University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

It was an anxious, as well as a stirring day with the colonists
at New Plymouth. The public mind, for the last few months,
had been laboring under a very unusual, and a constantly increasing
excitement. Among all classes of men there evidently
existed a deep, though unacknowledged consciousness,
that the calculations of selfishness, craft, and fraud, instead of
obedience to the simple dictates of justice and honesty, had
latterly characterized their intercourse with the Indians.
This, as in most other cases of conscious wrong doing, had
made them, especially the leading men of the colony, peculiarly
sensitive respecting the relations in which they stood
with the red men, filling them with jealousies, suspicions, and
apprehensions, lest the latter, impressed doubtless with the
same or livelier convictions of their wrongs, should be secretly
nourishing thoughts and schemes of redress and retribution.
The colonists were also fully conscious that the injured race
were now no longer the comparatively harmless and contemptible

foes they were in times past, when bows and arrows and
war-clubs were their most formidable weapons, whole scores
of which were scarcely good against a single musket in battle;
but that they had, at this period, almost universally supplied
themselves with fire arms, in the fatal use of which, when
occasion required, they had no superiors, even among the most
expert sharp-shooters of the old world. And especially and
painfully conscious were likewise the leading colonists, that
in addition to the advantages thus possessed by their apprehended
foes, there had now sprung up among them a Master
Spirit who was believed to be fully capable of combining, and
giving direction to all the various elements of their disaffection
with fearful effect. That Master Spirit was Metacom, the
King Philip of subsequent historic renown. And it was not
without reason they feared that he, insulted, fined, and dragooned
as he had been into hollow treaties of peace, would not
long remain inactive or forego—unless prompt and decided
measures were taken to prevent the execution of what was
believed to be his bold and settled design—a war of extermination
against the colonists of New England.

Something therefore it was felt should immediately be done.
And something was done. But, as too often happens among
people laboring under a high degree of excitement and apprehension,
the colonists seemed madly intent on rushing into
measures which hastened on the very event they were so
anxious to avoid. And the consequence was that they soon
plunged their hapless colony into those fearful scenes of blood
and woe, which characterized the year that followed the opening
act of the story on which we are about to enter.

It was a calm and sunny morning in the fore part of the
leafy month of June, 1675. A crowd of loiterers, evidently
awaiting some expected event, were scattered over the smooth
and ample grass plat surrounding the Meeting House of the
first planted village of New England, the noted Plymouth of

Pilgrim memories. Among the mingled and diversified company
present on the occasion, consisting of villagers, and those
who had come in from the neighboring towns to witness the
public proceedings of the day, were a small party of young
men who, to while away the time of their waiting, had entered
into a contest of markmanship, which being almost the only
kind of amusement countenanced among the young men, by
the over scrupulous elders, was generally engaged in with
great zest, serving the young as a sort of standing exhibition,
in all public gatherings, save those of a religious character.
The contesting party in the present instance, were a half
dozen youngerly men, of ages varying from twenty to thirty,
all supplied with fowling pieces, or hunting guns, of the best
construction for the use of the bullet. Deeming themselves
among the best marksmen of the colony, they had agreed
upon a target, and a distance, which should fully test their
pretensions to nice shooting, the mark being a black ring, four
inches in diameter, with two less visible inner concentric circles,
and a black spot of the size of a half crown in the middle,
all painted on a white board, and placed at the distance
of one hundred yards from the shooting stand. Having all
fired once round, it was seen that four of the contestants,
though all making close shots, had failed to plant their bullets
within the black ring. These having now, by their rules, no
hope of bearing off the palm, voluntarily retired from the contest,
which was thus left to be decided by the remaining two,
who had both sent their balls within the ring, both bullets nearly
alike grazing the next inner circle, and falling consequently
about equi-distant from the centre. The attention of the
crowd, who, by this time, had all gathered round the spot, was
now especially directed to the two remaining candidates for
the palm of victory. In personal appearance, these two rival
marksmen were alike in nothing, save in the evidence of their
similar ages, which were probably twenty-four or twenty-five
years. One was, for the times, richly and fashionably dressed.
And this circumstance, together with the contemptuous,
sneering expression that rested on his small, unattractive features,
denoted that he was connected with some family of
wealth, and of real, or assumed consequence in the colony,
that he was disposed to plume himself on what he considered
his elevated position in society, and consequently to look upon
the common sort of men, as all well enough in their places,
to be sure, but not exactly fit to be counted among his associates.
The other was a plainly dressed, but noble looking
young man, of a shapely, compact form, and of unusually
handsome features, enlivened with one of those clear, frank,
and firm countenances, which betoken intelligence, good motives,
and cool courage.

