The kindness which he had received from the En- leaving their bows and arrows behind them, glish people generally in London, and, in generous requital, now attached himself cordially to the Pilgrims. He became invaluable to them as an interpreter, and gave them much instruction respecting the mode of obtaining a support in the wilderness. Squantum brought the intelligence that his sovereign chief, Massasoit, had heard of the arrival of the Pilgrims, and had come with a retinue of sixty warriors to pay them a visit. With characteristic dignity and caution the chief had encamped upon a neighboring hill, and had sent a messenger to announce his arrival. He was well-informed of the treachery of the whites, and was too wary to intrust himself in their power. The Pilgrims also, overawed by their lonely position, and by the mysterious terrors of the wilderness and of the savage, deemed it imprudent to send any of their force from behind the intrenchments which they had reared. After various messages had gone to and fro, through their interpreter, Massasoit, who, though unlettered, was a man of reflection and of sagacity, proposed that the English should send one of their number to his encampment to communicate to him their designs in entering upon his territories. One of the colonists, Edward Winslow, consented to go upon this embassy. Massasoit received him with frankness and dignity. Mr. Winslow addressed the chieftain, surrounded by his warriors, in fair and sincere words of peace and friendship. Massasoit, warily detaining Mr. Winslow as a hostage, advanced with twenty of his men, into the encampment of the Pilgrims. Governor, John Carver, received them with military pomp, and the monarch of the Wampanoags, with his chieftains, was escorted, with the music of the drum and the fife, into a loghut, where a long conference was held. The interview was eminently friendly. Massasoit was a man of mark-mild, genial, affectionate, yet bold, cautious, and commanding. He was in the prime of life, of majestic stature, and of great gravity of countenance and manners. His glossy raven hair was well oiled, and he was picturesquely dressed in skins of brilliant colors. Massasoit conducted this interview with the dignity and the courtesy of a polished gentleman. In what school of Chesterfieldian politeness these sons of the forest acquired their high breeding and lofty bearing is yet a mystery. Though the mass of the Indians were low, degraded, and vulgar men, many of the Indian chieftains, in every word and gesture, were gentlemen of the highest stamp. In the banqueting halls of Windsor Castle, and in the saloons of Versailles, they would have moved with ease and dignity, undazzled by the brilliance, unembarrassed by the mysteries of etiquette, and unsurpassed in all the proprieties of courtesy by the proudest lords who ever trod those tesselated floors. As evening approached, Massasoit, with his followers, withdrew, and cautiously established his camp for the night upon the hill which he had selected at some distance in the woods. Here he stationed his sentinels to guard against surprise, and the rest of the party threw themselves upon their hemlock boughs, with their bows and arrows in their hands, and were soon fast asleep. The Pilgrims also kept a vigilant watch that night, for neither party had full confidence in the other. The next morning two of the Pilgrims ventured into the camp of the Indians. Confidence gradually was strengthened between the two parties, and the most friendly relations were established. After engaging in a formal treaty of friendship, the interesting conference was terminated to the satisfaction of all parties, and the tawny warriors again disappeared in the pathless wilderness. Early in July a deputation from Plymouth, with Squantum as their interpreter, set out to return the visit of Massasoit. He held his court in barbarian splendor upon a hillock called Pokanoket, now called Mount Hope, about forty miles from Plymouth, upon the shores of Bristol Bay. They had three objects in view: first, to ascertain his place of residence and his apparent strength; secondly, to renew and strengthen their were every where received by the Indians with smiles of welcome. Late in the afternoon of the second day they reached Pokanoket, the imperial residence of Massasoit. friendly correspondence; and, thirdly, to adopt | its banks and skirted the shore of the bay, they some measures to protect themselves, in a friendly way, from the intrusion of lazy vagabond Indians, who were ever hanging upon them, and threatening to eat out their substance. As presents, they took with them a trooper's red coat, gaudily trimmed, and a copper necklace. At 10 o'clock, in the morning of a sultry day, Mr. Winslow and Mr. Hopkins, as embassadors of peace, commenced their journey through the picturesque trails of the forest. These trails were paths through which the Indians had passed, in single file, for uncounted centuries. They were distinctly marked, and almost as renowned as the paved roads of the Old World, which had reverberated beneath the tramp of the legions of the Caesars. Here, generation after generation, the moccasined savage, with silent tread, threaded his way, delighting in the gloom which no ray of the sun