THE ISLAND IN THE SWAMP
David’s coma lasted but a few moments, and when he raised his head
again, save that the persecutors had left him, everything was as
before. The Indians had returned to their former occupations about the
camp; a few taking food, others playing at their gambling games, still
more lolling with pipes beside the rude wigwams. David, in spite of the
dizzy, ringing feeling of his head and the weakness of his body, took
heart. That they did not mean to torture him at once was evident, and
while there was life there was hope. He found that by straightening his
body he could secure relief from the painful straining of his arms,
although he well knew that ere long that relief would fail him. The
sun was climbing above the tops of the few trees that thrust their
straggling branches from the swamp and the day promised to be close
and hot. Already thirst was parching his throat. Food he had no wish
for now. As the sunlight warmed the stagnant water of the partly dried
morass around the island, a fetid odor filled the air, and flies and
mosquitoes began to increase the captive’s sufferings. The English
held that mosquitoes did not bite the Indians, and while this was not
literally true, yet it was a fact, as David had observed, that the
troublesome insects had less liking for the savages than for those of
white blood. Perchance the boy’s stained skin deceived the pests into
mistaking him for a savage, since, while they bothered him greatly
by alighting upon him, they seemed not to sting save infrequently.
But the flies, a particularly bloodthirsty sort whose bodies gleamed
in the sunlight like green jewels, cared not what color the skins of
their victims might be and so proved of more painful annoyance than the
mosquitoes. Fortunately, the cedar despite its twisted, misshapen body,
provided fair shade from the sun’s hot rays as the morning progressed
and David was spared one form of torture.
None heeded him. The hours passed and the heat of the August day
increased, and David’s thirst became well-nigh intolerable. Altering
the position of his body within the scant allowance of the thongs that
held him no longer brought surcease from pain. His arms ached in every
muscle and nerve, and the cord about his wrists cut into the flesh.
Despondency grew, and by the time the sun was at the zenith he longed
desperately for the merciful release of a bullet. At last, unable to
bear the anguish of thirst longer, he cried with dry tongue for water.
An Indian preparing food above a tiny fire of twigs near by looked
stolidly across at him, hunched his glistening shoulders, and gave his
attention again to the earthen dish before him. David raised his voice
in a cracked cry and repeated his plea many times, but none more than
stared at him. With a sob of self-pity the boy closed his eyes and let
his head fall on his breast, and a sort of semi-consciousness enveloped
him. From it he was presently aroused by the speaking of his name.
Before him stood King Philip, Caleb, and several others of his company.
He viewed them dully, his mind but half awake.
“You maybe talk some now,” said the sachem, smiling evilly. “You maybe
tell me things and speak truth, David. What say?”
David sought to moisten his parched lips. “Water!” he muttered.
The sachem spoke to one of his attendants and presently a cup was held
to the boy’s lips. But no more than a few swallows was allowed him and
the precious fluid was withdrawn in spite of his groans and panting
pleas.
“You talk first,” said the sachem. “Then you have much water. Where
this man Captain Willard lodge now?”
David shook his head weakly. What the sachem said was but a meaningless
jumble of words to him. King Philip’s brow darkened.
“No talk yet? We see! Maybe you cold, David. Maybe you want fire.”
Again he spoke in his own tongue and two Indians left the group. David
had a premonition of danger, but his mind, drugged by suffering, sensed
but vaguely what the sachem intended. He closed his eyes wearily and
only opened them when the Indians threw armfuls of dried twigs and
branches at his feet. Even then he but glanced down for an instant
with indifferent eyes. The sachem spoke again to him, but David heard
as though from a distance and made no answer. Then a stab of pain
dispelled his languor and his eyes opened protestingly. The young
Indian Caleb, grinning fiendishly, was pressing the point of his knife
into the boy’s shoulder. David flinched and moaned.
“Maybe you talk?” demanded the sachem, his face thrust close to
David’s, his eyes hard with wrath and cruelty. “Philip not burn you all
up quick, David. Philip make you roast little, then you cool off. Maybe
you talk plenty. Speak, you English dog-pup!”
“I know――nothing,” mumbled David. “Give me――water!”
“Water? I give you fire! I make your tongue hang from your mouth! I
make you suffer grand like your people make my children and my squaws
suffer. You see!”
From the swamp to the west came the shrill call of a jay, twice
repeated. At the first sound King Philip and those beside him stiffened
to attention. At the third they turned and strode toward the center of
the camp. David closed his eyes again and his head fell forward and
merciful unconsciousness came over him.
