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Makers of History
King Philip
BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT
With Engravings
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
1901
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-seven, by
Harper & Brothers,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.
Copyright, 1885, by Susan Abbot Mead.
[Illustration: PLYMOUTH BAY, AS SEEN BY THE INDIANS.]
PREFACE.
Few, even of our most intelligent men, if we except those who are
devoted to literary pursuits, are acquainted with the adventures which
our forefathers encountered in the settlement of New England. The
claims of business are now so exacting, that those whose time is
engrossed by its cares have but little leisure for extensive reading,
and yet there is no American who does not desire to be familiar with
the early history of his own country. The writer, with great labor,
has collected from widely-spread materials, and condensed into this
narrative of the career of King Philip, those incidents in our early
history which he has supposed would be most interesting and
instructive to the general reader. He has spared no pains in the
endeavor to be accurate. In the rude annals of those early days there
is often obscurity, and sometimes contradiction, in the dates. Such
dates have been adopted as have appeared, after careful examination,
to be most reliable.
The writer can not refrain, in this connection, from acknowledging the
obligations he is under to his friend and neighbor, John M'Keen, Esq.,
to whose extensive and accurate acquaintance with the early history of
this country he is indebted for many of the materials which have aided
him in the preparation of this work.
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
Brunswick, Maine, 1857.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS 13
II. MASSASOIT 46
III. CLOUDS OF WAR 80
IV. THE PEQUOT WAR 110
V. COMMENCEMENT OF THE REIGN OF KING PHILIP 156
VI. COMMENCEMENT OF HOSTILITIES 187
VII. AUTUMN AND WINTER CAMPAIGNS 220
VIII. CAPTIVITY OF MRS. ROWLANDSON 254
IX. THE INDIANS VICTORIOUS 292
X. THE VICISSITUDES OF WAR 321
XI. DEATH OF KING PHILIP 353
XII. CONCLUSION OF THE WAR 385
ENGRAVINGS.
Page
PLYMOUTH BAY, AS SEEN BY THE PILGRIMS _Frontispiece._
THE FIRST ENCOUNTER 26
SAMOSET, THE INDIAN VISITOR 48
MASSASOIT AND HIS WARRIORS 57
THE PALACE OF MASSASOIT 68
THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER 169
THE BATTLE IN TIVERTON 210
CAPTURE OF THE INDIAN FORTRESS 247
CAPTIVITY OF MRS. ROWLANDSON 270
THE DESTRUCTION OF SUDBURY 311
THE INDIAN AMBUSH 315
THE DEATH OF PHILIP 360
KING PHILIP.
CHAPTER I.
LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.
1620-1621
Arrival of the Mayflower.--Explorations.--Captain Weymouth.--Indian
captives.--Enticing the natives.--The seizure.--Trophies.--Necessity
for caution.--Discovery of a wigwam.--New enterprises.--The return of
the explorers.--New expedition.--Sight of some Indians.--Cheerless
encampment.--Discoveries.--Quaint description of the huts.--Interior
of the hut, and what was found.--Good intentions not realized.--Another
stormy night.--Morning preparations.--A fearful attack.--Protection of
the English.--Power of the Indians.--The chief shot.--Disappearance of
the Indians.--Sudden peace.--Devotions.--Departure.--A gale.--An
accident.--Approaching night.--Discovery of a shelter.--Preparations
for the night.--They resolve to spend the Sabbath at their
camp.--Plymouth Bay.--Sounding for the channel.--Sites for the
village.--Jealousy of the Dutch.--Arrival of the Mayflower.--Survey
of the country.--A location selected.--Interruptions by a storm.--The
birth-day of New England.--Friday, December 22.--Hopes and expectations
of the Pilgrims.--Leaving the ship.--Erection of the store house.--The
little village.--Alarm from the Indians.--Discomforts.--Watchfulness
of the Indians.--End of the year.--Attempts to meet the Indians.--Two
men missing.--Return of the lost.--Their adventures.--They discover
the harbor.--Their sufferings.--February.--Death among the
colonists.--Discovery of Indians.--Alarm.--Preparations for
defense.--Two savages appear.--Weakness of the colonists.
