USA > Massachusetts > Historical collections, being a general collection of interesting facts, traditions, biographical sketches, anecdotes, &c., relating to the history and antiquities of every town in Massachusetts, with geographical descriptions > Part 23
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On the 15th of March, 1697, a body of Indians made a descent on the westerly part of the town, and approached the house of Mr. Thomas Dustin. They came, as they were wont, arrayed with all the terrors of a savage war dress, with their muskets charged for the contest, their tomahawks drawn for the slaughter, and their scalping knives unsheathed and glittering in the sunbeams. Mr. Dustin at this time was engaged abroad in his daily labor. When the terrific shouts of the blood-hounds first fell on his ear, he seized his gun, mounted his horse, and hastened to his house, with the hope of escorting to a place of safety his family, which consisted of his wife, whom he tenderly and passionately loved, and who had been confined only seven days in childbed, her nurse, Mrs. Mary Neff, and eight young children. Immediately upon his arrival, he rushed into his house, and found it a scene of confusion -- the women trembling for their safety, and the children weeping and calling on their mother for protection. He instantly ordered seven of his children to fly in an oppo- site direction from that in which the danger was approaching, and went himself to assist his wife. But he was too late-before she could arise from her bed, the enemy were upon them.
Mr. Dustin, seeing there was no hope of saving his wife from the clutches of the foe, flew from the house, mounted his horse, and rode full speed after his flying chil- dren. The agonized father supposed it impossible to save them all, and he determined; to snatch from death the child which shared the most of his affections. He soon came up with the infant brood ; he heard their glad voices and saw the cheerful looks that overspread their countenances, for they felt themselves safe while under his protection., He looked for the child of his love-where was it? He scanned the little group from the oldest to the youngest. but he could not find it. They all fondly loved him-they! called him by the endearing title of father, were flesh of his flesh, and stretched out their little arms toward him for protection. He gazed upon them, and faltered in his resolution, for there was none whom he could leave behind ; and, indeed, what parent, could, in such a situation, select the child which shared the most of his affections ? He could not do it, and therefore resolved to defend them from the murderers, or die' at their side.
A small party of the Indians pursued Mr. Dustin as he filed from the house, and soon overtook him and his flying children. They did not, however, approach very' near, for they saw his determination, and feared the vengeance of a father, but skulked behind the trees and fences, and fired upon him and his little company. Mr. Dustin dismounted from his horse, placed himself in the rear of his children, and returned the - . fire of the enemy often and with good success. In this manner he retreated for more than a mile, alternately encouraging his terrified charge, and loading and firing his gun, until he lodged them safely in a forsaken house. The Indians, finding that they could not conquer him, returned to their companions, expecting, no doubt, that they should there find victims, on which they might exercise their savage cruelty.
The party which entered the house when Mr. Dustin left it, found Mrs. Dustin in bed, and the nurse attempting to fly with the infant in her arms. They ordered Mrs. Dustin to rise instantly, while one of them took the infant from the arms of the nurse, carried it out, and dashed out its brains against an apple-tree. After plundering the house they set it on fire, and commenced their retreat, though Mrs. Dustin had but partly dressed herself, and was without a shoe on one of her feet. Mercy was a stran-, ger to the breasts of the conquerors, and the unhappy women expected to receive no, kindnesses from their hands. The weather at the time was exceedingly cold, the March-wind blew keen and piercing, and the earth was alternately covered with snow and deep mud.
They travelled twelve miles the first day, and continued their retreat, day by day, following a circuitous route, until they reached the home of the Indian who claimed them as his property, which was on a small island, now called Dustin's Island, at the mouth of the Contoocook river, about six miles above the state-house in Concord, New Hampshire. Notwithstanding their intense suffering for the death of the child -their anxiety for those whom they had left behind, and who they expected had been
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cruelly butchered-their sufferings from cold and hunger, and from sleeping on the damp earth, with nothing but an inclement sky for a covering-and their terror for themselves, lest the arm that, as they supposed, had slaughtered those whom they dearly loved, would soon be made red with their blood,-notwithstanding all this, they performed the journey without yielding, and arrived at their destination in compara- tive health.
The family of their Indian master consisted of two men, three women, and seven children ; besides an English boy, named Samuel Lennardson, who was taken pri- soner about a year previous, at Worcester. Their master, some years before, had lived in the family of Rev. Mr. Rowlandson, of Lancaster, and he told Mrs. Dustin that " when he prayed the English way he thought it was good, but now he found the French way better."
