' LI O A "nO/^I IF* ri . o/ArCovJUrv. METIPOM'S HOSTAGE KING PHILIP METIPOM'S HOSTAGE BEING A NARRATIVE OF CERTAIN SURPRISING ADVENTURES BEFALLING ONE DAVID LINDALL IN THE FIRST YEAR OF KING PHILIP'S WAR BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY $fc ftfcrtffte press Cambridge COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA COPYRIGHT, 1021, BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS I. THE RED OMEN II. THE MEETING IN THE WOODS III. DOWN THE WINDING RIVER IV. THE SPOTTED ARROW V. DAVID VISITS THE PRAYING VILLAGE VI. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE POOL VII. CAPTURED VIII. METIPOM QUESTIONS IX. THE VILLAGE OF THE WACHOOSETTS X. SEQUANAWAH PLEDGES FRIENDSHIP XL THE CAVE IN THE FOREST XII. DAVID FACES DEATH XIII. A FRIEND IN STRANGE GUISE XIV. EMISSARIES FROM KING PHILIP XV. THE SACHEM DECIDES XVI. MONAPIKOT'S MESSAGE XVII. METIPOM TAKES THE WAR-PATH XVIII. IN KING PHILIP'S POWER XIX. THE ISLAND IN THE SWAMP XX. DAVID BEARS A MESSAGE XXI. To THE RESCUE XXII. THE ATTACK ON THE GARRISON XXIII. STRAIGHT ARROW RETURNS ILLUSTRATIONS KING PHILIP Frontispiece IN THAT INSTANT DAVID KNEW, AND HIS HEART LEAPED INTO HIS THROAT 80 THERE WAS A SWIFT whiz-zt BESIDE HIM AND AN ARROW EMBEDDED ITSELF IN A SAPLING 224 THEN DAVID WAS HALF PUSHING, HALF CARRY- ING MONAPIKOT THROUGH THE DOORWAY 282 METIPOM S HOSTAGE CHAPTER I THE RED OMEN DAVID LINDALL stirred uneasily in his sleep, sighed, muttered, and presently became partly awake. Thereupon he was conscious that all was not as it had been when slumber had overtaken him, for, beyond his closed lids, the attic, which should have been as dark at this hour as the inside of any pocket, was illuminated. He opened his eyes. The rafters a few feet above his head were visible in a strange radiance. He raised himself on an elbow, blinking and curious. The light did not come from the room below, nor was it the yellow glow of a pine-knot. No sound came to him save the loud breathing of his father and Obid, the servant, the former near at hand, the latter at the other end of the attic : no sound, that is, save the soft sighing of the night breeze in the pines and hemlocks at the eastern edge of the clearing. That was 2 METIPOM' S HOSTAGE ever-present and so accustomed that David had to listen hard to hear it. But this strange red glow was new and disturbing, and now, wide awake, the boy sought the explanation of it and found it once his gaze had moved to the north window. Above the tops of the distant trees beyond the plantation, the sky was like the mouth of a furnace, and against the unearthly glow the topmost branches of the taller trees stood sharply, like forms cut from black pa- per. "Father!" called the boy. Nathan Lindall was awake on the instant. "You called, David? " he asked. " Yes, father. The forest is afire ! " " Nay, 'tis not the forest," answered Nathan Lindall when he had looked from the window. " The woods are too damp at this season, and I have never heard of the Indians firing them save in the fall. J Tis some one's house, lad, and I fear " He did not finish, but turned instead to Obid Dawkin who had joined them. " What say you, Obid? " he questioned. " I say as you, master," replied Obid in his thin, rusty voice. " And 'tis the work of the heathens, I doubt not. But whose house THE RED OMEN 3 it may be I do not know, for it seems too much east to be any in Sudbury, and " " And how far, think you ? " " Maybe four miles, sir, or maybe but two. 'Tis hard to say." " Three, then, Obid : and that brings us to Master William Vernham's, for none other lies in that direction and so near. Whether it be set afire by the Indians we shall know in time. But don your clothing, for there may be work for us, although I misdoubt that we arrive in time." " And may I go with you, father ? " asked David eagerly. "Nay, lad, for we must travel fast and 'twill be hard going. Do you bolt well the door when we are gone and then go back to bed. 'Tis nigh on three already and 'twill soon be dawn. Art ready, Obid? " " Nay, for Sathan has hidden my breeches, Master Lindall," grumbled the man, " and without breeches I will not venture forth." " Do you find them quickly or a clout upon your thick skull may aid you," responded Nathan Lindall grimly. " I have them, master," piped Obid hur- riedly. " Look, sir, the fire is dying out," said 4 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE David. " The sky is far less red, I think." " Maybe 'tis but a wild-goose chase we go on," replied his father, " and yet 'tis best to go. David, do you slip down and set out the muskets and see that there be ammuni- tion to hand. Doubtless in time this jabber- ing knave will be clothed." " I be ready now, master ! And as for jab- bering " " Cease, cease, and get you down ! " A minute or two later David watched their forms melt into the darkness beyond the barn. Then, closing the door, he shot home the heavy iron bolt and dropped the stout oak bar as well. In the wide chimney- place a few live embers glowed amidst the gray ashes and he coaxed them to life with the bellows and dropped splinters of resinous pine upon them until a cheery fire was crack- ling there. Then, rubbing out the lighted knot against the stones of the hearth, he drew a bench to the blaze