On the other hand if the chief himself wished to come or wished to send any special friend, Governor Bradford had sent him a copper chain which the chief might give to his envoy. Anyone wearing this chain would be welcomed and entertained as if he were the chief himself. Finally Winslow asked Massasoit if he would undertake diplomacy on their behalf with the Indians on Cape Cod. Winslow explained how they had taken corn from these people during the first voyages of discovery and that they now wished to pay for this corn either in kind from their own harvest or in trade.
Massasoit now put on the red cloak and copper chain. “He was not a little proud to behold himself and his men also to see their King so bravely attired,” Winslow says. The chief then told the envoys that they were welcome and that he would gladly continue peace and friendship between the two peoples. As for his men, they would pester Plymouth no more. He would also send envoys to the Pamet Indians on Cape Cod, who were the owners of the corn.
The chief then turned to his men and made a great speech. Was not he, Massasoit, commander of the country about them? Was not such and such a town his and the people of it? Would they not bring their skins to trade with the white men in Plymouth? Each time, his braves answered that they were his and that they would be at peace with Plymouth and bring their beaver skins to the settlers. The first few times that this performance was repeated the envoys were delighted, but unfortunately the great chief enumerated at least thirty different towns and grew somewhat tedious.
The speech finally over, the envoys smoked a pipe with the chief and talked at length of England and King James. Massasoit seemed most amazed to discover that the king was a widower (Queen Anne had died in 1619) and had never remarried. The talk went on until darkness fell and the envoys began to feel the pangs of hunger. They looked around for dinner and saw none forthcoming. Finally Massasoit explained, that having just come home, he did not have a scrap of food in the house.
Concealing their dismay, the envoys said they were weary and ready for sleep. Whereupon the chief insisted that they share the royal couch with himself and his wife. It was hardly a downy bed of ease. Winslow describes it as planks laid a foot from the ground and a mat upon them.” Later in the night two of the chiefs braves wandered in and joined the group, practically squashing the white men. There was also the problem of lice and fleas with which the great chief’s wigwam abounded - and the Indian habit of singing themselves to sleep. “We were worse weary of our lodging,” Winslow says, “than of our journey.”
The next day, many sachems and minor chiefs from surrounding villages poured in to see the white men. The Indians entertained with wrestling matches and races. Winslow and Hopkins challenged them to a shooting contest for beaver skins, but the red men declined. One of them, however, set up a mark on a distant tree and dared them to hit it. This time Hopkins decided to exhibit another kind of weapon and filled his gun with bird shot. The Indians were amazed to see the mark so full of holes.
Noon passed and one o’clock, and still there was no sign of food. Then Massasoit appeared with two good-sized bass which he had caught in the nearby river. They were promptly thrown into the pot for boiling, and the white men retired to the chief’s wigwam, anticipating a feast. To their dismay, they discovered that no less than forty of the tribe crowded around for a share of the two fish.
The envoys were now close to collapse from lack of sleep and food. Before they went to bed they informed Massasoit that they were leaving in the morning. The chief was aware that he had not entertained them particularly well and begged them to stay longer. But when they explained that they wished to spend their Sabbath at Plymouth, he let them go, sending with them one Hobomok, a pinese, or warrior of special courage and wisdom, who was to remain at Plymouth for many years as Massasoit’s ambassador in residence.
Winslow and Hopkins were so busy with their diplomacy they were unable to learn much about their Indian friends’ less obvious customs, such as their religion. They came away from this visit with the impression that they had none. But on subsequent embassies to the great chief, Winslow was to correct this error, and a few years later write a most respectful and interesting little treatise on the beliefs of his neighbors for the enlightenment of friends in England.
“They conceive of many Divine Powers,” he wrote. “So of one, whom they called Kiehtan, to be the principal and maker of all the rest; and to be made by none. ‘He,’ say they, ‘created the heavens, earth, sea and all creatures contained therein.’ Also that he made one man and one woman; of whom they and we and all mankind came: but how they became so far dispersed, that know they not.
“At first, they say, there was no sachem or king but Kiehtan; who dwells above in the heavens; whither all good men go when they die, to see their friends and have their fill of all things. . . . His habitation lies far westward in the heavens, they say.
“Thither bad men go also, and knock at his door, but he bids them Quatchet, that is to say ‘walk abroad! for there is no place for such.’ So that they wander in restless want and penury. . . .”
Winslow went on to describe other interesting aspects of Indian beliefs. Along with Kiehtan, they worshipped another Power, Hobbamock, who resembled the Christian idea of the Devil. This God supposedly had power over natural creatures, including the ability to heal human sickness. Whenever a warrior was wounded or ill, he would call upon Hobbamock, and he often appeared to them in the shape of a man, a deer, a fawn, an eagle - but most often as a snake.
The Powah or tribal medicine man was thought to have special skill in calling upon the devil to heal disease. A pinese was also believed to have a special covenant with Hobbamock to preserve him from death by wounds with arrows or knives. Partly because of this belief, and partly because of their superior strength and fighting ability, a single pinese had been known to rout a hundred men in a battle.
