TRADING,--TROUBLE,--RETREAT.
After landing at Grimross, Captain Godfrey looked about to find his lot
of land. Lot No. 14 he found belonged to a Captain Spry, lot No. 15 to a
Reverend Smith, and his own lot he found to be No. 16. These lots were
all facing the St. John river, and extending back parallel with each
other. In looking over the plan of the lots, it appears that Captain
Godfrey settled on No. 14, Spry's lot, and on this lot he commenced
trading operations in an old house situated not far from a stream
leading from a lake on his own lot to the St. John. On Captain Godfrey's
lot were two small log houses, one occupied by a person named Sayhon,
and the other by a man named Crabtree. It may be, that the Captain
settled on Spry's lot because he could trade here to the best advantage.
Here he commenced business after expending forty pounds, sterling money,
in repairing the log house and adding a store room, made of solid logs.
About the middle of September, 1770, he opened out his wares and began
business. A few days later several Redskins came to his shop and warned
him to move away from the place, threatening, if he did not do so, to
burn his buildings and goods.
The Indians did not trouble him further until the middle of November,
when about thirty of them came to his place of business with beaver,
otter, raccoon, mink and other skins. These he took in exchange for
blankets, powder and other goods, the Indians appearing well satisfied
with the exchange. About a fortnight later the Indians again returned in
numbers, accompanied by a white man who acted as spokesman. The white
man, a peculiar looking character, with one eye looking due north and
the other due east, from beneath a forehead very much resembling that of
a monkey, stuttered out to Captain G.: "We-e-e-e co-co-mé t-t-to
war-war-warn you t-to g-g-g-git ou-out. Th-the la-lan-lands ar-are Free
n-sh le-le-lands, an-and th-the In-in-d-dans we-we-will dri-dri-drive
aw-all de-de-damd E-e-en-glis way, an-an gi-gi-give the-the-em
b-b-b-back to Fre-e-e-nsh." The Indians and their low-browed, cross-eyed
spokesman then left the Captain's place of business without uttering
another word. On Christmas day, 1770, or about one month after their
last visit, eight of the Indians, accompanied by two squaws, returned to
the store at Grimross Neck and whooped out in tones of fury, "Fire,
blood, scalps."
Captain Godfrey immediately barred his shop door, and also the door of
his house, seeing that the savages were bent on mischief. The children
were inside the store and house, and were terrified and trembling. At
length the Redskins became so excited and noisy and so wild in their
movements, that the place seemed like a pandemonium. They were-armed,
each one having a knife about ten inches in length stuck in his belt.
Captain Godfrey consulted with his wife as to the wisest course to be
pursued, but no definite line of action was arranged. The two old
muskets were in the bedroom, loaded, not having been discharged since
they were fired off on leaving Fort Frederick. The Captain's wife ran to
the room and brought out both guns into the kitchen. She handed one to
her husband remarking, "if the brutes attempt to force their way into
the house shoot the first one that puts his moccasin over the door
sill." At this time the howling, yelling and cursing of the
blood-thirsty fiends would strike terror into the stoutest heart.
Finally they took up a large stick of wood that was lying near the
kitchen door and made a desperate attempt to smash it in. Mrs. Godfrey,
who had stood near the door for sometime, appeared calm and decided amid
all the murderous clamour. She stepped back a pace, and placing the butt
of the musket against her hip, with the muzzle slanting upwards, stood
firm as a statue.
The door was soon forced and the fiends came tumbling in. Mrs. Godfrey
fired, the charge going over the heads of the savages and entering the
ceiling above the door. The Indians in the rear seeing their comrades
fall, and thinking they were killed by the shot, at once retreated
uttering terrible threats of vengeance. One of the squaws, a short,
stout old creature, was so terrified by the report of the musket and the
falling to the floor of the three Indians, that in her bewildered
retreat she tumbled headlong down a steep, stony bank and laid as if
dead on the ice below. She was left by her companions, who travelled as
fast as their legs would carry them. The old squaw was found and taken
prisoner by Mrs. Godfrey. Her nose and one rib were broken, her left arm
dislocated at the elbow, and both her eyes completely closed with heavy
shutters. She presented a pitiable appearance, as she staggered along
toward the house supported by her captor. The Indians were so completely
surprised and cowed by the courage of Mrs. Godfrey that they never came
back to look after the wounded squaw, or sent to inquire whether she was
living or dead.
As soon as the old squaw began to recover, Mrs. Godfrey found out that
the old woman could speak some English. She said she was a widow about
sixty years old. That her husband had been killed at Fort Pitt in 1763.
Her only son had been taken prisoner by the English at Fort Pitt, and
had afterwards remained nine moons with an English officer in New York.
