OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE.
Though high the warm, red torrent ran,
Between the flames that lit the sky;
Yet, for each drop, an armed man
Shall rise, to free the land, or die.
--Bryant.
The liberated prisoners went whithersoever they pleased. Some went to
Boston, others to Plymouth, many to New York, New Jersey and Maryland,
while a few returned to England. They were wearied with their experience
in the New World, and were content to spend their days in England.
Charles Stevens retained a firm hold on his mother and Cora, until it
was quite evident that their pursuers had, for the present, at least,
given up the chase. They went on in the forest until they were joined by
the five savages left to guard Joel Martin. Martin was no longer with
them. Charles did not inquire what had become of him, for he was wholly
engrossed in the safety of Cora and his mother.
[Illustration: MAP OF NORTH AMERICA PERIOD, 1680 TO 1700
DRAWN FOR "THE WITCH OF SALEM"]
The Indians and the Waters brothers were engaged in a consultation.
Charles took no part in the consultation, for he knew nothing to advise.
Then the Indians accompanied them for a few miles through the woods. The
forest was dark and sombre, and they had only the silent stars to light
their path, until the tardy moon, rising at a late hour, filled the
landscape with silver light.
Day dawned, and they were in a wild, picturesque wood, with towering
hills and stupendous oaks on every side. Here they halted again for
consultation. Oracus, after giving them all the provisions he had with
him, took his warriors and stole off into the forest.
George Waters and his brother urged the escaped prisoners to eat some
dried venison and parched corn and sleep. They did. Indian blankets on
the ground afforded them beds, and their only covering was the sky.
Charles slept until the afternoon was almost spent, and then he was
awakened by the tramp of horses feet. He started up and found three
Indians with five horses, saddled and bridled. The Indians belonged to
the braves of Oracus, and, without a word, they dismounted and turned
over the horses to the Englishmen, and stole away into the forest.
A few moments later, the white people were mounted and riding away
through one of the narrow paths known only to the Waters brothers.
Charles Stevens' soul was too full for him to give heed to what course
they took. His mother and Cora were free, though he little dreamed that
they were escaping from one danger to another. They arrived one night at
the home of Mr. Dustin, near Haverhill, in Massachusetts. When the
frontiersman heard their story, he said:
"You are welcome, my persecuted friends, to the shelter of my roof, so
long as it can afford you any protection; but the war clouds seem to
grow darker and more lowering every moment, and I don't know how long my
roof will afford protection to any one."
Charles Stevens had been so busy with his own cares and griefs, that he
had forgotten that a terrible Indian war was raging on the frontier.
This war was known as King William's war, in which the French joined
with the Indians in bringing fire and sword upon the inhabitants of New
England and New York. The French and English had long been jealous of
each other, and a connected account need not be given here of all the
disastrous occurrences which lead up to the terrible assault on
Haverhill, where the fugitives from Salem were stopping.
We will mention, as first of the principal attacks during the war of
King William, the attack on Schenectady. This was made in pursuance of a
plan adopted by Count Frontenac, then governor of Canada, as a means of
avenging on the English Colonies the treatment of King James, deposed by
William and Mary, which had inflamed the resentment of Frontenac's
master, Louis XIV. While New York was torn with internal strife over
Leisler, the governor of Canada fitted out three expeditions against the
colonies, and in the midst of winter one was sent against New York. The
attack on Schenectady was the fruit of this expedition. It was made by a
party consisting of about two hundred French and fifty Caughnewaga
Indians, under command of Maulet and St. Helene, in 1689 and 1690.
Schenectady was built in the form of an oblong square with a gate at
either extremity. The enemy found one of the gates not only open, but
unguarded. Although the town was impaled and might have been protected,
there was so little thought of danger, that no one deemed it necessary
to close the gate. The weather was very cold, and the English did not
suppose an attack would be made.
It was eleven o'clock and thirty minutes on Saturday night, February
8th, 1690, when the enemy entered, divided their party, waylaid every
portal and began the attack with a terrible war-whoop. Maulet attacked a
garrison, where the only resistance was made. He soon forced the gate,
slew the soldiers and burned the garrison. One of the French officers
was wounded in forcing a house; but St. Helene came to his aid, the
house was taken, and all in it were put to the sword.
Naught was now to be seen, save massacre and pillage on every side,
while the most shocking barbarities were practised on the unfortunate
inhabitants.
"Sixty-three houses and the church were immediately in a blaze," says a
contemporaneous writer. Weak women, in their expiring agonies, saw their
infants cast into the flames, or brained before their eyes. Sixty-three
persons were murdered and twenty-seven carried into captivity.
