The fall of Canonchet marked the beginning of the end.  In four sharp fights in the last week of June, Major Talcott, of Hartford, slew from 300 to 400 warriors, being nearly all that were left of the Narragansetts; and during the month of July Captain Church patrolled the country about Taunton, making prisoners of the Wampanoags.  Once more King Philip, shorn of his prestige, comes upon the scene.  We have seen that his agency in these cruel events had been at the outset a potent one.  Whatever else it may have been, it was at least the agency of the match that explodes the powder-cask.  Under the conditions of that savage society, organized leadership was not to be looked for.  In the irregular and disorderly series of murdering raids Philip may have been often present, but except for Mrs. Rowlandson’s narrative we should have known nothing of him since the Brookfield fight.

At length in July, 1676, having seen the last of his Nipmuck friends overwhelmed, the tattered chieftain showed himself near Bridgewater, with a handful of followers.  In these his own hunting-grounds some of his former friends had become disaffected.  The daring and diplomatic Church had made his way into the wigwam of Ashawonks, the squaw sachem of Saconet, near Little Compton, and having first convinced her that a flask of brandy might be tasted without fatal results, followed up his advantage and persuaded her to make an alliance with the English.  Many Indians came in and voluntarily surrendered themselves, in order to obtain favourable terms, and some lent their aid in destroying their old sachem.  Defeated at Taunton, the son of Massasoit was hunted by Church to his ancient lair at Bristol Neck and there besieged.  His only escape was over the narrow isthmus of which the pursuers now took possession, and in this dire extremity one of Philip’s men presumed to advise his chief that the hour for surrender had come.  For his unwelcome counsel the sachem forthwith lifted his tomahawk and struck him dead at his feet.  Then the brother of the slain man crept away through the bushes to Church’s little camp, and offered to guide the white men to the morass where Philip lay concealed.  At daybreak of August 12 the English stealthily advancing beat up their prey.  The savages in sudden panic rushed from under cover, and as the sachem showed himself running at the top of his speed, a ball from an Indian musket pierced his heart, and “he fell upon his face in the mud and water, with his gun under him.”  His severed head was sent to Plymouth, where it was mounted on a pole and exposed aloft upon the village green, while the meeting-house bell summoned the townspeople to a special service of thanksgiving. [Sidenote:  Death of Philip, August 12]