STRAIGHT ARROW RETURNS
Though the rain was ended in less than an hour, it had served to so
dampen the enemy’s spirits that not again during the night did he renew
the attack. Darkness and silence shrouded the garrison so soon as the
storm had rumbled away into the south. There was sleep for some, while
others remained on guard, and to all came a new hope and encouragement.
Even Captain Hutchinson, in bad case though he was from wounds that
caused his death many days later, spoke words of cheer from his bed of
pain.
It proved a long night, but morning dawned at last bringing clear skies
and radiant sunlight, the latter serving to accentuate the desolation
that met the sorrowful view of the townsfolk. Sodden heaps of blackened
ruins lay on every side. Only a few scattered houses remained
undamaged. The granary had escaped demolition, though a part of its
roof was gone. At daybreak food was eaten and a service of prayer and
thanksgiving held in the garrison house.
It was shortly after that a friendly Indian, several of whom had
shared the plight of the defenders, uttered an alarm from his place of
watching. From the woods on the west of the devastated village came an
Indian running fast and straight toward the garrison house. Already a
few savages had been seen skulking about the outskirts beyond range
of bullet, but this one was not of them. As David, peering forth with
the others, beheld and wondered, arrows sped toward the runner from a
patch of woods at his right. They missed their mark, and the Indian,
swerving, ran toward the granary and, with a marvelous burst of speed,
reached it unharmed and placed the building between him and the enemy.
As he came again into sight about the nearer corner, David recognized
him.
“’Tis Monapikot!” he cried.
“Aye, ’tis the Pegan spy!” called another. “Unbar the door!”
But Monapikot was not yet safe, for a puff of smoke arose behind him
and a bullet buried itself in the dirt at his feet. The Indian who had
sighted the Pegan from the house grunted, thrust his musket through
the firing-hole, and fired. But the distance was too great and more
shots spat about the runner, and suddenly, throwing up his hands,
Monapikot whirled in his flight, staggered and fell flat and limp.
David’s heart turned to stone within him, and then he thrust aside one
who stood in his path and sprang toward the door.
But his father was before him.
“What would you do?” he cried.
“Bring him in, father! He may not be dead!”
“Nay, lad, you would but meet the same fate.”
“I care not! He is my friend, and if it be that he is but sorely
wounded――”
There was a shout from the watchers. “He is up again! He comes! ’Twas
but a trick he played! The door! The door!”
Swiftly it was unbarred and thrown wide. David, forgetting danger,
dashed through it. Toward him, swiftly, came the Pegan. An arrow struck
the ground well short and slithered across the turf. Then David was
half pushing, half carrying Monapikot through the doorway, and then the
portal crashed shut and the great bar fell back into place. The Pegan
would have collapsed had not hands helped him to a bench whereon,
for a long moment, he sat with hanging head and laboring lungs. But
presently, when water had been given him, he lifted his head and smiled
at David’s concerned countenance and then told his story, though in
halting words.
[Illustration: THEN DAVID WAS HALF PUSHING, HALF CARRYING MONAPIKOT
THROUGH THE DOORWAY]
“I bring you word from Captain Lothrop, at Hadley,” he said. “The
Christian Indians there are unrestful and a party of Nipmucks have come
from Pecomtuck and threaten trouble. Therefore he sends you word that
he dare not leave Hadley, since his departure might encourage both the
Christians and the Pecomtucks to attack the people. I had no trouble in
reaching the village, and there I rested all day yesterday, departing
again last night after darkness. Returning, I encountered roving
parties of Nipmucks and was twice taken and questioned. Once I talked
myself free, but the next time they would have carried me back toward
Hadley had I not killed one who held me and escaped in the darkness.
Near to daybreak I found Nipmucks camped half a mile west of here
and had to go far out of my way to get past them. The rest you know,
brothers; save that the Wachoosett sachem, Woosonametipom, lies dead
beside the granary with six others. I saw no wounds upon them and do
not understand.”
“’Twas the lightning!” exclaimed Captain Wheeler. “They lay close by
the granary, Pikot?”
“Aye, their bodies be against the wall.”
“So it was, then! The lightning bolt that struck the granary and set
fire to it killed them at the same instant. It was the hand of God,
neighbors!”
“They did not harm you, Straight Arrow?” asked David anxiously.
“Nay, I but fell that they might think me dead. If you have food, I
would eat, for I have traveled fast.”
