USA > Massachusetts > Middlesex County > Old landmarks and historic fields of Middlesex > Part 35
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CHAPTER XIX.
A FRAGMENT OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
" Ah ! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near ? - yet there, with lust of murderous deeds, Gleamed like a basilisk from woods in view, The ambushed foeman's eye."
A N hour's ride from the city by the railway brings you to the village of South Sudbury. After you have alighted at the little station, and the carriages have ceased to rumble in the distance, a stillness, almost painful by its contrast with the roar and rush of your fiery steed, settles upon hill and vale. If it be a warm summer's day, not a sound breaks in upon the silence. Your own or another's voice startles you. It is likely that you will not even hear the lowing of cattle, for they have sought some friendly shade by the margin of the brook. A little ripple of light follows the lightest zephyr that plays across the fields of bearded grain. The pastures are crisp and dry beneath your feet ; the air you breathe is laden with the heated vapors you see playing to and fro in waves before you. Even chanticleer is mute, and the accustomed sounds from the barn- yard are seldom heard. The scene is one of nature's tranquil pictures.
" Peace to the husbandman and a' his tribe."
The village of South Sudbury lies embosomed in a little valley formed by considerable hills. A few houses mount the slope of the easternmost eminence, which is called Green Hill, while to the southwest of the meadows through which trickles the Mill or Hop Brook, rises what we call a mountain in Mas- sachusetts, -a well-wooded height lying partly in Framing- ham and still holding to its Indian name of Nobscot. The brook once turned the water-wheel of an ancient saw and grist
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A FRAGMENT OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
mill at the foot of Green Hill, where it now performs the same office for a paper-mill. Following the railway straight on to the north, a mile away the steeple of Sudbury meeting-house rises exactly at the point where the converging iron bands seem to meet in the distance. South Framingham, Wayland, Con- cord, and Marlborough are about equally distant.
As for the village it is, like other country towns, fast asleep, except when roused by the scream of the steam-whistle, or brought into spasmodic activity by the recurrence of some national or State holiday. Pass through it at any other time, and you see indeed shops open and people walking about with their eyes wide open ; but the former are cold and still, while the latter appear to be somnambulists. Why they are out of doors they could not tell any more than where they are going, - they are impelled to movement without object or seeming necessity. The shops are empty. The shopman either stands in the doorway with his hands thrust into the lowest depths of his breeches-pockets, or is seen squatted on the threshold of his bazaar with a jack-knife in one hand and a pine chip, which he is listlessly whittling, in the other. On one side the door are arranged a group of agricultural tools, a board on which is chalked the market value of white beans, a keg of nails, and a few articles of wooden-ware. On the other side, suspended like a malefactor from a gibbet, is a checked woollen shirt above a pair of trousers having a pattern not un- like those worn in our public prisons. In the windows are all manner of things, which seem as if they had been stranded there by the flood ; for so old-fashioned are they that they will carry you back any distance your imagination is capable of. The shopkeeper is not looking out for customers, - that were indeed a hopeless employment, - but is merely killing time, while he of the hour-glass and scythe is slowly but surely re- taliating in kind.
When this was the old post-route to Hartford and New York, in that ever-famous year 1775, and mine host Baker kept the public inn in Sudbury, the arrival of coach, post- chaise, or army express was the great event. If coach or
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post-rider happened to change horses, the scene assembled all the loose, idle, gaping, surplus population of the town, who came to stare at the horses, the coach, and the passengers. With what interest did they not watch the process of un- hitching one set of horses and the putting in of another. The passengers who dismount for a visit to the bar of the tav- ern, or a taste of mine host's viands, must run the gauntlet of eyes determined not to lose their slightest movement. The very horses, raising their dripping muzzles from the drinking- trough, seem to wonder what the people can be staring at. Or imagine the same group assembled round the postman. Not one in ten ever received a letter in his lifetime, but it is indis- pensable that the same question should be asked, with the same unvarying answer. The coach gone, the rumble of wheels dies away, and so quiet is the place become that you can hear the ring of the village smith's anvil, or the squeak of some old well-sweep, from one end of the town to the other.
