AUTUMN AND WINTER CAMPAIGNS.
1675
Philip's influence.--Simultaneous attacks.--Deerfield
burned.--Re-enforcement.--An ambuscade.--Dreadful slaughter and
tortures.--Rescue of Northfield.--Northfield abandoned.--Attempts
to save some corn.--Unsuspicious of danger.--Sudden attack.--A
scene of carnage.--The English overpowered.--Captain Mosely attempts
a rescue.--A prolonged fight.--The Indians vanquished.--Burial of
the dead.--Deerfield destroyed.--Plot against Springfield.--A
timely warning.--Lieutenant Cooper shot.--The attack.--The
conflagration.--Loss of books.--Alarm of the inhabitants.--Decree
of the general court.--Arrangement of forces.--Attack upon
Hatfield.--The Indians defeated.--Narrow escape of Major Appleton.--The
Indian rendezvous.--Philip's employments.--Attempts to secure
the Narragansets.--Mission to the Narragansets.--Compulsory
treaty.--Erection of an Indian fort.--Advantages of the Indians.--Indian
warfare.--Endurance of the Indians.--Losses of the colonists.--Anxious
deliberations.--Arguments pro and con.--The Indians to be attacked.--A
day of fasting.--John Woodcock.--Mode of collecting debts.--March of
the army.--Skirmishes.--Fortifications of the Indians.--The Indian
fort.--Deplorable condition of the colonists.--A friendly
traitor.--Terrible march.--Entrance to the swamp.--Appearance of the
fort.--Fearless bravery.--Terrible slaughter.--An entrance
effected.--Capture of the fort.--A scene of carnage.--Continuance of
the battle.--The houses fired.--Flight of the Indians.--Helplessness
of the English.--Necessity for a retreat.--A second retreat from
Moscow.--Horrors of the night.--Want of provisions.--Disappointment
at not finding food.--Arrival of a vessel.
Philip now directed his steps to the valley of the Connecticut, and
gave almost superhuman vigor to the energy which the savages were
already displaying in their attack upon the numerous and thriving
settlements there. Even most of the Christian Indians, who had long
lived upon terms of uninterrupted friendship with the English, were so
influenced by the persuasions of Philip that they joined his warriors,
and were as eager as any others for the extermination of the
colonists.
Attacks were made almost simultaneously upon the towns of Hadley,
Hatfield, and Deerfield, and also upon several towns upon the Merrimac
River, in the province of New Hampshire. In these conflicts, the
Indians, on the whole, were decidedly the victors. As Philip had fled
from Plymouth, and as the Narragansets had not yet joined the
coalition, the towns in Plymouth colony enjoyed a temporary respite.
On the 1st of September the Indians made a rush upon Deerfield. They
laid the whole town in ashes. Most of the inhabitants had fortunately
taken refuge in the garrison house, and but one man was slain. They
then proceeded fifteen miles up the river to Northfield, where a small
garrison had been established. They destroyed much property, and shot
eight or ten of the inhabitants. The rest were sheltered in the
garrison. The next day, this disaster not being known at Hadley,
Captain Beers was detached from that place with thirty-six mounted
infantry and a convoy of provisions to re-enforce the feeble garrison
at Northfield. They had a march before them of thirty miles, along the
eastern bank of the river. The road was very rough, and led through
almost a continued forest.
When they arrived within a few miles of Northfield, they came to a
wide morass, where it was necessary to dismount and lead their horses.
They were also thrown into confusion in their endeavors to transport
their baggage through the swamp. Here the Indians had formed an
ambuscade. The surprise was sudden, and disastrous in the extreme. The
Indians, several hundred in number, surrounded the doomed party, and,
from their concealment, took unerring aim. Captain Beers, a man of
great valor, succeeded, with a few men, in retreating to a small
eminence, since known as Beers's Mountain, where he bravely maintained
the unequal fight until all his ammunition was expended. A ball then
pierced his bosom, and he fell dead. A few escaped back to Hadley to
tell the mournful tidings of the slaughter, while all the rest were
slain, and all their provisions and baggage fell into the hands of the
exultant savages. The barbarian victors amused themselves in cutting
off the heads of the slain, which they fixed upon poles at the spot,
as defiant trophies of their triumph. One man was found with a chain
hooked into his under jaw, and thus he was suspended on the bough of a
tree, where he had been left to struggle and die in mortal agony. The
garrison at Northfield, almost destitute of powder and food, was now
reduced to the last extremity.
