CLOUDS OF WAR.
1621-1622
Canonicus.--His hostility toward the Puritans.--Corruption at
court.--A rebellion.--Flight of Massasoit.--Reported death of
Squantum.--Action of the Puritans.--The army.--Directions to the
men.--Approach to the wigwam.--The attack.--"I am a squaw!"--Escape of
Corbitant.--Appearance of the huts.--Squantum found.--Threats of Capt.
Standish.--The return.--Reconciliation of Corbitant.--Prosperous
summer.--Rumors of war.--New expedition.--Evidences of the
plague.--Justice of the Pilgrims.--Explorations.--Appearance of the
harbor.--Preparations for return.--The harbor.--Friendly
relations.--Arrival of emigrants from England.--Declaration of
war.--Canonicus.--Weakness of the Pilgrims.--Council
called.--Pickwickian challenge.--Preparations for defense.--Completion
of the fortification.--The challenge retracted.--An arrival.--Kind
reception.--Complaints from the Indians.--Relief wanted.--Death of
Squantum.--His prayer.--Governor Bradford's journey.--Theft
committed.--Return of the articles.--The Weymouth settlers implore
aid.--Disgraceful proceeding.--Injustice of Hudibras.--Sickness of
Massasoit.--Deputation from Plymouth.--The journey.--Reported death of
Massasoit.--Hobbomak.--Hospitality of Corbitant's wife.--Arrival at
Mount Hope.--Massasoit's welcome.--His recovery.--Kindness of the
Pilgrims.--Mr. Winslow as physician.--Alarming tidings.--The party
leave Mount Hope.--Conversation with Corbitant.--English
salutations.--Theological remarks.--Return to Plymouth.--The
army.--Captain Standish.--Insolence of the Indians.--The commencement
of hostilities.--The conflict and victory.--The Weymouth men go to
Monhegan.--Regrets of the English.--Letter from Rev. Mr. Robinson.
The Narraganset Indians occupied the region extending from the western
shores of Narraganset Bay to Pawcatuck River. They were estimated to
number about thirty thousand, and could bring five thousand warriors
into the field. Canonicus, the sovereign chief of this tribe, was a
man of great renown. War had occasionally raged between the
Narragansets and the Wampanoags, and the two tribes were bitterly
hostile to each other. Canonicus regarded the newly-arrived English
with great jealousy, and was particularly annoyed by the friendly
relations existing between them and the Wampanoags. Indeed, it is
quite evident that Massasoit was influenced to enter into his alliance
with the English mainly from his dread of the Narragansets.
Bribery and corruption are almost as common in barbarian as in
civilized courts. Canonicus had brought over to his cause one of the
minor chiefs of Massasoit, named Corbitant. This man, audacious and
reckless, began to rail bitterly at the peace existing between the
Indians and the English. Boldly he declared that Massasoit was a
traitor, and ought to be deposed. Sustained as Corbitant was by the
whole military power of the Narragansets, he soon gathered a party
about him sufficiently strong to bid defiance to Massasoit. The
sovereign of the Wampanoags was even compelled to take refuge from
arrest by flight.
The colonists heard these tidings with great solicitude, and learning
that Corbitant was within a few miles of them, at Namasket
(Middleborough), striving to rouse the natives to unite with the
Narragansets against them, they privately sent Squantum and another
friendly Indian, Hobbomak, to Namasket, to ascertain what had become
of Massasoit, and how serious was the peril with which they were
threatened.
The next day Hobbomak returned alone, breathless and terrified. He
reported that they had hardly arrived at Namasket when Corbitant beset
the wigwam into which they had entered with a band of armed men, and
seized them both as prisoners. He declared that they both should die,
saying that when Squantum was dead the English would have lost their
tongue. Brandishing a knife, the savage approached Squantum to stab
him. Hobbomak, being a very powerful man, at that moment broke from
the grasp of those who held him, and outrunning his pursuers,
succeeded in regaining Plymouth. He said that he had no doubt that
Squantum was killed.