A few persons were enabled to escape; but, being without sufficient
clothing, some perished in the cold before they reached Albany.
About noon next day, the enemy left the desolate place, taking such
plunder as they could carry with them and destroying the remainder. It
was the intention of Maulet to spare the minister, for he wanted him as
his own prisoner; but he was found among the mangled dead, and his
papers burned. Two or three houses were spared, while the others were
consigned to the flames.
[Illustration: Naught was to be seen, save massacre and pillage on every
side.]
Owing to the wretched condition of the roads and the deep snows, news of
the massacre did not reach the great Mohawk castle, only seventeen miles
distant, for two days. On receipt of the terrible news, an armed party
set out at once in pursuit of the foe. After a long tedious march
through the snow and forest, they came upon their rear, and a furious
fight followed, in which about twenty-five of them were killed and
wounded.
A second party of French and Indians was sent against the delightful
settlement of Salmon Falls, on the Piscataqua. At Three Rivers,
Frontenac had fitted out an expedition of fifty-two men and twenty-five
Indians, with Sieur Hertel as their leader. In this small band he had
three sons and two nephews. After a long and rugged march, Hertel
reached the place on the 27th of March, 1690. His spies having
reconnoitred it, he divided his men into three companies, leading the
largest himself. Just at dawn of day the attack was made. The English
stoutly resisted, but were unable to withstand the well-directed fire of
their assailants. Thirty of the bravest defenders fell. The remainder,
amounting to fifty-four, were made prisoners. The English had
twenty-seven houses reduced to ashes, and two thousand domestic animals
perished in the barns that were burned.
The third party, which was fitted out at Quebec by the directions of
Frontenac, made an attack upon Casco, in Maine. The expedition was
commanded by M. De Portneuf. Hertel, on his return to Canada, met with
this expedition, and, joining it with the force under his command, came
back to the scene of warfare in which he had been so unhappily
successful. As the hostile army marched through the country of the
Abenakis, numbers of them joined it. Portneuf, with his forces thus
augmented, came into the neighborhood of Casco, about the 25th of May,
1690. On the following night, an Englishman who entered the well-laid
ambush was captured and killed. This so excited the Indians that they
raised the war-whoop. Fifty English soldiers were sent from the fort to
ascertain the occasion of the yelling, and were drawn into the
ambuscade. A volley from the woods on either side swept them down, and
before the remainder could recover from the panic into which they were
thrown by the volley, they were assailed with swords, bayonets and
tomahawks, and but four out of the party escaped and these with severe
wounds.
"The English seeing now that they must stand a siege, abandoned four
garrisons, and all retired into one which was provided with cannon.
Before these were abandoned, an attack was made upon one of them, in
which the French were repulsed with an Indian killed and a Frenchman
wounded. Portneuf now began to doubt of his ability to take Casco,
fearing the issue; for his commission only ordered him to lay waste the
English settlements, and not to attempt fortified places; but, in this
dilemma, Hertel and Hopehood (a celebrated chief of the tribe of the
Kennebec), arrived. It was now determined to press the siege. In the
deserted forts they found all the necessary tools for carrying on the
work, and they began a mine within fifty feet of the fort, under a steep
bank, which entirely protected them from its guns. The English became
discouraged, and, on the 28th of May, surrendered themselves as
prisoners of war. There were seventy men and probably a greater number
of women and children; all of whom, except Captain Davis, who commanded
the garrison, and three or four others, were given up to the Indians,
who murdered most of them in their most cruel manner; and, if the
accounts be true, Hopehood excelled all other savages in acts of
cruelty."
These barbarous transactions produced both terror and indignation in New
York and New England, and an attempt at a formidable demonstration
against the enemy was made. The general court of Massachusetts sent
letters of request to the several executives of the provinces, pursuant
to which, they convened at New York, May 1st, 1661. As the result of
the deliberations, two important measures were adopted. Connecticut sent
General Winthrop with troops to march through Albany, there to receive
supplies and to be joined by a body of men from New York. The expedition
was to proceed up Lake Champlain to destroy Montreal. There was a
failure, however, of the supplies, and this project was defeated.
Massachusetts sent forth a fleet of thirty-four sail, under William
Phipps. He proceeded to Port Royal, took it, reduced Acadia, and thence
sailed up the St. Lawrence, with the design of capturing Quebec. The
troops landed with some difficulty, and the place was boldly summoned to
surrender. A proud defiance was returned by Frontenac, as his position
at that time happened to be strengthened by a re-enforcement from
Montreal. Phipps, learning this, and finding, also, that the party of
Winthrop, which he expected at Montreal, failed, gave up the attempt,
and returned to Boston, with the loss of several vessels and a
considerable number of troops, for a part of his fleet was wrecked by a
storm.
