The Pilgrims of New England. Mrs. Webb-Peploe

From the day that the white boy had been spared from a cruel and violent death, and established as a regular inmate of Tisquantum's dwelling, it seemed as if he had regarded him as a son, and had adopted him to fill the place of him whose death he so deeply deplored; and Oriana already looked on him as a brother, and took the greatest delight in his society. No apprehensions were now felt of his escaping to the settlement; for the distance which they had traveled through woods, and over hills and plains, to reach the Pequodee encampment, was so great, that it was utterly impossible for any one but an Indian, well accustomed to the country, to traverse it alone. Henrich was, therefore, allowed to enjoy perfect liberty, and to ramble unmolested around the camp; and it was his greatest pleasure to climb to the summit of a neighboring hill, which was crowned by a few ancient and majestic pines, and there to look in wonder and admiration at the scenery around him. To the west, a vast and trackless forest spread as far as the eye could reach, unbroken save by some distant lakes, that shone like clear mirrors in their dark green setting. Trees of gigantic growth rose high above their brethren of the wood, but wild luxuriant creepers, many of them bearing clusters of bright blossoms, had climbed ambitiously to their summits, seeking the light of day, and the warmth of the sunbeams, which could not penetrate the thick underwood that was their birth-place. It was a sea of varied and undulating foliage, beautiful and striking, but almost oppressive to the spirit; and Henrich gazed sadly over the interminable forest, and thought of the weeks, and months—and, possibly, the years that this wilderness was to be his home. Escape, under present circumstances, he felt to be impossible; and he endeavored to reconcile himself to his fate, and to look forward with hope to a dim and uncertain future. Could his parents and Edith but have been assured of his safety, he thought he could have borne his captivity more cheerfully; but to feel that they were mourning him as dead, and that, perhaps, they would never know that his blood had not been cruelly shed by his captors, was hard for the affectionate boy to endure.

      To Oriana, alone, could he tell his feelings, and pour out his griefs and anxieties; and Edith herself could not have listened to him with more attention and sympathy than was shown by the young Indian girl. When her domestic duties were accomplished, she would accompany her new friend to his favorite retreat on the hill-top; and there, seated by his side beneath the tall pines, she would hold his hand, and gaze into his sorrowful countenance, and listen to his fond regrets for his distant home, and all its dearly-loved inmates, till tears would gather in her soft black eyes, and she almost wished that she could restore him to his countrymen. But this she was powerless to do, even if she could have made up her mind to the sacrifice of her 'white brother,' as she called him. She had, indeed, wrought upon her father so far as to save his life, and have him adopted into their tribe and family; but she well knew that nothing would ever induce him to give up his possession of Rodolph's son, or suffer his parents to know that he lived.

      All this she told to Henrich; and his spirit, sanguine as it was, sickened at the prospect of a lengthened captivity among uncivilized and heathen beings. He gazed mournfully to the east; he looked over the wide expanse of country that he had lately traversed, and his eye seemed to pierce the rising hills, and lofty forests, that lay between him and his cherished home; and in the words of the Psalmist he cried, 'Oh that I had wings as a dove, for then would I flee away and be at rest!'

      Would you leave me, my brother?' said Oriana, in reply to this unconscious utterance of his feelings; 'would you leave me again alone, to mourn the brother I have lost?' The Sachem loves you, and I love you, too; and you may be happy in our lodge, and become a brave like our young men.'

      Yes, Oriana, you and your father are kind to me; and I had never known any other mode of life, I might be happy in your lodge. But I cannot forget my parents, and me dear Edith who loved me so fondly, and my little brother also. And then I had a friend—a kind friend, and full of wisdom and goodness—who used to teach me all kinds of knowledge; and, above all, the knowledge of the way to heaven. How can I think that I may, perhaps, never see all these again, and not be sad?' And Henrich buried his face in his hands and wept without restraint.

      Oriana gazed at him affectionately, and tears of sympathy filled her large eyes also. But she drew away Henrichs hand, and kissed it, and tried to cheer him in the best way that her simple mind could suggest.

      'My brother must not weep,' she said; 'for he is not a child, and our Indian youths are ashamed of tears. Henrich will be a brave some day, and he will delight in hunting, and in war, as our red warriors do; and he will, I know, excel them all in strength and courage. What can he desire more than to be a Nausett warrior?'

      'Oh, Oriana,' replied the boy—as he wiped away his tears, and almost smiled at her attempts to console him by such a future prospect—' I desire to return to my home, and my friends, and the worship of my God. Among your people none know anything of the true God, and none believe in His Son. I have no one to speak to me as my parents, and my venerable teacher, used to do; and no one to kneel with me in prayer to the Almighty.'

      'Do not you worship the Great Mahneto—the Mighty Spirit from whom every good gift comes?' asked Oriana, with surprise. 'He is the one true God, and all the red men know and worship him.'

      'Yes, Oriana, I do worship the one Great Spirit; the God and Father of all men of every color and of every clime. But the Christian's God is far more wise, and good, and merciful than the Indian's Mahneto: and He has told his servants what He is, and how they ought to serve Him.'

      'Does your Mahneto speak to you?' asked the Indian girl. 'Could I hear him speak?'

      'He has spoken to our fathers long ages ago, replied Henrich; 'and we have His words written in a book. Oh, that I had that blessed book with me! How it would comfort me to read it now!'

      'And you would read it to me, my brother? But tell me some of your Mahneto's words; and tell me why you say He is greater and better than the Good Spirit who protects the red men.'