Metacomet, King and Sachem of the Wampanoag Indians, fought a
bloody war against the Puritans (circa 1676); he burned many
towns and won every major battle, only to be destroyed by hunger,
disease, and the genocide of his people.
METACOMET (The Saga of King Philip)
Buy The Complete Version of This Book at
Booklocker.com:
http://www.booklocker.com/p/books/3202.html?s=pdf
METACOMET:
The Saga of King Philip
An Historical Novel
by S. R. Lavin
Copyright © 2007 S. R. Lavin
ISBN-13 978-1-60145-329-7
ISBN-10 1-60145-329-9
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
recording or otherwise, without the prior written
permission of the author.
Printed in the United States of America.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental
and not intended by the author.
Booklocker.com, Inc.
2007
Chapter 1 (Circa 1662)
Charles Stuart, King of England, fixed his eyes
intently (his mind whirring), assessing, scheming, using
all the scholarly craft of a well-bred man, drawing his
closest advisors and noblemen by his side, and others,
casting an ominous air over the regal setting, cloistered in
their secrecy by the huge velvet drapes which framed the
wings of the large hall, so that they were known only by
their shadowy forms.
The sumptuous surroundings were designed for a
king to be at ease, to feel comfortable and secure in the
privacy of his wealth and power. An urgent and secret
session of Court had been called and was already
underway. At hand: the disposition of English
domination of the newly formed Colonies in the
Americas, specifically, what might be done to address the
continuing problem of the Puritan government as a ruling
body in The Bay Colony, a vestige of Cromwell's legacy,
and so they had taken counsel to address this “crisis of
management” as well to post dire warning against the
radical nature of the newer Rhode Island government, and
to fashion a plan to subdue and subjugate, by force and
guile, these treasonous colonists who had already
established themselves as independent entities.
“Sire, I’m sure Your Majesty can fathom the
ramifications...dangerous and seditious seeds have been
1
S. R. Lavin
sown in the new colony at Rhode Island. If ever a man
deserved to have his ears and nose cut off it's this Roger
Williams, a despicable rogue and commoner. Not only
has he declared a free colony for unchristian Jews, but he
has invited the savages to sit at his table, with his own
daughters befriending and breaking bread with these redskinned devils.” The Duke of Argyl, cousin and trusted
companion to the king, spoke with an eloquence
unmistakably associated with privilege. At the same time
his tone and manner was intensely heated; he was
obviously agitated and frustrated; he was eager to act,
and angry at the possibility of being kept from doing so.
He was an educated nobleman, and like most landed
gentry, he identified the fear he felt from his insides to the
tingle on his skin… these new ideas loose in the land, that
commoners were entitled to share wealth and power with
those of noble birth, overtly absurd ideas and dangerous
to the ruling class, ideas which had already provoked the
beheading of Charles the First, which had put a pretender
and fanatic in power, namely one Oliver Cromwell. In
1658, Cromwell himself was beheaded, an acquiescent
gesture from all sides to seek a more sane and stable time.
“His Majesty has read your report. He is aware of
the problem.” The Duke of Nottingham stood at the
king’s right hand, rigid, cold in manner, abrupt in speech,
just back from a six month campaign in Ireland. "The like
is happening among the Irish rabble, My Lord...these
egalitarian ideas are heinous and infectious.”
2
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
Argyl mused: "We must not allow this ‘experiment’
in the Americas to continue unattended...just as Oliver
Cromwell took up arms against the throne, so might the
colonists do likewise…as they share neither faith nor
substance with we shepherds of the realm.” He rolled his
“r’s” deliberately and with exaggerated panache to signify
his royal breeding.
Nottingham was of one mind with Argyl and they
had already shared their assessment of the situation with
each other. Nottingham’s manner of speech, as well as his
body language, showed that he was confident in what he
was saying. He chose his words with meticulous
machination. In manner and word, he expressed frank
sobriety. He was a tall man, a valiant soldier, and at 49,
vigorous and in excellent health. His breastplate was
Elizabethan and reflected the wealth and prestige his
family had accrued for 300 years. His armor was silverplated and polished to a flawless sheen, which caught the
glinting light of the candles which illuminated the room.
The king was alert, upright in his chair. His red
coat and gold buttons smacked of privilege and the totem
of authority. His kilt signified his house; he was a Stuart.
He spoke with clarity and dignity:
“Good soldiers are ye... We know Our duty. Our
mission is not to be shirked. We will attend to this
problem, be assured. And We know We must act
decisively.”
3
S. R. Lavin
The king paused, contemplating the seriousness of
his own words.
He whispered into the Duke of Nottingham’s ear,
then raised his hand. “Noble subjects, Brethren in Our
Charge, kind gentlemen, Cousins. Know that We will not
leave our borders under siege. Nor should enemies of the
Crown find comfort in the moment. Grace be upon Ye,
and goodnight.” Charles now seemed agitated, gesturing
that those who had been summoned should leave
immediately. It was a royal dismissal.
