# Metipom's Hostage/Chapter 10
### CHAPTER X SEQUANAWAH PLEDGES FRIENDSHIP

On the morrow he was summoned to the sachem, and on entering the big wigwam found it half full of Indians. Most of them were young men, although a few were of middle-age and one quite old. In all there were some eighteen or twenty including the sachem himself and the interpreter of yesterday. The sachem’s wife and the three children hovered in the background, and the dogs slunk about underfoot, as ever.
David bowed and gave the Nipmuck salutation and those present gravely responded. From the size of the audience and the air of gravity prevailing, David judged that Metipom had assembled his counselors to learn what the white man could tell them of the trouble between King Philip and the English. His surmise was soon proved correct, for after the sachem had inquired politely as to his “guest’s” state of health and appetite, and had expressed the grave hope that he had enjoyed much sleep, he began, through the powwow, to question David about the ​acts of the “wicked-hearted Pometacom.” That the sachem had already received definite and fairly full information of the Wampanoags’ insurrection was evident from the questions put. What Metipom and his counselors seemed most wishful of knowing was whether the Narragansett tribe would join Philip or the English. To this David truthfully answered that the Narragansetts had given their promise to remain neutral. The sachem then asked if the Quaboags had not cast in their lot with Pometacom. This David could not answer. He was asked about various other small tribes; the Nausets, the Pegans, and Niantics, and still more whose names he now heard for the first time. Of the Pegans he said that they were friends of the English and would remain so, having Monapikot’s word for it. The Niantics he supposed to be of the Narragansett people, and they would take no part. As to the Nausets he knew nothing. His answers were discussed at length by the chief and his counselors, but whether they agreed or no with what information they already held David could not guess. In the end he was sent away courteously enough, leaving the assemblage still squatting about the wigwam.
​He had thought when bidden to the sachem’s lodge that his friends had come for him or sent overtures by some friendly Indian. Now, wandering about the dog-infested village, he found himself wondering why they had not done either. Surely, he reasoned, his absence could have gone unnoted no later than nightfall two days previous. His father might wait until morning before giving the alarm, but after that, action would, it seemed to him, be speedy. After the challenge of the blue-marked arrow it was not likely that his father would fail to connect his disappearance with Woosonametipom. Surely, he concluded, the rescue party would arrive not later than this evening.
Having reached the gate of the fort, he paused and looked forth. Several Indians were listlessly stirring the soil of little patches of tobacco, beans, corn, and squashes set between the outcropping boulders and patches of brush. None challenged him, and he was considering stepping outside to test the sachem’s watchfulness when a mop of black hair thrust itself into sight from about a corner of the wall and a scowling countenance confronted him. “No can,” growled ​the sentinel. He placed his wooden spear across the gateway and rattled it fearsomely. David drew back. As he did so his glance lifted to the nearer of the two watch towers. Against the hot haze of the noonday sky a straight and motionless figure stood like a statue in bronze and gazed southward. With vastly more respect for Metipom’s vigilance, David went slowly and thoughtfully back toward his wigwam.
Some of the younger lads were practicing shooting with their bows and arrows, their mark the bowl of a broken clay pipe which they had set up against the peeled logs of the palisade. David paused and looked on. Their bows were smaller than those of their fathers and their arrows shorter, and the range was not long, but David was surprised at the accuracy of their marksmanship. One youth, whose age could have been no more than ten, twice set the thorn-tipped head of his arrow close beside the tiny target, whereat David exclaimed, “Winnet! Winnet!” (“Good! Good!”), and the others began to cry “Winnet!” too, more, it seemed, for the sake of noise than aught else, while the small, naked boy, whose skin was the color of a young fawn, marched about with ​ridiculous pompousness and chanted “Sasketup!” which meant “a great man.” So absurd were the rascal’s actions that David burst into a laugh, and that produced scowls and mutterings from the youth, for the Indians were sensitive to derision and the lad mistook David’s amusement for ridicule. He stopped in his march of triumph, shook his small bow angrily, and launched into a shrill jumble of words, few of which David could understand. At their companion’s anger the others howled gleefully, jumping about and striking attitudes. It seemed that what the boy was pouring forth was a challenge, for now he held forth his bow and an arrow and pointed to the mark. David, who had seldom attempted so difficult a shot with the native weapon, although he had frequently used a bow when hunting with Monapikot, hesitated. Whereupon the incensed lad became the more derisive, and his playmates, transferring their sympathies, joined in the chorus of taunts.
“Nay, then, I’ll try it,” said David, and accepted the bow and arrow.
They were scarcely more than toys to his long arms and the pipe-bowl looked very small. But he set the notch into the string, ​drew, and shot. The arrow, lighter than he had reckoned, stuck its head more than a foot below the mark, although on a good line with it. “Sasketup” viewed the result with supreme contempt, and the comments of his companions were, while unintelligible to David, plainly unflattering.
“Arrow him too short,” said a voice behind him, and David turned to see Sequanawah, his captor of two days ago. Sequanawah took an arrow from one of the larger boys and held it forth. “You try um,” he said. David had better fortune this time, for the arrow struck less than an inch above the mark. “Winnet!” grunted the boys and “Good shoot,” said Sequanawah.
Several of the youths crowded about David and offered their arrows for him to try, but he shook his head, laughing, thinking it well to stop before he had, by a worse shot, destroyed what renown he had gained. The lad who had challenged scowled crestfallenly as David turned away and called a shrill taunt after him. The words David did not know, but their meaning was evident enough: “I dare you to try again, Englishman!”
To David’s surprise, Sequanawah accompanied him to the wigwam and there squatted ​inside with the manner of one paying a visit of ceremony. Gravely David offered hospitality.
“Will you eat meat?” he asked.
