Metacom, Miantonimoh,
and Conanchet, with their warriors, have become the heroes of song and
legend, while the descendants of those who laid waste their dominions, and
destroyed their race, are yielding a tardy tribute to the high daring and
savage grandeur of their characters.
The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish
Chapter I.
"I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith."
Shakespeare.
The incidents of this tale must be sought in a remote period of the annals
of America. A colony of self-devoted and pious refugees from religious
persecution had landed on the rock of Plymouth, less than half a century
before the time at which the narrative commences; and they, and their
descendants, had already transformed many a broad waste of wilderness into
smiling fields and cheerful villages. The labors of the emigrants had been
chiefly limited to the country on the coast, which, by its proximity to
the waters that rolled between them and Europe, afforded the semblance of
a connexion with the land of their forefathers and the distant abodes of
civilization.
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