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The storm increased in fury, and, raging all | as a slave, and was compelled to perform all the night and the ensuing day, covered the ground menial service of a slave, still in other respects with such a depth of snow that the army was she was treated with kindness. It is a remarkunable to move for several weeks in any direc-able fact that during these wars the person of tion. But on that very morning, freezing and tempestuous, when despair had seized upon every heart, a vessel laden with provisions, struggling against the storm, entered the bay. Rapture succeeded despair, and hymns of thanksgiving resounded through the dim aisles of the forest.

In the early spring the Indians resumed hostilities with accumulated fury. On the 10th of February, 1676, they burst from the forest upon the beautiful settlement of Lancaster. In a few moments nearly the whole town was in flames. Rev. Mr. Rowlandson, pastor of the church, had gone to Boston to seek assistance. He had taken the precaution before he left to convert his home into a bullet-proof fortress, and had garrisoned it for the protection of his family.

no woman was treated by the Indians with indecorum. Mrs. Rowlandson was purchased of her captors as a slave, by Quinnipin, an illustrious sachem of the Narragansets, who had married, for one of his three wives, Wetamoo, the widow of Alexander, and sister of Wootonekanuske, the wife of Philip. Mrs. Rowlandson thus became the dressing-maid of Wetamoo. The haughty Indian princess, exulting in the services of the wife of an English clergyman as her slave, assumed many airs.

"A severe and proud dame she was," writes Mrs. Rowlandson; "bestowing every day in dressing herself near as much time as any of the gentry of the land, powdering her hair and painting her face, going with her necklaces, with jewels in her ears, and bracelets upon her hands. When she had dressed herself, her work was to make wampum and beads."

Mrs. Rowlandson, during her captivity, often saw Pometacom. Her narrative represents him as a man of serious deportment, sagacious and humane. She was taken across the Connecticut in a canoe, and was greatly terrified in seeing such a vast throng of Indians upon the op

The Indians, however, after many endeavors, succeeded in setting the building on fire, and the inmates, forty-two in number, had before them only the cruel alternative of perishing in the flames or of surrendering. The merciless conflagration, enveloping the building in billows of fire, drove them from their shelter. The men fell speedily before the bullet and the tom-posite bank. The Indians witnessed her terror, ahawk of the savages. Twenty women and children were taken prisoners and carried captive into the wilderness. Mrs. Rowlandson, the wife of the pastor, and all her children were of the number.

This lady, who, with all her children, except one who died of a wound, was subsequently ransomed, has written a very interesting account of her captivity. She was a prisoner in their hands for five months, and though she was held

and assured her that she should not be harmed.

"When I was in the canoe," she writes, "I could not but be amazed at the numerous crew of pagans that were on the bank on the other side. Then came one of them and gave me two spoonfuls of meal to comfort me, and another gave me half a pint of peas, which was worth more than many bushels at another time. Then I went to see King Philip. He bade me come and sit down, and asked me whether I would

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smoke-a usual compliment nowadays among the saints and sinners. But this no way suited me."

The Indians had a great dance to commemorate the signal victory at Lancaster. It was a barbarian cotillion, danced by eight persons in the presence of admiring thousands. The performers were four chiefs and four high-born Indian beauties. In this dance, Quinnipin, who led the attack upon Lancaster, and Wetamoo, who had become his bride, were conspicuous. Mrs. Rowlandson thus describes the dress which her Indian mistress wore upon this occasion:

"She had a kersey coat covered with girdles of wampum from the loins upward. Her arms, from her elbows to her hands, were covered with bracelets. There were handfuls of necklaces about her neck, and several sort of jewels in her ears. She had fine red stockings and white shoes, and her hair powdered, and her face painted red."

The terrible war continued to rage with unabated fury, and through the whole summer blood and woe held high carnival. The fate of these North American colonies trembled in the balance.

A party of Indians, elated with success, marched stealthily through the forest, and rushed, three hundred strong, upon the town of Marlborough. A few hours of terror and of blood ensued, and the town was in ashes.

