CHAPTER XXI
TO THE RESCUE
“Father!”
David’s startled cry drowned the sound of the overturned stool as he sprang toward the foremost of the two men.
“Aye, David,” answered Nathan Lindall in his quiet voice, taking the boy into his arms with a mighty hug. “Art well?”
“But—but how happens it you are here?” stammered David. “Is it really you? I can scarce believe my eyes! And Obid, too!”
“What be left o’ me,” replied Obid Dawkin grimly.
But he smiled as David took his hand and threw an arm over his shoulders, and there was a suspicious moistness in his pale eyes for some moments after.
“’Tis a long story, lad,” Nathan Lindall was saying, “and ’twill keep till we be on our way; for Major Willard tells me that naught will do but that you must accompany us. So, if you have finished your repast, we will be going. I would never have known you, David, in this guise had I met you on the trail. Does he not make a fine young brave, Obid? ”
“I grant you,” answered Obid sourly, eyeing the boy askance, “but I’d as lief he aped the Devil himself, master. I’ve seen enough of the ungodly cannibals without having one in the family!”
Laughing, Nathan Lindall, an arm still about his son’s shoulders, thanked Mistress Farwell and led the way outside. A few minutes later the company set forth. Four friendly Indians led the way. Of these one, as David noted with surprise, was his old acquaintance, Joe Tanopet, still wearing his green waistcoat. The Indians were unmounted. Behind them, in company with two younger officers, rode Major Willard, a fine and martial figure on his white steed. Followed the company of dragoons, each man fully armed with musket and baldric. Some wore, besides, a hunting-knife thrust into a leather belt. In all the company numbered fifty-three. David had been supplied with a horse, a small, flea-bitten gray mare with a dejected mien, and musket and ammunition. It was shortly after eight o’clock when the little force left Lancaster and, fording the river above the settlement, took a broad trail into the west, which, more direct than that following the stream, nevertheless proved later to be a most arduous one, crossing many hills and floundering through quagmires innumerable.
But David had little thought for the road, for there was much to learn and to tell, and when the trail allowed he rode his mare close to his father’s side and listened or talked. Nathan Lindall told of the journey with Master Vernham and others to the Wachoosett village and of its unsatisfactory result.
“Metipom received us as friends and gave a feast in our honor, but we were not deceived. Yet none would say that they had seen aught of you, though Tanopet spoke aside with many of the tribe. In the end, finding no trace of you, we must needs depart with what grace we might, although William Vernham was for enticing the sachem outside the palisade and making prisoner of him, a fanciful plan that we would not countenance. Had I not been assured that no harm would befall you so long as Metipom’s son went scatheless, I should have returned with an armed force and brought things to a head. But, as circumstances stood, for the Council at Boston would not countenance aught likely to interrupt the existing friendship between the Wachoosett tribe and the English, it seemed better to wait. I will not say, lad, that I was not troubled for you, and when Monapikot brought word that he had seen and talked with you and that you were well I was greatly relieved.”
“He gave you my message, father?”
“Aye, lad, but two days later.”
“I could not understand Pikot’s presence there with those others, father, nor do I yet. ’Twas hard to believe him not a traitor, since they fetched with them the dried heads of two of our people and sought to embroil Metipom in Philip’s quarrel.”
“He did not tell you, then?”
“He said only that I must trust him, which I did, though not without misgiving.”
“He keeps a secret well, but now that you have so well proved yourself, David, I see no reason why you should not know the truth about the Pegan. You may remove all suspicion of him from your mind, my son, for Monapikot is a true and tried friend of the Colony, more trusted than any other of his race. Indeed, never since the days of the Pequot War has there been known a spy of such courage and wisdom.”
“A spy! Pikot a spy?”
“Aye, does it surprise you so?”
“I had not thought,” stammered David. “And it sorrows me. Always I have thought of a spy as one base and mean and unworthy, and to think so of Monapikot—”
“A spy is base only when he be apprehended,” replied Nathan Lindall dryly. “Is it right to call one mean who takes far greater risks than any other and for no more return? He who fights in open combat may look for honorable treatment if captured, but the spy well knows that speedy death is aught he may win in such case. Nay, David, Monapikot deserves your praise and not your censure. No better nor more useful friend have the English to-day, for his ways of learning what we would know are many and marvelous. For several years he has served the Colony and never yet has he failed at aught he has been set to do. I hold it a miracle that he has so far escaped, for a dozen times has he put his head in the lion’s mouth, as when, but last month, he visited King Philip’s village at Pocasset and brought back news of that infidel’s intent. But to continue my story.
“This Nausauwah, son of Metipom, was lately brought to trial, and, although the evidence against him was not pressed lest the result should be his death and your undoing, yet he was adjudged a menace and deported to one of the islands in Boston Harbor, there to be held until peace is restored. Fearing the news of this would reach Metipom and that he would wreak vengeance on you, I applied to the Council for assistance and, as Pikot had brought word of the Wachoosetts’ disaffection, Major Willard was instructed to go to their village, take prisoners, and rescue you. To this end, four days since, the Major’s command visited the Wachoosett village, I and Obid accompanying them. But we found only a desert. Our guides soon found the signs of their departure, but the trail was already cold and pursuit was deemed ill-advised until we had added to our force. Yesterday twenty more dragoons joined us from Groton and to-day we were to have followed Metipom.”