The chamber was cleared without hesitation. Only
the Duke of Nottingham and one other remained with
Charles. The other had not yet spoken. He had remained
anonymous and disguised by the darkness and his cloak,
deliberately unnoticed until the hall was quiet and empty.
The king was aware of his silent form, which had been
hovering near-by.
“Come closer; attend Us in the private council of
Our responsibilities. Your king has much to see done this
night.” Charles changed his tone to one of affection for the
cloaked and faceless figure hidden by the robe.
The figure in the shadows came forward, still
cloaked and hooded. William Laud, now Arch-Bishop of
Canterbury, the king’s closest and dearest friend, had
been listening carefully to all of what had been spoken
thus-far.
Nottingham, Laud, and Charles walked to the rear
of the chamber where a table on a raised platform was
4
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
used to unfold maps, and there, documents and papers
could be studied or examined…of secret and privileged
matters.
There was only one chair. Charles made himself
comfortable in it. Nottingham and the Arch-Bishop stood.
They were without doubt as to their station and
responsibilities to their king.
The Arch-Bishop speaks: “Your Majesty --- your
subjects no longer acknowledge your absolute authority -throughout the land your subjects seek reformation of The
Church --- they are no longer willing to remain organs of
Anglican order. The rabble openly speak of rebellion.”
Charles scowls.
Nottingham feels the disquietude of his king. “Sire,
this sickness of the mind emanates from Plymouth... it
bodes evil to the throne... it has taken root in Rhode Island
and Ireland already. Left to itself, it threatens the very
power that keeps all in its place.”
Charles answers: “Yes...yes... I’ve read the writings
of this rebellious mind...one Roger Williams. He dares to
openly call for citizen rule. Imagine, a representative
government of common men! And add to his seditious
mind, blasphemy as well, for he demands freedom of
religion for all, that men should be free to live by their
consciences!”
Seeing the Arch-Bishop taken by surprise at his
knowledge of this seditious thinker, Charles continues...
“Oh come, come William... I’m well-educated on all
5
S. R. Lavin
counts...and Nottingham is right... these ideas of selfgovernment are dangerous indeed... Even Parliament has
uttered like thoughts. The universe is in a stir and men
openly speak against Our Divine Right of Rule...
"Speak freely, my friends. We trust you
both...Nottingham, you are a bold soldier... We invite your
counsel. And you, Arch-Bishop, are most knowledgeable
regarding the subtleties of the human heart...”
“Sire,” Nottingham is quick to answer, ”we must
act now...I advise that regiments be dispatched to the
colonies...this insurgency must be crushed...the King’s
power must be re-asserted without equivocation.”
“Well-spoken, Nottingham, and We commend you
for your courage and loyalty to Our throne, but the
expense of such an action is prohibitive...We have
exhausted Our treasury in the Irish Wars. Occupation of
the colonies at this time is simply not possible, nor do we
wish to openly aggravate rebellion which already festers
in our midst.”
“Your Majesty,” the Arch-Bishop speaks softly and
leans his body so that his lips are only an inch or so from
the king’s ear. “Nottingham is right...in his assessment,
but clearly, the tactic he suggests, though noble...is,
forgive me, my Lord, for saying…so....wrong...”
“Speak plainly, my friend,” Charles whispers so
that both the Arch-Bishop and the Duke come even closer.
6
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
And, taking his cue from the king, the Arch-Bishop
also whispers: "Your Majesty, why not send a man or two
to do what Nottingham has seen must be done...”
At this Charles raises an eyebrow and nods
affirmatively..."Continue... dear Arch-Bishop...”
“I suggest a man in my service at Canterbury be
dispatched to Plymouth to assess how we might cancel
this ‘experiment’ and then take such measures as might
be necessary to ensure what needs be done…to be done.”
Nottingham nods his head in agreement.
Charles extends his hand into the air and speaks:
“See to it... And see to it also that no papers are signed or
written messages sent which in any way suggest that this
council has issued such orders. Keep Us advised of this
man’s progress... but only by your mouth and only in the
privacy of Our inner-most council.”
7
Chapter III
In the first year of the war (1675) Philip heaped
victory on victory...His warriors burned many hamlets to
the ground. Likewise the Brookfields, Holyoke,
Springfield and Deerfield were swept down upon by
fierce warriors eager to fight, even die, to rid their lands
of their enemies. All these towns (as well as others) were
put to the torch and ruination.
Often seen by his enemies over-looking the fighting,
Philip would mock the armies sent against him,
sometimes in plain sight, laughing at them, ridiculing
their maneuvers, laughing at their guns, taunting their
officers with obscene gestures and eerie war hoots. In the
case of Worcester (“Wooster”), a thriving city, busy with
mills and factories, situated along Philip’s route, the
whole population there was thrown into a panic when
word falsely spread through the streets that a savage
army of warriors had already attacked the northern hills
of the city. Inadvertently, citizens left their furnaces
unattended in the factories, and flames soon spread
through the long, thin wooden warehouses. As the local
garrison and militia built barricades and prepared for the
worst, no one was left to squelch the fires spreading
wantonly throughout the entire city.
