On Monday the captains of the expedition repaired to the court of Canonicus, the patriarch and ruler of the Narragansetts, where the young and fiery Miantonomoh, with the chief men of the tribe, about 200 in number, were solemnly assembled for consultation. The English informed them, “that God assisting, they were going to revenge the blood shed by their mutual enemies.” “Your design,” said Miantonomoh, “is good, but your numbers are too weak to brave the Pequods, who have mighty chieftains, and are skilful in battle.”
On the Tuesday they began their march toward the Pequod country, accompanied by a considerable number of Indian allies, 200 being furnished by Miantonomoh, who all boasted of their bravery, despising the English as “men who would not dare to look a Pequod in the face.” Approaching, under the guidance of a Pequod deserter, a ford in the river where it was said these terrible Indians came to fish, a panic fear overcame the boastful Narragansetts, and they fled; Uncas, however, and his Indians stood true.
The Pequods had two strongholds, both of which the English wished to attack at the same time, but on account of the distance between them and their own small force it was found impracticable. They encamped, therefore, between two little hills, much wearied with hard travel, keeping deep silence, lest the Indians in the nearest fort should perceive their approach. “The night was still and moonlight, and though the rocks were their pillows,” says Mason, in his quaint narrative, “their rest was pleasant.” In the night they heard the Indians singing at their fort, and exulting over the English, who, having been seen to sail past them a few days before, they believed to be afraid of them.
Long before daybreak the soldiers of Connecticut put themselves in motion, having first commended themselves and their undertaking to God; and as the light of morning began to dawn, they made their attack on the principal fort, which stood in a strong position on the summit of a hill. “Then, commending themselves to God, they divided their men, there being two entrances into the fort which they intended to enter at the same moment, when Mason, leading up to that on the north-east side, a dog was heard to bark, and an Indian cried out ‘Owannox! Owannox!’ (the English! the English!)” The assailants leaped within the fort, and the Indians, thus suddenly awoke from profound sleep, fought desperately. The Indians were greatly superior in number, and for a moment victory was dubious, when Mason, exclaiming “We must burn them!” seized a flaming brand, which he held to the mats of the Indian wigwams. The fire commenced to the windward, and soon all the wigwams were in flames. Destruction was now inevitable; the assailants withdrew, and encompassed the burning village, and shot or cut down with their broadswords all who attempted to escape. Six hundred men, women, and children, within little more than one hour’s space, perished in that horrible conflagration and slaughter. Of the English, two only were killed, and about twenty wounded.
This is a horrible and lamentable story, the second blot on the noble page of the history of the puritan settlement in New England; the first being the spirit of bigotry and intolerance, which introduced persecution into the haven of rest and peace which God had given them when the despotism of persecution made them exiles from their native land. But deploring that bloody stains have darkened what would otherwise have been a pure and glorious passage in the history of humanity, we must continue this sad story of the destruction of a whole race.
In the full light of morning 300 or more Pequod warriors were seen in the distance advancing from the second village, anticipating the triumphs of their people. Proudly they advanced, when at once beholding the terrible scene, they made a stand, tore their hair, stamped on the ground in a transport of rage, “and then,” says Mason, “came in full career against us, who, as soon as they were within reach, fired upon them, many being shot, and the rest, maddened with rage and despair, kept running to and fro and shooting their arrows at random.”
After this wholesale slaughter a portion of the troops hastened back to the settlements to be ready for defence in case of a sudden attack, and the rest made their way to Saybrooke, where they were received with great triumph. The troops which had been promised by Massachusetts to aid in this war arrived a few days after it was over, having been detained in consequence of the excitement which just then prevailed in the colony regarding Anne Hutchinson and her so-called heresy. Wilson, a celebrated minister of Boston, attended the troops, who now joining their friends completed the war of extermination. The feeble remains of the Pequod nation were hunted from their hiding-places, every wigwam was burned, and every settlement destroyed.
Sassacus, the chief, being reproached by his people for the misfortunes which had come upon them, fled to the Mohawks, where he was slain, and his scalp sent to the English. The last remnants of this once fierce and formidable race were killed in a dismal swamp, whither they had fled for safety at nightfall, and into which some of their pursuers plunged also in their over-haste of slaughter. Horrible was the struggle around the midnight bog; the old narrative reads like a dreadful nightmare dream. But we will not relate its horrors. The colonists, as Underhill, the leader of the Massachusetts forces, declares, “were bereaved of pity and without compassion,” and the race of the Pequods were annihilated as a people. Vain had been the prayer of Roger Williams and the advice of old Canonicus, that the women and children, at least, should be spared. Of those who yielded, about 200 in number, many were sent to the Bermudas, and, with grief and shame we write it, were sold into slavery; of the remainder some were distributed to the English settlements, and the rest incorporated among the Narragansetts and Mohegans. The lands of the Pequods were declared to be won by conquest, and the tribe to be extinct for ever.
The determined spirit of vengeance which had been displayed in this war filled the natives both with terror and respect, and a long season of peace ensued. A general day of solemn thanksgiving was held throughout all New England, to commemorate this event.
Peace being established, and prosperity prevailing through the infant settlements of Connecticut, the first act of the year 1639 was to form themselves into a body-politic and frame a constitution. “This constitution,” says Bancroft, “was of unexampled liberality.” The elective franchise belonged to all the members of the towns who had taken the oath of allegiance to the commonwealth, irrespective of church membership, which was only insisted upon in the case of the governor. The magistrates and legislature were chosen annually by ballot, and the representatives were proportioned to the amount of population. So wise and judicious was the constitution then framed, that, spite of the advance which the human mind and the social condition have made since then, there has been no reason found to alter materially the frame of government then formed. No jurisdiction of England or the English monarch was acknowledged; it was a simple body-politic, formed by voluntary association; the principle of which was, “to maintain the purity of the gospel, the discipline of the churches, and in all civil affairs to be governed by the constitution which should be adopted.” The legislators of Connecticut were Hooker and Haynes.