On the 11th of November, 1620, the storm-battered Mayflower, with its
band of one hundred and one Pilgrims, first caught sight of the barren
sand-hills of Cape Cod. The shore presented a cheerless scene even for
those weary of a more than four months voyage upon a cold and
tempestuous sea. But, dismal as the prospect was, after struggling for
a short time to make their way farther south, embarrassed by a leaky
ship and by perilous shoals appearing every where around them, they
were glad to make a harbor at the extremity of the unsheltered and
verdureless cape. Before landing, they chose Mr. John Carver, "a pious
and well-approved gentleman," as the governor of their little republic
for the first year. While the carpenter was fitting up the boat to
explore the interior bend of the land which forms Cape Cod Bay, in
search of a more attractive place of settlement, sixteen of their
number set out on foot on a short tour of discovery. They were all
well armed, to guard against any attack from the natives.
Cautiously the adventurers followed along the western shore of the
Cape toward the south, when suddenly they came in sight of five
Indians. The natives fled with the utmost precipitation. They had
heard of the white men, and had abundant cause to fear them. But a few
years before, in 1605, Captain Weymouth, on an exploring tour along
the coast of Maine, very treacherously kidnapped five of the natives,
and took them with him back to England. This act, which greatly
exasperated the natives, and which led to subsequent scenes of
hostility and blood, it may be well here to record. It explains the
reception which the Pilgrims first encountered.
Captain Weymouth had been trafficking with the natives for some time
in perfect friendship. One day six Indians came to the ship in two
canoes, three in each. Three were enticed on board the ship, and were
shut up in the cabin. The other three, a little suspicious of danger,
refused to leave their canoe, but, receiving a can of pease and
bread, paddled to the shore, where they built a fire, and sat down to
their entertainment. A boat strongly manned was then sent to the shore
from the ship with enticing presents, and a platter of food of which
the Indians were particularly fond. One of the natives, more cautious
than the rest, upon the approach of the boat, retired to the woods;
the other two met the party cordially. They all walked up to the fire
and sat down, in apparent friendship, to eat their food together.
There were six Englishmen and two naked, helpless natives. At a given
signal, while their unsuspecting victims were gazing at some
curiosities in a box, the English sprang upon them, three to each man.
The natives, young, vigorous, and lithe as eels, struggled with
Herculean energy. The kidnappers, finding it difficult to hold them by
their naked limbs, seized them by the long hair of their heads, and
thus the terrified creatures were dragged into the boats and conveyed
to the ship. Soon after this Captain Weymouth weighed anchor, and the
five captives were taken to England. He also took, as trophies of his
victory, the two canoes, and the bows and arrows of these Indians.
Sundry outrages of a similar character had been perpetrated by
European adventurers all along the New England coast. The Pilgrims
were well aware of these facts, and consequently they were not
surprised at the flight of the Indians, and felt, themselves, the
necessity of guarding against a hostile attack.
The English pursued the fugitives vigorously for many miles, but were
unable to overtake them. At last night came on. They built a camp,
kindled a fire, established a watch, and slept soundly until the next
morning. They then continued their course, following along in the
track of the Indians. After some time they came to the remains of an
Indian wigwam, surrounded by an old corn-field. Finding concealed here
several baskets filled with ears of corn, they took the grain, so
needful for them, intending, should they ever meet the Indians, to pay
them amply for it. With this as the only fruit of their expedition,
they returned to the ship.
Soon after their return preparations were completed for a more
important enterprise. The shallop was launched, and well provided with
arms and provisions, and thirty of the ship's company embarked for an
extensive survey of the coast. They slowly crept along the barren
shore, stopping at various points, but they could meet with no
natives, and could find no harbor for their ship, and no inviting
place for a settlement. Drifting sands and gloomy evergreens, through
which the autumnal winds ominously sighed, alone met the eye. They
discovered a few deserted dwellings of the Indians, but could catch no
sight of the terrified natives. After several days of painful search,
they returned disheartened to the ship.
It was now the 6th of December, and the cold winds of approaching
winter began to sweep over the water, which seemed almost to surround
them. Imagination can hardly conceive a more bleak and dreary spot
than the extremity of Cape Cod. It was manifest to all that it was no
place for the establishment of a colony, and that, late as it was in
the year, they must, at all hazards, continue their search for a more
inviting location. Previous explorers had entered Cape Cod Bay, and
had given a general idea of the sweep of the coast.