and warmed himself, for the night, although May was a week old, was chill. The room, which took up the whole lower floor of the house, was nearly square, per- haps six paces one way by seven the other. The ceiling was low, so low that Nathan THE RED OMEN 5 Lindall's head but scantily escaped the rough-hewn beams. The furnishings would to-day be rude and scanty, but in the year 1675 they were considered proper and suffi- cient. In fact Nathan Lindall's dwelling was rather better furnished than most of its kind. The table and the two benches flanking it had been fashioned in Boston by the best cabinet-maker in the Colony. The four chairs were comfortable and sightly, the chest of drawers was finely carved and had come over from England, and the few arti- cles that were of home manufacture were well and strongly made. Six windows, guarded by heavy shutters, gave light to the room, and one end was almost entirely taken up by the wide chimney-place. At the other end 3. steep flight of steps led to the room above, no more than an attic under the high sloping roof. David had lived in the house seven years, and he was now sixteen, a tall, well-made boy with pleasing countenance and ways which, for having dwelt so long on the edge of the wilderness, were older than his age warranted. His father had taken up his grant of one hundred acres in 1668, removing from the Plymouth Colony after the death of his wife. David's recollection of his mother was undimmed in spite of the more than eight years that had passed, but, as he had been but a small lad at the time of her death, his memory of her, unlike his father's, held little pain. The grant, part woodland and part meadow, lay sixteen miles from Boston and north of Natick. It was a pleasant tract, with much fine timber and a stream which, rising in a spring-fed pond not far from the house, meandered southward and ultimately entered the Charles River. The river lay a long mile to the east and was the highway on which they traveled, whether to Boston or Dedham. Nathan Lindall had brought some forty acres of his land under cultivation, and for the wheat, corn, and potatoes that he raised found a ready market in Boston. The household consisted of Nathan Lin- dall, David, and Obid Dawkin. Obid had come to the Colony many years before as a " bond servant," had served his term and then hired to Master Lindall. In England he had been a school-teacher, although of small attainments, and now to his duties of helping till and sow and harvest was added that of instructing David. Considering the lack of books, he had done none so badly, and David THE RED OMEN 7 possessed more of an education than was common in those days for a boy of his posi- tion. It may be said of Obid that he was a better farmer than teacher and a better cook than either ! It was a lonely life that David led, al- though he was never lonesome. There was work and study always, and play at times. His play was hunting and fishing and fash- ioning things with the few rude tools at hand. Of hunting there was plenty, for at that time and for many years later eastern Massachu- setts abounded in animals and birds valuable for food as well as many others sought for pelt or plumage. Red deer were plentiful, and beyond the Sudbury Marshes only the winter before some of the Natick Indians had slain a moose of gigantic size. Wolves caused much trouble to those who kept cattle or sheep, and in Dedham a bounty of ten shillings had lately been offered for such as were killed within the town. Foxes, both red and gray, raccoons, porcupines, woodchucks, and rabbits were numerous, while the ponds and streams supplied beavers, muskrats, and otters. Bears there were, as well, and some- times panthers ; and many lynxes and mar- tens. Turkeys, grouse, and pigeons were 8 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE common, the latter flying in flocks of many hundreds. Geese, swans, ducks, and cranes and many smaller birds frequented streams and marshes, and there were trout in the brooks and bass, pickerel, and perch in the ponds. At certain seasons the alewives as- cended the streams in thousands and were literally scooped from the water to be used as fertilizer. There was, therefore, no dearth of flesh for food nor skins for clothing so long as one could shoot a gun, set a trap, or drop a hook. Of traps David had many, and the south end of the house was never without several skins in process of curing. Larger game had fallen to his prowess, for he had twice shot a bear and once a panther: the skins of these lay on the floor in evidence. He was a good shot, but there was scant virtue in that at a time when the use of the musket, both for hunting and for defense against the Indians, was uni- versal amongst the settlers. Rather, he prided himself on his skill in the making of traps and snowshoes and such things as were needed about the house. He had clever hands for such work. He could draw, too, not very skillfully, but so well that Obid could dis- tinguish at the first glance which was the pig THE RED OMEN 9 and which the ox! And at such times his teacher would grumblingly regret that his talent did not run more to the art of writing. But, since Obid's own signature looked more like a rat's nest than an autograph, the