Center as if he were the precious Beating Heart of our Body Politic. After his Masterful Display at the Wharf, he had commanded all our Respect. I was reminded of the passage in Luke, where the Christ is led into the council of priests and scribes and asked to furnish proof of his identity. Our Lord replied engimatically then: “If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I ask you, you will not answer.” Yet still He carried the Day amongst the Disbelievers, and just so did Kane, despite his Stern Silence, evoke our Affections and Belief. And even the most Curious Statements he was later to make could not shake our Reliance on him.
Arnold’s demure wife and dainty daughters served a modest Collation of Small Beer and Pasties, which were but sparingly consumed. Truth to tell, no man among us was particularly an-hungered, as the ennervating Heat of this most ungodly August robbed one of all Appetite, and the Closeness of the Room only accentuated the oppressiveness. I myself was able to down only three or four of the handy Meat Pies, whereas under other circumstances my Youthful Stomach—a Demanding Master whose Mature Edicts would lead to a later Corpulence of Frame—would not have been sated without Twice that Number.
Drinking only from a Tumbler of Well Water, his Stomach apparently set Sharp only for Fighting, Kane surveyed us silently, as if we were but Tools arrayed for his Handiwork, and he deeming how best to employ us.
The first order of Business was to make Suitable Introductions of all the Figures of Some Account in the Affairs of the Colonies to our Honored Visitor. We had here assembled men from Plimoth, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and the Providence Plantations, each of the Polities that had suffered from the Depradations of the Salvages. Major Pynchon took this Affair into Hand, and Singularly Conducted each Colonist to shake the hand of the Brooding Puritan. Soon ’twas my Father’s turn, and I trailed expectantly in his Wake.
“Mr. Kane, this stalwart man of the cloth is the Reverend Increase Mather, Pastor of Boston’s North Church and President of Harvard College.”
Father shook Kane’s hand, and I awaited Acknowledgment of my Presence in turn. When such Token was not shortly forthcoming, I thrust forward and offered my own Hand, speaking boldly to the Corvine Adventurer from abroad.
“Cotton Mather, Sir, and most delighted to meet you.”
To my surprize, Father discharged no Public Rebuke upon me, but smiled at my Presumption.
“You will forgive my son, I hope, Mr. Kane, for he is something of a prodigy. Already enrolled in the College at his tender age, he exhibits more wit than many an elder I could name.”
Kane fixed upon me then a Stare of such Directness and Probing Intensity that I felt like moist, defenseless soil beneath the Farmer’s Plough. I fancied he was reading a direct Impression off my very Soul, estimating the Cut of my Inner Qualities and Weighing ’em in some Obscure Balance.
Evidently I passed Muster, for Kane gripped my outthrust Hand with fervor and replied, “The blood of righteousness flows strongly in this one. Let him be a part of our councils.”
Elated at this warm reception, half-dazed by Kane’s Glory, I somehow retreated to the Periphery of the Crowd, where I watched and listened attentively to the following Discourse.
It fell to my Sire to give a Concise Summary of the Atrocities conducted by the Salvages, clothing the Stage of the Debate as it were with the Gory Curtains that would frame our Final Campaign. He spoke as Fervently as if he stood behind his wonted Pulpit, blasting Sinners.
“Many an innocent soul has lost his very scalp to these barbarians after being cruelly struck down from behind. Defenseless babes have had their brains dashed out upon tree trunks. Women have been trammeled and dragged at several removes across the harsh countryside as mere chattel of their redskinned captors. Why, recounting the tragedy at Nine
Arnold’s demure wife and dainty daughters served a modest Collation of Small Beer and Pasties, which were but sparingly consumed. Truth to tell, no man among us was particularly an-hungered, as the ennervating Heat of this most ungodly August robbed one of all Appetite, and the Closeness of the Room only accentuated the oppressiveness. I myself was able to down only three or four of the handy Meat Pies, whereas under other circumstances my Youthful Stomach—a Demanding Master whose Mature Edicts would lead to a later Corpulence of Frame—would not have been sated without Twice that Number.
Drinking only from a Tumbler of Well Water, his Stomach apparently set Sharp only for Fighting, Kane surveyed us silently, as if we were but Tools arrayed for his Handiwork, and he deeming how best to employ us.
The first order of Business was to make Suitable Introductions of all the Figures of Some Account in the Affairs of the Colonies to our Honored Visitor. We had here assembled men from Plimoth, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and the Providence Plantations, each of the Polities that had suffered from the Depradations of the Salvages. Major Pynchon took this Affair into Hand, and Singularly Conducted each Colonist to shake the hand of the Brooding Puritan. Soon ’twas my Father’s turn, and I trailed expectantly in his Wake.
“Mr. Kane, this stalwart man of the cloth is the Reverend Increase Mather, Pastor of Boston’s North Church and President of Harvard College.”
Father shook Kane’s hand, and I awaited Acknowledgment of my Presence in turn. When such Token was not shortly forthcoming, I thrust forward and offered my own Hand, speaking boldly to the Corvine Adventurer from abroad.
“Cotton Mather, Sir, and most delighted to meet you.”
To my surprize, Father discharged no Public Rebuke upon me, but smiled at my Presumption.
“You will forgive my son, I hope, Mr. Kane, for he is something of a prodigy. Already enrolled in the College at his tender age, he exhibits more wit than many an elder I could name.”
Kane fixed upon me then a Stare of such Directness and Probing Intensity that I felt like moist, defenseless soil beneath the Farmer’s Plough. I fancied he was reading a direct Impression off my very Soul, estimating the Cut of my Inner Qualities and Weighing ’em in some Obscure Balance.
Evidently I passed Muster, for Kane gripped my outthrust Hand with fervor and replied, “The blood of righteousness flows strongly in this one. Let him be a part of our councils.”
Elated at this warm reception, half-dazed by Kane’s Glory, I somehow retreated to the Periphery of the Crowd, where I watched and listened attentively to the following Discourse.
It fell to my Sire to give a Concise Summary of the Atrocities conducted by the Salvages, clothing the Stage of the Debate as it were with the Gory Curtains that would frame our Final Campaign. He spoke as Fervently as if he stood behind his wonted Pulpit, blasting Sinners.
“Many an innocent soul has lost his very scalp to these barbarians after being cruelly struck down from behind. Defenseless babes have had their brains dashed out upon tree trunks. Women have been trammeled and dragged at several removes across the harsh countryside as mere chattel of their redskinned captors. Why, recounting the tragedy at Nine
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