METIPOM QUESTIONS
The wigwam was so large that forty men might have sat within it, but
when David, thrust through the opening by Sequanawah, entered, it
was comparatively empty. A man, a woman, three young children, and a
few dogs squatted or lay about the fire in the center. The man was
smoking a long pipe, the squaw was preparing breakfast. The smoke from
the small fire mingled with that of the sachem’s pipe and filled the
dwelling with acrid fumes that made the boy’s eyes blink and smart. The
dogs arose, growling, and crept forward to sniff at his heels, while
the sachem only nodded without taking his pipe from his mouth and the
squaw looked up stolidly from her task. Sequanawah spoke and the sachem
answered a dozen words. Sequanawah stepped to the doorway and called.
The call was taken up without. Silence fell in the wigwam save for
the sizzling of the none too dry fagots and the suspicious whining of
the dogs, which, finding nothing to tempt them in the heavy leather
of the captive’s shoes, retreated to the fire. The children, the
youngest scarcely more than a papoose, gazed with steady, curious, dark
eyes. Only the largest, who might have been six years of age, boasted
clothing of any sort, and his costume was no more than a cloth about
his middle. He was already well bronzed of skin, but the youngest child
was still nearly as white as when born.
While he stood there awaiting what Fate should award him, David viewed
the sachem of the Wachoosetts with interest. The chief was an older
man than he had thought; perhaps well-nigh sixty; and his hair was
streaked with gray. But he was still straight of back and firm of body,
and the years seemed to have dealt lightly with him. He was a large
man, broad of shoulder and deep of chest, and his muscles looked strong
and hard. In countenance he was well-favored for one of his tribe, for
the Nipmucks, unlike some of the more northerly tribes, were generally
unprepossessing of form and feature. Woosonametipom had a long head and
sharp cheek-bones, the latter more prominent because of the thinness
of the face, and the lines and wrinkles were many and deep. The eyes
were bright, however, and, although the sachem’s countenance expressed
harshness and cruelty, David found nothing therein suggesting meanness.
He wore clothing befitting his rank: a cloak of panther-skin that shone
lustrously in the light that came down through the smoke-hole, leggings
of soft deer-hide much ornamented with quills and beads, several
strings and anklets of wampum. His head was shaven to the scalp-lock,
and that was bound with bits of red cloth until it stood upright a good
eight inches, and was lavishly strung with bright feathers. Several
rings encircled the fingers of the left hand, and on his naked chest
where the panther-skin fell away a great round disk of silver rudely
chased with some design rose with each slow inhalation of smoke and
fell again as the evil-smelling fumes poured forth from mouth or
nose. After a first gravely appraising look, the sachem had not again
observed David. His eyes remained on the kettle, now noisily bubbling,
quite as though life held nothing more in prospect than the morning
meal.
The sachem’s squaw was a quite young woman, but to David’s mind
horribly fat and ugly, with crossed-eyes and a flattish nose. She was
dressed with no pretension to rank and wore few ornaments. Although as
wife of the sagamore she held the position of queen, she was in effect
little more than a household drudge. Presently, squatting beside the
fire, she thrust a wooden spoon into the pot, withdrew it, and held it
to her lips. Then she passed it to the sachem. He, too, tasted, but
shook his head silently. Children and dogs watched the performance with
intentness. When another minute had passed, the entrance was darkened
and a small, wiry Indian, naked save for breech-cloth and a multitude
of ornaments that depended from neck and arms, knees and ankles,
entered followed by three others. The sachem grunted a word or two and
David was thrust forward until he stood but a yard or two from him. The
newcomer, evidently a powwow, or medicine man, stood at his right and
Sequanawah at his other side. Again the sachem spoke and the powwow
translated in excellent English.
“Great Sachem asks what name, brother.”
“David Lindall.”
“How come here?”
David stared from sachem to interpreter. “You ought to know that,” he
answered bitterly. “This Indian caught and bound me and brought me
here.”
The sachem thereupon directed his words to Sequanawah, and the
latter made an explanation, a word or two of which David was able to
understand.
Presently the powwow said blandly: “Sequanawah say you come to village
where he watch and ask food. He bring you to Great Sachem. Why you lie?”
“I tell no lie,” answered David wonderingly. “I not understand. He
capture me yesterday near my home, many leagues away. He had two others
with him. They put cloth between my teeth so that I could not cry out
and bound my hands behind my back. All night we travel. What story is
this he tells?”
“Great Sachem say hold out hands.” David obeyed.
“They not bound,” said the powwow.
“He released them ere I entered here.”
“Great Sachem say he not believe your story. Great Sachem good friend
of English. All his people friends of English people. No would steal
you. Great Sachem say maybe you sick in head. You think?”
David looked in puzzlement at the sachem and their eyes met. The
chief’s face was all innocence and candor, but at the back of the dark
eyes, like sparks in a dead fire, were glints of guile, and David
understood.
“I know only what I have told,” he answered the powwow. “If I have
dreamed, so be it. Give me food, for I am faint, and I will return to
my home.”
“Great Sachem say yes. Say all English men his brothers. Say when they
not deal honestly with him, they still his brothers. Maybe you know
English take his son Nausauwah and put him in prison.”
David nodded. “He was suspected of setting fire to an Englishman’s
barn. He is to be fairly tried by the court in Boston.”
“Great Sachem say Englishman’s law not Indian’s law. Say how can he
know Nausauwah get justice.”
“Tell him that the English always deal justly,” replied David stoutly.
