But the
Pale-faces did not wait for spring.
The Indians had gathered to the number of over three thousand
into a strong fortress. It was surrounded by a marsh and the only
entrance was over a bridge made by a fallen tree.
This fortress the New Englanders decided to attack and take. So,
a thousand strong, they set out one morning before dawn and, after
hours of weary marching through the snow, they reached the fort.
Across the narrow bridge they rushed, and although many of their
leaders fell dead, the men came on, nothing daunted. A fierce fight
followed, for each side knew that they must win or die. Shut in on
all sides by impassable swamps there was no escape. But not till
dark was falling did the white men gain the victory. The ground
was strewn with dead and dying, and in the gathering darkness the
remaining Indians stole quietly away, and vanished like shadows.
Then the New Englanders set fire to the wigwams, and, taking their
wounded, marched back to their headquarters.
This was a sad blow to the Indians, but it did not by any means end
the war which, as spring came on, broke out again in full fury. But
gradually the white men got the upper hand. Instead of attacking,
the Redmen fled before them. They lost heart and began to blame King
Philip for having led them into war, and at length he was slain by
one of his own followers.
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