about, while he estimated the number of Pometacom’s warriors at near sixty, a number much smaller than he would have surmised. With the chief went a young and strikingly intelligent appearing Indian, named Caleb, who was even more gaudily bedecked than the sachem himself, save for the latter’s famous wampum coat. All seated themselves, and then, having lighted his pipe with much care and deliberation, King Philip, still speaking in a gentle fashion, questioned David closely. The latter, determining to tell a truthful story, told of his adventures from the time of his capture by Sequanawah, and the sachem heard him silently, nodding now and then, puffing occasional volumes of choking smoke from his stone pipe. The second Indian listened as closely, but there was an expression on his face that David did not like. When he had ended his narrative, the sachem, to David’s intense surprise, asked abruptly:
“You know Captain Hutchinson?”
“Hutchinson? Nay, I know him not, King Philip.”
“You come from Brookfield?”
“Nay, I was seeking Brookfield when your warriors fell upon me, as I have told.”
