As the startled assemblage, gathered to witness his crowning triumph, gazed after the flying figure in bewilderment, their attention was further attracted, and they were thrilled by a shout of joyful amaze. Instantly all eyes were again turned towards the lodge, where in place of an old medicine-man stood a young chieftain, as noble a specimen of his race as ever trod American soil. Depending from one shoulder was the long-lost Belt of Seven Totems and from the other a serpent-belt of the Saganaga. At his feet knelt Samoset, crying out that it was indeed his brother and his master, Nahma, the son of Longfeather.

"I am the son of Longfeather, and I was Nahma," said the young man, so distinctly that all might hear. "But now and henceforth am I Massasoit the Peacemaker."

Upon this the whole assemblage, led by Sassacus and his loyal Pequots, broke into a joyous tumult of welcome and crowded about the youth who, so long lost to them, had been thus marvellously restored to his rightful position. Only the Narragansetts took advantage of the glad confusion to steal away unnoticed and follow the trail of their dishonored leader.

CHAPTER XXVIII IN THE COUNCIL-LODGE

Massasoit could not relate the whole story of his adventurous wanderings, since no Indian known to have been a slave might afterwards be accepted as a leader among his people. Consequently he omitted all reference to his unhappy experiences in England. Nor did he ever mention that he had crossed the great salt waters; but he told of his adventures among the Iroquois, as a captive to the Hurons, while in Quebec, and on a ship that was to have carried him into slavery among the Yengeese of the south. He described the destruction of that ill-fated craft, together with the loss of her company, his own welcome at the hands of the Saganaga, and his homeward journey, to all of which the assemblage listened with breathless attention. In conclusion, the young chieftain said,—

"I have told all there is to tell. When I left you Longfeather ruled this land. He has gone from you never to return. I am his son, and it was his wish that I should be Peacemaker in his place. If that be also your desire, or if it be not, now is the time to speak. Will you have Massasoit for your sagamore or another?"

Standing very straight and gazing proudly about him, the young man awaited an answer, and it was promptly given. First came Sassacus, saying,—

"The Pequots accept Massasoit as their Peacemaker and will listen to his words."

After him in grave procession came the chiefs to tender their allegiance; and a few days later the venerable Canonicus came also, for Massasoit had not told that Miantinomo had attempted to murder him, and so the Narragansetts were not yet outcast from the federation.

Thus did Massasoit occupy his father's place in the great lodge of council, while his authority was acknowledged from the Shatemuc to the sea, and from the country of the Mohicans to that of the Hurons, who dwelt near the great river of the north.

With his position thus established, the young sachem, leaving Sassacus to hold Montaup during his absence, set forth on an expedition of the utmost importance both to himself and to his people. It had three objects: first, to find his mother, who had fled from Miantinomo; second, to restore the peaceful relations with the Iroquois that had been threatened by the usurper; and last, but by no means least, to visit the lodge of Kaweras.

As a following worthy of his rank he took with him one hundred warriors, and with these he pressed forward over the trail that he had followed as a youth three years earlier. At the village of Peace, on the river of sweet waters, he found Miantomet, and raised her in a moment from the dejection of a childless fugitive to a proud motherhood, with the son, whom she had so long mourned as dead, once more restored to her.

But only for a short time might these two enjoy their reunion, for Massasoit found that whole section of country alarmed over an invasion of Hurons, who were said to be coming down the valley of the Shatemuc in formidable numbers. So he pushed on, hoping to form a junction with the Iroquois before the common enemy should arrive.

The eastern Iroquois or Maquas were hard beset. Two powerful expeditions had descended at once upon the country of the Five Nations. One, under leadership of our old acquaintance Champlain, had crossed Lake Ontario, penetrated deep into the territory of the Oneidas, and was supposed to be advancing upon the Maquas from the west. Another expedition, accompanied by three white men, was coming from the north by way of the Shatemuc, and already were fugitives flying before them to the palisaded villages, bringing sad tales of rapine and destruction. As though this state of affairs were not bad enough, it was reported that the New England tribes, led by Miantinomo, were advancing from the east. Thus it seemed as though the Maquas were doomed to destruction, and a feeling of despair had seized upon the warriors gathered for the defence of their three palisaded strongholds.