com- plaint came none too well. Sitting before the fire to-night, David fol- lowed in thought the journey of his father and Obid and wished himself with them. Nathan Lindall had spoken truly when he had predicted hard going, for the ice, which still lay in the swamps because of an unsea- sonable spell of frost the week gone, was too thin to bear one and the trail to Master Vernham's must keep to the high ground and the longer distance. The three miles, David reflected, would become four ere the men reached their destination, and in the dark- ness the ill-defined trail through the woods would be hard to follow. It was far easier to sit here at home, toasting his knees, but no boy of sixteen will choose ease before ad- venture, and the possibility of the fire having been set by the Indians suggested real adven- ture. A year and more ago such a possibility would have been little considered, for the tribes had been long at peace with the col- io METIPOM'S HOSTAGE onists, but to-day matters were changed. It had been suspected for some time that Pom- etacom, or King Philip, as he was called, sachem of the Wampanoags, was secretly un- friendly toward the English. Indeed, nearly four years since he had been summoned to Taunton and persuaded to sign articles of submission, which he did with apparent good grace, but with secret dissatisfaction. Real uneasiness on the part of the English was not bred, however, until the year before our story. Then Sassamon, a Massachusett In- dian who had become a convert of John Eliot's at the village of Praying Indians at Natick, brought word to Plymouth of in- tended treachery by Philip. Sassamon had been with Philip at Mount Hope acting as his interpreter. Philip had learned of Sassa- mon's treachery and had caused his death. Three Indians suspected of killing Sassamon were apprehended, tried, convicted, and, in June of the following year, executed. Of the three one was a counselor of Philip's, and the latter, although avoiding any acts of hos- tility pending the court's decision, was bit- terly resentful and began to prepare for war. During the winter various annoyances had been visited upon the settlers by roaming THE RED OMEN n Indians. In some cases the savages were known to be Wampanoags ; in other cases the friendly Indians of the villages and settle- ments were suspected, perhaps often un- justly. Even John Eliot's disciples at Natick did not escape suspicion. Rumors of threat- ening signs were everywhere heard. Exag- gerated stories of Indian depredations trav- eled about the sparsely settled districts. From the south came the tale of disaffection amongst the Narragansetts, and from the north like rumors regarding the Abenakis. There was a feeling of alarm everywhere amongst the English, and even in Boston there were timorous souls who feared an at- tack on that town. As yet, however, nothing untoward had occurred in the Massachusetts- Bay Colony, and the only Indians that Da- vid knew were harmless and frequently rather sorry-looking specimens who led a precarious existence by trading furs with the English or who dwelt in the village at Natick. Most of them were Nipmucks, although other neighboring tribes were represented as well. Save that they not infrequently stole from his traps sometimes taking trap as well as catch David knew nothing to the discredit of the Indians. Often they came to the house, 12 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE more often he ran across them on the river or in the forest. Always they were friendly. One or two he counted as friends ; Monapi- kot, a Pegan youth of near his own age who dwelt at Natick, and Mattatanopet, or Joe Tanopet as he was known, who came and went as it pleased him, bartering skins for food and tobacco, and who claimed to be the son of a Wamesit chief; a claim very gen- erally discredited. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that David added a good sea- soning of salt to the tales of Indian unfriend- liness, nor that to-night he was little inclined to lay the burning of William Vernham's house at the door of the savages. And yet, since where there is much smoke there must be some fire, he realized that Obid's surmise might hold more than preju- dice. Obid was firmly of the belief that the Indian was little if any better than the beast of the forest and had no sympathy with the Reverend John Eliot's earnest endeavors to convert them to Christianity, arguing that an Indian had no soul and that none, not even John Eliot, could save what didn't exist! Nathan Lindall held opposite views both of the Indian and of John Eliot's efforts, and many a long and warm argument took place THE RED OMEN 13 about the fire of a winter evening, while Da- vid, longing to champion his father's conten- tions, maintained the silence becoming one of his years. The fire dwindled and David presently be- came aware of the chill, and, yawning, climbed the stair and sought his bed with many shivers at the touch of the cold cloth- ing. A fox barked in the distance, but save for that all was silent. Northward the red glow had faded from the sky and the blacker darkness that precedes the first sign of dawn wrapped the world. CHAPTER II THE MEETING IN THE WOODS IT was broad daylight when David awoke, rudely summoned from slumber