COMMENCEMENT OF HOSTILITIES.
1675
Enthusiasm of the young Indians.--John Sassamon.--Betty's
Neck.--Private secretary of Philip.--The conspiracy.--Incredulity of
the English.--Sassamon to be murdered.--Death of Sassamon.--Indians
arrested.--Proof of the murder.--Execution of the
Indians.--Superstitious notions.--Insolence of the Indians.--They
capture a settler.--The first blood.--Day of fasting.--Letter of
Governor Winslow.--Murders by the Indians.--Flight of the
colonists.--Energy of Philip.--Assistance implored.--Flight of
Philip.--March of the army.--The Soykonate tribe.--Awashonks.--Captain
Church.--The embassadors of Philip.--The council.--Appearance of the
embassadors.--Exciting conference.--Rage of Captain Church.--Awashonks
to remain friendly.--The Pocasset tribe.--Wetamoo joins Philip.--Indian
warfare.--The colonists much scattered.--An illustration.--Heroic
woman.--Dispatching the Indians.--Succor arrives.--Defiance of the
English.--Horrible sight.--Destruction of corn.--An ambush.--Attempt
to surround them.--A retreat.--Apparent hopeless situation.--Bravery
long continued.--Relief at hand.--All rescued.--Narrow escape of Captain
Church.--Dartmouth burned.--Perfidy of the English.--Attempts to capture
Philip.--An unfortunate ambush.--Lesson of caution dearly
purchased.--Indian allies.--Preaching politics.--Escape of Philip.--A
conference agreed upon.--Suspicions of treachery.--Furious
attack.--Escape to Brookfield.--Attack upon the town.--Brookfield
consumed.--Attempts to burn the garrison.--Relief comes.--A
shower.--The garrison saved.--The Indians elated by victory.
The old warriors, conscious of the power of the foe whose fury they
were about to brave, were not at all disposed to precipitate
hostilities, but Philip found it difficult to hold his young men under
restraint. They became very insolent and boastful, and would sharpen
their knives and tomahawks upon the door-sills of the colonists,
vaporing in mysterious phrase of the great deeds they were about to
perform.
There was at this time a Christian Indian by the name of John
Sassamon, who had learned to read and write, and had become quite an
efficient agent in Christian missions to the Indians. He was esteemed
by the English as truly a pious man, and had been employed in aiding
to translate the Bible into the Indian language, and also in preaching
to his countrymen at Nemasket, now Middleborough. He lived in
semi-civilized style upon Assawompset Neck. He had a very pretty
daughter, whom he called Assowetough, but whose sonorous name the
young Puritans did not improve by changing it into Betty. The noted
place in Middleborough now called Betty's Neck is immortalized by the
charms of Assowetough. This Indian maiden married a warrior of her
tribe, who was also in the employment of the English, and in all his
interests had become identified with them. Sassamon was a subject of
King Philip, but he and his family were on the most intimate and
friendly relations with the colonists.
Philip needed a private secretary who could draw up his deeds and
write his letters. He accordingly took John Sassamon into his
employment. Sassamon, thus introduced into the court and cabinet of
his sovereign, soon became acquainted with the conspiracy in all its
appalling extent and magnitude of design. He at once repaired to
Plymouth, and communicated his discovery to the governor. He, however,
enjoined the strictest secrecy respecting his communication, assuring
the governor that, should the Indians learn that he had betrayed them,
his life would be the inevitable forfeit. There were many who had no
faith in any conspiracy of the kind. Rumors of approaching perils had
been rife for many years, and the community had become accustomed to
them. Most of the Massachusetts colonists thought the Plymouth people
unnecessarily alarmed. They listened to the story of Sassamon with
great incredulity. "His information," says Dr. I. Mather, "because it
had an Indian original, and one can hardly believe them when they do
speak the truth, was not at first much regarded."
Sassamon soon after resigned his situation as Philip's secretary, and
returned to Middleborough, where he resumed his employment as a
preacher to the Indians and teacher of a school.