“Dick Swain,” said a bystander, beckoning to his side a
short, bustling, restless fellow, with a hooked nose, and a sort
of shiny, unsteady countenance, and at the same time pointing
to the plainly dressed marksman just described, “Dick,
who is that fellow who is so confidently preparing to contest
the palm with Mr. Sniffkin, the English trained marksman?”

“That fellow,” replied the person thus appealed to, coming
up, and speaking in that low, confidential way, common with
men of secretiveness—“his name is Vane Willis, from one
of the neighboring towns,—a bold hunter, and a sure marksman,
they say, he having practiced a good deal with the Indians,
and proved himself a match for the best of them. I
know Mr. Sniffkin is well trained in shooting, and has the
most costly and high finished piece in the colony; but I am
really afraid this Willis, with his heavy, thick barreled gun,
will beat him.”

“Afraid! why afraid?” asked the former. “Every man
has an equal right to the palm, if he can get it, hasn't he?”

“Yes, yes; but then Mr. Sniffkin you know, is the nephew

of Deacon Mudgridge, and so connected with the Governor,
who was related to the Deacon's wife before she died.
Besides that, Mr. Sniffkin is a member of the church, and that
fellow ain't. And then Mr. Sniffkin prides himself so much
on his skill in shooting. And then again, I suspect, there is
another reason why he wants to beat the fellow—to humble
him—something about a certain girl in this town—you understand,
hey? But stay; they are about to fire!”

Sniffkin was evidently desirous that his rustic rival should
be the first to fire, and, in a tone sounding very much like a
command, requested him to proceed. But the other, with a
slight curl of the lip, and a little sprinkling of irony in his
manner, peremptorily declined that honor; when the privileged
gentleman advanced to the stand, and, after having at
length found a place to rest his piece which satisfied him, he
took a long, careful aim, and fired.

Dick Swain, and four or five others of Sniffkin's obsequious
friends, sprang forward to the target, and soon announced
that the bullet had bored it within half an inch of the small
black spot in the centre.

“Yes, Vane Willis is as good as beat,” cried the exulting
inspectors, as they came swaggering along back to the stand.
“He can never equal that shot.”

“Don't boast quite so soon. We can tell better after Vane has
fired,” retorted the friends of Willis, who were evidently a majority
of the marksmen present, and who now gathered round
their tacitly acknowledged leader, with looks plainly betokening
their confidence of his triumph.

Without pretending to notice the self-satisfied and supercilious
airs of his rival, or the remarks of either party, Vane
quietly advanced to the stand, and, waving off those who were
preparing a place for him to rest his piece, like the one his
competitor had used, raised his gun at arm's length, and almost
instantly fired. So quick and sudden, indeed, did the

report follow the upward movement of the barrel, that most
of the company supposed that the gun had gone off by accident,
and before it could have been brought to bear on the object
of aim. But on being told by the unruffled young marksman
that he had obtained all the aim he wanted, his friends now,
in their turn, bounded forward for the target. There was a
momentary silence among them at first; and then rose their
exulting shout of victory. The bullet had pierced the very
middle of the black centre mark; and the triumph was complete.

“An arm's length shot against one with a rest, and a clean
victory at that!” cried one of the exulting party.

“It is nothing more than I expected,” added another.
“The fact is, Vane Willis is the best shot in the whole
colony.”

“I dispute that,” said Sniffkin, stung by the applause that
had greeted his opponent, whom, in his ill-concealed spite
and vexation, he was eager to disparage—“I dispute it. This
was doubtless but a mere chance shot.”