by the loud tattoo on the door below. He tumbled sleep- ily down the stair and admitted his father and Obid, their boots wet with the dew that hung sparkling in the pale sunlight from every spray of sedge and blade of grass. While Obid, setting aside his musket, began the preparation of breakfast, David ques- tioned his father. " By God's favor 'twas not the house, Da- vid, but the barn and a goodly store of hay that was burned. Fortunately these were far enough away so that the flames but scorched the house. Master Vernham and the servants drew water from the well and so kept the roof wet. The worst of it was over ere we arrived. Some folks from the set- tlement at Sudbury came also: John Long- staff and a Master Warren, of Salem, who is on a visit there, and two Indians." " How did the fire catch, sir? " asked Da- vid. THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 15 " 'Twas set," replied Nathan Lindall grimly. " Indians were seen skulking about the woods late in the afternoon, and 'tis thought they were some that have set up their wigwams above the Beaver Pond since autumn." "But why, sir?" " I know not, save that Master Vernham tells me that of late they have shown much insolence and have frequently come to his house begging for food and cloth. At first he gave, but soon their importunity wearied him and he refused. They are, he says, a povern and worthless lot; renegade Mohe- gans he thinks. But dress yourself, lad, and be about your duties." Shortly after the midday meal, Nathan Lindall and Obid again set forth, this time taking the Sudbury path, and David, left to his own devices, finished the ploughing of the south field which was later to be sown to corn, and then, unyoking the oxen and re- turning them to the barn, he took his gun and made his way along the little brook toward the swamp woods. The afternoon, half gone, was warm and still, and a bluish haze lay over the distant hills to the south- east. A rabbit sprang up from almost be- 1 6 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE neath his feet as he entered the white birch and alder thicket, but he forbore to shoot, since its flesh was not esteemed as food and the pelt was too soft for use at that season of the year. For that matter, there was little game worth the taking in May, and David had brought his gun with him more from force of habit than aught else. It was enough to be abroad on such a day, for the spring was waking the world and it seemed that he could almost see the tender young leaves of the white birches unfold. Birds chattered and sang as he skirted the marsh and ap- proached the deeper forest beyond. A chest- nut stump had been clawed but recently by a bear in search of the fat white worms that dwelt in the decaying wood, and David found the prints of the beast's paws and fol- lowed them until they became lost in the swamp. Turning back, his ears detected the rustling of feet on the dead leaves a few rods distant, and he paused and peered through the greening forest. After a moment an In- dian came into view, a rather thick-set, middle-aged savage with a round counte- nance. He wore the English clothes save that his feet were fitted to moccasins instead of shoes and had no doublet above a frayed THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 17 and stained waistcoat that had once been bright green. Nor did he wear any hat, but, instead, three blue feathers woven into his hair. He carried a bow and arrows and a hunting-knife hung at his girdle. A string of wampum encircled his neck. That he had seen David as soon as David had seen him was evident, for his hand was already raised in greeting. " Tis you, Tanopet," called David. " For the moment I took you for the bear that has been dining at yonder stump." " Aye," grunted the Indian, approaching. " Greeting, brother. Where see bear? " David explained, Joe Tanopet listening gravely the while. Then, " No good," he said. " No catch um in swamp. What shoot, David ? " He pointed to the boy's musket. " Nothing, Joe. I brought gun along for friend to talk to. Where you been so long? You haven't been here since winter." Tanopet's gaze wandered and he waved a hand vaguely. " Me go my people," he answered. " All very glad see me. Make feast, make dance, make good time." " Is your father Big Chief still living, Joe?" ' " Aye, but um very old. Soon um die. 1 8 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE Then Joe be chief. How your father, Da- vid? " " Well, I thank you; and so is Obid." Joe Tanopet scowled and spat. " Um little man talk foolish, no good. You see fire last night? >: " Aye. Father and Obid Dawkin went to give aid, but the flames were out when they reached Master Vernham's. They say that the fire was set, Joe." " Aye." " They suspect some Indians who have been living near the Beaver Pond," contin- ued David questioningly. Joe Tanopet shook his head. " Not Bea- ver Pond people." "Who then, Joe?" " Maybe Manitou make fire," replied the Indian evasively. " Man or two, rather," laughed David. "Anyhow, father and Obid have gone to Sudbury where they are to confer with others, and I fear it may go hard with the Beaver Pond Indians. How do you know that they did not set the fire, Joe? " " Me know. You tell father me say." " Aye, but with no