By some unknown means Philip ascertained that he had been betrayed by
Sassamon. According to the Indian code, the offender was deemed a
traitor and a renegade, and was doomed to death; and it was the duty
of every subject of King Philip to kill him whenever and wherever he
could be found. But Sassamon had been so much with the English, and
had been for years so intimately connected with them as their friend
and agent, that it was feared that they would espouse his cause, and
endeavor to avenge his death. It was, therefore, thought best that
Indian justice should be secretly executed.
Early in the spring of 1675 Sassamon was suddenly missing. At length
his hat and gun were found upon the ice of Assawompset Pond, near a
hole. Soon after his body was found beneath the ice. There had been an
evident endeavor to leave the impression that he had committed
suicide; but wounds upon his body conclusively showed that he had been
murdered. The English promptly decided that this was a crime which
came under the cognizance of their laws. Three Indians were arrested
under suspicion of being his murderers. These Indians were all men of
note, connected with the council of Philip. An Indian testified that
he happened to be upon a distant hill, and saw the murder committed.
For some time he had concealed the knowledge thus obtained, but at
length was induced to disclose the crime. The evidence against Tobias,
one of the three, is thus stated by Dr. Increase Mather:
"When Tobias came near the dead body, it fell a bleeding on fresh, as if
it had been newly slain, albeit it was buried a considerable time before
that." In those days of darkness it was supposed that the body of a
murdered man would bleed on the approach of his murderer.
The prisoners were tried at Plymouth in June, and were all adjudged
guilty, and sentenced to death. The jury consisted of twelve
Englishmen and four Indians. The condemned were all executed, two of
them contending to the last that they were entirely innocent, and knew
nothing of the deed. One of them, it is said, when upon the point of
death, confessed that he was a spectator of the murder, which was
committed by the other two.
The summary execution of three of Philip's subjects enraged and
alarmed the Wampanoags exceedingly. As the death of Sassamon had been
undeniably ordered by Philip, he was apprehensive that he also might
be kidnapped and hung. The young Wampanoag warriors were roused to
phrensy, and immediately commenced a series of the most intolerable
annoyances, shooting the cattle, frightening the women and children,
and insulting wayfarers wherever they could find them. The Indians had
imbibed the superstitious notion, which had probably been taught them
by John Sassamon, that the party which should commence the war and
shed the first blood would be defeated. They therefore wished, by
violence and insult, to provoke the English to strike the first blow.
The English established a military watch in every town; but, hoping
that the threatening storm might blow over, they endured all these
outrages with commendable patience.
On the 20th of June, eight Indian desperadoes, all armed for fight,
came swaggering into the town of Swanzey, and, calling at the door of
a colonist, demanded permission to grind their hatchets. As it was the
Lord's day, the colonist informed them that it would be a violation of
the Sabbath for them to do such work, and that God would be
displeased. They replied, "We care neither for your God nor for you,
but we will grind our hatchets." They then went to another house, and,
with insulting carousals, ransacked the closets, helping themselves
abundantly to food. The barbarian roisterers then proceeded blustering
along the road, when they chanced to meet a colonist. They immediately
took him into custody, kept him for some time, loading him with taunts
and ridicule, and then dismissed him, derisively telling him to be a
good man, and not to tell any lies or work on the Lord's day.
Growing bolder and more insolent as they advanced, they began to shoot
the cattle which they saw in the fields. They encountered no
opposition, for the houses were at some distance from each other, and
most of the men were absent at public worship. At last they came to a
house where the man chanced to be at home. They shot his cattle, and
then entered the house and demanded liquor. Being refused, they became
very boisterous in threats, and attempted to get the liquor by
violence. The man at last, provoked beyond endurance, seized his gun
and shot one of them, inflicting a serious but not mortal wound. The
first blood was now shed, and the drama of war was opened. The young
savages retired, bearing their wounded companion with them, and
breathing threatenings and slaughter.
