“The English are my people,” Prudence said. “Like the Nipmuk were your people.”
More translations ensued.
“Is Mary well?” Prudence asked.
“Her eyes are bright and her legs grow long.”
That was to say, yes.
“Does she remember me?”
Laka hesitated. “She . . . asked about you before. And she was very curious when you returned. But I do not know.”
“I must have her back.”
“She is Abenaki,” Laka repeated, stubbornly, and, Prudence thought, possessively. “Here she will stay.”
“You could come with me, Laka.”
“No.”
“To serve as Mary’s maid. Not a slave, not an indentured servant, but to earn a wage. Enough for you and your son.”
“I would die.”
“You wouldn’t die. You could become a Praying Indian.”
Laka frowned at this, and Prudence felt a guilty twinge, though she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Of course Prudence should offer this woman the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ. There was no path to salvation following false, heathen—some even said satanic—beliefs.
Kepnomotok was still wearing the pewter medallion that James had given him, and now lifted a hand to his throat to fondle it. Now he spoke to Laka, who said, “The sachem asks another gift from the Englishman. Another emblem, this one for his son.”
The specific term for “ask” was polite, but it was really more of a demand. Prudence passed this to James.
“I don’t have another medallion,” James said. “But I do have something else. It is a ring given to me by the great English king. A symbol of royal power.” He reached into his cloak and came out with a signet ring.
The sachem stared at the ring with unabashed desire. He held out his hand.
James pulled back his hand. “No. First, I must have information. Tell him, Prudence.”
What information? the sachem wanted to know, his expression guarded.
James said he wanted to speak with every surviving Nipmuk. He needed to find out what happened at Winton, at the village of Sachusett, and at Crow Hollow. He had reason to believe that a man named Samuel Knapp—James’s enemy, and an Indian killer—had behaved treacherously. When Prudence translated, she used the word “despoiler” to describe Knapp, hoping that Laka would find a similar word in Abenaki.
Kepnomotok seemed pleased at the thought that James might be enemies with Samuel Knapp, whose foul reputation had apparently extended all the way into Abenaki lands. He readily agreed and sent his wives to get the rest of the Nipmuk survivors.
James gave Prudence a significant glance. “Too bad I only have one ring. And no more medallions. A few more trinkets and I could buy anything from the chief that I want.”
Yes, anything. Such as the freedom of Prudence’s daughter. Instead, he’d used the ring to buy information.
No matter. She had no intention of leaving without Mary. Never.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It took some time for James to make sense of the jumble of narratives from the surviving Nipmuk. They’d brought in Prudence’s daughter, and at first the distraction was so great that Prudence could scarcely maintain the concentration to do the difficult business of passing from English, to Nipmuk, then back again, with delays while Laka translated into Abenaki for the sachem.
Mary was also staring at Prudence, a look of intense concentration on her face, as if she were trying very hard to remember something important. James was afraid that Prudence would lose control and run for the child, so he held her hand tightly. At last, the sachem ordered the children out, and after a moment of distress from Prudence, she seemed to calm down.
There were eight surviving women and girls from three villages that had once totaled perhaps a thousand people, plus Mary, who was counted as the ninth. Of these eight, five were from Sachusett, the other three from a pair of villages that had either been enslaved and sold to the West Indies or been scattered to the north. James asked these three a few questions, but he sent them away when he realized they held no useful information.
From the Sachusett survivors came a horrific story. They were reluctant to tell it, but Kepnomotok was anxious to get the signet ring and prodded them whenever they tried to hold back.
After Knapp had broken the truce at Crow Hollow, cornered the warriors, and slaughtered them without pity—the details of which the women knew less of than James did, having heard the story from Prudence already—the English had come rampaging into the defenseless Indian camp. Only five Nipmuk men had remained behind, these ones either too old, sick, or injured to join the warriors who’d gone to parley at Crow Hollow.
Laka and the other survivors had been washing clothes at the creek when the attack came. They heard the screams and gunfire and came running up through the woods. They entered the clearing to see a force of several dozen English soldiers rampaging through the camp. Half were on foot, half on horse. They set fire to the lean-tos and other temporary shelters, then knocked them over while people screamed inside, burning alive. Other Nipmuk escaped the burning shelters only to be hacked down with swords or shot at close range. The killing was without quarter, an extermination of women, children, the elderly.
Laka had two young sons by Mikmonto. One was a year old; the other had survived three winters, or roughly the same age as Mary Cotton was now. Laka saw an English soldier swinging the babe by its feet and smashing his head repeatedly into the ground. Her other son was running in terror. A man on a horse rode him down and trampled him to death.
Laka screamed and tried to run toward the soldiers, but the other Nipmuk women dragged her back into the woods. One of these women was her mother, Hapamag, who was the one to tell this part of the tale, as no amount of prodding from Prudence or the sachem would get Laka to discuss the death of her children.
The entire story was eerily similar to the brutal Nipmuk attack on Winton. One side murdering practically unopposed, the other burning alive in their homes, or coming out to be slaughtered mercilessly. And yet this was the English doing the murdering, men who professed their faith and worshiped every Sunday.
