PHILIP OF POKANOKET.
AN INDIAN MEMOIR.
As monumental bronze unchanged his look: A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook; Train'd from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive--fearing but the shame of fear-- stoic of the woods--a man without a tear. CAMPBELL.
IT is to be regretted that those early writers who treated of thediscovery and settlement of America have not given us more particularand candid accounts of the remarkable characters that flourished insavage life. The scanty anecdotes which have reached us are full ofpeculiarity and interest; they furnish us with nearer glimpses of humannature, and show what man is in a comparatively primitive state and whathe owes to civilization. There is something of the charm of discoveryin lighting upon these wild and unexplored tracts of human nature--inwitnessing, as it were, the native growth of moral sentiment, andperceiving those generous and romantic qualities which have beenartificially cultivated by society vegetating in spontaneous hardihoodand rude magnificence.
In civilized life, where the happiness, and indeed almost the existence,of man depends so much upon the opinion of his fellow-men, he isconstantly acting a studied part. The bold and peculiar traits of nativecharacter are refined away or softened down by the levelling influenceof what is termed good-breeding, and he practises so many pettydeceptions and affects so many generous sentiments for the purposesof popularity that it is difficult to distinguish his real from hisartificial character. The Indian, on the contrary, free from therestraints and refinements of polished life, and in a great degree asolitary and independent being, obeys the impulses of his inclinationor the dictates of his judgment; and thus the attributes of his nature,being freely indulged, grow singly great and striking. Society is likea lawn, where every roughness is smoothed, every bramble eradicated, andwhere the eye is delighted by the smiling verdure of a velvet surface;he, however, who would study Nature in its wildness and variety mustplunge into the forest, must explore the glen, must stem the torrent,and dare the precipice.
These reflections arose on casually looking through a volume of earlycolonial history wherein are recorded, with great bitterness, theoutrages of the Indians and their wars with the settlers New England.It is painful to perceive, even from these partial narratives, how thefootsteps of civilization may be traced in the blood of the aborigines;how easily the colonists were moved to hostility by the lust ofconquest; how merciless and exterminating was their warfare. Theimagination shrinks at the idea of how many intellectual beings werehunted from the earth, how many brave and noble hearts, of Nature'ssterling coinage, were broken down and trampled in the dust.
Such was the fate of PHILIP OF POKANOKET, an Indian warrior whose namewas once a terror throughout Massachusetts and Connecticut. He was themost distinguished of a number of contemporary sachems who reigned overthe Pequods, the Narragansetts, the Wampanoags, and the other easterntribes at the time of the first settlement of New England--a band ofnative untaught heroes who made the most generous struggle of whichhuman nature is capable, fighting to the last gasp in the cause of theircountry, without a hope of victory or a thought of renown. Worthy ofan age of poetry and fit subjects for local story and romantic fiction,they have left scarcely any authentic traces on the page of history, butstalk like gigantic shadows in the dim twilight of tradition.*
* While correcting the proof-sheets of this article the author is informed that a celebrated English poet has nearly finished an heroic poem on the story of Philip of Pokanoket.
When the Pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers are called by theirdescendants, first took refuge on the shores of the New World fromthe religious persecutions of the Old, their situation was to the lastdegree gloomy and disheartening. Few in number, and that number rapidlyperishing away through sickness and hardships, surrounded by a howlingwilderness and savage tribes, exposed to the rigors of an almost arcticwinter and the vicissitudes of an ever-shifting climate, their mindswere filled with doleful forebodings, and nothing preserved themfrom sinking into despondency but the strong excitement of religiousenthusiasm. In this forlorn situation they were visited by Massasoit,chief sagamore of the Wampanoags, a powerful chief who reigned overa great extent of country. Instead of taking advantage of the scantynumber of the strangers and expelling them from his territories, intowhich they had intruded, he seemed at once to conceive for them agenerous friendship, and extended towards them the rites of primitivehospitality. He came early in the spring to their settlement of NewPlymouth, attended by a mere handful of followers, entered into a solemnleague of peace and amity, sold them a portion of the soil, and promisedto secure for them the good-will of his savage allies. Whatever may besaid of Indian perfidy, it is certain that the integrity and goodfaith of Massasoit have never been impeached. He continued a firm andmagnanimous friend of the white men, suffering them to extend theirpossessions and to strengthen themselves in the land, and betraying nojealousy of their increasing power and prosperity. Shortly before hisdeath he came once more to New Plymouth with his son Alexander, forthe purpose of renewing the covenant of peace and of securing it to hisposterity.