The next Thursday, June 24th, had been set apart by the colonists as a
day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer, in view of the alarming state
of affairs. Upon an impartial review of all the transactions, it is
difficult to see how the colonists could have avoided the war.
"I do solemnly protest," says Governor Winslow, in a letter
written July 4th, 1675, "we know not any thing from us which
might have put Philip upon these motions, nor have heard
that he pretends to have suffered any wrong from us, save
only that we had killed some Indians, and intended to send
for himself for the murder of John Sassamon."
As the people in Swanzey were returning from church on fast-day, a
party of Indians, concealed in a thicket by the road side, fired upon
them, killing one instantly, and severely wounding many others. Two
men who set off in haste for a surgeon were waylaid and murdered. At
the same time, in another part of the town, a house was surrounded by
a band of Indians, and eight more of the colonists were shot. These
awful tidings spread rapidly, causing indescribable alarm. One man,
afraid to remain in his unprotected dwelling, hastily sent his wife
and only son to the house of the Rev. Mr. Miles, which was fortified,
and could be garrisoned. He remained a few moments behind to take some
needful things. The wife had gone but a short distance when she heard
behind her the report of a gun. True to woman's heroic love, she
instantly returned to learn the fate of her husband.
He was lying in his blood on the threshold of his door, and the
savages were ransacking the house. The wretches caught sight of her,
pursued her, killed both her and her son, and took their scalps. In
this terrible state of alarm, the scattered and helpless colonists
fled with their families, as rapidly as they could, to the garrison
house. Two men went from the house to the well for water. They fell,
pierced by bullets. The savages rushed from their concealment, seized
the two still quivering bodies, and dragged them into the forest. They
were afterward found scalped, and with their hands and feet cut off.
Such were the opening acts of the tragedy of blood and woe.
With amazing energy and with great strategetic skill, the warriors of
Philip, guided by his sagacity, plied their work of destruction. It
was their sole, emphatic mission to kill, burn, and destroy. The
savages, flushed with success, were skulking every where. No one could
venture abroad without danger of being shot. Runners were immediately
sent, in consternation, from all the frontier towns, to Plymouth and
Boston, to implore assistance. In three hours after the arrival of the
messenger in Boston, one hundred and twenty men were on the march to
attack Philip at Mount Hope. But the renowned chieftain was too wary
to be caught in the trap of Mount Hope Neck. He had sent his women and
children to the hospitality of distant tribes, and, abandoning the
Neck, which was nearly surrounded by water, traversed with his
warriors the country, where he could at any time plunge into the
almost limitless wilderness.
The little army from Massachusetts moved promptly forward, pressing
into its service all the available men to be found by the way. They
marched to Swanzey, and established their head-quarters at the
garrison house of the Rev. Mr. Miles, a Baptist clergyman of exalted
character and of fervent piety, who was ready to share with his
parishioners in all the perils of protecting themselves from the
border ruffians of that day. About a dozen of the troops, on a
reconnoitring party, crossed the bridge near the garrison house. They
were fired upon from an ambush, and one killed and one wounded. The
Indians fled, hotly pursued by the English, and took refuge in a
swamp, after having lost sixteen of their number.
Upon the eastern shore of Narraganset Bay, in the region now occupied
by Little Compton and a part of Tiverton, there was a small tribe of
Indians in partial subjection to the Narragansets, and called the
Soykonate tribe. Here also a woman, Awashonks, was sachem of the
tribe, and the bravest warriors were prompt to do homage to her power.
Captain Benjamin Church and a few other colonists had purchased lands
of her, and had settled upon fertile spots along the shores of the
bay. Awashonks was on very friendly terms with Captain Church. Though
there were three hundred warriors obedient to her command, that was
but a feeble force compared with the troops which could be raised both
by Philip and by the English. She was therefore anxious to remain
neutral. This, however, could not be. The war was such that all
dwelling in the midst of its ravages must choose their side.