Sequanawah shook his head. “Me full.”
In that case, as David knew, he should offer pipe and tobacco. Not having either, however, he smiled and pointed to the pouch that hung at the Indian’s girdle. “You smoke,” he said.
Sequanawah bowed and drew pipe and pouch to his knees and filled his bowl gravely and in silence. That done, he searched in the blackened embers of the fire and presently brought forth a tiny coal that showed a gray ash. On this he breathed gently. The flakey ash disappeared and gradually a glow of fire took its place. To David the performance smacked of the miraculous, for he would have sworn that the ember was as dead as any that Sequanawah had cast aside. When his pipe was lighted, the Wachoosett smoked for a minute in silence, his dark eyes fixed on the ground. Then he laid the pipe beside him and spoke.
“Um well?” he asked.
“Aye, brother.”
The Indian nodded as with satisfaction. ​“David man good shoot,” he went on. “Um shoot plenty um shoot more good. Um got cossaquot?”
“Cossaquot?” repeated David.
“Aye, cossaquot.” He drew an imaginary bow-string, snapped his thumb and forefinger apart, and gazed through the wigwam door.
“You mean bow and arrows? Nay, I no got cossaquot, brother.”
“Me make um you plenty good. You shoot um all-time. You be good shoot, good fight, good hunt.”
“Thank you, Sequanawah; I should like that.”
“Aye,” grunted the Indian.
Conversation lapsed. Sequanawah replaced the stem of his pipe between his lips and smoked awhile. At last he emptied the ashes from the bowl, arose and walked to the entrance. There he turned, laid a hand on his heart, and then pointed to David. “Sequanawah um brother,” he said simply. “Nawhaw nissis.”
“Farewell,” returned David. “May your meat do you much good.”
He was glad to have gained Sequanawah’s friendship, although whether it would profit ​him any remained to be seen. Sequanawah had attended the conference in the sachem’s wigwam that morning, which indicated that he was a counselor and one of the tribe’s principal men, perhaps a captain amongst the warriors. In which case his avowal of friendship might result most fortunately. Later, David sought to learn more of Sequanawah from John, but the latter’s English was too povern.
It was mid-afternoon, toward the end of the sleep-hour, when David, seated rather disconsolately in the shade outside his lodge, saw two Indians approaching. He knew neither by sight, although he had already learned to recognize a good many of the inhabitants of the village. Both were young men and each was armed with tomahawk, knife, and spear. They motioned to him to accompany them and he did so. They led the way toward the sachem’s lodge, but instead of entering they went past. From within the wigwam David heard the voice of Woosonametipom and another. The two Indians went on toward the gate. David saw that the watch tower was no longer occupied. At the opening in the palisade one of the Indians fell in behind David and they passed through. ​So far as the boy could see, the gate was no longer guarded. Looking down the slope toward the belt of forest, his gaze was attracted by a faint column of smoke that seemed to arise from the meadow beyond the forest. The garden patches were deserted and the leaves of the tobacco plants hung limply in the hot sun. To the left they went, making their way between bushes and over brambles and following no perceptible trail until the shadow of the woods met them. Keeping at the edge of the trees, the Indian who led proceeded for the better part of a mile, thus presently losing sight of the village as the curve of the hill intervened. It was hot and sultry and the pace was fast, and David, being well weighted with clothing in comparison with his companions, was soon in a fine perspiration.
He wondered greatly where they were taking him and why. He had, however, no fear. If harm was to come to him, it would come in the village, for the Indians would make a public event of his torture or execution and not conduct either secretly. What seemed the most probable was that the Indian outposts had sent word that his friends were approaching and that he was being ​taken away to some place of hiding. When, after another half-mile, the leader turned down the slope and entered a park-like expanse of oaks and at last came to a stop, David knew that his surmise had been correct. Before them was a ledge of rock outcropping from the forest floor. A giant oak with a twisted trunk sent sprawling roots above and about it, and one root, the taproot as it seemed, had gone straight down through a crevice in the ledge and, gradually increasing in size, had forced the rock apart so that there lay a narrow opening, half-hidden by ferns. Into this the first Indian squirmed and was instantly gone from sight. Somewhat hesitantly, David followed, and being clothed and wider of shoulder, would have stuck in the aperture had not the second Indian shoved upon him. Thereupon David went free and found his feet scrabbling on broken particles of stone and himself in a sudden and confusing darkness.
“Hub,” said the Indian ahead, and as “hub” meant “come,” David, feeling his way, followed. For several paces the path led steeply downward. Then the earth became level and David stopped. Behind him the second Indian was scuffling softly down to ​join them. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the change from daylight to gloom, David made out dimly that he was standing in a roomy cave. It appeared to be a half-dozen paces in width, more than the height of a man from floor to roof and of indeterminable depth. It was refreshingly cool down there. David’s companions seated themselves between him and the narrow passage that led upward and out, and through which the daylight entered subduedly, and stolidly filled their pipes. There being naught else to do, David likewise seated himself on the ground, finding a spot where the wall of rock provided a rest for his shoulders. The floor of the cave was dry, seeming to consist of the powdered particles of the granite ledge above, although, as he discovered after being seated awhile, there were occasional sharp fragrments of stone as well.
He wondered how long he would have to stay there. The thought that even now his father or others from his country might be no more than two miles distant filled him with discouragement and a sort of dull anger. They would be welcomed by the sachem and entertained with food and tobacco, and all their questioning would come to naught. ​Though they searched high and low and never so carefully they would find no trace of him. Sitting there in the half-light of the cavern, the only sound the soft sucking of the Indians’ pipes, the boy’s thoughts were far from happy, and once his eyes grew moist ere, with a shrug of impatience for his weakness, he forced back the tears.