On the night of December 18 their little army slept in an open field at Pettyquamscott without other blanket than a “moist fleece of snow.”  Thence to the Indian fortress, situated in what is now South Kingston, the march was eighteen miles.  The morrow was a Sunday, but Winslow deemed it imprudent to wait, as food had wellnigh given out.  Getting up at five o’clock, they toiled through deep snow till they came within sight of the Narragansett stronghold early in the afternoon.  First came the 527 men from Massachusetts, led by Major Appleton, of Ipswich, and next the 158 from Plymouth, under Major Bradford; while Major Robert Treat, with the 300 from Connecticut, brought up the rear.  There were 985 men in all.  As the Massachusetts men rushed upon the slippery bridge a deadly volley from the blockhouse slew six of their captains, while of the rank and file there were many killed or wounded.  Nothing daunted they pressed on with great spirit till they forced their way into the enclosure, but then the head of their column, overcome by sheer weight of numbers in the hand-to-hand fight, was pushed and tumbled out into the swamp.  Meanwhile some of the Connecticut men had discovered a path across the partly frozen swamp leading to a weak spot in the rear, where the palisades were thin and few, as undue reliance had been placed upon the steep bank crowned with a thick rampart of bushes that had been reinforced with clods of turf.  In this direction Treat swept along with his men in a spirited charge.  Before they had reached the spot a heavy fire began mowing them down, but with a furious rush they came up, and climbing on each other’s shoulders, some fought their way over the rampart, while others hacked sturdily with axes till such a breach was made that all might enter.  This was effected just as the Massachusetts men had recovered themselves and crossed the treacherous log in a second charge that was successful and soon brought the entire English force within the enclosure.  In the slaughter which filled the rest of that Sunday afternoon till the sun went down behind a dull gray cloud, the grim and wrathful Puritan, as he swung his heavy cutlass, thought of Saul and Agag, and spared not.  The Lord had delivered up to him the heathen as stubble to his sword.  As usual the number of the slain is variously estimated.  Of the Indians probably not less than 1000 perished.  Some hundreds, however, with Canonchet their leader, saved themselves in flight, well screened by the blinding snow-flakes that began to fall just after sunset.  Within the fortified area had been stored the greater part of the Indians’ winter supply of corn, and the loss of this food was a further deadly blow.  Captain Church advised sparing the wigwams and using them for shelter, but Winslow seems to have doubted the ability of his men to maintain themselves in a position so remote from all support.  The wigwams with their tubs of corn were burned, and a retreat was ordered.  Through