A new expedition was now energetically organized, to proceed with all
speed in a boat along the coast in search of a harbor. The wind, in
freezing blasts, swept across the bay as they spread their sail. Their
frail boat was small and entirely open, and the spray, which ever
dashed over these hardy pioneers, glazed their coats with ice. They
soon lost sight of the ship, and, skirting the coast, were driven
rapidly along by the fair but piercing wind. The sun went down, and
dark night was approaching. They had been looking in vain for some
sheltered cove into which to run to pass the night, when, in the
deepening twilight, they discerned twelve Indians standing upon the
shore. They immediately turned their boat toward the land, and the
Indians as immediately fled. The sandy beach upon which their boat
grounded was entirely exposed to the billows of the ocean. With
difficulty they drew their boat high upon the sand, that it might not
be broken by the waves, and prepared to make themselves as comfortable
as possible. It was, indeed, a cheerless encampment for a cold, windy
December night. Fortunately there was wood in abundance with which to
build a fire, and they also piled up for themselves a slight
protection against the wind and against a midnight attack. Then,
having commended themselves to God in prayer, they established a
watch, and sought such repose as fatigue and their cold, hard couch
could furnish.
The night passed away without any alarm. In the morning they divided
their numbers, one half taking the boat, and the others following
along upon foot on the shore. Thus they continued their explorations
another day, but could find no suitable place for a settlement. During
the day they saw many traces of inhabitants, but did not obtain sight
of a single native.
They found two houses, from which the occupants had evidently but
recently escaped. The following is the description which the
adventurers gave of these wigwams, in the quaint English of two
hundred years ago:
"Whilest we were thus ranging and searching, two of the
Saylers which were newly come on the shore by chance espied
two houses which had beene lately dwelt in, but the people
were gone. They having their peeces and hearing no body
entred the houses and tooke out some things, and durst not
stay but came again and told vs; so some seaven or eight of
vs went with them, and found how we had gone within a slight
shot of them before. The houses were made with long yong
Sapling trees bended and both ends stucke into the ground;
they were made round like unto an Arbour and covered down to
the ground with thicke and well wrought matts, and the doors
were not over a yard high made of a matt to open; the
chimney was a wide open hole in the top, for which they had
a matt to cover it close when they pleased. One might stand
and go upright in them; in the midst of them were four
little trunches knockt into the ground, and small stickes
laid over on which they hung their Pots, and what they had
to seeth. Round about the fire they lay on matts which are
their beds. The houses were double matted, for as they were
matted without so were they within, with newer and fairer
matts. In the houses we found wooden Boules, Trayes &
Dishes, Earthen Pots, Hand baskets made of Crab shells,
wrought together; also an English Pail or Bucket; it wanted
a bayle, but it had two iron eares. There was also Baskets
of sundry sorts, bigger and some lesser, finer and some
coarser. Some were curiously wrought with blacke and white
in pretie workes, and sundry other of their houshold stuffe.
We found also two or three Deeres heads, one whereof had
been newly killed, for it was still fresh. There was also a
company of Deeres feete stuck vp in the houses, Harts
hornes, and Eagles clawes, and sundry such like things there
was; also two or three baskets full of parched Acorns,
peeces of fish and a peece of a broyled Hering. We found
also a little silk grasse and a little Tobacco seed with
some other seeds which wee knew not. Without was sundry
bundles of Flags and Sedge, Bull-rushes and other stuffe to
make matts. There was thrust into a hollow tree two or three
pieces of venison, but we thought it fitter for the Dogs
than for us. Some of the best things we took away with us,
and left their houses standing still as they were. So it
growing towards night, and the tyde almost spent we hastened
with our things down to the shallop, and got aboard that
night, intending to have brought some Beades and other
things to have left in the houses in signe of Peace and that
we meant to truk with them, but it was not done by means of
our hasty comming away from Cape Cod; but so soon as we can
meet conveniently with them we will give them full
satisfaction."
As they returned to their boat the sun again went down, and another
gloomy December night darkened over the houseless wanderers. No cove,
no creek even, opened its friendly arms to receive them. They again
dragged their boat upon the beach. A dense forest was behind them, the
bleak ocean before them. As they feared no surprise from the side of
the water, they merely threw up a slight rampart of logs to protect
them from an attack from the side of the forest. They again united in
their evening devotions, established their night-watch, and, with a
warm fire blazing at their feet, fell soundly asleep. Through the long
night the wind sighed through the tree-tops and the waves broke upon
the shore. No other sounds disturbed their slumber.
