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 Lindall 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 morrow. 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 ammunition 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 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 interest, 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
enjoyable 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 bloodthirstily, 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.
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 because 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 paddle 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 surprised a young deer drinking where a meadow 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 clearing 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 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 southwesterly 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
unmistakable _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 clothed in a garb that combined
picturesquely the Indian and the English fashions. Deerskin trousers, a
shirt of blue cotton cloth, and a soft leather jacket made his attire.
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 companions, 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 begun 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 Eliot that came from across the
sea by ship. All has been well with you, David?”
“Aye, but I am glad indeed that the winter 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
overheard.”
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
Chaubunagunamog. He was perhaps three years David’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 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 exceptional for one of a tribe not usually endowed
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 unusual 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 frequently. Had there been more like Monapikot
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. Besides, 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 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
captive 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 Mohegans, Pikot.”
“Nay, they are Wachoosetts. Nausauwah 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
Sachem 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 vengeance 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 Nausauwah 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 of this reason to travel swiftly from his mountain home
and make pillage. But ’tis more likely that he will send a few young
men eager to win honor by returning with English scalps. Go not abroad
alone, David, and see that the house be well secured at nightfall. The
Wachoosetts are forest Indians and swift and sly, and I fear for your
safety. It would be well to travel back in company with another, or
else to take a party of Indians with you and see that they are armed
with guns. Should Woosonametipom’s braves learn of your journey, I fear
they would make the most of it. I would I could stay by you, but I must
go on my way at once.”
“But surely they would not dare their deviltry so near the plantations!”
“Who knows?” Monapikot lapsed into the Indian tongue, which David
understood a little and could speak haltingly to the extent of being
understood. “The fox takes the goose where he finds him.”
“Then I will be no goose, Straight Arrow, but rather the dog who slays
the fox,” laughed David.
Pikot smiled faintly. “You will ever be Noawama, He Who Laughs, my
brother. But see that while you laugh you close not your eyes. Now I
must go, for Master Eliot awaits what I bring.”
“I will see you again soon, Pikot, for the fish are hungry and none can
coax them to the hook as you can.”
“And none eat them as you can!” chuckled Pikot. “Within seven sleeps I
will visit you and we will take food and go to the Long Pond. Farewell,
my brother.”
“Farewell, Pikot. May your food do you much good.”
Monapikot stepped into his canoe, the Indians grunted and pushed off,
and David, waving, watched the craft out of sight. Then he launched
his own canoe and again took up his journey. Pikot’s warning held his
thoughts, although it did not seem to him that this Wachoosett sagamore
would dare dispatch his assassins so far into the plantations. As
for any danger on the river, he smiled at that. Already the village
of Newtowne, a good-sized settlement with many proper houses and a
mile-long fenced enclosure about it, was in sight on the left of the
river, and Boston itself was but a good four miles distant. But David
told himself that Pikot’s fears might have ground and that for a while
at least it would be best to be cautious. As soon as he returned home
he would repeat the Indian’s warning. He smiled as he reflected on the
alarm that it would bring to Obid Dawkin.
In the early afternoon, skirting the mud flats and oyster banks below
the town, he made landing at Blackstone’s Point, giving his canoe into
custody of an Indian who dwelt in a hut close upon the water, and made
his way up the hill, there being nothing in the way of a road save a
cart track that wound deviously. His way led him presently along the
slope of Valley Acre and thence into Hanover Street above where stood
the house that had been the home of Governor Endicott before his death
ten years ago. To David the sights and sounds of Boston were engaging
indeed, and it took him the better part of an hour to complete his
journey afoot. Many windows must be looked into that he might feast
his eyes on the goods for sale within, and the signs hanging above
the narrow streets were a never-failing source of interest. Even the
sober-visaged citizens held his footsteps while he amused himself in
wondering about them. There were strangers to be met as well, and
these could be easily distinguished, not only by their dress, but by
the more cheerful countenances that they wore: ship’s captains and
rolling-gaited sailors redolent of tar and, he feared, rum as well;
Negroes and an occasional Indian; dark men who wore gold rings in their
ears. But in the end he turned down toward the shore and so into Ship
Street and saw the swinging sign of the King’s Head Tavern ahead and
was presently beating a gay tattoo on the portal of Master William
Elkins, Merchant.