They then advanced to Sudbury. The inhabitants, warned of their approach, abandoned their homes and took refuge in their garrison. They soon saw the savages dancing exultingly around their blazing dwellings. But through the loop-holes of their block-house they fought fiercely, shooting many of their foes. Some of the people of the neighboring towns, hearing of the peril of friends in Sudbury, hastily gath

ered a band and hurried to their relief. A few Indians went out to meet them, affected a panic, and fled. The English unwarily pursued, and were thus led into ambush, where they found themselves surrounded on all sides. The heroic band, consisting of but eleven, fought with the utmost desperation, but a storm of bullets fell upon them from hundreds of unseen foes, and all but one were killed. The Indians then, despairing of taking the garrison, with yells of triumph and defiance, retired. Like wolves they had come rushing from the forest, and like wolves they again disappeared in their remote lairs.

As a party of three hundred warriors were on their march toward Plymouth, a company of English soldiers from Marlborough, informed of their place of encampment, fell upon them at midnight and shot forty of the number. A few days after this the Indians drew a party of eleven soldiers into an ambush, and shot every one. A party of eighty soldiers were hurrying to the scene of these depredations. Five hundred Indians, informed of their approach, hid themselves in ambush in the thicket behind the hills, but a short distance from Sudbury. They concealed themselves so effectually with green leaves and branches that the English did not suspect the presence of a foe until they received into their bosoms a volley well aimed from five hundred guns. Those who survived the first discharge sprang to the covert of the trees, and for four hours maintained a desperate fight. One hundred and fifty Indians had now fallen, pierced by the bullets of their antagonists.

The wind blew a gale, directly in the face of the English. The leaves and the underbrush of the forest were dry and crackling. Shrewdly the Indians, who were at the windward, set the forest on fire. Billows of flame and smoke were

swept down upon the English. Blinded, smoth- | ebb. Still, with indomitable energy, he proseered, and scorched, they were compelled to flee cuted the war, apparently resolved never to from their coverts, and were thus exposed to the yield, and to struggle to the last. A few warbullets of their foes. All perished but twenty. riors, still faithful to him, followed all his forThese few fortunately escaped to a mill, where tunes. His camp was at Matapoiset. The Enthey defended themselves until succor arrived.glish, with their Indian allies, attacked him, and These successes wonderfully elated the In- drove him across the Taunton River into the dians. woods of Pocasset.

In the autumn, suddenly the tide of victory seemed to turn in favor of the English. Those who recognize an overruling Providence will gratefully acknowledge in these occurrences the interposition of a power superior to that of man. But for such interposition we see not how these scattered settlements could have been rescued from total destruction.

The Massachusetts tribes, for some unknown reason, became alienated from Philip, and bitterly reproached him with involving them in wars which had brought upon them great distress. The Mohawks, instead of yielding to the solicitations of Pometacom, joined in fierce battle against him. They believed, whether correctly or incorrectly it is impossible now to know, that Philip had caused several of the warriors of their tribe to be killed, intending to convince the Mohawks that the murders were perpetrated by the English.

Whether this representation be true or false, it is certain that the Mohawks in the vicinity of Albany attacked Philip, killed several of his warriors, and took others captive. And then many of these northern Indians went to Plymouth and entered into an alliance with the English. The Indians in the vicinity of the colonies, driven from their cornfields and fishing grounds, were in a state of famine. At the same time a fearful pestilence broke out among them, which swept through all their wigwams. The affairs of Philip were now at a very low

Early in August Captain Church, the General Putnam of those Indian wars, surprised Philip in his retreat, shot one hundred and thirty of his people, and took captive the wife and the son of the chieftain. This last blow broke the heart of Philip. We blush to record that these illustrious captives were sold into slavery, and this is the last which is known of their doom. Dejected, disheartened, but unyielding, the bereaved husband and father retired to his ancestral court at Pokanoket, or Mount Hope. The English surrounded him so that all retreat was cut off. The heroic Captain Church now arranged his men to hunt the still indomitable chieftain like a wolf in his lair. One after another of the Indian warriors fell into the hands of the English, but still Pometacom eluded capture. It was much feared that he would again escape, and by his diplomatic sagacity again rouse and combine the distant tribes. Some Indian prisoners who were taken on the 2d of August, with their accustomed readiness to betray their brethren, informed Captain Church that Pometacom, with a small but determined band, was encamped at but a short distance in the forest. It was now dark night. There were no paths through the miry and tangled wilderness. Captain Church, apprehensive of an ambush, did not venture to kindle a fire or to speak in a loud voice. All his men sat as quiet and immovable as the stumps around them until the dawn of the morning.