At this conference he endeavored to protect the religion of hisforefathers from the encroaching zeal of the missionaries, andstipulated that no further attempt should be made to draw off his peoplefrom their ancient faith; but, finding the English obstinately opposedto any such condition, he mildly relinquished the demand. Almost thelast act of his life was to bring his two sons, Alexander and Philip(as they had been named by the English), to the residence of a principalsettler, recommending mutual kindness and confidence, and entreatingthat the same love and amity which had existed between the white men andhimself might be continued afterwards with his children. The good oldsachem died in peace, and was happily gathered to his fathers beforesorrow came upon his tribe; his children remained behind to experiencethe ingratitude of white men.
His eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him. He was of a quick andimpetuous temper, and proudly tenacious of his hereditary rights anddignity. The intrusive policy and dictatorial conduct of thestrangers excited his indignation, and he beheld with uneasiness theirexterminating wars with the neighboring tribes. He was doomed soon toincur their hostility, being accused of plotting with the Narragansettsto rise against the English and drive them from the land. It isimpossible to say whether this accusation was warranted by facts or wasgrounded on mere suspicions. It is evident, however, by the violent andoverbearing measures of the settlers that they had by this time begun tofeel conscious of the rapid increase of their power, and to grow harshand inconsiderate in their treatment of the natives. They despatchedan armed force to seize upon Alexander and to bring him before theircourts. He was traced to his woodland haunts, and surprised at ahunting-house where he was reposing with a band of his followers,unarmed, after the toils of the chase. The suddenness of his arrestand the outrage offered to his sovereign dignity so preyed upon theirascible feelings of this proud savage as to throw him into a ragingfever. He was permitted to return home on condition of sending his sonas a pledge for his re-appearance; but the blow he had received wasfatal, and before he reached his home he fell a victim to the agonies ofa wounded spirit.
The successor of Alexander was Metamocet, or King Philip, as he wascalled by the settlers on account of his lofty spirit and ambitioustemper. These, together with his well-known energy and enterprise, hadrendered him an object of great jealousy and apprehension, and he wasaccused of having always cherished a secret and implacable hostilitytowards the whites. Such may very probably and very naturally have beenthe case. He considered them as originally but mere intruders intothe country, who had presumed upon indulgence and were extendingan influence baneful to savage life. He saw the whole race of hiscountrymen melting before them from the face of the earth, theirterritories slipping from their hands, and their tribes becoming feeble,scattered, and dependent. It may be said that the soil wa
s originallypurchased by the settlers; but who does not know the nature of Indianpurchases in the early periods of colonization? The Europeans alwaysmade thrifty bargains through their superior adroitness in traffic, andthey gained vast accessions of territory by easily-provoked hostilities.An uncultivated savage is never a nice inquirer into the refinements oflaw by which an injury may be gradually and legally inflicted. Leadingfacts are all by which he judges; and it was enough for Philip to knowthat before the intrusion of the Europeans his countrymen were lords ofthe soil, and that now they were becoming vagabonds in the land of theirfathers.
But whatever may have been his feelings of general hostility and hisparticular indignation at the treatment of his brother, he suppressedthem for the present, renewed the contract with the settlers, andresided peaceably for many years at Pokanoket, or as, it was called bythe English, Mount Hope,* the ancient seat of dominion of his tribe.Suspicions, however, which were at first but vague and indefinite,began to acquire form and substance, and he was at length charged withattempting to instigate the various eastern tribes to rise at once, andby a simultaneous effort to throw off the yoke of their oppressors. Itis difficult at this distant period to assign the proper credit due tothese early accusations against the Indians. There was a proneness tosuspicion and an aptness to acts of violence on the part of the whitesthat gave weight and importance to every idle tale. Informers aboundedwhere tale-bearing met with countenance and reward, and the swordwas readily unsheathed when its success was certain and it carved outempire.