It was in the midst of such trying scenes and devastation on the part of
the French and savages, that superstition and fanaticism broke loose in
Salem and produced a reign of terror far greater than that caused by the
savages on the frontier. It was from such scenes to such scenes that
Charles Stevens, his mother and friends fled. Mr. Dustin lived near
Haverhill, in Massachusetts, and when they appealed to him for shelter
and protection he said:
"To such as I have you are welcome; but, I assure you, it is poor. The
savage scalping-knife may be more dangerous than the fanatic's noose in
Salem."
They had been at Haverhill but a few weeks, when, as Charles and Mr.
Henry Waters were one day returning from a hunt, they discovered a man
trailing them.
"It's a white man," Charles remarked.
"So I perceive, and why should he trail us?" Henry Waters asked.
"I know not; but let us ascertain."
They halted at the creek near Haverhill, and were sitting on the banks
of the stream, when a voice from the rocks above demanded their
surrender.
Looking up, they found themselves covered with three rifles. Three white
men, one of whom they recognized as Mr. Joel Martin, the Virginian,
stepped out from behind the rocks and advanced toward them, assuring
them that any effort to escape, or resist would result in instant death.
"I have you at last, murderer!" cried Martin, seizing Henry Waters.
"No, you mistake----" began Charles; but Henry Waters signed him to keep
quiet. The Waters brothers, as the reader is aware, were twins and
looked so much alike, that it was difficult to distinguish one from the
other.
Charles was not slow to grasp at the idea of Henry Waters. He would
suffer himself to be taken to Virginia in his brother's stead, where he
would make his identity known and establish an alibi; but there was
danger of the revengeful Martin killing his prisoner before he reached
Virginia, and Charles said:
"Will you promise, on your honor as a Virginian, not to harm the
prisoner until he reaches a court of justice?"
The Virginian gave his promise, and then the three led Mr. Waters
hurriedly away, mounted horses, hastened to Boston and took a vessel for
Virginia.
Charles Stevens went to Mr. George Waters and told him what had
happened. Mr. Waters' face grew troubled; but he said nothing.
That night there was an alarm of savages in the neighborhood and Charles
Stevens and Mr. Waters went with a train-band to meet the foe. In a
skirmish, Mr. Waters was wounded, and it was thought best for him to go
to Boston for medical treatment.
"I have friends and relatives there," Charles said, "and we might be
safe."
Next day the four secretly set out for Boston, where they lodged for
awhile with some relatives of Charles and his mother, who kept their
presence a secret.
Before concluding this chapter, it is the duty of the author, although
stepping aside from the narrative, to relate what befell their brave
friends, the Dustins, during the progress of King William's war. The
atrocities committed upon the colonists by the French and Indians were
equal to any recorded in the annals of barbarous ages. Connected with
these were instances of heroic valor on the part of the heroic
sufferers, which are not surpassed. On March 15th, 1697, the last year
of King William's war, an attack was suddenly made on Haverhill by a
party of about twenty Indians. It was a rapid, but fatal onset, and a
fitting _finale_ of so dreadful a ten years' war. Eight houses were
destroyed, twenty-seven persons killed, and thirteen carried away
prisoners. One of these houses, standing in the outskirts of the village
and, in fact, over the hill, so as to be almost out of sight of the
people in the town, was the home of Mr. Dustin, the house which had
afforded shelter to the fugitives from the Salem witchcraft persecution.
On that fatal morning, Mr. Dustin had gone to the field to commence his
spring work. The season was early, and the plow and shovel had already
begun to turn over the rich, black soil. The industrious farmer had but
just harnessed his horse, when the animal began to sniff the air, and,
turning his eyes toward some bushes, Mr. Dustin discovered two painted
faces, with heads adorned by feathers.
At the same moment, a rattling crash of firearms and the terrible
war-whoop announced the attack on Haverhill. He unharnessed his horse,
seized his gun, which he always kept near at hand, and galloped away
like the wind toward the house, pursued by arrows of the Indians.
Reaching the house before the Indians, he cried to his family to fly,
and he would cover their retreat.
"Mrs. Neff, take Mrs. Dustin and fly for your lives," he cried.
Mrs. Dustin had an infant, but a few days old, and was confined to her
bed. Mrs. Neff was her nurse. The husband made an attempt to remove his
wife; but it was too late. The Indians, like ravenous wolves, were
rushing on the house. Mrs. Dustin turned to her husband and said:
"Go, Thomas, you cannot save me, go and save the children."
