prisoners. Mrs. Dustan, Mrs. Neff, and a captive lad from Worcester,
fell to the share of an Indian family consisting of twelve persons.
These now took charge of the captives, and appear to have treated them
with no unkindness, save that of forcing them to extend their journey
still farther towards an Indian settlement. They, however, gave the
prisoners to understand that there was one ceremony to which they must
submit, after they had arrived at their place of destination, and that
was to run the gauntlet between two files of Indians. This announcement
filled Mrs. Dustan and her two companions with so much dread, that they
mutually decided to attempt an escape. Accordingly, after obtaining
information from the Indians themselves, as to the way of killing and
scalping their enemies, who gave the information without suspecting
their object, they laid their plans for taking the lives of the savages.
One night, "when the Indians were in the most sound sleep, these three
captives arose, and, softly arming themselves with the tomahawks of
their masters, allotted the number each should kill; and so truly did
they direct their blows, that but two, a boy and a woman, made their
escape, the latter having been seriously wounded. Having finished their
fearful work, they hastily left the place. As the scene of the exploit
was a small island, in the mouth of a stream that falls into the
Merrimack, they made use of a boat of the Indians to effect their
escape; the others being scuttled to prevent the use of them in pursuit,
should the Indians be near; and thus, with what provisions and arms the
Indian camp afforded, they embarked, and slowly took the course of the
river for their homes, which they reached without accident."
The whole country was startled at the relation of the heroic deed, the
truth of which was never questioned. The palpable proofs of their feat
they brought with them, and the general court of Massachusetts gave
them fifty pounds as a reward, and they received from individuals
likewise substantial tokens, expressing the admiration in which the
exploit was held. The governor of Maryland, hearing of the
transaction, sent them also a generous present.
This is a case where individuals may, perhaps, differ in opinion as to
the strict moral propriety of the deed. The necessity of such an act,
for relief from suffering, may be estimated differently, according to
the different theories which men have adopted. Yet it seems to have
been generally, if not universally approved by those who lived
contemporaneously with the transaction; and who, from the stern
integrity of their character, and from their acquaintance with the
circumstances of the country, were peculiarly well fitted to judge.
Such were some of the striking events during the period of King
William's War; a war which continued nearly ten years, and brought
incalculable distress upon the colonies. The peace of Ryswick, in
1697, put an end to it; but this peace proved to be of short duration.
[Illustration]
IX. QUEEN ANNE'S WAR.
PRINCIPAL Scenes of this War in America--Attack upon
Deerfield--Captivity and Sufferings of Rev. Mr.
Williams--Other Disasters of the War--Peace--Death of Queen
Anne--Accession of George I.--Continued Sufferings of the
Colonies of Massachusetts and New Hampshire--Peace concluded
with the Indians at Boston.
King William having deceased in 1702, Queen Anne was seated on the
British throne, and war soon began again to rage throughout Europe.
England and France, including Spain also, drew the sword, to settle
some unadjusted claims between them, and the contest of the parent
countries, as usual, soon involved their American colonies. The states
of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, became the principal scenes of the
war in America, the colony of New York being secured from aggression
through the neutrality of the Five Nations on her borders. The war,
which lasted more than ten years, is generally denominated _Queen
Anne's War_, and was attended with the usual barbarous and distressing
results incident to savage warfare.
The drama opened at _Deerfield_, on the Connecticut river, on the 19th
of February, 1704. The preliminaries to it had occurred a little
before in the destruction of several small settlements from Casco to
Wells in Maine, and the killing and capture of one hundred and thirty
people in the aggregate. This was in contravention to the solemn
assurance given by the eastern Indians, of peace with New England. As
Deerfield was a frontier town, the enemy had watched it for the
purpose of capture from an early period. Indeed, it had been
constantly exposed to inroads, during King William's War, but had
resolutely maintained its ground, and increased in size and
population, especially from the termination of that war. It was
palisaded, though imperfectly; several detached houses were protected
by slight fortifications, and twenty soldiers had been placed within
it. They had, however, been quartered about in different houses, and,
forgetting their duty as soldiers, were surprised with the rest of
the inhabitants. There was a great depth of snow upon the ground, a
circumstance which gave the enemy an easy entrance over the pickets.