Major Treat was immediately dispatched with a hundred men for their
rescue. Advancing rapidly and with caution, he succeeded in reaching
Northfield. His whole company, in passing through the scene of the
disaster, were most solemnly affected in gazing upon the mutilated
remains of their friends, and appear to have been not a little
terror-stricken in view of such horrid barbarities. Fearing that the
Indians were too numerous in the vicinity to be encountered by their
small band, they brought off the garrison, and retreated precipitately
to Hadley, not tarrying even to destroy the property which they could
not bring away. It is said that Philip himself guided the Indians in
their attack upon Captain Beers.
Hadley was now the head-quarters of the English army, and quite a
large force was assembled there. Most of the inhabitants of the
adjoining towns in tumult and terror had fled to this place for
protection. At the garrison house in Deerfield, fifteen miles above
Hadley, on the western side of the river, there were three thousand
bushels of corn standing in stacks.
On the 18th of September, Captain Lothrop, having been sent from
Hadley to bring off this corn, started with his loaded teams on his
return. His force consisted of a hundred men, soldiers and teamsters.
As no Indians had for some time appeared in that immediate vicinity,
and as there was a good road between the two places, no particular
danger was apprehended. The Indians, however, from the fastnesses of
the forest, were all the time watching their movements with eagle eye,
and with consummate cunning were plotting their destruction.
After leaving Deerfield, the march led for about three miles through a
very level country, densely wooded on each side of the road. The march
was then continued for half a mile along the borders of a morass
filled with large trees and tangled underbrush. Here a thousand
Indians had planted themselves in ambuscade. It was a serene and
beautiful autumnal day. Grape-vines festooned the gigantic trees of
the forest, and purple clusters, ripe and juicy, hung in profusion
among the boughs. Captain Lothrop was so unsuspicious of danger that
many of his men had thrown their guns into the carts, and were
strolling about gathering grapes.
The critical moment arrived, and the English being in the midst of the
ambush, a thousand Indians sprang up from their concealment, and
poured in upon the straggling column a heavy and destructive fire.
Then, with savage yells, which seemed to fill the whole forest, they
rushed from every quarter to close assault. The English were scattered
in a long line of march, and the Indians, with the ferocity of
wolves, sprang upon them ten to one. A dreadful scene of tumult,
dismay, and carnage ensued.
The tragic drama was soon closed. The troops, broken and scattered,
could only resort to the Indian mode of fighting, each one skulking
behind a tree. But they were so entirely surrounded and overpowered
that no one could discharge his musket more than two or three times
before he fell. Some, in their dismay, leaped into the branches of
the trees, hoping thus to escape observation. The savages, with shouts
of derision, mocked them for a time, and then pierced them with
bullets until they dropped to the ground. All the wounded were
indiscriminately butchered. But eight escaped to tell the awful story.
Ninety perished upon this bloody field. The young men who were thus
slaughtered constituted the flower of Essex county. They had been
selected for their intrepidity and hardihood from all the towns. Their
destruction caused unspeakable anguish in their homes, and sent a wave
of grief throughout all the colonies. The little stream in the south
part of Deerfield, upon the banks of which this memorable tragedy
occurred, has in consequence received the name of Bloody Brook.
Captain Mosely had been left in the garrison at Deerfield with seventy
men, intending to go the next day in search of the Indians. As he was
but five miles from the scene of the massacre, he heard the firing,
and immediately marched to the rescue of his friends. But he was too
late. They were all, before his arrival, silent in death. As the
Indians were scalping and stripping the dead, Captain Mosely, with
great intrepidity, fell upon them, though he computed their numbers at
not less than a thousand. Keeping his men in a body, he broke through
the tumultuous mass, charging back and forth, and cutting down all
within range of his shot.
Still, aided by the swamp and the forest, and being so overwhelmingly
superior to the English in numbers, the savages maintained the fight
with much fierceness for six hours. Captain Mosely and all his men
might perhaps also have perished, had not another party providentially
and very unexpectedly come to their relief.
