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ANONCHET was the sachem of the powerful tribe of Narragansetts,
who inhabited a part of New England claimed by the government of
Connecticut. In the war between the Indians and the colonists,
which began in 1675, and is commonly called “King Philip’s war,” the
Narragansetts were led by their own wrongs and the arts of Philip to
join in the Indian confederacy. But they suffered severely for their
hostility. Their fort was attacked by a large force of colonists, under
Governor Winslow, and the greater part of them perished by the guns of
the English, or in the flames of the burning fort.
The remnant of the Narragansetts fled, under the command of Canonchet
and Punno-quin, both of whom were filled with inveterate hatred of the
colonists. Canonchet was the son of the celebrated Miantonomoh, and the
remembrance of his father’s fate rankled in his breast, and rendered
him fierce and cruel beyond his nature. The Narragansetts reached the
Wachusetts hills in safety, where they united with the Nipmucks and
other friendly tribes. But they were in a destitute condition, and
Canonchet was obliged to make great exertions to supply them with food,
in order to keep them faithful to him.
Early in April, 1676, he proposed the daring design of an expedition
to Seekonk, to procure seed corn to plant along the Connecticut river,
where he had taken refuge. At the head of about fifty men, he marched
towards Seekonk, and soon reached Black Stone river. There he encamped,
and imagining that no colonial force was nearer than Plymouth, dismissed
twenty of his men.
On the 27th of March, Captain Dennison had left Stonington, with a body
of troops, on an exploring expedition, in search of Indians. When
near Seekonk, he captured two squaws, who informed him of Canonchet’s
encampment. The captain quickened his march, and as Canonchet’s men,
instead of giving the alarm, fled in different directions, the colonists
were in his camp before he knew of their approach. The chief, seeing
his men run, sent out two or three to ascertain the cause. One of these
returned to the wigwam, crying out that the English were upon them.
Canochet fled. While running around the hill near his camp, he was
recognized by the Nanticks, who commenced a vigorous pursuit. The chase
was long and exciting. One by one, the chief threw off’ his blanket, his
silver-laced coat, and his belt of peag. His pursuers gained upon him;
and giving up all hope of reaching the woods, he hurried towards the
river. Monopoide, a Pequot, noted for his swiftness, pursued in such a
way as to force the chief to cross or be caught. Canonchet plunged into
the stream, and swam for the opposite shore. The English, filled with
rage and fearful of being baffled, hurried to the river’s bank, in
order to shoot him if an opportunity offered; but Canonchet would have
escaped, had not an accident occurred, which, to use his own words,
“made his heart and bowels turn within, so that he became like a rotten
stick, and void of strength.” As he reached a shallow part of the
stream, he began to wade, when his foot struck against a stone, and he
fell into the water. His gun became useless.
Monopoide, seeing the accident, leaped into the water, and daringly swam
towards the chief, who was probably intimidated by superstition. When
seized, Canonchet did not resist, although he was a man of great size,
strength, and courage. A young man, named Staunton, now approached and
asked the chief some questions in regard to his conduct during the war.
For a while Canonchet treated him with silent contempt. But when the
other had ceased, he replied, “You much child--no understand matters of
war. Let your brother or chief come, him I will answer.”
Canonchet was then brought before Dennison. The latter offered the chief
his life on condition that he would induce his nation to submit. But
he rejected the offer with contempt. He was commanded to comply. He
answered that killing him would not end the war. Some of the soldiers
reminded him that he had threatened to burn the English in their houses;
and that in spite of a late treaty, he had boasted that he would not
give up a Wampanoag, or the paring of the nail of a Wampanoag. He
replied that others were as forward for the war as himself, and that he
wished to hear no more about it.
Dennison, filled with joy at his good fortune, soon after returned to
Stonington. Canonchet was not kept long in suspense, in regard to his
fate. The officers decided that he should be shot. The sentence was
announced to him, and his reply was, “I like it well. I shall die before
my heart is soft, or I shall say any thing unworthy of myself.” When
charged with cruelty and treachery, he reminded his foes that they had
killed his father, and burned his people at Narragansett. Through all
his captivity, Canonchet evinced a pride of soul that danger could not
fright nor suffering bend.
The “last of the Narragansetts,” as Canonchet has been termed, was led
out to die, “and that all might share in the glory of destroying so
great a prince, and come under the obligation of fidelity, each to
the other, the Pequots shot him, the Mohegans cut off his head, and
quartered his body, and the Nan-ticks made the fire and burned his
quarters; and as a token of fidelity to the English, presented his head
to the council at Hartford.”
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The modern reader views the detail of this execution with disgust. But
the colonists then thought them wise and just.
The death of Canonchet was a severe loss to the Indians. Endowed with
a high and generous spirit, he had obtained a great and rare
influence-among his own and other tribes, and could at any time summon
to the aid of Philip, many faithful and efficient men. He bound men to
his interest by appealing to their love of what is great and heroic,
rather than their fears, and of all Philip’s captains, he was the most
skilful leader, and the bravest warrior. Notwithstanding his treaty with
the English, he refused to give up the fugitive Wampanoags to them; but
this refusal was owing as much to humanity of feeling as to a violation
of his word. The records of his conduct while free and among his tribe,
and while a captive with the whites, lead us to lament the fate of so
able, so noble, and generous a man.
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