The skilful Englishman, with a “confection of many comfortable conserves,” soon worked a cure. The convalescent sagamore said, “Now I know that the English are indeed my friends, and love me; while I live I will never forget this kindness.”[411] Nobly did he keep his word; for, after requesting “the pale-face medicine” to exercise his skill upon others of his tribe, who were down with the same disease which had laid him low, his gratitude was so warm that he disclosed to the pale-face leech the fact that a wide-spread and well-matured conspiracy was afoot to exterminate Weston’s colony, in revenge for injuries heaped upon the Indians; that all the northeastern tribes were in the league; and that the massacre was to cover the Pilgrims also, lest they should avenge the fall of their neighbors. “A chief was here at the setting of the sun,” added Massasoit, “and he told me that the pale-faces did not love me, else they would visit me in my pain, and he urged me to join the war party. But I said, No. Now if you take the chiefs of the league, and kill them, it will end the war-trail in the blood of those who made it, and save the settlements.”[412] Thankful to Massasoit for this disclosure, and profoundly impressed with its importance, the envoys speedily bade the sagamore good-by, and started for Plymouth. Reaching Corbitant’s lodge towards evening, they decided to sleep with him. “We found him,” says Winslow, “a notable politician, yet full of merry jests and squibs, and never better pleased than when the like are turned again on him.”[413] “If I were sick, as Massasoit has been,” asked he, “would Mr. Governor send me medicine?” “Yes,” said Winslow. “Would you bring it?” queried Corbitant. “Certainly,” was the reply. At this the sachem was delighted. He resumed his questions. “How did you dare to go so far into our hunting-grounds, with only one pale-face and Habbamak?” “Because,” said Winslow, “where there is true love, there can be no fear; my heart is so upright towards the Indians, that I have no cause to fear to go among them.” “If you love us so much,” retorted the shrewd chief, “why is it that, when we go to Plymouth, you stand on guard, and present the mouths of your big guns at us?” “Oh,” was the reply, “that’s the most honorable reception we could give you. ’Tis the English way of saluting distinguished guests.” “Ugh,” said Corbitant, with the peculiar Indian grunt and shrug, “perhaps; but I don’t like such ways of shaking hands.”[414]