Moved by her urgent appeal, he leaped on his horse and, with his gun in
his hand, galloped away after the children, seven in number, who were
already running down the road. The first thought of the father was to
seize one, place it on the horse before him, and escape; but he was
unable to select one from the others. All were alike dear to him, and he
resolved to defend all or perish in the effort. They had reached a point
below the town, where the road ran between two hills in a narrow pass. A
party of Indians, eleven in number, had seen the children and were
running after them. Mr. Dustin spurred his horse between the children
and the savage foe, and shouting to his darlings to fly, and bidding the
oldest carry the youngest, he drew rein at the pass and cocked his gun.
Thomas Dustin was a dead shot, and his rifle was the best made at that
day.
Facing the savages, he fired and shot the leader dead in his tracks. His
followers were appalled at the fate of their brawny chieftain, and for a
moment hesitated. Mr. Dustin hesitated not a single instant, but
proceeded, without a moment's delay, to reload his gun. Five of the
Indians fired at the resolute father, as he rode away after his flying
children.
"Run! run! run for your lives!" he shouted.
The Indians, with a whoop of vengeance followed the father. He had four
balls in his gun, and, wheeling his horse about, he fired this terrible
charge at them. Though none were killed instantly at this shot, three
were wounded, two so severely that they died next day. The Indians
abandoned the pursuit of the resolute father, who continued to fight as
he retreated, and turned their attention to less dangerous victories, so
Mr. Dustin escaped with his children.
Mrs. Neff, the nurse in attendance on Mrs. Dustin, heroically resolved
to share the fate of her patient, even when she could have escaped. The
Indians entered the house, and, having made the sick woman rise and sit
quietly in the corner of the fire-place, they pillaged the dwelling, and
set it on fire, taking the occupants out of it. At the approach of
night, Mrs. Dustin was forced to march into the wilderness and seek
repose on the hard, cold ground. Mrs. Neff attempted to escape with the
baby, but was intercepted. The infant had its brains beaten out against
a tree, and the body was thrown into the bushes. The captives of
Haverhill, when collected, were thirteen miserable, wretched people.
That same day they were marched twelve miles before camping, although it
was nearly night before they set out. Succeeding this, for several days
they were compelled to keep up with the savage captors, over an extent
of country of not less than one hundred and forty or fifty miles.
Feeble as she was, it seems wonderful that Mrs. Dustin should have borne
up under the trials and fatigues of the journey; but she did.
[Illustration: The resolute father continued to fire as he retreated.]
After this, the Indians, according to their custom, divided their
prisoners. Mrs. Dustin, 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 treated them with no particular
unkindness, save that of forcing them to extend their journey still
further toward an Indian settlement. One day they told the prisoners
that there was one ceremony to which they must submit after their
arrival at their destination, and that was running the gauntlet between
two files of Indians. This announcement filled Mrs. Dustin and her
companions with so much dread, that they mutually resolved to make a
desperate attempt to escape.
Mrs. Hannah Dustin, Mrs. Mary Neff the nurse, and the lad Samuel
Leonardson, only eleven years of age, were certainly not persons to
excite the fear of a dozen sturdy warriors. The Indians believed the lad
faithful to them, and never dreamed that the women would have courage
enough to attempt to escape, and no strict watch was kept over them.
In order to throw the savage captors off their guard, Mrs. Dustin seemed
to take well to them, and on the day before the plan of escape was
carried out, she ascertained, through inquiries made by the lad, how to
kill a man instantly and how to take off his scalp.
"Strike him here," the Indian explained, placing his finger on his
temple, "and take off his scalp so," showing the lad how it was done.
With this information, the plot was ripe. Just before dawn of day, when
the Indians sleep most profound, Mrs. Dustin softly rose from her bed of
earth and touched Mary Neff on the shoulder. A single touch was
sufficient to awake her, and she sat up. Next the lad had to be aroused.
Being young and wearied, his slumbers were profound. An Indian lay near
asleep. Mrs. Dustin seized his tomahawk, and Mrs. Neff seized another
Indian's weapons. The nurse shook Samuel. The lad rose, rubbed his eyes
and went over to where the man lay, who had instructed him in the art of
killing. He seized his hatchet and held it in his hand ready. At a
signal from Mrs. Dustin, three blows fell on three temples, and with a
quiver three sleepers in life had passed to the sleep of death. Once
more the hatchets were raised, and six of the twelve were dead. The
little noise they were compelled to make disturbed the slumbers of the
others, and the three hatchets, now red with blood, fell on three more.
