manded the entrance. Soon the whole army were within the intrenchments. The interior was an Indian village of five hundred wigwams, crowded with women and children. Here an awful scene of carnage ensued. The savage warriors, shrieking the war-cry, fled from wigwam to wigwam, and selling their lives as dearly as possible. The snow which covered the ground was soon crimsoned with blood, and strewed with the gory bodies of the slain. Every wigwam was soon in flames. Many women and children had sought refuge in them-"no man knoweth how many," says a writer of that day-and perished miserably in the wasting conflagration. At last Philip, with his surviving warriors, leaped the barricades, and fled into the recesses of the swamp. In this terrible conflict, which lasted for about four hours, eighty of the English were slain, and one hundred and fifty wounded, many of whom afterward died. Seven hundred of the Indian warriors were slain outright, three hundred more subsequently died of their wounds. The English were now masters of the fort. But the whole inclosure was covered with mangled corpses, and the roaring, crackling flames were consuming every thing. Corn had been stored in the wigwams, in great abundance, but it was all consumed. The vanquished foe, though driven from the fort, still continued the fight, and from the trees of the swamp kept up for some time a deadly fire upon their victors. Many of the English fell, while shouting victory, before these bullets. ages, who were filling the swamp with their howlings, to direct their unerring aim. It was greatly to be apprehended that in the night the Indians would make another onset to regain their lost ground. Prowling from hummock to hummock behind the trees in the almost impassable bog, they could, through the night, keep up a very harassing fire. It was another conquest of Moscow. In the hour of the most exultant victory the victors saw before them a vista but of terrible disasters. A precipitate retreat from the swamp was decided to be necessary. The English had marched in the morning, almost 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 with Herculean energies to struggle against sheltered 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, dragging after them one hundred and fifty of their bleeding, dying companions. The horrors of that retreat can never be told. They are hardly surpassed by the scenes at Borodino. There was no place of safety for them until they should arrive at their head-quarters of the preceding night, eighteen miles distant. The wind moaned through the tree-tops of the swamp, and the keen blast swept over the bleak and frozen plains as the exhausted troops toiled along. 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 hurried along, shrieked aloud in their agony. It was long after midnight before they reached their encampment upon the But night was now darkening over this dismal swamp a cold, stormy winter's night. The whole encampment was blazing like a furnace, and the conflagration was sweeping away all the defenses which had protected the Indians, and at the same time was affording light to the sav-shores of the bay. VOL. XV.-No. 85.-C The storm increased in fury, and, raging all | as a slave, and was compelled to perform all the night and the ensuing day, covered the ground menial service of a slave, still in other respects with such a depth of snow that the army was she was treated with kindness. It is a remarkunable to move for several weeks in any direc-able fact that during these wars the person of tion. But on that very morning, freezing and no woman was treated by the Indians with intempestuous, when despair had seized upon ev- decorum. Mrs. Rowlandson was purchased of ery heart, a vessel laden with provisions, strug- her captors as a slave, by Quinnipin, an illusgling against the storm, entered the bay. Rap- trious sachem of the Narragansets, who had marture succeeded despair, and hymns of thanks-ried, for one of his three wives, Wetamoo, the giving resounded through the dim aisles of the forest. In the early spring the Indians resumed hostilities with accumulated fury. On the 10th of February, 1676, they burst from the forest upon the beautiful settlement of Lancaster. In a few moments nearly the whole town was in flames. Rev. Mr. Rowlandson, pastor of the church, had gone to Boston to seek assistance. He had taken the precaution before he left to convert his home into a bullet-proof fortress, and had garrisoned it for the protection of his family. widow of Alexander, and sister of Wootonekanuske, the wife of Philip. Mrs. Rowlandson thus became the dressing-maid of Wetamoo. The haughty Indian princess, exulting in the services of the wife of an English clergyman as her slave, assumed many airs. "A severe and proud dame she was," writes Mrs. Rowlandson; "bestowing every day in dressing herself near as much time as any of the gentry of the land, powdering her hair and painting her face, going with her necklaces, with jewels in her ears, and bracelets upon her hands. When she had dressed herself, her work was to make wampum and beads." The Indians, however, after many endeavors, succeeded in setting the building on fire, and Mrs. Rowlandson, during her captivity, often the inmates, forty-two in number, had before saw Pometacom. Her narrative represents him them only the cruel alternative of perishing in as a man of serious deportment, sagacious and the flames or of surrendering. The merciless humane. She was taken across the Connecticonflagration, enveloping the building in billows cut in a canoe, and was greatly terrified in seeof fire, drove them from their shelter. The ing such a vast throng of Indians upon