more proof than that I fear 'twill make little difference," answered THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 19 the boy dubiously. " Joe, they say that there are many strange Indians in the forest this spring; that Mohegans have been seen as far north as Meadfield. Is it true? " " Me no see um Mohegans. Me see um Wampanoags. Me see um Niantiks. Much trouble soon. Maybe when leaves on trees." "Trouble? You mean King Philip?" "Aye. Him bite um nails long time. Him want um fight. Him great sachem. Him got many friends. Much trouble in summer." Tanopet gazed past David as though seeing a vision in the shadowed forest beyond. " Big war soon, but no good. English win. Philip listen bad counsel. Um squaw Woo- tonekanuske tell um fight. Um Peebe tell um fight. All um powwows tell um make war. Tell um drive English into sea, no come back here. All um lands belong Indi- ans once more. Philip um think so too. No good. Wampanoags big fools. Me know." " I hope you are mistaken, Joe, for such a war would be very foolish and very wrong. That Philip has cause for complaint against the Plymouth Colony I do not doubt, but it is true, too, my father says, that he has failed to abide by the promises he made. As for driving the English out of the country, that 20 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE is indeed an idle dream, for now that the Colonies are leagued together their strength of arms is too great. Not all the Indian Na- tions combined could bring that about. Philip should take warning of what happened to the Pequots forty years ago." " Um big war," grunted Tanopet. " Many Indians die. Joe um little boy, but um see. Indians um fight arrow and spear, but now um fight guns. English much kind to Indian. Um sell um gun, um sell um bullet, um sell um powder." Tanopet's wrinkled face was slyly ironical. " Philip got plenty guns, plenty bullet." " But how can that be, Joe ? 'Tis but four years gone that his guns were taken from him." " Um catch more maybe. Maybe um not give up all guns. Good-bye." Tanopet made a sign of farewell, turned and strode lightly away into the darkening forest, and David, his gun across his shoul- der, sought his home, his thoughts busy with what the Indian had said. Joe Tanopet was held trustworthy by the colonists there- abouts, and, since he was forever on the move and having discourse with Indians of many tribes, it might well be that his words THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 21 were worthy of consideration. For the first time David found reason to fear that the dis- mal prophecies of Obid Dawkin might come true. He determined to tell his father of Tan- opet's talk when he returned. But when David reached the house, he found only Obid there, preparing supper. " Master Lindall will not be back until the morrow," explained Obid. " He and Master Vernham have gone to Boston with four In- dians that we made prisoners of, and who, I pray, will be hung to the gallows-tree." " Prisoners ! " exclaimed David. " Mean you that there has been fighting, then ? " " Fighting ? Nay, the infidels had no stomach for fighting. They surrendered themselves readily enough, I promise, when they saw in what force we had come. But some had already gone away, doubtless hav- ing warning of our intention, and only a handful were there when we reached their village. Squaws and children mostly, they were, and there was great howling and dis- may when we burned the wigwams." " But is it known, Obid, that it was indeed they who did the mischief to Master Vern- ham's place? " " Well enough, Master David. They made 22 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE denial, but so they would in any case, and always do. One brave who appeared to be their leader his name is Noosawah, an I have it right told a wild tale of strange Indians from the north and how they had been seen near the High Hill two days since, and proclaimed his innocence most loudly." " And might he not have been telling the truth? " "Tis thought not, Master David. At least, it was deemed best to disperse them, for they were but a Gypsy-sort and would not say plainly from whence they came." " It sounds not just," protested David. " Indeed, Obid, 'tis such acts that put us English in the wrong and give grounds for complaint to the savages. And now, when, by all accounts, there is ill-feeling enough, I say that it was badly done." Obid snorted indignantly. " Would you put your judgment against that of your father and Master Vernham and such men of wisdom as John Grafton, of Sudbury, and Richard Wight, Master David? " ;< I know not," answered David troubledly. " And yet it seems to me that a gentler pol- icy were better. It may be that we shall need all the friends we can secure before many months, Obid." THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 23 " Aye, but trustworthy friends, not these Sons of Sathan who offer peace with one hand and hide a knife in t'other ! An I were this Governor Leverett I would not wait, I promise you, for the savages to strike the first blow, but would fall upon them with all the strength of the united Colonies and drive the ungodly creatures from the face of the earth." " Then it pleases me well that you are not he," laughed David as he sat himself to the