Major Treat, from Connecticut, was ascending the river with one
hundred and sixty Mohegan Indians, on his way to Northfield, in
pursuit of the foe in that vicinity. It was so ordered by Providence
that he approached the scene of action just as both parties were
exhausted by the protracted fight. Hearing the firing, he pressed
rapidly forward, and with fresh troops fell vigorously upon the foe.
The Indians, with yells of disappointment and rage, now fled, plunging
into the swamps and forests. They left ninety-six of their number dead
by the side of the English whom they had so mercilessly slaughtered in
the morning. It is supposed that Philip himself commanded the Indians
on this sanguinary day. The Indians, though in the end defeated, had
gained a marvelous victory, by which they were exceedingly encouraged
and emboldened.
Captains Mosely and Treat encamped in the vicinity for the night, and
the next morning attended to the burial of the dead. They were
deposited in two pits, the English in one and the Indians in another.
A marble monument now marks the spot where this battle occurred, and a
slab is placed over the mound which covers the slain.
Twenty-seven men only had been left in the garrison at Deerfield. The
next morning the Indians appeared in large numbers before the
garrison, threatening an attack. They tauntingly exhibited the
clothes they had stripped from the slain, and shouted messages of
defiance and insult. But the captain of the garrison, making a brave
show of resistance, and sounding his trumpets, as if to call in forces
near at hand, so alarmed the Indians that they retired, and soon all
disappeared in the pathless forest. Deerfield was, however, utterly
destroyed, and the garrison, abandoning the fortress, retired down the
river to afford such protection as might be in their power to the
lower towns.
About thirty miles below Hadley, upon the river, was the town of
Springfield, a very flourishing settlement, containing forty-eight
dwelling-houses. A numerous tribe of Indians lived in the immediate
vicinity, having quite a spacious Indian fort at Long Hill, a mile
below the village. These Indians had for forty years lived on terms of
most cordial friendship with their civilized neighbors. They now made
such firm protestations of friendliness that but few doubted in the
least their good faith. But, while thus protesting, they had yielded
to the potent seductions of King Philip, and, joining his party
secretly, were making preparations for the destruction of Springfield.
On the night of the 4th of October, three hundred of King Philip's
warriors crept stealthily through the forest, and were received into
the Indian fort at Long Hill. A friendly Indian by the name of Toto,
who had received much kindness from the whites, betrayed his
countrymen, and gave information of the conspiracy to burn the town
and massacre the inhabitants. The people were thrown into
consternation, and precipitately fled to the garrison houses, while a
courier was dispatched to Hadley for aid.
Still, many had so much confidence in the sincerity of the Springfield
Indians that they could not believe in their treachery. Lieutenant
Cooper, who commanded there, was so deceived by their protestations
that he the next morning, taking another man with him, rode toward the
fort to ascertain the facts. He had not advanced far before he met the
enemy, several hundred in number, marching to the assault. The savages
immediately fired upon him. His companion was instantly shot, and
several bullets passed through his body. He was a man of Herculean
strength and vigor, and, though mortally wounded, succeeded, by
clinging to his horse, in reaching the garrison and giving the alarm
before he died.
The savages now came roaring on like ferocious wild beasts. The town
was utterly defenseless. Thirty-three houses and twenty-five barns
were almost instantly in flames. Fortunately, nearly all of the
inhabitants were in the block-houses, and but five men and one woman
were killed. The Indians kept cautiously beyond the reach of gun-shot,
vigorously plundering the houses and applying the torch. The wretched
inhabitants, from the loop-holes of the garrison, contemplated with
anguish the conflagration of their homes and all their earthly goods.
The Reverend Mr. Glover, pastor of the church in this place, was a man
of studious habits, and had collected a valuable library, at an
expense of five thousand dollars. He had, for some time, kept his
library in the garrison house for safety; but, a short time before the
attack, thinking that Philip could not venture to make an assault upon
Springfield, when it was surrounded by so many friendly Indians, he
removed the books to his own house. They were all consumed. The loss
to this excellent man was irreparable, and a source of the keenest
grief. In the midst of the conflagration and the plunder Major Treat
appeared with a strong force from Hadley, and the Indians, loaded down
with booty, retreated into their forest fastnesses. Fifteen houses
only were left unburned.
