The Knight Of The Golden Melice - John Turvill Adams (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📗

Over The Natives, Sir Christopher Shook Roughly Off

The Hands Laid On Him, And Shouting, "Ha, Villains!--Death To

Traitors!" Presented His Gun, Before The Terror Of Whose Fatal

Lightning His Assailants Recoiled. Keeping The Muzzle Of The Piece

Directed At Them, And Threatening With It Any One Who Made A Motion To

Draw Near, The Knight Succeeded In Getting The Canoe Afloat, When,

Jumping In, He Pushed From The Shore. With A Pole Found In The Canoe,

He Strove To Urge It Across The Stream; But, Embarrassed With Watching

His Enemies, And Swept Down By The Current, The Effort Was Attended

With Great Difficulty. Meanwhile, The Savages, Who Had Hitherto

Forborne Any Act That Might Endanger Life, Bearing In Mind Their

Instructions, Became Apprehensive Of Losing Him, And Excited By His

Resistance, Began To Shoot Arrows At Him. One Of The Missiles Took

Effect In The Right Arm Of The Knight, Just Above The Elbow, And The

Pole Dropped From His Hand. At The Same Instant The Canoe Struck

Against A Submerged Rock And Upset. Taking Advantage Of The Accident,

The Indians Sprung Into The Water, And Succeeded In Mastering His

Person.

 

  

"Quecheco," Said The Knight, Reproachfully, As He Stood Upon The Bank,

"Is It Thou, And Thou, Too, Negabamat, Who Treat Me As An Enemy? Why

This Violence?"

 

  

"Soog-U-Gest Is Wanted Among His Own People," Said Quecheco, Who Had

Possessed Himself Of The Much Coveted Gun Which Had Fallen Into The

Water. "Indians Will Not Hurt Him."

 

 

 "Quecheco, Thou Art A Villain," Said The Knight; "But If Not An

Incarnate Demon, Outrage Me Not Further Than Is Necessary For Thy Base

Purpose."

  

 

Thus Spoke Sir Christopher, Seeing That Preparations Were Made To

Confine His Arms With Withes. The Indians Said Something Among

Themselves, And At Length Quecheco Replied:

 

 

"Soog-U-Gest Always Speaks The Truth. Let Him Promise Not To Run Away,

And His Arms Shall Be Free."

 

  

"I Promise," Said The Knight, Who, In Spite Of His Treatment, Could

Not But Feel Pleased At This Evidence Of The Confidence In His Truth

With Which He Had Inspired The Natives. "Take The Powder Horn And

Bullets," He Added, Detaching Them From His Person. "I Will Attend

You."

 

 

 At A Sign From Quecheco The Indians Released Sir Christopher, Nor

Seemed After That To Trouble Themselves Much With Watching Him.

 

 

An Indian, Who Had Crossed The Stream, Now Returned Bearing The Slain

Buck On His Back, And Threw It Down On The Grass, And His Companions

With Pleased Faces Gathered Around It. Sir Christopher,

Notwithstanding The Unpleasantness Of His Situation, Could Not Avoid

Smiling.

 

  

"Nature's Children!" He Said To Himself, "It Would Have Pained Me Had

I Unfortunately Killed One Of Them. Blessed Jesu, I Thank Thee For

Saving Me From Bloodshedding."

 

 

He Threw Himself On The Ground, And Watched Their Proceedings In

Cooking The Venison With Some Interest, For He Was Hungry, And, When

It Was Ready, Partook Of It With Them As Though They Had Been A Party

Of Friendly Hunters, Nor Would Any One Have Suspected That He Was A

Prisoner. Having Thus Placed Himself On Terms As Little Disagreeable

As Possible With His Captors, Sir Christopher Endeavored, While They

Were Under The Influence Of The Welcome Dinner, To Dissuade Them From

Their Purpose In Regard To Himself, But On This Point He Found

Remonstrance Useless. The Indians Were Not Inclined To Talk About It,

And Either Preserved A Total Silence, Or Simply Said That The White

Chief At Accomack Had Sent Them. When They Had Eaten Up The Buck, They

Started With The Knight In The Direction Of Plymouth.

Chapter XXXIV So As By Law He Could Defend The Cause Of Poor Distressed Plaintiff, When He Brought His Case Before Him And For Help Besought. Above All Other Men He Loved Those Who Gospel Truths Most Faithfully Unclose, Who Were With Grace

 

 

 

 Morton's New England's Memorial.

