THE UNCROWNING OF A KING
PHILIP'S ADVENTURES AND DEATH
[Illustration: MEDICINE MAN]
When Massasoit, the friend "tried and true," of the English, died, he
left two sons,--possibly more, but only two figure on the pages of
history. The oldest was Moanam, or Wamsutta, and the second Metacomet,
the former being heir to the chieftaincy of the Wampanoags. Before
the father died, he brought his two sons into the open court at
Plymouth, and asked that each be given a Christian name, in token of
his wish that the good understanding with the colonists should continue
unbroken. The elder was, therefore, called Alexander, and the second
Philip. You will note the classical character of these names, as they
were thus given in memory of the famous heroes of ancient times.
It was not long before Alexander was in trouble with the English.
Rumors reached the governor and council that he was plotting with the
Narragansetts for a war against the whites. The record says that such
good proof of the truth of these reports reached the authorities that
they ordered Alexander to appear before them and make explanation.
[Illustration: DEATH OF KING PHILIP.]
Because he did not do so at once, an armed force was sent in July,
1662, to bring him to Plymouth. He was arrested with a number of his
armed followers, and being ill, asked leave to visit his home. He was
allowed to do so, and died on the way. One of our leading historians
says the suspicions of the English had no real cause, and their course
toward Alexander was unjust to the last degree. He may have been
innocent, or he may have been guilty.
Be that as it may, the death of Alexander, on the threshold of his
reign, was bad from every aspect. Philip declared that his brother had
been poisoned at the hands of the English. Many of his people believed
the charge, and it was whispered by more than one white man. Possibly
it was true, though we cannot think so.
The result of the elder brother's death was to bring Philip to the
"throne" of the Wampanoags. He ranks as one of the greatest Indians
in history. He was wise, eloquent, far-seeing, brave, resourceful,
chivalrous at times, merciless at others, and a leader of remarkable
ability. Resentful as he felt towards the English, he saw the madness
of a war against them, by his tribe alone, though they welcomed him
with ardor to the chieftaincy. Following the example of his father and
brother, he went before the court at Plymouth, and renewed the league
that had lasted for so many years.
It was a long time before a ripple of trouble came between Philip and
the whites. The latter kept stealing the ground in his neighborhood,
until the day came when he could not reach his home at Mount Hope from
any direction without crossing the property claimed by some colonist.
He was angered, and complained to the authorities. He was answered by
the charge that he was secretly training his men for war. Instead of
going to court, the chief invited the officers to meet him for a talk.
They did so at Taunton. Philip denied that he had any thoughts of harm
to the whites, but said his warriors were preparing for defence against
the Narragansetts. The whites kept to their charge, and he finally
owned that there was truth in what they said. He was quite meek, and
signed a pledge of friendship, and promised to turn over the arms of
his warriors to the authorities.
This conference was held in the month of April, 1671. Beyond all doubt,
Philip's submission was only a pretence in order to gain time. He
had been accused of such designs again and again, until, as he said
to one of his friends, he could not make the English believe he was
their friend, and he might as well become their enemy. There must have
been warrant on the part of the whites for doubting his truth, for
after-events proved that he was plotting not only at that time, but had
been laying his far-reaching plans for months.
It has been said that New England, during its early colonial days, had
five powerful Indian confederacies. While the Wampanoags could not put
more than a thousand warriors in the field, the united tribes could
muster twenty-five thousand. What a resistless army they would form, if
they would combine to destroy the pale faces that had come across the
great water to steal their hunting grounds! King Philip's dream was to
bring about such a union, and he now bent all his energies to the task.
The Wampanoag leader saw the necessity of care, time, and thoroughness
in his preparations. It would be the height of rashness to strike
before everything was ready. He held back the impatience of his
followers, and was slowly moulding his grand scheme into form, but when
fully a year was needed in which to perfect it, the war was brought on
by an unexpected event.
