of pneumonia or delirium tremens.  It knows nothing of what we call natural death.  To the savage all death means murder, for like other men he judges of the unknown by the known.  In the Indian’s experience normal death was by tomahawk or firebrand; abnormal death (such as we call natural) must come either from poison or from witchcraft.  So when the honest chronicler Hubbard tells us that Philip suspected the Plymouth people of poisoning his brother, we can easily believe him.  It was long, however, before he was ready to taste the sweets of revenge.  He schemed and plotted in the dark.  In one respect the Indian diplomatist is unlike his white brethren; he does not leave state-papers behind him to reward the diligence and gratify the curiosity of later generations; and accordingly it is hard to tell how far Philip was personally responsible for the storm which was presently to burst upon New England. [Sidenote:  Deaths of Massasoit and Alexander] [Sidenote:  Philip’s designs]

Whether his scheme was as comprehensive as that of Pontiac in 1763, whether or not it amounted to a deliberate combination of all red men within reach to exterminate the white men, one can hardly say with confidence.  The figure of Philip, in the war which bears his name, does not stand out so prominently as the figure of Pontiac in the later struggle.  This may be partly because Pontiac’s story has been told by such a magician as Mr. Francis Parkman.  But it is partly because the data are too meagre.  In all probability, however, the schemes of Sassacus the Pequot, of Philip the Wampanoag, and of Pontiac the Ottawa, were substantially the same.  That Philip plotted with the Narragansetts seems certain, and the early events of the war point clearly to a previous understanding with the Nipmucks.  The Mohegans, on the other hand, gave him no assistance, but remained faithful to their white allies.

For thirteen years had Philip been chief sachem of his tribe before the crisis came.  Rumours of his unfriendly disposition had at intervals found their way to the ears of the magistrates at Plymouth, but Philip had succeeded in setting himself right before them.  In 1670 the rumours were renewed, and the Plymouth men felt that it was time to strike, but the other colonies held them back, and a meeting was arranged between Philip and three Boston men at Taunton in April, 1671.  There the crafty savage expressed humility and contrition for all past offences, and even consented to a treaty in which he promised that his tribe should surrender all their fire-arms.  On the part of the English this was an extremely unwise measure, for while it could not possibly be enforced, and while it must have greatly increased the irritation of the Indians, it was at the same time interpretable as a symptom of fear.  With ominous scowls and grunts some seventy muskets were given up, but this was all.  Through the summer there was much uneasiness, and in September Philip was summoned to Plymouth with five of his under-sachems, and solemnly warned to keep the peace.  The savages again behaved with humility and agreed to pay a yearly tribute of five wolves’ heads and to do no act of war without express permission.