table. " But tell me, Obid, what of the In- dians that father and Master Vernham are taking to Boston? Surely they will not exe- cute them on such poor evidence ! " " Nay," grumbled Obid, " they will doubt- less be sold into the West Indies." " Sold as slaves ? A hard sentence, me- thinks. And the women and children, what of them? You say the village was burned? " " Aye, to the ground ; and a seemly work, too. The squaws and the children and a few young men made off as fast as they might. I doubt they will be seen hereabouts again," he concluded grimly. " For my part, I hold that Master Lindall and the rest were far too lenient, since they took but four prisoners, they being the older men, and let all others 24 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE go free. I thought to see Master Vernham use better wisdom, but 'tis well known that he has much respect for Preacher Eliot, and doubtless hearkened to his intercessions. If this Eliot chooses to waste his time teaching the gospel to the savages, 'tis his own affair, perchance, but 'twould be well for him to re- frain from interfering with affairs outside his villages. Mark my words, Master David: if trouble comes with Philip's Indians these wastrel hypocrites of Eliot's will be murder- ing us in our beds so soon as they get the word." " That I do not believe," answered David stoutly. " An your scalp dangles some day from the belt of one of these same Praying In- dians you will believe," replied Obid dryly. Nathan Lindall returned in the afternoon from Boston and heard David's account of his talk with Joe Tanopet in silence. Nathan Lindall was a large man, well over six feet in height and broad of shoulder, and David promised to equal him for size ere he stopped his growth. A quiet man he was, with calm brown eyes deeply set and a grave counte- nance, who could be stern when occasion warranted, but who was at heart, as David THE MEETING IN THE WOODS 25 well knew, kind and even tender. He wore his hair shorter than was then the prevailing fashion, and his beard longer. His father, for whom David was named, had come to the Plymouth Colony from Lincolnshire, Eng- land, in 1625, by profession a ship's-carpen- ter, and had married a woman of well-to-do family in the Colony, thereafter setting up in business there. Both he and his wife were now dead, and of their children, a son and daugh- ter, only David's father remained. The daughter had married William Elkins, of Boston, and there had been one child, Raph, who still lived with his father near the King's Head Tavern. When David had ended his recital, his father shook his head as one in doubt. "You did well to tell me, David," he said. " It may be that Tanopet speaks the truth and that we are indeed destined to suf- fer strife with the Indians, though I pray not. In Boston I heard much talk of it, and there are many there who fear for their safety. I would that I had myself spoken with Tano- pet. Whither did he go? " " I do not know, father. Should I meet him again I will bid him see you." " Do so, for I doubt not he could tell much 26 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE were he minded to, and whether Philip means well or ill we shall be the better for knowing. So certain are some of the settlers to the south that war is brewing, according to your Uncle William with whom I spent the night in Boston that they even hesitate to plant their fields this spring. Much foolish and ungodly talk there is of strange portents, too, with which I have no patience. Well, we shall see what we shall see, my son, and meanwhile there is work to be done. Did you finish the south field? " * Yes, father. The soil is yet too wet for good ploughing save on the higher places. What of the Indians you took to Boston, sir? Obid prays that they be hung, but I do not, since it seems to me that none has proven their guilt." "They will be justly tried, David. If deemed guilty they will doubtless be sold for slaves. A harsher punishment would be fit- ter, I think, for this is no time to quibble. Stern measures alone have weight with the Indians, so long as Justice dictates them. Now be off to your duties ere it be too dark." CHAPTER III DOWN THE WINDING RIVER A FORTNIGHT later David set out early one morning for Boston to make purchases. Warm and dry weather had made fit the soil for ploughing and tilling, and Nathan Lin- dall and Obid were up to their necks in work, and of the household David could best be spared. He was to lodge overnight with his Uncle William Elkins and return on the mor- row. The sun was just showing above the trees to the eastward when he left the house and made his way along the path that led to the river. He wore his best doublet, as was befitting the occasion, but for the rest had clothed himself for the journey rather than for the visit in the town. His musket lay in the hollow of his arm and a leather bag slung about his shoulder held both ammuni- tion and food. His spirits were high as he left the clearing behind and entered the winding path through the forest of pines and hemlocks, maples and beeches. The sunlight filtered through the upper branches and laid a pattern of pale 28 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE gold on the needle-carpeted ground. Birds sang about