METIPOM TAKES THE WAR-PATH
He awoke to find John tugging at him. The wigwam was barely alight, but
sounds told him that the village was well astir. The Indian had brought
instructions from the sachem and the wherewithal to carry them out.
David was to take the trail with them and to that end must look to be
one of the tribe. First his body must be stained, and then he must put
on the scanty garments that lay in a small heap beside the couch. With
small enthusiasm David yielded to John’s ministrations. A brown liquid
from a small kettle, still warm, was rubbed over him from head to feet,
and where it touched him the whiteness of his skin disappeared and a
coppery-red took its place. David viewed the result with misgivings.
“Shall I ever come clean again?” he asked. “Will water remove it, John?”
“Nay, it will not wash off, brother, but in time it will go.” John
stood back and viewed his work proudly. “None would know that you were
not of our people, David. Very brave and beautiful you look.”
“Do I so?” asked the boy dryly. “Yet methinks I prefer my own skin
better. However, an it pleases you and will some day disappear, I mind
not. What now?”
“The sachem sends you these.”
“What! That thing? Nay, I will not go about the world naked for Metipom
or any one! And so you may say to him!”
But in the end, mindful of Monapikot’s advice, he donned the costume
provided; loin-cloth, belt, moccasins, and necklet. All were of the
best and much ornamented with quills and wampum. As for the moccasins,
he was glad enough to have them, for his shoes had long since worn
through at sides and bottoms and provided scant protection for his
feet. John grew every minute more proud of the miracle he was working
and must momentarily pause to admire and praise. And when David thought
all complete, and viewed his brown nakedness with a mixture of shame
and interest, John produced white and blue pigments and, with the
absorption of an artist before his canvas, traced meaningless lines
and figures on the boy’s chest and face. Then, with David grumbling
wrathfully, the Indian wove three red feathers into his hair, and,
picking up the bow that Sequanawah had fashioned, put it in his hand.
“Now!” he announced. “Go and see yourself in the water of the spring,
my brother, and be vain.”
“More like ashamed,” David grumbled. “Whither do we go, and when?”
“I know not whither, but when the women are ready for the journey we
start.”
David pushed aside the skin that hid the entrance and gazed forth in
astonishment. The Indian village was gone save for the palisade and,
here and there, a bark wigwam. Otherwise the lodges were down and the
skins and mats that had formed them were rolled and tied with thongs
and lay ready for transportation on the backs of the squaws. Fires
still smouldered and a few families were yet partaking of food. Dogs
barked excitedly and the younger children called shrilly. Everywhere
was confusion and bustle.
As David watched the unusual scene, the sun, hotly red, crept over the
rim of the world and in the valley eastward the blue-gray mist wavered
above the parched earth. The old squaw came with food ready cooked,
and brought, too, a sack of parched corn for David’s pouch. The food
he devoured as he stood, and then, John having returned to his own
family, he made his way to the spring, somewhat shamefacedly, and, as
he scooped the water from it, saw himself reflected vaguely in the
surface. The first glimpse was startling, for he who looked back from
the rippled mirror might well have been a young Indian. Even the boy’s
features seemed to have changed; as, indeed, they had since his coming
to the village, for lean living had sharpened the cheek-bones and
made thinner the nose; and now it was a Wachoosett brave, painted and
feathered, who was reflected back from the spring. The vision brought a
little thrill to David, for there was something almost uncanny in the
marvels wrought by the stain and the pigment and the few gay feathers.
* * * * *
An hour later the exodus had begun. A handful of braves had left the
village long before, and at intervals others had followed, but the
main body of the tribe began to straggle through the gate an hour
after sun-up. Ahead, pretending no military order, but armed and
watchful, went the warriors, all painted and panoplied with bows and
spears. Well in the van stalked Woosonametipom, a striking figure in a
cloak of green cloth edged with soft yellow feathers below which his
unclad legs emerged startlingly. Much wampum he wore, and his face was
disfigured with a blue disk on each cheek and a figure not unlike a
Maltese cross done in yellow on his forehead. Metipom carried a musket,
as did several others. Next to the warriors went the older boys, armed
with bows, and behind them were the men past the fighting age and the
squaws, maidens and children. Only occasionally did one of the men or
boys carry any burden, and then it was like to be some treasured object
like an iron kettle or a bundle of pelts. It was the women and maidens,
and even the children, who bore the household things: skins and mats
for wigwams, cooking-utensils, food supplies, babies, and a general
miscellany of belongings too precious to leave behind. Used to such
form of drudgery, however, the squaws kept pace with the men and asked
no favor.