One night, during this unhappy condition of suspense, a group of chief men were seated about a small fire in the council-house of the easternmost village, gloomily discussing the situation. News had come that the enemy was close at hand, and that the village would be assaulted by overwhelming numbers on the morrow. So oppressed were the councillors by the hopelessness of their situation that for some time they sat in silence, and one among them appeared to be dozing, as though exhausted.

Suddenly this one, who was our old friend Kaweras, awoke, uttering an exclamation of pleasure, and looked about him with smiling cheerfulness.

"What pleases my brother?" asked he who sat nearest. "Has he seen a vision of the spirit land to which all of us will go before the setting of another sun?"

"No," replied Kaweras. "It is not yet time for visions of the spirit land."

"How so, when even the youngest warrior knows that we are in no condition to withstand an attack of the Hurons and of those armed with thunder-sticks who accompany them?"

"It is because he who is to deliver us even now approaches, and in a vision have I seen him."

"Comes he from the west, and is he the Wild-Cat of the Oneidas?"

"No. He is from the east, and more powerful than the Wild-Cat or any other single chieftain of the Iroquois. He is not of us, but he has already fought with us. I have known him, but until now I have not known him. Whence he comes or how he has passed our young men I know not, but even now he is at hand. Behold, he is here!"

The old man had risen to his feet in his excitement, and now stood staring eagerly at the skin-hung entrance.

As he finished speaking the curtain was drawn aside and a young warrior stepped within the lodge. He advanced to where the firelight fell full upon his face, and then stood motionless as though awaiting recognition. Nor was it long in coming, for, after a moment of silence, Kaweras stepped forward with extended hand, uttering the single word, "Massasoit."

"Yes, my father, it is Massasoit," was the reply; but the old man hardly noticed what was said, for his eye had fallen on a belt worn by the new-comer, and he was studying its devices with an expression of amazement. Finally he said, in a low tone,—

"It is the Belt of Seven Totems, the great colier of the Peacemaker."

"And I," responded Massasoit, "am the Peacemaker, since I was Nahma, son of Longfeather. For thy exceeding kindness to me in other days am I now come with a war-party to help the people of Sacandaga in their time of trouble."

"How came he inside our walls?" asked one of the chiefs, suspiciously.

"That will I tell at another time," replied Massasoit. "Now there are things of more importance to be considered."

The young man did not care to acknowledge that Aeana had given him admittance, but so it was. He had left his warriors in concealment at some distance from the village while he went alone to discover the exact state of affairs.

That same afternoon, before warning of the near approach of the Hurons had been given, he had seen several women go to a small stream for water, and recognized Aeana among them. After a while he managed to toss a small packet so that it fell at her feet. Glancing about with a startled air, the girl picked it up, and found in it the embroidered tinder-bag that she had concealed in her sister's gift to Massasoit so long ago that she had almost forgotten the incident. As she gazed at the token, hardly knowing whether to be frightened or pleased, the low call of a wood-dove attracted her attention to a nearby thicket. Hesitatingly she moved close enough to hear the whispered words, "Be not afraid. I am here as a friend to help the Maquas against their enemies; but first I would see Kaweras. At moon-setting will I come alone to the gate, and I rely upon thee to give me admittance."

Outwardly calm, but with a wildly fluttering heart, Aeana rejoined her companions without having been for an instant out of their sight, and returned with them to the village. There she debated long with herself as to whether she should tell her father or Otshata of what had happened; but, until the time of moon-setting, she had not found courage to do so. She had not meant to admit the young warrior without their knowledge, especially as news had come, within an hour, of the near approach of the Hurons; but a will stronger than her own seemed to compel her, and finally she did as Massasoit desired. Then, sadly frightened, she whispered, "In the council-house is Kaweras," and fled away into the darkness, leaving the young man to discover his bearings as best he might.