Philip was camped peacefully along the ledges
over-looking the Lake Chaubunagungamaug (“You fish
19
S. R. Lavin
on your side of the lake - I'll fish on mine”). Philip’s spies
returned from Worcester to report that fires had broken
out in the factories along the canals.
“You see...” Philip mused to his warriors, “We do
not even need to attack... the wasichu will do to
themselves what they fear from us. This is just, for their
city is a dirty pest-pit not worthy of a battle.”
The late Spring air was clear and soothing to the
nostrils. The bushes and grasses gave sweet aromas to the
forming mist of night. It all felt fresh and just-born. The
glow from the flames, miles away, only added a specter of
deadly beauty to the night sky.
Before the army at Worcester had squelched the
fires, Philip and his warriors had run seventeen miles,
first in a wide circle north and west of the burning city,
then through miles of primeval swamps and flatlands,
then up and across the stony shallow rivers and finally
into the dense pine forest. Among these hundreds of
running men, not one tripped or fell, or coughed, or
snapped a branch or twig. At the far edge of the forest
they emerged where a small natural meadow of waisthigh grass swayed in a light breeze. It was now late
morning. Philip and his men had paused here many times
to smell for bear (which lived in the caves and boulders
just ahead). The bear path was a narrow, rocky trail
suitable for only one at a time to traverse. Without words
or sound, they breached the trail and climbed and ran as
they made their way up, to their stronghold at Wachusett.
20
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
From the top of that mountain they could see as far as
Boston Bay to the east, and from the west face they espied
all the lands between the Brookfields and Springfield. At
the stronghold were precious stores: dried fruits, jugs of
fresh water, muskets, tomahawks, knives, and dry
powder. They would not stay long this time. Only a few
hours, and most of that time spent preparing for the next
run. But they did pause long enough to send out scouts
both to the rear and to the east to get a grasp of who
might be in pursuit and who might ambush them or resist
them as they headed west. Their destination was
Springfield, where Philip’s fortress awaited him. But first
they must sweep through the Brookfields, burning out
and killing all who lived along their route.
Philip’s stockade at Springfield housed fresh
supplies as well as new recruits, as young warriors were
eagerly flocking to the Wampanoag king, ready to fight,
ready to die...eager to burn and kill the enemies of the
land and sky.... The stockade walls were built from whole
trees stacked and fitted to more than ten feet high on
three sides. It boxed off a four acre square, abutting the
river. The back wall was made of dirt packed to three feet.
A foot trench on the fortress’ side of the back wall served
for defensive positions in case attack came from the river
(which was highly unlikely as the river was only inches
deep near the shoals).
Two armies were in pursuit: Captain Lathrop
arrived too late in the Brookfields to do any good there,
21
S. R. Lavin
but he enlisted the local men to join with him in hot chase.
Philip knew the English were three to five days behind
him, enough time that he and his men could rest and
refurbish their supplies. On the west side of the stockade
was the river, where a fleet of war canoes were constantly
guarded and readied. Lathrop and the English regulars
were at a steady march along The Post Road. His progress
was monitored by Philip’s rear-guard, runners sent on to
the stockade at meaningful interludes to report Lathrop’s
progress.
But the second army, led by Mosely, was making a
forced march to the northwest hoping to cut off the
Wampanoag king and destroy his army in a vice between
himself and Lathrop. Philip knew nothing of this second
army. Following the plan he formulated while at his
“place of power,” he decided to leave a small band of
warriors behind at the fortress to create the illusion that
Philip’s entire army was encamped within its walls, while
he and the bulk of his warriors canoed up-river to
Deerfield.
When word of Philip’s attack upon Deerfield
reached Lathrop, he was encamped only a few miles to
the south, near Holyoke. Lathrop ordered that camp be
broken while he rode on ahead conscripting the local
settlers to join the fight. There were also certain local
Indians who feared the power of their ancient enemy, the
Wampanoag, and so they too enlisted with Lathrop.
Scouts had returned from the north confirming that Philip
22
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
and his warriors were near-by and planning to attack
Hadley in the early morning hours. Meanwhile, only
twelve miles to the east, Mosely arrived at South Hadley
and received similar reports of Philip’s whereabouts.
That next day would prove to be an ominous one
indeed. In the tavern at South Hadley, Mosely set up his
head-quarters and planned his battle over kegs of ale and
much merriment.
“I’ve got you, you heathen bastard!...Drinks for all
my men! Courage lads! Tomorrow we will have Philip’s
head on a pole!”
Mosely was ignorant of how many men had joined
Philip -- nor could his English mentality comprehend the
strategic intellectual superiority of “savages”--Philip, meanwhile, had ordered simultaneous
attacks on Deerfield, Northfield and Hadley. Moreover,
confident these would be quick and decisive raids Philip
was content to remain at his lodge near the Falls of
Crushing Thunder, very much central to the action, but
quite removed. There, he rested and contemplated,
thinking about how his attack-plan had gone up to now,
planning further strategy, and feeling some contentment
with what had happened so far. But he also knew that
these tactics were not, by themselves, enough to drive out
the colonists.