It is but lately that Sudbury has been discovered by a rail- way. How much of a luxury it is considered by the inhabi- tants along the line may be gathered from the circumstance that during our journey thither we were, with only another wayfarer, the sole occupants of a train of four carriages.
The years 1675- 76 were fateful ones for New England. The old chronicler, Hubbard, says, "It was ebbing water with New England at this time, and awhile after; but God shall turn the stream before it be long, and bring down their ene- mies to lick the dust before them." Philip, the great chieftain of the Wampanoags, had begun hostilities with the whites, and for a time it looked as if he might destroy all their frontier set- tlements. Had he been able to effect his object of bringing all the savage nations into alliance, the war might have ended with the extermination of the pale-faces.
Indians were everywhere. There had been no formal decla- ration of war, - nothing of that poetic exchange of rattlesnake- skin filled with arrows for the white man's powder and lead. There was nothing chivalric about it. The war was planned in secret and in treachery ; the onset was sudden and wellnigh
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irresistible. The first intimation the English had that Philip had dug up the hatchet was in the fatal shot from an ambus- cade, or the war-whoop sounded in the midst of the hamlets. At this time the Colony could muster about four thousand foot and four hundred horse, without reckoning the aged or infirm.
On their part, the whites were not more blameless than they now are, nearly two hundred years since, when the work of extinguishing the remnant of the red race is approaching the end. Two centuries ago the Indians were powerful enough on the Atlantic shore to render it doubtful for a time whether the English might retain a precarious foothold in the seaports. To- day they are hunted down among the rocky fastnesses of the Pacific.
In 1675 there were, as now, Indian traders without souls, and Englishmen who thought as little of shooting a savage as of outraging a squaw. There was also the fire-water, under the influence of which the savage parted with his birthright, or made his mark at the bottom of a so-called treaty, of which he knew not the meaning. The English fought then for self-pres- ervation, which we know is nature's first law, so that we can well pardon them for dealing blow for blow, - and even their reverend teachers for preaching a crusade against the savages, as Dr. Mather and the clergy generally did. The Indians - did they not suspect it, and did not their wise men foretell it ? - were also fighting for self-preservation. The law was as in- exorable to them as to the pale-face. Philip was living in a sort of vassalage which his proud spirit rebelled against. Did an Englishman complain of an injury from an Indian, his sachem was instantly cited to appear before the stranger's coun- cil. Did an Indian complain of the wrong of a white man, justice was oftentimes both blind and deaf. The Indians warred after a cruel fashion, certainly. They tortured the living and mutilated the dead. But then, after all, they were but savages, and it was the manner in which they had been ac- customed to wage war among themselves ; until we had civilized them we had little right to murmur if they did not adopt our style of warfare. But what did the English do ? With the
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HISTORIC FIELDS AND MANSIONS OF MIDDLESEX.
Holy Scriptures in one hand, they ordered the beheading and scalping of their red enemies. The Quakers who refused to en- list were compelled to run the gauntlet in Boston streets, and attempts were made to break open the jails and put to death the Indian prisoners. There was a strong dash of heroism in Philip of Pokanoket, and we cannot blame him for making one grand effort for freedom.
When the news came to the Massachusetts capital that the frontier towns were being harried, drums beat to arms, and stout John Leverett summoned his council together. Hench- man, Hutchinson, Paige, Willard, and the other captains put on their buff coats and belted their heavy broadswords or ra- piers about them. The bands were mustered. In each com- pany was an ensign, who bore aloft a color of red sarsenet, a
yard square, with the number of the company in white thereon. An- other had a white blaze in the centre. Volun- teers were demanded, and even the profane seafar- ing men - "privateers," as they were called - were enrolled. A guard of musketeers was set at +4WTI the entrance of the town. A busy man was John Fayerweather, the com- missary, in providing for the levies. With drums beating, trumpets bray- ing, and standards dis- played, the troops de- filed through the town- KING PHILIP, FROM AN OLD PRINT. gates. A few encoun- ters, and this bravery of regular war was laid aside. This was almost two hundred years ago, and yet we have lately seen
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our brave men led into an Indian ambush as unwarily as they were in the year 1675.