The next morning they rose before the dawn of day and prepared
anxiously to continue their search. The morning was dark and stormy. A
drizzling rain, which had been falling nearly all night, had soaked
their blankets and their clothing; the ocean looked black and angry,
and sheets of mist were driven by the chill wind over earth and sea.
The Pilgrims bowed reverently together in their morning prayer,
partook of their frugal meal, and some of them had carried their guns,
wrapped in blankets, down to the boat, when suddenly a fearful yell
burst from the forest, and a shower of arrows fell upon their
encampment.
The English party consisted of but eighteen; but they were heroic men.
Carver, Bradford, Winslow, and Standish were of their number. Four
muskets only were left within their frail intrenchments. By the rapid
and well-directed discharge of these, they, however, kept the Indians
at bay until those who had carried their guns to the boat succeeded in
regaining them, notwithstanding the shower of arrows which fell so
thickly around. The thick clothing with which the English were
covered, to protect themselves from the cold and the rain, were almost
as coats of mail to ward off the comparatively feeble weapons of the
natives. A very fierce conflict now ensued. The English were almost
entirely unprotected, and were exposed to every arrow. The Indians
were each stationed behind some large forest-tree, which effectually
sheltered him from the bullets of his antagonists. Under these
circumstances, the advantage was probably, on the whole, with the
vastly outnumbering natives. They were widely scattered; their bows
were of great strength, and their arrows, pointed and barbed with
sharp flint and stone, when hitting fairly and in full force, would
pierce even the thickest clothing of the English; and, if striking any
unprotected portion of the body, would inflict a dreadful wound.
For some time this perilous conflict raged, the forest resounding with
the report of musketry, and with the hideous, deafening yell of the
savages. There was one Indian, of Herculean size and strength,
apparently more brave than the rest, who appeared to be the leader of
the band. He had proudly advanced beyond any of his companions, and
placed himself within half musket shot of the encampment. He stood
behind a large tree, and very energetically shot his arrows, and by
voice and gesture roused and animated his comrades. Watching an
opportunity when his arm was exposed, a sharpshooter succeeded in
striking it with a bullet. The shattered arm dropped helpless. The
savage, astounded at the calamity, gazed for a moment in silence upon
his mangled limb, and then uttering a peculiar cry, which was probably
the signal for retreat, dodged from tree to tree, and disappeared. His
fellow-warriors, following his example, disappeared with him in the
depths of the gloomy forest. Hardly a moment elapsed ere not a savage
was to be seen, and perfect silence and solitude reigned upon the spot
which, but a moment before, was the scene of almost demoniac clamor.
The waves broke sullenly upon the shore, and the wind, sweeping the
ocean, and moaning through the sombre firs and pines, drove the rain
in spectral sheets over sea and land. The sun had not yet risen,
and the gray twilight lent additional gloom to the stormy morning.
Both the attack and the retreat were more sudden than imagination can
well conceive. The perfect repose of the night had been instantly
followed by fiendlike uproar and peril, and as instantly succeeded by
perfect silence and solitude.
[Illustration: THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.]
The Pilgrims, as soon as they had recovered from their astonishment,
looked around to see how much they had been damaged. Arrows were
hanging by their clothes, and sticking in the logs by the fire, and
scattered every where around, but, to their surprise, they found that
not one had been wounded. Anxious to leave so dangerous a spot, they
immediately collected their effects and embarked in the boat. Before
embarking, however, they united in a prayer of thanksgiving to God for
their deliverance. They named this spot "_The First Encounter_." The
rain now changed to sleet of mist and snow, and the cold storm
descended pitilessly upon their unprotected heads. A day of suffering
and of peril was before them. As the day advanced, the wind increased
to almost a gale. The waves frequently broke into the boat, drenching
them to the skin, and glazing the boat, ropes, and clothing with a
coat of ice. The surf, dashing upon the shore, rendered landing
impossible, and they sought in vain for any creek or cove where they
could find shelter. The short afternoon was fast passing away, and a
terrible night was before them. A huge billow, which seemed to chase
them with gigantic speed and force, broke over the boat, nearly
filling it with water, and at the same time unshipping and sweeping
away their rudder. They immediately got out two oars, and, with much
difficulty, succeeded with them in steering their bark.