This treachery on the part of the Springfield Indians caused very
great alarm. There were, henceforward, no Indians in whom the
colonists could confide. The general court in Boston ordered:
"That no person shall entertain, own, or countenance any
Indian, under penalty of being a betrayer of this
government.
"That a guard be set at the entrance of the town of Boston,
and that no Indian be suffered to enter, upon any pretense,
without a guard of two musketeers, and not to lodge in
town."
Animated by his success, Philip now planned a still bolder movement.
Hatfield was one of the most beautiful and flourishing of the towns
which reposed in the fertile valley of the Connecticut. Its
inhabitants, warned by the disasters which had befallen so many of
their neighbors, were prepared for a vigorous defense. They kept a
constant watch, and several garrison houses were erected, to which the
women and children could fly in case of alarm. All the male
inhabitants were armed and drilled, and there were three companies of
soldiers stationed in the town; and Hadley, which was on the opposite
side of the river, was the head-quarters of the Massachusetts and
Connecticut forces, then under the command of Major Appleton. An
attack upon Hatfield would immediately bring the forces of Hadley to
its relief.
On the 19th of October, Philip, at the head of eight hundred warriors,
boldly, but with Indian secrecy, approached the outposts of Hatfield.
He succeeded in cutting off several parties who were scouring the
woods in the vicinity, and then made an impetuous rush upon the town.
But every man sprang to his appointed post. Every avenue of approach
was valiantly defended. Major Appleton immediately crossed with his
force from Hadley, and fell furiously upon the assailants, every man
burning with the desire to avenge the destruction of Northfield,
Deerfield, and Springfield. Notwithstanding this determined defense,
the Indians, inspired by the energies of their indomitable leader,
fought a long time with great resolution. At length, repulsed at every
point, they retreated, bearing off with them all their dead and
wounded. They succeeded, however, in burning many houses, and in
driving off many cattle. The impression they made upon the English may
be inferred from the fact that they were not pursued. In this affair,
six of the English were killed and ten wounded. A bullet passed
through the bushy hair of Major Appleton, cutting a very smooth path
for itself, "by that whisper telling him," says Hubbard, "that death
was very near, but did him no other harm."
Winter was now approaching, and as Philip found that the remaining
settlements upon the Connecticut were so defended that he could not
hope to accomplish much, he scattered his forces into winter quarters.
Most of his warriors, who had accompanied him from the Atlantic coast
to the Connecticut, returned to Narraganset, and established their
rendezvous in an immense swamp in the region now incorporated into the
town of South Kingston, Rhode Island. Upon what might be called an
island in this immense swamp, they constructed five hundred wigwams,
and surrounded the whole with fortifications admirably adapted to
repel attack. Three thousand Indians were soon assembled upon this
spot.
There is some uncertainty respecting the movements of Philip during
the winter. It is generally supposed that he passed the winter very
actively engaged in endeavors to rouse all the distant tribes. It is
said that he crossed the Hudson, and endeavored to incite the Indians
in the valley of the Mohawk to fall upon the Dutch settlements on the
Hudson. It is also probable that he spent some time at the Narraganset
fort, and that he directed several assaults which, during this season
of comparative repose, fell upon remote sections of the frontier.
Straggling parties of Indians lingered about Northampton, Westfield,
and Springfield, occasionally burning a house, shooting at those who
ventured into the fields, and keeping the inhabitants in a state of
constant alarm.
At the commencement of the war, just before the discomfiture of Philip
in the swamp near Taunton, a united force of the Massachusetts,
Plymouth, and Connecticut colonies had been sent into the Narraganset
country to persuade, and, if they could not persuade, to compel the
Narraganset Indians to declare for the English. It was well known that
the Narragansets in heart espoused the cause of Philip; for the
Wampanoag chieftain, to relieve himself from embarrassment, had sent
his old men, with his women and the children, into the Narraganset
territory, where they were received and entertained with much
hospitality.