Mrs. Neff, growing nervous and excited, cut her man's head a little too
far forward, and he started up with a yell. The blood blinded him,
however, and she stabbed him.
The yell had roused the others, and a squaw with a child fled to the
woods, while the tenth, a young warrior, was assailed by Mrs. Dustin and
the lad and slain ere he was fully awake. Ten of the twelve were dead,
and the escaped prisoners, after scuttling all the boats save one, to
prevent pursuit, started in that down the river, with what provisions
they could take from the Indians. They had not gone far, when Mrs.
Dustin said:
"We have not scalped the Indians."
"Why should we?" asked Mrs. Neff.
"When we get home and tell our friends that we three slew ten Indians,
they will demand some proof of the assertion, and the ten scalps will be
proof."
Samuel Leonardson, boy like, was anxious to have the scalps of his foes,
and so they overruled Mrs. Neff and, turning about, went back to the
camp which was now deserted save by the ghastly dead, their glassy eyes
gazing upward at the skies.
"This is the way he told me to do it," said Samuel, seizing the tuft of
hair on the head of the man who had instructed him in scalping. He ran
the keen edge of a knife around the skull and, by a quick jerk, pulled
off the scalp.
Being novices in the art, it took them some time to remove the scalps
from the heads of all; but the bloody task was finally accomplished and
putting the scalps in a bag, they once more embarked in the Indian canoe
and started down the stream.
"With strong hearts, the three voyagers went down the Merrimac to their
homes, every moment in peril from savages or the elements, and were
received as persons risen from the dead. Mrs. Dustin found her husband
and children saved. Soon after, she went to Boston, carrying with her a
gun and tomahawk, which she had brought from the wigwam, and her ten
trophies, and the general court of Massachusetts gave these brave
sufferers fifty pounds as a reward for their heroism. Ex-Governor
Nicholson, of Maryland, sent a metal tankard to Mrs. Dustin and Mrs.
Neff, as a token of his admiration. That tankard is now (1875) in the
possession of Mr. Emry Coffin, of Newburyport, Massachusetts. During the
summer of 1874, one hundred and seventy-seven years after the event,
citizens of Massachusetts and New Hampshire erected on the highest point
of Dustin's Island an elegant monument, commemorative of the heroic
deed. It displays a figure of Mrs. Dustin, holding in her right hand,
raised in the attitude of striking, a tomahawk, and a bunch of scalps in
the other. On it are inscribed the names of Hannah Dustin, Mary Neff
and Samuel Leonardson, the English lad."[E]
[Footnote E: Lossing's "Our Country," vol. iii., p. 418.]
Haverhill was a second time attacked and desolated during King William's
war, and other places suffered. The treaty at Ryswick, a village near
the Hague, in Holland, soon after, put an end to the indiscriminate
slaughter in Europe and America. At this insignificant little village, a
peace was agreed upon between Louis XIV. of France and England, Spain
and Holland, and the German Empire, which ended a war of more than seven
years' duration. Louis was compelled to acknowledge William of Orange to
be the sovereign of England. That war cost Great Britain one hundred and
fifty millions of dollars in cash, besides a hundred millions loaned.
The latter laid the foundation of England's enormous national debt,
which, to-day, amounts to five thousand millions of dollars.
Prior to the treaty at Ryswick, a Board of Trade and Plantations was
established in England, whose duty it was to have a general oversight of
the affairs of the American colonies. It was a permanent commission, the
members of which were called "Lords of Trade and Plantations." It
consisted of seven members, with a president, and was always a ready
instrument of oppression in the hands of the sovereign, and became a
powerful promoter of those discontents in the colonies, which broke out
in open rebellion in 1775.
The peace of Ryswick was of short duration. Aspirants for power again
tormented the people with the evils of war. King James II. died in
France, September, 1701. He had been shielded by Louis after his flight
from his throne to France, and now the French monarch acknowledged
James' son, James Francis Edward (known in history as the pretender) to
be the lawful king of England. This act greatly offended the English,
because the crown had been settled upon Anne, James' second Protestant
daughter. Louis, in addition, had offended the English by placing his
grandson, Philip of Anjou, on the throne of Spain, so increasing the
influence of France among the dynasties of Europe. King William was
enraged and was preparing for war, when a fall from his horse, while
hunting, caused his death. He was succeeded by Anne, and a war ensued,
which lasted almost a dozen years and is known in history as Queen
Anne's War. We have, however, too long dwelt on the general history of
the country. It will be essential to our story that we return to the
village of Salem where superstition was reigning, while the chief
characters of our story were resting in security at Boston, not daring
to go abroad by day.