There are no Christians in war, Prudence had said.
Together, the women hid for three days in the woods until the English finally stopped searching and went away. On the first night the women discovered two boys and an old man in the woods. On the second night, while sneaking out of their hiding place in the woods to check a few of their secret rabbit and squirrel traps, they had discovered little Mary Cotton, hungry and frightened but unharmed. The women took her into their care.
Prudence stopped the translation to proclaim a miracle, a blessing from God.
More likely, James thought, Knapp’s brutes had spotted the blond-haired child and been unable to bring themselves to murder her. Then she’d run away and hid. Or, even more darkly, Knapp had left the child to die of hunger and exposure so as to conceal his crimes. Or even to justify them. After all, he would later say, Indians who would murder an English child in their care deserved nothing more than extermination.
The surviving women fled north, encountering a handful of other Nipmuk from different villages as they traveled toward Abenaki lands. These others also had a few men and boys with them. During the initial, confusing encounter with the Abenaki—themselves fearful of English attack as the war engulfed the entirety of New England—there was conflict.
Here Laka and the other Nipmuk women grew vague and fearful. There seemed to have been some argument within the Abenaki, after which the Nipmuk men were killed. The youngest boys they left to die of exposure.
Tiktoc grunted when this was translated into Abenaki. He looked proud, almost smug. Had he been responsible for the murders? No doubt. His father, Kepnomotok, seemed a more reasonable, measured sort. Surely it hadn’t been his idea. Yet just as surely the sachem had given in to his son’s demands.
Laka continued. Within days of her arrival, and speaking very
little Abenaki, she and the other women were given as either wives or servants to members of the Abenaki tribe.
“I must know what happened at Winton,” James said to Prudence. “Ask them. Why did the warriors of Sachusett attack after they’d promised peace?”
“I asked them that when I was a captive,” she said. “As soon as I’d learned enough Nipmuk to pose the question. They wouldn’t answer.”
“Ask them again.”
Prudence licked her lips. Her right hand was trembling. Of all of the awful, bloody affair, the murder of her husband seemed to trouble her the most.
James put a hand over hers until she stopped trembling. “We must know.”
Prudence began speaking again, but the women seemed reluctant. After a moment, Prudence turned to James with a shake of the head.
“They said something about English treachery. They don’t want to speak of it.”
They didn’t, or Prudence didn’t? She didn’t seem to be pushing very hard.
“Tell them they’re Abenaki now. Kepnomotok is their chief. He ordered them to speak plainly.”
She prodded them again, then appealed to Kepnomotok, who said something that sounded disinterested. James took out the signet ring that had attracted the sachem’s attention.
“I must know everything. If not, I keep the ring.”
The sachem didn’t need this part translated. He looked displeased, but grumbled something to the Nipmuk women, who whispered amongst themselves. Laka’s baby started to fuss, and she put the child at her breast. At last the young woman began to speak, reluctantly at first, but shortly with greater confidence. Prudence translated for James.
A few days before the Indian attack on Winton, Sir Benjamin and two other Englishmen arrived at Sachusett. They brought gifts of beef, a delicacy for the Nipmuk, and a bottle of spirits. The Englishmen smoked pipes with Mikmonto and the elders of the tribe while Laka prepared food. The men ate and smoked together until late into the night, promising that come what may, the village of Winton and the village of Sachusett would not fight in the war.
What’s more, Sir Benjamin promised, if Mikmonto would agree to do the same with his fellow Indians, he vowed to keep the colonial militia from encroaching on Sachusett’s lands or harassing the members of the tribe in any way. Mikmonto sent the Englishmen away with promises of eternal peace and friendship between the two villages.
The next day, Laka and her sister were harvesting ears of corn when two Englishmen came strolling up the village road. It was a wary time, with the war raging only a few miles away, and Laka’s sister was afraid and wanted to run back to the village for safety. But Laka recognized the men from the council her husband had held the previous day. It wasn’t Sir Benjamin, but his two confidants. Laka greeted them, saying “Good cheer,” one of her few phrases in English.
The men drew swords. Without word or warning, they attacked Laka’s sister, hacking her down before Laka could recover her wits enough to scream. Then they threw Laka to the ground, and now she did find her voice. But the fields were in the meadowland nearly a mile distant from Sachusett, and nobody was there to hear. One of the men forced himself on Laka, while the other watched. When they were done, they ran off, leaving one woman dead and the other violated.
Laka ran crying into Sachusett. Soon, the village was in an uproar, with Mikmonto holding a war council and gathering his warriors. He sent runners to the Nipmuk tribes to the east, to tell them he meant to join the war, and ask for help in exterminating the English village of Winton.
James interrupted Prudence’s translation, troubled by the story. “It can’t be by happenstance.”
“How do you mean?”
“They kill a woman without provocation. Then one of the men violates the chief’s wife, but leaves her alive. It was a calculated attack.”
“What Godly man would do such a thing?” she asked.
“No kind of Godly man at all.”
“It wasn’t Benjamin who set them to it,” she said firmly. “He would never do such a thing. He couldn’t have known.”
