Autumn and Winter Campaigns

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 incanted 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' 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 barbarians victors amused them selves 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 lot 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 headquarters 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 Indiana had planted themselves in ambuscade. It was a serene and beautiful autumnal day. Grapevines festooned the gigantic trees of the forest, and purple dusters, 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 aid 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 headquarters 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 tile 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 pent 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.

2nd. 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 aid 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 smoldering 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 everywhere, 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 bad 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 everywhere 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 Bumbling 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 headquarters. 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 entrenched, 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 footpath 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 entrenchment; 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 with 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 reconnoiter or for those in the rear to come up, the Massachusetts troops, who were in the wan, 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.

CAPTURE OF THE INDIAN FORTRESS.

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.

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 entrenched 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 headquarters 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.