The township of Haverhill, even as late as the close of the seventeenth
century, was a frontier settlement, occupying an advanced position in the
great wilderness, which, unbroken by the clearing of a white man,
extended from the Merrimac River to the French villages on the St.
Francois. A tract of twelve miles on the river and three or four
northwardly was occupied by scattered settlers, while in the centre of
the town a compact village had grown up. In the immediate vicinity there
were but few Indians, and these generally peaceful and inoffensive. On
the breaking out of the Narragansett war, the inhabitants had erected
fortifications and taken other measures for defence; but, with the
possible exception of one man who was found slain in the woods in 1676,
none of the inhabitants were molested; and it was not until about the
year 1689 that the safety of the settlement was seriously threatened.
Three persons were killed in that year. In 1690 six garrisons were
established in different parts of the town, with a small company of
soldiers attached to each. Two of these houses are still standing. They
were built of brick, two stories high, with a single outside door, so
small and narrow that but one person could enter at a time; the windows
few, and only about two and a half feet long by eighteen inches with
thick diamond glass secured with lead, and crossed inside with bars of
iron. The basement had but two rooms, and the chamber was entered by a
ladder instead of stairs; so that the inmates, if driven thither, could
cut off communication with the rooms below. Many private houses were
strengthened and fortified. We remember one familiar to our boyhood,--
a venerable old building of wood, with brick between the weather boards
and ceiling, with a massive balustrade over the door, constructed of oak
timber and plank, with holes through the latter for firing upon
assailants. The door opened upon a stone-paved hall, or entry, leading
into the huge single room of the basement, which was lighted by two small
windows, the ceiling black with the smoke of a century and a half; a huge
fireplace, calculated for eight-feet wood, occupying one entire side;
while, overhead, suspended from the timbers, or on shelves fastened to
them, were household stores, farming utensils, fishing-rods, guns,
bunches of herbs gathered perhaps a century ago, strings of dried apples
and pumpkins, links of mottled sausages, spareribs, and flitches of
bacon; the firelight of an evening dimly revealing the checked woollen
coverlet of the bed in one far-off corner, while in another "the pewter
plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame as shields of armies
the sunshine."
Tradition has preserved many incidents of life in the garrisons. In
times of unusual peril the settlers generally resorted at night to the
fortified houses, taking thither their flocks and herds and such
household valuables as were most likely to strike the fancy or minister
to the comfort or vanity of the heathen marauders. False alarms were
frequent. The smoke of a distant fire, the bark of a dog in the deep
woods, a stump or bush taking in the uncertain light of stars and moon
the appearance of a man, were sufficient to spread alarm through the
entire settlement, and to cause the armed men of the garrison to pass
whole nights in sleepless watching. It is said that at Haselton's
garrison-house the sentinel on duty saw, as he thought, an Indian inside
of the paling which surrounded the building, and apparently seeking to
gain an entrance. He promptly raised his musket and fired at the
intruder, alarming thereby the entire garrison. The women and children
left their beds, and the men seized their guns and commenced firing on
the suspicious object; but it seemed to bear a charmed life, and remained
unharmed. As the morning dawned, however, the mystery was solved by the
discovery of a black quilted petticoat hanging on the clothes-line,
completely riddled with balls.
As a matter of course, under circumstances of perpetual alarm and
frequent peril, the duty of cultivating their fields, and gathering their
harvests, and working at their mechanical avocations was dangerous and
difficult to the settlers. One instance will serve as an illustration.
At the garrison-house of Thomas Dustin, the husband of the far-famed Mary
Dustin, (who, while a captive of the Indians, and maddened by the murder
of her infant child, killed and scalped, with the assistance of a young
boy, the entire band of her captors, ten in number,) the business of
brick-making was carried on. The pits where the clay was found were only
a few rods from the house; yet no man ventured to bring the clay to the
yard within the enclosure without the attendance of a file of soldiers.
An anecdote relating to this garrison has been handed down to the present
tune. Among its inmates were two young cousins, Joseph and Mary
Whittaker; the latter a merry, handsome girl, relieving the tedium of
garrison duty with her light-hearted mirthfulness, and
"Making a sunshine in that shady place."