* Now Bristol, Rhode Island.
The only positive evidence on record against Philip is the accusationof one Sausaman, a renegado Indian, whose natural cunning had beenquickened by a partial education which he had received among thesettlers. He changed his faith and his allegiance two or three timeswith a facility that evinced the looseness of his principles. He hadacted for some time as Philip's confidential secretary and counsellor,and had enjoyed his bounty and protection. Finding, however, that theclouds of adversity were gathering round his patron, he abandoned hisservice and went over to the whites, and in order to gain their favorcharged his former benefactor with plotting against their safety. Arigorous investigation took place. Philip and several of his subjectssubmitted to be examined, but nothing was proved against them. Thesettlers, however, had now gone too far to retract; they had previouslydetermined that Philip was a dangerous neighbor; they had publiclyevinced their distrust, and had done enough to insure his hostility;according, therefore, to the usual mode of reasoning in these cases,his destruction had become necessary to their security. Sausaman, thetreacherous informer, was shortly afterwards found dead in a pond,having fallen a victim to the vengeance of his tribe. Three Indians,one of whom was a friend and counsellor of Philip, were apprehendedand tried, and on the testimony of one very questionable witness werecondemned and executed as murderers.
This treatment of his subjects and ignominious punishment of his friendoutraged the pride and exasperated the passions of Philip. The boltwhich had fallen thus at his very feet awakened him to the gatheringstorm, and he determined to trust himself no longer in the power of thewhite men. The fate of his insulted and broken-hearted brother stillrankled in his mind; and he had a further warning in the tragical storyof Miantonimo, a great Sachem of the Narragansetts, who, after manfullyfacing his accusers before a tribunal of the colonists, exculpatinghimself from a charge of conspiracy and receiving assurances of amity,had been perfidiously despatched at their instigation. Philip thereforegathered his fighting-men about him, persuaded all strangers thathe could to join his cause, sent the women and children to theNarragansetts for safety, and wherever he appeared was continuallysurrounded by armed warriors.
When the two parties were thus in a state of distrust and irritation,the least spark was sufficient to set them in a flame. The Indians,having weapons in their hands, grew mischievous and committed variouspetty depredations. In one of their maraudings a warrior was fired onand killed by a settler. This was the signal for open hostilities; theIndians pressed to revenge the death of their comrade, and the alarm ofwar resounded through the Plymouth colony.
In the early chronicles of these dark and melancholy times we meet withmany indications of the diseased state of the public mind. The gloomof religious abstraction and the wildness of their situation amongtrackless forests and savage tribes had disposed the colonists tosuperstitious fancies, and had filled their imaginations with thefrightful chimeras of witchcraft and spectrology. They were much givenalso to a belief in omens. The troubles with Philip and his Indianswere preceded, we are told, by a variety of those awful warnings whichforerun great and public calamities. The perfect form of an Indianbow appeared in the air at New Plymouth, which was looked upon by theinhabitants as a "prodigious apparition." At Hadley, Northampton, andother towns in their neighborhood "was heard the report of a great pieceof ordnance, with a shaking of the earth and a considerable echo."*Others were alarmed on a still sunshiny morning by the discharge of gunsand muskets; bullets seemed to whistle past them, and the noise ofdrums resounded in the air, seeming to pass away to the westward; othersfancied that they heard the galloping of horses over their heads; andcertain monstrous births which took place about the time filled thesuperstitious in some towns with doleful forebodings. Many of theseportentous sights and sounds may be ascribed to natural phenomena--tothe northern lights which occur vividly in those latitudes, the meteorswhich explode in the air, the casual rushing of a blast through the topbranches of the forest, the crash of fallen trees or disrupted rocks,and to those other uncouth sounds and echoes which will sometimesstrike the ear so strangely amidst the profound stillness of woodlandsolitudes. These may have startled some melancholy imaginations, mayhave been exaggerated by the love for the marvellous, and listenedto with that avidity with which we devour whatever is fearful andmysterious. The universal currency of these superstitious fancies andthe grave record made of them by one of the learned men of the day arestrongly characteristic of the times.