Night and the tempest were settling darkly over the angry sea. To add
to their calamities, a sudden flaw of wind struck the boat, and
instantly snapped the mast into three pieces. The boat was now, for a
few moments, entirely unmanageable, and, involved in the wreck of
mast, rigging, and sail, floated like a log upon the waves, in great
danger of being each moment ingulfed. The hardy adventurers, thus
disabled, seized their oars, and with great exertions succeeded in
keeping their boat before the wind. It was now night, and the rain,
driven violently by the gale, was falling in torrents.
The dark outline of the shore, upon which the surf was furiously
dashing, was dimly discernible. At last they perceived through the
gloom, directly before them, an island or a promontory pushing out at
right angles from the line of the beach. Rowing around the northern
headland, they found on the western side a small cove, where they
obtained a partial shelter from the storm. Here they dropped anchor.
The night was freezing cold. The rain still fell in torrents, and the
boat rolled and pitched incessantly upon the agitated sea. Though
drenched to the skin, knowing that they were in the vicinity of
hostile Indians, most of the company did not deem it prudent to
attempt a landing, but preferred to pass the night in their wet,
shelterless, wave-rocked bark. Some, however, benumbed and almost
dying from wet and cold, felt that they could not endure the exposure
of the wintry night. They were accordingly put on shore. After much
difficulty, they succeeded in building a fire. Its blaze illumined the
forest, and they piled upon it branches of trees and logs, until they
became somewhat warmed by the exercise and the genial heat. But they
knew full well that this flame was but a beacon to inform their savage
foes where they were and to enable them, with surer aim, to shoot the
poisoned arrow. The forest sheltered them partially from the wind.
They cut down trees, and constructed a rude rampart to protect them
from attack. Thus the explorers on the land and in the boat passed the
first part of this dismal night. At midnight, however, those in the
boat, unable longer to endure the cold, ventured to land, and, with
their shivering companions, huddled round the fire, the rain still
soaking them to the skin.
When the morning again dawned, they found that they were in the lee of
a small island. It was the morning of the Sabbath. Notwithstanding
their exposure to hostile Indians and to the storm, and
notwithstanding the unspeakable importance of every day, that they
might prepare for the severity of winter, now so rapidly approaching,
these extraordinary men resolved to remain as they were, that they
might "remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy." There was true
heroism and moral grandeur in this decision, even though it be
asserted that a more enlightened judgment would have taught that,
under the circumstances in which they were placed, it was a work of
"necessity and of mercy" to prosecute their tour without delay. But
these men believed it to be their duty to sanctify the Sabbath; and,
notwithstanding the strength of the temptation, they did what they
thought to be right, and this is always noble. To God, who looketh at
the heart, this must have been an acceptable sacrifice. For nearly two
hundred years all these men have now been in the world of spirits, and
it may very safely be affirmed that they have never regretted the
scrupulous reverence they manifested for the law of God in keeping the
Sabbath in the stormy wilderness.
With the early light of Monday morning they repaired their shattered
boat, and, spreading their sails before a favorable breeze, continued
their tour. Plymouth Bay opened before them, with a low sand-bar
shooting across the water, which served to break the violence of the
billows rolling in from the ocean, but which presented no obstacle to
the sweep of the wind. It was an unsheltered harbor, but it was not
only the best, but the only one which could be found. Cautiously they
sailed around the point of sand, dropping the lead every few moments
to find a channel for their vessel. They at length succeeded in
finding a passage, and a place where their vessel could ride in
comparative safety. They then landed to select a location for their
colonial village. Though it was the most dismal season of the year,
the region presented many attractions. It was pleasantly diversified
with hills and valleys, and the forest, of gigantic growth, swept
sublimely away in all directions. The remains of an Indian village was
found, and deserted corn-fields of considerable extent, where the
ground was in a state for easy and immediate cultivation.
