t sight of the Indians, and ran
away to their little church. The churches in that day were often built
so they could be used for forts. The church to which these women ran
was one of this kind. But the women had no guns with them. They knew
that when they got into the church they would have nothing to fight
with. So two of them took hold of the ends of the pole on which the
kettle of boiling soap was hanging, and carried the kettle into the
little church with them.

The Indians tried to get into the church, but every time an Indian
climbed up to get in, a woman would just dip up a ladleful of boiling
soap, and dash it on him. This was a kind of fighting the Indians did
not like. They were not used to soap in any form. So, when an Indian
was scalded by the soap, he would run away in great pain, and not try
it again. The next Indian that came got some of the same hot medicine.
He also would have to go away to cool off, if he could.

[Illustration: Blowing a Conch Shell.]

While some of the women were watching the Indians, and fighting them
with hot soap, one of them took up a dinner horn and blew it. This
dinner horn was made of a great shell called a conch shell. The tip of
a conch shell was sawed off so as to make a hole in it. By blowing
into this hole, a very loud noise could be made. Such horns were used
in that day to call people to dinner, and to call the neighbors when
there was any danger. The woman blew the conch-shell horn, and kept on
blowing.

The men who were away in the woods heard the sound of the horn. They
knew that something was wrong, because the horn was blowing when it
was not dinner time. Either a house was on fire or the Indians had
come. The men took up their guns and hurried toward the little church.
When the Indians saw the men coming, they ran away.

There was a woman in Massachusetts named Bradley. She had once been a
prisoner among the Indians. She lived in a blockhouse which had a high
fence of posts set up close together all round it to keep the Indians
out. Such a fence was called a stockade. One day Mrs. Bradley was
boiling soap. The gate of the stockade had been left open a little
way. Suddenly she saw an Indian, with war paint on his face and his
tomahawk in his hand, rushing in at the gate. The Indian thought it
would be an easy thing to kill Mrs. Bradley. But the woman was too
quick for him. She dashed a ladle of boiling soap upon him before he
could run away. The soap was so ho