Timothy said he had heard, and I lay there speechless in the stifling trench, too overcome by my greatness of good fortune to be able to utter a word of gratitude.

I was rewarded for my foresight in going to the trench.  Another general attack was made at sundown, and thousands of shots were fired into us.  Nobody on our side was scratched.  On the other hand, although we fired barely thirty shots, I saw Laban and Timothy Grant each get an Indian.  Laban told me that from the first only the Indians had done the shooting.  He was certain that no white had fired a shot.  All of which sorely puzzled him.  The whites neither offered us aid nor attacked us, and all the while were on visiting terms with the Indians who were attacking us.

Next morning found the thirst harsh upon us.  I was out at the first hint of light.  There had been a heavy dew, and men, women, and children were lapping it up with their tongues from off the wagon-tongues, brake-blocks, and wheel-tyres.

There was talk that Laban had returned from a scout just before daylight; that he had crept close to the position of the whites; that they were already up; and that in the light of their campfires he had seen them praying in a large circle.  Also he reported from what few words he caught that they were praying about us and what was to be done with us.

“May God send them the light then,” I heard one of the Demdike sisters say to Abby Foxwell.

“And soon,” said Abby Foxwell, “for I don’t know what we’ll do a whole day without water, and our powder is about gone.”

Nothing happened all morning.  Not a shot was fired.  Only the sun blazed down through the quiet air.  Our thirst grew, and soon the babies were crying and the younger children whimpering and complaining.  At noon Will Hamilton took two large pails and started for the spring.  But before he could crawl under the wagon Ann Demdike ran and got her arms around him and tried to hold him back.  But he talked to her, and kissed her, and went on.  Not a shot was fired, nor was any fired all the time he continued to go out and bring back water.

“Praise God!” cried old Mrs. Demdike.  “It is a sign.  They have relented.”

This was the opinion of many of the women.

About two o’clock, after we had eaten and felt better, a white man appeared, carrying a white flag.  Will Hamilton went out and talked to him, came back and talked with father and the rest of our men, and then went out to the stranger again.  Farther back we could see a man standing and looking on, whom we recognized as Lee.

With us all was excitement.  The women were so relieved that they were crying and kissing one another, and old Mrs. Demdike and others were hallelujahing and blessing God.  The proposal, which our men had accepted, was that we would put ourselves under the flag of truce and be protected from the Indians.

“We had to do it,” I heard father tell mother.