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As soon as the first ray of light appeared in the east, he sent two scouts to creep cautiously along and endeavor to spy out the position of the foe. Pometacom, no less wary, had at the same moment dispatched two Indians to report the movements of his formidable adversaries. The respective spies reported almost at the same moment to the two parties. Philip had not been aware that his enemies were so near to him. His warriors had kindled their fires for their morning meal. Their kettles were boiling, and their meat was roasting on their wooden spits. Their scouts had but just reported the appalling vicinity of the foe when Church and his men, discharging a shower of bullets upon the surprised Indians, burst upon them from the forest with infuriate cries. Several of the Indians fell before the murderous discharge. The rest, thus taken by surprise, seized their guns and plunged into the recesses of the swamp.

He

The extraordinary sagacity and caution of Pometacom is evinced by the fact that he was prepared even for such a surprise as this. had stationed a portion of his warriors in ambush in the immediate vicinity, that he might in his flight draw the pursuing English into a fatal snare. But Pometacom had a foe to encounter who was as wary as himself. When the Indian chieftain and the English captain met it was Greek meeting Greek. Captain Church avoided the ambush, and a long and random fight ensued, the Indians retreating from tree to tree, while the swamp resounded with the incessant musketry. Cunning as the Indians were, the English were still more wary and skillful. In three days Pometacom had now lost one hundred and seventy-three warriors, either slain or taken captive.

One of the Indian warriors now ventured to urge Pometacom to make peace with the English. The haughty monarch immediately put the man to death, as a punishment for his temerity, and as a warning to others. The brother of this man, indignant at such severity, and apprehensive of a similar fate, immediately deserted to the English, and offered to guide Captain Church through the swamp to the retreat of Pometacom. Guided by this Indian, whose name was Alderman, early on Saturday morning, August 12th, Captain Church came to the encampment of the chieftain, and secretly stationed men at all of its outlets. It was in the early gray of the morning; and the despairing fugitive, exhausted by days and nights of the most harassing flight and fighting, was soundly asleep. The few warriors still faithful to him, equally exhausted, were dozing at his side. Captain Church, when his men were stationed so as to cut off all retreat, sent a small party, under Captain Goulden, to creep cautiously within musket-shot of their sleeping foes, discharge a volley of bullets upon them, and then rush into the camp. The dreams of Philip were disturbed by the crash of musketry, the whistling of bullets, and the shout and the rush of his foes. He leaped from his couch of dry leaves, and, like a deer, bounded from hummock to hummock in the swamp. An Englishman and the Indian deserter, Alderman, were placed behind a large tree, with their guns cocked and primed, directly in the line of his flight. The Englishman took deliberate aim at the chief, who was but a few yards distant, and sprung his lock. The night dews of the swamp had moistened his powder, and the gun missed fire. The life of Pometacom was thus prolonged for half a minute. Alderman then

eagerly directed his gun against the chief to whom but a few hours before he had been in subjection. A sharp report rang through the forest, and two bullets from the gun passed almost directly through the heart of the heroic warrior. For an instant the majestic frame of the Indian chieftain trembled from the shock, and then he fell heavy and stone dead in the mud and water of the swamp.

Thus fell Pometacom, one of the most illustrious of the native inhabitants of the North American continent. We must remember that the Indians have no chroniclers of their wrongs; and yet the colonial historians furnish us with abundant incidental evidence that outrages were perpetrated by individuals of the colonists which were sufficient to drive any people mad. No one can now contemplate the doom of Pometacom, the last of an illustrious line, but with emotions of sadness.