On the return journey young Winslow had a chance to demonstrate that firmness was as much a part of diplomacy as courteous words. Six braves accompanied them, and while the people along the way proved to be as friendly as before, offering them food and tobacco wherever they stopped, one of their escorts was a surly fellow who made no attempt to help the white men as they crossed various streams or made their camp for the night. At one point he wandered away and came back boasting of some tobacco he had stolen from one of their hosts.
In the village of Namasket, the last stop before Plymouth, Winslow and Hopkins gave gifts to the other Indians who had “showed us any kindness.” The surly fellow promptly complained and began listing all the things he had done for the white men. W inslow countered by enumerating the “discourtesies offered us.” They told the brave he deserved nothing and then gave him a trinket. The Indian then offered the white men some of his stolen tobacco. Winslow and Hopkins curtly refused it.
Bluntly, before the whole village, they told the fellow that the “men of Plymouth would not receive that which was stolen upon any terms.” The citizens of Namasket were greatly impressed, and a little later the same Indian showed how thoroughly cowed he was by offering to carry Winslow across a river. The young envoy accepted, and, after marching the last few miles in a drenching rainstorm, he and Hopkins arrived at Plymouth, wet and weary but far more certain of their ability to deal with their Indian friends and foes.
Toward the end of July the Billingtons became a public problem once more. Sixteen-year-old John, the brother of the lad who had almost blown up the Mayflower, vanished into the woods. The colonists searched in vain for him and finally sent a message to Massasoit asking if he had any news of the boy. The great chief sent runners to the surrounding villages, and they returned with word that young Billington was safe after a rather remarkable journey. He had spent five days in the woods living on berries and had wandered twenty miles out on Cape Cod to the village of Manomet. The Indians there, for some unexplained reason, had taken him farther out on the Cape and had left him with the hostile Nausets. But they had done no harm to him and were perfectly willing to sur
render him if the white men would kindly come and collect him.
Governor Bradford promptly decided that this was an excellent opportunity to make peace with the Nausets. He chose ten armed men, and late in July they set out in the shallop for a return cruise up the coast of Cape Cod. Both Squanto and Hobomok came along as interpreters. The day they sailed was hot and sunny, but they were at sea only a few hours when their little shallop was engulfed in a wild summer storm. Thunder and lightning raged around them, and what looked like a water spout rose not far away. But they rode out the blast and at nightfall anchored in Cummaquid (present-day Barnstable) harbor.
In the morning they found the tide out and their boat high and dry. Not far away, in the channel, were several Indians hunting lobsters. Bradford sent his two interpreters to ask the whereabouts of young Billington, and they replied that the boy was well but was farther down the coast at the village of Aspinet, chief of the Nausets.
The lobster fishermen graciously invited the white men to come ashore and eat with them. Taking no chances, Bradford insisted that four of them must stay as hostages in the boat while he and six of his amateur troopers went ashore. It was an unnecessary precaution. The sachem, or local chief, a young man named Iyanough, was a gracious host and an entirely delightful person. Bradford describes him as “gentle, courteous and fair conditioned: indeed not like a savage save for his attire. His entertainment was answerable to his parts and his cheer plentiful and various.”
They sat down to an excellent lunch of broiled lobster and fish, followed by Indian dancing and singing, which Iyanough obviously relished. Only one thing marred the otherwise pleasant visit. A ragged Indian woman who looked to Bradford no less than a hundred years old hobbled up to the feasting visitors and began to weep and moan and tear her hair. Somberly Iyanough explained that she had never seen an Englishman before but that she could not behold them without weeping because she was the mother of three sons whom the treacherous Captain Hunt had kidnapped into slavery with Squanto.
It was a tense moment. Bradford rose to the occasion. In the name of all Englishmen, he apologized for the existence of Captain Hunt. He was a bad man, and every Englishman who heard of it condemned him for such a vicious act. The men of Plymouth would never injure their Indian friends in this way, even though it gained them all the beaver skins in the country. They then gave the weeping old woman some bright trinkets which seemed to lessen her grief somewhat.
Iyanough generously offered to accompany Bradford and serve as an additional proof of friendship for the suspicious Nausets. The chief and two of his braves therefore boarded the shallop, and they set out down the coast once more. When they reached Nauset (present-day Eastham) night was falling, and a low tide prevented them from getting close to shore. However, Iyanough and his men waded to land, and Squanto went with them to inform the Nausets of Governor Bradford’s presence.
Soon the beach was crowded with dozens of Nauset warriors and their wives and children. They made signs for the white men to come closer, but the tide prevented them. Bradford had no desire to do so anyway - this tribe had attacked them once before, and he was not going to give them another chance. The men in the boat were amazed by the number of Indians on the beach. How did their exploring parties wander up and down the shore for so many weeks without seeing a single one of them?
Finally, the tide permitted the boat to come closer. The Indians crowded around, but Bradford placed an armed guard on the prow and let only two men into the boat. One of these was a Pamet, from the village from which, the corn had been taken. Once more Bradford explained why they had taken it and offered him complete restitution if he would come to Plymouth to collect it. The man promised to come, and they gave him some small presents.