* The Rev. Increase Mather's History.
The nature of the contest that ensued was such as too oftendistinguishes the warfare between civilized men and savages. On the partof the whites it was conducted with superior skill and success, but witha wastefulness of the blood and a disregard of the natural rights oftheir antagonists: on the part of the Indians it was waged with thedesperation of men fearless of death, and who had nothing to expect frompeace but humiliation, dependence, and decay.
The events of the war are transmitted to us by a worthy clergyman of thetime, who dwells with horror and indignation on every hostile act of theIndians, however justifiable, whilst he mentions with applause the mostsanguinary atrocities of the whites. Philip is reviled as a murderer anda traitor, without considering that he was a true-born prince gallantlyfighting at the head of his subjects to avenge the wrongs of his family,to retrieve the tottering power of his line, and to deliver his nativeland from the oppression of usurping strangers.
The project of a wide and simultaneous revolt, if such had really beenformed, was worthy of a capacious mind, and had it not been prematurelydiscovered might have been overwhelming in its consequences. The warthat actually broke out was but a war of detail, a mere succession ofcasual exploits and unconnected enterprises. Still, it sets forth themilitary genius and daring prowess of Philip, and wherever, in theprejudiced and passionate narrations that have been given of it, wecan arrive at simple facts, we find him displaying a vigorous mind, afertility of expedients, a contempt of suffering and hardship, and anunconquerable resolution that command our sympathy and applause.
Driven from his paternal domains at Mount Hope, he threw himselfinto the depths of those vast and trackless forests that skirted thesettlements and were almost impervious to anything but a wild beastor an Indian. Here he gathered together his forces, like the stormaccumulating its stores of mischief in the bosom of the thundercloud,and would suddenly emerge at a time and place least expected, carryinghav
oc and dismay into the villages. There were now and then indicationsof these impending ravages that filled the minds of the colonists withawe and apprehension. The report of a distant gun would perhaps be heardfrom the solitary woodland, where there was known to be no white man;the cattle which had been wandering in the woods would sometimes returnhome wounded; or an Indian or two would be seen lurking about theskirts of the forests and suddenly disappearing, as the lightning willsometimes be seen playing silently about the edge of the cloud that isbrewing up the tempest.
Though sometimes pursued and even surrounded by the settlers, yet Philipas often escaped almost miraculously from their toils, and, plunginginto the wilderness, would be lost to all search or inquiry until heagain emerged at some far distant quarter, laying the country desolate.Among his strongholds were the great swamps or morasses which extendin some parts of New England, composed of loose bogs of deep blackmud, perplexed with thickets, brambles, rank weeds, the shattered andmouldering trunks of fallen trees, overshadowed by lugubrious hemlocks.The uncertain footing and the tangled mazes of these shaggy wildsrendered them almost impracticable to the white man, though the Indiancould thread their labyrinths with the agility of a deer. Into one ofthese, the great swamp of Pocasset Neck, was Philip once driven with aband of his followers. The English did not dare to pursue him, fearingto venture into these dark and frightful recesses, where they mightperish in fens and miry pits or be shot down by lurking foes. Theytherefore invested the entrance to the Neck, and began to build a fortwith the thought of starving out the foe; but Philip and his warriorswafted themselves on a raft over an arm of the sea in the dead of night,leaving the women and children behind, and escaped away to the westward,kindling the flames of war among the tribes of Massachusetts and theNipmuck country and threatening the colony of Connecticut.
In this way Philip became a theme of universal apprehension. The mysteryin which he was enveloped exaggerated his real terrors. He was an evilthat walked in darkness, whose coming none could foresee and againstwhich none knew when to be on the alert. The whole country abounded withrumors and alarms. Philip seemed almost possessed of ubiquity, for inwhatever part of the widely-extended frontier an irruption from theforest took place, Philip was said to be its leader. Many superstitiousnotions also were circulated concerning him. He was said to deal innecromancy, and to be attended by an old Indian witch or prophetess,whom he consulted and who assisted him by her charms and incantations.This, indeed, was frequently the case with Indian chiefs, either throughtheir own credulity or to act upon that of their followers; and theinfluence of the prophet and the dreamer over Indian superstition hasbeen fully evidenced in recent instances of savage warfare.