The morning was already warm when Lathrop and
his regulars reached Hadley, a difficult march, because of
the rugged terrain, which required negotiating the notch
23
S. R. Lavin
that was situated about three miles up, following a long,
winding climb. True, it was a road, but mainly, it was
used by freight-wagons, mail-carriers and occasional
journeymen. Being rugged and steep, it was meant
neither for speedy nor graceful travel.
By the time Lathrop and his men had marched
twelve miles they were parched from the night’s drinking
and subsequent hard march in the morning sun. There
was no sign of hostiles in the area, so he and his men
posted only a few guards and took to drinking from the
brook and washing themselves, laughing amongst
themselves at their crude jokes and relaxing without a
thought that they might be in danger. The water, in its
purity, was delightful.
Then, as if out of no-where, from the trees came a
volley of bullets and arrows. Some of Lathrop’s men had
taken their boots off and were wading in the brook, others
distracted or lulled into daydreaming, sucking on twigs,
picking their teeth. In that first volley, many of Lathrop’s
troops fell, a dozen or more killed, a dozen or more
severely wounded.
Lathrop yelled up toward the sky: "Where are
they!?”
His men were panicked and already trying to
retreat down-stream. Then, with the ferocity of mountain
lions leaping from the bush, the youngest warriors
charged out of the woods. Lathrop’s wig fell to the forest
24
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
floor. One of the warriors yelled, in English, “See, he loses
his scalp already! And we have yet to fight.”
Lathrop’s eyes darted in all directions about him,
bodies of his men lay strewn around him, as if they were
stones in the brook. Streaking sunlight through the dense
foliage played tricks on his mind.
“With me, lads!” he screamed over the roar of the
next volley. He and what was left of his regiment
retreated haphazardly under the duress of constant attack
by on-rushing warriors. Only Lathrop and seven men had
survived the retreat, and the entire fight had lasted only a
few minutes. Lathrop surmised his imminent doom with
one quick glance, when quite to his surprise, a volley of
bale-shot coming from behind him cut down the charging
warriors nearest him.
Mosely and his force of two hundred had reached
him at the last. Powder-smoke filled the forest. The battle
was renewed.
The young warriors were not yet sure what had
happened, but they were in full fury and still eager to
prove themselves. They had taken only a few casualties
among themselves, so they felt a strength that comes only
when men are brothers. Their cause was just. That too
gave them spirit. Every one of them knew, as Philip knew,
that these wasichu were an unclean and greedy breed.
“Let us wash these dogs in their own blood.” The
battle-cry was sounded among them. It was necessary to
25
S. R. Lavin
purge the land with blood and death, fire and terror, as
was Philip’s decree.
First with rifles, and then with tomahawks and
knives, warriors charged the English lines not realizing
another army, in full strength, was there to receive their
brunt. Finally, with bodies everywhere, both English and
Wampanoag, the awful judgment of war was revealed. A
hundred Indians and a hundred-fifty English lay dead
and dying. As suddenly as the warriors had swooped
down upon Lathrop, they broke off the attack and
disappeared.
Lathrop had been stabbed in the cheek as well as
bludgeoned, so that his ear was swollen... He looked like
he’d been beaten up in the street by thugs, robbed and left
there humiliated and defeated.
Mosely was tired but resolute. They had withstood
the rage and terror of these “savages,” however costly.
“Where are the nearest reinforcements? We are bound to
pursue these heathen devils at all cost.” He turned to
Lathrop, "What is the name of this place... this stream?”
“I don’t... know.” Lathrop could hardly articulate
the sounds of those words. He was still in a state of shock.
Lathrop looked down at his feet. His boots were
splattered in blood. He had not noticed the bloody splotch
under his belt.
“I do…” said Mosely, uttering in a low voice in
complete cognizance.
26
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
“Uh?”... was all Lathrop could manage, smarting
from the pain from his ear.
“Bloody Brook..” Mosely stated, summoning all the
seriousness of a philosopher. “This place is Bloody Brook.
It shall be entered in my report. Bloody Brook.”
The two men stared soberly at each other. Only
then did Mosely realize with horror in his eyes as he
studied the dead “savages”.... “Holy Mother of God”... he
spoke as he examined the bodies... “We’ve been beaten by
boys!” And clearly, obvious from their observation, most
of the warriors who had fallen around them were not yet
twenty years old.
As Mosely spoke, Lathrop was swooning from the
loss of blood from his gut. He’d never felt the bullet nor
noticed the wound until now. His mind no longer held a
firm sense of what was real. “By God, I’ve been killed by
boys!” He fell into a lump. Mosely watched the twitching
body of Lathrop.
Neither man could have known that while they
had engaged Philip’s forces to a stand-off, towns up and
down the Connecticut River were being attacked and
burned. Just ten miles or so to the south a small war party
had attacked Holyoke. As militias and regulars alike had
marched to the Hadleys with Lathrop, there were no
soldiers of any kind near enough to Holyoke to matter.