These were melancholy and alarming tidings. Governor Bradford
immediately assembled the few men--about twenty in number--of the
feeble colony, to decide what should be done. After looking to God for
counsel, and after calm deliberation, it was resolved that, if they
should suffer their friends and messengers to be thus assailed and
murdered with impunity, the hostile Indians would be encouraged to
continued aggressions, and no Indians would dare to maintain friendly
relations with them. They therefore adopted the valiant determination
to send ten men, one half of their whole number, with Hobbomak as
their guide, to seize Corbitant and avenge the outrage.
The 14th of August, 1621, was a dark and stormy day, when this little
band set out on its bold adventure. All the day long, as they silently
threaded the paths of the forest, the rain dripped upon them. Late in
the afternoon they arrived within four miles of Namasket. They then
thought it best to conceal themselves until after dark, that they
might fall upon their foe by surprise. Captain Standish led the band.
To every man he gave minute directions as to the part he was to
perform. Night, wet and stormy, soon darkened around them in Egyptian
blackness. They could hardly see a hand's breadth before them. Groping
along, they soon lost their way, and became entangled in the thick
undergrowth. Wet, weary, and dejected, they toiled on, and at last
again happily hit the trail. It was after midnight when they arrived
within sight of the glimmering fires of the little Indian hamlet of
Namasket. They then sat down, and ate from their knapsacks a hearty
meal. The food which remained they threw away, that they might have
nothing to obstruct them in the conflict which might ensue.
They then cautiously approached a large wigwam where Hobbomak supposed
that Corbitant and his men were sleeping. Silently they surrounded the
hut, the gloom of the night and the wailings of the storm securing
them from being either seen or heard. At a signal, two muskets were
fired to terrify the savages, and Captain Standish, with three or
four men, rushed into the hut. The ground floor, dimly lighted by some
dying embers, was covered with sleeping savages--men, women, and
children. A scene of indescribable consternation and confusion ensued.
Through Hobbomak, Captain Standish ordered every one to remain,
assuring them that he had come for Corbitant, the murderer of
Squantum, and that, if he were not there, no one else should be
injured. But the savages, terrified by the midnight surprise and by
the report of the muskets, were bereft of reason. Many of them
endeavored to escape, and were severely wounded by the colonists in
their attempts to stop them. The Indian boys, seeing that the women
were not molested, ran around, frantically exclaiming, "I am a squaw!
I am a squaw!"
At last order was restored, and it was found that Corbitant was not
there, but that he had gone off with all his train, and that Squantum
was not killed. A bright fire was now kindled, that the hut might be
carefully searched. Its blaze illumined one of the wildest of
imaginable scenes. The wigwam, spacious and rudely constructed of
boughs, mats, and bark; the affrighted savages, men, women, and
children, in their picturesque dress and undress, a few with ghastly
wounds, faint and bleeding; the various weapons and utensils of
barbarian life hanging around; the bold colonists in their European
dress and arms; the fire blazing in the centre of the hut, all
combined to present a scene such as few eyes have ever witnessed.
Hobbomak now climbed to the top of the hut and shouted for Squantum.
He immediately came from another wigwam. Having disarmed the savages
of their bows and arrows, the colonists gathered around the fire to
dry their dripping clothes, and waited for the light of the morning.
With the early light, all who were friendly to the English gathered
around them, while the faction in favor of Corbitant fled into the
wilderness. A large group was soon assembled. Captain Standish, in
words of conciliation and of firmness, informed them that, though
Corbitant had escaped, yet, if he continued his hostility, no place of
retreat would secure him from punishment; and that, if any violence
were offered to Massasoit or to any of his subjects by the
Narragansets, or by any one else, the colonists would avenge it to the
utter overthrow of those thus offending. He expressed great regret
that any of the Indians had been wounded in consequence of their
endeavors to escape from the house, and offered to take the wounded
home, that they might be carefully healed.
After breakfasting with the Indians, this heroic band, accompanied by
Squantum, some of the wounded, and several other friendly Indians, set
out on their return. They arrived at home in safety the same evening.
