of the day—­for such there were, even among those sombre Puritans—­in writing about the “Praying Indians,” spelled praying with an e.  The moral scruples of these savages, under the influence of their evangelical training, betrayed queer freaks.  One of them, says Mrs. Rowlandson, would rather die than eat horseflesh, so narrow and scrupulous was his conscience, although it was as wide as the whole infernal abyss, when it came to torturing white Christians.  The student of history may have observed similar inconsistencies in the theories and conduct of people more enlightened than these poor red men.  “There was another Praying Indian,” continues Mrs. Rowlandson, “who, when he had done all the mischief he could, betrayed his own father into the English’s hands, thereby to purchase his own life; ... and there was another ... so wicked ... as to wear a string about his neck, strung with Christian fingers.” [Sidenote:  Conduct of the Christian Indians]

Such incidents help us to comprehend the exasperation of our forefathers in the days of King Philip.  The month which witnessed his death saw also the end of the war in the southern parts of New England; but, almost before people had time to offer thanks for the victory, there came news of bloodshed on the northeastern frontier.  The Tarratines in Maine had for some time been infected with the war fever.  How far they may have been comprehended in the schemes of Philip and Canonchet, it would be hard to say.  They had attacked settlers on the site of Brunswick as early as September, 1675.  About the time of Philip’s death, Major Waldron of Dover had entrapped a party of them by an unworthy stratagem, and after satisfying himself that they were accomplices in that chieftain’s scheme, sent them to Boston to be sold into slavery.  A terrible retribution was in store for Major Waldron thirteen years later.  For the present the hideous strife, just ended in southern New England, was continued on the northeastern frontier, and there was scarcely a village between the Kennebec and the Piscataqua but was laid in ashes. [Sidenote:  War with the Tarratines, 1676-78]

By midsummer of 1678 the Indians had been everywhere suppressed, and there was peace in the land.  For three years, since Philip’s massacre at Swanzey, there had been a reign of terror in New England.  Within the boundaries of Connecticut, indeed, little or no damage had been inflicted, and the troops of that colony, not needed on their own soil, did noble service in the common cause.

In Massachusetts and Plymouth, on the other hand, the destruction of life and property had been simply frightful.  Of ninety towns, twelve had been utterly destroyed, while more than forty others had been the scene of fire and slaughter.  Out of this little society nearly a thousand staunch men, including not few of broad culture and strong promise, had lost their lives, while of the scores of fair women and poor little children that had perished under the ruthless tomahawk, one can hardly give an accurate account.  Hardly a family throughout the land but was in mourning.  The war-debt of Plymouth was reckoned to exceed the total amount of personal property in the colony; yet although it pinched every household for many a year, it was paid to the uttermost farthing; nor in this respect were Massachusetts and Connecticut at all behind-hand. [Sidenote:  Destructiveness of the war]