Philip sent six embassadors to engage Awashonks in his interest. She
immediately assembled all her counselors to deliberate upon the
momentous question, and also took the very wise precaution to send for
Captain Church. He hastened to her residence, and found several
hundred of her subjects collected and engaged in a furious dance. The
forest rang with their shouts, the perspiration dripped from their
limbs, and they were already wrought to a pitch of intense excitement.
Awashonks herself led in the dance, and her graceful figure appeared
to great advantage as it was contrasted with the gigantic muscular
development of her warriors.
Immediately upon Captain Church's arrival the dance ceased. Awashonks
sat down, called her chiefs and the Wampanoag embassadors around her,
and then invited Captain Church to take a conspicuous seat in the
midst of the group. She then, in a speech of queenly courtesy,
informed Captain Church that King Philip had sent six of his men to
solicit her to enter into a confederacy against the English, and that
he stated, through these embassadors, that the English had raised a
great army, and were about to invade his territories for the
extermination of the Wampanoags. The conference was long and intensely
exciting. Awashonks called upon the Wampanoag embassadors to come
forward.
They were marked men, dressed in the highest embellishments of
barbaric warfare. Their faces were painted. Their hair was trimmed in
the fashion of the crests of the ancient helmets. Their knives and
tomahawks were sharp and glittering. They all had guns, and horns and
pouches abundantly supplied with shot and bullets.
Captain Church, however, was manifestly gaining the advantage, and the
Wampanoag embassadors, baffled and enraged, were anxious to silence
their antagonist with the bludgeon. The Indians began to take sides
furiously, and hot words and threatening gestures were abundant.
Awashonks was very evidently inclined to adhere to the English. She at
last, in the face of the embassadors, declared to Captain Church that
Philip's message to her was that he would send his men over privately
to shoot the cattle and burn the houses of the English who were within
her territories, and thus induce the English to fall in vengeance upon
her, whom they would undoubtedly suppose to be the author of the
mischief. This so enraged Captain Church that he quite forgot his
customary prudence. Turning to the Wampanoag embassadors, he
exclaimed,
"You are infamous wretches, thirsting for the blood of your English
neighbors, who have never injured you, but who, on the contrary, have
always treated you with kindness."
Then, addressing Awashonks, he very inconsiderately advised her to
knock the six Wampanoags on the head, and then throw herself upon the
protection of the English. The Indian queen, more discreet than her
adviser, dismissed the embassadors unharmed, but informing them that
she should look to the English as her friends and protectors.
Captain Church, exulting in this success, which took three hundred
warriors from the enemy and added them to the English force, set out
for Plymouth. At parting, he advised Awashonks to remain faithful to
the English whatever might happen, and to keep, with all her warriors,
within the limits of Soykonate. He promised to return to her again in
a few days.
Just north of Little Compton, in the region now occupied by the upper
part of Tiverton, and by Fall River, the Pocasset tribe of Indians
dwelt. Wetamoo, the former bride of Alexander, was a princess of this
tribe. Upon the death of her husband and the accession of Philip to
the sovereignty of the Wampanoags, she had returned to her parental
home, and was now queen of the tribe. Her power was about equal to
that of Awashonks, and she could lead three or four hundred warriors
into the field. Captain Church immediately proceeded to her court, as
he deemed it exceedingly important to detach her, if possible, from
the coalition.
He found her upon a high hill at a short distance from the shore. But
few of her people were with her, and she appeared reserved and very
melancholy. She acknowledged that all her warriors had gone across the
water to Philip's war-dance, though she said that it was against her
will. She was, however, brooding over her past injuries, and was eager
to join Philip in any measures of revenge. Captain Church had hardly
arrived at Plymouth before the wonderful successes of Philip so
encouraged the Indians that Wetamoo, with alacrity and burning zeal,
joined the coalition; and even Awashonks could not resist the
inclinations of her warriors, but was also, with reluctance, compelled
to unite with Philip.