“Perhaps it was; but I am quite willing to try it over
again with you,” coolly remarked Vane. “What say you,
sir, shall we thus put the question to the test?”

“No,” replied the other disdainfully; “I may prefer to
choose my own company, when I engage in another contest.
Nathless I dispute the assertion that you are the best shot in
the country.”

“So do I,” rejoined the former; “there is one in the country
whom I know to be my full equal, but his name is not Timothy
Sniffkin.”

“Who is it then, Vane?” asked the one who had made the
disputed assertion.

“It is Metacom.”

“King Philip?”

“Yes, King Philip, of Mount Hope. I have had repeated

trials with him both in the chase and at a mark. Neither
could claim any advantage over the other from the quality of
his gun; for our guns, which were brought over by two German
sportsmen, some years ago, and sold when they returned,
are precisely alike, being the only ones of the same make in
the colony, probably. They were made expressly for the
bullet, which, by means of a curious winding groove inside
the barrel, as you can see by mine here, is made to whirl as
it goes through the air.[1] I was lucky enough to secure one;
and Metacom, who has a keen eye for such matters, somehow
soon got hold of the other. And he has since practiced with
such effect, that he has no superior, and probably not a single
equal in quick and accurate shooting, this side of the great
water.

“You seem to have been quite intimate with that vile,
treacherous savage,” maliciously remarked Sniffkin, winking
significantly to his backers.

“Vile and treacherous!” repeated Vane, as with flashing
eye, he advanced and boldly confronted his sneering opponent.
“Would to heaven, that, for the peace and safety of our endangered
colony, the vileness and treachery were all on one
side! But what meant you, sir, by that insinuating remark?”

“Oh, nothing in particular!” replied the former, evidently
surprised, and at first, disconcerted at the fearless confronting

of the other. “Nothing, in particular; but it may be well
enough,” he added, rallying a little, “to have it known, at
this critical juncture, who those are, that have been consorting
with, and still seem disposed to defend one, who, with his
devilish heathen crew, may soon be arrayed against us in
arms.”

“Yes, sir, and if that time does come,” retorted Willis,
“and this piece, in my hands, with my knowledge of the
enemy, does not as good service on our side, as your piece, in
your hands, then I will agree to bear your taunts in silence.
And I now challenge you, sir, in anticipation of such a time,
to enter with me, on that condition, into the actual contest—
a contest which will better show who is truly the man, and
the marksman, than this by-play of shooting at a mark, where
there are no dangers to be encountered. Yes, sir, I repeat
the challenge; and I have a few friends here, I think,” he added
looking around on the little band of his hardy comrades, who,
as the altercation progressed, drew closer and closer to his
side, with increasing manifestations of their sympathy—“a
few friends, perhaps, who are willing to vouch for me that I
shall not be the first one to back out. Will you go my
vouchers for that, boys?”

A hearty shout of affirmation was the prompt response to
the appeal, which was thus made and answered with the
more emphasis, doubtless, because they all wished to show
the haughty court-minion that one of their number was not to
be put down by sneers, or disparaged by groundless insinuations.

“There! Now you will please remember all this, sir,” resumed
the speaker, pointing to the visibly perplexed and disconcerted
Sniffkin. “And you too, my friends, remember to
hold me to my pledge, for making good my own offer in this
behalf.”

“O, yes,” responded one of those last addressed. “Yes,

if times should really come, when there is any occasion for
making good such an offer; and it should then be necessary,
which it won't be, to jog your memory, we will do it. But
do you seriously suppose we are likely to see those times,
Willis? Do you think there is actually any danger of our
being involved in an Indian war?”

“Aye, I do think there is much danger of such an event,”
replied the other. “And if our people—especially our rulers—
persist in the course they now seem so intent on taking towards
the already greatly irritated red men, I feel a bloody war
is inevitable.”

“Take notice of that, good people of Plymouth!” eagerly
exclaimed the court lackey, looking round on the crowd with
an air of malicious triumph. “He has shown himself a seeker
of occasions to disparage our rulers and take the part of the
heathen salvages against them. Take notice of it, ye all,
good people, will you?”

