The last defeat, in which his best fighting men were slain, had broken
the power, but not the spirit, of Philip. Unable to meet the colonists
in the open field, he harassed them in a thousand ways, so that, as the
spring advanced, the more industrious and timid were thrown into the
extremity of despair, and said, “How shall we wade through another summer
like the last?” But the chief was now a wandering exile; his paternal
dominion was taken; the singular friendship of Quanonchet, “the mighty
sachem of the Naragansets,” was his last support. The fidelity of this
man was tried to the uttermost: he had received the fugitive with open
arms; rallied all his forces around him; they fought, side by side, with
the heroism of men on the last strand of their country; were defeated,
and fled together, without a reproach or complaint on either side; they
retreated yet farther into the interior, and, by their persuasions,
engaged other tribes in the cause; but, at this moment, the Maquas, a
powerful nation in the west, made a descent on them, and wasted their
band. In spite of these disasters, they again advanced.