This well-judged and decisive measure at once checked the progress of
Corbitant in exciting disaffection. He soon found it expedient to seek
reconciliation, and, through the intercession of Massasoit, signed a
treaty of submission and friendship; and even Canonicus, sovereign of
the Narragansets, sent a messenger, perhaps as a spy, but professedly
to treat for peace. Thus this cloud of war was dissipated.
On the whole, the Pilgrims had enjoyed a very prosperous summer. They
were eminently just and kind in their treatment of the Indians. In
trading with them they obtained furs and many other articles, which
contributed much to their comfort. Fish was abundant in the bay. Their
corn grew luxuriantly, and their fields waved with a rich and golden
harvest. With the autumnal weather came abundance of water-fowl,
supplying them with delicious meat. Thus were they blessed with peace
and plenty.
Various rumors had reached the colonists that several of the tribes of
the Massachusetts Indians, so called, inhabiting the islands and main
land at the northwestern extremity of Massachusetts Bay, were
threatening hostilities. It was consequently decided to send an
expedition to them, not to intimidate, but to conciliate with words of
sincerity and deeds of kindness.
At midnight, September the 18th, the tide then serving, a small party
set sail, and during the day, with a gentle wind, made about sixty
miles north. Not deeming it safe to land, they remained in their boat
during the night, and the next morning landed under a cliff. Here they
found some natives, who seemed to cower before them in terror. It
appeared afterward that Squantum had told the natives that the English
had a box in which they kept the plague, and that, if the Indians
offended them, they would let the awful scourge loose. Every where the
English saw evidences of the ravages of the pestilence to which we
have so often referred. There were desolate villages and deserted
corn-fields, and but a few hundred Indians wandering here and there
where formerly there had been thousands. The kindness with which they
treated the Indians, and the fairness with which they traded with
them, won confidence. Squantum at one time suggested that, by way of
punishment, and to teach the savages a lesson, they should by violence
take away their furs, which were almost their only treasures. Our
fathers nobly replied, "Were they ever so bad, we would not wrong
them, or give them any just occasion against us. We shall pay no
attention to their threatening words, but, if they attack us, we shall
then punish them severely."
The Pilgrims explored quite minutely this magnificent harbor, then
solitary and fringed with rayless forests, now alive with commerce,
and decorated with mansions of refinement and opulence. The long
promontory, now crowded with the busy streets and thronged dwellings
of Boston, was then a dense and silent wilderness, threaded with a few
Indian trails. Along the shore several rude wigwams were scattered,
the smoke curling from their fires from among the trees, with naked
children playing around the birch canoes upon the beach.
In the evening of a serene day the moon rose brilliant on the harbor,
illumining with almost celestial beauty the islands and the sea. Many
of the islands were then crowned with forests; others were cleared
smooth and verdant, but swept entirely clean of inhabitants by the
dreadful plague. The Pilgrims, rejoicing in the rays of the autumnal
moon, prepared to spread their sails. "Having well spent the day,"
they write, "we returned to the shallop, almost all the women
accompanying us to trucke, who sold their coats from their backes, and
tyed boughes about them, but with great shamefastness, for indeed they
are more modest than some of our English women are. We promised them
to come again to them, and they us to keep their skins.
"Within this bay the savages say there are two rivers, the one whereof
we saw having a fair entrance, but we had no time to discover it.
Better harbors for shipping can not be than here are. At the entrance
of the bay are many rocks, and, in all likelihood, very good fishing
ground. Having a light moon, we set sail at evening, and before next
day noon got home, with a considerable quantity of beaver, and a good
report of the place, wishing we had been seated there."
Thus, by kindness, the natives of this region were won to friendship,
and amicable relations were established. Before the close of this year
another vessel arrived from England, bringing thirty-five persons to
join the colony. Though these emigrants were poor, and, having
consumed nearly all their food on a long voyage, were nearly starved,
the lonely colonists received the acquisition with great joy. Houses
were immediately built for their accommodation, and they were fed from
the colony stores. Winter now again whitened the hills of Plymouth.