[Illustration: GROUP OF INDIAN CHIEFS]
As a result of the self-sacrificing labors of Eliot, the missionary
among the Indians, many of these people had been turned from their
evil ways and become Christians. One of those professing conversion
was John Sassamon, who had been partly educated at Cambridge, and
served as school-teacher at Natick. He was cunning and artful, and
became interpreter or secretary to Philip, who could not read or write
English. In this situation he acted as a spy upon the chieftain, and
betrayed all the secrets he could gather to the authorities. Philip
discovered his treachery and determined to put him to death, but,
knowing he was certain to be charged with the crime, it was carried
out by three others, who no doubt were hired by Philip himself. In the
month of January, 1675, the body of Sassamon was found under the ice
in a pond near Middleborough, with such marks of violence as to show
he had been murdered before being thrust into the water. Three Indians
were charged with the crime, one being a close friend of Philip, and
all were hanged on evidence which in these days would not have been
admitted in court.
Philip with good reason believed that the authorities would try to
get hold of him, and, if they did so, he too would be executed as an
"accessory before the act." He had not yet brought about the vast
union of tribes that was under way, but he made up his mind to wait
no longer. The squaws and children of the Wampanoags were sent to the
Narragansetts, and the warriors stripped for the fray.
New England shuddered at what she saw was coming. The 24th of June,
1675, was appointed a day of fasting and prayer that the awful peril
might pass by. The people gathered in their churches, and never were
more fervent appeals sent to heaven than on that sultry Sunday in early
summer, more than two hundred years ago. At the end of the services
at Swansea, the people were walking quietly homeward, nearly every
one talking of the dreadful danger that threatened, when without the
slightest warning, a party of Indians hiding in the woods, fired upon
them. One man fell dead, and several were wounded. Two others started
on a run for a surgeon, but had gone only a few rods, when they were
shot down. A general rush was made for the blockhouse or fort, and
others were slain. The Wampanoags were very active, and in the course
of a few minutes had several buildings in flames. Before the whites
could rally, they dashed into the woods and were gone. The attack at
Swansea was the opening of King Philip's War.
The chieftain pressed the war "all along the line." Taunton, Namaskat,
Dartmouth and other towns were attacked, and many lives lost and
buildings burned. The settlements were so placed as to be much exposed
in this method of warfare. They were far apart, the homes separated
by no little space, and with slight means of defence. As a rule, each
settlement had one large building, called a fort, specially intended
for such danger. Corn and supplies were kept in these rude defences,
into which the people rushed upon the first appearance of peril. The
Indians showed no mercy, and old age, lusty manhood, feeble woman and
helpless infancy went down before the tomahawk and scalping knife.
There was no saying where the next blow would be struck. In the gloomy
depths of the forest, on the shores of the lonely river, in the
open,--everywhere, the warriors dashed like so many tigers savagely
athirst for human blood.
[Illustration: A STRONGHOLD OF THE INDIANS
From an Old Print]
The war was kept for a time within the Plymouth colony. Rhode Island
tried to keep out of it, but could not. Several settlers were killed
at Tiverton, and a number of buildings were burned on the outskirts
of Providence. In the middle of July, Captain Hutchinson entered the
Narragansett country with an armed force, and made a treaty of peace
with that tribe. This cut off one of the strongest supports on which
Philip had counted, but did not check his ardor. Being hard pressed at
Pocasset, he and his son took refuge in a swamp. The whites decided
to surround it and starve him out with his followers. They hurriedly
enclosed the place on every side, only to learn after a time that
the chief and nearly all his men had stolen out in the darkness and
got away. Finding that they had gone to the country of the Nipmucks,
Captain Hutchinson, at the head of a company of horse, hurried thither
to prevent their joining Philip. But the chief had already won them
over, as they had shown by killing five people at Mendon. Hutchinson
fell into an ambuscade and lost sixteen of his men, the leader being
among the killed. The survivors hurried to Brookfield and warned the
people of their danger. They were about a hundred in number, and
knowing the Indians would soon come, they swarmed into the only stone
structure in the place, carrying with them a few such articles as they
could snatch up, and taking no time to add to the slight stock of
provisions already stored there.
