Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
"My mind is ever with my people;" returned the Indian, repeating the
other's words, with an emphasis that could not be mistaken.
A long and melancholy pause succeeded; and when the conversation was
renewed, it had reference to those events which had taken place in the
fortunes of each, since the time when they were both tenants of the
block-house that stood amid the ancient habitations of the Heathcotes.
Each appeared too well to comprehend the character of the other, to
attempt any further efforts towards producing a change of purpose; and
darkness had gathered about the place, before they arose to enter the hut
of the solitary.
Chapter XXVII.
"Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers."
Cymbeline
The short twilight was already passed, when old Mark Heathcote ended the
evening prayer. The mixed character of the remarkable events of that day
had given birth to a feeling, which could find no other relief than that
which flowed from the usual zealous, confiding, and exalted outpouring of
the spirit. On the present occasion, he had even resorted to an
extraordinary, and, what one less devout might be tempted to think, a
supererogatory offering of thanksgiving and praise. After dismissing the
dependants of the establishment, supported by the arm of his son, he had
withdrawn into an inner apartment, and there, surrounded only by those who
had the nearest claims on his affections, the old man again raised his
voice to laud the Being, who, in the midst of so much general grief, had
deigned to look upon his particular race with the eyes of remembrance and
of favor. He spoke of his recovered grand-child by name, and he dealt with
the whole subject of her captivity among the heathen, and her restoration
to the foot of the altar, with the fervor of one who saw the wise decrees
of Providence in the event, and with a tenderness of sentiment that age
was far from having extinguished. It was at the close of this private and
peculiar worship, that we return into the presence of the family.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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