The night was serene, but cool; the moon shone bright; and daybreak was thought to be approaching. Captain Mason, at this quiet hour, between midnight and early dawn, (May 26th,) roused his men, to make preparation for the momentous crisis. They all solemnly commended themselves and their cause to the Disposer of events, the God of providence, and then marched silently and resolutely onward. A panic, at this moment, seized all the friendly Indians in the party, except the Mohégans, with their brave sachem Uncas, who was found ever steadfast.* Yet it remained for Mason and his comrades to make the onset, in the encounter with their terrific foes, from whom no quarter was to be expected.

There, upon an eminence, was beheld the rude fort, encompassed by palisades, and containing seventy wigwams of basket-frames, covered with thick matting. Not a sound was heard, as the little band of heroes, lighted by the moon, and moving with a sure and firm step onward, now drew near the spot, until the barking of a dog gave the signal of approaching danger, and an Indian sentinel uttered the alarm-cry, "Owanux! Owanux!" (Englishmen ! Englishmen!) Soon, the savage war-whoop was uttered, with a wild shout, by the fierce Pequots within the precincts of the fort; and, from the surrounding woods and thickets, the Mohegans and Narragansetts sent back the yell, in ferocious defiance.

The English assailants then all rushing to the fort, discharged their muskets through the palisades, and boldly entered within the enclosure, to commence a struggle, which was to decide the destiny of all their hopes in the new world. "On its issue," says an able and sagacious

* Mason speaks of him in terms of high commendation.

writer, there had been staked no less than the question, whether Christianity and civilization, or paganism and barbarity should prevail in New-England."

Mason entered first; his comrades followed; and he passed, with hurried steps, to the extremity of a range of wigwams, in vain seeking for the foe. Almost breathless, from his efforts and emotion, he then hastened back, feeling the extreme hazard of contending with so numerous and subtle a horde of fierce savages, concealed in their lurking-places, from which their arrows were now deliberately aimed. "We must burn them," cried he; and, seizing a fire-brand in one of the cabins, he so effectually employed it, that all the combustible, mat-covered huts were soon enveloped in the flames of a desolating conflagration.

Then followed an awful scene of death and carnage. Many, to escape from the burning of the wigwams, climbed the palisades; but they thus became conspicuous marks for the arrow or the musket-ball. Many sought for refuge by resort to flight; but the Mohégans, and other Indian allies of the colonists, had encircled the fort at a distance, and thus intercepted those who might otherwise have found safety in the woods. Not a few, in utter desperation, rushed into the flames. With the exception of only seven who were made prisoners, and seven who escaped, there were about six hundred Pequots consigned to the flames or the bullet, sword, tomahawk, or arrow; while but two only of their assailants fell in the battle, and not more than twenty of them received a wound.

At this moment, to the great joy of the exhausted and wounded victors in the dread scene, their pink, pin

* Grahame, in his Hist. of the United States, Vol. I, B. II, ch. II, an. 1637.

nace, and shallop, wafted by a fair wind, entered Pequot Harbor. 66 Some," says Mason, "fainted by reason of the sharpness of the weather, it being a cool morning." The provisions of the little company were exhausted, and their ammunition spent; they were in an enemy's country; and it was with intense feelings of devout gratitude, that they could say, with their Captain,* "It pleased God, to discover our vessels to us, before a fair gale of wind, sailing into Pequot Harbor, to our great rejoicing."

Several hundred of the enemy, from the surrounding region, in a frenzy of wild rage, pursued the victors; but their threats were impotent. By a small brook that flowed at the foot of a hill, the heroic comrades rested and refreshed themselves; and then, conveyed to Saybrook Fort, they were "nobly entertained by Lieutenant Gardner, with many great guns," and were not unmindful of "praising God for his goodness," especially on the Lord's day that ensued, (May 28th,) which they spent at Saybrook, with the Lieutenant.

The bold achievement of Mason and his followers led to the despondency and dispersion of the remaining Pequot warriors. In their despair, they destroyed their royal fort, and resolved to scatter themselves, far and wide, throughout the country. But they were pursued, by companies under Captains Mason, Stoughton, and other valiant men. Their sachem Sassacus fled to the Maquas, or Mohawks; and their sachem Mononotto, to the Unquowas, at Fairfield.

The name of Sassacus, (or Sassaco-us,) had been, for many years, a panic-word throughout the forests. He

*Brief Hist.

† Mason's Brief History. Mason, in his Brief Hist., thus spells the name.

had boasted a thousand sannaps, or warriors, with their sagamores, or chiefs; but, in his downfall, he found "none so poor to do him reverence;" and, where he hoped for a sure refuge from the white man's retribution, he found death awaiting him, by the hand of a fellow-savage. Thus,

"Sassacous, now no more

Lord of a thousand bowmen, fled;
And all the chiefs, his boast before,
Were mingled with th' unhonored dead.
Sannap and sagamore were slain,
On Mystic's banks, in one red night;
The once far-dreaded king, in vain
Sought safety in inglorious flight;
And reft of all his regal pride,

By the fierce Maqua's hand he died."*

The Mohawks sent to Boston the scalp of this great Pequot sachem, as a witness of his fate. In a war between the Narragansetts and Mohégans, Mononotto was afterward taken captive by Uncas, who tortured him with great cruelty, and slew him.

During the engagement at the Pequot fort, the life of Captain Mason was preserved in a memorable manner. As he entered a wigwam, for fire to burn the fort, an Indian was drawing an arrow to the very head, and would have killed him instantly; but "Davis, his sergeant, cut the bow-string with his cutlass, and prevented the fatal shot."+

With the destruction of their warriors by Mason and his company, and the desolating events that immediately ensued, the existence of the Pequots, as a separate tribe,

* Yamoyden, A Tale of the Wars of King Philip, by the Rev. James W. Eastburn and his friend. Canto I, Stanza IV.

+ Hubbard's Narrative of the Indian Wars in New-England.

forever terminated; the name of MASON became "the dread of the nations, from Narragansett to the Hudson river;"* and the fiery doom of those who perished at the Mystic fort, lighted a fearful beacon, for the warning of all the red-men of the surrounding wildernesses.

The awful fate of the extinct Pequot tribe, wears, however, the aspect of such ruthless and exterminating vengeance, that it naturally prompts, and gives a grave import to, the reflection of an honored descendant† of the fathers of New England: "However just the occasion of this war, humanity demands a tear, on the extinction of a valiant tribe, which preferred death to what it might naturally anticipate from the progress of the English settlements, dependence or extirpation." And he adds the appropriate sentiment of one who felt with him :

"Indulge, my native laud! indulge the tear,

That steals, impassioned, o'er a nation's doom:
To me each twig from Adam's stock is near,
And sorrows fall upon an Indian's tomb."

Yet there is due to the exterminator of the Pequots, and to the great and good men of the times, who aided, prompted, or commended him, a consideration of the peculiar and pressing emergency, that seemed imperatively to demand, when all proposals for conciliation had been despised, and the existence of the colonies was in hourly danger from an implacable foe, resolutely bent on the white man's utter ruin, a final resort to summary, though harsh and mournful measures.

*Prince's Introd. to Mason's Hist.

+ Holmes, in his Annals, Vol. I, p. 297.

The Rev. Dr. Dwight, President of Yale College, in his Poem of "Greenfield Hill."