The English are an adventurous people and none were more so than burly Captain Stone, a hardy mariner, who, in the summer of 1633, made a coastwise trip from Maine to Virginia in a little schooner. Attracted by the broad harbor of the Connecticut River, he sailed by the rocky bluffs at the entrance and was soon gliding between the green hills which roll back from either side of the sparkling waters of the stream. Charmed by the peaceful scene, he kept on drifting up the winding water course, until he finally dropped anchor beneath a headland covered with the sweet-scented bushes of the sumach and wild plum.

"It seems that this is a likely place for the partridge or grouse," said one of the seamen, as the ship lay peacefully at anchor on the quiet water. "What say you, good Captain, if I and two others go ashore with our fowling pieces to look for game?"

"Good," answered the stout Captain, "and if you see a deer, be sure and bring it down, for we are much in need of fresh meat upon our vessel."

"All right, we will go at once," said the seaman, and, quickly selecting two companions who armed themselves with flintlocks, the sporting sea-dogs were soon ashore. That night they did not come back, but, thinking that they had wandered off in the quest of venison, Captain Stone did not give the matter a second thought.

When morning dawned, a canoe, filled with Indians, was seen coming from the shore. "How! How!" said the red men, when the canoe came near the ship. "We bring presents to white man. We want to see big house on water."

A Sachem of the Pequot Indians was in the bow of the birch-bark boat, and, as he smiled in a friendly fashion, the Captain gave orders that he should be allowed to come on board with all his dozen men. Not long afterwards, he was agreeably conversing with them in his cabin. The crew were in the cook room, getting their luncheon, when, overcome by the drowsy heat of the day, and with no suspicion that the redskins were other than peaceful braves, the Captain fell asleep in his bunk.

Silently the Indians sneaked to the cupboard—where the muskets were kept—and seized them. Then, when all were passed to the waiting braves, the Sachem crept over to the sleeping Captain Stone, and, with one swift blow, brained him with his hatchet. Immediately his followers rushed to the small room where the crew were peacefully eating, and, aiming at them through the window, shot at those who were nearest. All leaped to their feet and made a rush for the door in order to grapple with their assailants. Three lay groaning upon the floor, as the rest rushed upon the vindictive savages who, using their knives and spears, cut at the sailors with cruel vengeance. A desperate struggle commenced.

The whites and Pequots struggled back and forth upon the narrow deck, which now grew slippery with blood. More than one savage was knocked overboard, but, as they outnumbered the crew, it was plainly evident that the outcome of the struggle would be in their favor. Suddenly, a loud report was heard. The decks flew asunder from the force of an explosion below. The splitting timbers belched outwards upon the blue waters of the quiet stream, and, with a muffled roar, both red men and white were shot into the water. Some clung to the wreckage, some hung on to the canoe and boats, as—in lurid flames and black smoke—the remains of the little schooner were burned to the water's edge. But, although hurled into the water, most of the Pequots escaped, were picked up by their companions, and paddled back in the canoes and ship's boats to complete the massacre. When night came, only a few charred timbers, floating upon the surface of the Connecticut, were left to mark the scene of the tragedy.

This was in 1633, when the Puritans were well established at Plymouth and Boston, and were continually pushing into the interior to find good farm lands. Sassacus was Chief Sachem of the warlike Pequots, and, in spite of this massacre, sent a messenger to the Governor of Massachusetts—in the year following—to gain his friendship and alliance. His emissary brought two large bundles of sticks with him and a large quantity of wampum. "I will give as many skins of the beaver and otter as I send pieces of wood," was the message which King Sassacus sent to the Chief Executive of Massachusetts, "and I wish your friendship and allegiance. Will you sign a treaty with me?"

"I return you a fine moose-skin coat," answered the Governor to this request, "but I cannot make a treaty with you unless you send proper warriors for me to treat with, and enough of them. Furthermore, your men have murdered Captain Stone, my friend, and I can make no peace with you until you deliver to me the Pequots who killed him and his men."

