ance with
the English language, had often acted as interpreter between his
countrymen and the white strangers. This knowledge he had acquired
from his intercourse with the English fishermen, before the wanderers
who erected their tabernacle at Shawmut arrived in the country. He was
a quick, apprehensive fellow, who, on account of the services he had
rendered the colonists, stood high in their favor, and was treated
with considerable confidence. No sign of recognition passed betwixt
him and Sassacus on his entrance, but they regarded one another as
strangers.

"We have called thee, Samoset," said Winthrop, "to interpret between
us and this prisoner. Ask him if he acknowledges himself to be the
famous chief of the Pequots."

"Tell him," replied Sassacus, "that I am that eagle at whose scream
the Narraghansetts hide themselves like little birds in the bushes."

"A bold answer," said Winthrop. "Ask him now, wherefore he hath been
lurking in the woods in the vicinity of our lodges."

"The feet of Sassacus," answered the chief, "tread upon the forest
leaves at his pleasure. His ancestors never inquired of the Taranteens
nor of the Narraghansetts where they should hunt, and he will not ask
permission of the strangers with beards."

"Frank and defiant," muttered Endicott. "Come, I like this."

"The forests are very wide," said Winthrop, "and the game is not so
abundant in our immediate neighborhood. There must be some more
particular reason for thy conduct."

"Listen, O, white chief!" returned the Indian. "The path whereon the
tongue of Sassacus travels is a straight path. A great chief disdains
to tell a lie. Know then, that, for a long, long time--our oldest men
cannot recollect so far back, for they heard the legend from their
grandfathers, and they again from theirs--it hath been told among us,
that a race with a skin like the snow should come to our land, with
strange manners, and speaking a strange language; and when I heard of
Owanux, I came to see whether they were the men, for it becomes a
chief to watch for his people."

"And what said the tradition," asked Winthrop, "should be the fate of
the two races?"

"Tell him not, O, Samoset! my friend, who hast eaten with me from the
same pot--that the legend, sadder than the wail of warriors from an
unsuccessful expedition over the dead; than the sobs of the wintry
wind around the grave of my first-born--that, like the cloud in the
full moon, we were to waste away