Early in January, 1622, Canonicus, sovereign chief of the
Narragansets, notwithstanding the alliance of the foregoing summer
into which he had entered, dreading the encroachments of the white
men, and particularly apprehensive of the strength which their
friendship gave to his hereditary enemies, the Mohegans, sent to
Governor Bradford a bundle of arrows tied up in the skin of a
rattlesnake. Squantum was called to interpret the significance of such
a gift. He said that it was the Indian mode of expressing hostility
and of sending a declaration of war. This act shows an instinctive
sense of honor in the barbarian chieftain which civilized men do not
always imitate. Even the savages cherished ideas of chivalry which led
them to scorn to strike an unsuspecting and defenseless foe. The
friendly Indians around Plymouth assured the colonists that Canonicus
was making great preparations for war; that he could bring five
thousand warriors into the field; that he had sent spies to ascertain
the condition of the English and their weakness; and that he had
boasted that he could eat them all up at a mouthful. It is pleasant to
record that our fathers had not provoked this hostility by any act of
aggression. They had been thus far most eminently just and benevolent
in all their intercourse with the natives. They were settled upon land
to which Canonicus pretended no claim, and were on terms of cordial
friendship with all the Indians around them. The Pilgrims at this time
had not more than twenty men capable of bearing arms, and five
thousand savages were clashing their weapons, and filling the forest
with their war-whoops, preparing to attack them. Their peril was
indeed great.
Governor Bradford called a council of his most judicious men, and it
was decided that, under these circumstances, any appearance of
timidity would but embolden their enemies. The rattlesnake skin was
accordingly returned filled with powder and bullets, and accompanied
by a defiant message that, if Canonicus preferred war to peace, the
colonists were ready at any moment to meet him, and that he would rue
the day in which he converted friends into enemies.
Barbarian as well as civilized blusterers can, when discretion
prompts, creep out of an exceedingly small hole. Canonicus had no wish
to meet a foe who was thus prompt for the encounter. He immediately
sent to Governor Bradford the assurance, in Narraganset phrase, of his
high consideration, and begged him to believe that the arrows and the
snake skin were sent purely in a Pickwickian sense.
The threatening aspect of affairs at this time led the colonists to
surround their whole little village, including also the top of the
hill, on the side of which it was situated, with a strong palisade,
consisting of posts some twelve feet high firmly planted in the ground
in contact with each other. It was an enormous labor to construct this
fortification in the dead of winter. There were three entrance gates
to the little town thus walled in, with bulwarks to defend them.
Behind this rampart, with loop-holes through which the defenders could
fire upon any approaching foe, the colonists felt quite secure. A
large cannon was also mounted upon the summit of the hill, which would
sweep all the approaches with ball and grape-shot. Sentinels were
posted night and day, to guard against surprise, and their whole
available force was divided into four companies, each with its
commander, and its appointed place of rendezvous in case of an attack.
The months of January and February were occupied in this work. Early
in March the fortification was completed.
The heroic defiance which was returned to Canonicus, and the vigorous
measures of defense adopted, alarmed the Narragansets. They
immediately ceased all hostile demonstrations, and Canonicus remained
after this, until his death, apparently a firm friend of the English.
In June, to the great annoyance of the Pilgrims, two vessels came into
the harbor of Plymouth, bringing sixty wild and rude adventurers, who,
neither fearing God nor regarding man, had come to the New World to
seek their fortunes. They were an idle and dissolute set, greedy for
gain, and ripe for any deeds of dishonesty or violence. They had made
but poor provision for their voyage, and were almost starved. The
Pilgrims received them kindly, and gave them shelter and food; and yet
the ungrateful wretches stole their corn, wasted their substance, and
secretly reviled their habits of sobriety and devotion. Nearly all
the summer these unprincipled adventurers intruded upon the
hospitality of the Pilgrims. In the autumn, these men, sixty in
number, went to a place which they had selected in Massachusetts Bay,
then called Wessagusset, now the town of Weymouth, which they had
selected for their residence. They left their sick behind them, to be
nursed by those Christian Pilgrims whose piety had excited their
ribald abuse.
