hem with shouts
of welcome. They were conducted to a pleasant tent, open toward the
sea, and were provided with a luxurious supper of fried fish. The
supper consisted of three courses: a young bass in one dish, eels and
flat-fish in a second, and shell-fish in a third; but there was
neither bread nor salt.

By the time supper was over it was night, serene and moonless, yet
brilliant with stars. The still waters of Buzzard's Bay lay like a
burnished mirror, reflecting the sparkling canopy above in a
corresponding arch below. The unbroken forest frowned along the shore,
sublime in its solitude, and from its depths could only be heard the
lonely cry of the birds of darkness.

The Indians collected an enormous pile of pine knots and the resinous
boughs of the fir-tree. Men, women, and children all contributed to
enlarge the gigantic heap, and when the torch was touched, a bonfire
of amazing splendor blazed far and wide over the forest and the bay.
This was the introductory act to a drama where peace and war were
blended. All the Indians, old and young, gathered around the fire.
Queen Awashonks, with the oldest men and women of the tribe, kneeling
down in a circle, formed the first ring; next behind them came all
the most distinguished warriors, armed and arrayed in all the gorgeous
panoply of barbarian warfare; then came a motley multitude of the
common mass of men, women, and children.

At an appointed signal, Awashonks' chief captain stepped forward from
the circle, danced with frantic gesture around the fire, drew a brand
from the flames, and, calling it by the name of a tribe hostile to the
English, belabored it with bludgeon and tomahawk. He then drew out
another and another, until all the tribes hostile to the English had
been named, assailed, and exterminated. Reeking with perspiration, and
exhausted by his phrensied efforts, he retired within the ring.
Another chief then came out and re-enacted the same scene, endeavoring
to surpass his predecessor in the fierceness and fury of his efforts.
In this way all the chiefs took what they considered as their oath of
fidelity to the English. The chief captain then came forward to
Captain Church, and, presenting him with a fine musket, informed him
that all the warriors were henceforth subject to his command. Captain
Church immediately drew out a number of the ablest warriors, and the
next morning, before the break of day, set out with them for
Plymouth, where he arrived