At the approach of winter, the Indians withdrew to the Narragansett country, and the colonists decided to strike a decisive blow. An army of a thousand men was raised and on the morning of Sunday, December 19, approached the Narragansett stronghold, a well-fortified position on an island in the midst of a swamp. A murderous fire greeted the assailants, but they forced an entrance into the fort, set fire to the wigwams, and after a terrific struggle, in which they lost nearly three hundred killed and wounded, drove the Indians out and destroyed their store of winter provisions. THE GREAT SWAMP FIGHT [December 19, 1675] I Oh, rouse you, rouse you, men at arms, And hear the tale I tell, From Pettaquamscut town I come, Now hear what there befell. The houses stand upon the hill, Not large, each house is full, But largest of them all there stood The house of Justice Bull. 'Twas there the court sat every year, The governor came in state, From there the couriers through the town Served summons soon and late. And there, 'tis but three years agone, George Fox preached, you remember; That was in May when he preached peace, And now it is December. Peace, peace, he cried, but righteous God, How can there be true peace, When war and tumult stalk at night, And deeds of blood increase? Revenge, revenge, good captains bold, Revenge, my people cry; Where stood the house of Justice Bull But piled-up ashes lie. How fared it then, who may dare tell? The shutters barred the light, As one by one the windows closed, And all was black as night. Strong was the house, and strong brave men All armed lay down to sleep, And women fair, and children, too, They were to guard and keep. And then a horror in the night, And shouts, and fire, and knives, And demons yelling in delight, As men fought for their lives. And where there stood that goodly house And lived those goodly men, Full seven goodly souls are gone. Revenge, we cry again! II Up, up, ye men of English blood! The gallant governor cried, And we shall dare to find their lair, Where'er it be they hide. For never men of English blood Could brook so foul a deed, For all these sins the fierce redskins Shall reap their lawful meed. Up rose the little army then, All armed as best they could, With pike and sword and axes broad, Flint-locks and staves of wood. And motley was the company, Recruits from wood and field, But strong young men were with them then, Who'd sooner die than yield. Connecticut had sent her men With Major Robert Treat; Each colony in its degree Sent in its quota meet. And Massachusetts led the way, And Plymouth had next post, Winslow commands the gathered bands, A thousand men they boast.