At the time that Philip effected his escape from Pocasset his fortuneswere in a desperate condition. His forces had been thinned by repeatedfights and he had lost almost the whole of his resources. In this timeof adversity he found a faithful friend in Canonchet, chief Sachem ofall the Narragansetts. He was the son and heir of Miantonimo, the greatsachem who, as already mentioned, after an honorable acquittal of thecharge of conspiracy, had been privately put to death at the perfidiousinstigations of the settlers. "He was the heir," says the oldchronicler, "of all his father's pride and insolence, as well as of hismalice towards the English;" he certainly was the heir of his insultsand injuries and the legitimate avenger of his murder. Though he hadforborne to take an active part in this hopeless war, yet he receivedPhilip and his broken forces with open arms and gave them the mostgenerous countenance and support. This at once drew upon him thehostility of the English, and it was determined to strike a signal blowthat should involve both the Sachems in one common ruin. A great forcewas therefore gathered together from Massachusetts, Plymouth, andConnecticut, and was sent into the Narragansett country in the depth ofwinter, when the swamps, being frozen and leafless, could be traversedwith comparative facility and would no longer afford dark andimpenetrable fastnesses to the Indians.
Apprehensive of attack, Canonchet had conveyed the greater part of hisstores, together with the old, the infirm, the women and children of histribe, to a strong fortress, where he and Philip had likewise drawnup the flower of their forces. This fortress, deemed by the Indiansimpregnable, was situated upon a rising mound or kind of island of fiveor six acres in the midst of a swamp; it was constructed with a degreeof judgment and skill vastly superior to what is usually displayed inIndian fortification, and indicative of the martial genius of these twochieftains.
Guided by a renegado Indian, the English penetrated, through Decembersnows, to this stronghold and came upon the garrison by surprise. Thefight was fierce and tumultuous. The assailants were repulsed in theirfirst attack, and several of their bravest officers were shot down inthe act of storming the fortress, sword in hand. The assault was renewedwith greater success. A lodgment was effected. The Indians were drivenfrom one post to another. They disputed their ground inch by inch,fighting with the fury of despair. Most of their veterans were cut topieces, and after a long and bloody battle, Philip and Canonchet, witha handful of surviving warriors, retreated from the fort and took refugein the thickets of the surrounding forest.
The victors set fire to the wigwams and the fort; the whole was soon ina blaze; many of the old men, the women, and the children perished inthe flames. This last outrage overcame even the stoicism of the savage.The neighboring woods resounded with the yells of rage and despairuttered by the fugitive warriors, as they beheld the destructionof their dwellings and heard the agonizing cries of their wives andoffspring. "The burning of the wigwams," says a contemporary writer,"the shrieks and cries of the women and children, and the yelling ofthe warriors, exhibited a most horrible and affecting scene, so that itgreatly moved some of the soldiers." The same writer cautiously adds,"They were in much doubt then, and afterwards seriously inquired,whether burning their enemies alive could be consistent with humanity,and the benevolent principles of the gospel."*
* MS. of the Rev. W. Ruggles.
The fate of the brave and generous Canonchet is worthy of particularmention: the last scene of his life is one of the noblest instances onrecord of Indian magnanimity.
Broken down in his power and resources by this signal defeat, yetfaithful to his ally and to the hapless cause which he had espoused, herejected all overtures of peace offered on condition of betraying Philipand his followers, and declared that "he would fight it out to thelast man, rather than become a servant to the English." His home beingdestroyed, his country harassed and laid waste by the incursions ofthe conquerors, he was obliged to wander away to the banks of theConnecticut, where he formed a rallying-point to the whole body ofwestern Indians and laid waste several of the English settlements.
Early in the spring he departed on a hazardous expedition, with onlythirty chosen men, to penetrate to Seaconck, in the vicinity of MountHope, and to procure seed corn to plant for the sustenance of histroops. This little hand of adventurers had passed safely through thePequod country, and were in the centre of the Narragansett, restingat some wigwams near Pautucket River, when an alarm was given of anapproaching enemy. Having but seven men by him at the time, Canonchetdespatched two of them to the top of a neighboring hill to bringintelligence of the foe.
