Captain Church was bent upon capturing or killing Philip. Many times he was close upon him, and it is quite likely the two saw each other more than once, but the royal fugitive was saved by the disguise named. His warriors kept steadily falling away from him, and he was harassed by that torturing of all doubts—the distrust of the loyalty of those that remained at his side. He must have asked himself many a time, as he looked into the stern, painted faces, whether all were true, or whether some of them were not planning his betrayal while they professed friendship.
One day an Indian hurriedly entered the camp of Captain Church at Tiverton. He was the brother of the man who had been slain by Philip for daring to suggest that he should make peace with the English. The hour for his revenge had come. He told Church that Philip and a few of his warriors were on a piece of land at the southern end of the swamp, near the base of Mount Hope. Church questioned the runner closely, and was satisfied he was telling the truth. He was familiar with the place and he knew the description given by his informant was correct.
No time was lost. Church had quite a number of men whom he hurried to the swamp. He placed them so as to surround it, and then ordered several of his best scouts to go within and rout out the fugitive. Philip was such an expert in woodcraft, and slept so lightly, that the men knew he was sure to discover their approach before they could get a sight of him in the tangled fastnesses.
Such proved the fact. The chieftain heard the stealthy footsteps, and, catching up his gun, rushed with a swift, noiseless tread along one of the faintly marked paths. Near the outlet he came upon a white man and an Indian. The soldier leveled his musket and pulled trigger, but the weapon flashed in the pan. The Indian took careful aim at Philip, as he was running toward him, and sent a bullet through his heart. The chieftain fell forward on his hands and face into the mud and water, his gun flying from his hands. Thus passed away one of the greatest American Indians that ever lived—great in strategy, great in perseverance.
It is worth noting that the Indian who fired the fatal shot was Alderman, brother of the victim of Philip's anger. The gun barrel which carried the bullet may be seen to-day in the Historical Museum at Plymouth.
THE OLD INDIAN HOUSE AT DEERFIELD,
MASS., TAKEN DOWN IN 1848.