Hardly had they crowded the refuge when the whooping warriors dashed
into the settlement, firing their rifles, and using the torch with a
vigor that soon set every building in flames except the fort itself.
All this destruction, however, could avail nothing so long as the
people themselves were not reached. Unless the roof of the stone
structure was fired, the defenders were safe, and were sure to fight
to the last. Could they have been certain of mercy, they would have
surrendered, but every one knew what fate awaited him, if the hostiles
once gained the upper hand. The grim pioneers were on the alert at
every window and loophole, and the first warrior who tried to steal
forward, torch in hand, was riddled by the deadly marksman. By and by,
the attempt was repeated with more caution, but the dusky miscreant
could not get near enough without showing himself for an instant, and
that instant was his last. Then the Indians grew more careful in their
movements.
[Illustration: THE INDIAN'S CUNNING
In the hunt for game or in an attack upon an enemy the Indian
always has been noted for his cunning. Crouching on a limb of a
forest tree he waits, without the slightest movement, for hours
the approach of his game or enemy and picks him off with unerring
aim when his victim least suspects the nearness of danger.]
And yet every person in the fort knew he was doomed unless help
arrived. The arrows tipped with burning tow, which circled over in the
air and struck the roof with a thud, plainly heard within, did not hold
at first, but by and by some of them clung, and little twists of smoke
appeared. These were put out by the watchful garrison, but the time was
sure to come when their enemies must succeed.
The one thing necessary was for a swift runner to steal out of the
building and gain a start upon the hostiles. The first one who made
the attempt was captured, and a few minutes later the shouting savages
were seen kicking his head to and fro as if it were a football. After
a time, another man managed to get outside, but he was seen, and had
barely time to scramble back through the door held open a few inches
against such a failure. A third effort ended the same way, and then for
the time the plan was given up, though plenty of volunteers were ready
to make the dash whenever their friends thought there was the slightest
chance of success.
With the coming of darkness, the peril of the settlers increased. Each
side had grown more cautious. Knowing that every attempt to reach the
fort would be met with death, the Indians refrained from the venture.
Burning arrows curved through the air, but the roof was kept safe.
At a late hour, the full moon rose above the tree tops and showed a
startling danger. During the darkness, the Nipmucks had gathered a
large mass of leaves, twigs, and dry branches and silently heaped them
against one end of the building. When the defenders first saw the mass,
smoke was rising from it, showing that the torch had done its work.
Unless the fire was quickly put out, nothing could save the whites from
the most frightful of deaths.
Suddenly a half-dozen men dashed through the door drawn softly inward,
and leaping upon the burning stuff, kicked and flung it in all
directions. The Nipmucks ran up to tomahawk them, but their friends
were watching and picked them off with thrilling skill. Those who did
not fall, fled, and they and their companions opened fire on the daring
life-savers. But the work was over in a few minutes, and they leaped
back into the building without one having received so much as a scratch.
The incident was repeated soon after with exactly the same results,
the brave band scattering the burning mass and getting safely back
under the unerring rifles of their comrades. But, best of all, in the
confusion, one of the fleetest runners among the whites succeeded in
dodging into the woods unnoticed, and sped like a deer for Boston,
thirty miles away.
The Nipmucks kept up their attacks through the rest of the night, the
next day and the night which followed that. It seems a miracle how the
defenders held out for so many hours. The men took turns in snatching a
few minutes' sleep and swallowing a mouthful of food, but not for one
minute were they off their guard. The roof caught fire again and again,
but holes were cut through the shingles, and water dashed upon the
twists of flame, until after a time the charred, jagged openings showed
in almost every square yard of surface, presenting a most desperate
appearance.