the opmen fell speedily before the bullet and the tom-posite bank. The Indians witnessed her terror, ahawk of the savages. Twenty women and and assured her that she should not be harmed. children were taken prisoners and carried captive into the wilderness. Mrs. Rowlandson, the wife of the pastor, and all her children were of the number. This lady, who, with all her children, except one who died of a wound, was subsequently ransomed, has written a very interesting account of her captivity. She was a prisoner in their hands for five months, and though she was held "When I was in the canoe," she writes, "I could not but be amazed at the numerous crew of pagans that were on the bank on the other side. Then came one of them and gave me two spoonfuls of meal to comfort me, and another gave me half a pint of peas, which was worth more than many bushels at another time. Then I went to see King Philip. He bade me come and sit down, and asked me whether I would smoke-a usual compliment nowadays among the saints and sinners. But this no way suited me." The Indians had a great dance to commemorate the signal victory at Lancaster. It was a barbarian cotillion, danced by eight persons in the presence of admiring thousands. The performers were four chiefs and four high-born Indian beauties. In this dance, Quinnipin, who led the attack upon Lancaster, and Wetamoo, who had become his bride, were conspicuous. Mrs. Rowlandson thus describes the dress which her Indian mistress wore upon this occasion: "She had a kersey coat covered with girdles of wampum from the loins upward. Her arms, from her elbows to her hands, were covered with bracelets. There were handfuls of necklaces about her neck, and several sort of jewels in her ears. She had fine red stockings and white shoes, and her hair powdered, and her face painted red." The terrible war continued to rage with unabated fury, and through the whole summer blood and woe held high carnival. The fate of these North American colonies trembled in the balance. A party of Indians, elated with success, marched stealthily through the forest, and rushed, three hundred strong, upon the town of Marlborough. A few hours of terror and of blood ensued, and the town was in ashes. They then advanced to Sudbury. The inhabitants, warned of their approach, abandoned their homes and took refuge in their garrison. They soon saw the savages dancing exultingly around their blazing dwellings. But through the loop-holes of their block-house they fought fiercely, shooting many of their foes. Some of the people of the neighboring towns, hearing of the peril of friends in Sudbury, hastily gath ered a band and hurried to their relief. A few Indians went out to meet them, affected a panic, and fled. The English unwarily pursued, and were thus led into ambush, where they found themselves surrounded on all sides. The heroic band, consisting of but eleven, fought with the utmost desperation, but a storm of bullets fell upon them from hundreds of unseen foes, and all but one were killed. The Indians then, despairing of taking the garrison, with yells of triumph and defiance, retired. Like wolves they had come rushing from the forest, and like wolves they again disappeared in their remote lairs. A As a party of three hundred warriors were on their march toward Plymouth, a company of English soldiers from Marlborough, informed of their place of encampment, fell upon them at midnight and shot forty of the number. few days after this the Indians drew a party of eleven soldiers into an ambush, and shot every one. A party of eighty soldiers were hurrying to the scene of these depredations. Five hundred Indians, informed of their approach, hid themselves in ambush in the thicket behind the hills, but a short distance from Sudbury. They concealed themselves so effectually with green leaves and branches that the English did not suspect the presence of a foe until they received into their bosoms a volley well aimed from five hundred guns. Those who survived the first discharge sprang to the covert of the trees, and for four hours maintained a desperate fight. One hundred and fifty Indians had now fallen, pierced by the bullets of their antagonists. The wind blew a gale, directly in the face of the English. The leaves and the underbrush of the forest were dry and crackling. Shrewdly the Indians, who were at the windward, set the forest on fire. Billows of flame and smoke were. Still, with indomitable energy, he prose swept down upon the English. Blinded, smoth- | ebb. ered, and scorched, they were compelled to flee cuted the war, apparently resolved never to from their coverts, and were thus exposed to the yield, and to struggle to the last. A few warbullets of their foes. All perished but twenty. riors, still faithful to him, followed all his forThese few fortunately escaped to a mill, where tunes. His camp was at Matapoiset. The Enthey defended themselves until succor arrived.glish, with their Indian allies, attacked him, and These successes wonderfully elated the In- drove him across the Taunton River into the dians. woods of Pocasset. In the autumn, suddenly the tide of victory seemed to turn in favor of the English. Those who recognize an overruling Providence will gratefully acknowledge in these occurrences the interposition of a power superior to that of man. But for such interposition we see not how these scattered settlements could have been rescued from total destruction. tress. The Massachusetts tribes, for some unknown reason, became alienated from Philip, and bitterly reproached him with involving them in wars which had brought upon them great disThe Mohawks, instead of yielding to the solicitations of