Having at length gained the council-lodge and being received as already stated, Massasoit was compelled to answer many questions before securing the confidence of all the chiefs. Little by little, however, it was acquired. Kaweras told what he knew of him. The belt that he wore was a potent influence; and finally one, who had been with Sacandaga at the time of his death, recognized the young man as he who had risked his own life to save that of the Iroquois chieftain. After that they listened with closest attention to all he had to say. Thus, before he left them, he had outlined a plan of operations for the morrow, or whenever the Hurons should make an attack, that they promised to follow.

Massasoit also instructed the Iroquois as to the nature of fire-arms, which they had heretofore regarded with all the terror of ignorance. He described the manner in which the thunder-sticks must be loaded before becoming effective as weapons, and assured his hearers that, after being discharged, they were for a long time no more dangerous than so many wooden billets. Having thus restored a cheerful confidence to the council, the young chieftain departed and made his way to where his own warriors anxiously awaited him.

Immediately upon rejoining these, and without pausing to rest, he led them on a long detour, so that, before daylight, they had gained a position in the rear of the Hurons, by whom the presence of the young Peacemaker was as yet unsuspected.

With the rising of the sun hundreds of dark forms might have been seen gliding stealthily from tree to tree in the direction of the Maqua village. At a short interval behind the last of these came another group moving in the same direction, but with even greater caution. Foremost among them was Massasoit, leading his people in an enterprise that would make or mar his own reputation for all future time.

Suddenly the morning stillness of the forest was rudely broken by the roar of three muskets fired in quick succession, and the battle was begun.

CHAPTER XXIX WINNING A BATTLE, A WIFE, AND A FRIEND

Upon the advice of Massasoit, the Iroquois had set up dummies to draw the musket-fire of the enemy; also most of their young men had been placed in ambush outside the walls. These, though few in number as compared with the advancing host of Hurons, sprang to their feet with frightful yells and rushed towards the place marked by the smoke of the now empty muskets. They seemed doomed to certain destruction, and the Hurons calmly awaited their coming. All at once, and without warning, a flight of arrows from the rear brought a score of the invaders to the ground, and at the same moment the woods behind them seemed alive with yelling foemen.

For a few minutes the bewildered Hurons, thus entrapped, fought desperately. Then the three white men, who were objects of Massasoit's especial vengeance, were killed while hurriedly endeavoring to reload their muskets. As they fell their savage allies, who had until now regarded them as invincible, broke into a panic-stricken flight, each man endeavoring only to save himself. After them raced Massasoit and his warriors, together with the jubilant Iroquois, and many and fierce were the hand-to-hand conflicts that took place in the dim forest coverts that day. At its close, when the wearied but exultant victors gathered once more at the wildly rejoicing village, their trophies of scalps and prisoners outnumbered their combined forces.

The following week was devoted to the wildest forms of savage festivity, and the rejoicings were redoubled near its close by the arrival of a runner from the west, bringing the great news that the other invading force under Champlain had been defeated and driven back by the Onondagas and Oneidas.

In all this time of feasting Massasoit was the hero and central figure. Not only had he saved the Maqua village and probably the whole tribe from destruction, but, on that day of fighting, he had proved himself the foremost warrior of his people and had brought in more Huron scalps than any other.

He found no difficulty in forming a compact with the Iroquois on behalf of his own people, by which both were bound not to cross the Shatemuc except for friendly visits. Thus our young chieftain would have been supremely happy but for one thing, and that was his treatment at the hands of Aeana.

This girl, who now seemed the most beautiful and desirable of all earthly creatures, behaved to him in a manner so strange that he could in no wise account for it. Not only did she refuse to grant him an interview, but she studiously avoided meeting him, and went no longer with the other women to the stream for water. Thus he had not been able to exchange a single word with her, and as the time for his departure drew near he was in despair. In his distress he sought out Otshata, as he had done once before, and, pouring out his heart, asked her what he should do.

Otshata laughed in his face. "What fools men be!" she said. "Dost thou not remember, Massasoit, the time when she bade thee fetch water?"

"Well do I remember."

"And thou performed the service?"

"Truly, I did, even as she bade me."

"And she scorned the offering when it was brought to her?"

"Even so, and taunted me with the name of 'squaw.'"

"Remembering that, art thou still at a loss to know why she now refuses to meet thee?"

"To my confusion, I am," replied the puzzled youth.

