They were midway between an island lying several miles off shore and the mainland, and their canoe was so low in the water that it seemed about to sink. One of the figures was that of a man, who was paddling with desperate energy, while the other, evidently a woman, was furiously bailing water from the sinking craft. Only for a moment did Nahma hesitate, and then he headed with all speed in that direction.
The water-logged canoe sank before he reached it; but, within a few minutes, he had rescued the survivors, and they were safely bestowed in his own craft. With this accomplished, he started towards the land that had been their objective-point when, as he afterwards learned, their canoe had been pierced and ripped open by a sword-fish. Whether this had been done with malice, playfully, or by accident they could not tell; but it had so endangered their lives that they would, almost of a certainty, have drowned had not the stranger come to their rescue.
Not a word was spoken by any one of the three until the canoe had nearly gained the land. Then the rescued man, who, though young, was of commanding aspect, turned from his paddling in the bow and said,—
"Thou hast saved us from death and I will not forget it. I am Sassacus, chief of the Pequots."
Nahma's heart leaped within him. The Pequots formed one of the tribes acknowledging the authority of his father, and this youth was his own cousin. He was about to make reply, when the other continued: "I perceive thou art a stranger, and if thy business be not too pressing, my lodge would be honored to shelter thee as a guest."
"Gladly would I tarry," was the reply, "but I may not, for I bear a belt from the Saganaga to Longfeather the Peacemaker, that must be promptly delivered. The name by which I am known is Massasoit."
The Pequot chieftain turned and gazed keenly at the speaker. "Have not the Lenni Lenape learned that Longfeather has gone the great journey?" he asked.
"Dead! Longfeather dead, and I not with him at the end!" cried Nahma, shocked by the suddenness of this news into an unpremeditated betrayal of feeling. "When did he die, and how? Was he killed in battle?"
"He went to the place of Okis when the willow leaves were the size of mouse-ears, and he was killed by the pale-faces who come from the sea with death and destruction in their hands," answered the young chieftain, bitterly.
"Killed by the white man!" gasped Nahma, his face growing black and the cords of his neck swelling with rage. "Then by his blood I swear——"