On June 27th, Whaling City Ghosts will once again be guests for Spooky Southcoast's Bridgewater Triangle Special Edition Show. This year, they will be focusing on King Philip's War, which I have to say, I'm very excited about. I have such a kinship in my heart for the Wampanoags and hope that my team can again make contact with them. I hope you enjoy my made up story of how Philip got his REAL name! If you'd like to hear or see the show it airs on WBSM in the greater New Bedford area and can be heard online through live stream and Spooky TV on JustinTV. Links for all sites can be found at Spooky's main site at www.spookysouthcoast.com. Hope you enjoy!
The Puritans painted a picture of the infamous King Philip that was not one I can imagine. I see a different man when I picture the face of Metacomet, for I refuse to know him by the title given him by the English and meant to ridicule him. When I picture the faceless man, Metacomet, I see a grandfather, brother, ancestor, one who's eyes burned with hope and sorrow for his people. I see the Wolf Hunter in all his glory at the peak of his age, proud, tall. Warrior. Sachem. King? Yes, but not as the English saw it. In my heart I wonder if Metacom knew he could never lead his people into freedom, but even knowing this, he believed he had to try anyway.
History can not give you the true face of Metacomet. It has been lost in the prejudices of the past. The books I read on the history of King Philip's War describe him as a naked, dirty savage. I see him as something more. I imagine a small village. Smoke rises and fish dries on lines, people move about dressed in deer leather. Tall and proud. Women moving just as easily as the men, for they had power, too. The three sisters, corn, squash and beans grow in neat gardens. But when night falls, the village lives in fear. For in the darkness, flashing eyes and teeth stalk the shadows looking for scraps. Wolves have gotten desperate this year. If not for the stores of food, the Wampanoags would have known great hunger and despair themselves. The people live in fear that the wolves will grow more brave. A sullen silence settles in over their nights as they wait in fear.
A brave warrior hears of their plight. He travels and finds the village and is offered food and drink, lodging for the night. The warrior accepts the food but tells the villagers that he will be moving on before the night has fallen. The elders, who recognize the man, try to speak against his plans, they tell him of the wolves who stalk the darkness, who visit the village in the night. Smiling, the warrior strokes his bow and tells them he'll be careful. After he has eaten his fill, made his manners to the elders of this tribe, he moves down the path, taking note of the signs of movements that go on throughtout the forest. Wolf tracks are easy to spy along the soft soil of the path. Everything is soft after the spring melt. He follows and disappears in the trees.
Following the wolves' tracks he devises a plan and settles in. Taking his arrows, he lays them down neatly, running his fingers gently over the feathers and sending a prayer to Great Spirit that their flights be true. Four times tonight in the darkness, his aim must be his best, or he'd pay with his life he knew. The almost full Worm Moon rose above him, turning the woods to silver as he spied movement not far off. He waited. Tonight if he was patient maybe he would survive.
(Will be cont...as soon as approved...it was a bit too long...sorry)



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