At this Otshata laughed again long and heartily; but at length she asked,—

"Didst thou ever know a woman to accept friendship with a slave when a master might be had?"

Then, still laughing, she ran away, leaving the young man to ponder her words.

As a result of this conversation, Massasoit announced that he and his warriors would depart for their own country on the morrow, and at daylight of the next morning they had disappeared. That day Aeana, heavy-hearted and with lagging step, went with the other women for water. As she bent over the stream an exclamation from one of her companions caused her to look up and directly into the eyes of Massasoit, who stood on the opposite bank.

With a shrill cry of dismay, Aeana turned and fled towards the village; but, swiftly as she ran, Massasoit overtook her ere she had covered half the distance. Seizing her in his arms, he picked her up and, despite her struggles, bore her swiftly away. On the edge of the wood he paused to utter a far-carrying yell of triumph, and then, still bearing his precious burden, he disappeared amid the leafy shadows.

But his defiant challenge was answered, and half a dozen young Iroquois, all of whom were aspirants for the hand of the arrow-maker's beautiful daughter, dashed forth in hot pursuit. This race for a bride was over a forest course something more than a mile in length. At its farther end was the Shatemuc and a waiting canoe containing a single occupant. As Massasoit gained this and it was shoved off, the foremost of his pursuers was so close that he fell into the water in a vain effort to grasp the elusive craft.

Beyond the river the Iroquois might not pass by the terms of their recent treaty, and thus on its farther side, Massasoit felt his prize to be as secure as though he already had her at Montaup.

As they stepped out on the land that acknowledged the son of Longfeather to be its ruler, Aeana regarded the bold youth with eyes that laughed even through their tears, and said, "I hate you; but if you had not done it, then should I have despised you forever."

So Massasoit won his bride, and in far-away Montaup, beside the great salt waters that bathe the rising sun, no woman led a happier life than did the daughter of Kaweras.

After this several years were passed in peaceful content by those New England tribes owning the rule of Massasoit. With his superior knowledge of the world he was able to teach them many things that caused them to prosper as never before. Only was he worried by the Narragansetts, who, while sullenly admitting his authority, awaited eagerly an opportunity to renounce and defy it.

In the mean time Aeana had presented the Peacemaker with two sons, the younger of whom, named Metacomet, was to become famous in after-years as King Philip.

With all his peace and apparent security Massasoit had one ever-present fear, and it was of the white man. He had a knowledge greater than any of his people concerning the number and power of these dwellers beyond the sea, and he dreaded lest they should seek to obtain a foothold in his country, as they had already done both on the St. Lawrence and the James. As one measure of precaution against this he issued orders to every New England tribe that they should hold no intercourse with any whites attempting to trade on the coast. So determined was he to carry out this policy that when an unfortunate French trading vessel was wrecked on a shore of Massachusetts Bay, he caused her to be burned, and commanded that all survivors of her crew be put to death.

Holding these views, Massasoit became very angry when it was reported to him that the Narragansetts, in defiance of his authority, were actively trading with an English ship that had appeared on their coast, and he at once determined to make an example that should be remembered.

A runner was despatched to his trusted ally Sassacus, whose country lay beyond that of the Narragansetts, ordering the Pequots to advance from the west until they should meet Massasoit coming from the opposite direction. Then, gathering a strong force from the tribes near at hand, the Peacemaker set forth for the scene of unlawful trading.

So demoralized were the Narragansetts by the simultaneous appearance of two powerful war-parties within their borders that they offered only a slight resistance before fleeing to their palisaded stronghold, where they anxiously awaited the expected attack.

In the mean time the captain of the English vessel, which was snugly anchored in the mouth of a small river, where he had been carrying on a brisk and most profitable trade with the Indians, was disgusted to have it suddenly cease. For days a fleet of canoes had surrounded his ship. Now not one was to be seen, nor could any of the natives be discovered on shore. His recent great success had been largely due to the fact that he had on board an English-speaking Indian, through whom all negotiations had been conducted. When a whole day had passed without change in the situation the captain consulted with this Indian, and asked what he supposed had become of the natives.

"They be fearful to come off since they have learn that you steal red men for slaves," was the answer.