The Pilgrims had left England with the intention of planting their
colony at the mouth of the Hudson River; but the Dutch, jealous of the
power of the English upon this continent, and wishing to appropriate
that very attractive region entirely to themselves, bribed the pilot
to pretend to lose his course, and to land them at a point much
farther to the north; hence the disappointment of the company in
finding themselves involved amid the shoals of Cape Cod. Though
Plymouth was by no means the home which the Pilgrims had originally
sought, and though neither the harbor nor the location presented the
advantages which they had desired, the season was too far advanced for
them to continue their voyage in search of a more genial home. With
this report the explorers returned to the ship.
On the 15th of December the Mayflower again weighed anchor from the
harbor of Cape Cod, and, crossing the Bay on the 16th, cautiously
worked its way into the shallow harbor of Plymouth, and cast anchor
about a mile and a half from the shore. The next day was the Sabbath,
and all remained on board the ship engaged in their Sabbath devotions.
Early Monday morning, a party well armed were sent on shore to make a
still more careful exploration of the region, and to select a spot for
their village. They marched along the coast eight miles, but saw no
natives or wigwams. They crossed several brooks of sweet, fresh water,
but were disappointed in finding no navigable river. They, however,
found many fields where the Indians had formerly cultivated corn.
These fields, thus ready for the seed, seemed very inviting. At night
they returned to the ship, not having decided upon any spot for their
settlement.
The next day, Tuesday, the 19th, they again sent out a party on a tour
of exploration. This party was divided into two companies, one to sail
along the coast in the shallop, hoping to find the mouth of some large
river; the other landed and traversed the shore. At night they all
returned again to the ship, not having as yet found such a location as
they desired.
Wednesday morning came, and with increasing fervor the Pilgrims, in
their morning prayer, implored God to guide them. The decision could
no longer be delayed. A party of twenty were sent on shore to mark out
the spot where they should rear their store-house and their dwellings.
On the side of a high hill, facing the rising sun and the beautiful
bay, they found an expanse, gently declining, where there were large
fields which, two or three years before, had been cultivated with
Indian corn. The summit of this hill commanded a wide view of the
ocean and of the land. Springs of sweet water gushed from the
hill-sides, and a beautiful brook, overshadowed by the lofty forest,
meandered at its base. Here they unanimously concluded to rear their
new homes.
As the whole party were rendezvoused upon this spot, the clouds began
to gather in the sky, the wind rose fiercely, and soon the rain began
to fall in torrents. Huge billows from the ocean rolled in upon the
poorly-sheltered harbor, so that it was impossible to return by their
small boat to the ship. They were entirely unsheltered, as they had
brought with them no preparations for such an emergency. Night, dark,
freezing, tempestuous, soon settled down upon these houseless
wanderers. In the dense forest they sought refuge from the icy gale
which swept over the ocean. They built a large fire, and, gathering
around it, passed the night and all the next day exposed to the fury
of the storm. But, toward the evening of the 21st, the gale so far
abated that they succeeded in returning over the rough waves to the
ship.
The next morning was the ever memorable Friday, December 22. It dawned
chill and lowering. A wintry gale still swept the bay, and pierced the
thin garments of the Pilgrims. The eventful hour had now come in which
they were to leave the ship, and commence their new life of privation
and hardship in the New World. It was the birth-day of New England. In
the early morning, the whole ship's company assembled upon the deck of
the Mayflower, men, women, and children, to offer their sacrifice of
thanksgiving, and to implore divine protection upon their lofty and
perilous enterprise.
"The Mayflower on New England's coasts has furled her
tattered sails,
And through her chafed and mourning shrouds December's
breezes wail.
"There were men of hoary hair
Amid that Pilgrim band;
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?
"There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
"What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas--the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
"Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod:
They have left unstain'd what there they found--
Freedom to worship God."
The Pilgrims, though inspired by impulses as pure and lofty as ever
glowed in human hearts, were still but feebly conscious of the scenes
which they were enacting. They were exiles upon whom their mother
country cruelly frowned, and though they hoped to establish a
prosperous colony, where their civil and religious liberty could be
enjoyed, which they had sought in vain under the government of Great
Britain, they were by no means aware that they were laying the
foundation stones of one of the most majestic nations upon which the
sun has ever shone. As they stood upon that slippery deck, swept by
the wintry wind, and reverently bowed their heads in prayer, they
dreamed not of the immortality which they were conferring upon
themselves and upon that day. Their frail vessel was now the only
material tie which seemed to bind them to their father-land. Their
parting hymn, swelling from gushing hearts and trembling lips, blended
in harmony with the moan of the wind and the wash of the wave, and
fell, we can not doubt, as accepted melody on the ear of God.