Sassacus was a warrior of high renown. He had twenty-six sachems, or war captains, under his control, and could muster—at any time—seven hundred warriors. His residence was upon the Atlantic, at Groton, Connecticut, and near the Mystic River he had a splendid stronghold, situated upon a verdant eminence, which gradually descended to the waters of the sparkling stream. He and his men looked upon the English as intruders, who had no right to come to the soil of Connecticut. But, as the intrepid Sassacus had warred with the Dutch at New York, so that they had cut off his trade with them, he wished to now gain the good will of the English, near Boston. The Pequots were men of the utmost independence of spirit and had conquered most of the smaller tribes lying around them. They called these people whom they captured "women" and "cowards."

"Your Captain Stone took two of our men," said the emissary from Sassacus. "He detained them by force and made them pilot him up the river. The Captain and the crew then landed, taking the guides on shore, with their hands bound behind them. The Pequots next fell upon the white men and killed them. The vessel, with the remainder of the crew, was blown up, I do not know why, nor wherefore."

This was a pretty good story, and as the Governor of Massachusetts could not substantiate his own side, he was inclined to believe it, for he had no means of proving its falsity. So a treaty was concluded, with the following terms:

I. The English to have such land in Connecticut as they needed, provided they would make a settlement there; and the Pequots to render them all the assistance that they could.

II. The Pequots to give the English four hundred fathoms of wampum, forty beaver and thirty otter skins, and to surrender the two murderers whenever they should be sent for.

III. The English to send a vessel immediately, to trade with them, as friends, but not to fight them, and the Pequots would give them all their custom.

Having signed this document, the emissary from Sassacus and his companion started back on their five days' journey to the habitation of their Chief. But, unfortunately for them, the Pequots were then at war with the Narragansetts, and a party of about two hundred and fifty warriors of the latter tribe had come as far as Neponset (the boundary between Milton and Dorchester) for the avowed purpose of waylaying and killing the two Pequots on their way home. Learning of this, the Governor sent an armed force to request a visit from these Narragansett braves, and two Sachems—with about twenty men—obeyed the summons. "We have been hunting around the country," said they, "and came to visit the Indians at Neponset, according to old custom. We meant no harm to the Pequots. They can go home in safety." And they kept good this promise, so that the two Pequots made their return trip in perfect security.

For two years white settlers moved into Connecticut, and took up farms in the most fertile places. But the Indians were soon unfriendly. An Englishman named Oldham, who had been trading in Connecticut, was murdered by a party of Block Island braves, several of whom were said—by the frontier settlers—to have taken refuge among the Pequots, who gave them ample protection. When the Governor of Massachusetts heard of this, he was exceedingly wroth, for Oldham was a resident of Dorchester and was a friend of his. So, ordering Captain Endicott of the State Militia to appear before him, he said:

"I commission you, good sir, to put to death the redskins of Block Island, with ninety of our soldiers. Spare the women and children, but bring them away and take possession of the Island. Then go to the Pequots and demand the murderers of Captain Stone, Oldham, and other Englishmen who have been killed, and one thousand fathom of wampum for damages. Also get some of their children as hostages, which, if they refuse, you must take by force."

Endicott was not long in starting upon his mission, and soon had captured Block Island and burned the villages of the natives. He then sailed for Pequot Harbor, where a warrior of the army under Sassacus came out in a canoe to demand who the intruders were. The River Thames, where now the rival crews of Yale and Harvard struggle for supremacy on the water, emptied into this harbor, and upon either bank were the homes of the Indians.

"I wish to see Sassacus, your Chief," said Endicott.

"He has gone to Long Island," the Indian replied.

"Then I wish to speak with the next in authority," continued the leader of the Massachusetts troops, "and I wish to have the murderers of Oldham given up to my care."

The Pequot brave did not reply and paddled to the shore, followed by the English troops, who landed and stood—fully armed—a short distance from the beach. The Indians in numbers gathered around them, but the head Sachem did not put in an appearance. "He will come," said the fellow who had been in the canoe, "if you English will lay down your arms. We will, at the same time, leave our bows and arrows at a distance."

But Endicott grew angry at this, as he believed it to be a pretext for gaining time. "Begone, you Pequots," he thundered. "You have dared the English to come and fight you, and we are ready." The Indians withdrew to a short distance, and then the leader of the whites ordered his men to advance. A shower of arrows poured upon them, as they did so, but the English discharged a hot volley which killed several and wounded fully twenty of the redskins. At this they fled, while the troops pressed on to their village and burned it to the ground.