"Ho, ho! Is that all? But think you, Squanto, that they have any furs left?"

"Me think they keep back many of the best."

"By the Lord Harry! Then must we go to them, since they are afraid to come to us. Boat away, there! And, Squanto, you may come too if you will promise to make no attempt at escape."

"These be not my people," replied the Indian, evasively.

"That's so. I picked you up at a great distance from here. But never mind. If you serve me truly perhaps I will take you back there some day. Attempt to play me false, though, and I will kill you as I would a rat. Tumble in, then, and let us hie ashore."

It was a strong boat's crew and heavily armed that thus made a landing in search of the trade which no longer came to their ship, and they followed a plainly marked trail leading from the beach to the place where had been an Indian village. Now it was deserted and void of life, though their guide announced that it had been occupied as recently as a few hours before.

While the new-comers were prowling about with hopes of discovering something in the way of plunder, their attention was distracted by a column of smoke rising in the direction of their boat. They had left it hauled partially out of the water and in charge of two well-armed men. Now, hastening back, they were panic-stricken by the discovery that the boat was in flames. It was also badly crushed, as though it had been lifted bodily and dropped on a ledge of sharp rocks. Worst of all, it contained the dead bodies of those who had been left on guard. The weapons of both men were missing, and they had been scalped but not otherwise mutilated.

Taking advantage of the confusion following this discovery, the Indian guide dove into a nearby thicket and disappeared. A minute later, while the whites were huddled about their burning boat attempting to extinguish the flames, a great flight of arrows, that seemed to come from every direction at once, instantly killed more than half their number. Then came a rush of yelling savages, and in another minute but one man was left alive. He was wounded, but his life had been spared by the express order of Massasoit.

The Indian guide had been made prisoner, bound, and left to himself; but now that all was over, the young leader, ordering his warriors to remain behind, went to him. Stooping, he severed the prisoner's bonds and assisted him to his feet. Then gazing steadily at him, he cried in a voice that trembled with emotion,—

"Tasquanto, my brother, dost thou not remember Massasoit?"

CHAPTER XXX THE PILGRIMS OF PLYMOUTH

Since being separated from Massasoit years before in Plymouth harbor, Tasquanto, whose name the English had shortened to "Squanto," had known nothing of the fate of his fellow-captive beyond that he had been sold as a slave in London. In the mean time he had been received into the household of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, Governor of Plymouth, who had large interests in the New World, and had been taught to speak English. Then he was sent on trading-vessels to act as interpreter between whites and Indians. In this capacity he had made several voyages to America, but always so closely guarded that never until now had he been allowed to set foot on his native shores.

Tasquanto was so overcome at finding in the great sachem Massasoit, concerning whom he had heard much, his own long-lost friend that for a few moments he was speechless with joyful amazement. When he had succeeded in partially expressing this, he related briefly how he happened to be in his present situation, and added that the cruel taskmaster from whom he had just escaped was the same Captain Dermer who had formerly betrayed them into slavery.

"I knew it when first I saw him this morning," replied Massasoit, grimly, "for his evil face has ever been pictured in my heart. For that reason have I spared his worthless life until I could consult with thee, my brother, as to how we may best deal with him."

"Did you, then, know me also?" asked Tasquanto.

"The moment I set eyes on thee. Those white dogs had been slain an hour sooner but for thy presence among them and a fear of doing thee harm. Now, what say you? Shall this man be delivered to the tormentors, or shall he be killed where he lies? It is certain that his punishment must be great, for he has earned all that may be given. Also I do not care that he should recognize me and spread the report that I was once his slave, for that would shame me in the eyes of my people. Thou, too, must ever keep secret the matter of my having crossed the salt waters."

"I will remember," replied Tasquanto. "As for this white man, I would crop his ears with the same brand of ownership that he has placed upon many an Indian captured and sold into slavery. Then would I let him sail away in his own ship as a warning to all other white men. Death he deserves, since he has treated many of our people to death and worse, but to him the shame of cropped ears will be even more bitter than death."