These unfortunate women had been but a few days with the Indians, when they were informed that they must soon start for a distant Indian settlement, and that, upon their arrival, they would be obliged to conform to the regulations always required of prisoners, whenever they entered the village, which was, to be stripped, scourged, and run the gauntlet in a state of nudity. The gauntlet consisted of two files of Indians, of both sexes and of all ages, containing all that could be mustered in the village ; and the unhappy prisoners were obliged to run between them, when they were scoffed at and beaten by each one as they passed, and were sometimes marks at which the younger Indians threw their hatchets. This cruel custom was often prac- tised by many of the tribes, and not unfrequently the poor prisoner sunk beneath it. Soon as the two women were informed of this, they determined to escape as speedily as possible. They could not bear to be exposed to the scoffs and unrestrained gaze of their savage conquerors-death would be preferable. Mrs. Dustin soon planned a mode of escape, appointed the 31st inst. for its accomplishment, and prevailed upon her nurse and the boy to join her. The Indians kept no watch, for the boy had lived with them so long they considered him as one of their children, and they did not expect that the women, unadvised and unaided, would attempt to escape, when suc- cess, at the best, appeared so desperate.
On the day previous to the 31st, Mrs. Dustin wished to learn on what part of the body the Indians struck their victims when they would despatch them suddenly, and how they took off a scalp. With this view she instructed the boy to make inquiries of one of the men. Accordingly, at a convenient opportunity, he asked one of them where he would strike a man if he would kill him instantly, and how to take off a scalp. The man laid his finger on his temple-" Strike 'em there," said he ; and then instructed him how to scalp. The boy then communicated his information to Mrs. Dustin.
The night at length arrived, and the whole family retired to rest. little suspecting that the most of them would never behold another sun. Long before the break of day, Mrs. Dustin arose, and, having ascertained that they were all in a deep sleep, awoke her nurse and the boy, when they armed themselves with tomahawks, and despatched ten of the twelve. A favorite boy they designedly left ; and one of the squaws, whom they left for dead, jumped up, and ran with him into the woods. Mrs. Dustin killed her master, and Samuel Lennardson despatched the very Indian who told him where to strike, and how to take off a scalp. The deed was accomplished before the day began to break, and, after securing what little provision the wigwam of their dead master afforded, they scuttled all the boats but one, to prevent pursuit, and with that started for their homes. Mrs. Dustin took with her a gun that belonged to her master, and the tomahawk with which she committed the tragical deed. They had not pro- ceeded far, however, when Mrs. Dustin perceived that they had neglected to take their scalps, and feared that her neighbors, if they ever arrived at their homes, would not credit their story, and would ask them for some token or proof. She told her fears to her companions, and they immediately returned to the silent wigwam, took off the scalps of the fallen, and put them into a bag. They then started on their jour- ney anew, with the gun, tomahawk, and the bleeding trophies,-palpable witnesses of their heroic and unparalleled deed.
A long and weary journey was before them, but they commenced it with cheerful hearts, each alternately rowing and steering their little bark. Though they had escaped from the clutches of their unfeeling master, still they were surrounded with dangers. They were thinly clad, the sky was still inclement, and they were liable to be re-captured by strolling bands of Indians, or by those who would undoubtedly pur- sue them so soon as the squaw and the boy had reported their departure, and the ter- rible vengeance they had taken ; and were they again made prisoners, they well knew that a speedy death would follow. This array of danger, however, did not appall them,
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for home was their beacon-light, and the thoughts of their firesides nerved their hearts. They continued to drop silently down the river, keeping a good lookout for strolling Indians ; and in the night two of them only slept, while the third managed the boat. In this manner they pursued their journey, until they arrived safely, with their trophies, at their homes, totally unexpected by their mourning friends, who supposed that they had been butchered by their ruthless conquerors. It must truly have been an affect- ing meeting for Mrs. Dustin, who likewise supposed that all she loved-all she held dear on earth-was laid in the silent tomb.
After recovering from the fatigue of the journey, they started for Boston, where they arrived on the 21st of April. They carried with them the gun and tomahawk, and their ten scalps-those witnesses that would not lie ; and while there, the general court gave them fifty pounds, as a reward for their heroism. The report of their daring deed soon spread into every part of the country, and when Colonel Nicholson, governor of Maryland, heard of it, he sent them a very valuable present, and many presents were also made to them by their neighbors.