At night the little army returned to the five ships which had brought them, and next day they went ashore upon the west side of the river and burned all the wigwams and smashed all the canoes of the Pequots' families who lived upon the bank of the Thames. The Indians shot at them from behind rocks and trees, but their arrows did little damage, and so, with the loss of not a single man, the troops set sail for Boston. "They came home all safe," says a historian, "which was a marvelous providence of God, that not a hair fell from the head of any of them, nor were there any sick or wounded in the little army."

Sassacus was now infuriated with the whites. In retaliation for this attack upon his people, he ordered war upon the white settlers of Connecticut. The forts and settlements of the English were assaulted in every direction. No boat could pass up and down the Connecticut River in safety. The hard-working farmers could neither hunt, fish, nor cultivate their lands. People went armed to their work in the fields and to church on Sunday, while a guard was stationed outside the meeting houses during service. At the mouth of the Connecticut River, the English had a fortification, called Fort Saybrook. In October five of the garrison were surprised and killed, as they were carrying in some hay from a field near by. Not long afterwards several vessels were captured, and the sailors were tortured by the Pequots. Saybrook Fort was besieged, the outhouses were burned, and the few cattle that were not killed often came in at night with the arrows of the Pequot warriors sticking in their sides. Early in March four of the garrison were caught outside the walls of the fort and massacred, while a horde of red warriors surrounded the stockade on all sides, challenging the English to come out and fight in the open, mocking them with catcalls, groans, hisses, and imitations of the screams of those whom they had captured, and boasting that the Pequots would soon drive all the English into the sea. They would often rush up to the gate in the endeavor to gain an entrance, but a discharge of grapeshot from a cannon made them retreat into the timber.

It is said that a Puritan, or a New Englander, is slow to anger, but once get him aroused and he will fight as no other man can fight on earth. This is what put an end to Sassacus. For when the savage marauders threatened Agawam (Springfield), Hartford and Windsor, and carried off several women from Wethersfield, the Massachusetts colony sent an army of ninety men to Saybrook Fort, commanded by Captain John Mason, an experienced and able soldier. A body of Mohegan Indians, under Uncas, joined them here, for they were unfriendly to Sassacus, as he and his savage Pequots had often killed the members of this tribe. They were to prove of little value in the campaign, but their presence added a spirit of confidence to the English soldiers.

At the head of the Mystic River, where now is the thriving town of Stonington, Connecticut, Sassacus had his principal fortification. It was really a large Indian town, surrounded by a stout palisade, and was crowded with men, women and children. Mason decided to attack it, but, being a good soldier, determined to throw the watchful Pequots off his scent. He, therefore, first sailed down to the Pequot (Thames) River, and pretended to land at its mouth. The savages were closely watching him, and when, instead of landing, he bore away to the southward and coasted along the Narragansett Bay, the natives thought that he was in retreat. "Ugh! Ugh!" said the warriors. "He little heart. He no fight! We brave men. We can beat all the English in the country!"

But Mason was a shrewd campaigner, and dropping anchor at a point in the bay, where he was protected from the prying eyes of the Pequot scouts, he lay to for some time, and then landed his soldiers through the heavy surf which was then raging. Marching inland, he stopped at a fort of the friendly Narragansetts, under Canonicus and Miantonomo, who were cold and distrustful, saying: "We doubt that such a small body of you English can carry the strong palisades of Sassacus. But we will help you when you advance upon them tomorrow." Mason had so little confidence in the word of these allies that he surrounded the fort, that evening, with a strong guard, fearing that the Indians would betray his approach to the Pequots.

Next day the little army of white soldiers pushed on through the woods in the direction of the great Pequot stronghold, where the followers of Sassacus were resting in fancied peace and security. It was a hot day—the 25th of May—and the warriors were much oppressed by their heavy armor breastplates and the weight of their ponderous flintlocks. They forded the Pawcatuck River and camped at a place called Porter's Rocks, at the head of the Mystic River, which was but two miles from the Pequot encampment. Scouts crept near the palisades that evening, and heard the sounds of songs and laughter within, for the redskins were having a big feast. Perfectly unconscious of the peril that lurked so near them, some of the braves were boasting that the English had fled without striking a blow to avenge the death of thirty white settlers whose scalps hung in the wigwams of the Pequot braves. They danced, sang, and caroused until late in the night.

