The tract of country known by the name of New England was formerly inhabited by numerous bands of Indians, though none of them equalled the more southern tribes. They were, however, warlike, and were led by chiefs of great ability. Dr. Trumbull computes the New England Indians as, at one time, amounting to 123,000. In the winter of 1617, the plague, or some other mortal disease, broke out among them, and almost depopulated the country.
When the English first landed at Plymouth, they saw few indications of inhabitants. Yet the number of Indians in Massachusetts was probably not less than 10,000 or 12,000, and in Rhode Island not less than 8,000. The Pequods and Mohegans, in Connecticut, had about 1,000 warriors; these, with others, made the Indian population there equal to about 12,000. In New Hampshire, there were probably about 4,000. The whole number of warriors in New England might be estimated at 12,000, upon the arrival of our ancestors at Plymouth. Had these been all united in hostility against the strangers, they must have proved formidable enemies, indeed, to the little company landing on the coast in the bleak month of December.
The Pequods were the most warlike of all the Indians in New England. More than twenty kings were their tributaries. It was fortunate for the colonies that this tribe was not in the immediate vicinity of Plymouth. Their chief seat was in Connecticut.
The Indians in the western part of this region were so often exposed to the incursions of the Mohawks, that they were not only weakened, but they lived in constant dread of their fierce and savage foe. This terrible enemy was wont to burst suddenly and unexpectedly into their country, and, as they rushed upon their victims, they yelled in their ears, “Hadree, hadree succomce, succomce,” We come, we come to suck your blood! The cry of “The Mohawks! the Mohawks!” was the most appalling sound that could assail the ears of these people.
The Indians of Massachusetts were greatly exasperated by the conduct of a Captain Hunt, previous to the arrival of the pilgrims. He had enticed twenty-seven Indians on board of his ship, carried them off, and sold them as slaves. After they heard of the arrival of the colonists, they meditated their extermination, and held a powow, or council, in a swamp, where, for three days, they deliberated as to what they should do. According to their usage, they cursed the white men; but, not being aware of their weak condition, they did not venture to attack them. An overruling hand withheld them, and a voice spoke to them, though they knew not whence it came, “Touch not my people, and do my servants no harm!”
The landing at Plymouth took place on the 22d of December, 1620. On the 16th of March, 1621, Samoset—one of the Indians who had been kidnapped by the English, and found his way back to his people, and who had acquired some knowledge of our language—came to Plymouth, and saluted the colonists with the agreeable words, “Welcome, Englishmen!” We may imagine how joyfully they listened to his story, as he portrayed to them the kindly character of Massasoit, the sachem who bore rule in that vicinity. For days exposed to cold, hunger, and sickness, they had waited the opening of spring, doubtless with many anxious fears as to what evils might threaten them from the savages of the wilderness; and to be now assured that the principal chief was kindly disposed must have been cheering indeed.
Samoset was soon despatched to the sachem, charged with a message of peace, and Massasoit himself, and his brother Quadequina, with sixty armed men, came to pay a visit to Governor Carver. After exchanging hostages, Massasoit advanced to a brook with twenty unarmed men, where he was met by a file of musketeers, and was conducted to a house and seated on a green rug, with a number of cushions. Here the two chiefs saluted each other, kissed hands, and entered into a league of friendship, commerce, and mutual defence. This treaty gave peace to all that part of the country, and Massasoit always continued to be a firm friend to the colonists.
The first attack on the Europeans, by the Indians of New England, was at Connecticut, in 1636, by the Pequod tribe. They felt jealous of the strangers who had come upon their ancient soil, over which they had so long roamed as the sole possessors. With the hope, therefore, of expelling or exterminating the intruders, they attacked the fort at Saybrook, and slew and took captive the inhabitants of that early settlement. Determined on more extensive and fatal measures against the colonists, the Pequods sought to gain over the adjacent tribe of the Narragansets, with whom they had before carried on a bloody warfare. They represented to them that these foreigners were mere intruders, dispossessing the original inhabitants, and that, unless, by a general combination, they were driven off or destroyed, they would become masters of the whole country. They also bade them reflect, that, if the English should destroy the Pequods, they would soon root out the Narragansets themselves.