These affecting devotions being ended, boat-load after boat-load left
the ship, until the whole company, one hundred and one in number, men,
women and children, were rowed to the shore, and were landed upon a
rock around which the waves were dashing. As the ship, in the shallow
harbor, rode at anchor a mile from the beach, and the boats were small
and the sea rough, this operation was necessarily very slow.
They first erected a house of logs twenty feet square, which would
serve as a temporary shelter for them all, and which would also serve
as a general store-house for their effects. They then commenced
building a number of small huts for the several families. Every one
lent a willing hand to the work, and soon a little village of some
twenty dwellings sprang up beneath the brow of the forest-crowned hill
which protected them from the winds of the northwest. The Pilgrims
landed on Friday. The incessant labors of the rest of the day and of
Saturday enabled them to provide but a poor shelter for themselves
before the Sabbath came. But, notwithstanding the urgency of the case,
all labor was intermitted on that day, and the little congregation
gathered in their unfinished store-house to worship God. Aware,
however, that hostile Indians might be near, sentinels were stationed
to guard them from surprise. In the midst of their devotions, the
alarming cry rang upon their ears, "Indians! Indians!" A more fearful
cry could hardly reach the ears of husbands and fathers. The church
instantly became a fortress and the worshipers a garrison. A band of
hostile natives had been prowling around, but, instructed by the
valiant defense of the first encounter, and seeing that the Pilgrims
were prepared to repel an assault, they speedily retreated into the
wilderness.
The next day the colonists vigorously renewed their labors, having
parceled themselves into nineteen families. They measured out their
house lots and drew for them, clustering their huts together, for
mutual protection, in two rows, with a narrow street between. But the
storms of winter were already upon them. Monday night it again
commenced raining. All that night and all of Tuesday the rain fell in
floods, while the tempest swept the ocean and wailed dismally through
the forest. Thus they toiled along in the endurance of inconceivable
discomfort for the rest of the week. All were suffering from colds,
and many were seriously sick. Friday and Saturday it was again stormy
and very cold. To add to their anxiety, they saw in several
directions, at the distance of five or six miles from them, wreaths of
smoke rising from large fires in the forest, proving that the Indians
were lurking around them and watching their movements. It was evident,
from the caution which the Indians thus manifested, that they were by
no means friendly in their feelings.
The last day of the year was the Sabbath. It was observed with much
solemnity, their store-house, crowded with their effects, being the
only temple in which they could assemble to worship God.
"Amid the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free."
Monday morning of the new year the sun rose in a serene and cloudless
sky, and the Pilgrims, with alacrity, bowed themselves to their work.
Great fires of the Indians were seen in the woods. The valiant Miles
Standish, a man of the loftiest spirit of energy and intrepidity, took
five men with him, and boldly plunged into the forest to find the
Indians, and, if possible, to establish amicable relations with them.
He found their deserted wigwams and the embers of their fires, but
could not catch sight of a single native. A few days after this, two
of the pilgrims, who were abroad gathering thatch, did not return, and
great anxiety was felt for them. Four or five men the next day set out
in search for them. After wandering about all day unsuccessfully
through the pathless forest, they returned at night disheartened, and
the little settlement was plunged into the deepest sorrow. It was
greatly feared that they had been waylaid and captured by the savages.
Twelve men then, well armed, set out to explore the wilderness, to
find any traces of their lost companions. They also returned but to
deepen the dejection of their friends by the recital of their
unsuccessful search. But, as they were telling their story, a shout of
joy arose, and the two lost men, with tattered garments and emaciated
cheeks, emerged from the forest. They gave the following account of
their adventures:
As they were gathering thatch about a mile and a half from the
plantation, they saw a pond in the distance, and went to it, hoping to
catch some fish. On the margin of the pond they met a large deer. The
affrighted animal fled, pursued eagerly by the dog they had with them.
The men followed on, hoping to capture the rich prize. They were thus
lured so far that they became bewildered and lost in the pathless
forest. All the afternoon they wandered about, until black night
encompassed them. A dismal storm arose of wind and rain, mingled with
snow. They were drenched to the skin, and their garments froze around
them. In the darkness they could find no shelter. They had no weapons,
but each one a small sickle to cut thatch. They had no food whatever.