War was now raging in all its horrors. A more harassing and merciless
conflict can hardly be imagined. The Indians seldom presented
themselves in large numbers, never gathered for a decisive action,
but, dividing into innumerable prowling bands, attacked the lonely
farm-house, the small and distant settlements, and often, in terrific
midnight onset, plunged, with musket, torch, and tomahawk, into the
large towns. These bands varied in their numbers from twenty to thirty
to two or three thousand. The colonists were very much scattered in
isolated farm-houses through the wilderness. In consequence of the
gigantic growth of trees, which it was a great labor to cut down, and
which, when felled, left the ground encumbered for years with
enormous stumps and roots, the colonists were eager to find any smooth
meadow or natural opening in the forest where, for any unknown cause,
the trees had disappeared, and where the thick turf alone opposed
the hoe. They often had neither oxen nor plows. Thus these
widely-scattered spots upon the hill-sides and the margins of distant
streams were eagerly sought for, and thus these lonely settlers were
exposed, utterly defenseless, to the savage foe.
The following scene, which occurred in a remote section of the country
at a later period, will illustrate the horrible nature of this Indian
warfare. Far away in the wilderness, a man had erected his log hut
upon a small meadow, which had opened itself in the midst of a
gigantic forest. The man's family consisted of himself, his wife, and
several children, the eldest of whom was a daughter fifteen years of
age. At midnight, the loud barking of his dog alarmed him. He stepped
to the door to see what he could discover, and instantly there was a
report of several muskets, and he fell upon the floor of his hut
pierced with bullets, and with a broken leg and arm. The Indians,
surrounding the house, now with frightful yells rushed to the door.
The mother, frantic with terror, her children screaming around her,
and her husband groaning and weltering in his blood, barred the door
and seized an axe. The savages, with their hatchets, soon cut a hole
through the door, and one of them crowded in. The heroic mother, with
one blow of the axe, cleft his head to the shoulder, and he dropped
dead upon the floor. Another of the assailants, supposing, in the
darkness, that he had made good his entrance, followed him. He also
fell by another well-directed stroke. Thus four were slain before the
Indians discovered their mistake.
They then clambered upon the house, and were soon heard descending
through the capacious flue of the chimney. The wife still stood with
the axe to guard the door. The father, bleeding and fainting, called
upon one of the little children to roll the feather bed upon the fire.
The burning feathers emitted such a suffocating smoke and smell that
the Indians were almost smothered, and they tumbled down upon the
embers. At the same moment, another one attempted to enter the door.
The wounded husband and father had sufficient strength left to seize a
billet of wood and dispatch the half-smothered Indians. But the mother
was now so exhausted with terror and fatigue that her strength failed
her, and she struck a feeble blow, which wounded, but did not kill her
adversary. The savage was so severely wounded, however, that he
retreated, leaving all his comrades, six in number, dead in the house.
We are not informed whether the father recovered of his wounds. Some
distant neighbors, receiving tidings of the attack, came with succor,
and the six dead Indians, without much ceremony, were tumbled into a
hole.
Volumes might be filled with such terrible details. No one could sleep
at night without the fear of an attack from the Indians before the
morning. In the silence of the wilderness, many a tragedy was enacted
of terror, torture, and blood, which would cause the ear that hears of
it to tingle.
The day after the arrival of the English force in Swanzey the Indians
again appeared in large numbers, and with defiant shouts dared them to
come out and fight. Philip himself was with this band. A party of
volunteers rushed furiously upon the foe, killed a number, and pursued
the rest more than a mile. The savages retired to their fastnesses,
and the English traversed Mount Hope Neck until they came to the
imperial residence of Philip. Not an Indian was to be found upon the
Neck. But here the English found the heads of eight of their
countrymen, which had been cut off and stuck upon poles, ghastly
trophies of savage victory. They took them down and reverently buried
them.
It was now the 29th of June, and the Indian corn-fields were waving in
luxuriant growth. Philip had not anticipated so early an outbreak of
the war, and had more than a thousand acres planted with corn. These
fields the English trampled down, and destroyed all the dwellings of
the Indians, leaving the Neck barren and desolate. This was a heavy
blow to Philip. The destruction of his corn-fields threatened him with
starvation in the winter. The Indians scattered in all directions,
carrying every where terror, conflagration, and death.