An hour later, while David and Monapikot talked, word came that the
enemy was again about to attack and all returned to their stations.
Until just short of noon bullets and flaming arrows spattered against
the house, but did no damage to the defenders. In the afternoon one
watching from the upper story reported that many Indians were crossing
a field to the southeast as though in retreat. By nightfall it was
known with certainty that the siege had been lifted. Despairing of
taking the garrison, the Indians retreated until, the next day, none
was to be seen. Scouts, dispatched in many directions, returned with
the tidings that the country was free of the enemy for six miles
around. The Wachoosett village had been abandoned and so with all other
camps thereabouts, and it was believed that Philip and his cohorts were
heading westward.
Two days later a party of eight set forth toward the east. Of these
were Nathan Lindall, David, Obid (still, to his wonderment, possessed
of his scalp), and Monapikot. With but one alarm and no encounter with
the enemy, they reached safety three days later, and near the close
of a warm August day David again crossed the threshold of his home.
That evening, in a new and pleasant feeling of security, for King
Philip’s warriors had thus far given the more settled country about
Boston a wide berth, David sat and listened, for the most part in
contented silence, to the talk of his father and Monapikot the Pegan.
Now and then, Obid, busy with his duties about the house, paused to
add his shrill voice to the converse. They spoke of the war, that for
many months longer was destined to keep the colonists in uncertainty
and terror, and it was Monapikot rather than Nathan Lindall who spoke
hopefully of the future and predicted the ultimate confusion of King
Philip.
“He secures victories only where the English live apart from each
other,” said the Pegan. “To any bold front he turns tail like a fox.
I fear much trouble in the west ere he finally skulks to cover, but
if the Colonies will join forces and send fighting men upon him in
numbers, he will flee and no more lives will be taken. He fears the
winter that will soon come, for he has many mouths to feed, and when
the Indian makes war he gathers no corn. Neither, when the leaves are
off the trees, can he so well give battle, Master Lindall, and he has
no stomach for winter trails.”
“And what of the Narragansetts, Pikot? Think you they will fully agree
with Philip and follow him?”
“Aye, master, if the English do not persuade them otherwise. Bad
portents come from that country and I would that the Governors gave
heed to such.”
They were still in discussion when Master William Vernham and one of
his servants arrived on horseback, and their neighbor, dismounting,
clasped David in his great arms and boisterously gave him welcome home.
“A brave and sturdy lad you are, David,” he declared, “and I would I
had one like you. You are well and unharmed of those varmints? But an
hour ago I got word of your coming from one who saw you by Sudbury
and I ate my supper in such haste that it liked to choke me. And you,
Master Lindall? You, too, it seems, have escaped from the wolves. But I
see not Obid. Can it be that he has――has――”
“Nay, then, master,” responded Obid from the shadow wherein he sat,
“the Lord brought me safe through, but whether to so continue or
whether in postponement of a direful fate I know not yet.”
“You are as cheerful as ever,” laughed William Vernham.
“What I have been through, master, and the sights my eyes have beheld
make not for cheer.”
“Well, well, and now what for you, David? Of a surety you will have no
mind for digging the garden and milking and such like tasks since you
have tasted of a soldier’s life!”
“I know not,” replied David. “It shall be as my father says, though, an
I had my wish――”
“What, then?” prompted Nathan Lindall as the boy hesitated.
“Why, then, sir, I would go forth to-morrow and seek service with those
who fight for the safety of the Colonies. Nor would I wish to lay aside
my musket until this murderous Philip be driven north or slain.”
“Well said!” cried Master Vernham. “A lad after my own heart, Nathan
Lindall! You’ll not say him nay, I warrant.”
“He shall have his way,” replied the host gravely. “Though he knows
it not, ’tis arranged already. Three days from now Monapikot travels
south to the Narragansett country on a mission you may surmise, Master
Vernham, and ’tis arranged that David shall accompany him. There may be
less fighting than he craves, but he will be in good hands and what he
performs will be of service to the Colony.”
“’Tis true, father?” cried David eagerly. “’Tis true, Straight Arrow?”
The Pegan smiled. “Aye, ’tis true, Noawama. We take the trail together,
you and I. Danger there will be, though. Wilt brave it?”
“Try me!” answered David. “With you I’ll brave aught that comes!”
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
U . S . A
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.