22. TALES OF JAMES’ AND MOLLY'S

While hearth flames danced in magic plays,

James and Molly told their children

The stories of their childhood days —

Wethersfield and Narragansett.

Molly told them of her mother,

All the kindness of her mother

And the story of her father,

Of her proud and wealthy father

And her home beside the river

Where the big canoes were floating

On the mighty Central River;

Told them of the early plowing

In the fields beside the river,

And the harvest in the autumn —

All the golden corn and pumpkins.

Told them of the holy Sabbath,—

How in church the people gathered,

Listened to the pastor's sermons,

Prayed to God for his protection.

Taught them all to say “Our Father — "

Ere they closed their eyes in slumber,

Tried to teach them to be Christians,

Even in the lonely forest.

Then she told them of the parties,

With the fiddling and the dancing,

‘ Till their minds were filled with wonder

As they listened to her stories.

Chaugham told them of his parents

Living in their Indian wigwam

On the confines of Block Island,

Storied “Island of Manisses,”

Rising midst the swinging ocean.

There between the storm-lashed ledges,

With the shifting sand and sea-weed,

Ever drifting all about them

Lie canoe and sailing vessel,

Broken by the wild waves’ fury.

Chaugham told them of his boyhood,

Of the fishing in the ocean,

Of the hunting in the forest

And the coming of the white man.

Told them of his Indian father,

All his skill in fishing, hunting.

Told them of the forest dances,

Taught them how to pray to Manito,

How to scare the evil spirits,

Dji-bai, from the fires eternal,

Souls of wicked ones departed

From the pathways of the living

To the fires beneath the mountains,

Fires beneath the smoking mountains,

Where they surfer through the ages,

Coming, back at times in anger,

Seeking vengeance on the living.

Told them of the talking spirits,

Ghosts that wander in the night-time,

Viewing old familiar places;

Ghosts that whisper in the darkness,

Souls of those who once were with us.

Souls of honest, kindly people

Ever absent in the day-time,

Often present in the night-time;

Always peaceful, harmless spirits,

From the Happy Realms of Sunset,

From the wigwams of the Blessed,

Souls of those who have departed

Coming back to scenes deserted,

Seeking old familiar places,

Singing, talking in the darkness,

Told them of the festive dances,

In the autumn in the moonlight,

When the ears of corn were yellow

And they gathered in the harvest.

Taught them how to chant sedately,

When they met along the pathway,

“Hun-da-hun-he; Hun-da-hun-he,”

Peacefully we walk together,

“Hun-da-hun-he; Hun-da-hun-he.”

This was friendship's sacred token

Known by all the Narragansetts.

Taught them ancient Indian legends,

Legends of the Narragansetts,

All the mystery of creation,

How the lands and seas were fashioned,

By great Manito, the Mighty,

Little Solomon and Samuel

Learned to dance in wild abandon

Swiftly round the flashing firelight,

Like the Narragansett sannups —

All the children learned the legends

Of the Narragansett people.

With a background partly whiteman,

From the sayings of their mother;

With a background partly Indian,

From the sayings of their father,

Growing up, they roamed the valley,

Traveled often through the township,

Mingled daily with the natives,

Meeting many, making friendships.