Some of the evils which a solemn session of the General Court, convened at Boston at this time, held to lie at the foun- dation of their misfortunes, were the proud excesses in apparel and hair of which many - "yea, and of the poorer sorte as well as others " - were guilty. The Quakers came in for a liberal share of invective. Excess in drinking, and the toleration of so many taverns, especially in Boston, which the townspeople were too much inclined to frequent, were glaring offences. It was urged that profane swearing had frequently been heard, and steps were taken to suppress and punish it. The fourth and fifth commandments were ordered to be better observed than formerly, and it was decreed that there should be no more such oppression by merchants or laborers as had been. Truly, Philip was working a social revolution among his enemies of Massachusetts Bay !
From these measures we may see that our forefathers were not so well satisfied with themselves as to feel sure of providen- tial aid in their work of killing savages ; but it is set down in the chronicles that on the very day when these new civil regu- lations were established, the English forces achieved a victory at Hatfield.
During the summer and autumn of 1675 the Indians had almost uninterrupted success. They had ravaged the country from the Connecticut to the shores of Boston Bay, and a stray warrior had appeared within a few miles of Boston Town-House. In November the commissioners of Massachusetts, Plymouth, and Connecticut met at Boston, and agreed to raise an army of a thousand men, of which the Bay Colony furnished more than half. At the head of this force Winslow assaulted the strong- hold of the Narragansetts in December, inflicting a terrible de- feat upon that nation, and entirely breaking its power.
The Indians resumed hostilities in the early spring of 1676. The English had become more circumspect ; still their losses were heavy, and the path of Philip's warriors could be marked by desolation and ruin. The whites, too, learned at length to
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make use of the Christian or Praying Indians, to act as runners and scouts, - a measure which we have lately seen imitated with advantage in the employment of the Warm Springs In- dians against the Modocs.
One Sabbath, late in March, the Indians attacked Marl- borough, while the inhabitants were at divine worship in their meeting-house. The people sought the shelter of their garrison- houses, which were found in every settlement, leaving the enemy to burn the greater part of the town. Lancaster had previously suffered, and the tale of the captivity and redemp- tion of Mrs. Rowlandson furnishes a graphic chapter of these terrible years.
In April Philip had assembled about four hundred of his followers in the neighborhood of Marlborough, and after burn- ing the few deserted houses they fell with fury upon Sudbury. A small party from Concord, coming to the assistance of their neighbors, were ambushed and slain. The news of the descent on Marlborough having reached Boston, Captain Samuel Wads- worth was despatched with a company of soldiers to its relief. Reaching Marlborough after a weary march of twenty-five miles, Wadsworth learned that his enemy had gone in the direction of Sudbury, and, after giving his men some rest and refresh- ment, and being joined by Captain Brocklebank, who com- manded the garrison at Marlborough, he returned on his own footsteps in pursuit, following, tradition says, the old trail, afterwards the Lancaster road, now closed.
When within what is now South Sudbury, Wadsworth saw about a hundred of the enemy's war-party, with whom, believ- ing them the main body, he endeavored to close. The Indians retired slowly through the woods, until Wadsworth's men were wholly encompassed by enemies lying in concealment, when the terrific war-whoop rang through the forest, and every tree around the devoted band blazed with a death-shot. The Eng- lish, perceiving theirs to be a desperate case, fought with obsti- nate bravery, but were at length forced to the top of Green Hill, the circle of enemies all the while drawing closer around them. On this hill they defended themselves valiantly until
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nightfall, when some of the party, attempting to escape, were followed by others, until a precipitate retreat was the result. The Indians pursued, slaying all but thirteen or fourteen, who sought safety at Noyes's mill, -the same referred to in another place. This mill was fortified after the usual fashion of the garrisons, but had been abandoned by the Sudbury people. Believing it to be still occupied by them, the Indians did not venture to the assault, but withdrew to complete and celebrate their victory. The survivors at the mill were afterwards re- lieved by Captain Hugh Mason's company from Watertown, who approached the battle-ground by way of Mount Nobscot, where they left the carts containing their baggage and pro- visions. The Indians were still in the vicinity, but Mason did not feel sufficiently strong to attack them.