Not long after sunset, the Nauset chief Aspinet appeared with no less than a hundred armed braves around him. Walking beside him, no doubt grinning with delight, was John Billington, Jr., covered from head to foot with brightly colored beads. Aspinet and fifty of his men laid down their bows and arrows and walked out to the shallop with the boy. The other fifty stood within firing range with their bows and arrows ready. The Nausets did not trust the white, men any more than the white men trusted them. But there were no hostilities on either side. Aspinet handed over young Billington, and Bradford rewarded him with a fine English knife. He gave another knife to the Indian who had first found the boy and brought him to Aspinet. The governor and the sachem exchanged promises of peace, and the Indians withdrew.
Squanto then told Bradford some very disquieting news. According to Aspinet, the powerful Narragansetts who had been untouched by the plague that had weakened all the other tribes had launched war on Massasoit. They had reportedly killed a number of his men and had captured the chief himself. Plymouth might well be in danger. Bradford reacted with alarm. There were only twenty-two adult males left in Plymouth. He had taken the ten best men with him in the shallop.
They immediately set sail for home, but the wind proved uncooperative, and they were forced to land once more. Their fresh water was low, and they began searching for a pond or brook to replenish their barrels. Fumbling along in the dark, they met Iyanough with a great crowd of men and women from his village who had gone down the beach to meet their chief on the way home. While the good-natured sachem led the water party to a nearby runlet, the Indian women joined hands and sang and danced around the shallop.
Unfortunately, the water they brought back was brackish, but in the morning they invited the young chief on board the boat and sailed down to Cummaquid, his native village, where they found fresh water and more friendly feasting and entertainment from this personable and pleasant red man.
They pushed on quickly to Plymouth, however, and there they found everyone safe but deeply disturbed by more rumors of war. They, too, had heard reports that the Narragansetts had captured Massasoit and taken over the surrounding country. Quickly the worried Bradford sent Squanto and Hobomok out to the neighboring villages to find out what was happening.
For the next few days the men of Plymouth prepared to defend themselves. The thirty-two able-bodied men were drilled and lectured by Miles Standish, and gun crews were rehearsed in the art of loading and firing the cannon on Fort Hill. Then Hobomok came racing into town with most alarming news. The upheaval begun by rumors of the Narragansetts’ hostilities had spread almost to Plymouth’s gates.
Massasoit was in the hands of the Narragansetts, though it would be stretching it a bit to call him a prisoner. He had apparently gone as a suppliant, endeavoring to continue the precarious truce between them and his own tribe. Meanwhile at Namasket, the sachem Corbitant, supposedly loyal to Massasoit but long suspected of being too friendly with the Narragansetts, decided to alter the balance of power. He began making speeches to the braves of his village, denouncing Massasoit’s peaceful policy with Plymouth and sneering at the recent treaties of peace which the white men had negotiated between the Nausets and Iyanough’s tribe.
Corbitant’s rage soon focused on Squanto, whom he accused of being the chief architect of this treacherous policy of peace. Squanto and Hobomok were staying at Namasket, hoping to learn more about the fate of Massasoit. Suddenly they found guards around their house and Corbitant announcing that he intended to kill them both. He then dragged Squanto out of the house; shouting that if he were dead the English would “lose their tongue.” When Corbitant began brandishing a knife at Hobomok’s throat, the pinese had fought his way past the guards and had raced to Plymouth with the bad news that Squanto was probably dead.
Governor Bradford immediately summoned his council to an emergency session. Once more the new leaders of Plymouth were faced with a crucial policy decision. How should they react to these insults offered their friends and envoys? Should they strive for a peaceful solution or should they answer insult with insult, force with force? They were men of peace. They wanted peace. But they wisely recognized that sometimes the best way to achieve it is through strength.
On Tuesday, Au
gust 14, ten men under the command of Miles Standish set out for Namasket. It rained all the way, but they did not let the weather distract or delay them. Four miles from the village, they halted in the woods, waiting for night to fall. Standish decided to attack at midnight, surrounding Corbitant’s house and hopefully rescuing Squanto if he was still alive. If he was dead, the captain grimly announced he was going to kill Corbitant in revenge.
It continued to rain. In the darkness and wet, even Hobomok became confused and lost his way, but Stephen Hopkins, who had made the trip before, showed himself a superior woodsman by bringing them to the edge of the village. All was quiet. They sat down, and Standish ordered them to eat supper from their knapsacks - men fought better with food in their stomachs.
They then moved stealthily into the sleeping village and surrounded Corbitant’s hut. Drawing their swords, Standish and two other men charged inside. In a voice of thunder, the captain ordered no one to move - anyone who tried to escape would be instantly killed; only the women and children had nothing to fear.
Chaos erupted. The screams of the women mingled with the frightened roars of the braves. Three Indians tried to break out through a secret door and were wounded by the swords of those surrounding the hut. Inside, frightened women clung to Hobomok, calling him “friend,” and many boys, thinking that they were going to be murdered, were screaming “I am a girl.” But Squanto was not in the hut, nor was Corbitant. Where were they?
One Small Candle: The Pilgrim's First Year in America (The Thomas Fleming Library) Page 16