The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1853-05-05

i"J 5000 'N'Na' S91 a'NA,NN-E
like alllgators sleeping in the mire.
Tom had long been picking his way
cautiously, through this treacherous
forest, stepping from tuft to tuft OF
rushes and roots, which afforded pre-
carious footholds among deep sloughs,
or pacing carefully, like cat, along the
PROSTATE trunks of trees, startled now
and then by the sudden screaming of the
bittern, or the quacking Of the wild
duck, rising op the wing from some
solitary pool. fAt length he arrived at
a piece of firm ground, which ran out
like peninsular into the deep bosom OF
the swamp. 1t had been one of the
strong holds of the Indians during their
wars with the first colonists Here they
had thrown up kind of fort, which they
had looked upon as almost impregnable,
aud had used as place of refuge for
their squaws and children Nothing
now remained of the old Indian fort but
a few embankments, gradually sinking
to the level of the surrounding earth,
and already overgrown in part by oaks
and other forest trees, the foliage OF
which formed contrast to the dark
pines and hemlocks Of the swamp.
1t was late in the dusk of the evening
thatsTom Walker reached the old fort,
and he paused there awhile to rest him
self Any one but he would have felt
unwilling to linger in this lonely, mclan-
choly place, for the common people had
a bad opinion of it, from the stories
handed down from the time of the Indian
wars, when it was asserted that the saw
ages held incantations here, and mad
sacrifices to the evil spirits. Tom
Walker, however, was not Il man to be
t. oubled with any fears of this kind.
He reposed himself for some time on
the trunk Of fallen henlock, listening
to the boding cry of The tree-toad, and
delving with his walking staff into a
mound of black mould at bis feet. As
he turned up the soil unconsciously, his
staff struck against something hard He
raked it out Of the vcgetabla mould, and
10 ! a cloven skull, with an Indian
tomahawk bu deep in it, lay before
him The rust of the weapon show d
the time that had elapsed since the
death-bIow had been given 1t was a
dreary memento of the fierce struggle
that bad taken place in this last foot
hold of the Indian warriors.
Humph - said Tom Walker, as he
gave the skull kick to shake the dirt
from it
"Let that skull alone :" said a gruff
voice.
Tom lifted his eyes and bcheld great
black man seated directly opposite him
on the stump Of tree. He was ex,
ceedingly surprised, having neither seen
nor heard any one approach, and he was
still more perple1ed on observing, as
well as the gathering gloom woulI per-
NIT that the stranger was neither u
negro or Indian. 1t is true, he was
dressed in a rude, half-Indian garb, and
had red belt or sash swathed round
his body, but his face was neither black
nor copper color, but swarthy and dingy,
and begrimmed with SCOT, as if he had
been accustomed to toll among fires and
forges. He had shock of coarse black
hair that stood out from his head in all
direction, and bore an axe on his
shoulder.
He scowled for a moment at Tom
with pair Of great red eyes.
What are you doing in my grounds 7"
said the black man, with hoarse growl-
ing voice.
" Your grounds :" said Tom, with a
sneer; "no more your grounds than
mine they belong to Deacon Peabody"
=" Look yonder, and see how Deacon
Peabody is faring"
Tom looked in the direction that the
stranger pointed, and beheld one Of the
great trees, fair and fourishing without
but rotten at the core, and saw that it
had been nearly hewn through, so that
the first high wind was likely to blow it
down On the back Of the tree was
scored the name of Deacon Pea ody
He now looked round, and found most
Of the tall trees marked with the name