Panic-struck by the appearance of a troop of English and Indians rapidlyadvancing, they fled in breathless terror past their chieftain, withoutstopping to inform him of the danger. Canonchet sent another scout,who did the same. He then sent two more, one of whom, hurrying backin confusion and affright, told him that the whole British army wasat hand. Canonchet saw there was no choice but immediate flight. Heattempted to escape round the hill, but was perceived and hotly pursuedby the hostile Indians and a few of the fleetest of the English. Findingthe swiftest pursuer close upon his heels, he threw off, first hisblanket, then his silver-laced coat and belt of peag, by which hisenemies knew him to be Canonchet and redoubled the eagerness of pursuit.
At length, in dashing through the river, his foot slipped upon a stone,and he
fell so deep as to wet his gun. This accident so struck him withdespair that, as he afterwards confessed, "his heart and his bowelsturned within him, and he became like a rotten stick, void of strength."
To such a degree was he unnerved that, being seized by a Pequod Indianwithin a short distance of the river, he made no resistance, thougha man of great vigor of body and boldness of heart. But on being madeprisoner the whole pride of his spirit arose within him, and from thatmoment we find, in the anecdotes given by his enemies, nothing butrepeated flashes of elevated and prince-like heroism. Being questionedby one of the English who first came up with him, and who had notattained his twenty second year, the proud-hearted warrior, lookingwith lofty contempt upon his youthful countenance, replied, "You are achild--you cannot understand matters of war; let your brother or yourchief come: him will I answer."
Though repeated offers were made to him of his life on condition ofsubmitting with his nation to the English, yet he rejected them withdisdain, and refused to send any proposals of the kind to the great bodyof his subjects, saying that he knew none of them would comply. Beingreproached with his breach of faith towards the whites, his boast thathe would not deliver up a Wampanoag nor the paring of a Wampanoag'snail, and his threat that he would burn the English alive in theirhouses, he disdained to justify himself, haughtily answering that otherswere as forward for the war as himself, and "he desired to hear no morethereof."
So noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a fidelity to his cause and hisfriend, might have touched the feelings of the generous and the brave;but Canonchet was an Indian, a being towards whom war had no courtesy,humanity no law, religion no compassion: he was condemned to die. Thelast words of his that are recorded are worthy the greatness of hissoul. When sentence of death was passed upon him, he observed "that heliked it well, for he should die before his heart was soft or he hadspoken anything unworthy of himself." His enemies gave him the death ofa soldier, for he was shot at Stoning ham by three young Sachems of hisown rank.
The defeat at the Narraganset fortress and the death of Canonchet werefatal blows to the fortunes of King Philip. He made an ineffectualattempt to raise a head of war by stirring up the Mohawks to take arms;but, though possessed of the native talents of a statesman, his artswere counteracted by the superior arts of his enlightened enemies, andthe terror of their warlike skill began to subdue the resolution of theneighboring tribes. The unfortunate chieftain saw himself daily strippedof power, and his ranks rapidly thinning around him. Some were subornedby the whites; others fell victims to hunger and fatigue and to thefrequent attacks by which they were harassed. His stores were allcaptured; his chosen friends were swept away from before his eyes; hisuncle was shot down by his side; his sister was carried into captivity;and in one of his narrow escapes he was compelled to leave his belovedwife and only son to the mercy of the enemy. "His ruin," says thehistorian, "being thus gradually carried on, his misery was notprevented, but augmented thereby; being himself made acquainted with thesense and experimental feeling of the captivity of his children, loss offriends, slaughter of his subjects, bereavement of all family relations,and being stripped of all outward comforts before his own life should betaken away."
