The women were exhausted and wet-footed, dressed in ill-fitting cotton dresses and carrying squalling babies in their arms. One had a leather-bound bible, ink running across soaked pages. They were Penacook women and Wonalancet, Sachem of all the Penacook, knew their families.

The Englishman who had led them there started barking contemptuously. Wonalancet’s father Papisseconewa had known the language but he did not. One of the women reluctantly translated.

“Sachem, he says we are yours again,” she said. Wonalancet said nothing.