The Bridge of the Gods

The Bridge of the Gods
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Frederic Homer Balch. The Bridge of the Gods

BOOK I. THE APOSTLE TO THE INDIANS

CHAPTER I. THE NEW ENGLAND MEETING

CHAPTER II. THE MINISTER’S HOME

CHAPTER III. A DARKENED FIRESIDE

CHAPTER IV. THE COUNCIL OF ORDINATION

CHAPTER V. INTO TRACKLESS WILDS

BOOK II. THE OPENING OF THE DRAMA

CHAPTER I. SHALL THE GREAT COUNCIL BE HELD?

CHAPTER II. THE WAR-CHIEF AND THE SEER

CHAPTER III. WALLULAH

CHAPTER IV. SENDING OUT THE RUNNERS

BOOK III. THE GATHERING OF THE TRIBES

CHAPTER I. THE BROKEN PEACE-PIPE

CHAPTER II. ON THE WAY TO THE COUNCIL

CHAPTER III. THE GREAT CAMP ON THE ISLAND

CHAPTER IV. AN INDIAN TRIAL

CHAPTER V. SENTENCED TO THE WOLF-DEATH

BOOK IV. THE LOVE TALE

CHAPTER I. THE INDIAN TOWN

CHAPTER II. THE WHITE WOMAN IN THE WOOD

CHAPTER III. CECIL AND THE WAR-CHIEF

CHAPTER IV. ARCHERY AND GAMBLING

CHAPTER V. A DEAD QUEEN’S JEWELS

CHAPTER VI. THE TWILIGHT TALE

CHAPTER VII. ORATOR AGAINST ORATOR

CHAPTER VIII. IN THE DARK

CHAPTER IX. QUESTIONING THE DEAD

BOOK V. THE SHADOW OF THE END

CHAPTER I. THE HAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT

CHAPTER II. THE MARRIAGE AND THE BREAKING UP

CHAPTER III. AT THE CASCADES

CHAPTER IV. MULTNOMAH’S DEATH-CANOE

CHAPTER V. AS WAS WRIT IN THE BOOK OF FATE

Отрывок из книги

One Sabbath morning more than two hundred years ago, the dawn broke clear and beautiful over New England. It was one of those lovely mornings that seem like a benediction, a smile of God upon the earth, so calm are they, so full of unutterable rest and quiet. Over the sea, with its endless line of beach and promontory washed softly by the ocean swells; over the towns of the coast, – Boston and Salem, – already large, giving splendid promise of the future; over the farms and hamlets of the interior, and into the rude clearings where the outer limits of civilization mingled with the primeval forest, came a flood of light as the sun rose above the blue line of eastern sea. And still beyond, across the Alleghanies, into the depth of the wilderness, passed the sweet, calm radiance, as if bearing a gleam of gospel sunshine to the Indians of the forest.

Nowhere did the Sunday seem more peaceful than in a sheltered valley in Massachusetts. Beautiful indeed were the thrifty orchards, the rustic farmhouses, the meadows where the charred stumps that marked the last clearing were festooned with running vines, the fields green with Indian corn, and around all the sweep of hills dark with the ancient wood. Even the grim unpainted meeting-house on the hill, which was wont to look the very personification of the rigid Calvinistic theology preached within it, seemed a little less bare and forbidding on that sweet June Sabbath.

.....

The sun’s edge flashed above the horizon, and its first rays fell through the uncurtained window full upon her face. She turned toward them, smiling faintly, and her face grew tenderly, radiantly beautiful, as if on that beam of sunshine the spirit of her dead lover had come to greet her from the sea. Then the sparkle died out of her eyes and the smile faded from her lips. It was only a white, dead face that lay there bathed in golden light.

A moment after, Cecil left the house with swift footsteps and plunged into the adjacent wood. There under a spreading oak he flung himself prone upon the earth, and buried his face in his hands. A seething turmoil of thoughts swept his mind. The past rose before him like a panorama. All his married life rushed back upon him, and every memory was regret and accusation.

.....

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