King Philip: Narragansets and Massachusetts

A terrible scene occurred at Lancaster. Forty-two persons took shelter in the house of Mary Rowlandson. It was set on fire by the Indians. "Quickly," wrote Mrs. Rowlandson in her narrative, "it was the dolefullest day that ever mine eyes saw. Now the dreadful hour is come. Some in our house were fighting for their lives; others wallowing in blood; the house on fire over our heads, and the bloody heathen ready to knock us on the head if we stirred out. I took my children to go forth; but the Indians shot so thick that the bullets rattled against the house as if one had thrown a handful of stones. We had six stout dogs, but none of them would stir." A bullet went through Mrs. Rowlandson's side, and another through a child in her arms, and she was made captive, having of her family only one poor wounded babe left. "Down I must sit in the snow," she continued, "with my sick child, the picture of death, in my lap. Not the least crumb of refreshing came within our mouths from Wednesday night until Saturday night, except a little cold water."

Quarrels among themselves soon weakened the power of the Indians. The Nipmucs and the Narragansets charged their misfortunes to the ambition of Philip. The alliance was dissolved. The eastern Indians hastened to their mountain fastnesses. Many who had been in arms surrendered to avoid starvation. Others marched off to Canada and joined some of the tribes there; and Captain Benjamin Church, the most famous Indian fighter of his day, hunted and slew all the hostile red-men he could find. Between two and three thousand of them perished or submitted in the course of the year 1676, and the proud Narragansets, to whom other tribes had paid homage, were reduced to a hundred bowmen. Like the Pequods, they were utterly ruined.

Philip eluded his pursuers for several months, hiding in many places, with a resolution to never surrender. He had a handful of faithful followers, but he cleaved the head of one of these friends with his hatchet, because he counselled submission. At last circumstances conquered his pride and his will. He returned secretly to Mount Hope. His wife and son were soon afterward made captive, when the "last of the Wampanoags" bowed beneath this crushing misfortune, and said: "Now my heart breaks; I am ready to die." Captain Church was then close upon his track; and a few days afterward, a faithless Indian shot him in a swamp. Church cut off the dead king's head with his sword, and it was borne upon a pole into Plymouth while hymns of thanksgiving were sung by the people. The ghastly trophy was placed upon the palisades; and the people slept that night with a sense of security which they had not felt for years.

The disposition of Philip's little son--the heir to the throne of Massasoit--was a subject of grave debate. Some of the elders proposed putting him to death. Others suggested selling him as a slave. The most profitable measure appeared to be the most merciful, and the boy was sold to be a bond-slave in Bermuda. So perished the dynasty of the good Massasoit, and so ended the famous King Philip's War. The Mohegans, who held sway in Connecticut, were firm friends of the English, and not a drop of blood was shed in that colony during the war. The other colonies had suffered dreadfully. More than six hundred men, chiefly young, had fallen in the struggle. Thirteen villages had been destroyed. A large number of women and children had been murdered or carried into captivity. Full six hundred houses were burned, and the cost of the expenditures and the losses equalled in value half a million dollars. The war was carried on a little longer by the Eastern Indians, for they drew supplies from the French in Acadie. Finally, in 1678, hostilities were ended by a treaty.

While Massachusetts was feeling the heavy losses of her sons and treasure, the English government attempted to carry out a long-cherished desire of the king to resume the control of the colony. The Privy Council sent Edward Randolph, a greedy adventurer and faithful servant of his royal master, to collect the customs at Boston, to exercise other authority as the agent of the crown, and to spy out the strength and weakness of the people. Randolph excited the cupidity, fears and jealousy of the king and his court, by exaggerating the number of the population, wealth, power and independence of the colony; and, being rejected by the authorities of Massachusetts, his wrath gave vehemence to his assertions. The governor (Leverett) was firm in his opposition to Randolph's pretensions. "The king," he said, "can in reason do no less than let us enjoy our liberties and trade, for we have made this large plantation in the wilderness at our own charge, without any contribution from the crown." Because of this spirit of independence, the people were reproached. "You are poor," said the Earl of Anglesey, "and yet proud."