Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring."
Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and beheld one
of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but rotten at the
core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, so that the first
high wind was likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was
scored the name of Deacon Peabody. He now looked round and found most
of the tall trees marked with the names of some great men of the
colony, and all more or less scored by the axe. The one on which he had
been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the name
of Crowninshield; and he recollected a mighty rich man of that name,
who made a vulgar display of wealth, which it was whispered he had
acquired by buccaneering.
"He's just ready for burning!" said the black man, with a growl of
triumph. "You see I am likely to have a good stock of firewood for
winter."
"But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down Deacon Peabody's
timber?"
"The right of prior claim," said the other. "This woodland belonged to
me long before one of your white-faced race put foot upon the soil."
"And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?" said Tom.
"Oh, I go by various names. I am the Wild Huntsman in some countries;
the Black Miner in others. In this neighborhood I am known by the name
of the Black Woodsman. I am he to whom the red men devoted this spot,
and now and then roasted a white man by way of sweet-smelling
sacrifice.
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