The commander of the French was Hertel de Rouville.
The assailants, in approaching the place, used every precaution to
avoid disturbing the soldiery or the inhabitants by noise in walking
over the crusted snow, stopping occasionally, that the sound of their
feet might appear like the fitful gusts of the wind. But the
precaution was unnecessary, for the guard within the fort had retired,
and fallen asleep. None, of all who were in the village, awaked,
except to be put immediately into the sleep of death; to be doomed to
a a horrible captivity, or to effect a difficult and hazardous escape
into the adjacent woods amidst the snows of winter. The houses were
assaulted by parties detached in different directions; the doors were
broken open, the astonished people dragged from their beds, and
pillage and personal violence in all its forms ensued. They who
attempted resistance, were felled by the tomahawk or musket.
[Illustration: Capture of Mr. Williams.]
Some of the separate features of this work of destruction and scene of
agony, deserve particular notice, and will ever call up the painful
sympathies of the reader of history. The minister of the place, the
Rev. John Williams, who subsequently wrote a narrative of the affair,
and of his own captivity, was a conspicuous actor and sufferer in the
sad tragedy. Early in the assault, which was not long before the break
of day, about twenty Indians attacked his house. Instantly leaping
from his bed, he ran towards the door, and perceived a party making
their entrance into the house. He called to awaken two soldiers who
were sleeping in the chamber, and had only returned to the bedside for
his arms, when the enemy rushed into the room. Upon this, as he says,
"I reached my hands up to the bed-tester for my pistol, uttering a
short petition to God, expecting a present passage through the _valley
of the shadow of death_." He levelled it at the breast of the foremost
Indian, but it missed fire: he was immediately seized by three
Indians, who secured his pistol, and, binding him fast, kept him
naked in the cold, nearly the space of an hour. One of these captors
was a leader or captain, who soon met the fate he merited. Says Mr.
Williams, "the judgment of God did not long slumber, for by sun-rising
he received a mortal shot from my next neighbor's house." This house
was not a garrison, but being defended by seven resolute men, and as
many resolute women, withstood the efforts of three hundred French and
Indians. They attacked it repeatedly, and tried various methods to set
it on fire, but without success; in the mean while suffering from the
fire which was poured upon them from the windows and loop-holes of the
building. The enemy gave up the attempt in despair. Mrs. Williams
having been confined but a few weeks previously, was feeble--a
circumstance which rendered her case hopeless; but her agony was
intensely increased by witnessing the murder of two of her little
ones, who were dragged to the door, and butchered, as was also a black
woman belonging to the family. Rifling the house with the utmost
rudeness, the enemy seized Mrs. Williams, ill as she was, and five
remaining children, with a view to carry them into captivity.
While these transactions were in progress, a lodger in the house,
Captain Stoddard, seized his cloak, and leaped from a chamber window. He
escaped across Deerfield river, and finding it necessary to secure his
feet from injury, he tore the cloak into pieces, and wrapped them up in
it, and was thus enabled, though in great exhaustion, to reach Hatfield.
An assault was made upon the house of Captain John Sheldon, but the door
was so strong and so firmly bolted, that the enemy found it difficult to
break or penetrate it. Their only resort, therefore, was to perforate it
with their tomahawks. Through the aperture thus made, they thrust a
musket, fired, and killed Mrs. Sheldon, a ball striking her as she was
rising from her bed in an adjoining room. The mark of the ball was long
to be seen in a timber near the bed, the house having been carefully
preserved, bearing upon the front door the marks of the Indian hatchet.
In the mean time, the son and son's wife of Captain Sheldon, sprang from
a chamber window at the east end of the building; but unfortunately for
the lady, her ankle became sprained by the fall, and being unable to
walk, she was seized by the Indians. The husband escaped into the
adjoining forest, and reached Hatfield. The enemy at length gaining
possession of the house, reserved it on account of its size as a dépôt
for the prisoners taken in the village.
