battle with the English, and David prayed fervently that Philip would be defeated and his band scattered. And then: “Aye, but what will be my fate in such case?” he asked himself. “None know of my plight save these Indians, and hence none will come to release me! I doubt I can survive another day of this torture. It seems that whatever happens I am doomed!”
The realization produced a panic of mind that set him writhing and twisting at his bonds and accomplishing naught save to add to his pain and exhaustion. At last, discouraged, limp and panting, he gave up, and at that moment a voice came to him through the darkness.
“Brother!”
After an instant of surprise, David answered, hope rushing into his heart again. “Who calls?” he cried eagerly.
“Memecho.” The voice seemed to come from some distance. “Who are you and why are you bound?”
“My name is David Lindall. This morning Philip’s men captured me near here. I was seeking the garrison at Brookfield. For a month, may be, I have been held hostage by the Wachoosetts.”