Hardly had these men left ere the ears of the Pilgrims were filled
with the clamors which their injustice and violence raised from the
outraged Indians. The Weymouth miscreants stole their corn, insulted
their females, and treated them with every vile indignity. The Indians
at last became exasperated beyond endurance, and threatened the total
destruction of the dissolute crew. At last starvation stares them in
the face, and they send in October to Plymouth begging for food. The
Pilgrims have not more than enough to meet their own wants during the
winter. But, to save them from famishing by hunger, Governor Bradford
himself takes a small party in a boat and sails along the coast,
purchasing corn of the Indians, getting a few quarts here and a few
bushels there, until he had collected twenty-eight hogsheads of corn
and beans. While at Chatham, then called Manamoyk, Squantum was taken
sick of a fever and died. It is a touching tribute to the kindness of
our Pilgrim fathers that this poor Indian testified so much love for
them. In his dying hour he prayed fervently that God would take him to
the heaven of the Englishmen, that he might dwell with them forever.
As remembrances of his affection, he bequeathed all his little effects
to sundry of his English friends. Governor Bradford and his
companions, with tears, followed the remains of their faithful
interpreter to the grave, and then, with saddened hearts, continued
their voyage.
At Nauset, now Eastham, their shallop was unfortunately wrecked.
Governor Bradford stored the corn on shore, placed it under the care
of the friendly Indians there, and, taking a native for a guide, set
out on foot to travel fifty miles through the forest to Plymouth. The
natives all along the way received him with kindness, and did every
thing in their power to aid him. Having arrived at Plymouth, he
dispatched Captain Standish with another shallop to fetch the corn.
The bold captain had a prosperous though a very tempestuous voyage.
While at Nauset an Indian stole some trifle from the shallop as she
lay in a creek. Captain Standish immediately went to the sachem of the
tribe, and informed him that the lost goods must be restored, or he
should make reprisals. The next morning the sachem came and delivered
the goods, saying that he was very sorry the crime had been committed;
that the thief had been arrested and punished; and that he had ordered
his women to make some bread for Captain Standish, in token of his
desire to cultivate just and friendly relations. Captain Standish
having arrived at Plymouth, a supply of corn was delivered to help the
people at Weymouth.
But these lawless adventurers were as improvident as they were vicious
and idle. By the month of February they were again destitute and
starving. They had borrowed all they could, and had stolen all they
could, and were now in a state of extreme misery, many of them having
already perished from exposure and want. The Indians hated them and
despised them. Conspiracies were formed to kill them all, and many
Indians, scattered here and there, were in favor of destroying all the
white men. They foresaw that civilized and savage life could not abide
side by side. The latter part of February the Weymouth people sent a
letter to Plymouth by an Indian, stating their deplorable condition,
and imploring further aid. They had become so helpless and degraded
that the Indians seem actually to have made slaves of them, compelling
them to perform the most menial services. The letter contained the
following dolorous complaints:
"The boldness of the Indians increases abundantly, insomuch
that the victuals we get they will take out of our pots and
eat it before our faces. If we try to prevent them, they
will hold a knife at our breasts. To satisfy them, we have
been compelled to hang one of our company. We have sold our
clothes for corn, and are ready to starve, both with cold
and hunger also, because we can not endure to get victuals
by reason of our nakedness."
Under these circumstances, one of the Weymouth men, ranging the woods,
came to an Indian barn and stole some corn. The owner, finding by the
footprints that it was an Englishman who had committed the theft,
determined to have revenge. With insulting and defiant confederates,
he went to the plantation and demanded that the culprit should be
hung, threatening, if there were not prompt acquiescence in the
demand, the utter destruction of the colonists. The consternation at
Weymouth was great. Nearly all were sick and half famished, and they
could present no resistance. After very anxious deliberation, it was
decided that, since the man who committed the theft was young and
strong, and a skillful cobbler, whose services could not be dispensed
with, they would by stratagem save his life, and substitute for him a
poor old bedrid weaver, who was not only useless to them, but a
burden. This economical arrangement was unanimously adopted. The poor
old weaver, bound hand and foot, and dressed in the clothes of the
culprit, was dragged from his bed, and was soon seen dangling in the
air, to the great delight of the Indians.
