The third disturbing cause was the desire of our ancestors to convert the Indian chiefs and tribes to Christianity. This was a primary and chief object of the settlement of the country. Governor Craddock, in a letter of February, 1629, to Endicott and his Council, says: "You will demean yourselves justly and courteously toward the Indians, thereby to draw them to affect our persons, and consequently our religion." And the Governor of Massachusetts colony by his oath was required to use his "best endeavor to draw on the natives of New England to the knowledge of the true God." The company in England also expressed the hope that the ministers who were sent out would, by faithful preaching, godly conversation and exemplary lives, in God's appointed time, reduce the Indians to the obedience of the Gospel of Christ. And there is no fact in the history of the colonists inconsistent with an earnest purpose to accomplish so desirable a result. But the most formidable and warlike of the Indian tribes resisted the introduction of Christianity, not on account of its doctrines,—these they never comprehended; but its acceptance was regarded by them as an acknowledgment of political inferiority. When Philip protests against the jurisdiction of the English, he thinks to establish his independence by asserting that he was never a praying Indian. It naturally happened that those Indians who embraced Christianity were more or less attached to the English, and soon assumed the position of dependent inferiors. They were consequently despised by such fierce spirits as swayed the Narraganset and Pokanoket tribes. But the English were instant in season and out of season in securing assent to their doctrines, though they must often have known that there was neither conviction of the head nor conversion of the heart. The colonists on some occasions even made a formal assent to the Christian faith a condition of allegiance.
Although Uncas never received the Christian religion, his friendly relations with the English gave him an importance and power which were offensive to the neighboring tribes; and there is reason to suppose that a desire to humble him was an element of the war.
The attack upon the Pequots, whether necessary or not, must have produced an unfavorable impression upon the neighboring tribes; but the death of Miantonomo was the cause of the undying hostility of the Narragansets, and made Canonchet the ready coadjutor of King Philip,— and without Canonchet Philip could never have been formidable to the English.
But passing by all the occasions or causes of war to which I have referred, we may presume from our knowledge of Philip's character, that he considered his personal injuries a sufficient ground for hostilities. Massasoit, his father, had been the firm friend but never the subject of the English. He was rather their protector, and the colonists ever maintained towards him the kindest feelings.
His son Alexander succeeded him. A suspicion was early entertained by the English that he was plotting with the Narragansets. He was summoned to appear at Plymouth, but he avoided the summons upon some pretence, which probably had no real foundation. The Governor of Plymouth with about ten men proceeded to compel his attendance. Alexander was then upon a hunting excursion with a small party of warriors. He was found in Middleboro', refreshing himself in a tent after the fatigues of the chase. His arms, having been left outside, were seized by the English. Some accounts state that Alexander went voluntarily towards Plymouth, others say that the Governor told him that if he did not go he was a dead man. But all accounts agree that he was soon violently sick, and that the efforts to relieve him were unavailing. He was allowed to return home and was borne away upon the shoulders of his faithful warriors. Hubbard says, "Such was the pride and height of his spirit, that the very surprisal of him so raised his choler and indignation, that it put him into a fever, which, notwithstanding all possible means that could be used, seemed mortal." And so it proved.
Philip witnessed this unjust arrest of his brother, chief of a proud and free race; he remembered his father's services and fidelity; he saw his people dispossessed of their hunting grounds, and an unknown religion zealously pressed upon them. To him there was in the present only humiliation and disgrace, in the future only ignominy and death. With this history and these gloomy anticipations of the future, Philip became the sachem of the Pokanokets. He had never been a favorite with the English, yet early in life they had named him Philip, and his brother Wamsutta, Alexander; a singular yet just appreciation of their high spirit and warlike character. The colonists justly regarded these young men as dangerous to the public peace, and there was never a moment of true friendship after the death of Massasoit.
The particular occasion of the war was the murder by Philip's agents of one Sassamon, an educated Indian, who had been his private secretary. Having in this confidential station obtained a knowledge of Philip's plans, he went to the English, by whom he had been educated, and probably disclosed his master's secrets. Philip secured his death, and of all who fell in fight or fray, or on the gallows swung, none deserved death before Sassamon. The comprehensive mind of Philip saw at once the terrible nature and probable consequences of the war thus brought upon him. It is said that he wept, and that from that time forth he never smiled. But he laid new sacrifices upon the altar of his people's liberty, invoked the spirit of his ancestors, and exhibited resources and courage worthy of a heroic age.
He stood in a position of great and manifest peril. The English were superior in numbers, comparatively well equipped, and above all united. They had garrisoned towns to which they could fly. Philip's own tribe was comparatively weak, but he easily associated the Narragansets with him. But this combined force was inadequate to the emergency. He united many of the tribes of Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Connecticut, and as far as possible animated them with his own unconquerable will. You may imagine him standing among the dark men of the forest and with a rugged yet burning eloquence reciting the history of their common wrongs, or with prophetic power lifting the veil from the shadowy, though not to him uncertain, future.
He was continually subject to great personal dangers. A price was set upon his head, the Christian Indians were allies of the English and continually employed against him, while above all Uncas and the Mohegans were his deadly enemies. Hunted by English and Indians, assailed by famine and treachery, weakened by death and desertion, his fate was inevitable. When his warriors had fallen in battle, been sold into slavery or corrupted by bribes, when his old men and women, and children had perished, when the first of the enemy had laid in ashes the wigwams and villages of the Pokanokets and their allies, when to his race there was neither seed-time nor harvest, he came to the home of his ancestors, and there his troubled spirit, contrasting sadly in death as in life with the placid scenes of nature around, passed forever away. He fell by the hand of his own race,—
"Darkly, sternly, and all alone
A spoil—the richest and the last."