him, and presently a covey of partridges whirred into air beyond a beech thicket. It was good to be alive on such a morning, and better still to be adventuring, and David's heart sang as he strode blithely along. The voyage down the river would be pleasant, the town held much to excite in- terest, and the visit to his uncle and cousin would be delightful. He only wished that his stay in the town was to be longer, for he and Raph, who was two years his elder, were firm friends, and the infrequent occasions spent with his cousin were always the most enjoy- able of his life. This morning he refused to think of the trip back when, with a laden canoe, he would have to toil hard against the current. The immediate future was enough. Midges were abroad and attacked him blood- thirstily, but he plucked a hemlock spray and fought them off until, presently, the path ended at the bank of the river, here narrow and swift and to-day swollen with the spring freshets. Concealed under the trees near by lay a bark canoe and a pair of paddles, and David soon had the craft afloat and, his gun and bag at his feet, was guiding it down the stream. DOWN THE WINDING RIVER 29 The sun was well up by the time he had passed the first turns and entered the lake above Nonantum which was well over a half- mile in width, although it seemed less be- cause of a large island that lay near its lower end. There were several deserted wigwams built of poles and bark on the shores of the island, left by Indians who a few years before had dwelt there to fish. David used his pad- dle now, for the current was lost when the river widened, and, keeping close to the nearer shore, glided from sunlight to shadow, humming a tune as he went. Once he sur- prised a young deer drinking where a mea- dow stretched down to the river, and was within a few rods of him before he took alarm and went bounding into a coppice. Again the river narrowed and he laid the paddle over the side as a rudder. A clear- ing running well back from the stream showed a dwelling of logs, and a yellow-and- white dog barked at him from beside the doorway. Then the tall trees closed in again and the swift water was shadowed and looked black beneath the banks. At noon, then well below the settlement at Watertown, David turned toward the shore and ran the bow of the canoe up on a 30 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE little pebbly beach and ate the provender he had brought. It was but bread and meat, but hunger was an excellent sauce for it, and with draughts of water scooped from the river in his hand it was soon finished. Then, because there was no haste needed and because the sunshine was warm and pleasant, he leaned back and dreamily watched the white clouds float overhead, borne on a gentle southwes- terly breeze. Behind him the narrow beach ended at a bank whereon alders and willows and low trees made a thin hedge that partly screened the wide expanse of fresh green meadow that here followed the river for more than five miles. Through it meandered little brooks between muddy banks, and here and there a rounded island of clustered oaks or maples stood above the level of the marsh. Swallows darted and from near at hand a kingfisher cried harshly. David's dreaming was presently disturbed by the faint but un- mistakable swish of paddles and he raised his head just as a canoe rounded a turn downstream. The craft held three Indians, of whom two, paddling at bow and stern, were naked to the waist save for beads and amulets worn about the neck. The one who sat in the center was DOWN THE WINDING RIVER 31 clothed in a garb that combined pictur- esquely the Indian and the English fashions. Deerskin trousers, a shirt of blue cotton cloth, and a soft leather jacket made his at- tire. He wore no ornaments, nor was his bare head adorned in any way. A musket lay across his knees and a long-stemmed pipe of red clay was held to his lips. Before him were several bundles. At sight of David he raised a hand and then spoke to his com- panions, and the canoe left the middle of the stream and floated gently up to the marge. David jumped eagerly from his own craft and made toward the other. "Pikot!" he called joyfully. " I had be- gun to think you were lost. 'Tis moons since I saw you last." " The heart sees when the eyes cannot," replied the Indian, smiling, as he leaped to the beach and shook hands. " Often I have said, ' To-morrow I will take the Long Marsh trail and visit my brother David ' ; but there has been much work at the village all through the winter, and the to-morrows I sought did not come. Where do you go, my brother? " " To Boston to buy seeds and food and many things, Straight Arrow. And you ? " " To Natick with some goods for Master 32 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE Eliot that came from across the sea by ship. All has been well with you, David? " " Aye, but I am glad indeed that the win- ter is over. I like it not. They say that in Virginia the winters are neither so long nor so severe, and I sometimes wish that we dwelt there instead." The Indian shook his head. " I know not of Virginia, but I know that my people who live in the North are greater and stronger and wiser than they who dwell in the South. 