David found that he was to be allowed no chance of escape, for two
painted and oil-smeared braves guarded him closely. He was permitted
to retain his bow and arrows, but he had neither knife, spear, nor
tomahawk. The pace set by the leaders was brisk and by mid-morning they
had crossed two small streams and left some ten or a dozen miles behind
them. Straight into the west they had gone, for the most part through
park-like forest from which the underbrush had been fired the autumn
before, following well-defined trails. Camp was made on the slope of a
hill and there they rested until afternoon. Some of the scouts joined
them here and made reports to the sachem. John brought food to David
and afterwards fetched him water from a brook that ran at the foot of
the slope.
David’s skin, unaccustomed as it was to exposure, had suffered from
the heat of the sun, and he was glad to seek the shade and burrow into
the cool fronds of a patch of ferns. The shadows were lengthening when
the journey began again. Now the way led more to the south, and close
to sunset a broad valley lay before them through which a shallow river
flowed. Keeping to the hills, Metipom led his warriors southward until
dusk, by which time they had reached a grassy swale between two wooded
heights. Here there was a fine spring of water as well as plenty of
young, straight growth suitable for lodge-poles, and here permanent
camp was made. That night David slept, though not very soundly, under
the stars, with his two guards close beside him.
In the morning the women began the construction of the lodges while
the men prepared for their business of war. Some few of the older men
and boys went in search of game and the maidens to seek berries, but
for the most part the Indians toiled at erecting wigwams or adding
to their store of arrows and spears. Sequanawah and another came to
the new village during the morning and there followed a conclave of
the sachem and his counselors. David was put to work with some of the
youths at raising lodge-poles, and, since in that treeless place the
sun had full way with his tender skin, he was soon in agony. At last he
could stand it no longer and, amid the shrill gibes of his companions,
took his suffering body to the lee of a wigwam and found some comfort
in the shade. There Sequanawah later found him and, seeing the puffed
condition of his back and shoulders, brought a fat and pitying squaw
who anointed his burns with a cooling salve that brought instant relief.
“I am weary,” said the Indian when the squaw had gone again. “I have
traveled many leagues since we parted, David, and the heat has baked my
vitals. I had not thought to see my brother so soon, for it was not so
said. The Great Sachem lays his plans to-day and to-morrow rubs them
out with his foot.”
Sequanawah drew a moccasin over the grass and shook his head.
“Where have you been, Sequanawah?” asked David.
The Indian waved a lean hand vaguely. “Into the sunset and back,” he
answered.
David smiled faintly. “Aye? And what saw you, brother?”
A reflection of the boy’s smile flickered in the black eyes of the
Indian, though he replied gravely enough. “Deer in the forest and fish
in the streams.”
“Were any white, my brother?”
“Nay.” Sequanawah shook his head. “I sought not your people, David.”
“Is Philip near by, then?”
“He comes.”
“Hither?”
“I know not. Stay you close to the wigwams, David, and ask no
questions.”
“That is no easy task, Sequanawah, when my people perish.”
“Many will be left, brother. Philip cannot win this war, for the
White-Faces are too many against him. In the end he must hide or yield.
Yet ere that comes about the forest leaves will be red with blood and
many of your people and mine will seek the Great Spirit. I go now to
have sleep, my brother.”
In spite of Monapikot’s advice, David was resolved to let no
opportunity to escape his captors be wasted, for by keeping his ears
open he had learned that English settlements lay near by, notably that
of Brookfield, which, he believed, was little more than twelve miles
south of the present encampment. Yet, although his guards that night
relaxed their vigilance, so well was the village picketed that any
attempt at escape would have been futile. The next morning strange
Indians came, mean and povern-seeming savages to the number of eight.
These, he learned, were from the small tribe of Quaboags, dwelling
beyond Brookfield. They spent more than an hour in Metipom’s wigwam and
then departed southward. Of the number more than half bore muskets of
ancient pattern. With them went Sequanawah and two other captains.
During the day several parties of from six to a dozen or more warriors
left the village in different directions, and at intervals scouts
returned and made report to the sachem.
