But he saw only one house in his mind's eye--that was a cabin perched in the midst of a clearing on top of a great rock, with flames bursting from its roof; he heard but one sound--the shrieking of wife and children in their last peril.

Perhaps it was the wild gestures of the rider, signalling as if to unseen beings, the motions of a maniac, which barred any pursuit at the outset, for the American Indian as well as the Mohammedan of the East fancies the madman under the protection of God; perhaps it was that many of the savages felt more kindly to Cornelis than to other whites. It was not till he neared the base of the precipice, on the crest of which he had built his home, that he saw six Indians on his track, leaping at a pace which outran the strides of his weary horse.

The Dutchman turned in his saddle, and his unerring aim dropped one of the pursuers; then he urged his way amid the gloom of the great trees up the hill. When he gained the clearing at the top he saw what had once been his happy home, now only a pile of cold ashes and half-charred logs. He had no time to search if by chance there might yet remain some ghastly relic of those he had loved and lost. The red men were upon him, running as fleetly as stag-hounds, for now they were on the level.

They were sure of their prey. A triumphant whoop rang out. Tomahawks whizzed through the air, one of them striking Cornelis in the shoulder, as the savages pressed on at top speed. The white man laughed loud and long with a laughter that filled the forest with shrill echoes, and motioning to them as if he were their leader, leaped his horse from the top of the terrible rock, crashing through the branches of trees down, down a hundred feet. The human hounds so hot in the chase were going with a rush which could not be stayed, and they too plunged to death in the pathway of their victim. Cornelis escaped with broken limbs, though his horse was killed, and all the Indians perished but one, who saved himself by clutching at the limb of a tree. He fled and carried the story to his tribe.

With the coming of the Dutch soldiers the settlers were strong enough to scatter their assailants. But most of the colonists, discouraged, drifted away to the New Netherlands or to the more easterly settlements. It was not till two years later that a force of Dutch and English stormed the Sinoway village and crushed the power of the tribe, after which the town was successfully settled.

Ten years have passed. The skill and toil of the whites have swept away the scars of Indian warfare. Pleasant homes rise amid smiling fields of maize and rye. One summer day, Cornelis Labden, a helpless cripple and almost half-witted, sat on the porch of Captain Underhill's house, smoking his long Dutch pipe and looking at the shining waters of the Sound. Here or in the good Captain's hearth-corner he would doze and mumble all day long summer and winter. An Indian youth, nearly grown, walked up the lane and stood before this poor wreck of a man. Cornelis shut his eyes, and waved him off as if to drive away some thought that troubled his weak brain.

"Lapten, me find Lapten," said the Indian, whose blue eyes and brown hair were queerly amiss with the copper skin, the breech-clout, and the moccasins of the savage.

The sound of the voice stirred Cornelis strangely, and as if by some instinct he spoke in Dutch. The lad listened eagerly, for the words seemed to be half known to him, and he repeated them. Cornelis watched him with an intent look, like the gaze of one just awakened from a long sleep. He trembled, and for the first time in years intelligence burned in his eyes. Without another word he led the Indian lad within and began to rub the skin of his face with soap and water, and in a few moments the clear white was shown. While he was thus engaged over the unresisting youth, Captain Underhill entered.

"Cabdain, Cabdain," said Cornelis, with a shaking voice, "mein Hans ist goom back. Done ye know yer old vader, leedle Hans? Vare ist Anneke?" And he threw his arms with a passion of sobs about the lad's neck. This opened the gates of memory for father and son, and the identity was soon made clear. In recovering his son, Dutch Cornelis had also regained his reason.

TOMMY TEN-CANOES

A Tale of King Philip's Scout

There once lived in New York an Indian warrior by the name of Peter Twenty-Canoes. Tommy Ten-Canoes lived in New England, at Pokanoket, near Mount Hope, on an arm of the Mount Hope Bay.

He was not a warrior, but a runner; not a great naval hero, as his picturesque name might suggest, but a news agent, as it were; he used his nimble feet and his ten canoes to bear messages to the Indians of the villages of Pokanoket and to the Narragansetts, and, it may be, to other friendly tribes.

Pokanoket? You may have read Irving's sketch of Philip of Pokanoket, but we doubt if you have in mind any clear idea of this beautiful region, from whose clustering wigwams the curling smoke once rose among the giant oaks along the many waterways. The former site of Pokanoket is now covered by Bristol and Warren and Swansea . It is a place of bays and rivers, which were once rich fishing-grounds; of shores full of shells and shellfish; of cool springs and wild-grape vines; of bowery hills; and of meadows that were once yellow with maize.

Tommy Ten-Canoes was a great man in his day. As a news agent in peace he was held in high honor, but as a scout in war and a runner for the great chiefs he became a heroic figure. There were great osprey's nests all about the shores of old Pokanoket on the ancient decayed trees, and Tommy made a crown of osprey feathers, and crowned himself, with the approval of the great Indian chiefs.

Once when swimming with this crown of feathers on his head, he had been shot at by an Englishman, who thought him some new and remarkable bird. But while his crown was shattered, it was not the crown of his head. He was very careful of both his crowns after that alarming event.

