Tales and Sketches | Page 9

coppersmith, every man according to his
works."
"Such damnable heresy," said Mr. Ward, addressing his neighbors,
"must not be permitted to spread among the people. My friends, we
must send this man to the magistrates."
The Familist placed his hands to his month, and gave a whistle, similar

to that which was heard in the morning, and which preceded the escape
of Wonolanset. It was answered by a shout from the river; and a score
of Indians came struggling up through the brush-wood.
"Vile heretic!" exclaimed Mr. Ward, snatching a musket from the
hands of his neighbor, and levelling it full at the head of Martin; "you
have betrayed us into this jeopardy."
"Wagh! down um gun," said a powerful Indian, as he laid his rough
hand on the shoulder of the minister. "You catch Wonolanset, tie um,
shoot um, scare squaw. Old sachem come now, me tie white man, shoot
um, roast um;" and the old savage smiled grimly and fiercely in the
indistinct moonlight, as he witnessed the alarm and terror of his
prisoner.
"Hold, Passaconaway!" said Martin, in the Indian tongue. "Will the
great chief forget his promise?"
The sachem dropped his hold on Mr. Ward's arm. "My brother is
good," he said; "me no kill um, me make um walk woods like
Wonolanset." Martin spoke a few words in the chief's ear. The
countenance of the old warrior for an instant seemed to express
dissatisfaction; but, yielding to the powerful influence which the
Familist had acquired over him, he said, with some reluctance, "My
brother is wise, me do so."
"John Ward," said the Familist, approaching the minister, "thou hast
devised evil against one who hath never injured thee. But I seek not
carnal revenge. I have even now restrained the anger of this heathen
chief whom thou and thine have wronged deeply. Let us part in peace,
for we may never more meet in this world." And he extended his hand
and shook that of the minister.
"For thee, Mary," he said, "I had hoped to pluck thee from the evil
which is to come, even as a brand from the burning. I had hoped to lead
thee to the manna of true righteousness, but thou last chosen the flesh-
pots of Egypt. I had hoped to cherish thee always, but thou hast
forgotten me and my love, which brought me over the great waters for
thy sake. I will go among the Gentiles, and if it be the Lord's will,
peradventure I may turn away their wrath from my people. When my
wearisome pilgrimage is ended, none shall know the grave of Richard
Martin; and none but the heathen shall mourn for him. Mary! I forgive
thee; may the God of all mercies bless thee! I shall never see thee

more."
Hot and fast fell the tears of that stern man upon the hand of Mary. The
eyes of the young woman glanced hurriedly over the faces of her
neighbors, and fixed tearfully upon that of her lover. A thousand
recollections of young affection, of vows and meetings in another land,
came vividly before her. Her sister's home, her brother's instructions,
her own strong faith, and her bitter hatred of her lover's heresy were all
forgotten.
"Richard, dear Richard, I am your Mary as much as ever I was. I'll go
with you to the ends of the earth. Your God shall be my God, and
where you are buried there will I be also."
Silent in the ecstasy of joyful surprise, the Familist pressed her to his
bosom. Passaconaway, who had hitherto been an unmoved spectator of
the scene, relaxed the Indian gravity of his features, and murmured, in
an undertone, "Good, good."
"Will my brother go?" he inquired, touching Martin's shoulder; "my
squaws have fine mat, big wigwam, soft samp, for his young woman."
"Mary," said Martin, "the sachem is impatient; and we must needs go
with him." Mary did not answer, but her head was reclined upon his
bosom, and the Familist knew that she resigned herself wholly to his
direction. He folded the shawl more carefully around her, and
supported her down the precipitous and ragged bank of the river,
followed closely by Passaconaway and his companions.
"Come back, Mary Edmands!" shouted Mr. Ward. "In God's name
come back."
Half a dozen canoes shot out into the clear moonlight from the shadow
of the shore. "It is too late!" said the minister, as he struggled down to
the water's edge. "Satan hath laid his hands upon her; but I will contend
for her, even as did Michael of old for the body of Moses. Mary, sister
Mary, for the love of Christ, answer me."
No sound came back from the canoes, which glided like phantoms,
noiselessly and swiftly, through the still waters