In this mission to the Narraganset country, a part of the troops
crossed the bay in boats, while others rode around by land, entering
the country by the way of Providence. The two parties soon met, and
advanced cautiously together to guard against ambush. They could,
however, for some time find no Indians. The wigwams were all deserted,
and the natives, men, women, and children, fled before them. At length
they succeeded in catching some Narraganset sachems, and with them,
after a conference of two or three days, concluded a treaty of peace.
It was virtually a compulsory treaty, in which the English could place
very little reliance, and to which the Narragansets paid no regard.
According to the terms of this treaty, which was signed on the 15th of
July, 1675, the Narragansets agreed,
1st. To deliver to the English army every subject of King
Philip, either living or dead, who should come into their
territories.
2dly. To become allies of the English, and to kill and
destroy, with their utmost ability, all the subjects of King
Philip.
There were several other articles of the treaty, but they were all
comprehended in the spirit of the two first. But now, in three months
after the signing of this treaty, Philip, with the aid of the
Narragansets, was constructing a fort in the very heart of their
country, and was making it the general rendezvous for all his
warriors. The Narragansets could bring a very fearful accumulation of
strength to the cause of Philip. They could lead two thousand warriors
into the field, and these warriors were renowned for ferocity and
courage. Dwelling so near the English settlements, they could at any
time emerge from their fastnesses, scattering dismay and ruin along
their path.
The Indians enjoyed peculiar advantages for the rude warfare in which
they engaged. They were not only perfectly acquainted with the
wilderness, its morasses, mountains, and impenetrable thickets, but,
from their constant intercourse with the settlements, were as well
acquainted with the dwellings, fields, and roads of the English as
were the colonists themselves. They were very numerous and widely
scattered, and could watch every movement of their foe. Stealthily
approaching through the forest under cover of the night, they could
creep into barns and out-houses, and lie secreted behind fences,
prepared for murder, robbery, and conflagration. Often they concealed
themselves before the very doors of their victims. The first warning
of their presence would be the ring of the musket, as the lonely
settler, opening his door in the morning, dropped down dead upon his
threshold. The house was then fired, the mother and her babes scalped,
and the work of destruction was accomplished. Like packs of wolves
they came howling from the wilderness, and, leaving blood and
smouldering ruins behind them, howling they disappeared. While the
English were hunting for them in one place, they would be burning and
plundering in another. They were capable of almost any amount of
fatigue, and could subsist in vigor where a civilized man would
starve. A few kernels of corn, pounded into meal between two stones,
and mixed with water, in a cup made from rolling up a strip of birch
bark, afforded a good dinner for an Indian. If to this he could add a
few clams, or a bird or a squirrel shot from a neighboring tree, he
regarded his repast as quite sumptuous.
The storms of winter checked, but by no means terminated the
atrocities of the savages. Marauding bands were wandering every where,
and no man dwelt in safety. Many persons were shot, houses and barns
were burned, and not a few men, women, and children were taken captive
and carried into the wilderness, where they miserably perished, often
being subjected to the most excruciating torture. The condition of the
colonies was now melancholy in the extreme. Their losses had been very
great, as one company after another of their soldiers had wasted away.
Industry had been paralyzed, and the harvest had consequently been
very short, while at the same time the expenses of the war were
enormous. The savages, elated with success, were recruiting their
strength, to break forth with new vigor upon the settlements in the
early spring.
The commissioners of the united colonies deliberated long and
anxiously. The all-important question was whether it were best to
adopt the desperate enterprise of attacking the Narraganset fort in
the dead of winter, or whether they should defer active hostilities
until spring. Should they defer, the warriors now collected upon one
spot would scatter every where in the work of destruction. The
Narragansets, who had not as yet engaged openly in the conflict, would
certainly lend all their energies to King Philip. Another year of
disaster and blood might thus be confidently anticipated.
On the other hand, the severity of the winter was such that a whole
army, houseless, on the march, might perish in a single night. Storms
of snow often arose, encumbering the ground with such drifts and
masses that it might be quite impossible to force a march through the
pathless expanse.
