CHAPTER VIII
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 chiefs 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.