Famous Indian Chiefs / Their Battles, Treaties, Sieges, and Struggles with the Whites for the Possession of America

by Charles H. L. Johnston

At daybreak, he and his men were seen by various farmers as they passed through the open country which lay between them and the land of the Nipmucks. At Rehoboth, the settlers, reinforced by some fifty Mohegan warriors, attacked him without serious loss to the whites, although thirty of King Philip's men were soon weltering in their own blood. The Wampanoag Chief was fighting for his life, and he fought well, urging on his hardy braves by word and gesture, and animating them to deeds of daring by exposing himself freely upon the firing line. The whites and friendly Indians were unable to capture his devoted band and soon they were lost in the thick forest, into the gloomy depths of which the attackers dared not follow.

In a short time Philip was among the friendly Nipmucks, uncaught, unawed by the show of English force, and bent upon forcing the fighting to the extent of his ability. About a fortnight before his escape from Pocasset swamp, as the good minister in the First Parish Church in Boston was delivering his sermon, a courier rushed into the building, with the startling information that the little town of Mendon had been attacked, and that about six of the inhabitants had been slain. The congregation left the place of worship in the greatest alarm, for they now saw that all the Indians in Massachusetts had risen against them, and that, if a treaty of peace were not soon effected, a large army would have to be sent against the savages. So a Captain Hutchinson, escorted by a Captain Wheeler, with twenty horsemen, was sent towards the Indian settlement, with directions to patch up a peace. The messenger, travelling in advance, requested the Indians to meet the English at a certain spot, and this the Indians agreed to do, but when Hutchinson and his men arrived there, not a red warrior was to be seen.

The good Hutchinson was well known in these parts, as he had a large farm near by, where he employed many of the Indians in the fields, and so, hardly thinking that they could be attacked, the men went carelessly through the forest, whistling, laughing and singing songs of gayety and mirth. But suddenly a shot sounded from the gloomy depths of the wood; another and another followed; while blood-curdling yells showed that the Indians were near by, and had ambuscaded the unthinking white troops. They were thrown into terrible confusion. After a short stand they retreated as fast as possible, taking aim at the unseen enemy from the tree stumps and fallen timber, but, as the little band emerged from the shadow of the trees, eight of their number fell dead and a dozen were wounded. Wheeler was shot clean through the body and his horse was killed underneath him, while brave Hutchinson was so badly injured that he died shortly afterwards. Thus, defeated and dismayed, the troops retreated to Brookfield, under the guidance of two friendly Praying Indians, who knew every inch of the country, and, under their direction, they took a bypath which led them in the rear of a large force of redskins who had closed in on their rear, during the skirmish in the forest, thus hoping to annihilate them. When the disorganized band reached the town (a settlement of twenty houses) they took refuge in the Inn, the strongest house in the place and there they were immediately joined by all the inhabitants.

Two messengers were now dispatched on horseback to hasten to the nearest settlements for aid, but, as they reached the edge of the town clearing, shots rang out from the underbrush, yells of defiance told them that the Nipmucks were advancing, and so they returned, at full speed, to join their friends. That evening, one of these was peering out of a garret window, when a bullet from the watchful enemy struck him in the forehead and caused instant death, thus warning the defenders of the Inn that an attempt to escape would be fruitless, and that they must now fight to the last ditch. There were twenty-six fighting Puritans in the fortified dwelling, the women and children were in one room; the wounded in another. Outside, the Indians kept up a continual yelling and shouting as they poured volley after volley of shot, which came against the walls like hail. They set fire to the deserted dwellings of the town and the crackling flames and black smoke warned the inhabitants of Brookfield that their homes would be no longer standing at the end of this unequal battle. The fate that was to befall them was evident, for one rash man, venturing out of the Inn to run to his father's house not far away, was caught by the cruel redskins, his head was cut off and, after kicking it about like a football, it was placed upon a pole and set up in full view of the surrounded Englishmen, with fierce yells and cheers of defiance from the red demons who had killed him.

