Free Cape Cod by William Martin Page A

of the forest like night creatures at dawn. And now this bold one was standing their musket shots and shouting defiance.
    So Jack aimed his matchlock. Autumnsquam aimed his bow. One stood at the edge of the trees, barely visible for the blackness around him. The other stood before his campfire, a black shadow in the light. Autumnsquam’s arrow whizzed by Jack Hilyard’s ear. Jack’s shot struck a tree and sent splinters of wood flying at Autumnsquam.
    The Indian felt a pain that was more humiliating than excruciating. He gave a last defiant cry and ran off with the others.
    The explorers ran into the woods and fired off their pieces, then gave two shouts to show they had no fear of the Indians. The shouts echoed feebly through the trees and, in men of less faith, should have inspired fear. No sound could have been lonelier. But men who knew God as intimately as the Saints could never be lonely, no matter how vast the wilderness.
    So they offered a prayer, then congratulated one another on their bravery. None spoke of marksmanship.
    Simeon Bigelow, praised for saving the day, said he hoped they could make peace with the Indians.
    “Peace comes when you prove you be ready for war,” said Standish, who paid Jack Hilyard the high praise of calling him “a good man in a fight.”
    “Pray that he is as good in peace,” added Simeon.
    After they were away, William Bradford proclaimed that henceforth, they would know the beach by the name First Encounter.
    Jack Hilyard had no interest in naming names. He was looking toward the south coast, but the mist remained so thick he could not see the beach between the creeks, nor could he persuade them to put in so near to where the savages had attacked. They were not so foolish as to think a second fight would end as well. So Jack restrained his instinct to call them women and quietly promised Simeon that soon, he would return to the land between the creeks and claim it as his own.
    From the woods, Autumnsquam watched them go. He would send word along the Narrow Land, and by the time runners reached the small villages of the Scusset, the story would tell of the Nauset victory that drove the white men into the sea. Autumnsquam would not object. Truth took many forms, and his bravery would be the heart of the tale. But there would be no need to send runners beyond the Scusset, for north of that was the land of the Patuxets.
    And the Patuxets were no more. They had lived on the best harbor in the bay, with fish and shellfish in abundance. They had taken their water from a fine spring, climbed hillsides that gave long views of sea and countryside, and cleared wide fields for corn. But the sickness had killed them all. In the land of the Patuxets, there would be no one to care at the coming of the white men.
    Autumnsquam could not have known that an Englishman called John Smith had charted this bay and given the name Plymouth to the Patuxet land. Or that the men in the shallop would arrive there that day and decide that the fresh water, the defensible hills, the cleared fields, and the lack of Indians were all part of God’s plan… for them.

vi.
December 13, 1620 . Cold, clear, wind NW. The return of the explorers after eight days brings as much rejoicing as the news that they have found a site for settlement.
All listened with excitement to the stories of the voyage, and the place that will be their new home. But joy and excitement were not long-lived for the terrible news awaiting William Bradford. It was left to Brewster to take him inside and tell him.
Those who pressed their ear to the cabin door heard no sobbing, nor the piteous howl that some would give on learning that their wife had fallen from the ship and drowned. When Bradford emerged, he carried himself erect and answered to every kind word, “ ’Tis God’s will.”
Perhaps. But a master can shut his eyes to nothing aboard his ship, so I called the elders together in my cabin. Brewster said that Dorothy must have fell