Captain Church, with twenty men, crossed the Taunton River, and then
followed down the eastern shores of the bay, through Pokasset, the
territory of Wetamoo, toward Sogkonate Neck, where Awashonks reigned.
At the southern extremity of the present town of Tiverton they came to
a neck of land called Punkateeset. Here they discovered a fresh trail,
which showed that a large body of Indians had recently passed.
Following this trail, they came to a large pea-field belonging to
Captain Almy, a colonist who had settled there. They loitered a short
time in the field, eating the peas. The forest, almost impenetrable
with underbrush, grew very densely around. Just as they were emerging
from the field upon an open piece of ground, with the woods growing
very thickly upon one side, a sudden discharge of musketry broke in
upon the silent air, and bullets were every where whistling fiercely
around them. Instantly three hundred Indians sprang up from their
ambush. Captain Church "casting his eyes to the side of the hill above
him, the hill seemed to move, being covered with Indians, with their
bright guns glistening in the sun, and running in a circumference,
with a design to surround them." Captain Church and his men slowly
retreated toward the shore, where alone they could prevent themselves
from being surrounded. The Indians, outnumbering them fifteen to one,
closely pressed them, making the forest resound with their hideous
outcries.
As the savages emerged from their ambush, they followed at a cautious
distance, but so directed their steps as to cut off all possibility of
retreat from the Neck. They felt so sure of their victims that they
thought that all could be killed or captured without any loss upon
their own part.
The situation of the English now seemed desperate. They had no means
of crossing the water, and the exultant foe, in overwhelming numbers
and with fiendlike yells, were pressing nearer and nearer, and
overwhelming them with a storm of bullets.
But the colonists resolved to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
It was better to die by the quick ministry of the bullet, than to fall
as captives into the hands of the savages, to perish by lingering
torment. Fortunately, the ground was very stony, and every man
instantly threw up a pile for a breastwork. The Indians were very
cautious in presenting their bodies to the unerring aim of the white
men, and did not venture upon a simultaneous rush, which would have
secured the destruction of the whole of Captain Church's party.
For six hours the colonists beat back their swarming foes. The Indians
availed themselves of every stump, rock, or tree in sight, and kept up
an incessant firing. Just as the ammunition of the colonists was about
exhausted, and night was coming on, a sloop was discerned crossing
the water to their rescue. Captain Golding, a man of great resolution
and fearlessness, had heard the firing, and was hastening to their
relief. The wind was fair, and as the vessel approached the shore the
Indians plied their shot with such effect that the colors, sails, and
sides of the sloop were soon pierced full of bullet holes. The water
was so shoal that they dropped anchor, and the vessel rode afloat
several rods from the beach. Captain Golding had a small canoe, which
would support but two men. Attaching a cord to this, he let it drift
to the shore, driven by the fresh wind. Two men entered the canoe, and
were drawn on board. The canoe was then returned, and two more were
taken on board. Thus the embarkation continued, covered by the muskets
of those on board and those on the shore, until every man was safe.
Not one of their number was even wounded. The English, very skillful
with the musket, kept their innumerable foes at a distance. It was
certain death for any Indian to step from behind his rampart. The
heroic Church was the last to embark. As he was retreating backward,
boldly facing his foes, presenting his gun, which all the remaining
powder he had did but half charge, a bullet passed through his hat,
cutting off a lock of his hair. Two others struck the canoe as he
entered it, and a fourth buried itself in a stake which accidentally
stood before the middle of his breast. Discharging his farewell shot
at the enemy, he was safely received on board, and they were all
conveyed to the English garrison which had been established at Mount
Hope. Many Indians were killed or wounded in this affray, but it is
not known how many.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE IN TIVERTON.]
