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.