he stump, ran down the bank among the bushes
and in a moment was out of sight. Church gave chase to him; but he could
not be found, though they picked up a few of his followers. King
Philip's war had now degenerated into a single man hunt. From this time
on, Philip was too closely watched and hotly pursued to escape
destruction. His followers deserted him, and he was driven like a wild
beast from place to place, until at last he came to his ancient seat
near Pokanoket, when one of his men advised making peace. Philip killed
him on the spot. The Indian thus slain had a brother named Alderman,
who, fearing the same fate, and probably in revenge, deserted Philip,
and gave Captain Church an account of his situation and offered to lead
him to his camp. Early on Saturday morning, August 12, 1676, Church,
with his Indian guide, came to the swamp where Philip was encamped, and,
before he was discovered, had placed a guard about it so as to encompass
it, except at one place. He then ordered Captain Golding to rush into
the swamp and fall upon Philip in his camp, which he immediately did,
but was discovered as he approached, and Philip fled. Having been just
awakened and being only partially dressed, he ran at full speed,
carrying his gun in his hand, and came directly upon the Indian
Alderman, who, with a white man, was in ambush at the edge of the swamp.

"There comes the devil Philip now!" cried the Englishman, raising his
rifle and aiming at the king; but the powder in the pan had become damp,
and he missed fire. Immediately Alderman, whose gun was loaded with two
balls, fired, sending one bullet through Philip's heart and another not
more than two inches from it. He fell upon his face in the mud and
water, with his gun under him.

The death of Philip ended the bloodiest Indian war at that time known in
the New World. A few of his confederates were captured; but there was no
more fighting. Philip's son was sold into slavery in Bermuda. So
perished the dynasty of Massasoit.

CHAPTER XVII.

NEARING THE VERGE.

At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought.
When fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light:
And hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like the rainbow through the shower.
--CUNNINGHAM.

Robert Stevens was warmly greeted by his mother and sister on his return
from Massachuset