King Philip / Makers of History

by John S. C. Abbott

Address to the Indians.

"We ask no aid from you. You may stand at any distance you please, and look on, and see how Englishmen can fight."

The fort.

The fort was on the summit of a heavy swell of land, and consisted of a village of seventy wigwams, surrounded by a palisade. These palisades consisted of posts planted side by side, and so high that they could not be climbed over. The warriors stationed behind them were safe apparently from assault, for even a musket ball would not pass through the posts. There were but two entrances to the fort, one on the northeastern and the other on the southwestern side. Between six and seven hundred Indians were within the fort.

Negligence of the enemy.
The attack.
The conflict.

The English troops were divided into two parties, one headed by Captain Mason, and the other by Captain Underhill, who had been in command of the fort at Saybrook. They decided to make a simultaneous attack upon each of the entrances. Though the moon shone very brilliantly, rendering it almost as light as day, yet the Indians, unsuspicious of danger and soundly asleep, gave not the slightest indication of alarm until the two parties had each silently approached within a rod of the entrances. A dog was then heard to bark, and immediately one solitary voice shouted frantically, "Englishmen! Englishmen!" The entrances were merely blocked up with bushes about breast high. The assailants instantly poured a volley of bullets in upon their sleeping foes, and, sword in hand, rushed over the feeble barriers. Notwithstanding the surprise and the appalling thunder of the guns, the Pequots sprang to arms and made a fierce resistance. The two parties, advancing from the opposite entrances, forced their way along the main street, firing to the right and the left, and making fearful slaughter of their foes. They speedily swept the street clear of all opposition. The savages, however, who still vastly outnumbered their assailants, retreated into their wigwams, and, taking advantage of every covert, almost overwhelmed the compact bands of the English with a shower of arrows and javelins. The conflict was now fierce in the extreme, and for a time the issue was very doubtful. Several of the colonists were already killed, and many severely wounded.

The wigwams burned.
Massacre.
Horrors of the scene.

The wigwams, composed of the boughs and bark of trees, and covered with mats, were as dry as powder. Captain Mason, at this critical moment, shouted to his exhausted men, "Set fire to the wigwams." Torches were immediately applied; the flames leaped from roof to roof, and in a few moments the whole village was as a furnace of roaring, crackling flame. The savages, forced by the fire from their lurking-places, presented a sure mark for the bullet, and they were shot down and cut down without mercy. It was no longer a fight, but a massacre. The Indians, bewildered with terror, threw down their arms, and rushed to and fro in vain attempts to escape. Some climbed the palisades, only to present a sure target for innumerable bullets; others plunged into the eddying flames which were fiercely devouring their dwellings. For a moment their dark bodies seemed to tremble and vibrate in the glowing furnace, and then they fell as crisped embers.

Extermination.
Number of those escaping.

The heat soon became so intense and the smoke so smothering that the English were compelled to retire outside of the fort. But they surrounded the flaming fortress, and every Indian who attempted to escape was shot. In one short hour the awful deed was accomplished. The whole interior of the fort was in ashes, and all the inmates were destroyed with the exception of seven only who escaped, and seven who were taken captives. The English knew that at a short distance from them there was another fort filled with Pequot warriors. It consequently was not safe to burden their little band with prisoners whom they could neither guard nor feed. They also wished to strike a blow which would appall the savages and prevent all future outrages. Death was, therefore, the doom of all.