“Yes, take notice of it, all who wish,” promptly responded
the other, with increasing earnestness; “and take notice also
of the prediction I now, and here boldly venture to make,
that if these Indian prisoners, whom we are waiting to see
tried here to-day, for the alleged offence of taking the life
of one of their own tribe, who, by their laws, had become a
traitor and an outlaw,—if these prisoners, known to be the
leading men of the tribe, and the councillors of King Philip,
are condemned and executed, there will, before the month's
end, burst upon us a war which may not cease till the very
existence of these colonies is put in jeopardy!”

The startling import of this prediction, together with the
serious and decided manner in which it was uttered, fell with
chilling effect upon the whole company, producing a very
visible sensation, both among those who coincided with the
speaker, in regard to the mistaken policy of their rulers in
their strangely mingled church and state government, and

among those also who looked upon those rulers as all but infallible
in wisdom and discretion; for it was but giving voice
to an apprehension by which they were all secretly impressed,
however they might differ about the best means of averting
the impending danger. Even the arrogant and self-sufficient
Sniffkin, who had found matter of accusation in the far less
pointed and objectionable remarks previously made by his
hated rival, was now too deeply impressed, or too much astonished
by his bold words and fearless demeanor, to attempt to
gainsay them or renew his ill-natured and ungentlemanly
assault.

The silence that followed the dialogue thus impressively
brought to a close by the out-spoken young marksman, was,
however, soon broken by the startling peals of the churchbell
in the belfry, almost above their heads, which all understood
to betoken the arrival of the hour of the expected trial,
that was to be held in the Meeting House, around which they
were assembled, and soon the roll of a drum at the head-quarters
of the Governor, his assistants, and the church dignitaries,
of whom the court was to be composed, announced that the
military guards were then mustering, preparatory to bringing
out the prisoners and forming a procession for the place of
trial. All eyes were therefore expectantly turned in that direction.
But the eager spectators were not to be very immediately
gratified by the appearance of any coming procession.
The bell-man, in obedience to some signal made from the
Governor's house, soon ceased to ring the bell. The drum
ceased beating, and every thing indicated that there was to be
a temporary delay of proceedings at head-quarters. And instead
of the expected retinue, a solitary man made his appearance,
coming from that direction. His hurried motions, as
indicated, in the distance, by the rapid bobbing up and
down of his tall, steeple-shaped hat, and the quick, regular
outward flaunting of the skirts of his long, tunic-like coat, all

moving in correspondence with his steps as he advanced,
seemed to show that he was bound on some mission requiring
special despatch; and his appearance under the circumstances,
consequently, very naturally soon attracted the attention
of the expected company.

“Who is that tall man coming this way so hurriedly, Dick?”
asked Sniffkin, beckoning the other aside.

“Why it looks like Deacon Mudgridge's Shadow,” replied
Dick carelessly.

“Deacon Mudgridge's Shadow! who do you mean by that,
sir?”

“Crave your pardon, Mr. Sniffkin, meant no offence; but
some call him so?”

“Call who so?”

“Why, Mr. Dummer, to be sure—Deacon Dummer, perhaps
I should say, as I have heard that he had been advanced
in the church—elected assistant, or supernumerary deacon, or
something of the sort, may be.”

“O, ho—yes; well I at first didn't know but you meant my
uncle, Deacon Mudgridge himself, the strongest pillar of
Church and State in the whole colony, and therefore a man
not to be spoken lightly of by any. But you should be careful
about picking up the nicknames, and cant phrases of vulgar
schismatics and scoffers, even against Dummer, who is a very
zealous and useful man, and is indeed talked of as a fourth
deacon. And I think he will get the place, too, if he does
as well in other things as he has in aiding Deacon Mudgridge
to go through with this important measure on hand to strike
a damper on that audacious King Philip.”

“Glad to hear that of Dummer; for I am with the court
party in this measure, you know, Mr. Sniffkin. And though
I never mean to boast much; yet I think I may say, I have
already done considerable myself towards helping it forward.”

