authorities now adopted his plan for a vigorous campaign, and he set himself busily at work to gain over a force of Indian allies. With a single companion he set off boldly for the Indian. country, and first landed on the territory of the Sogkonates, (at that time in league with Philip.) Almost immediately he was surrounded by a crowd of grim-looking warriors, armed to the teeth, who sprang up as if by magic from the long grass in which they had been concealed. The old friendship of Awashonks, their queen, prevented him from receiving any immediate harm, and he opened the negotiation like a man well versed in Indian character and habits. The scene, as a specimen of original diplomacy, is amusing.

"Mr. Church" (says his semi-autobiography) "pulled out his calabash, and asked Awashonks whether she had lived so long at Wachuset as to forget to drink occapeches?" (spirits). For some time, (whether from distrust or a fear of too hastily committing herself) she was reluctant to taste it, although, to set her the example, "he drank a good swig, which indeed was no more than he needed." As she still refused, the captain "handed it to a little ill-looking fellow, who catched it readily enough, and as greedily would have swallowed the liquor when he had it at his mouth. But Mr. Church catched him by the throat and took it from him, asking him whether he intended to swallow shell and all? and then handed it to Awashonks. She ventured to take a good hearty dram, and passed it among her attendants. The shell being emptied, he pulled out his tobacco; and having distributed it, they began to talk."

Despite this primitive conviviality, his life seemed hardly worth a minute's purchase among these fierce savages, with many of whom, so little time before, he had been at deadly warfare. Mention being made of the fight at Punkatees, "there at once arose a mighty murmur, confused noise and talk among the fierce-looking creatures, and all rising up in a hubbub. And a great surly-looking fellow took up his tomhog, or wooden cutlass, to kill Mr. Church, but some others prevented him."

"He says," explained the interpreter, "that you killed his brother at Punkatees, and therefore he thirsts for your blood." But the captain boldly replied that if his brother had staid at home, he would have been safe enough; and by his persuasion so wrought on their minds that at last, "the chief Captain rose up and expressed the great value and respect he had for Mr. Church; and bowing to him said, 'Sir, if you will please to accept of me and my men, and will head us, we will fight for you, and will help you to Philip's head before the Indian corn be ripe.'"

Having obtained his authority from Plymouth, Church, with a few companions, proceeded along the sea-coast, beyond Sandwich, where he expected to find his allies. As they approached a wide sand-beach, "hearing a great noise below them, towards the sea, they dismounted their horses; left them, and creeped among the bushes, until they came near the bank, and saw a vast company of Indians, of all ages and sexes; some on horseback running races; some at football; some catching eels and flatfish in the water; some clamming, &c.; but which way, with safety, to find out what Indians they were, they were at a loss."

A shrill whoop was finally given from the thicket; two young warriors well mounted galloped up; and Church was joyously welcomed by all. A grand entertainment was made by Awashonks, and at evening "a mighty pile of pine knots and tops" was set on fire. The whole tribe gathered around it, and a strange (and what Mather would probably have called "diabolicall") ceremony was performed. Chief after chief would step out, armed with spear and hatchet, naming one by one all the hostile tribes, and each would "fight the fire," "if possible, with more fury than the first." This mysterious performance, they told Church, "was all one as swearing them" in his service.

The desertion of these warriors, in whom he had so confidently trusted, we are told "broke Philip's heart as soon as ever he understood it, so as he never rejoiced after, or had any success in any of his designs."

The captain chose from among them a goodly number of warriors, and with these and with his English forces, under commission of the governor of Plymouth, he forthwith commenced an active campaign against the enemy (July, 1676). With indefatigable activity, he scoured the forests in all directions, killing and making captive great numbers of the hostile confederates. In the midst of this uncompromising warfare, we find him exhibiting a humanity and good faith uncommon at the time, using every exertion to prevent torture and cruelty, and vehemently protesting against any ill usage of the natives who surrendered. Once he fell in with Little Eyes, (who would have killed him at Awashonk's dance) and his Indians wished him to be revenged. "But the captain told them it was not Englishmen's fashion to seek revenge," and took especial care for his safety and protection.