 

 

  The Ancient Town Of Plymouth Has Probably About As Much Resemblance To

What It Was Two Hundred Years Ago, As An Ante-Diluvian At A Like Age

Had To His Boyhood. Were Governor Bradford, Whose Worth Is More

Quaintly Than Poetically Delineated In The Above Lines, Captain Miles

Standish, Master Thomas Prince, Or Any Other Worthies Of Those Days Of

Peaked Hats And Falling Bands To Revisit The Scenes Of Their Pilgrim

Labors, I Fancy That They Would Find It Difficult At First To

Recognize Them. By The Eternal Features, Only, Of Nature, The

Sparkling Waters Of The Bay, The Waving Line Of Its Shore, And By The

Eminences Not Wholly Levelled, Would The Site Be Identified, And The

Likeness Traced. Only With Memory, Assisted By These Marks, Might They

Be Able, As The Moonbeams Fell Upon Their Pale Faces, And They Stroked

Their Solemn Beards, To Exclaim--Here Stood _Our_ Plymouth.

 

  

As It Presented Itself That Day To The Eyes Of Sir Christopher

Gardiner, Surrounded By His Indian Escort, It Seemed An Inconsiderable

Village Lying On The Slope Of A Hill, Dropping Towards The Sea. A

Broad Street, Some Eight Hundred Yards Long, Led Down The Hill, And

Was Crossed Nearly In The Middle By Another, The Ends Of Which Were

Protected By Gates Made Of Solid Planks--The Fourth End, Viz: That On

The Hay, Being Without Any Barricade. The Houses Were Rude And Small,

Constructed Of Hewn Planks, And Stood In Areas, Around Which Were

Thrown Fences Made Also Of Plank, Serving As Very Effectual Stockades

Against Any Sudden Attack, And Bidding Defiance To The Simple Enginery

Of The Natives. Near The Centre Was The Governor's House (Built In

Like Manner), And In Front Of It, At The Intersection Of The Streets,

A Square Block, Answering The Purposes Of A Fort, And Mounted With

Four Patereros, Or Small Cannon, Commanded The Streets And Four Points

Of Entrance. On The Top Of The Hill, A Large Square Edifice With A

Flat Roof, Whereupon Were Placed Six Cannons, Shooting Balls Of Four

Or Five Pounds, Dominated The Surrounding Country. The Upper Part Of

This Building Served For A Fort, And The Lower For Public Worship And

Meetings Generally. On The Whole, As Against Arrows And Tomahawks, It

Was A Very Pretty Fortified Place, And Would Not Have Been Found Fault

With By Vauban Himself, Could He Have Had The Good Fortune To Behold

It.

  

 

The Knight Passed Through One Of The Open Gates, Which Were Closed

Only At Night, And Proceeded Straight To The Residence Of The

Governor. Here He Was Delivered By The Indians To Bradford, Who Chid

Them For Wounding Sir Christopher. They Excused Themselves On The

Ground Of His Resistance, Declaring That The Wound Was Trivial, And

Had Merely Numbed His Arm For A Moment. (Such, Indeed, Proved To Be A

Fact, When, Shortly Afterwards, The Broken Piece Of The Arrow Was Cut

Out.) The Indians Were Dismissed With The Promised Presents, Quecheco

Being Permitted To Retain The Coveted Gun Of The Knight As Part Of His

Reward. A Moment's Digression To Record The Fate Of The Savage, And We

Will Return To Sir Christopher.

 

 

 Proud Was The Indian Of His New Acquisition, With Its Gold And Silver

Ornaments, So Far Surpassing In Beauty All Other Pieces He Had Seen,

And Affectionately He Caressed It, Calling It His Week-Su-Buck Otaw,

(Sweetheart,) And Often Repeating, Gee-Wawee-Fee-Yi-Ee, I.E., You Are

Welcome. He Was Alone In The Forest, The Others Having Departed In

Different Directions, And Was On His Way To Boston, Where He Expected

To Get More Of The Powder And Ball For Which He Had Covenanted. It Was

The Day After His Treachery, And He Had Nearly Accomplished His

Journey, Only Three Or Four Miles Remaining Between Him And His Place

Of Destination, When He Heard A Rustling In The Bushes, And Saw

Towanquattick Advancing. He Had First Been Seen By The Pequot, Who,

Recognizing Him, Came Unsuspiciously Forward. Instantly Saw Quecheco

The Consequences Of Being Found By Towanquattick In Possession Of The

Gun, With Which The Latter Was Familiar As The Property Of Sir

Christopher, And This Thought, Combining With His Hatred, Made Him

Suddenly Raise The Weapon And Fire At The Approaching Pequot. The

Forest Rang With The Report, And As Quecheco, Unpractised In The Use

Of Fire-Arms, Having Discharged The Piece But A Few Times, Recovered

Himself, He Beheld Towanquattick Fitting An Arrow To His Bow. Seizing

The Tomahawk Out Of His Belt, Quecheco Hurled It At The Pequot As The

Arrow Whizzed From The String, But Both Weapons Failed Of Their Mark.