could penetrate, in the silence interrupted only by the cry of the wild beast in his lair, and awed by the marvelous beauty of lakes and streams, framed in mountains and fringed with forests, where water-fowl of every variety of note and plumage floated buoyant upon the wave, and pierced the air with monotonous and melancholy song. As they crossed Taunton River, followed down The chieftain had selected this spot with that peculiar taste for picturesque beauty which characterized the more noble of the Indians. The hillock was a graceful mound two hundred feet high, commanding an extensive and surpassingly beautiful view of wide sweeping forests and indented bays. This celebrated mound is about four miles from the city of Fall River. From its summit the eye now ranges over Providence, Bristol, Warren, Fall River, and innumerable other minor towns. The whole wide-spread landscape is embellished with gardens, orchards, cultivated fields, and smiling villages. Gigantic steamers plow the waves, and the sails of a commerce which girdles the globe whiten the beautiful bay. But as the tourist sits upon that solitary summit he forgets the present in memory of the past. Neither the pyramids of Egypt nor the Coliseum of the Eternal City are draped with a more sublime antiquity. Here, during generations which no man can number, the sons of the forest gathered around their council fires, and struggled, as human hearts must ever struggle, against life's stormy doom. Here, long centuries ago, were the joys of the bridal and the anguish which gathers around the freshly-opened grave. Beneath the moon, which then, as now, silvered this mound, the Indian lover, in impassioned accents, wooed his dusky mate. Upon the beach barbaric childhood reveled and shouted, and their red limbs were laved in the crystal waves. Here, during ages which have passed into oblivion, the war-whoop resounded through the forest. The shriek of mothers and maidens pierced the skies as they fell cleft by the tomahawk, and all the horrid clangor of horrid war, with "its terror, conflagration, tears, and blood," imbittered ten thousand fold the ever-bitter lot of humanity. Alexander was at this time on a hunting excursion at a point about half-way between Plymouth and Bridgewater. Unsuspicious of any danger, he and his men were in a hunting house taking their dinner, with their guns stacked upon the outside. Major Winslow, afterward governor of the colony, who headed the English party, adroitly seized the guns and beset the house. The Indians were entirely defenseless. Major Winslow presented a pistol to the breast of the proud sovereign of the Wampanoags, and said to him: "I am ordered to bring you to Plymouth, and by the help of God I will do it at all hazards. If you submit peacefully, you shall receive respectful usage. If you resist, you shall die upon the spot." the dignity befitting his rank. The high-spirited Indian king was almost insane with rage in finding himself thus insulted As years passed along, other colonies were es- and unarmed. But his followers entreated him tablished upon these shores. Though the En- not to resort to violence, which would only reglish had frequent and sometimes very serious sult in his death. They urged him to yield to difficulties with the different tribes, still, for forty necessity, assuring him that they would accomyears, Massasoit remained the firm friend of the||pany him, as his retinue, that he might go with whites. At one time he brought his two sons, Wamsutta and Pometacom, to the Governor, and requested him to give them English names. They were bright and attractive young men, of the very finest physical development. The Governor told Massasoit the story of the renowned kings of Macedon, Philip and Alexander, and gave to Wamsutta, the eldest, the name of Alexander, the great warrior of Asia, and to Pometacom, the younger, the less renowned name of Philip. As these two lads grew up to manhood they married sisters, the daughters of a chief of a neighboring tribe. The name of the bride of Alexander was Wetamoo; the wife of Philip had the equally euphonious name of Wootonekanuske. Very rapidly the lands of the Indians were now passing away to the English colonists. The power of the white man was rapidly increasing, and that of the Indians diminishing. The more thoughtful of the Indian chieftains became solicitous respecting the result. Alexander and Philip, though making no opposition to the friendly policy of their father, contemplated with great alarm the encroachments of the whites. In 1661, Massasoit, far advanced in years, was gathered to his fathers, and Alexander, his eldest son, was invested with the chieftainship. The anxiety he had felt respecting the prospective fate of the Indians, as their hunting grounds were rapidly passing away, naturally kept him away from the colony at Plymouth. Suspicions were excited that he was cherishing unfriendly feelings. An imperious message was sent to the proud king of the Wampanoags, to present himself before the court at Plymouth. Alexander, instead of obeying this mandate, went on a visit to the Narraganset Indians, his neighbors and his enemies. This increased suspicion, and the Governor sent a party of armed men to take him by force and bring him to