In consequence of their attacks, the colonists felt it necessary to take vigorous measures for carrying the war even into the intrenchments of the enemy. Captain Mason, with ninety Englishmen and seventy Mohegan and River Indians, who had been secured as allies, was accordingly despatched from Hartford, to search out the enemy, and give them battle. These were joined by Captain Underhill, of Saybrook, with nineteen men.
On the 26th of May, 1637, Mason, after a fatiguing march, surprised Mystic, near the present town of Stonington, one of the principal Indian forts. After a volley from their fire-arms, they entered the place, sword in hand, their Indian allies leaving them to make the assault alone. Captain Mason, with his company, had approached on the east side, and Captain Underhill, with his men, on the west side. When they were within about a rod of the fort, the barking of a dog awakened the sleeping sentinel, who cried out, “Owannux! Owannux!” Englishmen! Englishmen! The Indians, roused by the cry, rallied, and fought bravely, and victory for a time hung in suspense, till Captain Mason, observing that the wigwams were covered with mats, or other combustible materials, had recourse to the expedient of setting them on fire.
This decided the fate of the Pequods. In an hour, about seventy wigwams were destroyed, and most of the Indians, estimated at four or five hundred, were burned to death, shot down, or slain by the sword. Sassacus, the Pequod sachem, and his warriors, were so panic-struck by the loss of their fort and the destruction of their men, that they burned their remaining wigwams and the royal fortress, and fled towards the Hudson River. They were pursued to a swamp near Fairfield, where another battle took place, in which the Pequods were entirely vanquished. The Mohawks, treacherously hired, as has been supposed, by the Narragansets, then fell upon the remnant of the tribe, and cut them to pieces. It was calculated, that, in the whole, not less than seven hundred Indians fell in this war. A few, who still lingered on their ancient grounds, at last united with the Mohegans, under Uncas. This chief had shown himself a friend to the English, and some of his descendants have remained, till within a few years, among the few Mohegans who still hold lands in the vicinity of Norwich, Connecticut.
This effort of the Pequods, under the renowned Sassacus, was the first great attempt of the Indians to destroy the settlers of New England. So speedy and terrible was the retribution which followed this attempt, that the humbled Indians remained at peace for many years after. Other circumstances aided to promote this state of things. Sassacus, the monarch of the country, reigning over twenty Indian kings, had maintained a long and successful war with Miantonimoh, the sachem of the Narragansets, and was an object of terror to that people. Miantonimoh and his nation, therefore, desired a league with the colonists, to defend them against the Pequods. Massasoit, also, and his people, had sought the same alliance as a defence against their bitter and dangerous foes, the Tarratines of Maine; and all the New England Indians desired, especially, to secure themselves against the attacks of the terrible Mohawks. Thus mutual weakness and mutual fears led to general peace.
Attempts were early made by the colonists to instruct the Indians in the Christian religion. About the year 1644, Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Eliot began, successfully, to engage in labors for the conversion of the Indians on Martha’s Vineyard and at Natick. At first, there was great opposition by the sachems and powows, or priests, who used every effort to baffle and discourage the devoted missionaries. But, in 1660, there were whole towns of “praying Indians,” and in 1687, there were more than twenty assemblies of these savages who worshipped the true God. Eliot, with vast labor, translated the Bible into the language of those among whom he preached. This was printed, and a copy of it may occasionally be found treasured up as a curiosity in our public libraries. In 1695, there were not less than 3,000 adult Indians, reckoned as converts to the Christian religion, in the islands of Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.
About the year 1675, another Indian war began, which proved the most serious contest in which the colonists had ever been engaged. For several years previously, the Indians had been silently forming a general conspiracy for the extermination of the New England colonies. Massasoit, the good friend of the English, was dead, and his grandson Philip, sachem of the Wampanoags, whose chief seat was in Rhode Island, did not inherit the kindly feeling of his ancestor toward the whites. He was a man of great abilities, and, had his means been equal to his skill and bravery, the result might have proved fatal to the now flourishing colonies.