At the expiration of about two hours, the enemy having collected the
prisoners, and plundered and set fire to the buildings, took up their
march from the place. Forty-seven persons had been put to death,
including those killed in making the defence. "We were carried over
the river to the foot of the mountain, about a mile from my house,"
says Mr. Williams, "where we found a great number of our Christian
neighbors--men, women, and children--to the number of one hundred,
nineteen of whom were afterwards murdered in the way, and two starved
to death near Coos in a time of great scarcity and famine the savages
underwent there. When we came to the foot of the mountain, they took
away our shoes, and gave us Indian shoes, to prepare us for our
journey."
At this spot, a portion of the enemy was overtaken by a party of the
English, consisting of the few who had escaped, together with the men
who had defended the two houses, and a small number from Hatfield, and a
brisk fight ensued. The little band, however, was in danger of being
surrounded by the main body of the enemy's troops, as they came into the
action, and, accordingly, they were compelled to retreat. They left nine
of their number slain. The attack on the enemy, under such
circumstances, indicated the resolute and sympathizing spirit of the
people, but it had well nigh proved fatal to the prisoners. Rouville,
fearing, at one time, a defeat, had ordered the latter to be put to
death, but, providentially, the bearer of the message was killed before
he executed his orders. They were, nevertheless, held in readiness to be
sacrificed in the event of disasters happening to the enemy.
Soon after the termination of the skirmish, Rouville commenced his
march for Canada. Three hundred miles of a trackless wilderness were
to be traversed, and that too at a very inclement season of the year.
The prospects of the captives were gloomy beyond description. Many
were women, at that time under circumstances requiring the most tender
treatment. Some were young children, not sufficiently strong to endure
the fatigues of traveling. Infants there were, who must be carried in
their parents' arms, or left behind to be butchered by the savage or
frozen on the snow; and, of the adult males, several were suffering
from severe wounds.
The first day's journey was but four miles, and was signalized by the
murder of an infant. The Indians, however, seemed disposed generally
to favor the captives, by carrying on their backs such children as
were incapable of traveling. From mercenary motives, they wished to
keep all alive that they could, as the captives would bring a price,
or be serviceable to them in some way, in Canada. It was no sentiment
of compassion that moved them; for, as soon as their patience failed
them, the miserable captive, whether man, woman, or child, was knocked
on the head. At night, they encamped in a meadow, in what is now
Greenfield, where they cleared away the snow, spread boughs of trees,
and made slight cabins of brush, for the accommodation of the
prisoners. The strongest of the latter were bound after the Indian
manner that night, and every subsequent night, in order to prevent
escape. In the very first night, one man broke away and escaped, and,
at the same time, Mr. Williams, who was considered the principal of
the captives, was informed by the commander-in-chief, that if any more
attempted to escape, the rest should be put to death.
In the second day's march occurred the death of Mrs. Williams. In the
course of the route, it became necessary to cross Creek river, at the
upper part of Deerfield meadow. From some change of conductors, Mr.
Williams, who had before been forbidden to speak to his
fellow-captives, was now permitted to do it, and even to assist his
distressed wife, who had begun to be exhausted. But it was their last
meeting, and most affecting was the scene. She very calmly told him
that her strength was fast failing, and that he would soon lose her.
At the same time, she did not utter the language of discouragement or
of complaint, in view of the hardness of her fortune. When the company
halted, Mr. Williams' former conductor resumed his place, and ordered
him into the front, and his wife was obliged to travel unaided. They
had now arrived at the margin of Green river. This they passed by
wading through the water, which was about two feet in depth, and
running with great rapidity. They now came to a steep mountain, which
it was necessary to ascend. The narrative of Mr. Williams says, here:
"No sooner had I overcome the difficulty of that ascent, but I was
permitted to sit down, and to be unburthened of my pack. I sat
pitying those who were behind, and entreated my master to let me go
down and help my wife, but he refused. I asked each of the prisoners,
as they passed by me, after her, and heard that, passing through the
above said river, she fell down, and was plunged all over in the
water; after which, she traveled not far; for, at the foot of the
mountain, the cruel and blood-thirsty savage who took her, slew her
with his hatchet, at one stroke." The same day, a young woman and
child were killed and scalped.