Philip's warriors had circled south and east,
entering the town from the east, fording the Chicopee
River with stealth and resolve. Fifty or so warriors
27
S. R. Lavin
slammed into the town. There was no time for a warning
to be sounded. Town’s people were taken by complete
surprise. Within minutes the entire village was in flames
and many lay dead in the streets. A handful of citizens
managed to reach the local tavern and built barricades
with tables and chairs. The townspeople had seven
muskets between them.
With the entire town of Holyoke subdued, Philip’s
warriors turned their wrath on the tavern, charging the
last defenders with the determination that no one escape
their judgment.
Inside the tavern they fought with a frenzy.
Youngsters and women reloaded the rifles and passed
them to such as the tavern owner, a postman, a farmer, a
clerk, and one retired English gentleman (who happened
to be drinking there at the time).
Sir Thomas Chadwicke, almost sixty years old,
rallied the citizenry to a resolute defense, using tactics
learned in his youth: perpetual volleys struck down the
first warriors who crossed the town square.
The assault on the tavern had failed. Warriors were
disheartened that they could not capture the building, at
which point they decided to burn it down. They fired
flaming arrows and set fires all around the tavern. Within
moments the structure was ensconced in a blaze. But the
defenders of the tavern kept their poise and continued to
shoot with accuracy.
28
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
With nearly a dozen warriors dead, the town
destroyed, and only this tavern left (and that burning
wildly), the warriors gathered themselves for one last
assault. Again, Chadwicke maintained his calm and
commanded those with him to shoot only when he
ordered them to do so.
Hours had passed. The warriors were frustrated
and feeling quite vengeful. But the defenders of the tavern
were still returning fire. Philip’s men decided to break off
their attack. Too much time was being wasted for very
little in return. The signal was given to withdraw.
Deadly quiet filled the streets. At first, those in the
tavern thought the Indians had merely hidden
themselves, but finally those inside had to escape the fires
surrounding them. They tore apart the barricades and
stumbled into the square.
They had survived the destruction of their town.
They coughed up black spittle. They even laughed a little,
celebrating with cheers for Chadwicke, and finally, sat
down in the street exhausted.
All of Holyoke had been burned to the ground.
Only those in the tavern had lived to tell what had
happened there.
29
Chapter VI
It was sometime in mid-December, l675, as best
Mary could figure, the days she’d counted from the day
her sweet and innocent child had died so violently. She
was convinced within herself that the mood in the village
had definitely changed. No one had spoken of what might
be the cause for that, but she was certain the Wampanoag
were quieter as they went about their chores. Days of
quietude added to her perception that something
ominous was going to happen. Her apprehension was
diminished only because the labor of each day exhausted
her. Monotonous weeks of hard work and waiting for
news had made her weak. Worse than the labors assigned
to her was the fact that food was always scarce. She was
weak from her hunger. These were not the hunger pangs
when one is ready for a meal. She was faint and dimmed
by the hollowness of her body and the numbness of her
mind, which resulted from the slow demise of her
physical life because of starvation. Just when she
reckoned that she would not be able to go on, some
morsel or other would come her way. A carrot. A piece of
bread or meat. A handful of wild nuts.
The mental anguish she endured, combined with
the physical ordeal of captivity, had rendered her to silent
obedience and perpetual humility. She accepted her
condition as the perfect will of God. Winter was upon
65
S. R. Lavin
them. The days were still mostly warm when the sun
appeared. But when the wind blew or the cold rains
soaked through her shawl, she would sleep for hours
without any sense of where she was or what else she
might do. She had lived in a warm house, she was always
warmed by her oven. Her bed was soft. Her featherbed
kept her warm even in the bitterest weather of February.
Nothing of that life remained. Among the Wampanoag
she was a servant-woman, afforded little respect and less
congeniality. At times, the young men made sport of her
or cursed her as she passed them. There was one
exception to her life among these savages.....King Philip.
He guarded over her like an angel with a sword. It did
not stop the young men from detesting her, but they kept
a certain distance from her and they never, not even once,
threatened her life.
Occasionally Philip would bring her broth or tea,
he would seek her out and sit with her, always to provoke
a conversation about some meaningful perception or
concept, or because he was curious about some aspect of
colonial custom. Sometimes he would ask the meaning of
a particular English word he’d heard or read somewhere.
On the morning of December 17th, quite early, the
whole population of the village, it seemed to Mary, had
convened at a central place in the village (often the site of
ceremonial events). Her intuition proved to be accurate,
as an ‘army’ of ‘savages’ entered the stronghold. They
were greeted with whoops and calls for a renewed
66
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
campaign against the wasichu. Unquestionably, these
warriors had arrived to re-enforce Philip’s numbers. At
their forefront strode a man of stature. He exuded
courage, there was a confident manner about him. He
expressed a certainty in his body language, of one who
had proven himself. Clearly, he had earned the respect of
those with him who treated him with special deference.
Children openly rejoiced to see so many (about 70)
warriors. Women came forward with flasks, which
contained berry water, and the young warriors quenched
their thirst from their long march.