On the third day, the Nipmucks piled a wagon frame with hemp, flax,
wood and hay, set fire to it and backed it up against the house. By
keeping it between them and the garrison, they were shielded against
the rifles of the defenders, who, without the power of harming one of
them, saw with despairing hearts the blazing mass surge against the end
of the building, and the smoke pour through windows and loopholes in a
stifling cloud.
There was no way of rushing out and dragging the blazing stuff away,
for before the lumbering vehicle could be budged, the hostiles would
destroy the whites. Among the men, women and children, there was not
one who saw a ray of hope or the faintest chance of escape.
And yet every one was saved! At the critical moment, the windows of
heaven were opened, and the rains descended so that the flames were put
out, and all the stuff so wetted that it could not be kindled again.
But it looked as if the saving of the poor defenders was only for a
time, since the Nipmucks had but to press their siege to bring success.
But throughout the hours of the first night and a part of the day,
the runner who dodged unseen into the surrounding woods was speeding
toward Boston. He reached the town and found Major Simon Willard, a
veteran of three-score and ten, as eager as the most youthful officer
to rush to the rescue of Brookfield. Leaping into the saddle, he led
fifty horsemen at a gallop for the settlement. They swooped down like a
cyclone, just as night was closing in, and attacked the Nipmucks with
the utmost fury. Back and forth dashed the horsemen, shouting, striking
and crushing down whenever a chance offered. The few who were quick
enough to leap into the woods and get away left fourscore stretched
lifeless on the ground, many of whom had fallen under the guns of the
garrison.
King Philip's war was marked by more than one strange incident. One of
these occurred a few days after the saving of Brookfield. The people
in Hadley were at church, when they were attacked by a large body of
Indians. The preacher, as many a one had done before him, bounded down
from the pulpit and was among the first to rush outside and catch up
one of the guns stacked there, and to lead in the defense. The assault
was so sudden and fierce that it was impossible to rally all the people
from their panic. The cool-headed hurried the women and children into
the church, or rather compelled them to stay there, while the men
strove to beat back the hostiles.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN WIGWAM]
It quickly became clear that the day was lost unless the brave but
scattered men, each of whom was fighting on his own hook, could have
a leader, who would bring order out of the wild chaos. Suddenly the
leader appeared, and not one of the amazed people could tell where he
came from. He was tall, with a long, flowing white beard, and carried a
sword in one hand. Swinging it over his head, he shouted his commands
in the ringing tones of a trumpet, and with wonderful quickness brought
order and confidence where all had been confusion in the leaderless
defense.
Placing himself at their head, he led a charge which scattered the
Indians like chaff. Then, when all danger had gone, the strange
deliverer vanished as strangely as he had appeared. He had come, he had
acted, and now he was gone.
Many believed he was more than a human being,--one sent by heaven to
save them in their peril. But he was as much flesh and blood as those
whom he had rescued, being no other than General Goffe, who had fled
with another comrade from England, for having been one of the judges
who sentenced Charles I. to the scaffold. When the son of the executed
king came to the throne, after the death of Cromwell, and the passing
away of the Commonwealth, Charles II. ordered the death of all those
who had condemned his father. Goffe and Whalley fled to the American
colonies, and though search was made for them, their friends kept them
hidden, and they were never arrested. General Goffe was hiding in the
house of one of these friends at Hadley at the time of the Indian
attack. Peeping out, he saw the dreadful danger, caught up his sword
and rushed to the defence. When all danger was over, he quietly went
back to his hiding place, and lived a number of years afterward.
On the same day that Hadley was attacked, the Indians burned several
houses and barns at Deerfield, and some weeks afterward Northfield was
almost destroyed, a dozen settlers being slain. Captain Richard Beers
hurried from Watertown with thirty-six men to the relief of Northfield,
but in a fight on the road lost twenty of his troop. Beers retreated to
a hill and fought until his ammunition was spent. Then he being killed,
the others fled. The garrison at Northfield was saved by the arrival of
one hundred men who went with the troops to Hadley.