Captain Church then went, with a small army, to ravage the territories
of Wetamoo. When he arrived at the spot where Fall River now stands,
he found that Wetamoo, with her warriors, had taken refuge in a
neighboring swamp. Just then news came that a great part of the town
of Dartmouth was in flames, that many of the inhabitants were killed,
and that the survivors were in great distress. Captain Church marched
immediately to their rescue. But the foe had finished his work of
destruction, and had fled into the wilderness, to emerge at some other
spot, no one could tell where, and strike another deadly blow. The
colonists, however, took one hundred and sixty Indians prisoners, who
had been induced by promises of kind treatment to come in and
surrender themselves. To the extreme indignation of Captain Church,
all these people, in most dishonorable disregard of the pledges of the
capitulation, were by the Plymouth authorities sold into slavery. This
act was as impolitic as it was criminal. It can not be too sternly
denounced. It effectually deterred others from confiding in the
English.
The colonists, conscious of the intellectual supremacy of King Philip
as the commanding genius of the strife, devoted their main energies to
his capture, dead or alive. Large rewards were offered for his head.
The barbarian monarch, with a large party of his warriors, had taken
refuge in an almost impenetrable swamp upon the river, about eighteen
miles below Taunton. All the inhabitants of Taunton, in their terror,
had abandoned their homes, and were gathered in eight garrison houses.
On the 18th of July, a force of several hundred men from Plymouth and
Taunton surrounded the swamp. They cautiously penetrated the tangled
thicket, their feet at almost every step sinking in the mire and
becoming shackled by interlacing roots, the branches pinioning their
arms, and the dense foliage blinding their eyes. Philip, with
characteristic cunning, sent a few of his warriors occasionally to
exhibit themselves, to lure the English on. The colonists gradually
forgot their accustomed prudence, and pressed eagerly forward.
Suddenly from the dense thicket a party of warriors in ambush poured
upon their pursuers a volley of bullets. Fifteen dropped dead, and
many were sorely wounded. The survivors precipitately retired from the
swamp, "finding it ill," says Hubbard, "fighting a wild beast in his
own den."
The English, taught a lesson of caution by this misadventure, now
decided to surround the swamp, guarding every avenue of escape. They
knew that Philip had no stores of provisions there, and that he soon
must be starved out. Here they kept guard for thirteen days. In the
mean time, Philip constructed some canoes and rafts, and one dark
night floated all his warriors, some two hundred in number, across the
river, and continued his flight through the present towns of Dighton
and Rehoboth, far away into the unknown wilderness of the interior of
Massachusetts. Wetamoo, with several of her warriors, accompanied
Philip in his flight. He left a hundred starving women and children
in the swamp, who surrendered themselves the next morning to the
English.
A band of fifty of the Mohegan Indians had now come, by direction of
Uncas, to proffer their services to the colonists. A party of the
English, with these Indian allies, pursued the fugitives. They
overtook Philip's party not far from Providence, and shot thirty of
their number, without the loss of a single man. Rev. Mr. Newman,
pastor of the church in Rehoboth, obtained great commendation for his
zeal in rousing his parishioners to pursue the savages.
Philip had now penetrated the wilderness, and had effected his escape
beyond the reach of his foes. He had the boundless forest around him
for his refuge, with the opportunity of emerging at his leisure upon
any point of attack along the vast New England frontier which he might
select.
The Nipmuck Indians were a powerful tribe, consisting of many petty
clans spread over the whole of the interior of Massachusetts. They
appear to have had no sachem of distinction, and at one time were
tributary to the Narragansets, but were now tributary to the
Wampanoags. They had thus far been living on very friendly terms with
the inhabitants of the towns which had been settled within the limits
of their territory. The court at Boston, apprehensive that the
Nipmucks might be induced to join King Philip, sent some messengers to
treat with them. The young warriors were very surly, and manifestly
disposed to fight; but the old men dreaded the perils of war with foes
whose prowess they appreciated, and were inclined to a renewal of
friendship.