A Christian Indian, named John Sausaman, discovered to the English the mischiefs he was plotting against them. Philip, burning with rage that his plan should be revealed, caused Sausaman to be murdered. The English detected the murderers, apprehended them, and after a trial, in which their guilt was sufficiently apparent, executed them. This still further incited Philip to revenge. On the 20th of June, he commenced open hostilities on the town of Swansey, near his territory.
The torch of war, thus lighted, continued to rage over the whole extent of New England, for several years, with unabated fury. Its details would fill a volume. Philip,[8] who was the master spirit of the league against the whites, displayed a courage, sagacity, and perseverance, worthy of a king and a patriot. Nor was he ill seconded by the tribes whom he drew into the conspiracy by his eloquence and his intrigues. Though often defeated, he was never discouraged, and, while his foe seemed about to trample him to the earth, he frequently arose with renewed vigor and more desperate resolution. He was at length slain, and, though the struggle was maintained for some time longer, it at last resulted in a general defeat of the Indians, from which they never recovered. The war had extended from Rhode Island to Maine, and, throughout the whole extent of this region, the smoke of the dwellings and the cries of the victims were seen and heard on every hand. Many of the most flourishing English villages were laid in ashes. The struggle was not finished till the spring of 1678. Six hundred of the flower of the colonists perished, and three hundred houses were consumed. The Mohegans and a few other tribes remained friendly, but the rest shared in the war and its fatal consequences.
The next efforts of the Indians against the New England colonies took place during the long and bloody wars between the French and English, called the wars of William and Queen Anne. In June, 1689, instigated by the French, they surprised Cocheco, part of the town of Dover, New Hampshire, and killed and took captive about fifty of the inhabitants. They began depredations, also, in various parts of Maine, plundering, burning, and carrying off captives, wherever they were able. For ten years the provinces of New Hampshire and Massachusetts were subjected to the fury of the savages. Deerfield, on the Connecticut River, was surprised and burnt, forty persons were killed, and nearly a hundred men, women, and children led away captive. The eastern settlements, also, were again ravaged and depopulated. A treaty was at last concluded in the year 1699. From time to time, however, the war was renewed, as the French often succeeded in engaging the Indians in their plans. In 1713, a peace having been agreed upon between the French and English, the Eastern Indians, who had again been involved in hostilities with the colonists, sent a flag, desiring peace. A general pacification ensued, to the great joy of all parties.
We must now turn our attention to the severe contest with the Indians along the northeastern border, which commenced in 1722. Before the subjugation of Canada by the British, the New England settlements, as we have seen, were exposed to the hostilities of the Eastern Indians, and a spirit of jealousy and revenge was kept up, not only between the different nations, but between individuals. The boundaries of the different territories being loosely defined, both sides were left exposed to real or fancied encroachments, so that pretexts for war were always at hand. The French Jesuits had planted themselves among the Indian tribes at an early period; and at the beginning of the eighteenth century, they had two churches among the Eastern Indians,—one at Penobscot, and the other at Norridgewock, within the boundaries of the present State of Maine.
At the latter settlement resided the Jesuit, Sebastian Rasle, a man of talent, learning, and address, who, by accommodating himself to the Indian mode of life, and maintaining a gentle, condescending deportment, had completely won the affection of the savages, and his influence over them was supreme. Knowing the power of superstition over their minds, he took advantage of this, and of their prejudice against the English, to strengthen the interest of the French among them. He even made the offices of devotion serve as incentives to their ferocity; he kept a banner, on which was depicted a cross surrounded by bows and arrows, which he was accustomed to hoist on a pole at the door of his church, and gave the Indians absolution, previous to their setting out on a warlike expedition.
