Thibodaux minerva. [volume] (Thibodaux, La.) 18??-1858, 1856-01-26
A Legend Of New England.
RY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

shreks-fendsh yels they stab them in their sleer"
One hundred years ago.-The hunter who
ranged the hills and the forests of New Fn-
gland, fought against other enemies than the
brown bear and the panther. The husband
man, as he toiled in the plain, or the narrow
clearing Kept closely at his side loaded weap.
on; and wrought diligently and firmly in the
midst of peril. The frequent crack of the In,
dams rifle was heard in the still depth of the
forest-the death-knell of the unwary hunter
and, ever and annon, the flame of some devoted
farm house, whose dwellers had been slaughter
ed by merciless foe, rose redly upon the dark
ness Of the night time. The wild, and fierce
Dyes of the heather cleaned through the thick
underwood Of the forest, upon the passing of
the worshippers of the only true God; and tn e
war-whoop rang shrill and loud under the very
walls of the sanctuary of prayer.
Perhaps no part of New England affords a
wider field for the researches of the legendary,
than that portion of Massachusetts Bay, for
merly known as the province of Maine. There
the ferocious Norridgewock held his stern coun-
ellis, and there the tribes of the Penobscot went
forth with song and dance to do battle upon the
white man. There, the romantic and chival-
rous Castine immured himself in the forest soil
tudes, and there the high hearted Ralle-the
mild and gifted Jesuit-gathered together the
broken strength of the Norridgewock, an built
up IN the great wilderness temple to the true
God. There, too, he persisted in the dark on
slaught of the Colonists- persisted with many
wounds, at the very foot of the Cross, which his
OWE hands had planted. And there the Nor
rldgewocks fell-one after another-in stern and
accomplishing pride-neither asking, nor Civ
ing quarter, as they resisted the white spoiler
upon the threshold of their consecrated place of
worship; and in view of their wives and their
children.
:. The following is one among many legends Of
the strange renconnters Of the White Man and
the Indian, which are yet preserved in the an
Gent records and traditions of Maine. The
simple and unvarnished narrative is only CIV
en-.
1t was sultry evening towards the last of
June, 1922, that Capt. Harmon and the Eastern
sangers urged their canoes up the Kenebec riv-
or, in pursuit of their savage enemies. For
hours they toiled diligently at the oar. The
last trace of civilization left behind and the
long shadows of the skirting forest met and
blended in the middle of the broad stream which
wound darkly through them. At every sound
from the adjacent shores-the rustling wing Of
some night-bird, or the quick footsteps Of some
wild beast-the dash of the oar was suspended,
and the rangers grasp frightened on his rifle. All
knew the peril of the enterprise and that ST.
lence, which is natural to men, who feel them
selves in the extreme Of jeopardy, settled like
cloud upon the midnight adventures.
"Hush-softly men" said the watchful Har
mon, In voice, which scarcely rose above
hoarse whisper, as his canoe swept around
ragged promotory, "there is light ahead %
All eyes were bent towards the shore. A tall
Indian fire cleaned up amidst the great oaks,
casting red and strong light upon the dark
waters. For single and breathless moment
the operation of the oar was suspended, and
every ear listened with painful earnestness to
catch the well-known sounds. which seldom fail
ed to indicate the propinquity of the savages.
But all was now silent With slow and fait move
ments Of the oar, the canoes gradually ap-
preached the suspected spot. The landing was
effected in silence. After moving cautiously for
q considerable distance in the dark shadow, the
party at length ventured within the broad cir
Gle of the light, which a first attracted their
attention. Harmon was at their head, with an
eye and hand, quick as those of the savage
enemy whom he sought
The body Of fallen tree lay across the path.
AS the rangers were on the point of leaping over
it, the coarse whisper of Harmon again broke
the silence:
"God of heaven!" he exclaimed, pointing to
he tree. t'See here It's the work of the
cursed red skins p
A smothered curse growled on the lips of the
'angers, as they bent grimly forward in the d.
'ection pointed out by their commander. Blood
vas sprnkled on the rank grass, and human
land-the hand Of white man-lay on the
bloody log!
There was not word spoken, but every coun-
enance worked with terrible emotion. Had
he rangers folowrd their own desperate incli-
nation, they would have hurried recklessly on
yard to the work of vengeance; but the exam
,le of their leader. who had regained his usual
'almness and self-command, prepared them for
! less speedy, but more certain triumph. eau
iously passing over the fearful obstacle in the |
pathway, and closely followed by his compan-
ons, he advanced stealthily and cautiously upon |
he light, hiding himself and his party as much |
IS possible behind the thick trees. In few !
moments they obtained full view of the object |
# their serrch. Stretched at their length |
round huge fire, but at convenient distance |
rom it, lay the painted and half naked forms |
f twenty savages. 1t was evident from their |
pperance, that they had passed the day in one
f their horrid revels, and that were now suffer- |
ng under the effects of intoxication. Occasion |
lily, grim warrior among them started half |
pright, grasping his tomahawk, as if to COM
at som vision of his disordered brain, but, un-
BILE to shake off the stupor from his senses, I'M
nformly fell back into his former position.
The rangers crept nearer As they bent their |
cen eyes along their we'll tried rifles, each felt
erfectly sure of his aim. They waited for the |
ignal Of Harmon, who was endeavoring to bring
is long muskst to bear upon the head of the |
lost distant of the savages.
"Fire! he at length exclaimed, as the sight
his piece interposed full and distinct between
is eye and the wild scalp-lock of the Indian.
Fire, and rush on 70
The sharp voice of thirty rides thrilled through
be heart of the forest There was q groan-a
mothered cry-a wild and convulsive move
tent among the sleeping Indians; and all again
ras silent.
The rangers sprang forward with their club
ed muskets and hunting knives; but their work
as done. The red men had gone to their last
udit before the Great Spirit; and no sound
as heard among them, save the gurgling of the
ot blood from their lifeless bosoms.
They were left unburied on the place Of their
'veling, prey for the foul birds of the air, and
le ravenous beasts of the wilderness. Their
ALPS were borne homeward in triumph by the
lccessful rangers, whose children and grand
lildren shuddered, long after, at the thrilling
lrration of the midnight adventure.