"Englishman got two heads! Me cut off one, he got another and put it on! Ugh! Ugh! I no like to fight man with two heads." And in consequence of this, several of the braves made off into the gloom of the forest, believing that they were leagued against Old Nick.
Philip, himself, was not active in these skirmishes and seems to have directed the plan of operations from his own wigwam and not to have taken a very prominent part in the fighting. Although numerous captives were brought to him, there is not an instance of his having maltreated a single white person, even while the hard-fisted Puritans were selling his own people into European slavery, or torturing and hanging them. A Mrs. Rowlandson was captured and brought to his camp where he not only invited her to call at his lodge, but, when she did so, bade her sit down and smoke a peace pipe. When next he met her, he requested her to make a garment for his child, and gave her a shilling for it. He afterwards took the trouble to visit her in order to tell her that "in a fortnight she should be her own mistress." What is still more to his credit, we read that when a certain James Brown of Swanzey came to his camp with a letter just before the commencement of hostilities, and the young warriors were about to kill him, Philip interfered and stopped these wild braves, saying that his father had told him to show kindness to Mr. Brown.
On the breaking of the war the King of the Wampanoags gave strict orders that no one should injure any of the members of the Leonard family, for these people had been very kind to him and had often repaired his guns when out of order. Thus the settlement of Taunton—where the Leonards resided—was almost entirely unmolested during the war, although in the very path of the struggling armies. Instances such as this show King Philip to have been a man of warm impulses, generosity, kindness, and forbearance—characteristics which some of the Puritan leaders, themselves, were lacking in.
The war had been disastrous for the English, and, stung with the bitterness of defeat, those in power determined to now use every effort to cripple the allied tribes under the leadership of Philip. The Narragansetts were secret allies of the Wampanoag Chief, and, as they had a large fort in South Kingston, R. I., built upon five or six acres of dry ground and encircled by a swamp, it was determined to attack and burn the stronghold. Palisades and a circle of felled trees surrounded the citadel, and it was defended by numerous warriors armed with flintlock muskets, which they had either stolen, or bartered, from the English. Massachusetts furnished five hundred and twenty soldiers for the army of conquest, Plymouth one hundred and fifty-nine, and Connecticut three hundred, while one hundred and fifty friendly Mohegan Indians went along as guides and scouts. This army of over a thousand men moved against the Narragansetts—under the leadership of stout Governor Winslow of Plymouth—confident of success, and singing hymns of victory. It was in December—the snow lay deep upon the ground—but it did not chill the ardent spirits of the Puritan troops.
At four o'clock in the afternoon the soldiers were in the vicinity of the fort and ready for the assault. They lined up in preparation for a rush upon the entrance, which was protected by a high blockhouse and had, in front of it, a log breastwork about five feet high, but, as luck would have it, a long log of considerable thickness jutted out through the palisade, and, with a rush, the Massachusetts men ran over the frozen swamp, leaped upon the fallen tree trunk and pushed towards the entrance. A withering fire from the Narragansetts threw them into confusion, and, in order to save themselves from slaughter, the brave soldiers cast themselves upon their faces. Many were killed and lay about in the snow, but, not daunted for an instant by this savage fire, the white soldiers again leaped to their feet, and, cheered by the cry, "They run," "They run," stormed over the tree, penetrated the stockade, and drove the Indians out of their position in the blockhouse.
Many continued to fall, while the Narragansetts, rallying again, began to press forward. But, at this juncture, the Connecticut troops made their way into the stockade through a breach in the palisade and took the warriors in the flank. All the Puritan leaders of this division fell dead, but the soldiers struggled like demons, and, as the men of Plymouth scrambled into the opening made by their entrance, the Narragansetts fell back, foot by foot, while the warriors fought desperately from the shelter of the bags and baskets of grain in the wigwams. At this moment fire burst from the tepees and the wind swept a mighty wave of flame through the fort, while the crackling of the burning wood and skins was mingled with the shrieks of the women and children, the yelling of the warriors, and the harsh yells of the sturdy Puritans.
The Indians were driven from the stockade into the swamp, where from the shelter of the thick wood, they still kept up a vigorous fire on the white troops, but, as the gloom of a wild winter's night settled upon the scene of battle, those Puritan leaders who had survived the carnage gathered around Captain Winslow in the glare of the blazing wigwams, while the driving snow turned their figures white against the flaming background. Their ammunition was nearly exhausted, and, as they knew that the Narragansetts—after rallying in the morning—might be upon them, a retreat was decided upon. So the tired and weary troops, leaving twenty of the dead in the fort to deceive the Indians, and carrying the wounded upon litters made of muskets and saplings, began a long and dreary march to the settlements. Many lost their way and wandered all night amid the storm, while seven of the Captains and about seventy-five of the soldiers died as a result of this exposure during the next few days. It had been a bitter contest, and the blow had not been a decisive one, as Philip—the wary and indefatigable Indian leader—was still alive.
The little town of Lancaster is in the far interior of Massachusetts, and this was attacked, next year, in February, by the Wachusett Indians. One of the Sachems of this tribe had married a sister of Philip's wife and thus there was a close bond of sympathy between these warlike people and the followers of the King of the Wampanoags. There were several garrison houses in the village, and in one—the Rowlandson house—were gathered about fifty men and women, who, awakened one cold and cheerless morning by the wild Indian war cry, rushed to the windows and looked out. The sight which met their eyes was terrifying, for several houses were in flames, and the Indians, whose dim forms were almost indistinct in the morning haze, were massacring the inmates with knives, muskets and tomahawks.
Soon the Rowlandson house itself was attacked, and, as it lay on the summit of a hill, the Indians crouched along the crest and poured a continuous fire upon it. For two hours the defenders held their own, until a cart filled with flax, hemp and hay—seized from the barn—was wheeled to the side and set on fire. The roof and sides of the garrison house were soon alight, and men, women and children rushed out in the vain hope of reaching the next house. It was in vain. They were all either killed or captured. The Indians carried off the cattle and survivors of the attack, while, a few days later, the town was abandoned to its fate.
Deerfield had also been deserted, and the Indians had taken possession of the untilled cornfields and had planted them afresh; while some miles beyond, at the falls on the Connecticut River, a large body of them was camped, in order to catch a supply of fish for King Philip's armies. A stout Captain Turner was at Hatfield when news was brought that the savages were near by in force, so, gathering one hundred mounted men, he made a night ride of twenty miles, and, as the sound of the approach was deadened by the rapids in the river, the English found the Indians fast asleep. At daybreak, on May 10th, the troops left their horses in a ravine and marched a mile or two to the rear of the savages, who had been so certain of their seclusion that they had not even posted a guard. Spreading out in a circle, the Puritans suddenly made a rush into the camp. The surprise was complete, and although many of the savages took to their canoes, they were washed over the falls and drowned in the frothing, eddying water. Many hid among the rocks, but they were seized and put to death by the sword; while scores were shot as they attempted to cross the river. Over three hundred warriors were thus destroyed, while the gallant Turner did not lose a single soldier, and, from this success, had the honor of having the falls named after him.