The governor of Canada held a constant correspondence with this Jesuit, and received through his hands information of every thing that transpired among the tribes in that quarter. From these individuals the savages received every encouragement to assert their title to lands occupied by the English, and to molest the settlers, by killing their cattle, burning their haystacks, and robbing and insulting them. Many of the inhabitants, alarmed by these demonstrations of hostility, removed from the frontiers in 1720. The garrisons were reinforced, and scouting parties were sent abroad, which checked for a time the hostile movements of the Indians, who were compelled, the same year, to give hostages for their good behaviour. This last requisition was highly disrelished by the governor of Canada, who renewed his efforts to keep up the quarrel, and secretly promised to supply the Indians with arms and ammunition, although, as Great Britain and France were not then at war, he could not openly assist them. The New England governments obtained information of these intrigues; yet, though highly incensed, they judged it best not to rush into hostilities. The main dispute lay between the Indians and the proprietors of the eastern lands, and the public were not directly concerned in it. No blood had as yet been shed within the limits of the English territory.
Rasle was considered the principal instigator of the Indians, and it was thought, that, if he were removed, all would be quiet. A proposal was made to send the sheriff of York County with a posse of a hundred and fifty men, to seize him and bring him to Boston, but this bold stroke was not ventured upon. In the summer of 1721, Rasle, in company with the Count de Castine from Penobscot, and Croisil from Canada, appeared at one of the English garrisons, and presented a letter, written in the name of the several Indian tribes to Governor Shute of Massachusetts, declaring, that, “if the English did not remove in three weeks, they would kill them and their cattle, and burn their houses.” The lands in question were comprehended within the limits of the English patents, and the settlers were considered the only legal proprietors. They had been accustomed to obtain regular deeds of sale from the Indians, and pay them a valuable consideration; but some of these titles were from an obscure and questionable source; and the memory of such transactions is soon lost among people possessing no written records. The Indians easily forget the sales made by their ancestors, or imagine that such bargains are not binding upon their posterity.
The Massachusetts government, on receiving this menacing epistle, sent an additional force to the Maine frontiers; and, being desirous to avoid a rupture, invited the Indians to a conference, from which the French emissaries were to be excluded. This invitation was treated with neglect; and in the succeeding winter, a party under Colonel Westbrooke was ordered to Norridgewock to seize Rasle. They reached the village undiscovered; but, before they could surround his house, he had escaped into the woods, leaving his papers in his strong box, which they brought away, without committing any act of violence. Among these papers were his letters of correspondence with the governor of Canada, which afforded positive proof that he was deeply engaged in intrigues to incite the Indians to hostilities. The savages were enraged at this attempt to seize their spiritual father, and resolved upon revenge. In the summer of 1722, they made a descent upon the settlements at Merry-Meeting Bay, and captured nine families; dismissing some of the prisoners, they retained enough to secure the redemption of their hostages in the hands of the English, and sent them off to Canada. Their next attack was on the fort at St. George, on the Androscoggin, where they were repulsed with considerable loss. They afterwards surprised some fishing vessels in the eastern harbours, and at length made a furious attack on the town of Brunswick, which they destroyed. These hostilities determined the government of Massachusetts to issue a declaration of war against them, which was published in form, at Boston and Portsmouth, on the 25th of July, 1722.
Troops were raised and enlisted for two years’ service, and the government had no scruples in offering a bounty of forty pounds sterling for every Indian scalp. This war obtained the name of “Lovewell’s War,” from Captain John Lovewell, of Dunstable, in New Hampshire, who was the most prominent commander in the enterprise against the enemy, and was killed in a severe engagement. Various incursions were made upon the settlements by the Indians during the year 1723, and several of the inhabitants were killed and carried into captivity. On the 10th of June, 1724, a farmer and his son, being at work on Oyster River, planting corn, went to a brook to drink, and discovered three Indian packs. They immediately ran to give information to a company of volunteers, which had lately been raised in the neighbourhood, for the defence of the frontier. The company marched towards the spot, but were fired upon from an ambush, and the farmer and his son, who acted as guides, were both killed. The company then fired and killed one of the Indians, and wounded two others who made their escape, though they were pursued and tracked by their blood to a considerable distance. The slain Indian was a person of distinction, and wore a species of coronet, made of fur, dyed scarlet, with an appendage of four small bells, by the sound of which the others might follow him through the thickets. His hair, contrary to what is almost universal among the natives, was remarkably soft and fine; and he had about him a devotional book, and a muster-roll of one hundred and eighty Indians. From these various circumstances, it was supposed that he was a natural son of the Jesuit, Rasle, by an Indian woman, who served him as a domestic.