Philip came from his lodge to join in and make a
welcome for these special men. Philip had donned his
ceremonial robe and cape, and woven into the garment
were red, black, and white feathers adorning the robe. He
was stunning to the eye. In his hands he held the peace
pipe, which he held up over his head as his eyes made the
connection with the eyes of Canonchet, a man twenty
years senior to Philip, but a man whose physical form was
as virile and fit as the younger men.
They were definitely not fresh for a fight. It was a
conspicuous fact they were weary, though formidable,
warriors. Philip’s spirit was bolstered by their arrival,
nonetheless. He had known of their location all along, as
his scouts had already made contact with Canonchet’s
force days earlier. Canonchet was ‘Chief’ of the Nipmunk
Nation, an ally, a friend, and a warrior who had proven
himself in battle against the wasichu many times.
67
S. R. Lavin
“Uncle,” Philip addressed Canonchet in the
Abenaki tongue, the language shared by all the nations of
the confederacy. “My eyes are glad to see you among us.”
Canonchet was not Philip’s uncle but Philip used
that term as one of endearment to show by the extension
of kinship, Philip honored Canonchet as a respected elder
and a beloved man. He was ‘uncle’ to all the Wampanoag
and, by blood, was Wetamoo’s actual uncle. (Indian
Nations quite ordinarily sealed alliances by arranging
marriages and adoptions.) The fabric of a common
humanity had been instituted for many generations. They
were a family of Nations.
Canonchet’s father had led the Nipmunks against
the Puritans forty years earlier. That war was also waged
to rid the native lands of the pestilent settlers. Hysterical
Puritans had started the war by sending an army into the
north country to prevent any attack on their settlement.
Everyone was convinced that savages would slay them as
they slept. So the army was dispatched and ordered to
strike first. Which they did with brutality and without
mercy. An entire Nipmunk village was burned to the
ground and eight hundred children, women and men
were slaughtered as they slept.
Canonchet had no actual memory of that war,
having been an infant at that time, but he did carry the
memory of his people to avenge the murder of those who
had died at the hands of the “devil men.”
68
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
Canonchet spoke to Philip as a father speaks to a
son. “It would seem the wasichu fight best when we are
sleeping.” Philip acknowledged this sullen observation
with the bitter irony Canonchet had intended from the
remark, for news of the battle at the falls had reached far.
They both scowled so that the entire population, which
had gathered, could share the meaning of their expression
and others imitated the scowl to make a show of their
solidarity among themselves.
Now Canonchet shriveled and his visage darkened
and shrank as he changed his voice and softly spoke,
“Those you see here with me are all that remain of the
Nipmunks. All who are not here with me are rubbed out
forever. Wetamoo was wounded and died before my very
eyes. There is no home to go back to. We are here to stay.
We are here to fight until there are no wasichu left. The
wasichu must die. All of them.”
Warriors whooped at these last words, so as to
confirm their agreement. Even the children added their
cries for victory over the English dogs.
Philip looked into Canonchet’s eyes, and there,
where he saw, into the soul of the man, he saw the
desolation and sadness of a man who carried a sack of
rocks with him wherever he went. Philip thought, “My
uncle has a spirit-hole in his middle,” and Philip squinted
his eyes so as to see through it to a picture which he took
to be a reflection from the ‘spirit world’. And from this
picture a ‘vision’ was intuited. And that vision was taken
69
S. R. Lavin
to be a gift of the Earth Mother to her son, and he knew
the Earth Mother’s voice when she called to him, and the
voice spoke a truth that could not be ignored.
Philip ‘saw’ the end of the Wampanoag. He felt the
sorrow of the Mother enter by his ankles and travel up his
legs to his knees. The sorrow he felt in his knees he
recognized was the dead spirit of Wetamoo, whose soul
he would now carry into battle, because she was the
greatest of warriors, as brave as any man he’d ever seen
fight, and her being “in him” was a sign of death as well
as honor, because those who are close in battle share the
intimacy of each other’s death.
This was the very vision he had seen at his place of
power. He knew, from that time on, that victory over the
wasichu was not possible. The Earth Mother had sung to
him a song of power, which was also a song of the sorrow
to come, a feeling he recognized more than a thought he
had conceived, that the sorrow had lodged in the joints of
his legs, so that he might be swift and sure in each battle.
Without speaking of it now, Philip knew that
Canonchet had also heard that song. There was no need to
speak the words. They shared the sorrow of Wetamoo’s
death without words. They mourned but did not weep.
Now was only a time to rejoice in the memory of her
courage and her defiance of the English settlers. Both
these men shared in their sorrow without weeping. The
women of the village would weep for them. Because they
70
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
were warriors, they would hold their tears and that
would make them stronger for the battles ahead.
And they mourned for the Nipmunk and
Wampanoag people whose days were near obliteration.
They heard the song which told them their villages would
be burned and many would soon die and there would be
no one to rekindle the campfires or remember them. Then
Canonchet uttered these words to show that he too had
seen the same vision as Philip. “We may lose but they will
never win.”
At that, the two men walked together to Philip’s
lodge. Whoops and cheers sounded all around them.