“He lodges near to Brookfield, father, and has joined forces with Philip. I am fain that all who have proven traitors to their promises of good behavior be punished, father, and yet many of the Wachoosett tribe have treated me kindly and it would grieve me to see ill come to them.”
“’Tis difficult in these times to pick the sheep from the goats, David,” replied his father gravely. “I doubt not many innocent will be punished with the guilty. I’ve heard tell that at the Plymouth Colony so incensed are our people against the Indians that ’tis enough to have a red skin to merit death. Even about Boston the people are strangely panic-stricken and accept without question all the stories, no matter how improbable, that come to them. Mr. Eliot’s Indians have come under suspicion and there is talk of removing them from the villages and holding them prisoners on some island in the harbor. It is said that some have proven false and taken the war-path with Philip. I do not know how true it be, but, on the other hand, a great many are fighting on our side, and methinks they so even the matter. Obid, howsomever, declares that those who have taken arms for the English do so but the better to betray us later. He has changed none in his opinion of the savages since you left us, David.” Nathan Lindall smiled dryly.
“But how came he to accompany you, father? I had not thought ever to see him bearing a musket and going a-soldiering!”
“An I mistake not, lad, he is as surprised to find himself where he is as you or I! He has no liking for this work, but came out of love for you and devotion to me, David. I think could he have had his way he would have marched alone into the Wachoosett country so soon as you were stolen, and sought your rescue! If, as I believe, it be the rarest courage to do what you fear to do, then is Obid the bravest man I know. He is convinced beyond all argument that he is doomed to be scalped and so spends much time each day in the nice arrangement of his hair. But now tell me of how affairs stand at Brookfield. Has this Sagamore-John indeed joined up with Philip, as ’tis rumored?”
“Of him I have heard naught, father, but I believe that all the Nipmucks in that part of the country have gathered to Philip’s aid or will do so shortly unless they be taught a speedy lesson.”
“Which they shall be taught,” responded Nathan Lindall grimly. “But I pray the garrison may hold out until we reach them. ’Tis but slow progress we make, lad.”
At noon the company paused a short while for rest and food. They were then on high land overlooking a wide and pleasant valley and had conquered a good half of their distance. Major Willard summoned his officers to him, by courtesy including Nathan Lindall, and plans were made for when they should approach the beleaguered village. Whether their coming was suspected or not by the Indians, they could not hope to gain the garrison’s protection without a battle unless, having halted at a distance, they awaited darkness and entered the village by stealth. In that wise they might escape a serious encounter. Some were for marching straight to the village by daylight, trusting to the notably poor marksmanship of the Indians to win past without great loss, but in the end the decision was to tarry a mile or so away and send scouts ahead to learn the disposition and strength of the foe and then go forward under cover of darkness.
The last ten miles of the way presented grave difficulties to them. The trail, while well enough for one afoot, abounded in swampy stretches too treacherous for the horses, and twice wide detours were made that added distance and consumed time. Yet at an hour before sunset the company reached a position something above a mile from the village on the north and a halt was called where stream and grass offered refreshment for the tired steeds. Thus far not an Indian enemy had been sighted, although, as David reckoned it, they had passed within a league of the Wachoosett encampment and were fairly within the demesne of the Quaboags. Two of the guides were dispatched toward Brookfield to reconnoiter, while the others were posted on either side to prevent a surprise. Food was partaken of in silence while the last slanting rays of sunlight filled the copse with mellow beauty. An hour passed. Then a distant musket shot was heard. Instantly a second followed it, and soon the firing was fairly continuous.
“The devils have begun a new attack,” muttered Major Willard. “I would our scouts were back.”
They came soon after, creeping stealthily from the brush. The Indians to the number of three hundred or more were disposed about the village, they reported, sheltering in houses and barns. The garrison house still held out. They had seen Wampanoags, Wachoosetts, Quaboags, and a few River Indians. King Philip himself they had not descried. The Indians were armed with guns to about half their number. Many houses had already been burned and others were then in flames. The Indians had been feasting and drinking, and much loot was assembled at the edge of the town. To reach the village it would be best to make a detour toward the west and approach by a portion wherein more houses had been burned and where the enemy found fewer places of concealment. It might even be possible to attain to within a short distance of the garrison before discovery since the besiegers seemed to have set few guards on any side.
When twilight had well deepened, the guides set forth again and the dragoons got to saddle and followed. After a half-mile march through forest paths they halted again. Eastward the darkening sky was red with the reflection of the burning village and shots sounded incessantly. Now and then, since they had come to within no more than half a mile of the settlement, a shrill, shuddering war-cry reached them through the still evening. Fortunately for them, the sky was now overcast and there was a feel of rain in the sultry air. Northwards, lightning began to play above the hill-tops.
Presently a further advance was made in all silence and then the company dismounted and the horses were led into a small glade and picketed. After which, having seen to their arms, the company set forth afoot, led by the guides, through the darkness of early night in the direction of the flame-lit sky.