Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 4 | Page 9

Driving
a wedge into the long split he asked them to take hold, and when they
had done this he knocked out the wedge with a single blow and the
twelve hands were caught tight in the closing wood. Struggle as the
savages might, they could not get free, and after calmly enjoying the
situation for a few minutes he walked slowly from one to the other and
split open the heads of all six. Then he went to work again splitting up
more chestnuts.

THE WATCHER ON WHITE ISLAND
The isles of Shoals, a little archipelago of wind and wave-swept rocks

that may be seen on clear days from the New Hampshire coast, have
been the scene of some mishaps and some crimes. On Boone Island,
where the Nottingham galley went down one hundred and fifty years
ago, the survivors turned cannibals to escape starvation, while Haley's
Island is peopled by shipwrecked Spanish ghosts that hail vessels and
beg for passage back to their country. The pirate Teach, or Blackbeard,
used to put in at these islands to hide his treasure, and one of his
lieutenants spent some time on White Island with a beautiful girl whom
he had abducted from her home in Scotland and who, in spite of his
rough life, had learned to love him. It was while walking with her on
this rock, forgetful of his trade and the crimes he had been stained with,
that one of his men ran up to report a sail that was standing toward the
islands. The pirate ship was quickly prepared for action, but before
embarking, mindful of possible flight or captivity, the lieutenant made
his mistress swear that she would guard the buried treasure if it should
be till doomsday.
The ship he was hurrying to meet came smoothly on until the pirate
craft was well in range, when ports flew open along the stranger's sides,
guns were run out, and a heavy broadside splintered through the planks
of the robber galley. It was a man-of-war, not a merchantman, that had
run Blackbeard down. The war-ship closed and grappled with the
corsair, but while the sailors were standing at the chains ready to leap
aboard and complete the subjugation of the outlaws a mass of flame
burst from the pirate ship, both vessels were hurled in fragments
through the air, and a roar went for miles along the sea. Blackbeard's
lieutenant had fired the magazine rather than submit to capture, and had
blown the two ships into a common ruin. A few of both crews floated
to the islands on planks, sore from burns and bruises, but none survived
the cold and hunger of the winter. The pirate's mistress was among the
first to die; still, true to her promise, she keeps her watch, and at night
is dimly seen on a rocky point gazing toward the east, her tall figure
enveloped in a cloak, her golden hair unbound upon her shoulders, her
pale face still as marble.

CHOCORUA
This beautiful alp in the White Mountains commemorates in its name a
prophet of the Pequawket tribe who, prior to undertaking a journey, had

confided his son to a friendly settler, Cornelius Campbell, of Tamworth.
The boy found some poison in the house that had been prepared for
foxes, and, thinking it to be some delicacy, he drank of it and died.
When Chocorua returned he could not be persuaded that his son had
fallen victim to his own ignorance, but ascribed his death to the white
man's treachery, and one day, when Campbell entered his cabin from
the fields, he found there the corpses of his wife and children scalped
and mangled.
He was not a man to lament at such a time: hate was stronger than
sorrow. A fresh trail led from his door. Seizing his rifle he set forth in
pursuit of the murderer. A mark in the dust, a bent grass blade, a torn
leaf-these were guides enough, and following on through bush and
swamp and wood they led him to this mountain, and up the slope he
scrambled breathlessly. At the summit, statue-like, Chocorua stood. He
saw the avenger coming, and knew himself unarmed, but he made no
attempt to escape his doom. Drawing himself erect and stretching forth
his hands he invoked anathema on his enemies in these words: "A curse
upon you, white men! May the Great Spirit curse you when he speaks
in the clouds, and his words are fire! Chocorua had a son and you killed
him while the sky looked bright. Lightning blast your crops! Winds and
fire destroy your dwellings! The Evil One breathe death upon your
cattle! Your graves lie in the war-path of the Indian! Panthers howl and
wolves fatten over your bones! Chocorua goes