Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more

keenly

If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, If you make use of those common and complimentary phrases Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting."

Mute and amazed was Alden; and listened and looked at Priscilla,

Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty.

He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an

answer.

So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined

What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and

speechless.

"Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things

Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of

friendship.

It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare :

I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles Standish.

For I must tell you the truth: much more to me is your friendship

Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero you think

him."

Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped

it,

Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding

so sorely,

Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice full of feeling :

"Yes, we must ever be friends, and of all who offer you friend

ship

Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest !

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the May Flower.

Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon,

Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feel

ing,

That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the sunshine,

Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly :

"Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the

Indians,

Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a house

hold,

You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between

you,

When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you

found me."

Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the

story,

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and

earnest,

"He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment !"

But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how much he had

suffered,

How he had even determined to sail that day in the May Flower, And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened,

All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent,

"Truly I thank you for this: how good you have been to me always!"

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journeys, Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition; Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful misgiv

ings.

VII.

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH.

MEANWHILE the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward,

Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore,

All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger

Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest.

Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort;
He who was used to success, and to easy victories always,
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden,
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had
trusted!

Ah! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor!

"I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens ? 'T was but a dream,-let it pass,-let it vanish like so many others!

What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless; Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and hence

forward

Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers !" Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them.

After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest;

Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with warpaint,

Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together;

Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men,

Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing,

Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present; Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred.

Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in stature, Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan ; One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of

wampum,

Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. Welcome, English!" they said,—these words they had learned from the traders

66

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white

man,

Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder,

Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars,

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man !
But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the

Bible,

Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to blus

ter.

Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain:

"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman,
But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning,
Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him,

Shouting, Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'"1

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand,

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle,

Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: "I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle; By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children !"

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish :

While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his

bosom,

Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered,

"By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ah ! but shall speak not! This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us! He is a little man ; let him go and work with the women !"

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly;

So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers.

But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the

insult,

All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de

Standish,

Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples.

Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its scabbard,

Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it.
Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-
whoop,