"Even that he lived is for his conqueror's tongue, By foes alone his death-song must be sung:

No chronicles but theirs shall tell

Ilis mournful doom to future times;
May these upon his virtues dwell,
And in his fate forget his crimes!"

MONADS.

THE traveler can not approach the boundary

world was composed. He followed in this, faithful to the prevailing usage, the great theory of Democritus about atoms, and the more recent views of Leibnitz on monads. This idea has, of course, been long since abandoned. Soon after, he observed new varieties in other waters, even in the salt water of the ocean; and his joy was great, and his triumph complete, when, at last, he actually succeeded in creating them, as it were, in an infusion upon pepper. He had hoped to discover, with the aid of the microscope, the pungent power of pepper; and, for the purpose, kept rain-water standing upon it for some time. And, lo and behold! new tiny beings had suddenly made their appearance.

Nearly a hundred years later, a German naturalist repeated these experiments more methodically, and first named the result of his labors Infusoria, from the principal mode of production. He and others fancied, it seems, that there was a kind of primary creation taking place every time that water was poured upon some vegetable or animal matter, and exposed for some time to the influence of air and light. For an infusion is, even now, the most usual way to obtain whole hosts of these little

beings; if we will not take them from the near

est stagnant water, we need only have a few drops of water, into which some organic matter has been thrown, for a day or two exposed to the air. It is utterly immaterial whether the water be fresh or foul, boiled, or just fallen from the clouds: in a few days it will be filled with living beings.

This new world of smallest animals was so marvelously full of fantastic forms, surprising

line of some mighty empire without feeling his heart beat and his mind swell with vast expectation. We feel the same in Nature, when we leave behind us the fair realm of Flora and enter into the gay, graceful life of the animal kingdom, especially as the first province that greets us is a land where all is mystery yet, and every form we behold new and peculiar. All around us we are met by wonders and secrets, known to the mass only by hear-changes, and incredibly delicate organizations, say, and by some regarded with aversion, by others despised as unworthy their notice. Still, there are few parts of the created world of which man is master that are decked with greater beauty, and abound more with surprising evidences of an all-wise Creator. As some faithful followers of Swedenborg fancy that the spirits of the beloved they have lost hover around them, though the eye does not see nor the ear hear them, so this boundless world, with its uncounted millions, created anew every day, every minute, had for thousands of years lived, and moved, and enjoyed existence at our feet, right before our eyes, and yet blind man had ignored them, in dull ignorance or haughty contempt.

It was not until the month of April, in 1675, that the far-famed naturalist of Holland, Leeuwenhoek, discovered first tiny animals in a drop of rain-water which he had kept for some time in his study. The philosophers of Europe were amazed; but a short time before the microscope itself had been discovered, and now a whole new world, full of wonders, was added to the great kingdoms of Nature! Leeuwenhoek called the diminutive creatures, not inappropriately, animalcules; and so far he was right; but he also fancied them to be the living atoms, the original elements of which the whole

that for years and years the microscope was looked upon in the light of a kaleidoscope-an instrument rich in amusement, but presenting little more than accidental combinations and fanciful shapes. The illusion, it was granted, was extremely pleasing-the new world there displayed full of wonders; but it was, after all, only an illusion. Quacks and charlatans profited by the public curiosity thus excited, and learned works were written on "The Making of Strange Little Bodies." May-dew or twicedistilled waters-liquids of rare or revolting nature-were poured upon all possible substances, and wonders not only expected with confidence, but, if we may trust the accounts of these writers, actually witnessed. As late as 1825, a French savant solemnly assured his audience that the bluebottle flies they observed had been created by an infusion of water upon raw beef; and much more recently still, grave proposals were made to revive infusoria found in meteoric stones, and thus to transplant the microscopic denizens of our kind neighbor, the moon, into our own lakes and rivers!

Even Linnæus still called the unknown world thus revealed to the amazed eye a "chaos infusorium," well knowing that the same order which he had so successfully introduced into

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