Mason passed among his men, and said: "Sleep lightly. Arouse yourselves at the first flush of dawn. When you strike the Indians, fight like bloodhounds. Give no quarter, for they have given no quarter to our people."

Deep sleep hung over the Indian camp, as at daybreak the Puritan army started for the stockade. Guided by Uncas—the Mohegan chief—and Wequash, a Pequot who had turned traitor to his tribe, they were soon led to the outskirts of the sleeping village. A hush of deep quiet hung over the habitations of Sassacus and his people. Robins piped from the trees. Song-sparrows trilled from the verdant underbrush, and the flute-like call of thrushes came from the depth of the wood, now beautiful with the fresh green of early spring. It hardly seemed possible that scenes of dreadful carnage would soon be enacted in the midst of this quiet beauty, but silently and cautiously the men with iron breastplates surrounded the circular stockade. Behind them, their Indian allies formed a circle, but advanced with no show of courage or enthusiasm. The garrison slept peacefully on, when suddenly a dog barked, and a Pequot warrior, leaping to his feet in alarm, cried out, "Owanux! Owanux!"—"Englishmen! Englishmen!"

In front of Mason was a barricade of brush heaps at one entrance to the village. Opposite this was another opening, and, as the stout yeomen rushed in one doorway, led by Mason, an equal body penetrated the other, cheered on by Underhill. The Pequot braves seized their bows and arrows in a vain endeavor to stem the onslaught, while the women and children—in terror—endeavored to hide themselves beneath anything that would cover them, or to escape between the lines and gain the protection of the forest. Hoarse cries rose in the misty air. Muskets crashed, children screamed, and, with exultant war whoops, the followers of Uncas shot their arrows into the Pequots, who huddled together like sheep, in confusion and dismay. "We must burn them!" shouted Mason, now full of the heat of battle, and seizing a glowing brand from some smouldering ashes, he thrust it between the sticks of a wigwam. In a moment the mats, with which it was covered, were alight, and the tepee blazed upwards in smoke and fire. Many soldiers followed his example, so that soon the yelling mass of warriors were surrounded by black smoke and curling flames.

In an unyielding circle, the English pressed in upon the Pequot braves. The flames crackled, women shrieked, children cried, and above the rattling of the firearms sounded the vindictive yelping of the followers of Uncas. Seventy wigwams were soon black in smoke, while fully five hundred Pequots were struck down as they endeavored to get past the line of the Puritan troops. The broad swords of the soldiers thrust this way and that with terrible ferocity. Back, back, they pressed the cringing and desperate redskins, who again and again threw themselves upon the ranks of the Puritans in a vain endeavor to get through to the safety of the forest. Sassacus, himself, was not there, but his people were receiving an awful chastisement for attacking the peaceful settlers of Connecticut. They battled desperately for their lives. They strove manfully to penetrate the cordon of steel which pressed in upon them, but it was in vain. Within an hour's time fully six hundred of them lay dead or dying upon the sod, while only seven escaped and seven were taken captive.

News of the disaster was quickly brought to Sassacus, who, fortunately for himself, was in the next Pequot stronghold, some miles distant. Dispatching immediately three hundred warriors to the scene of carnage, they pursued the English very closely for six miles, on their march to their ships, which had sailed to the mouth of the Pequot (Thames) River. The Narragansett warriors who had come on with Mason's men had already deserted. Uncas and his Mohegans still remained faithful, and helped to carry the wounded back to the ships. Underhill protected the rear of the white army as it retreated, and, according to his own account, killed and wounded near a hundred of the ferocious Pequots, who burned to avenge the slaughter of the morning. A third of Mason's men were used up from wounds or exhaustion, but all arrived safely at the ocean side, where not only were the ships, but also a reinforcement of forty men from Boston. Before night closed in, all were on board and safe from the attacks of the Pequots, who shook their fists at them from the shore and yelled vindictively at them, as the white sails filled in the gentle breeze.