Much has been written upon this disgraceful transaction, and various
versions of it have been given, with sundry details, but the facts, so
far as can now be ascertained, are as we have stated. The deed is in
perfect accordance with the whole course pursued by the miserable men
who perpetrated it. The author of Hudibras unjustly--we hope not
maliciously--in his witty doggerel, ascribes this transaction of the
miscreants at Weymouth to the Pilgrims at Plymouth. The mirth-loving
satirist seemed to rejoice at the chance of directing a shaft against
the Puritans.
Just at this time news came to Plymouth that Massasoit was very sick,
and at the point of death. Governor Bradford immediately dispatched
Mr. Edward Winslow and Mr. John Hampden[A] to the dying chieftain,
with such medical aid as the colony could furnish. Their friend
Hobbomak accompanied them as guide and interpreter. Massasoit had two
sons quite young, Wamsutta and Pometacom, the eldest of whom would,
according to Indian custom, inherit the chieftainship. It was,
however, greatly feared that the ambitious and energetic Corbitant,
who had manifested much hostility to the English, might avail himself
of the death of Massasoit, and grasp the reins of power. The
deputation from Plymouth traveled the first day through the woods as
far as Middleborough, then the little Indian hamlet of Namasket. There
they passed the night in the wigwam of an Indian. They, the next day,
continued their journey, and crossing in a canoe the arm of the bay,
which there runs far inland and three miles beyond, with much anxiety
approached the dwelling-place of Corbitant at Mattapoiset, in the
present town of Swanzey. They had been informed by the way that
Massasoit was dead, and they had great fears that Corbitant had
already taken steps as a usurper, and that they, two defenseless men,
might fall victims to his violence.
[Footnote A: There is much evidence that this was the celebrated John
Hampden, renowned in the time of Charles I, and to whom Gray, in his
Elegy, alludes:
"The village _Hampden_, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood."]
Hobbomak, who had embraced Christianity, and was apparently a
consistent Christian, was greatly beloved by Massasoit. The honest
Indian, when he heard the tidings of his chieftain's death, bitterly
deplored his loss.
"My loving sachem! my loving sachem!" he exclaimed; "many have I
known, but never any like thee."
Then turning to Mr. Winslow, he added, "While you live you will never
see his like among the Indians. He was no deceiver, nor bloody, nor
cruel, like the other Indians. He never cherished a spirit of revenge,
and was easily reconciled to those who had offended him. He was ever
ready to listen to the advice of others, and governed his people by
wisdom and without severity."
When they arrived at Corbitant's house they found the sachem not at
home. His wife, however, treated them with great kindness, and
informed them that Massasoit was still alive, though at the point of
death. They therefore hastened on to Mount Hope. Mr. Winslow gives the
following account of the scene witnessed at the bedside of the sick
monarch:
"When we arrived thither, we found the house so full that we
could scarce get in, though they used their best diligence
to make way for us. They were in the midst of their charms
for him, making such a fiendlike noise that it distempered
us who were well, and therefore was unlike to ease him that
was sick. About him were six or eight women, who chafed his
arms, legs, and thighs, to keep heat in him. When they had
made an end of their charming, one told him that his friends
the English were come to see him. Having understanding left,
but his sight was wholly gone, he asked _who was come_. They
told him _Winsnow_, for they can not pronounce the letter
_l_, but ordinarily _n_ in the place thereof. He desired to
speak with me. When I came to him, and they told him of it,
he put forth his hand to me, which I took. Then he said
twice, though very inwardly, _Keen_ _Winsnow?_ which is to
say, Art thou Winslow? I answered _Ahhe_, that is, _yes_.
