The Pilgrims of New England: A Tale of the Early American SettlersWebb, J. B., Mrs. (Annie)
History
The Pilgrims of New England: A Tale of the Early American Settlers
Webb, J. B., Mrs. (Annie)
Pilgrims (New Plymouth Colony) -- Fiction
For a considerable distance their path lay through the forest; and the
underwood was so close and thick that the road consisted of a narrow
track, scarcely wider than would admit of two persons passing one
another along it, and only calculated for travelling in 'Indian file,'
which is so much practiced by the natives. In this manner our party
proceeded, Rodolph leading the way, and his attendants following
singly; while Fingal, who seemed rejoiced to have left the village,
bounded along at his master's side, ever and anon leaping up to express
his joy by licking his face and hands.
'Down, Fingal!' said his master, kindly patting his favorite's head,
and stroking his thick shaggy mane. 'Down, my good fellow; your joy is
too boisterous for this narrow, thorny path. You shall expend your
superfluous strength and spirits on the plain yonder; for I think I
detect some game scudding across the green meadow before us.'
Rodolph paused to adjust his gun; and the sagacious dog ceased his wild
demonstrations, end paused also until the task was completed. Then as
his master rose to proceed, he once more sprang up to his shoulder, end
his intelligent eyes asked leave to dash through the covert, and drive
out the expected game.
But why did that bound of pleasure change instantaneously into a
convulsion of agony? and why did the noble creature fall by his
master's side and look so earnestly up into his face? Surely, in the
midst of his own death struggle, he sought to tell him, with that mute
eloquence of love, that danger was near. Rodolph knew that it was so;
but no danger could then have compelled him to leave his dying friend--
the friend whose life was now ebbing away as a sacrifice for his own.
Yes! the shaft that had pierced through the neck of Fingal was designed
for Rodolph's breast; and he who cast it deemed that it had found its
intended mark, when, through the bushes, he saw the white man's form
bend quickly and suddenly to the ground. Then Coubitant fled
exultingly, and his savage heart beat high with joy and triumph.
But Rodolph thought not of him, or of his malice. He only saw his
faithful dog expiring at his side, and knew that he had no power to aid
him. It was evident that the arrow was poisoned, for the wound,
otherwise, appeared too slight to be mortal; and the foam that gathered
on Fingal's jaws, and the convulsive struggle that shook his form,
showed too plainly that his sufferings would soon be over. The
companions of Rodolph urged him to join them in instant flight; for
they felt the peril of their present situation, where the surrounding
thicket gave such ample opportunity to their lurking foes to take a
deadly aim, while, at the same time, it prevented them from either
discovering or pursuing their assailants. But all their arguments, and
all their entreaties, were unavailing so long as Fingal continued to
lick his master's caressing hand, and to reply to his well-known voice,
by looks of intelligent affection.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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