“Aye, you have done very well Dick, and won the praise
of Deacon Mudgridge, who says you are a fellow of bright
natural parts. But you may have a chance to do much more,
to-day; for this matter must and will be carried through,
notwithstanding all that has been said by that low caitiff, Vane
Willis, whose treasonable words just now I hope you will remember
and report to our rulers, whom he has so shamefully
reviled. But here comes Dummer, and with some word or
message from head quarters, I fancy.”

The subject of this last remark, a lank, long, sanctimonious
looking man, whom, as Dick Swain had inadvertently remarked,
the people, or rather the more independent and outspoken
part of them at least, had playfully dubbed Deacon Mudgridge's
Shadow, on account of his well known subserviency to that
important personage, whom he copied and followed almost as
faithfully as the shadow its substance—now came striding
forward with a countenance working with solemn anxiety.

“What is the news from head quarters, Dummer?” asked
Sniffkin, as he and Dick advanced to meet the former far
enough to be out of earshot of all others—“What is the news
now? Have they got the jury together and everything rightly
fixed there?”

“Mostly,” replied Dummer, “mostly fixed, Mr. Sniffkin;
and they supposed they had quite, and were on the point of
starting for the Meeting House, but”—

“But what? Tell us at once, Dummer.”

“Well, they have concluded to delay a brief time, on account
of some untoward appearances.”

“What appearances? What new thing has turned up now?”

“Nothing very certain, peradventure; but Roger Williams,
that noted old schismatic, who is so prone to side with the
powers of darkness now peculiarly manifest in the doings of the
salvages, those children of Sathana, has arrived this morning

from Providence, to see that the Indians have fair dealing in
the coming trial, he says.”

“That means, I suppose, that, instigated and hired by that
damned sachem Philip, he has come on to defend and get them
clear.”

“Yea, truly; and it is greatly feared that he has somehow
got speech with some of the five Indians, who, to save all remarks
of the ill-disposed against our fairness, and forever shut
the mouths of the salvages in the same behalf, were, as yourself
doth know, put on the jury with our twelve white jurors.
For, although these five red men were selected with proper
care, and have ever since been kept under righteous influences
till this morning, yet some think they now see in them
tokens of weakness and wavering. Moreover, the Indian witness,
whose report and confessions so providentially led to the
arrest of the murderers of our Christian friend, Sassamon, and
who was ready to swear he saw the murder committed, and
that he could identify the murderers, now seems strangely sullen
and perverse.”

“These things must be seen to immediately; but what does
Deacon Mudgridge think had better be done?”

“Well, he thinks,” replied the other, lowering his voice to
a confidential tone,—“he thinks,—and that was what I came
to see about,—he, I say, thinks that our friend, Dick Swain,
here, might be the right person to see and manage these weak
and doubting Indian jurors, who have been thus induced to
come forward to help the Lord's side. He thinks also, that,
peradventure, they might like their witness fees before hand,
the amount whereof need not be stinted to any exact legal
usage. And yet, furthermore, he thinks they may need
strengthening in bodily firmness. And he has, therefore sent,
by me, these instruments, whereby good may be wrought out,”
added the speaker, drawing out a handful of silver coin with

one hand, and a bottle of rum with the other, and covertly
passing them to Dick.

And the unserupulous Dick as covertly took possession of
the proffered articles, and with an affirming nod to the Shadow,
and a knowing wink to Sniffkin, silently passed them under
his coat; when the three moved off, with an assumed air of
leisurely indifference, towards the Governor's quarters.

Before introducing the remarkable trial, to which we alluded
as about to take place,—a trial which was destined, as
the fearless and sagacious young marksman we have introduced,
had hypothetically predicted, to be the precursor of the darkest
day ever witnessed by the infant colonies of New England—
before introducing this eventful trial, we should, perhaps,
for the more ready appreciation by the reader of the scenes
next to follow, take a cursory glance at the character and conditions
of the different tribes of New England Indians, together
with the principal historical events, which grew out of
their relations with the whites, and which seem to have been
more immediately connected with the particular crisis we have
undertaken to delineate.