The English lost in this battle their captain, Wadsworth ; Sharp, their lieutenant ; and twenty-six others, besides Captain Brocklebank. Five or six who were captured were put to the torture on the night of the fight. The remains of the fallen Englishmen were gathered and interred near the spot where they fell. Over their common grave a heap of loose stones was piled. This humble monument was in an open field, about thirty rods east of the road, and near a growth of pines and oaks. The soil on the hill-top is light and sandy.
With this victory Philip's onset culminated, and he began to drift down the tide apace. The fierce Maquas and Senecas attacked the undefended villages of his allies, while sickness and disease spread among his people. Disasters overtook him, and he became a hunted fugitive. On the 12th of August, 1676, he fell by the hand of one of his own race, and was be- headed and quartered by the Plymouth authorities, - his head being set on a gibbet, where it was to be seen for twenty years.
A plain slab of blue slate was raised over the remains of Captain Wadsworth and his ill-fated companions by his son, President Wadsworth, of Harvard College. It bears the follow- ing inscription : -
Capt. Samuel Wadsworth of Milton, his Lieut. Sharp of Brook- lin, Capt. Broclebank of Rowley, with about 26 other souldiers,
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fighting for the defence of their country, were slain by ye Indian enemy, April 18th, 1676, lye buried in this place."
In 1852 the relics were exhumed and removed a little dis- tance to the site of the present monument, - a plain granite shaft, which was dedicated by an address from Hon. George S. Boutwell, present Senator for Massachusetts. The old grave- stone is placed at the base of the monument, the tablet of which recites that it was erected by the Commonwealth and the town of Sudbury, in grateful remembrance of the services and sufferings of the founders of the State. The same date is ex- hibited on the monument as is borne on the old slab, namely, April 18, 1676 ; but as this is a subject of contradiction among the historians of the time, the committee concluded to adhere to the date adopted by President Wadsworth.
A fuller research has turned the weight of testimony against the earlier date, and in favor of April 21 as the time of the fight. In the midst of discrepancies of this character the nar- rator has only to accept what is supported by the greatest num- ber of authorities, and these certainly are on the side of April 21, 1676.
In the discussion which has ensued as to the date which should have been placed on the Wadsworth monument, it was assumed by the distinguished advocate of the earlier date that communication with Boston was cut off by Philip between the 17th and 20th of April. Doubts have also been expressed as to whether intelligence of the fight could have reached the vicinity of Boston on the same day. The authorities had not neglected so vital a matter as the arrangement of signals between the gar- rison attacked and the capital. The firing was, of course, dis- tinctly heard in the neighboring towns, and was communicated by alarm-guns from garrison to garrison until it reached Boston. In Hutchinson's History an example is given of the rapidity with which communication could be transmitted : -
" Sept 23ยช (1676) an alarm was made in the town of Boston about ten in the morning, 1200 men were in arms before 11 and all dis- missed before 12. Qne that was upon guard at Mendon, 30 miles
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off, got drunk and fired his gun, the noise of which alarmed the next neighbors and so spread to Boston."
Considering what were then the resources of the Colony, Sud- bury fight was as important in its day as a pitched battle with thousands of combatants would be in our own time. It occa- sioned great depression. The Indians must have lost heavily to have conducted their subsequent operations so feebly.
Though the whites usually ventured to attack them with greatly inferior numbers, they were far from being contemptible foes. The Englishman's buff coat would sometimes turn a bul- let, but the Indian's breast was bared to his enemy. His primitive weapons, however, the bow and arrow, had been ex- changed for guns and hatchets, which he soon learned to use but too well. The Dutch on one side, or the French on another, kept him supplied with powder and ball. He fought for his hunting-grounds, now parcelled out among strangers. He fell to be received into the elysian fields of the great Manitou.