The following lines, descriptive of the foregoing, were written by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, editor of the Ladies' Magazine, recently pub- lished in Boston. They contain much of the "soul of poetry." '
THE FATHER'S CHOICE.
Now fly, as flies the rushing wind- Urge, urge thy lagging steed ! The savage yell is fierce behind, And life is on thy speed.
And from those dear ones make thy choice; The group he wildly eyed, When "father!" burst from every voice, And " child !" his heart replied.
There's one that now can share his toil, And one he meant for fame, And one that wears her mother's smile, And one that bears her name ;
The hero may resign the field, The coward murd'rer flee ; He cannot fear, he will not yield, That strikes, sweet love, for thee:
They come, they come-he heeds no cry, Save the soft child-like wail,
" O, father, save !" "My children, fly !" Were mingled on the gale.
And firmer still he drew his breath, And sterner flash'd his eye, As fast he hurls the leaden death, Still shouting, " Children, fly !" -
And twice he smote his clenched hand- Then bade his children fly ! And turned, and e'en that savage band Cowered at his wrathful eye.
Swift as the lightning, winged with death, Flashed forth the quivering flame!
Their fiercest warrior bows beneath The father's deadly aim.
Not the wild cries, that rend the skies, His heart of purpose move ; He saves his children, or he dies The sacrifice of love.
Ambition goads the conqueror on, Hate points the murderer's brand- But love and duty, these alone Can nerve the good man's hand.
And one will prattle on his knee, Or slumber on his breast ; And one whose joys of infancy Are still by smiles expressed.
They feel no fear while he is near ; He'll shield them from the foe ; But oh ! his ear must thrill to hear Their shriekings, should he go.
In vain his quivering lips would speak ; No words his thoughts allow ; There's burning tears upon his cheek- Death's marble on his brow.
No shadow on his brow appeared, Nor tremor shook his frame, Save when at intervals he heard Some trembler lisp his name.
In vain the foe, those fiends unchained, Like famished tigers chafe, The sheltering roof is near'd, is gain'd, All, all the dear ones safe !
The 29th of August, 1708, a party of French and Indians, from Canada, fell upon Haverhill, and killed and captured about forty inhabitants. The following is from Mirick's History of Haverhill.
It is said that their first design was to attack Portsmouth, and then, marching rapidly onward to other settlements, spread terror and desolation along the whole frontier. But being unable to accomplish this on account of the unexpected desertions, they were obliged to compress their views. Their whole force was now about 250, a small number when compared with that which started from Canada. Probably the French officers felt ashamed to return without effecting something, after they had been at so much trouble and expense ; accordingly, Haverhill, a compact village, consisting of about thirty houses, was selected for the slaughter.
At the break of day, on the 29th of August, they passed the frontier garrisons undis- covered, and were first seen near the pound, marching two and two, by John Keezar, who was returning from Amesbury. He immediately ran into the village and alarmed
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the inhabitants, who seem to have slept totally unguarded, by firing his gun near the meeting-house. The enemy soon appeared, making the air ring with terrific yells, with a sort of whistle, which, says tradition, could be heard as far as a horn, and clothed in all the terrors of a savage war-dress. They scattered in every direction over the village, so that they might accomplish their bloody work with more despatch. The first person they saw was Mrs. Smith, whom they shot as she was flying from her house to a garrison. The foremost party attacked the house of Rev. Benjamin Rolfe, which was then garrisoned with three soldiers, and he, and a part of his beloved and accomplished family, were suddenly awakened from their slumbers, only to hear the horrid knell for their departure. Mr. Rolfe instantly leaped from his bed, placed himself against the door, which they were endeavoring to beat in, and called on the soldiers for assistance ; but these craven-hearted men refused to give it, for they were palsied with fear, and walked to and fro through the chambers, crying and swinging their arms. Had they displayed but half the ordinary courage of men, no doubt they would have successfully defended the house. But, instead of that, they did not fire a gun, or even lift a finger towards its defence. The enemy, finding their entrance strenuously opposed, fired two balls through the door, one of which took effect, and wounded Mr. Rolfe in the elbow. They then pressed against it with their united strength, and Mr. Rolfe, finding it impossible to resist thein any longer, fled precipitately through the house, and out at the back door. The Indians followed, overtook him at the well, and despatched him with their tomahawks. They then searched every part of the house for plunder, and also for other victims, on whom they might inflict their savage cruelties. They soon found Mrs. Rolfe and her youngest child, Mehitable, and while one of them sunk his hatchet deep in her head, another took the infant from her dying grasp, and dashed its head against a stone near the door.
