And
this is war ! and such in wrath makes haste
To lay the white man's cot and village waste ;
That deals in daggers poisoned, coated o'er,
The fagot-torch, and gluts on human gore.
Against such crime the settlers strong unite:
In various ways they rally for the fight:
Some seek defence by force of gun and dogs;
Some take to garrisons strong built of logs;
And some in squads with weapons rude assail
The foe, and fierce pursue the hidden trail.
'Twas so at Newbury and at Bradford town,
Far further north, and seaward further down;
Along the vale, where'er the white man dwelt,
Still unprovoked the self-same scourge was felt.
And at old Haverhill, as Mather tells,
The flaring fagot burns where Duston dwells.
That faithful father, frenzied to dismay,
Hastens the flight of children far away :
But not the infant: that in wrath is slain.
Its mother, captured, trudges in the train .
Of savages ; while in the clouds are shown
The crackling ruins of an English home.
The tribes evade pursuit: they skirt the glen,
Fast hastening through the fields away; and
then
Dense woods and sable night conceal the foe.
There, couched on broken boughs, in beds of snow,
Repose they seek. Still mindful of the past,
Her heart depressed, by sleep benumbed at last,
There dreams that mother, weary, sick, at rest,
Of happy home, of father, children blest;
Of life's sweet joys, profusely, kindly given ;
Of angel-visits from the throne of heaven;
Of that true bliss religious life inspires,
That wafts the soul above earth's frail desires.
Thus moved congenial thought her dreamy mind
As moved that mighty forest in the wind ;
Thus on, till twilight gray with breaking beam
Now turns the tenor of a fleeting dream ;
When, half aroused, before her vision gaze,
Appear grim visages and fagot-blaze ;
Tall spectres gaunt, whose garments drip with
gore
From that infanticide the day before,
Wrought strange convulsions. Whence that fearful
wail?
L 'Twas Hannah Duston, waking for the trail.
Her dark brown hair back on her shoulders spread;
The frosts of night still on her garments laid.
I At sight of death, at sound of war-whoop cry,
v Avenging justice flashes in her
eye.
Still, far beyond the cloud-capt tree-tops shown,
There gleamed in prospect yet another home.
Light paints a tinge upon her pallid brow ;
And up to God above she made a vow :
For on the trees are marks of kindred blood ;
And vengeance just is whispered in the wood.
Firm as the granite hills that brave the storm
That mother's will is fixed, and waxes warm.
Yet, held to follow through the rugged way,
Kept equal step for many a weary day, ('
Twas death to falter 'mid a savage throng,)
With Mary Neff and boy, all move along
Through winding paths and tangled wildwood fens,
Where prowled the wolf, and where the serpent
dens:
Declivities they wind, and ford the brooks
That leap the mountain-pass from granite rocks;
Thence in dark thicket, theja in sunlight gleam,
And then in boats of birch on spacious stream,
Up where old Contoocook unites in pride
With Merrimack, profound in rolling tide;
There, on an island wild, are captives shown
The wigwam rude, an Indian's favored home.
And there, on mats, around the camp-fire flame
Seated in group, they glut the slaughtered game
Which hunger sought; and Night, now gathering in,
Spreads her dark mantle o'er the woods within ;
While from afar a gentle zephyr-breeze
Plaj-s grateful music tin the waving trees,
Inviting rest from the rambling drudge of day,
That lulls the spirit from the world away.
Still docs that zephyr omens strange portend,—
A baleful bickering, some tragic end : .
Yet ne'er more safe, ne'er less by danger pressed,
Than felt the drowsy foe reclined at rest;
And
sleep sonorous, which fatigue inspires,
Drowns deep the tribe in front of midnight fires.
Then rose that mother, noiseless, moving near
To Neff; breathes mandates startling to her ear:
To Samuel, too, her vent of vengeance went
That fired his heart. They move with joint intent,
And signal stealth. Around the foe they felt,
And drew a tomahawk each from the belt
That touched his loins ; and then erect they stand,
Lifting that bloody blade with heedful hand :
Down on his guilty head three times they strike;
And three tunes three death follows each alike.
No groan nor sigh is heard, nor sign of woe ;
But stiff and cold there lies the bloody foe '
Neath clouds of night. The wigwam embers fade ;
And phantom shadows stalk along the glade
In depth of woods ; the hills are hushed aloof;
No voice, save from the owl or hungry wolf
That clamors for his prey. Yet as these three,
Once captive bound, now turn away thus free,
Bright, beaming stars through parted clouds between,
True guides intent, from heaven's arch serene
Look down ; while Truth, still valiant to prevail
O'er wrong, and Justice stern, with even scale,
Approve the deed : and from that crimson glad}.
That dark, lone wigwam with unburied dead,
Relieved, yet sad, they board a light canoe,
To dip the oar in hope of home ; pursue
Adown bright Merrimack in generous tide,
That bears the craft on high through borders wide:
Thence paddling east, they gain a favored shore
Above the fall, where troubled waters roar
Below, — all safe at land. The day-star rose ;
Nature anon awakes from night's repose ;
Wild birds from far, thick gathered in the trees,
Warble sweet welcome on ^he morning breeze
To strange adventurers ; while all that day,
Along the winding shore that leads the way
To Haverhill, they thoughtful trudge, and talk
What each had seen in life's bewildered walk, —
Of childhood years beguiled with favorite toys,
Of love, of home delights, of buried joys.