But, in view of all the circumstances, it was at length decided best
to make the attack. A thousand men were to be raised. Of these,
Massachusetts contributed five hundred and twenty-seven. Plymouth
furnished one hundred and fifty-eight. Connecticut supplied three
hundred and fifteen, and also sent one hundred and fifty Mohegan
Indians. Josiah Winslow, governor of the Plymouth colony, was
appointed commander-in-chief. The choicest officers in the colonies
were selected, and the men who filled the ranks were all chosen from
those of established reputation for physical vigor and bravery. All
were aware of the perilous nature of the enterprise. In consequence of
the depth of the snow, it would probably be impossible to send any
succor to the troops by land in case of reverse. "It was a humbling
providence of God," wrote the commissioners, "that put his poor
people to be meditating a matter of war at such a season." The second
of December was appointed as a solemn fast to implore God's aid upon
the enterprise.
The Massachusetts troops rendezvoused at Dedham, and on the morning of
the 9th of December commenced their march. They advanced that day
twenty-seven miles, to the garrison house of John Woodcock, within the
limits of the present town of Attleborough. Woodcock kept a sort of
tavern at what was called the Ten Mile River, which tavern he was
enjoined by the court to "keep in good order, that no unruliness or
ribaldry be permitted there." He was a man of some consequence,
energetic, reckless, and not very scrupulous in regard to the rights
of the Indians. An Indian owed him some money. As Woodcock could not
collect the debt, he paid himself by going into the Indian's house and
taking his child and some goods. For this crime he was sentenced to
sit in the stocks at Rehoboth during a training day, and to pay a fine
of forty shillings.
At this garrison house the troops encamped for the night, and the next
day they advanced to Seekonk, and were ferried across the river to
Providence. On the morning of the twelfth they resumed their march,
and followed down the western shore of the bay until they arrived at
the garrison house of Mr. Smith, in the present town of Wickford,
which was appointed as their head-quarters. Here, in the course of a
few days, the Connecticut companies, marching from Stonington, and the
Plymouth companies were united with them. As the troops were
assembling, several small parties had skirmishes with roving bands of
Indians, in which a few were slain on both sides. A few settlers had
reared their huts along the western shores of the bay, but the
Indians, aware of the approach of their enemies, had burned their
houses, and the inhabitants were either killed or dispersed. Nearly
the whole region was now a wilderness.
The Indians, three thousand in number, were strongly intrenched, as we
have before mentioned, in a swamp, which was in South Kingston, about
eighteen miles distant from the encampment of the colonists. It is
uncertain whether Philip was in the fort or not; the testimony upon
that point is contradictory. The probability, however, is that he was
present, sharing in the sanguinary scene which ensued.
The swamp was of immense extent and quite impenetrable, except through
two or three paths known only to the Indians. In the centre of the
swamp there were three or four acres of dry land, a few feet higher
than the surrounding morass. Here Philip had erected his houses, five
hundred in number, and had built them of materials far more solid and
durable than the Indians were accustomed to use, so that they were
quite bullet-proof. They were all surrounded by a high palisade. In
this strong encampment, in friendly alliance with the Narragansets,
Philip and his exultant warriors had been maturing their plans to make
a terrible assault upon all the English settlements in the spring.
Whether Philip was present or not when the fort was attacked, his
genius reared the fortress and nerved the arms of its defenders.
The condition of the colonial army seemed now deplorable. Their
provisions were nearly consumed, and they could hardly hope for any
supply except such as they could capture from the savages. They knew
nothing of the entrances to the swamp, and were entirely unacquainted
with the nature of the fortification and the points most available for
attack. The ground was covered with snow, and they huddled around the
camp-fires by night, with no shelter from the inclemency of frost and
storm.
The morning of the 19th dawned cold and gloomy. The supper of the
previous night had utterly exhausted their stores. At break of day
they commenced their march. A storm was then raging, and the air was
filled with snow. But for the treachery of one of Philip's Indians,
they would probably have been routed in the attack and utterly
destroyed. A Narraganset Indian, who, for some cause, had become
enraged against his countrymen, deserted their cause, and, entering
the camp of the colonists, acted as their guide.
