They continued to close in, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out.

His son crouched behind him, cowering in his wife's arms, as he docked out of sight.

More eyes than he could count stared into his own, as he could see the fear, the sheer terror that filled them.

How did things get this far?

It felt like just yesterday he took over his father's place as chief of the Wampanoag tribe.

How hopeful he had been, thinking that he would be able to finally secure lasting peace between his people and the white men. He had been settling in many of his neighboring tribe's territories, the one near his tribe was no different. Plymouth. That's

what they called themselves. Or was it their home? Either way, it was of little consequence.

He had tried every means to prove to the new men that they were of no threat. First, he had tried to establish a trade agreement between the two of them,

thinking that they would be unable to turn away from the materialistic goods. In addition, he even

adopted their culture, from purchasing the types of clothes they

wore to choosing a name in their honor, King Philip.

But it was not enough.

The men just wanted more and more, and they became greedier and greedier.

After years, they even forced him to surrender most of his

tribe's armament and ammunition. Fearful of making things worse and more hostile than they had

already evolved to be, he agreed that they were subject to English law without a fight.

But no matter what he did, no matter what he conceded, it was never enough.

Things had inevitably turned hostile between the two of them.

He had tried to stand his ground and fight back, but unfortunately not only a year later,

he was already stuck in this position.

The sudden realization of tears running down his own cheeks quickly dragged him back to reality,

leading his palms to brush them away before anyone else saw.

...