Hawthorne laments the disappearance of wooded habitat inhabited by the Indians before the arrival of the destructive white men.
And the Indians, coming from their distant wigwams to view the white man's settlement, marvel at the deep track which he makes, and perhaps are
saddened by a flitting presentiment, that this heavy tread will find its way over all the land; and that the wild woods, the wild wolf, and the wild
Indian, will alike be trampled beneath it. Even so shall it be. The pavements of the Main-street must be laid over the red man's grave.
Hawthorne narrates about ships coming from England which will prosper in part by trading with the Indians. He describes the pelts Indians
use to trade for English goods.
The good ship Abigail has arrived from England, bringing wares and merchandise, for the comfort of the inhabitants, and traffic with the Indians;
bringing passengers too, and, more important than all, a Governor for the new settlement. Roger Conant and Peter Palfrey, with their companions,
have been to the shore to welcome him; and now, with such honor and triumph as their rude way of life permits, arc escorting the sea-flushed
voyagers to their habitations. At the point where Endicott enters upon the scene, two venerable trees unite their branches high above his head; thus
forming a triumphal arch of living verdure, beneath which he pauses, with his wife leaning on his arm, to catch the first impression of their
Of all the wild life that used to throng here, only the Indians still come into the settlement, bringing the skins of beaver and otter, bear and
elk, which they sell to Endicott for the wares of England. And there is little John Massey, the son of Jeffrey Massey and first-born of Naumkeag,
playing beside his father's threshold, a child of six or seven years old. Which is the better-grown infant,--the town or the boy?
Hawthorne laments that the lands once an integral part of the Indians' lives is denied to them.
The red men have become aware, that the street is no longer free to them, save by the sufferance and permission of the settlers. Often, to impress
them with an awe of English power, there is a muster and training of the town-forces, and a stately march of the mail-clad band, like this which we
now see advancing up the street.
Hawthorne briefly refers to Indians as heathens.
Here comes old Mr. Norris, our venerable minister. Will they doff their hats, and pay reverence to him? No: their hats stick fast to their
ungracious heads, as if they grew there; and--impious varlets that they are, and worse than the heathen Indians!--they eye our reverend pastor with
a peculiar scorn, distrust, unbelief, and utter denial of his sanctified pretensions, of which he himself immediately becomes conscious; the more
bitterly conscious, as he never knew nor dreamed of the like before.
("Main-Street" from The Snow-Image and Other Twice-Told Tales 1852)