“I know not. Stay you close to the wigwams, David, and ask no questions.”
“That is no easy task, Sequanawah, when my people perish.”
“Many will be left, brother. Philip cannot win this war, for the White-Faces are too many against him. In the end he must hide or yield. Yet ere that comes about the forest leaves will be red with blood and many of your people and mine will seek the Great Spirit. I go now to have sleep, my brother.”
In spite of Monapikot’s advice, David was resolved to let no opportunity to escape his captors be wasted, for by keeping his ears open he had learned that English settlements lay near by, notably that of Brookfield, which, he believed, was little more than twelve miles south of the present encampment. Yet, although his guards that night relaxed their vigilance, so well was the village picketed that any attempt at escape would have been futile. The next morning strange Indians came, mean and povern-seeming savages to the number of eight. These, he learned, were from the small tribe of Quaboags, dwelling beyond Brookfield. They spent more than an hour in Metipom’s wigwam and then departed southward. Of