Early in the afternoon of the cold, short, and stormy winter's day,
the troops, unrefreshed by either breakfast or dinner, after a march
of eighteen miles, arrived at the borders of the swamp. An almost
impenetrable forest, tangled with every species of underbrush, spread
over the bog, presenting the most favorable opportunity for
ambuscades, and all the stratagems of Indian warfare. The English,
struggling blindly through the morass, would have found themselves in
a helpless condition, and exposed at every point to the bullets of an
unseen foe. The destruction of this army would have so emboldened the
savages and paralyzed the English that every settlement of the
colonists might have been swept away in an inundation of blood and
flame. The fate of the New England colonies trembled in the balance.
The Narraganset deserter guided them to the entrance of a narrow and
intricate foot-path which led to the island. The Indians, watching
their approach, were lying in ambush upon the edge of the swamp. They
fired upon the advancing files, and retreated. The English, returning
the fire, vigorously pursued. Led by their guide, they soon arrived at
the fort. It presented a formidable aspect. In addition to the
palisades, a hedge of fallen trees a rod in thickness surrounded the
whole intrenchment; outside the hedge there was a ditch wide and deep.
There was but one point of entrance, and that was over the long and
slender trunk of a tree which had been felled across the ditch, and
rested at its farther end upon a wall of logs three or four feet high.
A block-house, at whose portals many sharp-shooters were stationed in
vigilant guard, commanded the narrow and slippery avenue. It was thus
necessary for the English, in storming the fort, to pass in single
file along this slender stem, exposed every step of the way to the
muskets of the Indians. Every soldier at once perceived that the only
hope for the army was in the energies of despair.
There is no incident recorded in the annals of war which testifies to
more reckless fearlessness than that which our ancestors displayed on
this occasion. The approaches to the Malakoff and the Redan were not
attended with greater peril. Without waiting a moment to reconnoitre
or for those in the rear to come up, the Massachusetts troops, who
were in the van, made a rush to cross the tree. They were instantly
swept off by Philip's sharp-shooters. Again and again the English
soldiers, led by their captains, rushed upon the fatal bridge to
supply the places of the slain, but they only presented a fair target
for the foe, and they fell as grass before the scythe. In a few
moments six captains and a large number of common soldiers were dead
or dying in the ditch. The assaulting party, in dismay, were beginning
to recoil before certain death, when, by some unexplained means, a
bold party succeeded in wading through the ditch at another place,
and, clambering through the hedge of trees and over the palisades,
with great shoutings they assailed the defenders of the one narrow
pass in the rear.
The Indians, in consternation, were for a moment bewildered, and knew
not which way to turn. The English, instantly availing themselves of
the panic, made another rush, and succeeded in forcing an entrance. A
hand to hand fight ensued of almost unparalleled ferocity; but the
English, with their long swords, hewed down the foe with immense
slaughter, and soon got possession of the breastwork which commanded
the entrance. A passage was immediately cut through the palisades, and
the whole army poured in.
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF THE INDIAN FORTRESS.]
The interior was a large Indian village, containing five hundred
houses, stored with a great abundance of corn, and crowded with women
and children. An awful scene of carnage now ensued. Though the savages
fought with the utmost fury, they could oppose no successful
resistance to the disciplined courage of the English. Flying from
wigwam to wigwam, men, women, and children were struck down without
mercy. The exasperated colonists regarded the children but as young
serpents of a venomous brood, and they were pitilessly knocked in the
head. The women they shot as readily as they would the dam of the wolf
or the bear. It was a day of vengeance, and awfully did retribution
fall. The shrieks of women and children blended fearfully with the
rattle of musketry and the cry of onset. For four hours the terrible
battle raged. The snow which covered the ground was now crimsoned
with blood, and strewed with the bodies of the slain.
The battle was so fierce, and the defense so determined and prolonged,
the Indians flying from wigwam to wigwam, and taking deadly aim at the
English from innumerable places of concealment, that at length the
assailants were driven to the necessity of setting fire to the houses.
They resorted to this measure with great reluctance, since they needed
the shelter of the houses after the battle for their own refreshment
in their utterly exhausted state, and since there were large
quantities of corn stored in the houses in hollow trees, cut off about
the length of a barrel, which would be entirely consumed by the
conflagration. But there was no alternative; the torch was applied,
and in a few moments five hundred buildings were in flames.
