men. The Englishmen stiffen to attention, but Smith, who feared
neither man nor devil, goes among the Indians carrying a copper
kettle and a gorgeous blanket. He held out his blanket
persuasively and added several strings of beads. Then he draped
the blanket on himself. The Indian at last reluctantly yields
and takes off the skin, a beautiful black fox. The lights closed
in around a group of Indians decked in their new robes.

Our attention is turned toward the shore once more where three
English sailors hold a flag bearing the words: "Thomas Hunt--
Patuxet--1615." Hunt enters stealthily at the right, and his
attention is concentrated upon a spot where his trained eye has
caught, a glimpse of something of greater interest than bird or
fish. He is evidently scouting. Then appear at his signal a band
of men moving in single file, who hide behind the bushes. Hunt
too, as if hearing something, hides himself. Silently a shadowy
procession moves from Town Brook, carrying pelts and fishing
apparatus. A canoe is borne on the shoulders of two of them.
They put the canoe down and all gather in a group to prepare for
the day's fishing.

All unconscious of danger, they lay their weapons aside. Hunt
rises and signals to his men, who quickly fall upon the Indians
as they try to flee. Several stagger across the field fatally
wounded, while most of the men are captured and bound. After
they gag the Indians they force them toward the water's edge
where a boat is waiting. As the group disappears, or is seen as
a band of faint shadows, the despairing figure of Tisquantum,
bound and struggling, is brought into relief.