The war was not over by any means. All through the summer skirmishes were had with the Indians. Uncas and his Mohegans, with a few English, were scouring the shores near the sea for the purpose of cutting off stragglers, when they came upon a Pequot Sachem and a few of his men, not far from the harbor of Guilford, Connecticut. They pursued them, and, as the south side of the harbor is formed by a long neck of land, the Pequots went out upon it, hoping that their pursuers would pass by. But Uncas, who saw the stratagem, ordered some of his Mohegans to give chase, which the enemy observed and so jumped into the water and swam over to the mouth of the harbor. There they were captured by the English soldiers, who ran around to head them off. Uncas, himself, is said to have shot the chief sachem with an arrow, to have cut off his head, and set it in the crotch of a large oak tree near the water. The skull remained here for many years, and thus the name of Sachem's-Head has ever since been given to this beautiful harbor.

A large number of the Pequots now deserted Sassacus to his fate and took refuge among the Indians of New York. Some even threatened to destroy him for bringing down upon them the anger of the white settlers, and nothing but the entreaty of his chief counsellor prevented him from being killed by his own people. Realizing that he could no longer hold his own against the whites, he destroyed his fort, and, with several hundred of his best men, retreated towards the Hudson River. To kill or capture him was the main object of the Colonists, and, two captured Pequots having had their lives spared on condition that they would guide the English to him, a good-sized force now pushed on towards the retreating members of the once powerful Pequot tribe. At last the Indians were overtaken near Fairfield, Connecticut, and a fierce fight took place in a swamp. The red men fought with the courage of despair, and sixty or seventy succeeded in forcing their way through the ranks of their assailants; but about two hundred were captured. Sassacus, himself, escaped. Those Pequots who had not been slain were hunted like wild beasts by the other Indians of the Narragansett and Mohegan tribes, and weekly their heads were brought in to Windsor and Hartford. Finally, the entire tribe was obliterated, and the few remaining braves were permitted to live with those tribes which they had called "cowards" and "women."

Sassacus was driven from swamp to swamp, by night and by day. Even his own men hunted him and endeavored to take his life. One Pequot who was freed by the English, on condition that he would find and betray this great chief, finally succeeded in finding him. Creeping upon him in one of his solitary camps, he was about to fire his musket, when he was overcome by the majestic look of the great Sachem. "I could not pull the trigger," he told the English, "for my chief looked like all one God. I could not touch a hair of his head." Thus the once powerful redskin escaped and fled to the Mohawks in New York, where he arrived with five hundred pounds of wampum and several of his best captains and bravest men. But here there was to be no peace for the fugitive. He and his men were treacherously murdered by a party of warlike Mohawks, and his scalp sent to Connecticut as a present to the English. A lock of his hair was soon carried to Boston, where it was exhibited in a window upon the streets, as a sure proof of the death of this once powerful enemy to the whites.

Uncas—the Mohegan ally of the Connecticut settlers—continued to live at peace with the Colonists, although granting nearly all his land away for a very small consideration. Thus, in 1641, he gave away several thousand acres for the possession of four coats, two kettles, four fathoms of wampum, four hatchets and three hoes. In 1659 he gave all his lands, with all his corn, to his old comrade and friend, Major John Mason, with whom he had stormed the Pequot fort on the Mystic. He lived to be a very old man, and a remnant of his tribe still exists today near Norwich, Connecticut, and are the only natives still lingering upon the soil of the state.

Sassacus defied the English and was exterminated. Uncas befriended them and lived a peaceful existence. Of the two, he led the more quiet life, but one cannot but admire the fierce, fighting spirit of Sassacus and regret that he met such a miserable end. No direct descendants of either now exist, for, upon an old Indian gravestone at Mohegan, a genial carver has left the following inscription:

Certainly, the whites were glad to see the race exterminated. It left the country to their own civilization, and they developed it according to their own desires. Now brick and wooden houses, great factories, and roaring mills stand where the red men once had their thin wigwams; and where they once battled furiously with the stout Colonists, jangling trolley cars rush by in cheerful indifference to the dim records of history.