James didn’t fully trust Prudence’s judgment—there was still the matter of Peter’s poisoning in the Stone household to consider, after all—but he believed she was correct in this case.
“Mikmonto must have known Benjamin had no part in it,” she continued. Her face was stricken, her voice high and tight. “Why did they torture him? He was innocent. He would never—”
“Tell Laka to describe the men,” James said quietly. His heart was thumping. Here it was. Here was the answer to all his questions.
One was tall, with gray hair. He seemed to be the master of the pair, but the other, the man who had done the violating of Laka’s virtue, was short, with long blond hair. A violent man with an ugly sneer.
“Samuel Knapp,” James hissed. “That villain! I knew it.”
Prudence looked horrified. “And the other? Was it Fitz-Simmons?”
“Tall, gray hair. Yes, I think it was.”
“They are the cause of this atrocity,” she said. “They must be brought to justice.”
James sprang to his feet and paced about the room, agitated. Tictok stiffened near the door, but his father waved him back. Kepnomotok wore a calculating expression. He asked Laka something, which came through to Prudence, and then to James.
“He wants to know if you are enemies of these men.”
“Aye,” James said. “They are traitors of my king, and murderers of both Indians and Englishmen alike. I will see them hanged.”
The sachem looked pleased at this, but Prudence gave a confused shake of the head once she’d translated. “How do you mean, murderers of Englishmen?”
James stopped his pacing. He took his seat and calmed his breathing. His mind was galloping.
“Sir Benjamin made peace overtures to Sachusett,” he began, “perhaps at Fitz-Simmons’s and Knapp’s urging. Then he returned to Winton to assure the people that they were safe from their neighbors. That was the plan. That’s what Sir Benjamin’s enemies intended all along.”
“But he had no enemies,” she cried. “Why would they do such a thing?”
“Except that rumors put Winton on the run anyway. Knapp, fighting in Springfield, must have heard. He rode back to tell you to turn around and go home.”
Prudence was breathing heavily. “Benjamin led us back to Winton. Mikmonto had promised friendship. We were safer there, Benjamin said. But nobody knew the Nipmuk would be on the warpath.”
“Except Knapp and Fitz-Simmons.”
“I don’t understand.” Her eyes were wide, her lips trembling. “Bless me, why would they do it? You must tell me!”
He didn’t answer. She was a clever woman, she would understand. Soon enough, her eyes narrowed. “The land.”
“All the best land, now in their hands. The meadows and forests of Sachusett, plus all of the land they could buy after the people of Winton were nearly wiped out. Some of it he got from your sister’s husband, and no doubt the good reverend sold it to him at a quick and ready price.”
“I don’t believe it. I can’t.”
“What kind of man was Knapp before the war?”
“From a family of modest circumstance. His father a wheelwright, his mother arrived from England as an indentured servant.”
“And now?”
“Living well, prosperous. Fitz-Simmons too. But some men rise, while others fall—it is the way of the world.”
“And often men rise through nefarious means,” James said.
“I cannot believe it.” Now Prudence was the one rising, pacing the room. “Everything we suffered. My husband—it was like the torments of hell! My captivity, my daughter. All for money?”
“Nothing but wealth. Filthy lucre. It was in their minds all along.”
“Where is she?” Prudence said. “Where did they take Mary?”
She fired off a rapid stream of Nipmuk at Laka. The other woman flinched. Her lips came together stubbornly. But Prudence didn’t
let up.
Kepnomotok had also risen to his feet. His son drew his scalping knife. The Abenaki outside the wigwam raised their voices, having apparently heard the commotion and trying to decide whether to rush in and aid their sachem.
“Prudence, please. Sit down. You’ll get us killed.”
“And you,” Prudence turned on James. “Buying information. What about my daughter? You promised—or are you a liar too?”
“Sit down!”
She blinked at his sharp tone, then looked around the room, seeming to notice for the first time that her outburst had left the Indians agitated. The Nipmuk women, especially, seemed afraid of her. Puda-katan, it seemed, had a reputation. Yes, of course she would. A woman did not survive so many months of captivity without drawing on a reserve of steel.
James took her shoulders and gently pulled her down. He was agitated too, but this outburst wouldn’t help. The Indians calmed once the two English were seated.
“What about my daughter?” she persisted, stubbornly. “You never meant it, did you?”
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
“A servant of the Crown, as you’ve told me so many times. You told me what I wanted to hear. You never had any intention of recovering my daughter, not unless they handed her over without complaint.”
The accusation left him frustrated and angry, in part because he understood why she believed that very thing. He’d told her so several times. His duty was to the Crown.
“I am a man of honor, Prudence Cotton. And now I will show you.”
James took out the signet ring and held it up for all to see. Then he rose slowly and nonthreateningly to his feet and walked toward Kepnomotok with the ring in his outstretched hand. The sachem grunted, his expression pleased. He reached for the ring.
“No, not yet.” He turned to Prudence. “Tell him I need more, the information wasn’t sufficient.”
Her face shining, her eyes bright with expectation, she obeyed. Kepnomotok made displeased sounds.
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