18. ANSWERED THEN THE SHERIFF, SAYING,
The Constable and Sheriff came
To the little Indian village
Presenting Peter Barber's claim
For his wayward daughter, Molly.
Slowly through the gloomy forests,
From the Mighty Central River,
Came the Constable and Sheriff —
Seen afar and soon reported
By the faithful scouts of Tomo-
Sent by angry Peter Barber
And the money he had promised,
If they caught his wayward daughter.
When the sun was high at midday,
Shining warmly in the valley,
In the valley of the Tunxis,
Came they to the Indian village.
Tomo met them by his wigwam,
Asked their names and all their business
In the peaceful Indian village.
Answered then the Sheriff, saying,
“We are Constable and Sheriff
From the Mighty Central River,
Sent by angry Peter Barber,
Hunting for his wayward daughter
Fleeing from her father's wigwam
With her Indian husband, Chaugham.
“We have come to capture White Girl,
Pretty White Girl, Molly Barber,
Long and golden are her tresses,
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders.
Fair and white the youthful maiden,
Like the lilies in the springtime.
Slowly spoke the stately Tomo,
“This a peaceful Indian village,
And your questions shall be answered.
All we have we show you gladly,
All our people and our wigwams.”
Then the chieftain called his people,
Beat the drum that called assembly.
O'er the hills and through the valley,
Rolled the urgent call of Tomo —
“Gather‘ round me, O My People,
Quickly let the tribe assemble,
For the Sheriff seeks a White Girl.”
Gathered then the Indian people
From the twenty sombre wigwams,
From the hunting in the forest,
From the fishing in the river,
From the scouting in the valley.
When the tribe had thus assembled,
In the space before the wigwams,
Spake the chieftain, crafty Tomo,—
“Ne-top-ki-ki-ta, Ski-dem-bak.
Harken unto me, My People,
Here are Constable and Sheriff
From the Mighty Central River,
Looking for a pretty White Girl,
Lovely White Girl, Molly Barber.
Golden yellow are her tresses
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders,
Lovely White Girl, Molly Barber,
Fleeing from her father's wigwam,
With her Indian husband, Chaugham.
“Listen well and look around you,
For the Constable and Sheriff
Think she's hiding in our village.
Have you seen her, O My People?
Pretty White Girl, Molly Barber,
With her golden, yellow tresses
Banked in ringlets o'er her shoulders?
Have you seen her? Have you seen her
By the river, in the forest?
Is she with us in the village?
“If you see her, quickly tell me
And I'll send her to her father.”
When the chief had finished speaking,
No one moved and no one answered.
All were silent in the village.
Looking o'er his loyal people,
Viewing all the upturned faces,
Slowly spoke the crafty Tomo,—
“I-no-see, -I-no-see-White-Girl-
With-her-golden-yellow-tresses-
Banked-in-ringlets-o'er-her-shoulders.”
Then in solemn, stately accents,
Spake the chieftain, crafty Tomo,
To the Constable and Sheriff,
“Go and search my people's wigwams,
Look in all the secret places.
If you find White Girl, you catch her,
Take her to her angry father.”
Then the Constable and Sheriff
Hastened to the Indian dwellings,
Eagerly they searched each wigwam,
Leaving all the contents scattered,
But they found no White Girl hidden,
Found no White Girl's shoes or clothing,
Found no tracks or trace of White Girl.
All the time the heart of Molly
Beat in silent fear and terror,
As she waited with the others,
Lest her father's hunters find her,
Lest they take her to her father.
When the anxious hunt was ended,
When the Constable and Sheriff
Had departed empty handed,
Had departed sadly homeward —
Followed by the scouts‘ of Tomo,
Lest they circle and, returning,
Creep in darkness near the village,
Thinking Tomo may have tricked them,
Hoping still to find the daughter
Of the angry Peter Barber,
Then the people of the village
Put their wigwams all in order,
Sought their usual occupations
‘ Till the sun, all low descending,
Warned them Of the gloomy twilight,
And the coming of the darkness,
With the need of peaceful slumber.
So they ate their frugal supper,
Fish from out the Tunxis River,
Squirrels from the lonely forest —
Speaking as they ate their supper,
Oft of Molly and of Chaugham,
And the visit of the sheriff.
Whispered words of praise for Tomo,
“Mighty Tomo, Crafty Chieftain,
Always speaking words of wisdom.”
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the wary scouts who listened,
Watching through the night-time,
Watching by the Tunxis River,
Watching on the lonely hill-side.
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the kindly Chieftain, Tomo,
At the door-way of his wigwam,
With the Narraganset, Chaugham,
Talking, planning for the morrow-
How to further aid the couple,
How to hide them ever safely,
In some lonely mountain fastness,
Where the angry Peter Barber,
Ever searching, could n't find them —
All the time the kindly Chieftain
Listened to his scouts reporting,
From the hill-side and the river —
“Whip-poor-will” a bird was singing —
“All is well along the hill-side,”
And a loon was softly calling —
“All is well along the river.”
When the morning sun was shining,
Molly Barber and her husband,
With the aid of Tomo's sannups
Bearing axes and equipment,
Hastened northward through the forest,
Ever near the Tunxis River,
To the side of Ragged Mountain,
In the town of fair Barkhamsted,
And beside the sparkling river
Found a place for habitation,
Builded there a lonely cabin,
Midst the trees beside the mountain,
Built a cabin in the Greenwoods,
Deep within the gloomy shadows.
First of all the early cabins
Built within Barkhamsted borders,
Strong and sturdy was this cabin,
Built of logs of oak and hemlock,
Home of Molly and of Chaugham,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
Catamounts and bears and panthers
Sniffed around the lonely cabin
In the dark and dreary night-time.
Molly feared these forest creatures,
Feared they'd break the fragile windows,
Feared they'd enter through the windows,
Feared they'd kill herself and Chaugham.
Many sleepless nights she trembled
At the howling of the wolf-pack
In the valley by the Tunxis.
Oft she thought of home and mother
By the mighty Central River,
But her courage did not fail her
When she thought of Peter Barber
And his cruel, angry shouting.
Oft she whispered in the darkness,
“Better fear the catamountains,
Better face the bears and panthers,
Better hear the wild wolves howling
Than an angry father shouting,
Or reside within the shadow
Of his dark and gloomy presence.”
For a hundred years this cabin
Stood beside the Tunxis River,
By the famous Tunxis River,
River nam, ed for Tunxis Indians,
Calm and peaceful Indians dwelling
In their Farmington round houses,
And the term, “The Tunxis River,”
Signifies, in Indian accents,
“Beautiful and rapid river.”