Two of Mr. Rolfe's children, about six and eight years of age, were providentially saved by the sagacity and courage of Hagar, a negro slave, who was an inmate of the family. Upon the first alarm, she leaped from her bed, carried them into the cellar, covered them with two tubs, and then concealed herself, The enemy entered the cellar and plundered it of every thing valuable. They repeatedly passed the tubs that covered the two children, and even trod on the foot of one, without discovering them. They drank milk from the pans, then dashed them on the cellar bottom, and took meat from the barrel, behind which Hagar was concealed.
Anna Whittaker, who was then living in the family of Mr. Rolfe, concealed herself in an apple-chest under the stairs, and escaped unharmed. But it fared differently with the cowardly soldiers. They earnestly begged for mercy of their inhuman con- querors, but their cries were unheeded, and, when the massacre was over, their bodies were numbered with the slain.
The family of Thomas Hartshorne suffered as severely as that of Mr. Rolfe. He saw a party approaching to assault his house, which stood a few. rods west of the meeting-house, and escaped out of it, followed by two of his sons, to 'call assistance ; but all three were shot dead immediately after leaving it. A third son was toma- hawked as he was coming out at the door. Mrs. Hartshorne, with that presence of mind which is a characteristic of her sex when surrounded with danger, instantly took the rest of her children-except an infant which she left on a bed in the garret, and which she was afraid would, by its cries, betray their place of concealment, if she took it with her-through a trap-door into the cellar. The enemy entered the house, and began to plunder it, but happily did not discover them. They went into the garret, took the infant from its bed, and threw it out at the window. It fell on a pile of clap- boards, and when the action was over it was found completely stunned. It lived, however, and became a mail of uncommon stature, and of remarkable strength. His neighbors would frequently joke him, and say that the Indians stunted him when they threw him from the garret-window.
One of the parties proceeded towards the river, and attacked the house of Lieut. John Johnson. Mr. Johnson and his wife, with an infant a year old in her arms, were standing at the door when the enemy made their appearance. Mr. Johnson was shot, and his wife fled through the house into the garden, carrying her babe, where she was overtaken by the foe, and immediately despatched. But when she fell, she was careful not to injure her child, and it seemed as if her last thoughts were for its safety. The enemy, it appears, did not murder it, and it is somewhat remarkable that they did not, for they always took great delight in torturing and dashing out the brains of innocent babes. Perhaps it was because the mother was not alive to witness its agonies. After the massacre was over, it was found at the breast of its dead mother.
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Another party rifled and burnt the house of Mr. Silver, which stood within ten rods of the meeting-house, and others attacked the watch-house, which was, however, suc- cessfully defended. Another party went to the house of Capt. Simon Wainwright, whom they killed at the first fire. The soldiers stationed in the chambers were pre- paring to defend the house till the last, when Mrs. Wainwright fearlessly unbarred the door and let them in. She spoke to them kindly, waited upon them with seeming alacrity, and promised to procure them whatever they desired. The enemy knew not what to make of this ;- the apparent cheerfulness with which they were received, and the kindness with which they were treated, was so different from what they expected to meet with, that it seemed to paralyze their energies. They, however, demanded money of Mrs. Wainwright, and upon her retiring "to bring it," as she said, she fled with all of her children, except one daughter, who was taken captive, and were not afterwards discovered. The enemy, so soon as they found out how completely they had been deceived, were greatly enraged, and attacked the chambers with great vio- lence ; but the soldiers courageously defended them, and, after attempting to fire the house, they retreated, taking with them three prisoners. In the mean time, two Indians skulked behind a large stone, which stood in the field a few rods east of the house, where they could fire upon its inmates at their leisure. The soldiers in the chambers fired upon them, and killed them both. They were afterwards buried in the same field, a few rods south, and but, a few years since the water washed their skele- tons from their places of repose.