Woosonametipom was now living in less state, his lodge being small and
unadorned. Most of the time he sat in front of it, smoking or dozing
when no affairs demanded attention. It was evident to David that the
present village, while designed to be occupied for some time, was not
intended to be permanent. This was shown by the makeshift manner of
erecting the lodges and by the fact that the squaws had not unpacked
certain of their bundles brought from the Wachoosett country. Probably,
he thought, it was Metipom’s intention to join Philip and follow that
sagamore’s wanderings. The site had doubtless been chosen with a view
to secretness and safety from sudden surprise. The place was like a
pocket, with the opening toward the wooded valley that ran north and
south. On three sides of the pocket the hills arose sufficiently to
hide it, and, being but sparsely timbered, afforded a far view of the
country about. By day and night watchers, stationed on the heights and
at the entrance of the grassy pocket, formed a complete cordon about
the encampment. Attack, should it come, would naturally come from the
valley, and in that case it would be simple enough for the Wachoosetts,
should they choose flight rather than battle, to slip back across the
hill toward the east.
Toward sunset of the second day in the new village, David went down the
slope toward where the spring burbled from beneath the twisted roots of
a great ash tree. His sunburn still pained him and many small blisters
had come on his shoulders. Three squaws were filling kettles at the
spring, and to one of them he made known his desire for laving his
body. When she at last understood what it was he wished, the woman took
much delight in filling her kettle and emptying it over his shoulders,
a service soon entered into by the other squaws, who, whatever their
opinion of such procedure might have been, gained much amusement
thereby and plied their kettles so diligently that the boy was soon
choking and sputtering, to the entertainment of a near-by picket.
David at length had to flee or be drowned, and so he fled, laughing,
around the tree and into the thicket that lay beyond, pursued by the
youngest of the three women who, finding her quarry escaping, sent the
contents of her kettle after him and gave up the chase. Shivering a
little, for the evening was cooling with the descent of the sun, David
paused to make certain that the squaws had withdrawn. Although he could
not see them through the leaves, he heard their guttural laughter
diminish as they plodded off up the gentle slope toward the lodges, and
was on the point of emerging from his sanctuary and following when a
sudden thought bade him pause.
Unintentionally he had passed between the watchers and so far none had
challenged. It might be that by remaining where he was until darkness
he could get away unseen. In the meanwhile if any sought him he could
pretend slumber or illness as his reason for not returning. Crouching,
he peered between the lower branches of the bushes. At one side, some
twenty yards away, the picket who had watched the proceedings at the
spring had turned and was again squatting motionless and staring into
the forest. On the other side the next picket was not visible, but
David knew that he was stationed on the first rise of the little hill
that began at the thicket’s edge. It seemed that the first of the two
had already forgotten David’s existence. Perhaps he was under the
belief that the captive had returned with the squaws. In any case, it
appeared to David that the Indian was no more concerned with him and
that he did not suspect his presence in the thicket.
With a little thrill of excitement the boy lowered himself quietly
to the ground, brushing aside all twigs that might break and give
alarm. He forgot to be chilly, forgot even the smarting and burning
and itching of his back and shoulders, for the prospect of making his
escape filled him with an exultation that warmed his heart and filled
his thoughts.
Quickly the twilight came, for the forest soon shut off the last rays
of the sinking sun. From the wigwams came the murmur of voices, the
snarling of dogs, the crackling of evening fires. A breath of wind
crept down the hillside and rustled the leaves about him. It brought
the fragrance of burning wood and of cooking food and reminded him
that he was hungry. But hunger was such a small matter now that he
only smiled grimly and strove to be patient while the dusk changed
lingeringly to darkness. At last his hand held before his nose was but
a faint gray oblong and, fearing that if he tarried longer those whose
duty it was to guard him would discover his absence and give the alarm,
he decided to begin his attempt.
Before darkness had fallen, he had studied the ground about him and
chosen a path. Now he set out to follow it. Prone on the ground, he
squirmed forward, thrusting aside the slender trunks of the bushes with
cautious hands and freeing his path of twigs and fallen branches. In
spite of his efforts, absolute silence was impossible, and more than
once his heart leaped into his mouth as a tiny _snap_ was heard or a
bush, released too quickly, rustled back into place. But though the
sounds seemed alarmingly loud to him, they were doubtless no more than
the natural noises of the night to the picket. Inch by inch and foot by
foot David made his way through the thicket, leaving the village each
moment farther behind. At last the bushes ended, or rather thinned,
and the trunks of trees were about him. With a breath of relief he
carefully got to his feet and, still testing every step, made his way
noiselessly toward the south, guiding himself by frequent glimpses
of a great white star that hung in the sky above the tree-tops. When
a quarter of an hour had passed in cautious progress, he told himself
that at last he had succeeded in making his escape, and that, unless
he was so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of a scouting party by
daylight, he should be within sight of an English settlement.