Then he doubled these words: _Matta neen wonckanet namen
Winsnow;_ that is to say, _O Winslow, I shall never see thee
again!_"
Mr. Winslow immediately prepared some refreshing broth for the sick
man, and, by careful nursing, to the astonishment of all, he
recovered. Massasoit appeared to be exceedingly grateful for this
kindness, and ever after attributed his recovery to the skill and
attentions of his English friends. His unquestionable sincerity won
the confidence of the English, and they became more fully convinced of
his real worth than ever before. Mr. Winslow wished for a chicken to
make some broth. An Indian immediately set out, at two o'clock at
night, for a run of forty miles through the wilderness to Plymouth. In
a surprisingly short time, he returned with two live chickens.
Massasoit was so much pleased with the fowls--animals which he had
never seen before--that he would not allow them to be killed, but kept
them as pets. The kind-hearted yet imperial old chieftain manifested
great solicitude for the welfare of his people. He entreated Mr.
Winslow to visit all his villages, that he might relieve the sick and
the suffering who were in them. Mr. Winslow remained several days,
and his fame as a physician spread so rapidly that great crowds
gathered in an encampment around Mount Hope to gain relief from a
thousand nameless ills. Some came from the distance of more than a
hundred miles.
While at Mount Hope, Massasoit informed Mr. Winslow that Wittuwamet, a
sachem of one of the Massachusetts tribes of Indians near Weymouth,
and several other Indian chiefs, had formed a plot for the purpose of
cutting off the two English colonies. Massasoit stated that he had
been often urged to join in the conspiracy, but had always refused to
do so, and that he had done every thing in his power to prevent it.
Mr. Winslow very anxiously inquired into all the particulars, and
ascertained that the Weymouth men had so thoroughly aroused the
contempt as well as the indignation of the neighboring Indians, that
their total massacre was resolved upon. The Indians, however, both
respected and feared the colonists at Plymouth; and, apprehensive that
they might avenge the slaughter of their countrymen, it was resolved,
by a sudden and treacherous assault, to overwhelm them also, so that
not a single Englishman should remain to tell the tale.
With these alarming tidings, Mr. Winslow, with Mr. Hampden and
Hobbomak, left Mount Hope on his return. Corbitant, their
outwardly-reconciled enemy, accompanied them as far as his house in
what is now Swanzey.
"That night," writes Mr. Winslow, "through the earnest
request of Corbitant, we lodged with him at Mattapoiset. On
the way I had much conference with him, so likewise at his
house, he being a notable politician, yet full of merry
jests and squibs, and never better pleased than when the
like are returned upon him. Among other things, he asked me
that, if _he_ were thus dangerously sick, as Massasoit had
been, and should send to Plymouth for medicine, whether the
governor would send it; and if he would, whether I would
come therewith to him. To both which I answered yes; whereat
he gave me many joyful thanks."
"I am surprised," said Corbitant, after a moment's thought, "that two
Englishmen should dare to venture so far into our country alone. Are
you not afraid?"
"Where there is true love," Mr. Winslow replied, "there is no fear."
"But if your love be such," said the wily Indian, "and bear such
fruit, how happens it that when we come to Plymouth, you stand upon
your guard, with the mouth of your pieces pointed toward us?"
"This," replied Mr. Winslow, "is a mark of respect. It is our custom
to receive our best friends in this manner."
Corbitant shook his head, and said, "I do not like such salutations."
Observing that Mr. Winslow, before eating, implored a blessing,
Corbitant desired to know what it meant. Mr. Winslow endeavored to
explain to him some of the primary truths of revealed religion, and
repeated to him the Ten Commandments. Corbitant listened to them very
attentively, and said that he liked them all except the seventh. "It
must be very inconvenient," he said, "for a man to be tied all his
life to one woman, whether she pleases him or not."
As Mr. Winslow continued his remarks upon the goodness of God, and the
gratitude he should receive from us, Corbitant added, "I believe
almost as you do. The being whom you call God we call Kichtan."