From the swamp a straggling line of savages emerged and, signing
greetings, approached the sachem. A scant dozen in all, most bore
muskets and a number showed wounds that still dripped blood. They were
not of Philip’s company, but were Quaboags, and with them were three
sagamores, Quanansit, Apequinash, and Mawtamps. One, with bound hands,
was plainly a prisoner. With few words the visitors seated themselves,
following the example of Philip and his captains, and pipes were
lighted. Then Quanansit spoke.
They had fought with the English and had killed many. The English were
retreating to the garrison at Brookfield, pursued by nearly two hundred
Quaboags. This man, Memecho, they had taken prisoner. He had guided
the enemy and fought on his side. They made a present of him to the
Great Sachem of the Wampanoags. It had happened thus. The English at
Brookfield had sought a parley with the Quaboags, wishful of exacting
a promise from them of friendship. The Indians had thereupon agreed to
meet a company of the English, headed by Captain Wheeler and Captain
Hutchinson, at a certain place three miles from the village that
morning. The English had sought the locality, and not finding the
Quaboags, who knew better than to expose themselves on the plain, had
set forth toward Wickabaug Pond, guided by three Christian Indians,
amongst them this Memecho. When their way had led them between a swamp
on one side and a high bluff on the other, the Quaboags, lying in
wait, had attacked. Eight of the English had fallen at the first fire,
and three more had been wounded so that they must die. Of these was
Captain Hutchinson. The English had fought back for a time, and then,
finding themselves like to be exterminated by a foe they could scarce
see, had retreated toward the garrison, pursued by the Quaboags. Of the
latter none had been killed and but few wounded.
“How many were in their company?” asked King Philip.
“Twenty, all mounted on horses, and the three Indians,” answered
Quanansit.
“How many are in the village?”
“We do not know, for some have come of late to aid them. Yet no more
than eighty in all, we think.”
“Good, Quanansit! Let none escape. Send a messenger to the Wachoosett
sagamore, Woosonametipom, and bid him bring forward all his warriors.
Encompass the village that none may leave or enter. At nightfall I will
come also and when darkness hides us we will attack. Leave one here to
serve as guide to me, Quanansit.”
“This man will I leave, Philip. His name is Wompatannawa, a captain of
the Niantics, and he knows all paths and will guide you straightly.”
“Good. And now, that you have done wisely and bravely, to you and to
Apequinash and to Mawtamps I will make presents. I am poor, for the
enemy has burned my village and sacked my lodges, but one treasure I
still have. Give me a knife, Caleb.”
Thereupon, removing his wampum coat, Philip cut three pieces from it,
each containing near a peck of wampum, and gave the pieces to the three
sagamores. The Indian Caleb observed the act frowningly and when Philip
would have returned his knife he said: “I, too, have served, O Philip.
Is there no reward for me?”
The sachem gravely picked a single wampum bead from the garment and
handed it to him. “I reward according to your desert, O Caleb. This for
your bravery in battle. It was but a few smokes since that I saw you
kill a fly.”
In the laugh that followed, Caleb angrily ground the wampum bead into
the earth with his heel.
Food was brought to the Quaboags and afterwards they smoked, but before
that one of their number, disencumbering himself of his musket,
had set forth through the forest to bear King Philip’s command to
Woosonametipom. When the afternoon was half spent, the visitors, all
save him they called Wompatannawa, took their departure, and Philip’s
company began their preparations for the attack on the garrison at
Brookfield, some six miles distant, looking to their weapons and
ammunition, painting their bodies afresh and filling their pouches with
rations of parched corn or dried fish. Two medicine men gravely made
incantations about a circle drawn in the earth wherein lay strange
objects; a human hand, dried and colored like the root of a tree,
some colored pebbles, a string of wampum twisted about an arrow, the
feet of a crow tied together with a red yarn, and other things. They
chanted monotonously in low voices and stamped the earth, and sometimes
turned their bodies about slowly with their arms upstretched to the
brazen sky. Philip had returned to his wigwam for slumber, but Caleb
sat disconsolately and moodily outside and with his knife whittled at
a bit of wood. To him presently came the Nipmuck, Wompatannawa, and
sat beside him and talked. Later the stranger arose and idly wandered
about the village, strictly observing the etiquette which forbade any
semblance of curiosity. Presently in his wanderings he drew near to the
cedar tree against which a brown body was held with thongs of deer-hide
and rope. Idly the stranger looked, and then, spitting toward the
captive, turned his back and went on. This, since his eyes were closed,
the bound youth did not see.