The officer went away to England and wanted her son to go with him, but
on the eve of the officer's departure he ran away, soon got on the trail
of his mother, and at last found her at Detroit living with a band of
Iroquois. Not long afterward she and her boy wandered from post to post
and camp to camp until they at last got over among the tribe on the St.
John, where they had made their home among a strange tribe for the past
two years. Her son did not respect the tribe with whom they lived. He
had often told her that these Indians were not pure bloods. Her son was
sixteen years old when taken prisoner at Fort Pitt. She had always been
called Mag, but when any of the tribe addressed her, it was by the not
very respectful addition of "Old Mag." Her boy had gone toward the
setting sun to be with a party of English officers on a hunting
excursion, he had left her in September and would not return for some
moons.
Captain Godfrey and his family rested in comparative peace for some
weeks, and Mrs. Godfrey drew from Old Mag many stories respecting the
manner of life among the various tribes of American Indians.
About one month after the old squaw had been captured, she began to
appear exceedingly dull and dispirited. The Captain's wife said to her
one morning, "Mag, are you ill," "No! no!" she replied, "me no sick
to-day," "bad dream some nights ago. Saw all Indians outside house, and
big black devil's spirit come into them, black spirits come out woods,
and fire on their heads, all went into Indians and made them dance war,
yell and whoop and burn house."
All went fairly well until the 26th February, 1771, when the red men
again appeared at the premises of the Captain. They were armed, and
their actions seemed to be in keeping with Old Mag's dream.
Their shrieks, yells and war-whoops were terrible, they acted like
demons. The children hid under the beds and held on to the garments of
their parents. The terrified little ones trembled like leaves in an
autumn breeze. Spirits let loose from the regions of the damned could
hardly present a more devilish appearance than did the savages. They
were armed with muskets. Old Mag, who was crouching in a corner of the
kitchen, shook with fear, her teeth were chattering, and she appeared
like a person badly affected with fever and ague.
The Redskins, about twenty in number, ran round and round the house
roaring like wild beasts thirsting for gore. Charlie, the Captain's
eldest boy, came rushing into the kitchen screaming out that two of the
Indians were making a fire at the store door. Captain Godfrey ran to the
shop, looked out of the window and was horrified to find the side of the
building in flames. A minute after he had left the kitchen two of the
red devils broke in the door, Mrs. Godfrey, with Charlie holding on to
her skirt, had taken up a position in front of Old Mag, as the charging
enemy came toward her, she fired. There was a yell, as of death. Captain
Godfrey had placed the other musket in Old Mag's lap, Mrs. Godfrey
instantly seized it and quick as a flash again fired and the door way
was cleared.
In a few moments the smoke had cleared away. Two human forms lay across
the door sill and one within the kitchen. These were the bodies of one
dead and two dying Indians. The dead man was completely scalped, the
whole top of his head being torn off. The other two were so terribly
mutilated about their faces and necks that they lived but a few minutes.
Forty minutes after Mrs. Godfrey had fired the first shot scarcely a
vestige of anything remained on the spot where the house had stood. As
soon as the savages were aware that three of their comrades had fallen
in the assault, they beat a hasty retreat.
Let the reader pause for a few moments to consider the situation of
Captain Godfrey, his wife and their five children. There they were alone
in the wilderness, thousands of miles from friends and home. Out in the
cold, amid the frost and snow of an Acadian winter, without a house to
shelter them, a friend to cheer them, or a fire to warm them; surrounded
by demons of the forest, panting and thirsting for their blood. There
was no possible escape by water, the St. John was covered by a thick
winding sheet of ice, and the sloop was lying some miles away in an icy
bed of a lake. The history of early colonial life does not and cannot
present a more affecting scene than that of the Godfrey family, as they
stood alone on the banks of the river St. John in the midnight of a Nova
Scotian winter.
All that was saved from the flames were several pieces of half-burnt
pork, the two old muskets, a few half-burnt blankets, one hundred and
forty pounds of beaver skin, between two and three hundred weight of
gunpowder, the old family Bible and service book, and a trunk containing
some papers and old clothes. The above articles Captain Godfrey and his
son, at the risk of their lives, saved from complete destruction. In an
hour the little band of early settlers was reduced from comfortable
circumstances to a misery beyond the power of words to express. Darkness
would soon cover the spot of desolation. But five hours of daylight were
left in which escape could be made. They knew not in which direction to
flee for shelter. The Captain consulted with his brave partner, but all
seemed dark; no way of escape presented itself. To remain where they
were during the coming night meant death. There were only two log houses
in the district and they were miles away. Finally Mrs. Godfrey
assembled her shivering children about her and read aloud the
twenty-third psalm, and closing the old service book she said to her
husband, let us no longer tarry here, let us make haste towards the
sloop. As they were about to start, it suddenly occurred to Mrs Godfrey
that Old Mag was missing. The Captain had not seen her since he placed
the musket in her lap. The children had not seen her since the burning
of the house, and Mrs. Godfrey had not seen her after she had taken the
musket off her lap. The old squaw's absence caused a delay in setting
out for the sloop. As no trace of Old Mag could be found, it was the
opinion of both the Captain and his wife, that she had either perished
in the flames or had slipped out of the kitchen before the smoke had
cleared away and followed the Indians in their retreat.