Two Indians attacked the house of Mr. Swan, which stood in the field now called White's lot, nearly opposite to the house of Capt. Emerson. Swan and his wife saw them approaching, and determined, if possible, to save their own lives, and the lives of their children, from the knives of the ruthless butchers. They immediately placed themselves against the door, which was so narrow that two could scarcely enter abreast .. The Indians rushed against it, but finding that it could not be easily opened, they commenced their operations more systematically. One of them placed his back to the door, so that he could make his whole strength bear upon it, while the other pushed against him. The strength of the besiegers was greater than that of the besieged, and Mr. Swan, being rather a timid man, said our venerable narrator, almost despaired of saving himself and family, and told his wife that he thought it would be better to let them in. But this resolute and courageous woman had no such idea. The Indians had now succeeded in partly opening the door, and one of them was crowding himself in, while the other was pushing lustily after. The heroic wife saw there was no time for parleying-she seized her spit, which was nearly three feet in length, and a deadly weapon in the hands of woman, as it proved, and, collecting all the strength she possessed, drove it through the body of the foremost. This was too warm a reception for the besiegers-it was resistance from a source and with a weapon they little expected ; and, surely, who else would ever think of spitting a man ? The two Indians, thus repulsed, immediately retreated, and did not molest them again. Thus, by the fortitude and heroic courage of a wife and mother, this family was probably saved from a bloody grave.
One of the parties set fire to the back side of the meeting-house, a new and, for that period, an elegant building. These transactions were all performed about the same time ; but they were not permitted to continue their work of murder and conflagration long, before they became panic-struck. Mr. Davis, an intrepid man, went behind Mr. Rolfe's barn, which stood near the house, struck it violently with a large club, called on men by name, gave the word of command, as though he were ordering an attack, and shouted with a loud voice, " Come on ! come on ! we will have them !"
The party in Mr. Rolfe's house, supposing that a large body of the English had come upon them, began the cry of " The English are come !" and, after attempting to fire the house, precipitately left it. About this time Major Turner arrived with a company of soldiers, and the whole body of the enemy then commenced a rapid retreat, taking with them a number of prisoners. The retreat commenced about the rising of the sun. Meantime Mr. Davis ran to the meeting-house, and with the aid of a few others succeeded in extinguishing the devouring element ; but it was mostly owing to his exertions that the house was saved.
The town, by this time, was generally alarmed. Joseph Bradley collected a small party, in the northerly part of it, and secured the medicine-box and packs of the enemy, which they had left about three miles from the village. Capt. Samuel Ayer, a fearless man, and of great strength, collected a body of about twenty men, and pur -. sued the retreating foe. He came up with them just as they were entering the woods. when they faced about, and though they numbered thirteen or more to one, still Capt. Ayer did not hesitate to give them battle. These gallant men were soon reinforced
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by another party, under the command of his son; and after a severe skirmish, which lasted about an hour, they re-took some of the prisoners, and the enemy precipitately retreated, leaving nine of their number dead.
The first minister of Haverhill, Rev. John Ward, is represented as a person of quick apprehension, facetious conversation, "an exact grammarian, an expert physician, and, which was the top of all, a thorough divine; but, which rarely happens, these endow- ments of his mind were accompanied with a most healthy, hardy, and agile constitution of body, which enabled him to make nothing of walking, on foot, a journey as long as thirty miles together." He preached (says Dr. Mather) an excellent sermon in the eighty- eighth year of his age. He died in 1693, and was succeeded by Rev. Benjamin Rolfe, who was killed in the descent of the Indians upon Haverhill, in 1708. The next minister was Rev. Joshua Gardner, who was ordained in 1711, and died in 1715. Rev. John Brown, the next, was ordained in 1719, and died in 1742. His suc- cessor was Rev: Edward Barnard, was ordained in 1743, and died in 1774. The next minister was Rev, John Shaw, settled in 1777, and died suddenly 1794, and was succeeded in 1795 by Rev. Abiel Abbot, D. D., who was dismissed at his own request in 1803, on account of an unhappy controversy having arisen on account of the insufficiency of his salary. Rev. Josiah Dodge, his successor, was ordained in 1808. Mr. Dodge was succeeded by Rev. Dud- ley Phelps, in 1828. The Central church was organized in 1833, and Rev. Joseph Whittlesey settled as pastor the same year. The North church was gathered in 1728 ; the Third church was formed in 1735, and the East church in 1743. The first Baptist church in the county of Essex was gathered in this town, by Rev. Hezekiah Smith, in 1765. Mr. Smith conducted himself with great prudence, and gradually obtained general esteem and respect. He was an eminent clergyman, and in 1797 received a degree of D. D. from Providence college, of which institution he was a faithful friend and trustee. He died in 1805, and was succeeded by the Rev. William Bachelder.
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