Pometacom, joined in fierce battle against him. They believed, whether correctly or incorrectly it is impossible now to know, that Philip had caused several of the warriors of their tribe to be killed, intending to convince the Mohawks that the murders were perpetrated by the English. Whether this representation be true or false, it is certain that the Mohawks in the vicinity of Albany attacked Philip, killed several of his warriors, and took others captive. And then many of these northern Indians went to Plymouth and entered into an alliance with the English. The Indians in the vicinity of the colonies, driven from their cornfields and fishing grounds, were in a state of famine. At the same time a fearful pestilence broke out among them, which swept through all their wigwams. The affairs of Philip were now at a very low Early in August Captain Church, the General Putnam of those Indian wars, surprised Philip in his retreat, shot one hundred and thirty of his people, and took captive the wife and the son of the chieftain. This last blow broke the heart of Philip. We blush to record that these illustrious captives were sold into slavery, and this is the last which is known of their doom. Dejected, disheartened, but unyielding, the bereaved husband and father retired to his ancestral court at Pokanoket, or Mount Hope. The English surrounded him so that all retreat was cut off. The heroic Captain Church now arranged his men to hunt the still indomitable chieftain like a wolf in his lair. One after another of the Indian warriors fell into the hands of the English, but still Pometacom eluded capture. It was much feared that he would again escape, and by his diplomatic sagacity again rouse and combine the distant tribes. Some Indian prisoners who were taken on the 2d of August, with their accustomed readiness to betray their brethren, informed Captain Church that Pometacom, with a small but determined band, was encamped at but a short distance in the forest. It was now dark night. There were no paths through the miry and tangled wilderness. Captain Church, apprehensive of an ambush, did not venture to kindle a fire or to speak in a loud voice. All his men sat as quiet and immovable as the stumps around them until the dawn of the morning. As soon as the first ray of light appeared in the east, he sent two scouts to creep cautiously along and endeavor to spy out the position of the foe. Pometacom, no less wary, had at the same moment dispatched two Indians to report the movements of his formidable adversaries. The respective spies reported almost at the same moment to the two parties. Philip had not been aware that his enemies were so near to him. His warriors had kindled their fires for their morning meal. Their kettles were boiling, and their meat was roasting on their wooden spits. Their scouts had but just reported the appalling vicinity of the foe when Church and his men, discharging a shower of bullets upon the surprised Indians, burst upon them from the forest with infuriate cries. Several of the Indians fell before the murderous discharge. The rest, thus taken by surprise, seized their guns and plunged into the recesses of the swamp. The extraordinary sagacity and caution of Pometacom is evinced by the fact that he was prepared even for such a surprise as this. He had stationed a portion of his warriors in ambush in the immediate vicinity, that he might in his flight draw the pursuing English into a fatal snare. But Pometacom had a foe to encounter who was as wary as himself. When the Indian chieftain and the English captain met it was Greek meeting Greek. Captain Church avoided the ambush, and a long and random fight ensued, the Indians retreating from tree to tree, while the swamp resounded with the incessant musketry. Cunning as the Indians were, the English were still more wary and skillful. In three days Pometacom had now lost one hundred and seventy-three warriors, either slain or taken captive. The One of the Indian warriors now ventured to urge Pometacom to make peace with the English. The haughty monarch immediately put the man to death, as a punishment for his temerity, and as a warning to others. brother of this man, indignant at such severity, and apprehensive of a similar fate, immediately deserted to the English, and offered to guide Captain Church through the swamp to the retreat of Pometacom. Guided by this Indian, whose name was Alderman, early on Saturday morning, August 12th, Captain Church came to the encampment of the chieftain, and secretly stationed men at all of its outlets. It was in the early gray of the morning; and the despairing fugitive, exhausted by days and nights of the most harassing flight and fighting, was soundly asleep. The few warriors still faithful to him, equally exhausted, were dozing at his side. Captain Church, when his men were stationed so as to cut off all retreat, sent a small party, under Captain Goulden, to creep cautiously within musket-shot of their sleeping foes, discharge a volley of bullets upon them, and then rush into the camp. The dreams of Philip were disturbed by the crash of musketry, the whistling of bullets, and the shout and the rush of his foes. He leaped from his couch of dry leaves, and, like a deer, bounded from hummock to hummock in the swamp. An Englishman and the Indian deserter, Alderman, were placed behind a large tree, with their guns cocked and primed, directly in the line of his flight. The Englishman took deliberate aim at the chief, who was but a few yards distant, and sprung his lock. The night dews of the swamp had moistened his powder, and the gun missed fire. The life of Pometacom was thus prolonged for half a minute. Alderman then |