About the middle of September, Captain Lathrop left Beverly with nearly
a hundred men to bring in the corn, grain and valuable articles at
Deerfield. In his command were "the very flower of Essex county,"
eighteen of them belonging to Deerfield. They finished threshing the
grain, loaded it into wagons, and started for Hadley on the morning
of the 18th. They had seen no signs of Indians, and halted near a
small brook to rest. The weather was sultry, and they were tempted by
the abundance of luscious grapes growing near. Leaving their weapons
in the wagons, they began plucking and eating the fruit, but a large
force of Indians had been stealthily following them all night, and now
rushed upon them with such fury that only seven out of the whole number
escaped.
Captain Mosely was scouting with seventy men, and, hearing the firing
knew what it meant. He galloped in all haste to the place and attacked
the Indians, but they are believed to have been under the command of
Philip himself, and rallied and drove Mosely in turn. Then another
force of English and friendly Mohegans appeared, and the Indians were
driven off with the loss of nearly a hundred men. The waters of the
little stream ran red that day, and it has ever since been known by the
name of "Bloody Brook."
By this time the success of Philip had alarmed all New England. He kept
drawing allies to his side, and it was soon learned that the powerful
Narragansetts were about to join him. It was necessary, therefore,
to strike a crushing blow at this ally. If they could be overthrown,
little hope would be left to Philip, while, on the other hand, failure
would be disastrous beyond measure to the greater part of New England.
The campaign must be pushed with a vigor that would destroy Philip and
his allies.
Massachusetts, Connecticut and Plymouth placed fifteen hundred
armed men in the field, nearly one-half of whom were furnished by
Massachusetts. To these were joined one hundred and fifty Mohegans, but
they gave little help in the campaign that followed. Governor Josiah
Winslow commanded this large body of troops.
The Narragansetts, to the number of more than three thousand, were
gathered in an immense swamp at South Kingston, Rhode Island. Philip
was there and meant to stay through the winter. The stronghold was one
of the largest of its kind ever known on this continent, including
fully five hundred wigwams, and covering three or four acres in the
form of an island, which was surrounded by strong palisades on every
side. The only path leading to the fort was a narrow footbridge
of logs. Here enough food was collected to last the multitude of
Indians until spring. The weather was very cold, and snow lay to the
depth of two or three feet on the level. In these circumstances, the
Narragansetts did not believe they were in any danger of molestation.
It was a difficult and dangerous task that the soldiers had laid
out for themselves, for the Indians could be counted upon to make
a desperate resistance, and there were enough of them behind those
intrenchments to give their assailants all and quite possibly more than
they could do.
The soldiers were so ill-supplied with food that, despite the bad
weather, they dared not wait. From a captured prisoner, Governor
Winslow had learned of the single approach to the stronghold. The
footbridge was so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. The first
arrivals started on a run across the support, but were shot down the
moment they came within range. Others took their places only to fall in
turn. When six captains and a large number of privates had been swept
away, those behind them fell back, and it looked as if the whole force
was checked.
But Captain Mosely, whom a singular good fortune seemed always to
attend, had managed by some means to get within the fort at the rear
with a handful of men, and all were fighting hand to hand against
overwhelming odds. Their shouts brought others to their side, and by
almost superhuman efforts, the Indians were driven from their main
stronghold. Men, women and children ran in terror from wigwam to
wigwam, chased by men as merciless as they, who spared none. In the
assault at the rear, Captain Benjamin Church was wounded three times.
He kept on fighting, and wished to save the wigwams with their valuable
supplies, but the torch was applied, and the immense stronghold became
a roaring conflagration.
[Illustration: INDIAN VILLAGE ENCLOSED WITH PALISADES]
Driven into the open, the Indians fought with the same fierce bravery
as at first, and inflicted great loss upon the troops. But they were
forced from the fort, which was now in possession of their enemies. Of
the Indians, more than seven hundred were slain, while eighty of the
English were killed and a hundred and fifty wounded.