So favorably was Massasoit impressed with this idea that he ordered it carried out at once. Thus, half an hour later, the brutal Dermer, who had done so much to cause the name of Englishman to be hated in the New World, was set adrift in a canoe, minus both his ears, and allowed to depart to his own ship. It is recorded in history that he reached Virginia, where he soon afterwards died from wounds received at the hands of New England savages.

Having thus satisfactorily concluded one part of his undertaking, Massasoit next turned his attention to the rebel Narragansetts. Moving his entire force against their stronghold, he demanded that all goods received from the English should be delivered up, and also that Miantinomo should come to his camp, bringing a chief's belt in token of submission. Massasoit swore that, in case his demands were refused, he would not depart from that place until every rebel in the fort was destroyed. So mild were these terms in comparison with what had been expected that they were instantly accepted, and a cruel war between neighbors was averted.

With peace thus restored, the authority of Massasoit over the great territory, already named New England by Captain John Smith, was so firmly established that until the day of his death it was never again questioned.

But if one of his two chief causes for anxiety was thus removed, the other was looming ominously near. Some six months after Tasquanto's escape from his long captivity a little English ship, buffeted by winter gales of the North Atlantic, was slowly approaching the American coast. Although only of one hundred and fifty tons' burden, or about the size of a small coasting schooner of to-day, she carried one hundred passengers besides her crew and an immense quantity of freight.

For three months had her passengers—men, women, and children—been on board the overcrowded little craft, and they were sick for a sight of land. Their destination was the mouth of the Shatemuc or Hudson River, but their first landfall, made under a cold December sky, was the bluff headland, stretching far out to sea like a beckoning finger, that Gosnold, some twenty years earlier, had named the Cape of Cods. From here the ship was headed southward towards her destination, but soon became involved in a labyrinth of shoals covered with roaring breakers. Also she was beaten by adverse gales until her weary company hailed with joy her captain's decision to run back to the safe shelter of Cape Cod. Here, in what is now the harbor of Provincetown, the sea-worn strangers disembarked, so profoundly happy at finding themselves once more on land that the wooded wilderness seemed a paradise.

They had come to establish homes in the New World, and though disappointed at not gaining the more southerly latitude for which they had set out, they now determined to remain where they were, since it was too late in the season for further explorations. Still, they spent two weeks in examination of the country close at hand, and finally selected a site for settlement across the bay enclosed by Cape Cod. Here was a good harbor, plenty of fresh water, and much land already cleared of forest growth by its former Indian occupants.

They named this place "Plymouth" after the last English port from which they had sailed, and on Christmas day began the work of building houses.

During that winter half of these stout-hearted settlers died, so that in the early spring only fifty persons, enfeebled by the sickness from which but seven had wholly escaped, remained to make good their claim to the land they had thus seized.

During all this time the colonists had not encountered any of the native owners of the soil, though they had caught occasional glimpses of vanishing forms, and often saw signal-fires or smokes that denoted the presence of watchful observers.

In spite of these things they did not hesitate to appropriate Indian property wherever they found it. Thus, when they discovered hidden stores of corn and parched acorns, laid by for winter use, they promptly removed them to Plymouth. Also whenever they ran across an Indian lodge, they took from it everything that seemed to them of value. They even robbed Indian graves of their sacred relics, and these things were reported to Massasoit by his scouts.

From the first appearance of the Mayflower on the stormy horizon he had known of all its movements. He had been relieved when it started southward, and was greatly disturbed by its return to Cape Cod. He was also much puzzled to account for the doings of its company, since evidently they were neither traders nor fishermen. Why had they brought women and children with them? Also why had they in the first place attempted to sail to the southward, if his country was the place they were seeking? He finally decided that they must be bound for the Virginia settlement of white men, and were only waiting until the winter storms were over before resuming their voyage to the country of Powhatan.

This decision eased Massasoit's mind, for, while he was determined that no whites should settle within his boundaries, he was also averse to unnecessary bloodshed. So he awaited patiently the departure that he believed the strangers would make with the coming of warmer weather. If they did not so depart, he knew that he could wipe them out of existence as easily as he could crush a worm that came in his path.