After some days, they reached the mouth of White river, where Rouville
divided his force into several parties, who took different routes to the
St. Lawrence. Mr. Williams belonged to a party which reached the Indian
village St. Francis, on the St. Lawrence, by the way of Lake Champlain.
After a short residence at that village, he was sent to Montreal, where
he was treated with kindness by the governor, Vaudreuil.
In the year 1706, fifty-seven of these captives were conveyed to
Boston in a flag-ship, among whom were Mr. Williams and all his
remaining children (two having been ransomed and sent home before),
except his daughter Eunice, whom, notwithstanding all his exertions,
he was never able to redeem, and whom, at the tender age of ten years,
he was obliged to leave among the Indians. As she grew up under Indian
influence, having no other home, and no other friends who could
counsel and guide her, she adopted the manners and customs of the
Indians, settled with them in a domestic state, and, by her husband,
had several children. She became also, it is said, a Catholic, and
ever afterwards firmly attached to that religion. This, perhaps, is
scarcely a matter of surprise, as the sentiment was, the more easily
instilled into her mind, from her age and the circumstances in which
she was placed. Some time after the war, she visited her relations at
Deerfield, in company with her husband. She was habited in the Indian
costume, and, strange as it may seem, though every persuasive was used
to induce her to abandon the savages, and to remain among her
connections, all was in vain. She continued to lead the life of a
savage, and, though she repeated her visits to her friends in New
England, she uniformly persisted in wearing her blanket and counting
her beads. Two of the children of Mr. Williams, after their return,
became worthy and respectable ministers; one at Waltham, the other at
Long Meadow, in Springfield.
The captive Mr. Williams, upon his return to the colony, was desired,
by the remnant of his Deerfield friends, to resume the duties of his
pastoral office in that place. He complied with their request, and,
having rëmarried, reared another family of children, and died in 1729.
During Queen Anne's War, no other single tragedy occurred like that of
Deerfield; but, at all times, the enemy were prowling about the
frontier settlements, watching, in concealment, for an opportunity to
strike a sudden blow, and, having done irreparable mischief, to escape
with safety. The women and children retired into garrisons; the men
left their fields uncultivated, or labored with arms at their sides,
and having sentinels posted at every point whence an attack could be
apprehended. Yet, notwithstanding these precautions, the Indians were
often successful, killing sometimes an individual, sometimes a whole
family, sometimes a band of laborers, ten or twelve in number; and, so
alert were they in their movements, that but few of them fell into the
hands of the whites.
Queen Anne died in 1714, and George I., of the house of Brunswick,
ascended the throne of England. During the reign of the latter, a
state of warfare existed between the enemy and the colony of
Massachusetts and New Hampshire for several years, distressing to the
former, but attended by few signal conflicts, disasters, or victories.
At length, however, it was discovered that the Indians, although
instigated still by the French, were not averse to peace. Accordingly,
towards the latter part of the year 1725, a treaty was concluded at
Boston, and the next spring was ratified at Falmouth. A period of
tranquillity succeeded this event in the northern colonies.
X. WAR OF GEORGE II.
WAR between England and France, 1744--French take Canso--Effect of
this Declaration of War upon the Indians--Attack upon Great
Meadows (now Putney)--Also, upon Ashuelot (now
Keene)--Expedition against Louisburg--Particulars of
it--Surrender of it--Continuance of the War--Various places
assaulted--Savage Barbarities following the surrender of Fort
Massachusetts--Peace declared.
The attempts to maintain peace with the Indians were successful
through a number of years. The most happy expedient which the English
adopted for that purpose, was the erection of _trading-houses_, where
goods were furnished by government to be exchanged for furs, which the
Indians brought to them. This had the effect of conciliating the
Indians, and, as it stimulated their industry, it was more serviceable
to them than direct gifts. In the course of time, however, they began
to be restive. Their intercourse with the whites, for trading
purposes, renewed reminiscences of the attacks and cruelties committed
upon the exterior settlements. The Indians were wont to boast of their
feats, and of the tortures inflicted upon the captured English; in
some instances, the friends of those with whom they were now holding
intercourse. They were disposed frequently, when provoked or
intoxicated, to threaten to come again, with the war-whoop and the
tomahawk. Hence, individual acts of violence occasionally took place,
at or near the trading-towns, and it was evident that, whenever war
between the English and French should commence, there would be a
reiteration of the former scenes and acts of atrocity.
