# Metipom's Hostage/Chapter 23
### CHAPTER XXIII 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!”
THEN DAVID WAS HALF PUSHING, HALF CARRYING MONAPIKOT THROUGH THE DOORWAY
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.
“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!”
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