No time remained for further parley.  A band of Indians were approaching across the plain; and Standish disdained to fly, even before such superior numbers.  Every musket and pistol was hastily loaded, and the undaunted party marched down the hill to meet the coming foe.  They met:  and in spite of the furious onset of the savages, they were again made to feel that their undisciplined hordes were no match for the well-aimed fire-arms of the white men, and had no power to break the order of their steady ranks.  Once more they fled, leaving another of their number dead on the field, and they returned no more to the charge.  During all this affair, Hobomak had remained a quiet spectator of the combat, and of the defeat of his countrymen; and now he approached the English captain, and complacently praised his bravery and military prowess; and he remained as devoted as ever to his Christian friends.

The triumphant soldiers returned to New Plymouth, and were received with joyful exultation by the Governor and the inhabitants, who felt deeply grateful for the deliverance that had been accorded to them, and the safety of the brave men who had fought in their defense.  All the little band had been preserved from serious personal injury; but Rodolph Maitland had also been preserved from blood-guiltiness, and that was more to him than life and safety, and to his Christian and devoted wife also.

The head of Wattawamat was brought to New Plymouth, and the dreadful trophy was conspicuously placed over the entrance to the fortress, as a warning to the natives against any future conspiracies for the destruction of the white men.  So great, indeed, was the terror inspired by the power and the severity of the settlers, that many of the natives—­who were conscious of having been engaged in the conspiracy, though undiscovered—­left their wigwams, and fled into the woods, or concealed themselves in reedy morasses, where a great number of them perished from hunger and disease.  The settlers were much distressed at this result of their proceedings, which, at the same time, they considered to have been perfectly justified by the necessity of self-preservation.  But when their venerated pastor Robinson—­to whom they had, ever since their emigration, looked for guidance and sympathy—­ heard of these sad events, he expressed the deepest sorrow, and begged them never again to be led away by the fiery temper of their leader; adding these touching and impressive words—­’ How happy a thing had it been, if you had converted some before you had killed any!’

CHAPTER XV.

’A change came o’er the spirit of my dream: 
The boy was sprung to manhood; to the wilds
Of distant climes he made himself a home. 
And his soul drank their beauties; he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been:—­on the sea,
And on the shore, he was a wanderer.’  BYRON.