court. Alexander was thus constrained to comply. But his imperial spirit was so tortured by the humiliation, that he was thrown into a burning fever, and it was feared that he would die. The Indian warriors entreated that Alexander might be permitted to go home, promising, in their intense anxiety, that he would return as soon as he should recover. The court assented to this arrangement. The warriors took their unhappy king, dying of a crushed spirit, upon a litter and entered the trails of the forest. They soon reached Taunton River. There they took canoes. It soon became manifest that their monarch was dying. They placed him upon a grassy mound, beneath a majestic tree, and in silence the stoical warriors gathered around to witness the departure of his spirit to the realms of the red man's immortality. What a scene for the painter! The sublimity of the eternal forest, the glassy stream meandering beneath overarching trees, the bark canoes of the natives moored to the shore, the dying chieftain, with his warriors assembled in stern sadness around him, and the beautiful and heroic Wetamoo holding in her lap the head of her dying lord! As she wiped his clammy brow she was nursing those emotions of revenge which finally desolated the colonies of the white men with flame and blood. Philip now was at the head of the tribe. It may be well supposed that the treatment which his brother had received had not increased his affection for the English. It was almost universally supposed by the Indians that Alexander had been poisoned by the colonists. His wife, Wetamoo, an energetic and a noble wowan, was inflamed with the desire to avenge the death of her husband. She was by birth the princess of another tribe, and could rally all their energies for war. She urged Philip to unite all the tribes under his control, to drive the | ment. With native-taught dignity he sent a white man from the land, and thus to avenge the death of her husband and his brother. He Philip was a man of great endowments. clearly understood the power of the English, and distinctly foresaw the peril the Indians would incur by waging war against adversaries so formidable. For nine years he probably brooded over this subject, gradually accumulating resources, strengthening alliances, and distributing more extensively among the Indians the deadly weapons of war. The Indians and the colonists were year after year becoming more and more exasperated against each other. The dangers of collision were growing more imminent. Many deeds of violence and of insult on both sides ensued. The spring of the year 1671 had now arrived. Colonies had been established in Connecticut, in Rhode Island, and in Massachusetts. The Plymouth colony and the Massachusetts colony at Boston, subsequently combined, were then distinct. The Plymouth colony had become greatly extended, and many flourishing towns were growing up in the wilderness. message to the English governor, informing him of his arrival at that spot, and requiring him to come and treat with him there. The Governor, either afraid to meet these warriors in their own encampment or deeming it beneath his dignity to attend the summons of an Indian chieftain, sent Roger Williams, with several other persons, to assure Philip of his friendly feelings, and to entreat him to come to Taunton, as a more convenient place for their conference. Philip, with caution which subsequent events proved to have been well-timed, detained these men as hostages for his safe return, and then with an imposing retinue of his painted braves proudly strode into the streets of Taunton. We blush to record that the Plymouth people had seriously contemplated attacking Philip and his band, and making them all prisoners; but the hostages which were left behind, and the remonstrances of some commissioners who were present from Massachusetts, prevented this deed of treachery. Philip consented to refer the difficulties which existed between himself and the Plymouth colThe Governor of Plymouth, alarmed by some ony to the arbitration of the commissioners from warlike preparations which Philip seemed to be Massachusetts. That he might meet his acmaking, sent an imperious command to him to cusers upon the basis of equality, he demanded come to Taunton and answer for his conduct. one-half of the meeting-house in which the The proud Wampanoag, taking with him a band council was to be held for himself and his warof warriors, armed to the teeth, and painted and riors. The other half was assigned to the Plydecorated with the most brilliant trappings of mouth people. The Massachusetts commissionbarbarian splendor, approached within four miles ers, as umpires, occupied the seat of council. of Taunton. Here he established his encamp-The result of the conference was a treaty in which mutual friendship was pledged, and in which Philip agreed to surrender the warlike arms of his people to the Governor of Plymouth, to be detained by him as long as he should see reason. Philip and his warriors immediately surrendered their arms. Others were to be sent in within a given time. Philip gave up the guns of the Middleborough Indians, who were in the midst of the English settlements, while the more remote Indians ranging the unbroken wilderness retained their arms. The