It was agreed that a conference should be held at a certain large
tree, upon a plain about three miles from Brookfield, on the 2d of
August. At the appointed time, the English commissioners were there,
with a small force of twenty mounted men. But not an Indian was to be
seen. Notwithstanding some suspicions of treachery, the English
determined to advance some miles farther, to a spot where they were
assured that a large number of Indians were assembled. They at length
came to a narrow pass, with a steep hill covered with trees and
underbrush on one side, and a swamp, impenetrable with mire and
thickets, upon the other. Along this narrow way they could march only
in single file. The silence of the eternal forest was around them, and
nothing was to be seen or heard which gave the slightest indication of
danger.
Just as they were in the middle of this trail, three hundred Indians
rose up on either side, and showered upon them a storm of bullets.
Eight dropped dead. Three were mortally, and several others severely
wounded. Captain Wheeler, who was in command, had his horse shot from
under him, and a bullet also passed through his body. His son, who
rode behind him, though his own arm was shattered by a ball,
dismounted, and succeeded in placing his father in the saddle. A
precipitate retreat was immediately commenced, while the Indians
pursued with yells of exultation. But for the aid of three Christian
Indians who accompanied the English party, every Englishman must have
perished. One of these Indians was taken captive. The other two, by
skill and bravery, led their friends, by a by-path, back to
Brookfield.
This town was then a solitary settlement of about twenty houses, alone
in the wilderness, half way between the Atlantic shore and the
settlements on the Connecticut. The terrified inhabitants had but just
time to abandon their homes and take refuge in the garrison house when
the savages were upon them. With anguish they saw, from the loop-holes
of their retreat, every house and barn consumed, their cattle shot,
and all their property of food, clothing, and furniture destroyed.
They were thus, in an hour, reduced from competence to the extreme of
want.
The inhabitants of Brookfield, men, women, and children, amounted to
but eighty. The nearest settlement from whence any help could come was
at Lancaster, some forty miles northeast of Brookfield. The Indians
surrounded the garrison, and for two days exerted all their ingenuity
in attempting to destroy the building. They wrapped around their
arrows hemp dipped in oil, and, setting them on fire, shot them upon
the dry and inflammable roof. Several times the building was in
flames, but the inmates succeeded in arresting the conflagration. It
was now the evening of the 4th of August. The garrison, utterly
exhausted by two days and two nights of incessant conflict, aware that
their ammunition must soon be exhausted, and knowing not from what
quarter to hope for relief, were in despair. The Indians now filled a
cart with hemp, flax, and the resinous boughs of firs and pines. They
fastened to the tongue a succession of long poles, and then, setting
the whole fabric on fire, as it rolled up volumes of flame and smoke,
pushed it back against the log house, whose walls were as dry as
powder. Just then, when all hope of escape was abandoned, relief came.
Major Willard had been sent from Boston to Lancaster with a party of
dragoons for the defense of that region. By some chance, probably
through a friendly Indian, he was informed of the extreme distress of
the people at Brookfield. Taking with him forty-eight dragoons, he
marched with the utmost possible haste to their relief. With Indian
guides, he traversed thirty miles of the forest that day, and arrived
at the garrison in the evening twilight, just as the Indians, with
fiendish clamor, were all engaged in their experiment with the flaming
cart. Though the Indian scouts discovered his approach, and fired
their guns and raised shouts of alarm, there was such a horrid noise
from the yells of the savages and the uproar of musketry that the
scouts could not communicate intelligence of the approach of the
English, and the re-enforcement, with a rush, entered the garrison. At
the same moment a very heavy shower arose, which aided greatly in the
extinguishment of the flames.
The savages, thus balked of their victims, howled with rage, and,
after firing a few volleys of bullets into the walls of the fortress,
retired to their fastnesses. During this siege many of the whites were
wounded, and about eighty of the Indians were killed. The day after
the defeat, Philip, with forty-eight warriors, arrived at the Indian
encampment at Brookfield. Though the Indians had not taken the
garrison, and though they mourned the loss of many warriors, they were
not a little elated with success. They had killed many of their
enemies, and had utterly destroyed the town of Brookfield.