Tommy Ten-Canoes was a brave man. He was ready to face any ordinary danger for his old chief Massasoit, and for that chief's two sons, Wamsutta and Pomebacen . He would cross the Mount Hope or the Narragansett bay in tempestuous weather. He used to convey the beautiful Queen Weetamoc from Pocassett to Mount Hope to attend Philip's war-dances under the summer moons, and when the old Indian war began he offered his two swift legs and all of his ten canoes to the service of his chief.

"Nipanset"--for this was his Indian name--"Nipanset's bosom is his chief's, and it knows not fear. Nipanset fears not the storm or the foe, or the gun of the pale-face. Call, call, O ye chiefs; in the hour of danger call for Nipanset. Nipanset fears not death."

So Tommy Ten-Canoes boasted at the great council under the moss-covered cliff at Mount Hope.

He was honest; but there was one thing that Nipanset, or Tommy Ten-Canoes, did fear. It was enchantment. He would have faced torture or death without a word, but everything mysterious filled him with terror. If he had thought that a bush contained a hidden enemy and flintlock, he would have been very brave; but had he thought that the same bush was stirred by a spirit, or was enchanted, he would have run.

The two hunted and fished together; they made long journeys together; in fact, they did everything in common, except work. Tommy did not work, at least in the field, while James did at times, when he was not with Tommy.

When the Indian war began, King Philip sent word to the Brown family, and also to the Cole family, who lived near them, both of whom had treated him justly and generously, that he would do all in his power to protect them, but that he might not be able to restrain his braves.

Tommy Ten-Canoes brought a like friendly message to Jemmie Brown.

"I will always be true to you," he said; "true as the north wind to the river, the west wind to the sea, and the south wind to the flowers. Nipanset's heart is true to his friends. Our hearts will see each other again."

The Indian torch swept the settlements. One of the bravest scouts in these dark scenes was Tommy Ten-Canoes. He flew from place to place like the wind, carrying news and spying out the enemy.

Tommy grew proud over his title of "Ten-Canoes." He felt like ten Tommies. He wore his crown of osprey feathers like a royal king. His ten canoes ferried the painted Indians at night, and carried the chiefs hither and thither.

There was a grizzly old Boston Captain, who had done hard service on the sea, named Moseley. He wore a wig, a thing that the Indians had never seen, and of whose use they knew nothing at all.

Tommy Ten-Canoes had never feared the white man nor the latter's death-dealing weapons. He had never retreated; he had always been found in front of the stealthy bands as they pursued the forest trails. But his courage was at last put to a test of which he had never dreamed.

Old Captain Moseley had led a company of trained soldiers against the Indians from Boston. Tommy Ten-Canoes had discovered the movement, and had prepared the Indians to meet it. Captain Moseley's company, which consisted of one hundred men, had first marched to a place called Myles Bridge in Swansea. Here was a garrison house in which lived Rev. John Myles. The church was called Baptist, but people of all faiths were welcome to it; among the latter, Marinus Willett, who afterwards became the first Mayor of New York. It was the first church of the kind in Massachusetts, and it still exists in Swansea.

Over the glimmering waterways walled with dark oak woods came Tommy Ten-Canoes, with five of his famous boats, and landed at a place near the thrifty Baptist colony, so that his little navy might be at the ready service of Philip. It was the last days of June. There had been an eclipse of the moon on the night that Tommy Ten-Canoes had glided up the Sowans River towards Myles Bridge. He thought the eclipse was meant for him and his little boats, and he was a very proud and happy man.

"The moon went out in the clear sky when we left the bay," said he; "so shall our enemies be extinguished. The moon shone again on the calm river. For whom did the moon shine again? For Nipanset."

Poor Tommy Ten-Canoes! He was not the first hero of modern times who has thought that the moon and stars were made for him and shone for him on special occasions.

In old Captain Moseley's company was a Jamaica pilot who had visited Pokanoket and been presented to Tommy, and told that the latter was a very renowned Indian.

"I am Tommy One-Canoe."

"Ah!"

"I am Tommy Two-Canoes."

"Indeed! Ah!"

"I am Tommy Three-Canoes."

"Oh! Ah! Indeed!"

"Well, Tommy Ten-Canoes," said the Pilot, "don't you ever get into any trouble with the white people, because you might find yourself merely Tommy No-Canoes."

Tommy was offended at this. He had no fears of such a fall from power, however.

The old Jamaica pilot had taken a boat and drifted down the Sowans River one long June day, when he chanced to discover Tommy and his five canoes. The canoes were hauled up on the shore under the cool trees which overshadowed the water. The Pilot, who had with him three men, rowed boldly to the shore and surprised Tommy Ten-Canoes, who had gone into the wood, leaving his weapons in one of his canoes.

The Pilot seized the canoe with the weapons and drew it from the shore.

Tommy Ten-Canoes beheld the movement with astonishment. He called to the old Pilot, "I am Tommy Ten-Canoes!"

"No, no," answered the Pilot. "You are Tommy Nine-Canoes."

Presently the Pilot drew from the shore another canoe. Tommy called again:

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