Captain Church and Governor Winslow wished to stay in the stronghold,
since it was the place where the wounded could have proper attention,
but the surgeon and Captain Mosely opposed, believing the warriors
would return to the attack and drive them out. Their advice was
followed, and, as a consequence, many of the wounded, who otherwise
might have been saved, died before reaching the end of the dismal march
of eighteen miles.
Among the prisoners was the head sachem of the Narragansetts, who,
because he had violated his treaty with the whites, was put to death.
The providential arrival of a vessel from Boston with supplies was all
that saved the survivors from perishing of starvation.
This crushing blow to the Narragansetts would have ended the war had
Philip been among the captured or slain, but he escaped and became more
active than ever. He fled with most of the defeated warriors to the
Nipmuck country, and made a visit to the Mohawks of New York, whom he
strove to persuade to join him in the uprising against the English, but
they refused, and the Wampanoag orator roused the Indians elsewhere.
In the course of a month, the war was raging over an area of three
hundred miles. Settlers who lived beyond the confines of villages were
attacked, generally in the dead of night, and often when the weather
was bitterly cold or a violent storm raged. They fought bravely, but
few thus assailed escaped. Husband and wife, and, perhaps one or two
of the larger children, joined in defending the home that was doomed
from the first. The helpless ones were often tortured, and in other
instances, were carried off to a captivity to which a quiet death would
have been merciful. Warwick and Providence, in Rhode Island, narrowly
escaped being laid in ashes, and Medford, Weymouth, Groton, Lancaster,
and Marlborough--all in Massachusetts--were burned.
The Indians were so successful that they grew more daring. As if to
show their contempt for the English, a body went to the deserted
fields at Greenfield and began planting corn, showing thereby that
they expected to harvest it. Captain William Turner, some twenty
miles away, was so indignant over the "nerve" of these redskins, that
he resolved to teach them a lesson. He gathered more than a hundred
troopers, and rode so hard that he reached Deerfield before daylight on
the morning of May 10.
The attack was a surprise to the warriors, who fled to their canoes
in such fright that they forgot to take their paddles, and many were
swept over the falls. They were assailed so determinedly that more
than two hundred were slain. Sad to say, however, the great advantage
thus gained was worse than thrown away. Another force of hostiles was
in the neighborhood, and unexpectedly attacked the English. Somehow
or other, the rumor spread among the whites that their enemies were
under the lead of Philip himself. When there was not the least doubt of
destroying the Indians, the troopers were seized with a panic and fled
in headlong confusion. The enemy, much less in number, pursued them for
several miles, and killed one-third of the English, including Captain
Turner himself. This sad affair gave its name to Turner Falls.
Despite the many successes of the Indians, they were doomed to failure
in the end. The English far outnumbered all the warriors Philip could
bring into the field, and they were better disciplined and more
capable than the dusky natives. The defeats of the latter became so
numerous that the seat of war shifted from Massachusetts southward
to Connecticut and Rhode Island. Knowing that the quickest road to
peace was by pressing the war vigorously, Massachusetts passed a rigid
law for the impressment of soldiers, and Captain Church, who had
recovered from his wounds received in the swamp fight at Kingston,
gave the hostiles no rest. He shrewdly scared a number of Philip's
allies into leaving his cause and coming to the side of the English.
Even among the Indians were many who saw the certain overthrow of
Philip and the triumph of the English. When assured that none of these
would be punished if they abandoned the chieftain, and warned that if
they did not do so very soon, they would suffer the vengeance of the
authorities, a large number made haste to accept the offer. Then, at
the right moment, Massachusetts made known that she would pardon every
Indian who laid down his arms within two weeks. So many took advantage
of this offer, that the uprising received a fatal blow, and the danger
to the English was past.