We cannot forbear our tribute of pity and of admiration for Philip. What though he struck the war-post and chanted the death-song to gather his dusky warriors for one mighty effort to exterminate our ancestors, his cause was the same that has ever received the world's applause. Liberty was as sweet to Philip as to a Tell or a Toussaint, but he failed to achieve it, and the shades of oblivion have gathered around his name. There was a simple yet kingly dignity in Philip's communications to the chief men among the colonists. His neck could not bear the yoke ; he must walk free beneath the sun.
Though the great chief's policy would not have left a single foe alive, it is known that he sent warning to some among the whites who had bound themselves to him by uprightness and honorable dealing. In that part of Taunton now known as Raynham was one of Philip's summer haunts for fishing and hunting. The Leonards had there erected the first forge in New England, if not in North America, and had there lived in amity with the Indian prince. They fashioned him spear and arrow- heads with which to strike the red-deer or the leaping salmon, and he repaid them with game, rich skins, and wampum. To them he gave a hint to look to their safety.
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It seems passing strange to be standing beside a monu- ment erected to commemorate a victory over our sires by a race wellnigh blotted out of existence. Every circumstance of our surroundings, every object upon which the eye dwells in the landscape, gives the lie to such an event. Where the warriors lay in ambush, green and well-tilled fields extend themselves ; where the old mill creaked, steam issues from its successor ; instead of the Indian trail the railway presents its iron pathway ; the rude yet massive garrison-house is replaced by yonder costly villa; and the simple village meeting, in which the settlers fearfully pursued their devotions with arms in their hands, is renewed where we see the distant and lofty spire. The virgin forests have disappeared as completely as have the red-men who threaded the greenwood. All nature is at work for man where once all was repose. Only the hills and the stream remain as pressed by the moccason or cleft by the canoe.
In Pilgrim Hall, at Plymouth, the stranger is shown some memorials of Philip. The barrel of the gun through which the bullet passed to his heart, and the curiously woven helmet which he is said to have worn, are there displayed among the bones and implements of his race. As yet we lack, here in New England, a museum devoted to Indian antiquities, in which we might see the dress, arms, and utensils of the natives of the soil. It would be a most interesting collection. They were no effete Asiatics, but a brave, warlike, hardy people. Their history is filled with poetry and romance. Even Cooper, while presenting in a Magua the wild, untamable, vindictive savage, depicts on the same scene an Uncas brave, noble, and devoted.
About three miles from Sudbury Mills and four from Marl- borough is the old Wayside Inn, which Longfellow has made famous. It stands in a sequestered nook among the hills which upheave the neighboring region like ocean billows. For nearly two hundred years, during the greater part of which it has been occupied as a tavern, this ancient hostelry has stood here with its door hospitably open to wayfarers.
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A FRAGMENT OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
In the olden time the road possessed the importance of a much-travelled highway. At present the house is like a waif on the seashore, left high and dry by some mighty tide, or a landmark which shows where the current of travel once flowed. Its distance from the capital made it a convenient halting-place for travellers going into or returning from Boston. Its reputa- tion for good cheer was second to none in all the Bay Colony.
" As ancient is this hostelry As any in the land may be, Built in the old Colonial day, When men lived in a grander way, With ampler hospitality."
The name of the house was the Red Horse, and at the other end of the route, belonging to the same family, in rivalry of good cheer, was the White Horse in Old Boston Town. The horse has always been a favorite symbol with publicans. However tedious D.H. 1686. the way may have been, however shambling or void of spirit your E.H. 1746. hackney of the road, the steed on the hostel sign always pranced A. HOWE 1 796 proudly, was of high mettle, and of as gallant carriage as was ever blazoned on Saxon's shield. SIGN OF THE WAYSIDE INN.
The Red Horse in Sudbury was built about 1686. From the year 1714 to near, if not quite, the completion of a cen- tury and a half, it was kept as an inn by generation after gen- eration of the Howes, the last being Lyman Howe, who served the guests of the house from 1831 until about 1860. The tavern stood about half-way on the great road to Worces- ter, measuring twenty-three good English miles from Boston Town-House.
Well, those were good old times, after all. A traveller, after a hard day's jaunt, pulls up at the Red Horse. The landlord is at the door, hat in hand, with a cheery welcome, and a shout to the blacks to care for the stranger's beast. Is it winter, a
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