Garrison-houses were built among the frontier settlements, to which the inhabitants were warned to repair in time of danger. At Dover there were many families of Quakers, who, doubting the lawfulness of war, could not be persuaded to use any means for their defence, although the Indians never spared them on that account. One of these, John Hanson, lived remote from the garrison, and refused to take shelter in it with his family, although he had a large number of children. A party of thirteen Indians, called French Mohawks, had marked his house for their prey, and lay several days in ambush, waiting for an opportunity to attack it. On the 27th of June, while Hanson and his eldest daughter were gone to attend the weekly meeting, and his two eldest sons were at work in a meadow at some distance, the Indians entered the house, killed and scalped two small children, and took his wife, with her infant of fourteen days old, her nurse, two daughters, and a son, and, after rifling the house, carried them off. This was done so suddenly and secretly, that the first person who discovered it was the eldest daughter, on her return from the meeting. Seeing the two children dead at the door, she uttered a shriek of distress, which was distinctly heard by her mother, then in the hands of the enemy among the bushes, and by her brothers in the meadow. The people, being soon alarmed, went in pursuit of the enemy; but the Indians, cautiously avoiding all beaten paths, went off with their captives undiscovered. The mother, though of a tender constitution, had a firm and vigorous mind, and passed through the various hardships of an Indian captivity with much resolution and patience. When her milk failed, she supported her infant with water warmed in her mouth, till the squaws taught her to beat the kernel of walnuts and boil it with bruised corn, which proved a nourishing food for the babe. The prisoners were all sold to the French in Canada. Hanson redeemed them the following year, one daughter remaining behind.
These and other outrages of the enemy caused the government of Massachusetts to resolve on an expedition against the Indian town of Norridgewock. Two hundred men, under Captains Moulton and Harman, marched from York in August. They left forty of their men at Teconic Falls, on the Kennebec, and, dividing the remainder into two bodies, one of them, under Harman, took a circuitous route, hoping to surprise some of the enemy in their cornfields, while the other, under Moulton, marched directly for the village of Norridgewock, which, being surrounded by trees, could not be seen till they were close upon it. All the Indians were in their wigwams, and the English advanced cautiously and in perfect silence. When they had approached very near, an Indian came out of his wigwam, and, discovering the English, set up the war-whoop, ran in, and seized his gun. In a few minutes the warriors were all in arms, and advanced to meet them. Moulton gave orders not to fire till the Indians had made the first discharge. This was done, and, as he expected, they overshot the English, who then immediately fired with great execution. After another volley had been exchanged, the savages fled with precipitation to the river. They were pursued and slaughtered in every quarter, and their wigwams set on fire. Moulton wished to take Rasle alive, and gave strict orders that no one should kill him. But the Jesuit having shut himself up in his house, from which he continued to fire upon the English, one of them burst into it, and shot him through the head. They then set fire to the church, which was a handsome structure, and brought away the plate and furniture of the altar, with the devotional banner, as trophies of their victory. Eighty of the Indians were killed in this attack, and three English captives rescued.