shrewdness of Philip was conspicuous in this act. The Middleborough Indians had been constrained by the absence of game to cultivate their fields of corn. They were so intimately connected with the English, and so entirely in their power, that it was probable that, in the event of war, they would be compelled to become the allies of the white man. Thus Philip, by disarming them, did not weaken his own cause. The summer passed away, and the Plymouth people still thought they saw indications of approaching hostilities. Accordingly they sent another summons to Philip, requiring his presence at Plymouth on the thirteenth day of September. At the same time they sent communications to the colonies of Massachusetts and Rhode Island, stating their complaints against Philip, and soliciting assistance in the approaching war. Philip, instead of obeying this summons, repaired to Massachusetts according to the terms of the treaty, to submit the difficulties to the gentlemen who had been umpires in the former council, and to them he entered his complaints against the people of Plymouth. The court in Massachusetts, having thus heard both sides, returned a communication to the people in Plymouth, assuming that there was at least equal blame on both sides. They proposed a general council on the 24th of September, to be held at Plymouth, where King Philip and delegates from the several colonies should meet to adjust all their differences. The council met at the time appointed. Many bitter complaints were entered by Philip and by the Plymouth people against each other. Yet each, knowing the power of the other, dreaded open war. A treaty of peace and friendship was drawn up, which was mutually subscribed. Two years then passed away without any decisive measures. Philip was very evidently making preparations for a great struggle. Squantum was now dead, but a Christian Indian, by the name of John Sasamon, acted as interpreter between the Indians and the English. He was apparently a good man, and very friendly to those from whom he had learned the principles of the Gospel. Ascertaining what was going on among his countrymen, Sasamon went to Plymouth and communicated his discovery to the Governor. He enjoined the strictest secrecy as to what he had communicated, assuring his English friends that, should the Indians learn that he had betrayed them, he would immediately be murdered. Philip by some means ascertained his treachery. By Indian law he was doomed to death, and it was the duty of any subject of Philip to kill him at the first opportunity. Early in the spring of 1675 Sasamon was suddenly missing. At length his body was found in Assawamsett pond in Middleborough. He had been executed according to the Indians' ideas of justice, and his body had been thrust down through a hole in the ice. Three Indians were arrested by the Plymouth people on suspicion of being his murderers, were tried, condemned, and hung. The hanging of three of Philip's prominent men because they were suspected of executing the time-honored laws of his people, exasperated King Philip to the highest degree. His headstrong young warriors all through the forest, reckless of danger, breathed vengeance and shouted the war-cry. The old warriors, deliberative and cautious, kindled their council fires, inflamed themselves with a recital of their wrongs, and then clashing their weapons, danced themselves into a frenzy of rage. But Philip was still anxious to postpone hostilities until he had more thoroughly united the scattered tribes who bowed in allegiance to his commanding mind. The aspect of affairs was now very threatening. The Governor of Massachusetts, who had condemned the course pursued by the Plymouth people, sent an embassador to King Philip to demand of him why he would make war upon the English, and to solicit a new treaty of friendship. The proud monarch of the forest replied to the embassador: "Your Governor is but a subject of King Charles of England. I shall not treat with a subject. I shall treat of peace only with the king, my brother. When he comes, I am ready." Philip now found it impossible longer to restrain the passions of his young men. The exasperation was so general that even the praying Indians joined the cause of Philip. The Indians sent their wives and children to the seclusion of the tribes more remote in the wilderness, and endeavored, by all possible annoyances, to provoke the whites to battle. They cherished the superstitious notion, which the English had probably taught them, that those who fired the first gun and shed the first blood would be conquered. On the 24th of June the Indians so provoked the people of Swansey by killing their cattle and other injuries, that they fired upon them, and an Indian was killed. This opened the drama of blood and woe. The signal was now given to sink, burn, and destroy. With amazing energy and with great strategic skill, the warriors of Philip, guided by his sagacity, plied their work of devastation. Swansey was speedily burned to the ground. Villages and farmhouses all along the frontier were soon in flames. The Indians were every where. People of the frontier towns, in consternation, sent runners to Plymouth and to Boston for assistance. In three hours after the arrival of the messenger |