Joseph, in the intervals of his labors in the double capacity of brick-
maker and man-at-arms, was assiduous in his attentions to his fair
cousin, who was not inclined to encourage him. Growing desperate, he
threatened one evening to throw himself into the garrison well. His
threat only called forth the laughter of his mistress; and, bidding her
farewell, he proceeded to put it in execution. On reaching the well he
stumbled over a log; whereupon, animated by a happy idea, he dropped the
wood into the water instead of himself, and, hiding behind the curb,
awaited the result. Mary, who had been listening at the door, and who
had not believed her lover capable of so rash an act, heard the sudden
plunge of the wooden Joseph. She ran to the well, and, leaning over the
curb and peering down the dark opening, cried out, in tones of anguish
and remorse, "O Joseph, if you're in the land of the living, I 'll have
you!" "I'll take ye at your word," answered Joseph, springing up from
his hiding-place, and avenging himself for her coyness and coldness by a
hearty embrace.
Our own paternal ancestor, owing to religious scruples in the matter of
taking arms even for defence of life and property, refused to leave his
undefended house and enter the garrison. The Indians frequently came to
his house; and the family more than once in the night heard them
whispering under the windows, and saw them put their copper faces to the
glass to take a view of the apartments. Strange as it may seen, they
never offered any injury or insult to the inmates.
In 1695 the township was many times molested by Indians, and several
persons were killed and wounded. Early in the fall a small party made
their appearance in the northerly part of the town, where, finding two
boys at work in an open field, they managed to surprise and capture them,
and, without committing further violence, retreated through the woods to
their homes on the shore of Lake Winnipesaukee. Isaac Bradley, aged
fifteen, was a small but active and vigorous boy; his companion in
captivity, Joseph Whittaker, was only eleven, yet quite as large in size,
and heavier in his movements. After a hard and painful journey they
arrived at the lake, and were placed in an Indian family, consisting of a
man and squaw and two or three children. Here they soon acquired a
sufficient knowledge of the Indian tongue to enable them to learn from
the conversation carried on in their presence that it was designed to
take them to Canada in the spring. This discovery was a painful one.
Canada, the land of Papist priests and bloody Indians, was the especial
terror of the New England settlers, and the anathema maranatha of Puritan
pulpits. Thither the Indians usually hurried their captives, where they
compelled them to work in their villages or sold them to the French
planters. Escape from thence through a deep wilderness, and across lakes
and mountains and almost impassable rivers, without food or guide, was
regarded as an impossibility. The poor boys, terrified by the prospect
of being carried still farther from their home and friends, began to
dream of escaping from their masters before they started for Canada. It
was now winter; it would have been little short of madness to have chosen
for flight that season of bitter cold and deep snows. Owing to exposure
and want of proper food and clothing, Isaac, the eldest of the boys, was
seized with a violent fever, from which he slowly recovered in the course
of the winter. His Indian mistress was as kind to him as her
circumstances permitted,--procuring medicinal herbs and roots for her
patient, and tenderly watching over him in the long winter nights.
Spring came at length; the snows melted; and the ice was broken up on the
lake. The Indians began to make preparations for journeying to Canada;
and Isaac, who had during his sickness devised a plan of escape, saw that
the time of putting it in execution had come. On the evening before he
was to make the attempt he for the first time informed his younger
companion of his design, and told him, if he intended to accompany him,
he must be awake at the time appointed. The boys lay down as usual in
the wigwam, in the midst of the family. Joseph soon fell asleep; but
Isaac, fully sensible of the danger and difficulty of the enterprise
before him, lay awake, watchful for his opportunity. About midnight he
rose, cautiously stepping over the sleeping forms of the family, and
securing, as he went, his Indian master's flint, steel, and tinder, and a
small quantity of dry moose-meat and cornbread. He then carefully
awakened his companion, who, starting up, forgetful of the cause of his
disturbance, asked aloud, "What do you want?" The savages began to stir;
and Isaac, trembling with fear of detection, lay down again and pretended
to be asleep. After waiting a while he again rose, satisfied, from the
heavy breathing of the Indians, that they were all sleeping; and fearing
to awaken Joseph a second time, lest he should again hazard all by his
thoughtlessness, he crept softly out of the wigwam. He had proceeded but
a few rods when he heard footsteps behind him; and, supposing himself
pursued, he hurried into the woods, casting a glance backward. What was
his joy to see his young companion running after him! They hastened on
in a southerly direction as nearly as they could determine, hoping to
reach their distant home. When daylight appeared they found a large
hollow log, into which they crept for concealment, wisely judging that
they would be hotly pursued by their Indian captors.