Drawing His Own Tomahawk, The Pequot In Turn Threw It At His Foe, Who

Escaped By A Sudden Movement Of The Body.

 

 

 The Two Indians Now Stood Regarding One Another With Looks Of Rage,

And Took The Knives Off Their Necks. Neither Spoke A Word. Each

Understood The Other, And With Flashing Eyes Watched To Take An

Advantage. They Were Both Powerful Men, Well Matched In Size And Age,

And Equally Armed, So That Upon Fortune And Skill, More Than Upon

Brute Strength, The Result Was Likely To Depend.

 

 

 Presently, Each Grasping The Knife In His Right Hand, And Bending

Over, Ready For A Spring, They Began, With Eyes Fixed On One Another,

To Move Round And Round, Watching For A Favorable Opportunity To Make

The Fatal Dart. Thus, Occasionally Increasing The Rapidity Of Their

Movements, Then Relaxing Their Swiftness Again, They Moved In Circles

Several Times, But Without Drawing Within Striking Distance. The

Thought Occurred To Both Of Throwing The Knife, Which, If Skilfully

Done, Might Terminate The Contest, But The Consideration That If The

Stroke Failed, The Unsuccessful Combatant Would Be Left At The Mercy

Of The Other, Deterred From The Hazardous Experiment. After Various

Feints And Stratagems Foiled, By Mutual Cunning The Two Foes Stopped,

As If By Agreement, To Devise More Effectual Schemes Of Destruction.

In This Truce Of A Moment, The Eyes Of Quecheco Fell Upon A Tomahawk

Lying Near The Feet Of His Opponent, And Unobserved By Him. His

Efforts Were Now Directed To Getting Possession Of The Weapon, And He

Re-Commenced The System Of Attack He Had Practised. It Was No

Difficult Thing, By A Series Of Retreats And Advances, And Constant

Changes Of Position, To Entice The Pequot, Ignorant Of The Other's

Design, From The Place Whereon He Stood, And Presently The Foot Of

Quecheco Touched The Missile. The Movement Of His Foe's Limbs In

Searching For The Tomahawk Had Caught The Notice Of Towanquattick, And

Before It Was Touched By Quecheco's Foot He Had Seen It. At The Sight,

Throwing Aside The Caution He Had Practised, The Pequot Sprung

Straight At His Enemy, And, Without Seeking To Protect Himself,

Plunged His Knife Into The Breast Of Quecheco. The Force Of The Blow

Threw The Stooping Savage Upon His Back, And Before He Could Rise, The

Tomahawk, Caught From The Ground By The Hand Of The Pequot, Crashed

Into The Brain Of The Dying Traitor. Drawing Out, Then, The Knife, The

Pequot, With A Rapid Turn That Indicated A Practised Hand, Passed It

Round The Head Of His Foe, And Tearing Off The Bloody Trophy, Hung It

At His Girdle. A Little While The Pequot Stood Contemplating The Body,

And As His Eyes Wandered From The Corpse To The Gun, Which Lay On The

Ground, And Back Again To The Corpse A Ferocious Gleam Of Gratified

Revenge, Like The Lurid Gleam Of Fires At Night, Swept Over His

Swarthy Face. Picking Up, Then, The Gun, The Knives And Tomahawks, And

Stripping The Corpse Of The Articles Containing The Powder And

Bullets, The Indian Started In Search Of Joy.

 

  

Meanwhile, The Knight Had Been Entertained With All Humanity And Honor

By The Governor Of Plymouth; Nor Was Other Treatment To Be Expected

From The Learned And Accomplished Bradford. In Appearance He Was

Somewhat Less Than Fifty Years Of Age, With A Mild And Thoughtful

Expression Of Countenance, Which Revealed To The Close Observer As

Much Of The Meditative Student As Of The Man Of Action. A Thorough

Receiver And Admirer Of The Principles Of The Sect To Which He

Belonged, It Was The Business Of His Life To Illustrate Them By His

Learning, And Enforce Them By His Example.

 

  

That Strange Charm Of Manner For Which The Knight Of The Golden Melice

Was So Distinguished, His Persuasive