No language can describe the scene which now ensued. The awful tragedy
of the Pequot fort was here renewed upon a scale of still more
terrific grandeur. Old men, women, and children, no one can tell how
many, perished miserably in the wasting conflagration. The surviving
warriors, utterly discomfited, leaped the flaming palisades and fled
into the swamp. But even here they kept up an incessant and deadly
fire upon the victors, many of whom were shot after they had gained
entire possession of the fort. The terrible conflict had now lasted
four hours. Eighty of the colonists had been killed outright, and one
hundred and fifty wounded, many of whom subsequently died. Seven
hundred Indian warriors were slain, and many hundred wounded, of whom
three hundred soon died.
The English were now complete masters of the fort, but it was a fort
no longer. The whole island of four acres, houses, palisades, and
hedge, was but a glowing furnace of roaring, crackling flame. The
houses were so exceedingly combustible that in an hour they were
consumed to ashes. The English, unprotected upon the island, were thus
exposed to every shot from the vanquished foe, who were skulking
behind the trees in the swamp.
Night was now darkening over this dismal scene, a cold, stormy
winter's night. The flames of the blazing palisades and hedge enabled
the savages, who were filling the forest with their howlings of rage,
to take a surer aim, while they themselves were concealed in
impenetrable darkness. It was greatly feared that the Indians, still
much more numerous than their exhausted assailants, might, in the
night, make another onset to regain their lost ground. Indeed, the
bullets were still falling thickly around them as the Indians,
prowling from hummock to hummock, kept up a deadly fire, and it was
necessary, at all hazards, to escape from so perilous a position. It
was another conquest of Moscow. In the hour of the most exultant
victory, the conquerors saw before them but a vista of terrible
disaster. After a few moments' consultation, a precipitate retreat
from the swamp was decided to be absolutely necessary.
The colonists had marched in the morning, breakfastless, eighteen
miles, over the frozen, snow-covered ground. Without any dinner, they
had entered upon one of the most toilsome and deadly of conflicts, and
had continued to struggle against intrenched and outnumbering foes for
four hours. And now, cold, exhausted, and starving, in the darkness of
a stormy night, they were to retreat through an almost pathless
swamp, bearing in their arms one hundred and fifty of their bleeding
and dying companions. There was no place of safety for them until they
should arrive at their head-quarters of the preceding night, upon the
shores of Narraganset Bay, eighteen miles distant.
The horrors of that midnight retreat can never be told; they are
hardly surpassed by the tragedy at Borodino. The wind blew fiercely
through the tree-tops, and swept the bleak and drifted plains as the
troops toiled painfully along, breasting the storm, and stumbling in
exhaustion over the concealed inequalities of the ground. Most
fortunately for them, the savages made no pursuit. Many of the wounded
died by the way. Others, tortured by the freezing of their unbandaged
wounds, and by the grating of their splintered bones as they were
hurried along, shrieked aloud in their agony. It was long after
midnight before they reached their encampment. But even here they had
not a single biscuit. Vessels had been dispatched from Boston with
provisions, which should have arrived long before at this point, which
was their designated rendezvous. But these vessels had been driven
into Cape Cod harbor by a storm. The same storm had driven in immense
masses of ice, and for many days they were hopelessly blocked up.
Suffering excessively from this disappointment, the soldiers marched
to the assault, hoping, in the capture of the fort, to find food
stored up amply sufficient to supply the whole army until the spring
of the year, and also to find good warm houses where they all might be
lodged. The conflagration, to which they were compelled to resort, had
blighted all these hopes, and now, though victorious, they were
perishing in the wilderness of cold and hunger.
The storm, during the night, increased in fury, and the snow, in
blinding, smothering sheets, filled the air, and, in the course of the
ensuing day, covered the ground to such a depth that for several weeks
the army was unable to move in any direction. But on that very
morning, freezing and tempestuous, in which despair had seized upon
every heart, a vessel was seen approaching, buffeting the icy waves of
the bay. It was one of the vessels from Boston, laden with provisions
for the army. Joy succeeded to despair. Prayers and praises ascended
from grateful hearts, and hymns of thanksgiving resounded through the
dim aisles of the forest.