Whenever he took any number of the Indians, he would select the finest as soldiers, and enlist them in his company; judging, with perfect confidence, that they would soon be completely won over to his interest. "If he perceived that they looked surly, and his Indian soldiers called them treacherous dogs, as some of them would sometimes, all the notice he would take of it, would only be to clap them on the back, and tell them 'Come, come, you look wild and surly, and mutter, but that signifies nothing; these my best soldiers were, a little while ago, as wild and surly as you are now; by the time you have been but one day along with me, you will love me too, and be as brisk as any of them.' And so it proved;" for, what with his bravery and success, the fascination of his manner, and his thorough acquaintance with the Indian character, all whom he thus singularly recruited, became devoted to his service. Any "notorious rogue and murderer," indeed, who fell into his hands, he was accustomed to put to death without mercy -allowing them, however, the privilege of enjoying, with true Indian stoicism, a pipe of tobacco, before the tomahawk sank into their brains.

As he pursued the retreating enemy into the Narragansett

country, he came to Taunton river, over which the Indians had felled a large tree for the purpose of crossing. On the stump, at the opposite side, sat a solitary warrior. Church quietly raised his gun, but was prevented from firing by the suggestion that it was a friend. The Indian, aroused by the noise, looked up. It was Philip himself, musing drearily, no doubt, on the fallen fortunes of his race. Ere a gun could again be levelled he sprang up, and bounded like a deer into the forest.

Crossing the river, Church hotly followed the track of the fugitives, and captured many of their women and childrenamong them, the wife and child of the great sachem himself. At last he came up with the main force of the enemy, encamped in a swamp. They were defeated, though not without sharp fighting; an hundred and seventy-three Indians, in all, were taken; but Philip, with his chief warriors, made good his escape. The prisoners reported the condition of their sachem as forlorn in the extreme, having lost friend after friend by war or desertion, and now inconsolable at the capture of his wife and child. "His ruin," says Mr. Hubbard, with a sort of slow Epicurean relish, "being thus gradually carried on, his misery was not prevented, but augmented thereby; being himself acquainted with the sense and experimental feeling of the captivity of his children, loss of friends, slaughter of his subjects, bereavement of all family relations, and being stripped of all outward comforts, before his own life should be taken away."

CHAPTER XII.

PHILIP RETREATS TO MOUNT HOPE-SLAIN IN A SKIRMISH-DISGRACEFUL USAGE OF HIS REMAINS-CHURCH PURSUES ANNAWON-TAKES HIM -SINGULAR SCENE-PHILIP'S REGALIA-THE WAR ENDED

ITS RESULT-TREATMENT OF PRISONERS-PHILIP'S

SON-REFLECTIONS.

AFTER performing further active services in the war, Church, almost broken down with fatigue and exposure, went to see his wife on Rhode Island; but hardly had he alighted, when tidings came that Philip was lurking in his old quarters at Mount Hope, and the captain, a greeting hardly exchanged, again mounted his horse, and spurred off.

The unhappy sachem, after seeing his followers, one after another, fall before the English, or desert his failing cause, had betaken himself, like some wild animal hard driven by the hunters, to his ancient haunt, the former residence of his father, the friendly Massasoit. In all the pleasant region washed by the circling Narragansett, there is no spot more beautiful than that miniature mountain, the home of the old sachems of the Wampanoags. But with what feelings the last of their number, a fugitive before inveterate foes and recreant followers, looked on the pleasant habitation of his fathers, may more easily be imagined than described. Still, he sternly rejected all proposals for peace, and even slew one of his own followers, who had ventured to speak of treaty with the English. The brother of this victim, naturally enraged and alienated from his cause, at once deserted to the English, and gave the information which led to his final ruin.

A few brave warriors yet remained faithful to him, and with these, and their women and children, he had taken refuge in a swamp hard by the mountain, on a little spot of rising ground. In that troubled night, the last of his life, the sachem, we are