I walk down the ranks of the village militia, each filled with men I’ve known my entire life. Every man stands with his eyes facing forward, his flintlock held tightly to his side.
Ever since the Wampanoags took up arms against Plimoth, a sense of deadly seriousness pervades Saturday afternoon drills. I didn’t quite understand why three Indians killing another Indian concerned the Plimoth court, even if the victim Sassamon was a converted, praying Indian. His death was of no concern to Plimoth. Clearly, the Wampanoag leader, King Philip, felt the same way. After the Plimoth court executed three Indians for Sassamon’s murder, King Philip retaliated with an attack on Deerfield. Now the entire colony prepares for war.
“Shoulder arms!” I shout. Twenty men lift the flintlocks by their sides. “Fire by ranks to the forward. First rank to the forward. March!”
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