Thus forbearing to disturb them, he waited and watched, receiving almost daily reports from his scouts, who at all times lurked in the vicinity of the feeble settlement. He heard with grim satisfaction of their rapid decrease in numbers, and grew wroth at their violation of Indian graves and their appropriation of unguarded Indian property. Still he forbore to molest them, but as spring drew near he sent Samoset to learn how soon they intended to depart.

To his dismay this messenger brought back word that the English had no intention of ever again leaving the place where they had established themselves.

"Then must I remind them that I have no desire for their presence," quoth Massasoit, and at once he sent out runners to gather a large force of warriors in the vicinity of Plymouth. Accompanied by a body-guard of sixty men, the sachem himself hastened to the place of rendezvous and established a camp, from which he sent Tasquanto among the whites to learn in detail their strength and intentions.

With his ready command of English and his knowledge of white men's customs, gained by painful experience, Tasquanto or "Squanto," as he now called himself, found no difficulty in gaining all the information he desired from the strangers. He even learned their names and the relative rank held by their leading men.

When Tasquanto returned and reported these things, he mentioned one name that caused Massasoit to start and betray symptoms of great agitation.

"Art thou certain that one among them is so called?" he asked.

"I am certain," replied Tasquanto.

"Then go quickly and ask that man, as he values his own life and that of his people, to meet me alone by the big pine that looks down upon his lodges. I will be there unaccompanied. Stay! Take to him this belt that it may be to him a token of safe-conduct and true speaking."

With this Massasoit removed from his own person the great Belt of Seven Totems and handed it to Tasquanto. He also instructed the latter to withdraw beyond earshot when he had conducted the white man to the place of meeting.

Half an hour later Massasoit, with unpainted face and simply clad, stood alone at the foot of the great pine, looking down on the group of poor little huts that sheltered the feeble English remnant. Within a mile of the place were gathered five hundred warriors awaiting but a signal from him to utterly destroy the helpless settlement.

Then to him came an Englishman, young, sturdy, and heavily bearded. As he approached within a few paces he halted and examined the Indian curiously, for he had been told that he was to meet a sachem who was ruler of many tribes.

On the other hand, Massasoit gazed into the bearded face of the white man with an eagerness that was almost disconcerting. Then, as though satisfied with his scrutiny, he extended a hand, exclaiming as he did so,—

"Winslow! My frien' Winslow!"

For a moment the other hesitated, then his face lighted joyously as he grasped the proffered hand in both of his, crying,—

"Massasoit? They told me the name of the mighty chieftain was Massasoit, but never did I suspect that he was the friend whom I had found and lost in London."

For an hour the two, thus strangely brought together after years of distant wanderings, held converse with each other while the fate of the New World hung upon their words. When their conversation was finally ended, Winslow had promised never to reveal the fact that the proud sachem had once been bought and sold as a slave in England. He had also promised that the colony to which he belonged should never commit an act of aggression against the people of Massasoit, but that his friends should be their friends and his enemies their enemies.

On his part, and out of an abounding gratitude for the only friendship shown him at a time when he stood most in need of friends, Massasoit agreed that the poor little English settlement should be allowed to exist, and, moreover, promised to protect it from its enemies to the full extent of his power.

Then the two parted, the one to go back to his wondering warriors and dismiss them to their homes, the other to carry the glad news into Plymouth that the great Massasoit was ready to make a treaty of friendly alliance with his English neighbors.

So on the morrow Governor Carver, accompanied by Winslow, sturdy Myles Standish, and others of his principal men, met Massasoit. Then, after much feasting and an exchange of courtesies, they mutually signed a treaty of friendship that remained unbroken for upward of half a century from that memorable date.

Thus was the crumb of bread once cast upon troubled waters by Edward Winslow returned to him again with a thousand-fold of increase after many days.

Thus also did Nahma, son of Longfeather, now become Massasoit, wearer of the Belt of Seven Totems, make possible and establish forever the white man's settlement of New England.

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N. B. When the good ship Mayflower returned to England from that her most memorable voyage to the New World she bore in her cargo a packet of richest furs, together with many specimens of dainty beadwork, consigned to Lady Betty Effingham, who dwelt near to Bristol, England, with goodly wishes from her friend and humble servant, Massasoit.