Some Three Hundred Years Ago | Page 2

washed away the last trace of
the carefully hidden trail of the Indian travelers. When Nonowit
crawled out into the sunshine the following morning, he could learn
nothing of their direction. To get a wider view, he wandered through
the thick forest to the river's edge, but there discovered no signs of his
people. "There are so many children in the camp I might not be
missed," he thought and dropped upon a rock in one little heap of
loneliness.
Suddenly he sat very straight, for there beyond the Narrows he saw a
monstrous thing. Could it be a huge bird with white wings spread?
Over the water it seemed to be coming nearer. Instinctively he slid into
a crevice between the rocks, yet without moving his gaze. Through the
Narrows, under full sail, came the first ship. Nonowit seemed to
become a part of the brown earth as he wriggled back into the
undergrowth, never moving his wide-open eyes from this strange sight.
Then came the rattle of chains and the voices of men. A boat was
lowered, and Nonowit, safe under the cover of the low branches, saw it

headed for his shore. Men with white skin and hair growing on their
faces landed on the very rock on which he had been sitting. Their
clothes were unlike any he had ever seen before, and their speech could
not be understood. Cautiously he backed into the forest until he gained
the branches of the oak in which he had slept. Yet that was unsafe, for
the white men looked up into every tree, breaking the branches and
tasting the sap.
In his fright, Nonowit wriggled for safety through the very hole from
which the owl had flown the night before. There from the dark hollows
he watched the white men as they studied each tree. They came at last
to the old oak and shook its branches. When one man even climbed far
enough to look deep into the trunk, Nonowit crouched to the very
ground, holding his breath. The shadows protected him and the men
passed on. "Worse than wolves," thought the boy as he ventured again
to his peep-hole. The white men lingered about for an hour or more,
until the imprisoned little Indian felt that he might never see his people
again. He would starve rather than face such creatures.
At last, there came the sound of oars on the water. Creeping from the
tree, Nonowit pushed aside the low branches to see the boatful of
strangers depart. Suddenly a strong hand was clapped on his shoulder.
He jumped with fear only to find himself in the grasp of his own father.
Nonowit pointed hastily through the thick growth to the river, and the
two watched the English vessel sail up the stream, but history reports
that Martin Pring saw no Indians when he searched the Piscataqua
shores for a sassafras tree, which, he believed, held the "Elixir of Life."
[Illustration]

THE NEW WORLD
Far away on the shores of France, in a little cobbled lane by the water
front, Jacques swung into the rhythm of the Sailor's Hornpipe. Raoul
stood in the doorway of his low-roofed house, with his violin, directing
the tune and swings until he pronounced the dance correctly learned.

Just then three well-dressed gentlemen turned into the narrow way and
passed on to the vessel at the wharf below. The raising of sails and
shouting of orders suggested an immediate start.
Jacques' father hurried around the corner and motioned to his boy. As
Jacques followed, he called back to Raoul, "I'll bring you an Indian
scalp when I come home!"
The father and son then crossed the narrow plank to the deck and went
below, for their business was to cook for the crew.
The distinguished-looking gentlemen, however, talked earnestly on the
shore until the last sail was spread. Then one of them, no other than
Monsieur Champlain, stepped aboard, and, as the gang-plank was
drawn, called to his friends, "We will also mark the rivers."
And so, long ago in 1605, the French sailed to the Northwest with new
hopes. The Spanish and Portuguese had returned with wonderful tales
of the mines of South America. Perhaps even greater things might be
found on the Northern shores.
It happened one day when the sea was smooth and the well-fed sailors
had little to do, that a group of them gathered on deck with tales of the
Americas: the shining gold to be found there, the wild beasts, and the
wilder Indians. Jacques felt that if he had but a knife, he could conquer
the whole country. In the meantime his eye rested on a sharp and
ugly-looking one thrust into the belt of a rough old salt who sat astride
the deck