Children danced in circles, laughing and chanting for
victory. Both men accepted these heartfelt expressions of
support. Seen together, walking as brothers, was taken to
be an omen of victory. Conversations between them, any
discussion of their possible defeat, would be kept for the
privacy of council. They walked through the throng
showing no sign of the sad understanding they shared.
Inside Philip’s lodge, their grave outlooks were
more openly shared. They spoke with grim candor, as
they assessed that the English had great numbers and
their superiority of weaponry was also an ominous fact.
All sides of their present situation were assessed and
examined, interpreted and re-evaluated. The Council was
specifically for that purpose. They knew they must arrive
at a strategy to match the situation. What would follow
would be a battle plan, and they would be resolved to be
71
S. R. Lavin
unwavering in their actions, so that a designed (if not
predicted) outcome would be forthcoming. That way, in
being men of honor and courage, they would escape from
this world into the next…through a “hole” from this
world to the spirit-world (where all go once they give up
their bodies …but only for those who have lived bravely
and honestly). Cowards and liars and the like had no
place to rest in the spirit-world.
Canonchet spoke first. “What I did not say about
Wetamoo’s death must be told. The English are beasts.
After she was dead I gathered the last of the warriors and
fled from there. When I looked back I saw them cut
Wetamoo’s head from her body. I have seen bloody deeds
but nothing so gruesome or bloody as this. We fight
demon-dogs. They are godless and without honor. I say
we give them blood for blood.”
Canonchet was sobered by what he had seen only
days earlier at the utter destruction of the Nipmunk
village. The Nipmunks were fierce warriors, a clever
people who knew the ways of the fox, who moved with
stealth through the forest and navigated the swamps to
their advantage. Their endurance through hardships (like
severe weather) was well-tested. But they had no
experience in waging a war against thousands of soldiers
trained to fight head-on with one objective -- the complete
destruction of their people.
“The English have many rifles and they will come
looking for us no matter where we are. If we kill them all,
72
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
more will come to fight where they fell. We have won
every battle but we cannot win the war. The
Narragansetts have been rubbed out. So now, even some
Nipmunk and the Pequot fight for the English. And this is
just the beginning of a terrible time. The English will find
us and rub us out.”
Philip knew that Canonchet spoke these words
with the truth he’d seen in his inside-out view of his
heart, the words were but one reflection of the complete
image.
“I too have seen this day coming,” Philip answered
without trepidation. “I have seen it in my dreams and
have heard the Earth Mother sing it to me. I have seen it
since the beginning of our fight against the wasichu. We
must not be like the English; we must be better than they
have shown us. We are not desecrators of the dead. Nor
do we take joy in the suffering of our enemies. We fight
for the good of all human beings who love the Earth
Mother. That is why the English captives must be
returned unharmed to their homes. This will be a message
to our enemies that we are not a godless or merciless
people. If we must become more hateful than the wasichu
to beat them, then our victory would be nothing more
than a different kind of defeat.”
“Whatever we must do now, whatever we must
come to, we must resolve ourselves to do it now.”
Canonchet searched within himself as he spoke. It was as
much a question as it was a statement. “I am ready to die
73
S. R. Lavin
in battle. For the death of Wetamoo and the destruction of
our home, I will attack their city, Providence, and it
should be burned to the ground.”
“I see your grief, Canonchet. I share your sorrow. If
we continue the war we will be wiped out. We must turn
from our grief and not act on our hatred. We must find
another way.
“The Earth Mother has revealed one way that we
might turn our defeat back to victory.” Philip was
resolute.
Canonchet fixed his eyes intently. Whatever Philip
said next was inspired and directed by the great power of
the Earth Mother.
“We must make peace with the Genneherah
(Mohawk) and all the Nations beyond, in the west...”
Philip spoke with certainty, not speculation. “If we were
one Council of Nations we would be a people greater than
the English.”
Canonchet’s eyes bulged. His chest rose and his rib
cage surged with a deep breath. He took the words of
Philip into himself as his gaze seemed to look to the far
away.
Then he spoke. “This could never be. This is a
dream that could never be... the Mohawk will never join
with us. They would join the English against us,
perhaps...that I can see, they would kill you if you went to
them, they might slice you up and eat you. They are not
human beings like us.”
74
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
“You are right, of course, Canonchet. But I know of
no other way. My death is of no consequence. I see only
what might be. If we do not try to show this thing to the
Iroquois then we will be rubbed out. And it will not stop
with Wampanoag, or Nipmunk. The day is coming when
all the Nations will be rubbed out by the wasichu, because
that is their way. There can be no peace with the English."
Canonchet sang softly as a reply to his
words...”Yea ha ta wa, yea ha ta wa....” which was to say,
the talking is done and the way is clear, only the way of the
Earth Mother will save us from destruction.
It was so confirmed and set into motion. “There is
much to do before I go...” Philip spoke reassuringly to his
beloved ally and friend. “Once I am gone, you must be
the strong voice of hope for those who remain here with
you.”