To fill up the measure of his misfortunes, his own followers beganto plot against his life, that by sacrificing him they might purchasedishonorable safety. Through treachery a number of his faithfuladherents, the subjects of Wetamoe, an Indian princess of Pocasset, anear kinswoman and confederate of Philip, were betrayed into the handsof the enemy. Wetamoe was among them at the time, and attempted to makeher escape by crossing a neighboring river: either exhausted by swimmingor starved with cold and hunger, she was found dead and naked near thewater-side. But persecution ceased not at the grave. Even death, therefuge of the wretched, where the wicked commonly cease from troubling,was no protection to this outcast female, whose great crime wasaffectionate fidelity to her kinsman and her friend. Her corpse was theobject of unmanly and dastardly vengeance: the head was severed from thebody and set upon a pole, and was thus exposed at Taunton to the view ofher captive subjects. They immediately recognized the features of theirunfortunate queen, and were so affected at this barbarous spectaclethat we are told they broke forth into the "most horrid and diabolicallamentations."
However Philip had borne up against the complicated miseries andmisfortunes that surrounded him, the treachery of his followers seemedto wring his heart and reduce him to despondency. It is said that "henever rejoiced afterwards, nor had success in any of his designs." Thespring of hope was broken--the ardor of enterprise was extinguished; helooked around, and all was danger and darkness; there was no eye topity nor any arm that could bring deliverance. With a scanty bandof followers, who still remained true to his desperate fortunes, theunhappy Philip wandered back to the vicinity of Mount Hope, the ancientdwelling of his fathers. Here he lurked about like a spectre among thescenes of former power and prosperity, now bereft of home, of family,and of friend. There needs no better picture of his destitute andpiteous situation than that furnished by the homely pen of thechronicler, who is unwarily enlisting the feelings of the reader infavor of the hapless warrior whom he reviles. "Philip," he says, "like asavage wild beast, having been hunted by the English forces through thewoods above a hundred miles backward and forward, at last was driven tohis own den upon Mount Hope, where he retired, with a few of his bestfriends, into a swamp, which proved but a prison to keep him fast tillthe messengers of death came by divine permission to execute vengeanceupon him."
Even in this last refuge of desperation and despair a sullen grandeurgathers round his memory. We picture him to ourselves seated among hiscare-worn followers, brooding in silence over his blasted fortunes, andacquiring a savage sublimity from the wildness and dreariness of hislurking-place. Defeated, but not dismayed--crushed to the earth, butnot humiliated--he seemed to grow more haughty beneath disaster, andto experience a fierce satisfaction in draining the last dregs ofbitterness. Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune, but greatminds rise above it. The very idea of submission awakened the furyof Philip, and he smote to death one of his followers who proposed anexpedient of peace. The brother of the victim made his escape, and inrevenge betrayed the retreat of his chieftain, A body of white menand Indians were immediately despatched to the swamp where Philip laycrouched, glaring with fury and despair. Before he was aware of theirapproach they had begun to surround him. In a little while he saw fiveof his trustiest followers laid dead at his feet; all resistance wasvain; he rushed forth from his covert, and made a headlong attempt toescape, but was shot through the heart by a renegado Indian of his ownnation.
Such is the scanty story of the brave but unfortunate King Philip,persecuted while living, slandered and dishonored when dead. If,however, we consider even the prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by hisenemies, we may perceive in them traces of amiable and lofty charactersufficient to awaken sympathy for his fate and respect for his memory.We find that amidst all the harassing cares and ferocious passions ofconstant warfare he was alive to the softer feelings of connubial loveand paternal tenderness and to the generous sentiment of friendship.The captivity of his "beloved wife and only son" are mentioned withexultation as causing him poignant misery: the death of any near friendis triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his sensibilities; but thetreachery and desertion of many of his followers, in whose affections hehad confided, is said to have desolated his heart and to have bereavedhim of all further comfort. He was a patriot attached to his nativesoil--a prince true to his subjects and indignant of their wrongs--asoldier daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, ofhunger, of every variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish inthe cause he had espoused. Proud of heart and with an untamable loveof natural liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of theforests or in the dismal and famished recesses of swamps and morasses,rather than bow his haughty spirit to submission and live dependentand despised in the ease and luxury of the settlements. With heroicqualitie
s and bold achievements that would have graced a civilizedwarrior, and have rendered him the theme of the poet and the historian,he lived a wanderer and a fugitive in his native land, and went down,like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness and tempest, without apitying eye to weep his fall or a friendly hand to record his struggle.