Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
It seems to have been the custom of the Indians at the beginning of the winter to break up into small parties for the purpose of hunting, and Gyles' description of his first winter's experience will serve to illustrate the hardships commonly endured by the savages.
This is the land of the Kavanaghs, and a lovely, picturesque, richly-wooded land it is. I left Dublin with Mr. Gyles by an afternoon train; the weather almost like June. We ran from the County of Dublin into Kildare, and from Kildare into Carlow, through hills; rural scenery quite unlike anything I have hitherto seen in Ireland.
Then away they went, three wherries full, and Master Gyles behind them in a brisk sixpenny tilt-boat, resplendent in new ash-colored hose, a cloak of black velvet fringed with gold, and a brand-new periwig curled and frizzed like a brush-heap in a gale of wind. How they had worked for the last few days!
John Gyles, the English captive at Medoctec village in 1689, relates the following ridiculous incident, which sufficiently shows the unreasonable terror inspired in the mind of the natives of the river in his day by the very name of Mohawk: "One very hot season a great number of Indians gathered at the village, and being a very droughty people they kept James Alexander and myself night and day fetching water from a cold spring that ran out of a rocky hill about three-quarters of a mile from the fort.
Master Gyles went to and fro, twisting the manuscript of the Revel in his hands, or pausing kindly to pat some faltering lad upon the back. Nick and Colley were peeping by turns through a hole in the screen at the throng in the audience-chamber.
Then they were gone behind the curtain, into the shadow and the twilight there, Colley with his arms about Nick's neck, not quite laughing, not quite sobbing. The manuscript of the Revel lay torn in two upon the floor, and Master Gyles had a foot upon each piece. In the hall beyond the curtain was a silence that was deeper than a hush, a stillness rising from the hearts of men.
And, truth, it was no easy thing to tell them from the real affair, or to guess the made from the maiden, so slender and so graceful were they all, with their ruffs and their muffs and their feathered fans, and all the airs and mincing graces of the daintiest young miss. But old Nat Gyles would never have Nick Attwood play the girl.
"Come," said Master Carew, with an ugly sharpness in his voice, "thou'lt sing thy very best?" "There's nothing else to do," replied Nick, doggedly. Master Nathaniel Gyles, Precentor of St. Paul's, had pipe-stem legs, and a face like an old parchment put in a box to keep.
John as early as 1620; they came to Acadia from Aquitane. Father Simon was a man of activity and enterprise as well as of religious zeal. He did all that lay in his power to promote the ascendency of his country-men in the land they loved to call "New France," but his influence with the Indians was always exercised on the side of humanity. On this point Gyles' testimony is conclusive.
"Hurrah for Master Nathaniel Gyles!" they shouted. "Primus Magister Scholarum, Custos Morum, Quartus Custos Rotulorum," said the old man softly to himself, the firelight from behind him falling in a glory on his thin white hair. "Be off, ye rogues! Ye are not fit to waste good language on; or, faith, I'd Latin ye all as dumb as fishes in the depths of the briny sea!"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking