in Boston, one hundred and twenty men were water did not allow the sloop to approach the on the march for the rescue. Day and night shore. He sent, therefore, a small canoe which they pressed forward toward Mount Hope to at- could take off but two men at a time. The emtack King Philip in the very heart of his do- barkation immediately commenced. The Enminions. The English moved with such prompt-glish, very skillful in the use of the musket, still ness, pressing into their service all whom they kept their innumerable foes at bay. It was met as they advanced, that King Philip was sure death for any Indian to step from behind taken quite at unawares. He was dining with his rampart. The heroic Church was the last a small band of his warriors when the English to embark. As he was retreating backward, made their appearance. Philip and his party boldly facing his foes, a ball passed through the fled into the wilderness. The English vigor- hair of his head, two others struck the canoe as ously pursued them, and shot down sixteen of he entered it, and a fourth buried itself in a their number. stake which accidentally stood just before the middle of his breast.

A more harassing and merciless warfare than now ensued imagination can hardly conceive. The English, conscious of the intellectual The Indians seldom presented themselves in power of Philip, devoted their main energies for large numbers, never gathered for a decisive his capture dead or alive. Large rewards were action; but dividing into innumerable prowling offered for his head. The savage monarch had bands, with numbers varying from twenty or retired with a large party of his Wampanoag thirty to two or three thousand, they attacked warriors to an almost impenetrable swamp adthe lonely farm-house, the small and distant jacent to Taunton River. The English, ascersettlements, and often, in terrific midnight on-taining his retreat, immediately assembled forces set, plunged with torch and tomahawk into the large towns.

Captain Benjamin Church, with thirty-six men, was attacked on the 8th of July, in the southern extremity of Tiverton, by a body of three hundred Indians. The English retreated to the sea-shore. The ground, fortunately, was very stony, and every man immediately threw up before him a pile of stones for a breast-work. Behind these ramparts for six hours they 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 English was exhausted and night was coming on, Captain Golding, a heroic man, crossed the wide bay in a sloop from Bristol, and came to their relief. The shoal

sufficient to surround the swamp. They now felt sure of their foe. Philip, with the cunning characteristic of his race, sent a few of his warriors to the edge of the swamp to show themselves. The English rushed upon them, and in the ardor of their pursuit, forgot their accustomed prudence. Suddenly, from the dense thicket, a party of warriors in ambush poured in upon the pursuers a volley before which fifteen of their number fell dead. The survivors precipitately retreated from the swamp. The English, taught a lesson of caution by this misadventure, now resolved to guard every avenue of escape from the swamp. For thirteen days and nights they vigilantly continued their watch. In the mean time Philip, in the recesses of his hiding-place, constructed canoes, and seizing a

favorable opportunity, passed his whole force across the Taunton River, and retreated through the wilderness to invigorate and direct his allies on the shores of the Connecticut. Philip was now in the rear of all his foes, with the boundless wilderness behind him for refuge, and with the opportunity of selecting at leisure his points of attack.

Un

the open air, exposed to the bleak wintry wind, which, though it fanned their fires, pierced with an icy chill their unprotected frames. The ground, upon which they threw themselves shelterless for sleep, was covered with snow. expected delays in their march had consumed their provisions, and they were now half-famished. Their cheerless supper utterly exhausted their stores. Their situation seemed quite desperate, and but for the treachery of one of the Narraganset Indians, who betrayed his countrymen, probably the whole English army would have been annihilated, and then every English

Through the whole summer blood flowed in torrents. The Indians were every where victorious. They had immensely the advantage in this terrible warfare, for they were entirely at home in the wilderness, and were also as familiar with the settlements as were the colonists them-settlement would have been swept away by an selves. Like packs of wolves they came howl- inundation of blood and flame. ing from the wilderness, and, leaving blood and smouldering ruins behind, howling they disappeared. At last the storms of winter came, and, though there was a slight respite from attack, terror reigned every where.

The English knew nothing of the swamp, of its approaches, or of its formidable defenses. Anarrow and intricate footpath, winding through the marsh, led to the Island. The miry bogin which assailants would sink to the waist, and in which in places the water was collected into wide and deep ditches-surrounded the encampThere was but one point of entrance, and this was by a tree which had been felled across the deep and stagnant water which at that place prevented any other approach. A block-house, at whose port-holes many sharpshooters 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 the slender stem, exposed, every step of the way, to the rifles of the Indians. Ramparts had also been thrown up to flank the narrow entrance. High palisades surrounded the whole island, and a hedge of fallen trees, a rod in thickness, and with the intertwined branches rising many feet in the air, effectually protected the besieged from any sudden rush of their foes.

Philip had retired with his warriors to an immense swamp in the region now incorporated into the town of South Kingston, in Rhode Isl-ment. and. Here he had built five hundred wigwams of unusually solid and durable construction, and with much sagacity had fortified every avenue to his retreat. In this strong encampment, in friendly alliance with the Narragansets, he was maturing his plans for a terrible assault upon all the English settlements in the spring. Three thousand persons were assembled in this Indian fortress. They were amply supplied with provisions. Hollow trees, cut off about the length of a barrel, were filled with corn, and these, piled one above another, were ranged around the inside of the wigwams, so as to render them bullet-proof.

In the interior of the swamp, where the encampment was established, there were three or four acres of dry land, called the Island, a few feet higher than the surrounding marsh. The English were apprised, through friendly Indians, of the terrible peril which menaced them.

In December, 1675, the united army of the three colonies commenced its march to attack the foe. The result of the conflict was by no means certain. The Indians were well provided with powder, guns, and ball. They were excellent marksmen. They had chosen a position in itself almost impregnable, and with much skill had thrown up ramparts which defended every approach. An almost impenetrable forest, tangled with every species of undergrowth, presented the most favorable opportunity for all the stratagems of Indian warfare. The English, struggling through the swamp in advancing to meet their foes, would be every where exposed to the bullets of unseen antagonists.

The approaches to the Malakoff and the Redan were not attended with greater peril. There is no incident recorded in the annals of war which testifies to higher bravery than that which our forefathers displayed on this occasion. Boldly the English plunged into the swamp. Being fully acquainted with all the modes of Indian warfare, they forced their way along until they arrived at the fort. Both parties fought with the utmost determination. Several times, as the English endeavored to rush along the tree into the fort, they were swept off to a man by the bullets of the Indians. For four hours the battle raged with undiminished fury. Upon the slender and fatal avenue six captains and a large number of privates were soon slain. The assaulting party, in dismay, were beginning to recoil before certain death, when, by some unexplained means, a few English soldiers crossed the ditch at another place, clambered through the trees, and over the palisades, and with great shoutings assailed the defenders of the one narrow avenue in the rear.

On the 18th of December, after a long and suffering march, the English were encamped about eighteen miles from the fortress of the Indians. Philip, through his runners, had kept himself informed of their daily progress, The Indians, in their consternation, were for and was ready to receive them. The morning a moment bewildered. The English, availing of the 19th dawned cold and gloomy. The themselves of the panic, rushed across the tree, English, without tents, had passed the night in and got possession of the breast-work which com

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.

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 gentleThe Pilgrims also, overawed by their lonely man. In what school of Chesterfieldian politeposition, and by the mysterious terrors of the ness these sons of the forest acquired their high wilderness and of the savage, deemed it impru- breeding and lofty bearing is yet a mystery. dent to send any of their force from behind the Though the mass of the Indians were low, deintrenchments which they had reared. After graded, and vulgar men, many of the Indian various messages had gone to and fro, through chieftains, in every word and gesture, were gentheir interpreter, Massasoit, who, though unlet-tlemen of the highest stamp. In the banquettered, 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,

ing 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