Philip's war. 167 before it. His campaigns were short, sharp and decisive. Within a twelvemonth from June 20th, 1675, ^^ ^^^ well- nigh destroyed the flower and fruit of fifty years of New England planting. His courage and coolness in battle made him the natural leader of the savage forces, while his caution prevented him from personal sacrifice. The tomahawk, scalping knife, and torch were the only weapons he knew how to use, and stood him in the same stead as the rifle, the cannon, and the bayonet in our military service. Let us remember that he was a savage, with the nature, the instincts, the education, the traditions of savage races for untold generations. He found himself in a corner of the old Wampanoag possessions, shut out from his hunting grounds, and shut up to the narrow peninsula of Consumpsit Neck. His young warriors clamored for the freedom of the chase, and the wild life of their fathers, made familiar to them by song and story, in the wigwam and in the forest. Instead of the wild deer roamed the contented kine of the white man. "The five rayle fence" of Swansea, obstructed his feet and his vision. What wonder then that the savage was restless, and what wonder, when restrained, that he chafed under the unused harness. He was a slave on his own soil. His own hands had wrought the fetters which bound him. Shall we blame him that he made one manly effort, though a savage one, to be free once more.-' Could we have done less, and preserved our manly savageness ? It was the freedom once more of the savage, or death at the white man's bullet. He chose the latter in struggling for the former. Death was sweeter to him than civilization.
