“They do, though they give him a different name,” answered the Knight.  “He was a Great Spirit, who was expelled from heaven, or the happy hunting grounds, because of his wickedness.”

“Was he not very happy there, and had all that he wanted?” inquired the Pequot.

“He was happy and preeminent above all other manitos in glory and power.”

“How then became he wicked?”

“That is a question which our wise men have never been able to answer.  But he envied the greatness of the Master of Life, and desired to occupy his place.”

“Can your Hobbamocki be in two places at once?”

“No.  Being a created spirit, he is limited.”

“It cannot be, then, that he was such a fool,” said the chief, decisively.  “Behold! the Master of Life is every where!  He is like the air and the light.  Manitos are very little things beside him, and all together cannot fill his place.  Your powahs have deceived you, and told a foolish story of their own invention.  No.  Hobbamocki was vexed because the Great Spirit did not like him, and for that reason tries to revenge himself, by troubling those whom the Great Spirit loves.”

“At least,” said the Knight, “our two traditions agree in this—­that there is an evil spirit, who injures and leads men into wickedness, and therein do thy legends confirm the truth of the Catholic religion.”

“Do the people at Shawmut, under Sagamore Winthrop, believe in all things, as my brother?”

“Nay.  They are heretics, and given over to believe a lie—­from whom this land shall be taken, and bestowed as an heritage on others, who shall be the Indians’ friends, and they shall all live together.”

“Listen!  My brother has spoken of this before, and Sassacus has thought much about it.  It seems to me that when the Great Spirit spoke to the white men, they could not understand his words, but his voice was to them like the sighing of the wind among the trees, or the dashing of the green water on the shore, for they cannot agree about their religion.  But the ears of the Indians were sharper, and they all understood alike, and therefore they do not differ about what the Master of Life said, and they also know better concerning Hobbamocki.  Has not my brother told me that the white men fight and kill one another about their religion?”

“Alas! it is too true,” replied Sir Christopher.

“Indians never do so.  Let us do a great thing,” added Sassacus, his face suddenly kindling, as with the inspiration of a magnificent thought—­“we will teach the English our religion, which we never fight about, because we know it to be true, and the English shall teach us how to build ships, and make guns and powder; and, together, we will drive the Taranteens into the salt lake.”

“It is in vain,” said the Knight to himself, on hearing this extraordinary proposition.  “He doth, ever in his childlike simplicity, say something to confound me.  His untutored mind is yet incapable of receiving the mysteries of our holy religion, but, in lieu thereof, perpetually runs after the practical and immediate advantages of powder and guns.  Direct the conversation as I may, this target doth it hit at last.”