Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 3 | Page 9

Mayland cannot like him, and after
some short talk he leaves him, pleading years and rheumatism, and
goes to bed. But not to sleep; for toward ten o'clock his daughter goes
to him and urges him to fly, for men are gathering near the
house--Tories, she is sure,--and they mean no good. Laughing at her
fears, but willing to relieve her anxiety, the old man slips into his
clothes, goes into the cellar, and thence starts for the barn, while the
girl remains for a few minutes to hide the silver.
He does not go far before Gates is at his elbow with the whispered
words, "Into the stack-quick. They are after you." Mayland hesitates
with distrust, but the appearance of men with torches leaves no time for
talk. With Gilbert's help he crawls deep into the straw and is covered up.
Presently a rough voice asks which way he has gone. Gilbert replies
that he has gone to the wood, but there is no need for getting into a
passion, and that on no account would it be advisable to fire the stack.
"Won't we though?" cries one of the party. "We'll burn the rebel out of
house and home," and thrusting his torch into the straw it is ablaze in
an instant. The crowd hurries away toward the wood, and does not hear
the stifled groan that comes out of the middle of the fire. Gates takes a

paper from his pocket, and, after reading it for the last time, flings it
upon the flame. It bears the inscription, "Isaac Gates, Traitor and Spy,
hung by three soldiers of his majesty's army. Isaac Mayland."
From his moody contemplation he rouses with a start, for Mayland's
daughter is there. Her eyes are bent on a distorted thing that lies among
the embers, and in the dying light of the flames it seems to move. She
studies it close, then with a cry of pain and terror she falls upon the hot
earth, and her senses go out, not to be regained in woful years. With
head low bowed, Gilbert Gates trudges away. In the fight at
Brandywine next day, Black Samson, a giant negro, armed with a
scythe, sweeps his way through the red ranks like a sable figure of
Time. Mayland had taught him; his daughter had given him food. It is
to avenge them that he is fighting. In the height of the conflict he enters
the American ranks leading a prisoner--Gilbert Gates. The young man
is pale, stern, and silent. His deed is known, he is a spy as well as a
traitor, but he asks no mercy. It is rumored that next day he alone, of
the prisoners, was led to a wood and lashed by arms and legs to a
couple of hickory trees that had been bent by a prodigious effort and
tied together by their tops. The lashing was cut by a rifle-ball, the trees
regained their straight position with a snap like whips, and that was the
way Gilbert Gates came to his end.

THE ENVY OF MANITOU
Behind the mountains that gloom about the romantic village of Mauch
Chunk, Pennsylvania, was once a lake of clear, bright water, its
winding loops and bays extending back for several miles. On one of its
prettiest bits of shore stood a village of the Leni Lenape, and largest of
its wigwams, most richly pictured without, most luxurious in its
couching of furs within, was that of the young chief, Onoko. This
Indian was a man of great size, strength, and daring. Single-handed he
had slain the bear on Mauch Chunk [Bear Mountain], and it was no
wonder that Wenonah, the fairest of her tribe, was flattered when he
sued for her hand, and promptly consented to be his wife. It was
Onoko's fortune in war, the chase, and love that roused the envy of
Mitche Manitou.
One day, as the couple were floating in their shallop of bark on the
calm lake, idly enjoying the sunshine and saying pretty things to each

other, the Manitou arose among the mountains. Terrible was his aspect,
for the scowl of hatred was on his face, thunder crashed about his head,
and fire snapped from his eyes. Covering his right hand with his
invincible magic mitten, he dealt a blow on the hills that made the earth
shake, and rived them to a depth of a thousand feet. Through the chasm
thus created the lake poured a foaming deluge, and borne with it was
the canoe of Onoko and Wenonah. One glance at the wrathful face in
the clouds above them and they knew that escape was hopeless, so,
clasping each other in a close embrace, they were whirled away to
death. Manitou strode away moodily among the