"Oh, tell it all, if you please, Brother Levis," said Rosie. "I don't believe any one of us would object to hearing it."
Several of the others joined in the request, and the captain, ever ready to oblige, began at once.
"His original name was Metacomet, but he is frequently spoken of as King Philip and also as Pometacom. His father was Massasoit, whose dominions extended from this Narragansett Bay to Massachusetts. Massasoit took two of his sons, Metacomet and Wamsutta, to Plymouth and asked that English names might be given them. His request was granted, one being called Philip and the other Alexander.
"Upon the death of the father, Alexander became chief in his stead, but soon died suddenly, of poison, it was supposed, and Philip became chief or king in his stead. He was a bright, enterprising man; sagacious, brave, and generous. He soon perceived that his people were being robbed by the whites, who took possession of the best lands, and killed off the game and the fish upon which the Indians had been used to subsist.
"Philip's tribe was known as the Wampanoags, or Pokanokets, and their principal village was there upon Mount Hope. They, and other tribes as well, felt that they had been greatly injured by the whites, and planned an offensive alliance against them.
"Philip began his war preparations by sending the women and children of the tribe away from Mount Hope to the Narragansetts for protection. Then he warned some of the whites with whom he was friendly of the coming storm, that they might seek places of safety, and, when they were gone, bade his followers swear eternal hostility to the whites.
"A dreadful war followed, beginning on the 24th of June, 1675, and lasting for more than a year. The whites suffered a great deal, but the Indians still more. Particularly the Narragansetts, who were treated with great cruelty because they had given shelter to the Wampanoags and their families.
"They had a fort on an elevation of three or four acres surrounded by a swamp, studded with brambles and thick underbrush. There were three thousand Indians in it—mostly women and children. The whites surprised them, burned their palisades and straw-covered wigwams, and the poor creatures were burned, suffocated, butchered, frozen, or drowned. Six hundred warriors and a thousand women and children were killed, and all the winter provision of the tribe destroyed. Their chief, Canonchet, escaped then, but was captured and killed the next summer.
"It was on the 12th of the next August that a renegade Indian guided a large party of white men to the camp of the Wampanoags. The Indians were asleep, King Philip among them. After the first shot or two he woke, sprang to his feet, gun in hand, and tried to escape, but, as he stumbled and fell in the mire, was shot dead by a treacherous Indian. His death ended the war."
"Poor fellow!" sighed Grace. "He was certainly treated with great injustice and cruelty. I don't see how the whites could be so blind to the fact that the Indians had the best right to this country, and that it was wicked to rob them of their lands."