The fate of Norridgewock struck great terror into the savages, and they no longer thought themselves safe at any of their former places of abode, but occupied them as resting-places only, when they were scouting or hunting. This successful undertaking, and the large premium offered for scalps, brought several volunteer companies into the field. In December, Captain Lovewell, with thirty men, made an excursion to the north of Lake Winnipiseogee. They discovered an Indian wigwam, in which were a man and a boy. They killed and scalped the man, and brought the boy alive to Boston, where they received the reward promised by the government, and a considerable gratuity besides. This company was soon increased to seventy, and Lovewell marched again, early in 1725, toward the head of Salmon-Fall River. Their provision falling short, thirty of them, selected by lot, were dismissed, and returned home. The remaining forty continued their march till the 20th of February, when they discovered a track, which they followed till they saw a smoke, just before sunset; from this they judged that the enemy were encamped for the night. They kept themselves concealed till after midnight, when they cautiously advanced, and discovered ten Indians asleep round a fire, by the side of a frozen pond. Lovewell now determined to make sure work, and, stationing his men conveniently, ordered five of them to fire in rapid succession, and the remainder to reserve their shot. He gave the signal by discharging his own gun, which killed two Indians; and the men, firing according to order, despatched five more on the spot. The remaining three started up from their sleep, but two of them were immediately shot dead by the reserve, and the other was wounded. He attempted to escape across the pond, but was seized by a dog, who held him fast until the English came up and despatched him. Thus, in the space of a few minutes, the whole party was destroyed, and an attempt against the frontiers of New Hampshire prevented;—for these Indians were marching from Canada, well furnished with new guns and plenty of ammunition for that object; they had also a number of spare blankets, moccasins, and snow-shoes, for the use of the prisoners whom they expected to take. The pond near which these events transpired is now known as Lovewell’s Pond. The company, with their ten scalps stretched on hoops, in the Indian fashion, marched to Boston in great triumph, and received their bounty out of the public treasury. The English spoke of this enterprise with great exultation, and pronounced it a capital exploit. In the light of the present day, the barbarity of giving a premium for scalps would be justly censured.
This brilliant success, as it was then termed, encouraged Lovewell to his last and fatal undertaking. Early in March, he again took the field, intending to attack the Indian villages of Piguacket, on the upper part of the Saco, where a formidable tribe had anciently a settled habitation, though at this period they only paid occasional visits there. His company consisted of forty-six men, including a chaplain and a surgeon. Two of them became lame, and returned. Another falling sick, they halted, and built a stockade fort on the west side of Great Ossipee Lake, partly for the accommodation of the sick man, and partly for a stronghold in case of any reverse. Here the surgeon was left with the invalid man, and eight of the company for a guard. Lovewell, with his thirty-four men, advanced to the northward about twenty-two miles, and encamped on the shore of a pond in the evening of the 7th of May. Early the next morning, while the men were at prayer, they heard the report of a gun, and discovered an Indian about a mile distant, standing on a point of land jutting out into the water. They had been alarmed during the night by noises round their camp, which they imagined were made by Indians, and now suspected that the one whom they saw was placed there to decoy them, and that a body of the enemy was in their front. A council of war was held, and they decided to go forward, and, by marching round the pond, to gain the spot where the Indian stood. That they might be ready for action, they disencumbered themselves of their packs, and left them, without any guard, in a pine plain, where the trees were too thinly set to hide them.
Lovewell, on his march, had crossed a carrying-place, by which two parties of Indians, consisting of forty-one warriors, commanded by the noted chiefs Paugus and Wahwa, who had been on a scout down the Saco, were returning to the lower village of Piguacket, about a mile and a half from the pond. Having fallen on Lovewell’s track, they followed it, and came at last to the baggage, which they carried off. On counting the packs, they found the number of the English to be less than that of their own force. They therefore placed themselves in ambush to attack them on their return. The Indian who had stood on the point, and was returning to the village by another path, met the English and received their fire, which he returned, and wounded Lovewell and another person with small shot. By a second fire the Indian was killed, and they took his scalp. Seeing no other enemy, the company returned toward their packs, and, while they were searching for them, the Indians sprang from their ambush and ran towards them with a horrid yell. A smart firing commenced on both sides, and Lovewell was speedily slain, with eight others. Several of the Indians fell, but, being superior in numbers, they were by no means daunted, and endeavoured to surround the English, who, perceiving their design, retreated, hoping to gain a shelter behind a point of rocks and some large pine-trees on the shore of the pond. Here they took their station, having on their right the mouth of a brook, and on their left the rocky point,—their front being partly covered by a deep bog, with the pond in their rear.
