See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse: the blessing, if you listen to the commandments of the Lord your God . . . and the curse, if you do not listen to the commandments of the Lord your God.

Deuteronomy 11:26–28

The Puritans believed that the hard times were over. They had established their towns. They enjoyed comfortable homes and plenty of food. They were at peace with their neighbors, the Indians. By the end of the seventeenth century, things had changed dramatically. Many Puritans were moving west and becoming pioneers. The hardships of their forefathers were only stories of the past. The Puritans were changing. They were forgetting the Covenant Way.

———

The minister could see it coming. Sunday after Sunday he warned the congregation with passages from the Bible.

“Do not forget the Lord your God. Keep His commandments,” the pastor preached. “You have plenty to eat. You have nice homes. Your herds are growing, and your wealth is increasing. Beware! It’s easy now to forget the Lord.”

The pastor studied his congregation. Some of them were listening, but many were gazing out the window. He went on.

“In Deuteronomy 8, God warned the Israelites that He alone gives the power to get wealth. The Bible warns us not to forget the Lord our God, or we will perish.”

The pastor sighed. He knew the people were listening only with their ears. Their hearts were far away.

That evening, two Puritan brothers sat on the back step of their house, watching the cows in the pasture. The sun cast long shadows across the yard.

“You know, Jonathan, the pastor has a point,” said Samuel. “Deuteronomy does warn us about curses coming on those who forget the Lord.”

“Don’t be silly,” argued Jonathan. “We’ve heard this sermon before. God’s not going to send curses. He’s blessing us. Why, look at this farm. Look at our herds.”

“That’s true,” replied Samuel as he chewed on a piece of grass. “We have worked mighty hard to get this far. But maybe we ought to give God more credit.”

“I always thought that God helps those who help themselves,” Jonathan responded. “He’s not going to judge us for helping ourselves. Let the preacher worry about the curses. We need to worry about our land and our herds.”

The preachers were worried. To be sure, God was blessing the Puritans, but He was also sending warning signals. During the summer of 1646, a great army of caterpillars swarmed down on Rhode Island and Massachusetts. The countryside turned brown as the insects ate everything in their path. There were droughts that left the land dry. Smallpox epidemics broke out, killing many people. Ships were lost at sea.

The ministers knew that these things were warnings of worse judgments from God if the people did not stop and repent. Some people did turn their hearts back to God. When this happened, God gladly returned the blessings of His favor. But gradually, most people drifted away from closeness to God. Independence and selfishness were claiming their hearts. Making money and buying land had become more important than loving God and other people.

Finally, God’s patience came to an end.

“Look!” Roger yelled. “There’s something out there, on the surface of the pond.”

“I see it,” Matthew replied. “Look’s like a man’s hat and a musket.”

“I think the ice will hold us,” said Dan. “Let’s go see what it is.”

It was an early winter morning in Middleborough, fifteen miles from Plymouth. The men walked across the frozen pond. Sure enough, they discovered a hat and gun.

“Look at this!” Roger gasped his mouth dropped open. “It’s a face!”

Underneath the ice was a face. Its eyes were staring straight up, and dark hair floated in the water.

The men chopped the body out of the ice with an ax.

“I know who this is!” Roger exclaimed. “It’s John Sassamon, the Christian Indian from Nemasket. He must have drowned.”

“But Indians don’t make mistakes like that,” Matthew argued. “Indians don’t walk out on a frozen pond and drown.”

“You’re right, Matthew,” Dan added. “He’s not bloated with water like he drowned. He’s got a big knot on his head.”

“And look at this,” Roger answered. “His neck’s been broken! Someone killed him! But why?”

John Sassamon had been raised in a village of the Christian Indians at Natick. After graduating from Harvard, he returned to live with the Indians and became an aide to an important chief in the area. This chief was Metacomet, the son of Massasoit. The settlers called the chief Philip. Sassamon stayed with Philip for a while before moving to the Indian community of Nemasket to preach. This angered Philip. Philip hated Christian Indians. To him, they were traitors.

An eyewitness to Sassamon’s murder was found. This Indian had seen the whole thing from the top of a nearby hill. He had been close enough to recognize three men, one of whom was a chief lieutenant to Philip.

The trial was set for June. The verdict was quick and sure. The three defendants were sentenced to death by hanging.

Philip was furious. A guilty verdict connected him to the murder, for everyone thought he must have given the order to have Sassamon killed. Philip insisted that the witness was lying, but then a strange thing happened at the hanging. As the trap door beneath the last of the three Indians was sprung, the rope broke. The terrified Indian fell to the ground and chose to talk. He confessed that the three had killed Sassamon.

Philip’s anger boiled over. Settlers began to see large bands of armed Indians moving through the countryside. Those settlers who lived far from neighbors had to move to places guarded by fortified houses. Tension filled the air.

It broke in June, when the Indians began to attack white settlers.

Isaac Trowbridge awoke with a start. What was that? he wondered.

Jumping up from his bed, he looked out the window of his house. The morning air in Swansea was cool and clear. The sky was pink and gray in the early dawn. Trowbridge squinted his eyes. He could not see anything.

He heard the noise again! “Something has hit the front door!” he yelled. Trowbridge raced to the door and opened it. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the arrow stuck in the door. But before he could slam the door shut, another arrow sank deep into his chest. Then a third arrow pierced his throat. His oldest son tried to drag his father inside, but an arrow hit him too.

At that moment, the surrounding woods erupted with Indians. The middle son bolted the door and pushed the table against the front window. The youngest son loaded their father’s long-barreled rifle. But all was lost, and the family knew it. Before long, the Indians had killed all of them and set the house on fire.