They heard the roar of the beasts of the forests. They supposed it to
be the roaring of lions, though it was probably the howling of wolves.
Their only safety appeared to be to climb into a tree; but the wind
and the cold were so intolerable that such an exposure they could not
endure. So each one stood at the root of a tree all the night long,
running around it to keep himself from freezing, drenched by the
storm, terrified by the cries which filled the forest, and ready, as
soon as they should hear the gnashing of teeth, to spring into the
branches.
The long winter night at length passed away, and a gloomy morning
dimly lighted the forest, and they resumed their search for home. They
waded through swamps, crossed streams, were arrested in their course
by large ponds of water, and tore their clothing and their flesh by
forcing their way through the tangled underbrush. At last they came to
a hill, and, climbing one of the highest trees, discerned in the
distance the harbor of Plymouth, which they recognized by the two
little islands, densely wooded, which seemed to float like ships upon
its surface. The cheerful sight invigorated them, and, though their
limbs tottered from exhaustion, they toiled on, and, just as night was
setting in, they reached their home, faint with travel, and almost
famished with hunger and cold. The limbs of one of these men, John
Goodman, were so swollen by exertion and the cold that they were
obliged to cut his shoes from his feet, and it was a long time before
he was again able to walk. Thus passed the month of January. Nearly
all of the colonists were sick, and eight of their number died.
February was ushered in with piercing cold and desolating storms.
Tempests of rain and snow were so frequent and violent that but little
work could be done. The huts of the colonists were but poorly prepared
for such inclement weather, and so many were sick that the utter
destruction of the colony seemed to be threatened. Though the company
which landed consisted of one hundred and one, but forty-one of these
were men; all the rest were women and children. Death had already
swept many of these men away, and several others were very dangerously
sick. It was evident that the savages were lurking about, watching
them with an eagle eye, and with most manifestly unfriendly feelings.
The colonists were in no condition to repel an attack, and the most
fearless were conscious that they had abundant cause for intense
solicitude.
On the 16th of this month, a man went to a creek about a mile and a
half from the settlement a gunning, and, concealing himself in the
midst of some shrubs and rashes, watched for water-fowl. While thus
concealed, twelve Indians, armed to the teeth, marched stealthily by
him, and he heard in the forest around the noise of many more. As
soon as the twelve had passed, he hastened home and gave the alarm.
All were called in from their work, the guns were loaded, and every
possible preparation was made to repel the anticipated assault. But
the day passed away in perfect quietness; not an Indian was seen; not
the voice or the footfall of a foe was heard. These prowling bands,
concealed in the dark forest, moved with a mystery which was
appalling. The Pilgrims had now been for nearly two months at
Plymouth, and not an Indian had they as yet caught sight of, except
the twelve whom the gunner from his ambush had discerned. Toward
evening, Miles Standish, who, upon the alarm, had returned to the
house, leaving his tools in the woods, took another man and went to
the place to get them, but they were no longer there. The Indians had
taken them away.
This state of things convinced the Pilgrims that it was necessary to
adopt very efficient measures that they might be prepared to repel any
attack. All the able-bodied men, some twenty-five in number, met and
formed themselves into a military company. Miles Standish was chosen
captain, and was invested with great powers in case of any emergency.
Rude fortifications were planned for the defense of the little hamlet,
and two small cannons, which had been lying useless beneath the snow,
were dug up and mounted so as to sweep the approaches to the houses.
While engaged in these operations, two savages suddenly appeared upon
the top of a hill about a quarter of a mile distant, gazing earnestly
upon their movements. Captain Standish immediately took one man with
him, and, without any weapons, that their friendly intentions might be
apparent, hastened to meet the Indians. But the savages, as the two
colonists drew near, fled precipitately, and when Captain Standish
arrived upon the top of the hill, he heard noises in the forest behind
as if it were filled with Indians.
This was the 17th of February. After this a month passed away, and not
a sign of Indians was seen. It was a month of sorrow, sickness, and
death. Seventeen of their little band died, and there was hardly
strength left with the survivors to dig their graves. Had the Indians
known their weakness, they might easily, in any hour, have utterly
destroyed the colony.