The sailor had hardly pronounced the last words, when one of the Indians, divesting himself of the skin that covered his shoulders, leaped from the side of the ship, and swam in the direction of the object which had attracted their attention.  It would seem that his keen eyes, like those of the sailor, had detected the body, and that, unable to repress his curiosity, he had taken this method to satisfy it.  Amid the loud and wondering exclamations of the white men, and the subdued gutturals of the Indians, whose straining eyes betrayed their interest, the swimmer, with lusty strokes, breasted the green billows as they came rolling into the bay.  When he reached the floating mass he carefully examined it, and then raised a wail sadder than the cry of the loon over the dark waves, when it anticipates the coming storm.  It was responded to by his companions on board the ship, in a yell of mingled rage and grief, that was heard in all parts of the village, and far over the water.

“What possesses the imps now?” cried the Captain, as two more Indians, following the example of their tribesman, plunged into the water.  “I wonder what they have found?”

“Send a boat after them, Captain, if thou wilt do me a pleasure,” said Dudley, “It seems to be something wherein they take a great interest, and it will be only friendly to furnish them assistance.”

“O, ho! old bear, canst growl sweetly enough an’ it suits thy purpose,” said the Captain to himself.  “But it shall never be said that Jack Sparhawk was an unmannerly lubber.  Halloo, half a dozen of ye,” he cried aloud, “run aft and lower the boat.  Bear a hand, men; move quick,” he added, as they came running from the bow, where they had been standing, toward the stern.  “Jump in Bill,” he continued, as the keel of the yawl touched the water, “take a couple of men, pull after them red skins, and bring ’em ashore, with whatever they have found in the offing.”

In a very short space of time the boat was pulling away into the harbor, and soon reached the object of the search.  It turned out to be an Indian, being no other than the warrior Pieskaret, whose corpse the wily Sassacus had committed to the river Charles, wearing the unshorn honors of his scalp, in order to avert suspicion from himself, and fix it on the whites.  For rightly did the sagacious chief judge that no Taranteen could be induced to believe that an Indian would forbear to possess himself, if he were able, of the coveted prize, especially that of so mighty a warrior as Pieskaret.  And with regard to the Pequot in particular, he, of all, after the provocation of yesterday, would be the last, if he had slain Pieskaret, to be supposed capable of an act of so great self-denial.

The sailors found the Taranteens around the raft, and pushing it ashore, In spite of the remonstrances of the savages, which the white men did not half understand, they unlashed the body from the boughs, and taking it into the boat, pulled for the land, closely followed by the swimmers.  As they approached the vessel, they were ordered by Dudley to take it to the wharf, and he and the Knight, followed by the natives, descended the side, and advanced to the spot where the boat was to land.  Here, when they arrived, a considerable group of persons had collected, and were examining the corpse.