But Philip was not among those who cringed. He probably knew that
although his warriors might be forgiven by the English, no pardon
awaited _him_. A white man can be as fiendish as any savage, and that
too without trying very hard, and many of those who preached the Gospel
of love and forgiveness, were yearning for a chance to wreak vengeance
upon the barbarian.
And yet Philip must have seen for a long time that he was waging a
hopeless war. Since the longer he fought the more bitter would become
the anger of the English against him, the question naturally arises,
"Why then did he continue to fight?" To this, the answer is that such
is Indian nature, and such the spirit of the warrior.
Ere long he became a fugitive, harried night and day. He was often
obliged to flee in desperate haste, and make the quickest possible
change of quarters. Some of his escapes could not have been narrower.
One day, in a furious skirmish, a soldier recognized an Indian as the
uncle of Philip, because of which he leveled his musket and shot him
down, and yet the warrior at the side of the victim, who was spared
and whose identity was unsuspected, was Philip himself. He cut off his
hair, stained his face, and changed his clothes, so that many of his
acquaintances failed to identify him. This stratagem saved the sachem
more than once from the English, who were trying to run him to earth.
When everything was going wrong, one of his men ventured to suggest
to him, that he should try to make terms with the whites. The chief
whirled like lightning, his face aflame with fury, and brained the
insolent warrior. But the victim had a brother, who bided his time, and
then made the sachem pay dearly for his ferocious cruelty.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN CHIEF'S WIFE]
Philip was devotedly attached to his wife and only son. He stealthily
made his way to their home at Mount Hope, with a few of his faithful
followers. His presence was betrayed to his enemies, who suddenly
descended upon him. Philip escaped by a hair's breadth, but his wife
and boy were carried off prisoners. The authorities at Plymouth
solemnly debated over the question as to what should be done with these
captives. Some favored putting them to death, but it was finally agreed
to sell them as slaves. This was done, as in the case of many others,
and they were sent to the Bermudas.
Captain Church was bent upon capturing or killing Philip. Many times
he was close upon him, and it is quite likely the two saw each other
more than once, but the royal fugitive was saved by the disguise named.
His warriors kept steadily falling away from him, and he was harassed
by that torturing of all doubts--the distrust of the loyalty of those
that remained at his side. He must have asked himself many a time,
as he looked into the stern, painted faces, whether _all_ were true,
or whether some of them were not planning his betrayal while they
professed friendship.
One day an Indian hurriedly entered the camp of Captain Church at
Tiverton. He was the brother of the man who had been slain by Philip
for daring to suggest that he should make peace with the English. The
hour for his revenge had come. He told Church that Philip and a few of
his warriors were on a piece of land at the southern end of the swamp,
near the base of Mount Hope. Church questioned the runner closely, and
was satisfied he was telling the truth. He was familiar with the place
and he knew the description given by his informant was correct.
No time was lost. Church had quite a number of men whom he hurried
to the swamp. He placed them so as to surround it, and then ordered
several of his best scouts to go within and rout out the fugitive.
Philip was such an expert in woodcraft, and slept so lightly, that the
men knew he was sure to discover their approach before they could get a
sight of him in the tangled fastnesses.
Such proved the fact. The chieftain heard the stealthy footsteps,
and, catching up his gun, rushed with a swift, noiseless tread along
one of the faintly marked paths. Near the outlet he came upon a white
man and an Indian. The soldier leveled his musket and pulled trigger,
but the weapon flashed in the pan. The Indian took careful aim at
Philip, as he was running toward him, and sent a bullet through his
heart. The chieftain fell forward on his hands and face into the mud
and water, his gun flying from his hands. Thus passed away one of the
greatest American Indians that ever lived--great in strategy, great in
perseverance.
It is worth noting that the Indian who fired the fatal shot was
Alderman, brother of the victim of Philip's anger. The gun barrel which
carried the bullet may be seen to-day in the Historical Museum at
Plymouth.
[Illustration: THE OLD INDIAN HOUSE AT DEERFIELD, MASS., TAKEN DOWN IN
1848.]