Neither the Captain nor his wife would leave the locality without making
a search for Old Mag. During the search, Captain Godfrey, whose strength
had been severely tested since his arrival at Grimross in July, sank to
the ground in a swoon. At this crisis his wife displayed the greatness
of her character. As troubles thickened about her she seemed to develop
qualities that only woman cast in an heroic mould are capable of
exhibiting. She whispered to her husband, "We cannot find Mag, I must
save you." These words appeared to have a magic effect on the Captain.
He rose to his feet, supported by his wife, and soon after they were
staggering on towards the river leading to the lake, followed by their
five children, the eldest, who was but twelve, carrying with him his
youngest brother, only two years old.
At length they reached the lake, and at this point of the journey Mrs.
Godfrey was compelled to order a halt. She was heavily handicapped,
having a large shawl tied across her shoulders filled with the burnt
pork and some blankets. After a few minutes rest they were again tugging
along towards their little ark. As the light of the sun gradually faded
away, the little band of colonists tried to quicken their pace, but they
tried in vain. They were so exhausted that it was with great difficulty
they kept on their feet.
The children were more dead than alive, and the approaching darkness
filled them with terror. Their mother would say to them, "Keep along,
follow closely, the moon is rising, we shall soon have plenty of light."
In this manner they toiled on till midnight, when they reached the
sloop. Fortunately for the little band of wanderers, Captain Godfrey had
left on board the vessel a small Dutch stove and a number of broken
boxes. A fire was soon made, some of the burnt pork was sliced and put
in a pan and fried for the night's meal. But the children sank to rest
soon after getting on board, and lay huddled together on the cabin
floor. After the Captain and his wife had partaken of the meal and
before retiring to rest on the hard boards of the floor, Mrs. Godfrey
read, by the dim light of a candle, the fifty-fourth psalm.
Nothing can better prove the genuineness of a life, the soundness of a
profession, the real character of a man or woman, than those extreme
trials and difficulties of earth, when no friends are near to help and
where no way of escape seems possible. In trials, such as those related
above, the noblest traits of character or the hollowness and rottenness
of a profession are often plainly seen. Five cold winter days and nights
came and passed, yet no relief came to the imprisoned family. They dare
not move out, fearing the Indians would see them and come at night and
murder them. The sixth day Crabtree, who lived some miles distant from
where the Godfreys had resided, having heard of the attack of the
savages and the destruction they had caused, made his way to the scene
of the ruins. He could find no trace of the Godfreys and was returning
by the border of the lake to his log cabin, when he saw the sloop far in
the distance like a speck on the frozen surface of the lake. He hastened
out to where she lay. To his surprise and joy he found out, when nearing
the little craft, signs of life on board. Sparks were issuing from the
cabin. Very soon he was on board. He was met at the companion-way by the
Captain who gave him a thousand welcomes. Crabtree, after a few minutes
rest and conversation, started for his home, eleven miles distant,
promising to return early the next morning with a sledge to assist in
taking the children to his cabin. In the morning he returned, and
Captain Godfrey, his wife, and little ones, left the sloop and went to
Crabtree's. Captain and Mrs. Godfrey and Charlie had to walk the entire
distance over the lake and through the forest to Crabtree's log house.
The man who had rescued them attended to their wants as well as his
circumstances would allow. He kept the distressed family until the month
of May, when the ice in the river broke up. Captain Godfrey then set to
work to fit out the sloop, being determined to leave the place as soon
as possible. The sails and part of the rigging were consumed in the fire
at Grimross. He had fortunately saved two of the compasses from the
flames. After days of toil he managed to get the vessel in fair working
order. The old half-burnt blankets were patched together and a mainsail
and jib were completed. On the 30th of May, 1771, he set sail for Fort
Frederick.
On the passage down the river several Indians were seen on the banks of
the stream, but none of them made any trouble. After eleven months
absence the Captain found himself at Fort Frederick once again. Captain
Godfrey said to his wife, "Margaret, what changes are often wrought in a
few months." "Yes! true!" she replied, "we have lost our property, but
we have escaped with our lives and those of our children. Our
reputations are not dimmed, neither has the Lord forsaken us. The best
of our fortune remains with us. An honourable foundation remains on
which we can re-erect our future structure. Let us thank a wise,
over-ruling providence that a fortune still remains to us, though we
have passed through great misfortune."