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At length Philip, or Metacom, as we shall indifferently call him, drew near and spoke. "This earth is a good earth," he said; "it is of many colors, to please the eyes of him who made it.
He gazed steadily at the hard and weather beaten features of his guest, and it is probable that words of higher courtesy than any he had yet used would have fallen from him, had not, at that moment, a signal been given, by a young Indian set to watch on the summit of the rock, that one approached. Both Metacom and Conanchet appeared to hear this cry with some uneasiness.
"Metacom," returned he who has been called the Sachem of the Narragansetts, stepping cautiously nearer to his friend, and speaking lower, as if he feared an invisible auditor; "thou hast put hate into the bosoms of the red men, but canst thou make them more cunning than the Spirits? Hate is very strong, but cunning hath a longer arm.
During this startling and fearful moment, the four individuals near the stream were inactive. Conanchet and his Christian friend stood to their arms, but it was rather as men cling to the means of defence in moments of great jeopardy, than with any intention of offensive hostilities. Metacom seemed undecided.
Scorning to vindicate himself before enemies that he hated, and perhaps distrusting their clemency, Metacom no longer endeavored to cloak his proceedings; but, throwing aside the emblems of peace he openly appeared with an armed hand. The tragedy had commenced about a year before the period at which the tale has now arrived.
"The fire was kindled in a well; it did not burn bright. What I see, is blood." "Wampanoag," rejoined Conanchet, fiercely, "I have scorched the spot with the lodges of the Yengeese. The grave of my father is covered with scalps taken by the hand of his son Why does Metacom look again? What does the chief see?"
His hand hath placed my fathers in a fertile land, rich in the good things of the world, fortunate in position, sea-girt and impregnable. Happy is he who can find justification in dwelling within its borders!" An empty gourd lay on the rock at the side of Metacom. Bending over the stream, he filled it to the brim with water, and held the vessel before the eyes of his companions.
"Let the arms of the warriors rest, till they meet the armed hands of the Yengeese, or they will be too tired to strike heavily. My young men have taken scalps, since the sun came over the trees, and they are satisfied Why does Metacom look so hard? What does my father see?" "A dark spot in the middle of a white plain. The grass is not green; it is red as blood.
"Wampanoag, I have followed the trail, that your ears may listen to the talk of a Pale-face." The third person in this interview was Metacom He shot a haughty and fierce glance at the stranger, and then turned to his companion in arms, with recovered calmness, to reply. "Has Conanchet counted his young men since they raised the whoop?" he asked, in the language of the aborigines.
"I saw many go into the fields, that never came back. Let the white men die." "Wampanoag, he is led by the wampum of a Sachem. I have not counted my young men; but I know that they are strong enough to say that what their chief hath promised shall be done." "If the Yengeese is a friend of my brother, he is welcome. The wigwam of Metacom is open; let him enter it."
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