That day, Indians from Mount Hope burned all the houses in Swansea. When the colonial troops finally arrived, they were horrified at the scene. The main street of the village was covered with bodies of men, women, and children. How could human beings have done this?

This happened on June 21, 1675. The next day, the Indians attacked Dartmouth, Taunton, Middleborough, and Sudbury. God had lifted His protective grace. And New England was not prepared for it. Massachusetts declared a day of fasting as reports of more disasters arrived.

“God’s wrath is not going to be turned around by one day of repentance,” Cotton Mather warned. “He is demanding a complete change in heart. He is telling us to root out the sins within us.”

Cotton Mather’s father, Increase Mather, joined him. “Listen to the words of Jeremiah,” he said, “‘Behold, I am bringing a nation against you. . . . It is an ancient nation, A nation whose language you do not know . . . They seize bow and spear; They are cruel and have no mercy; Their voice roars like the sea’” (Jer. 5:15; 6:23).

At first the settlers did not take the sermons seriously. But as the attacks grew worse, they began to listen. Yankee self-confidence and independence would not win this war. The settlers needed God’s help.

The fighting became worse. Before long, almost every Indian tribe in New England was wearing war paint and taking scalps. The Indians had decided it was time to get rid of the white men. They were desperate. The spreading settlers had pushed them off their lands and up against the Hudson River. Beyond it lived the hostile and powerful Iroquois tribe. Defeating the settlers was the Indians’ last chance to keep control of their ancient lands in New England.

But this fighting was more than a war over land. This was a spiritual battle. God’s patience with the colonists had come to an end. He had lifted His divine protection from them. An army of Indians had gone on the warpath—and they were winning!

Yet, God continued to take care of His people by showing them special favor. The siege of Brookfield, Massachusetts by the Nipmuck Indians was an example.

The townspeople of Brookfield crowded into the blockhouse. The men were loading and firing their muskets at the Nipmucks as fast as they could.

“Curtis, you’ve got to try once more,” one of the men pleaded. “We’re not going to hold out much longer. There are too many of them.”

A nearby window shattered as a flaming arrow crashed through. The women grabbed some blankets to put it out.

“You’re right, William,” Curtis replied. “Someone has to get to Marlborough.”

That night, Curtis opened the door and ran out as the men fired their guns to cover him. He dashed across the opening to a large barrel where he stopped to catch his breath. Curtis crouched down beside the barrel. If I can just make it to the woods without being seen, he thought.

After a few moments, Curtis sprang up and headed for the woods. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees. Oh Lord, he prayed, close their eyes to me. The man crawled through the darkness with sweat pouring down his cheeks. His heart was pounding in his chest. He tried not to make a sound.

Nipmucks are everywhere, and Marlborough is thirty miles away, he thought. I’ve got to make it, Lord.

Meanwhile, the Nipmucks had moved into the barns near the blockhouse. They shot flaming arrows onto the blockhouse roof, but the settlers cut a hole in the roof and put out the flames. The Indians next piled hay against a corner of the house and set it on fire. Some brave settlers rushed outside and threw water on it. By this time the Indians were really angry. They built a long torch and mounted it on a wagon filled with things that would burn easily. Just as they lit the torch and began to push the wagon toward the blockhouse, a sudden rain completely drenched the wagon and put out the fire! The torch was useless.

Forty-eight hours later, the townspeople were still holding out. Curtis made it to Marlborough. When word reached Major Samuel Willard, he dispatched his troops immediately. Brookfield was saved, thanks to God’s protective hand.

Now, crowds began to pour into the churches. For the first time in many years, people listened to the sermons with more than their ears. They listened with their hearts. And also, for the first time in many years, they got down on their knees to pray. Many churches even renewed their covenants with God and one another.

These things pleased the Lord, and He began to change the settlers’ circumstances. And He used some very unusual people to help—“Praying Indians.” These were Christian Indians who had remained loyal to their Christian brethren. These Indians fought alongside the settlers and became scouts for them. Their help changed the tide of the war.

The Praying Indians taught the settlers how to fight as Indians do. They knew how to move swiftly through the dense forest and hide in the woods, and they understood how to ambush an enemy. As they demonstrated these tactics to the settlers, changes took place. By the summer of 1676, the settlers could no longer be run off by flaming arrows and battle cries. They were eager to fight, and they were determined to win. With the Lord on their side, they could withstand anything.

———

It was the summer of 1676. One day, a Wampanoag strolled into the camp of Captain Benjamin Church.

“I must see your captain,” the Indian demanded. The soldiers escorted him to Church’s tent.

“Captain,” the Indian began, “I’ve come to help you. I can take you to Philip.”

“What?” the Captain replied. “Why would you do that?”

“Because Philip murdered my family,” he said. “They suggested he make peace, and he became angry. He had them killed. I don’t want to be part of his band any longer.”

“Where is he?” Church asked.

“He’s returned to the Wampanoag settlement at Mount Hope. It’s on the peninsula of Bristol Neck in Rhode Island.”

In the dead of night, Church moved his men in canoes over to the peninsula and set up an ambush.

“Lieutenant,” Church said, “have your troops approach the settlement from here, up north.” Church pointed to his map. “Then lie still through the night and attack at daybreak. We’ll form a wide perimeter to the south. When the Indians try to escape, we’ll be waiting for them.”

The plan worked beautifully. The soldiers attacked at dawn on August 26. They stormed the camp shouting and whooping. The tremendous noise terrified the Wampanoags, who fled straight into Church’s forces to the south. Philip was killed and the Indians surrendered.

King Philip’s War was over. It had been hard and long, but the settlers had fought and won. They had turned their hearts back to God. What lay in store for them now?