Their sagacity was by no means at fault. The Indians, missing their
prisoners in the morning, started off in pursuit with their dogs. As the
young boys lay in the log they could hear the whistle of the Indians and
the barking of dogs upon their track. It was a trying moment; and even
the stout heart of the elder boy sank within him as the dogs came up to
the log and set up a loud bark of discovery. But his presence of mind
saved him. He spoke in a low tone to the dogs, who, recognizing his
familiar voice, wagged their tails with delight and ceased barking. He
then threw to them the morsel of moose-meat he had taken from the wigwam.
While the dogs were thus diverted the Indians made their appearance. The
boys heard the light, stealthy sound of their moccasins on the leaves.
They passed close to the log; and the dogs, having devoured their moose-
meat, trotted after their masters. Through a crevice in the log the boys
looked after them and saw them disappear in the thick woods. They
remained in their covert until night, when they started again on their
long journey, taking a new route to avoid the Indians. At daybreak they
again concealed themselves, but travelled the next night and day without
resting. By this time they had consumed all the bread which they had
taken, and were fainting from hunger and weariness. Just at the close of
the third day they were providentially enabled to kill a pigeon and a
small tortoise, a part of which they ate raw, not daring to make a fire,
which might attract the watchful eyes of savages. On the sixth day they
struck upon an old Indian path, and, following it until night, came
suddenly upon a camp of the enemy. Deep in the heart of the forest,
under the shelter of a ridge of land heavily timbered, a great fire of
logs and brushwood was burning; and around it the Indians sat, eating
their moose-meat and smoking their pipes.
The poor fugitives, starving, weary, and chilled by the cold spring
blasts, gazed down upon the ample fire; and the savory meats which the
squaws were cooking by it, but felt no temptation to purchase warmth and
food by surrendering themselves to captivity. Death in the forest seemed
preferable. They turned and fled back upon their track, expecting every
moment to hear the yells of pursuers. The morning found them seated on
the bank of a small stream, their feet torn and bleeding, and their
bodies emaciated. The elder, as a last effort, made search for roots,
and fortunately discovered a few ground-nuts, (glicine apios) which
served to refresh in some degree himself and his still weaker companion.
As they stood together by the stream, hesitating and almost despairing,
it occurred to Isaac that the rivulet might lead to a larger stream of
water, and that to the sea and the white settlements near it; and he
resolved to follow it. They again began their painful march; the day
passed, and the night once more overtook them. When the eighth morning
dawned, the younger of the boys found himself unable to rise from his bed
of leaves. Isaac endeavored to encourage him, dug roots, and procured
water for him; but the poor lad was utterly exhausted. He had no longer
heart or hope. The elder boy laid him on leaves and dry grass at the
foot of a tree, and with a heavy heart bade him farewell. Alone he
slowly and painfully proceeded down the stream, now greatly increased in
size by tributary rivulets. On the top of a hill, he climbed with
difficulty into a tree, and saw in the distance what seemed to be a
clearing and a newly raised frame building. Hopeful and rejoicing, he
turned back to his young companion, told him what he had seen, and, after
chafing his limbs awhile, got him upon his feet. Sometimes supporting
him, and at others carrying him on his back, the heroic boy staggered
towards the clearing. On reaching it he found it deserted, and was
obliged to continue his journey. Towards night signs of civilization
began to appear,--the heavy, continuous roar of water was heard; and,
presently emerging from the forest, he saw a great river dashing in white
foam down precipitous rocks, and on its bank the gray walls of a huge
stone building, with flankers, palisades, and moat, over which the
British flag was flying. This was the famous Saco Fort, built by
Governor Phips two years before, just below the falls of the Saco River.
The soldiers of the garrison gave the poor fellows a kindly welcome.
Joseph, who was scarcely alive, lay for a long time sick in the fort; but
Isaac soon regained his strength, and set out for his home in Haverhill,
which he had the good fortune to arrive at in safety.
Amidst the stirring excitements of the present day, when every thrill of
the electric wire conveys a new subject for thought or action to a
generation as eager as the ancient Athenians for some new thing, simple
legends of the past like that which we have transcribed have undoubtedly
lost in a great degree their interest. The lore of the fireside is
becoming obsolete, and with the octogenarian few who still linger among
us will perish the unwritten history of border life in New England.