The sun hung for a while above the forest trees in the west and then
sank from sight. A few fires sent pencils of blue smoke straight aloft
into the purpling twilight. The dogs, arousing from their somnolence,
began their prowling and snarling. Food was eaten and water drank. King
Philip, no longer bedecked with his wampum coat, emerged from his lodge
and drew his counselors about him. A cool air came out of the southwest
and the hovering hordes of insects disappeared. That refreshing breath
caused David’s eyelids to flutter, and presently a long sigh passed his
lips and a tremor passed through his body. His eyes opened slowly and
reason, restored by the long period of unconsciousness, dwelt again
in his aching brain. Before him the encampment showed unaccustomed
activity in the deepening twilight. Lodges were deserted and all the
warriors were gathered near the center of the island, armed and freshly
painted. Of the number no more than thirty bore guns, the boy observed.
Even as he began to sense what such activity indicated, the Indians
moved away toward the swamp, led by one whose slim height and grace
aroused the ghost of memory in his tired mind. Silently the warriors
passed into the twilight of the swamp, a sinister train of dark bodies
merging with the shadows of the reeds and bushes. The last faint pat
of footsteps died away and an eerie stillness descended on the island.
Occasionally a rustling sounded from the thicket beyond as a bird
stirred or a prowling mink or weasel sought the morass. After a while
a great frog began his gruff song. The light faded from the summer
sky and coolness brought relief to the hot, aching body and parched
mouth of the boy. Hope revived in his breast. That King Philip had
spared him so long argued well, he believed, for ultimate freedom. He
doubted not that the fagots at his feet would have been lighted had not
some diversion, dimly recalled, interrupted the sachem’s intent. The
departure of the company, armed and in war-paint, could mean but one
thing, battle with the English, and David prayed fervently that Philip
would be defeated and his band scattered. And then: “Aye, but what will
be my fate in such case?” he asked himself. “None know of my plight
save these Indians, and hence none will come to release me! I doubt I
can survive another day of this torture. It seems that whatever happens
I am doomed!”
The realization produced a panic of mind that set him writhing and
twisting at his bonds and accomplishing naught save to add to his pain
and exhaustion. At last, discouraged, limp and panting, he gave up, and
at that moment a voice came to him through the darkness.
“Brother!”
After an instant of surprise, David answered, hope rushing into his
heart again. “Who calls?” he cried eagerly.
“Memecho.” The voice seemed to come from some distance. “Who are you
and why are you bound?”
“My name is David Lindall. This morning Philip’s men captured me near
here. I was seeking the garrison at Brookfield. For a month, may be, I
have been held hostage by the Wachoosetts.”
“Aye, I know of you, brother. Monapikot, a Pegan, has told us your
story.”
“Monapikot! He is hereabouts?”
“I said not so.” The Indian lowered his voice. “Better it is to talk
little, David, for we know not who hears.”
“You are a friend? Will you not cut these cords of mine, Memecho?”
“Aye, so soon as you cut mine! I cannot help you, brother, for I am
both bound and wounded.”
David’s heart sank. And yet even the presence and the voice of a friend
was something to be thankful for, and after a moment he said:
“I grieve for you, Memecho. How happened this wound?”
“I fought with the English by Wickabaug Pond some hours ago. They
sought the Quaboags to make a treaty with them and were set upon
in ambush and had many killed and wounded. I, who led the English
captains, was shot in the first volley from the swamp beside me, and,
when I had fallen, could not follow back along the path and so was
taken and brought hither.”
“Is your wound of consequence, brother?”
“Nay, ’twill heal if it be given time, but my arm is of no use to me.”
“You say the English had many killed, Memecho? And what happened at
last?”
“They went back, still fighting, to the garrison, the Quaboags
pursuing. Now they are beset by my people in great number and unless
help come must perish.”
“Is there help near, Memecho?”
“’Tis said that Major Willard has half a hundred soldiers under him at
Lancaster, on the Nashua, thirty miles away. Yet unless word be taken
to him what means it? One who sought to go at Captain Wheeler’s command
was killed ere he had ridden an arrow’s flight. And now, since the
village is surrounded, none may pass out.”
“Had I but my freedom!” groaned David.
“Or I mine,” said the Indian.
“How happens it that you talk my language so well, Memecho?” asked the
boy, after a moment’s silence.
“I am of the Praying Village at Chabanakongkomun, a Christian like
yourself, David. I have learned to speak your language and to read and
write it, though the writing is hard for me. I teach my brothers, or
so did I until this infidel Philip pillaged and drove us forth. It may
be now――_what sound was that?_”
David listened. “I heard nothing, Memecho. Whither came it?”
“Be still, brother!”
And then David himself heard. From a little distance came the crackling
of a twig, a tiny sound enough, but momentous to those who hearkened.
Silence followed. David strained his ears. It might well be no more
than a beast of the forest, and yet hope told another tale. After what
seemed a long time, a swishing sound in the rushes nearer at hand
turned his eyes sharply to the left. At first naught was to be seen in
the gray darkness. Then, vague, formless, something emerged from the
gloom close beside him.