“Return now to thy people,” he said, looking at the Indian with a stern aspect, “and tell them what thou hast seen and heard.  Tell them that, though the English love peace, they fear not war.  Tell them that we have never wronged the Taranteens by word or deed, nor is it our intention now to punish them for their injurious suspicions.  But tell them, also that, as I have broken their arrows and dashed their war-axe, in pieces, so will I serve them, if the north-wind brings to my ears a whisper of evil designs from them.  And as I have stuffed the snake skin with powder and ball, so will I fill their bodies with the same.  Return.”

As Winthrop uttered these words with a firm voice and imposing manner—­words so explained by his actions that they needed no interpretation—­he was confronted by the Taranteen with a dignity equal to his own.  The demeanor of the savage was as calm as if he were smoking a pipe in his wigwam.  He quietly followed every motion with his eyes, listened with all attention, as if he understood what was said, and, when Winthrop had concluded, took the loaded skin and handed it to his follower.  The inferior Indian shrunk as he received the portentous powder and shot in their strange envelope, but whatever apprehensions he felt, he succeeded in conquering them, taking care however to hold the missive at a little distance from his person.

“Tender now our hospitality,” said Winthrop to the Knight, “so long as they remain among us.”

“But the Taranteens showed no disposition to accept the offer.  Something was growled by the principal one, which Sir Christopher interpreted to intimate a desire to depart.

“Be it so,” replied Winthrop.  “Moulton,” he added, calling a soldier, “take with you Gamlyn, and escort these savages with all civility to their canoes.  And should they desire anything to promote the comfort of their return, let it be furnished and placed to my account.”

The orders of the Governor were explained to the Indians by the Knight, and they left the room in the care of the soldiers.

“Sir Christopher,” said Winthrop, on their departure, “this is a miserable coil.  Now will these misguided savages, instigated I doubt not by the emissaries of Rome, soon be yelling upon our borders, and seeking to imbrue their hands in our blood.  Were we dealing only with the natives, there might be some hope of soothing their ferocity and averting an outbreak of their insane rage; but nothing can be done with the Jesuit—­more subtle than the serpent, more fell than the Hyrcanian tiger.”

“Have the disciples of Loyola penetrated to this fierce tribe?” inquired Sir Christopher.

“Art thou ignorant that the cunning father Le Jeune, the daring Brebeuf, and I know not what instigators of mischief besides, are said to be among them?  Pity is it truly that so much learning and so great zeal should be expended in so bad a cause.”

“It was known before I left England that these men had made some little progress among the natives in Southern America, where gold and silver abound; but who would have looked for them in these colder and comparatively inhospitable regions?  May there not be some error in this matter, and our fears of the dreaded Order have converted interested and malignant traders into members of the so-styled Company of Jesus?”