'Tis the cold of winter that makes strong and lean bodies. In summer we lose our strength and become fat, wherefore God divides the seasons wisely. I have something to say to you, David. Come a little way along the shore where it may not be over- heard." David followed, viewing admiringly the straight, slim figure of his friend. Monapikot was a Pegan Indian. The Pegans were one of the smaller tribes of the Abenakis who lived southward in the region of Chaubuna- gunamog. He was perhaps three years Da- vid's senior and had been born at Natick in the village of the Praying Indians. Although scarcely more than a lad in years, he was already one of Master Eliot's most trusted DOWN THE WINDING RIVER 33 disciples and had recently become a teacher. He spoke English well and could read it fairly. He and David had been friends ever since shortly after the latter 's arrival in that vicinity, at which time David had been a boy of nine years and Pikot twelve. They had hunted together and lost themselves together in the Long Marsh, and had had the usual adventures and misadventures falling to the lot of boys whether they be white or red. For the last three years, though, Pikot's duties had held him closer to the village and their meetings had been fewer. The Indian was a splendid-looking youth, tall and straight for which David had once dubbed him Straight Arrow with hard, lean muscles and a gracefulness that was like the swaying litheness of a panther. His features were ex- ceptional for one of a tribe not usually en- dowed with good looks, for his forehead was broad, his eyes well apart, and his whole countenance indicated nobility. His gaze was direct and candid, and, which was un- usual in his people, his mouth curved slightly upward at the corners, giving him a less grave expression than most Indians showed. Perhaps David had taught him to laugh, or, at least, to smile, for he did so fre- 34 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE quently. Had there been more like Monapi- kot amongst the five-score converts that dwelt in Natick, there might well have been a more universal sympathy toward John Eliot's efforts. " When we were little," began Pikot after they had placed a hundred strides between them and the two Indians in the canoe, " you brought me safe from the water of the Great Pond when I would have drowned, albeit you were younger and smaller than I, my brother." " Yes, 'tis true, Pikot, but the squirrel is ever more clever than the woodchuck. Be- sides, then the woodchuck snared himself in a sunken tree root and, having not the sense to gnaw himself free, must needs call on the squirrel for aid." Pikot assented, but did not smile at the other's nonsense. Instead, he laid one slim bronze-red hand against his heart. " You saved the life of Monapikot and he does not forget. Some day he will save the life of David just so." "What? Then I shall keep out of the water, Straight Arrow! I doubt not you would bring me ashore as I brought you, but DOWN THE WINDING RIVER 35 suppose you happened not to be by? Nay, I'll take no risks, thank you ! " " I know not in what way you will be in danger," answered the Pegan gravely. " But thrice I have dreamed the same dream, and in the dream 'tis as I have told." " Methinks your dreams smack of this witchcraft of which we hear so much of late," said David slyly, " and belong not to that religion that you teach, Pikot." " Nay, for the Bible tells much of dreams. Did not Joseph, when sold by his wicked brothers in Egypt, tell truly what meant the dreams of the great King? My people in such way tell their dreams to the powwows, and the powwows explain them. It may be that dreams are the whisperings of the Great Spirit. But listen, my brother, to a matter that is of greater moment. Fifteen days ago your father and Master Vernham made cap- tive three Indians and took them to Boston where they now wait judgment of the court. One is named Nausauwah, a young brave who is a son of Woosonametipom, whose lands are westward by the Lone Hill." " But my father thinks that they are Mo- hegans, Pikot." " Nay, they are Wachoosetts. Nausauwah 3 6 METIPOM'S HOSTAGE quarreled with Woosonametipom and came hither in the fall with four tens of his people. He is a lazy man and thought to find food amongst the English. Now, albeit the Sa- chem Woosonametipom did not try to hinder Nausauwah from leaving the lodge of his people, he is angry at what he has heard and says that he will come with all his warriors to Boston and recover his son. That is but boasting, for albeit he is a great sachem and has many warriors under him, and can count on the Quaboags to aid him, mayhap, he would not dare. But he has sworn a venge- ance against these who have taken his son, David, and I fear he will seek to harm your father and Master Vernham. Do not ask me where I have learned this, but give warning to your father and be ever on your guard." " Thank you, Straight Arrow. My father and Master William Vernham, though, had no more to do with the taking of this Nausau- wah than many others. It but so happened that they were chosen to convey the captives to the authorities in Boston. What means, think you, this Metipom will seek to get vengeance ? " " He is not friendly to the English, my brother, and it may be that he will be glad DOWN THE WINDING RIVER 37 o