The battle now recommenced. The Indians poured in their fire from front and flank, and had so much the advantage of position, that, by a little skill, they might have shot down every man of the English, or compelled them to surrender at discretion, as they were totally unable to extricate themselves, and were entirely destitute of provisions. Under the conduct of Lieutenant Wyman, the latter kept up their fire, and maintained a resolute countenance the remainder of the day,—the action having begun a little after ten in the morning. The chaplain and three others were mortally wounded. The Indians invited them to surrender by holding up ropes to them, and endeavoured to intimidate them by hideous yells; but they determined to die rather than yield, and, by their well directed fire, the number of the savages was reduced, and their cries became fainter, till, just before night, they quitted their advantageous ground, carrying off their killed and wounded, and leaving the dead bodies of Lovewell and his men unscalped. The shattered remnants of this brave company, on coming together, found three of their number unable to move from the spot, eleven wounded, but able to march, and nine unhurt. It was melancholy to leave their dying companions behind, but there was no possibility of removing them. One of these, Ensign Robbins, desired them to lay his gun beside him loaded, that, if the Indians should return before his death, he might be able to kill one more.
After the rising of the moon, those who were able quitted the fatal spot, and directed their march toward the fort where the surgeon and guard had been left. To their great surprise, they found it abandoned. In the beginning of the action, one man had deserted and fled to the fort, where, in the style of Job’s messengers, he informed them of Lovewell’s death and the defeat of the whole company, upon which they made the best of their way home, leaving a quantity of provisions, which proved a seasonable relief to the retreating survivors. From this place they endeavoured to get home. Lieutenant Farwell, and the chaplain, who had the journal of the march in his pocket, and one other, perished in the woods, for want of a dressing for their wounds. The others, after enduring the most severe hardships, reached the settlements, one after another. There were no white residents within fifty miles of the scene of the battle.
A party from the New Hampshire frontier was ordered out to bury the dead. Fourteen bodies were found, which were interred, and their names carved on the trees. Three Indian graves were discovered and opened; one of them contained the body of the warrior-chief, Paugus. Tracks of blood were traced to a great distance from the scene of action, but the exact loss of the enemy never was known. After this battle, the Indians abandoned the neighbourhood of Piguacket, and did not return till the war was over.
A doggerel ballad, on the subject of “Lovewell’s Fight,” made its appearance the same year that these events happened, and was for a long time very popular in New England. As the reader may wish to see a specimen of it, we quote the opening stanza, which is as follows.
“Of worthy Captain Lovewell I purpose now to sing,
How valiantly he served his country and his king.
He and his valiant soldiers did range the woods full wide,
And hardships they endured to quell the Indian’s pride.”
We add the sixteenth stanza, as it notices a striking circumstance.
“Our worthy Captain Lovewell among them there did die.
They killed Lieutenant Robbins, and wounded good young Frye,
Who was our English chaplain; he many Indians slew,
And some of them he scalped, when bullets round him flew.”
The following winter, four chiefs came to Boston to ratify the treaty which followed these hostilities. The government of the colonies prohibited all private traffic with the Indians, as it had been the cause of many troubles. Truck-houses were established in convenient places, at which they were supplied with all the necessaries of life on advantageous terms. Though the government was a loser by the trade, this was deemed the most economical method of preserving peace, and it seems fully to have accomplished its purpose.
The natives throughout the New England provinces, now thinned and weakened, while the English had gained strength and extended their settlements in every direction, made no more serious attempts upon the peace of the country. In the French wars, even down to the period just preceding the Revolution, it is true that incursions were occasionally made, but they produced no lasting results.
There are few Indians now remaining in the New England States. A small number of Mohegans still reside in the vicinity of Norwich, Connecticut, where they have a neat little church, and a missionary has labored among them with some success. A few Penobscot Indians, too, are found in Maine, and here and there, in other places, may be met one or more of the descendants of the aborigines; but they are like the last scattered leaves of autumn,—withered, decaying, and frozen by the wintry blasts; spring finds them not again.