Mr. Winslow and his companions passed a very pleasant night in the
Indian dwelling, receiving the most hospitable entertainment. The
next morning they hastened on their way to Plymouth. They immediately
informed the governor of the alarming tidings they had heard
respecting the conspiracy, and a council of all the men in the colony
was convened. It was unanimously decided that action, prompt,
vigorous, and decisive, was necessary.
The bold Captain Standish was immediately placed in command of an army
of _eight men_ to proceed to Weymouth. He embarked his force in a
squadron of _one boat_, to set sail for Massachusetts--for
Massachusetts and Plymouth were then distinct colonies. The captain
was an intrepid, impulsive man, who rarely took counsel of prudence.
He would wrong no man, and, let the consequences be what they might,
he would submit to wrong from no man. The Pilgrims valued him highly,
and yet so deeply regretted his fiery temperament that they were
unwilling to receive him to the communion of the Church.
When they arrived at Weymouth they found a large number of Indians
swaggering around the wretched settlement, and treating the humiliated
and starving colonists with the utmost insolence. The colonists dared
not exhibit the slightest spirit of retaliation. The Indians had been
so accustomed to treat the godless race at Weymouth with every
indignity, that they had almost forgotten that the Pilgrims were men
of different blood. As Captain Standish and his eight men landed, they
were met by a mob of Indians, who, by derision and insolence, seemed
to aim to provoke a quarrel. Wittuwamet, the head of the conspirators,
was there. He was a stout, brawny savage, vulgar, bold, and impudent,
almost beyond the conception of a civilized mind. Accompanied by a
gang of confederates, he approached Captain Standish, whetting his
knife, and threatening his death in phrase exceedingly contemptuous
and insulting. By the side of this chief was another Indian named
Peksuot, of gigantic stature and Herculean strength, who taunted the
captain with his inferior size, and assailed him with a volley of
barbarian blackguardism. All this it would be hard for a meek man to
bear. Captain Standish was not a meek man. The hot blood of the
Puritan Cavalier was soon at the boiling point. Disdaining to take
advantage even of such a foe, he threw aside his gun, and springing
upon the gigantic Peksuot, grasped at the knife which was suspended
from his neck, the blade of which was double-edged, and ground to a
point as sharp as a needle. There was a moment of terrific conflict,
and then the stout Indian fell dead upon the ground, with the blood
gushing from many mortal wounds. Another Englishman closed with
Wittuwamet, and there was instantly a general fray. Wittuwamet and
another Indian were killed; another was taken prisoner and hung upon
the spot, for conspiring to destroy the English; the rest fled.
Captain Standish followed up his victory, and pursued the fugitives. A
few more were killed. This unexpected development of courage and power
so overwhelmed the hostile Indians that they implored peace.
The Weymouth men, thus extricated from peril, were afraid to remain
there any longer, though Captain Standish told them that he should not
hesitate to stay with one half their number. Still they persisted in
leaving. Captain Standish then generously offered to take them with
him to Plymouth, where they should share in the now almost exhausted
stores of the Pilgrims. But they decided, since they had a small
vessel in which they could embark, to go to Monhegan, an island near
the mouth of the Kennebec River, where many English ships came
annually to fish. The captain helped them on board the vessel,
provided for them a supply of corn, and remained until their sail was
disappearing in the distant horizon of the sea. He then returned to
Plymouth, and all were rejoiced that the country was delivered from
such a set of vagabonds.
The Pilgrims regretted the hasty and violent measures adopted by
Captain Standish, and yet they could not, under the circumstances,
severely condemn him. The Rev. Mr. Robinson, father of the Plymouth
Church, wrote from Holland:
"Due allowance must be made for the warm temper of Captain
Standish. I hope that the Lord has sent him among you for
good, if you will but use him as you ought. I fear, however,
that there is wanting that tenderness for the life of man,
made after God's own image, which we ought to cherish. It
would have been happy if some had been converted before any
had been killed."