When the Puritan colonists had established themselves
in their different locations in New England, and began to enquire
into the situation, numbers, and distinctive characters, of
the unknown wild people, by whom they were surrounded,
they found within what they esteemed their chartered limits,
three great, distinct, independent tribes, whose numbers and
power seemed to give them a controlling influence in the
country, and to command a sort of tacit submission from all
the various smaller tribes, and fragments of tribes, surviving
the great pestilence, which had evidently, a short period before
the advent of the whites, swept untold thousands of them
into their forest graves. These three tribes were the Pequods,
occupying the valley of Connecticut river, the Narragansetts,
occupying the western part of Rhode Island, and the Wampanoogs,

or Wampanoags, occupying the eastern part of Rhode
Island, and the southern part of Massachusetts, but exercising
a nominal sway over all the other tribes within the territorial
limits of the Plymouth and Massachusetts colonies. Of
these, the Pequods, a fierce and sanguinary race of warriors,
had, by the rare good fortune of a successful surprise been
broken up, and almost utterly destroyed by the whites, nearly
forty years previous to the time we have chosen for the opening
of our story. This left but two of the only tribes much
to be feared,—the Narragansetts, a numerous but not remarkably
warlike tribe, perhaps, and the Wampanoogs, the most
warlike and proudly independent of them all, to take their
stand against the whites, in case the time should arrive, when
the aggressions of the latter should awaken the jealousies and
hostilities of the former, and induce them to combine and
make a common cause in defence of their rights. And that
time, in spite of all the efforts of the colonial diplomatists of
that day, to dupe and over-awe the Wampanoogs, and keep
them from an alliance with the Narragansetts, had now been
for several years, gradually drawing near. For the first forty
years after the arrival of the Pilgrims in the country, and
while they were weak and consciously in the power of the natives,
they earnestly courted the friendship of the stronger
tribes, especially that of the influential Wampanoogs, and carefully
abstained from all acts of injustice and causes of offence.
And their first treaty with the sincere and noble-hearted Massasoit,
king of that tribe, having been made with earnest and
honorable intent, and carried out in good faith, was preserved
uninfringed during his whole life, constituting a continually
brightening chain of friendship between the contracting parties,
and beautifully exemplifying the important truth subsequently
confirmed and demonstrated by the pure and wise William
Penn, that when the whites act sincerely and in no way become
the aggressors, there is no difficulty in living in peace
and amity with the Indians. But, at length, the good old
Massasoit passed away, leaving the succession to his two sons
Wamsutta and Metacom, both young men alike, ennobled by
birth and elevation of character, and well-fitted to sustain the
dignity of their father's throne. These young men, during
the halcyon period of faith, honesty, and peace, that preceded
the death of Massasoit, had mingled freely with the colonists,
visited the court of Plymouth, received from the Governor the
complimentary names of Alexander and Philip,—were courted
on account of their high position, respected for their manly
deportment and unusual personal endowments, and afforded
facilities for information, which were rare with the natives,
and which, when improved as they had improved them, at
length made these princely brothers, doubtless the two most
intelligent, as well as naturally talented young red men then
to be found on the American continent. And there is no reason
to believe that, had they and their people continued to
experience the same respect and good treatment they had all
received during the life time of Massasoit, the chain of their
mutual friendship would never have been made dim by hostile
blood. But a change had been gradually coming over the
colonists. They had become comparatively strong and powerful,
and with the increase of their strength and power, their
deference to the red men and disposition to treat them as
equals, either in trade or treaty, seemed strangely to undergo
a proportionate decrease. All this Alexander and Philip were
not slow to perceive, and it soon so far operated on them as to
keep them aloof from the court of Plymouth. And it was the
insulting and arbitrary attempt to compel their attendance and
required subserviency, which so mysteriously resulted in the
untimely death of Alexander, who, being the eldest, had succeeded
to the throne, and preluded that series of wrongs and indignities
on his successor, Philip, that finally led to the bloody
drama which is the ground-work of our eventful story.