Canonchet knew that Philip had spoken with great
courage. Philip’s wife and unborn child would be in
Canonchet’s care. This was more than a responsibility;
this was an honor that Canonchet knew he had been
chosen for.
Canonchet also understood that Philip’s plan was
as dangerous as it was bold. Only a man inspired by the
Great Spirits could see beyond to that which had not
come to be. Canonchet saw that Philip’s courage was a
gift of the Earth Mother to a chosen child. He was a true
Sachem.
75
S. R. Lavin
The Mohawk had been their mortal enemy since
before the wasichu came. For hundreds of years the
Wampanoag had regarded the Nations in the west as
barbarians, ‘beast men’. The Iroquois were cannibals.
They enjoyed war as if it were a sport, and they had been
allied with the English from the beginning.
Canonchet tested Philip’s spirit. “This is a
mountain no man can climb.”
Philip replied, “The Earth Mother will show me the
way. This is a mountain that cannot be climbed, this is a
mountain I must fly over.” By this answer Canonchet
was sure the vision was impeccable. “Your answer is like
the smoke that drifts into the sky and floats away where
men cannot see it.”
“I will go alone. This is what I have seen. This is
how it must be.”
“Canonchet hesitated, then, tested Philip again.
“Tomorrow will bring a new sun, and with it may come
another plan, a better one, just as the clouds which bring
the rain are blown out to sea.”
“Tomorrow the Earth Mother will be the same as
She is today. This will not change.”
“Then we must smoke the pipe and be as one with
the Great Spirit that exists for our people.” By this
invitation to smoke the pipe, the conversation was sealed.
Canonchet would probe Philip no further. He was
satisfied that the plan to win an alliance with the Mohawk
was divinely ordered.
76
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
“Let us smoke, then,” Philip repeated.
“You must go alone?” Oolonemekas rarely spoke
when men took council of each other. She listened as their
equal in these matters. Her question was an important
one. She saw danger and the end of all she loved if her
husband failed.
“I must.” Philip was somber and solid in his
resolve.
Oolonemekus had stood quietly and respectfully
and listened intently. The two men turned to her and
Canonchet offered her the pipe. Since women were only
offered the pipe to signify the solemnest of decisions were
ordained in heaven and enacted on the Earth.
Oolonemekus symbolically drew a little smoke from its
stem and then spoke. “My womb is full. I am the mother
of Wampanoag. Soon a little one will ask ‘Where is my
father?’ “
Of course she was afraid for Philip’s safety. Their
baby would be with them soon. It was her time.
“Husband, I fear the Mohawk will kill you and your child
will be fatherless. You will die a slow death in the hands
of those 'beast-men’. They will most likely eat your heart
while it is still beating. Canonchet has spoken wisely.”
“I must perform the vision as I received it. If I do
not go alone, the Mohawk will assume I come to make
war. But if I am alone, they will be more curious and less
fearful. If sacrifice is what they require, then I will die
77
S. R. Lavin
without regret. I will sing them my sweetest song while
they slice me up.”
Oolonemekus saw that her husband’s spirit was
clear and ready for whatever the Earth Mother intended.
She blessed her husband. “I speak as a woman who needs
her husband. The vision is explicit. You must go alone.
Inside me our hope for the future lives. But when this
little one comes out to take a place among us, what place
will there be if the English invaders have destroyed our
people? My husband, you are the embodied hope of our
people. You must go and speak with the Mohawk.”
Oolonemekus knew the bitter truth that Philip and
Canonchet shared, that the end was coming for the
Wampanoag. She knew these men had faced the truth and
seen the desperate hope of their council as the last and
only possible hope.
Philip prepared a small sack made from deerskin
for the journey. He intended to take as little as he could.
Only that which was essential. A power object (in this
case the tooth of a deer), a knife, a flint, a handful of nuts
and seeds. No real food. No water. These he would find
and forage for along the way. He looked to his rifle.
“This I will bury near the Sleeping Snake. When I
return I will need it to fight against the English. I will not
carry my gun to the Mohawk land…they must know that
I come for peace, not war.”
He looked at Oolonemekus and Canonchet as if
already shrouded in a separate identity. He spoke an
78
METACOMET: The Saga of King Philip
ancient farewell. “One looks forever into the eyes of those
who journey far.”
Canonchet answered, ”Weh-ha, weh-ho.” (“One
sees, one knows.”)
Canonchet would defend the stronghold, stand in
any fire, and die when called upon to do so, because, like
Philip, he was a spirit-warrior. He was not merely one
who fights, but one who seeks the truth.
Philip intended no other good-bye. But, he made
exception for Mrs. Rowlandson. Because he cared for her,
and she was in his thoughts.
79
Metacomet, King and Sachem of the Wampanoag Indians, fought a
bloody war against the Puritans (circa 1676); he burned many
towns and won every major battle, only to be destroyed by hunger,
disease, and the genocide of his people.
METACOMET (The Saga of King Philip)
Buy The Complete Version of This Book at
Booklocker.com:
http://www.booklocker.com/p/books/3202.html?s=pdf