“Ask him when they have done otherwise.”
“Great Sachem say English take much lands from Indian and build fences
about and Indians no can go in for hunt.”
“The English always pay for the lands. When they are planted, they are
no longer for hunting.”
“Great Sachem say maybe English kill Nausauwah. Maybe make him slave
far across sea. Great Sachem love his son and no want it so. Maybe your
father have same love to you. Not want you hurt or killed. You think?”
“Aye,” answered the boy steadily.
“Great Sachem think so too. Maybe English send his son back to him
pretty soon. You think?”
“I do not know, but if he is not guilty, he will go free. But first he
will be tried.”
“When you think he be tried?”
“Soon. Ere this, doubtless, had not the trouble in the Plymouth Colony
disturbed those in Boston.”
“Great Sachem say what trouble at Plymouth.”
“King Philip, as we call him, has taken wicked counsel and has killed
many of the English and burned their homes.” If David expected
evidences of surprise, he was disappointed. The sachem received the
news placidly, as did the others, and David concluded that they had
already known it. “The English have sent many soldiers to punish King
Philip,” he added sternly, “and he will be very sorrowful indeed.”
“Great Sachem say Pometacom very wicked,” announced the powwow
smoothly. “Say he must get plenty punishment like bad child. Say
Wachoosett people very angry with Pometacom.”
“Aye. Say to the Great Sachem that all Indians except Philip’s tribe
have declared friendship for the English and that many will fight for
them if need be.”
“Great Sachem say he glad to know. Say Wachoosett Indians very
peaceful. No make war with English. No make war with Pometacom.
Wachoosett people everybody’s brother. No make meddle any time.”
“That is well,” said David. “And now, brother, give me food and I will
go back by the trail I came.”
“Great Sachem say you rest first. No hurry you go away. He say you have
plenty food, plenty sleep. He say you his brother, his heart warm to
you. He say you stay here little time and make talk with him. Then he
give you Indians show you trail and keep you safe from Pometacom.”
“When will that be?” asked David, his heart sinking.
“Little time. Great Sachem give you lodge, give you food, give you all
to make happy. Give you plenty servant. You like maybe so?”
“Tell the great Sachem that I thank him for his kindness, but that I
must return to my home, for my father does not know where I am and will
be sorrowful.”
“Great Sachem say his heart weep for your father. Say he send message
to him so he not trouble for you. Say you stay here and be brother for
little time he much like.”
“Talk plainly!” cried David, patience at an end. “You mean to keep me
prisoner. So be it! But say to your sachem that whether I go or stay
will make no difference to his son, for he will be held until tried and
if guilty will be punished. And say to him that my people will seek me,
and will know where to seek, as well, and when I am found it will go
hard with him, indeed!”
“Great Sachem say you talk without thought,” answered the powwow
gently. “You his brother. He no make prisoner his brother. English may
so, but he not. You have long journey. Forest hide many enemies. You
stay here and have plenty rest. Then you go home all safe. Great Sachem
very kind heart for English brother.”
“I am in your hands,” replied David bitterly. “I have no choice,
’twould seem, but accept your hospitality, O Maker of Magic. So I pray
you bring me to a place where I may rest.”
Sequanawah laid a hand on his sleeve. “You come,” he said.
As David turned away, he caught again the mocking gleam that lay at the
back of the sachem’s placid gaze.
The village was fully awake now, and men old and young sat by the doors
of the wigwams or moved among them, and women were at their tasks in
the first rays of sunlight that came around the green-clad shoulder
of the mountain. Dogs snarled and fought underfoot over the bones
thrown to them from the dwellings. Young boys ran and shouted or sat
in circles at their games. David’s passing elicited only the faintest
interest amongst the older Indians, but the young boys and children,
most of whom had doubtless never before set eyes on a white-face,
regarded him with unconcealed curiosity. Many left their play and
followed to the far side of the stockade where a wigwam stood slightly
removed from the rest. Into this Sequanawah conducted the prisoner. A
very old woman crouched above a fire on which some fish cooked in a
stone basin. She glanced up briefly and then dropped her watery eyes
again to her task.
“You live here,” said Sequanawah. “Nice place. Old woman she make food.
Young Indian soon come be servant. You want, you say.” He dropped his
voice. “Inside wall you all right. Outside no can go. Great Sachem say,
‘Catch um outside, kill um quick.’ Farewell.”
“Farewell,” replied David.
When the Indian had gone, he threw himself wearily on the rough hide
that formed the nearest approach to a bed that his new dwelling
afforded and moodily watched the ancient crone scatter the fire and
then place the smoking basin of fish at his side. He nodded his thanks,
and then, as the squaw seemed not inclined to leave him, but would have
settled herself across the wigwam, he made signs toward the entrance,
and, since she was either too weak of sight or stupid of mind to
comprehend, he said, “Mauncheak, mauncheak!” which signifies “Go away.”
That she heard and understood, and pulled her old body from the ground
with a groan and toddled out. He ate a little of the fish, which was
none so bad save that it lacked the seasoning he was used to――for the
Indians used no salt in their cooking――and then lay back and, with his
hands beneath his head, stared upward at the sun-patterned roof of
this strange house and gave himself over to thought. From without came
the low hum of voices, the snarling and barking of dogs, the thud of a
stone axe on timber, and at times the shrill shouting of the boys at
play. The sounds were all foreign and unaccustomed and David’s heart
sank as a fuller realization of his predicament came to him.