In the night the savages roared like so many bulls, sang weird songs of war, and fired against the walls of the Inn until three o'clock in the morning, when they attempted to set fire to the house by means of hay and other combustibles which they brought to one corner and touched off with a firebrand. But the brave white men dashed out into the open under a murderous fire from the Indians, which wounded only two, and with great exertion put out the blaze before the Inn itself had ignited. Meanwhile, one Ephraim Curtis, a swiftfooted youth, crawled by the savages in the early gray of the morning, and, eluding the vigilance of the sentinels, made all haste for Marlborough, the nearest settlement. His comrades grimly sat down to wait for what Providence should bring them, determined that they would sell their lives dear, and, if they were to die, it would not be until after they had sent many a redskin to the next world before them.

Among these Nipmucks were several renegade Praying Indians, and, as the shot continued to pour in upon the garrison, next morning, they collected in great numbers near the church—only a gunshot away—and scoffed, blasphemed and joined in a hideous attempt to sing a mocking hymn. The garrison, with religious anger, fired upon this ribald crew with vigor and soon saw them retreating in confusion, carrying several dead and wounded with them. All during the afternoon fresh hordes of warriors came in to join the foe, while the yelling braves redoubled their efforts to burn the Inn. Arrows, tipped with burning rags dipped in brimstone, were shot upon the roof, while the men within cut away the shingles under them and put out the blaze. The yelling braves piled hay and flax against the walls, for a second time, which they set on fire, as they crowded around the door in order to shoot down anyone who came out or force an entrance should anyone open it. A ball of fire was shot into the garret which fell in a great mass of tow, but was fortunately extinguished immediately by one of the soldiers, and in these fearful straits the garrison broke down the house wall and put out the flames from the inside.

"Merciful Providence, what shall we do?" shouted a stout Puritan at this moment. "Our water has given out!"

"I will get more," cried one Thomas Wilson, running into the yard, but he was shot in the upper jaw and in the neck so painfully that he cried out in his anguish; whereupon the Indians set up a great shout of triumph, thinking they had killed him. Fortunately his wound was not serious and he recovered in a short time; but he got no water, and thus the beleagured men and women were in desperate straits indeed. The Indians had barricaded the end of the meetinghouse and the barn belonging to the garrison, with boards and hay, and so, protected from the bullets of the settlers, they fought at close quarters and kept up an incessant fire. But, seeing that their only hope for success was in burning the house, they now brought up a cart which was made from a barrel and piled with hemp, flax, hay and other inflammable materials, and set it on fire, as they rolled it towards the mansion. Nothing, it seemed, could now save the Colonists, for the poles on the cart were of such a length that the whites could not hit the Indians who pushed it. At this awful moment, Heaven came to the aid of the courageous English. A heavy thunder shower suddenly fell, and, as the burning cart was extinguished by the raindrops, the Indians set up a wail of disappointment, as they heard the cheers from the interior of the Inn.

Two days and a night had now elapsed since the messenger to the settlements had passed through the lines of hostile Indians, and, whether he had reached the friends of the settlers or not, was unknown to the now worn-out defenders of the last house in Brookfield. They gloomily fired at the savages as they cautiously showed themselves, and, as the darkness of another night began to fall, you can well imagine their feelings of excitement, when, above the howlings of the Nipmucks, was heard the tramp of a column of horse. The Indians began to withdraw—they suddenly disappeared altogether—and, to the joy of all, a gray-haired Puritan at the head of some forty-six stout Massachusetts yeomen rode into the streets of the town and rescued the half-starved garrison. Cheer after cheer rent the air, as the danger was known to be past. By the lurid light of some burning barns, the Nipmucks retreated into the blackness, firing desultory and random shots at the reinforcements as they did so. The garrison was saved. Women sobbed aloud; strong men wept like babies; and tears of cheerfulness were intermingled with those of sorrow for the brave fellows who had fallen in the fray. Brookfield was soon abandoned by all, and the cattle of the once prosperous settlers grazed among the ruined walls and charred timbers of the homes of their masters. King Philip's men had well begun their awful work upon the people of New England.