The day of blood at length arrived. It was in the year 1744, that
England and France again commenced hostilities. The intelligence no
sooner crossed the Atlantic, than the frontiers of the colonies became
the area of the conflict, and the blood-thirsty savage took up his
hatchet, with the intention of giving vent to his long pent-up
vengeance. George II. had been on the throne several years.
Before the proclamation of war was known at Boston, the French governor
of Cape Breton sent a party to take Canso, which was effected, and the
captives were conveyed to Louisburg. The proclamation of war seems to
have had a singular effect on the Indians, who had manifested a degree
of attachment to the whites. It awakened the naturally ferocious
feelings of the savage--feelings that had been for some time suspended;
and, forgetting the many ties of acquaintance and friendly intercourse,
he easily fell back upon those habits of carnage and plunder, in which
he was originally nurtured. The effect of the proclamation of war, on
all the other Indians, was to have been expected, as gratifying their
long-indulged desires of mingling in the scenes of murder and pillage.
It was an unhappy circumstance, in regard to the Indians who had been
indulged with so intimate an intercourse with the whites, that they were
perfectly acquainted with all the routes from Canada to the various
English settlements, thus serving as guides for others, or facilitating
their predatory irruptions.
With a wise foresight, upon the first intimation of war, several new
forts were ordered to be built in exposed parts of the country, the
western regiments of militia in Massachusetts were called on for their
quotas of men to defend the frontiers in that quarter, and scouting
parties were employed in various places for the purpose of discovering
the incursions of the enemy, and ferreting out their trails. But
happily, during the first year, they remained quiet, or were secretly
making their preparations for the part they intended hereafter to enact.
The Indians commenced operations in July, 1745, at the _Great Meadow_,
now Putney, on the Connecticut, and a few days after at upper Ashuelot
(Keene), killing at each place an individual. Somewhat later in the
year, the Great Meadow was the scene of another attack, with a small
loss to the whites, as also to the Indians. The vigilance of the
colonists, however, was so unceasing, that but little opportunity at
this time was afforded for the gratification of their malignity.
The eyes of the New England colonists were now fixed on one great
enterprise, the reduction of _Louisburg_, on the island of Cape
Breton, a place of incredible strength, which had been twenty-five
years in building. Accordingly, four thousand troops from the several
colonies, as far as Pennsylvania, were raised, the command of which
was assigned to William Pepperell. On the 4th of April, 1745, the
expedition had arrived at Canso. Here they were detained three weeks
on account of the ice. At length Commodore Warren, according to orders
from England, arrived at Canso in a ship of sixty guns, with three
other ships of forty guns each. After a consultation with Pepperell,
the commodore proceeded to cruise before Louisburg. Soon after, the
general sailed with the whole fleet. On the 30th of April, landing his
troops, he invested the city. A portion of the troops on the
north-east part of the harbor, meeting with the warehouses containing
the naval stores, set them on fire. The smoke, driven by the wind into
the grand battery, so terrified the French, that they abandoned it.
After spiking the guns, they returned to the city. Colonel Vaughan,
who conducted the first column, took possession of the deserted
battery. With extreme difficulty, cannon were drawn up for fourteen
nights successively, from the landing-place, through a morass to the
camp. It was done by men with straps over their shoulders, and sinking
to their knees in the mud; a service which oxen or horses on such
ground could not have performed. The cannon of the forsaken battery
were drilled, and turned with good effect on the city.
On the 7th of May, a summons was sent to the commanding officer of
Louisburg, but he refused to surrender the place. The efforts of the
assailants were then renewed, and put forth to the utmost, both by the
commodore's fleet and the land forces. Their efforts were at length
crowned with success. Discouraged by the whole aspect of affairs,
Duchambon, the French commander, felt under the necessity of
surrendering; and, accordingly, on the 16th of June, articles of
capitulation were signed.
[Illustration: Reduction of Louisburg.]