USA > New Hampshire > Gathered sketches from the early history of New Hampshire and Vermont, containing vivid and interesting account of a great variety of the adventures of our forefathers, and of other incidents of olden times > Part 5
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The Indians (she says) having plundered and put fire to the fort, we marched, as near as I could judge, a mile and a half into the woods, where we en- camped that night. When the morning came, and we had advanced as much farther, six Indians were sent back to the place of our late abode, who col- lected a little more plunder, and destroyed some other effects that had been left behind ; but they did not return until the day was so far spent that it was judged best to continue where we were through the night. Early the next morning we set off for Can- ada, and continued our march eight days succes- sively, until we had reached the place where the Indians had left their canoes, about fifteen miles from Crown Point. This was a long and tedious march ; but the captives, by divine assistance, were enabled to endure it with less trouble and difficulty than they had reason to expect. From such savage masters, in such indigent circumstances, we could not rationally hope for kinder treatment than we
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received. Some of us, it is true, had a harder lot than others ; and, among the children, I thought my son Squire had the hardest of any. He was then only four years old ; and when we stopped to rest our weary limbs, and he sat down on his master's pack, the savage monster would often knock him off, and sometimes, too, with the handle of his hatchet. Several ugly marks, indented in his head by the cruel Indians at that tender age, are still plainly to be seen.
At length we arrived at Crown Point, and took up our quarters there for the space of near a week. In the mean time some of the Indians went to Mon- treal, and took several of the weary captives along with them, with a view of selling them to the French. They did not succeed, however, in finding a market for any of them. They gave my youngest daughter, Submit Phipps, to the governor, De Vaudreuil, had a drunken frolic, and returned again to Crown Point, with the rest of their prisoners. From hence we set off for St. John's, in four or five canoes, just as night was coming on, and were soon surrounded with darkness. A heavy storm hung over us. The sound of the rolling thunder was very terrible upon the waters, which, at every flash of expansive light- ning, seemed to be all in a blaze. Yet to this we were indebted for all the light we enjoyed. No object could we discern any longer than the flashes lasted. In this posture we sailed in our open, tot- tering canoes almost the whole of that dreary night. The morning, indeed, had not yet begun to dawn,
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when we all went ashore ; and, having collected a heap of sand and gravel for a pillow, I laid myself down, with my tender infant by my side, not know- ing where any of my other children were, or what a miserable condition they might be in. The next day, however, under the wing of that ever-present and all-powerful Providence which had preserved us through the darkness and imminent dangers of the preceding night, we all arrived in safety at St. John's.
Our next movement was to St. Francis, the me- tropolis, if I may so call it, to which the Indians who led us captive belonged. Soon after our arrival at their wretched capital, a council, consisting of the chief sachem and some principal warriors of the St. Francis tribe, was convened ; and after the ceremonies usual on such occasions were over, I was conducted and delivered to an old squaw, whom the Indians told me I must call my mother -my infant still continuing to be the property of its original Indian owners. I was nevertheless permitted to keep it with me a while longer, for the sake of sav- ing them the trouble of looking after it, and of maintaining it with my milk. When the weather began to grow cold, shuddering at the prospect of approaching winter, I acquainted my new mother that I did not think it would be possible for me to endure it if I must spend it with her, and fare as the Indians did. Listening to my repeated and earnest solicitations that I might be disposed of among some of the French inhabitants of Canada, she at
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length set off with me and my infant, attended by some male Indians, upon a journey to Montreal, in hopes of finding a market for me there. But the attempt proved unsuccessful, and the journey tedious indeed. Our provisions were so scanty, as well as insipid and unsavory, the weather was so cold, and the travelling so very bad, that it often seemed as if I must have perished on the way. The lips of my poor child were sometimes so benumbed that when I put it to my breast, it could not, till it grew warm, imbibe the nourishment requisite for its sup- port. While we were at Montreal, we went into the house of a certain French gentleman, whose lady, being sent for, and coming into the room where I was, to examine me, seeing I had an infant, exclaimed suddenly in this manner : "Damn it, I will not buy a woman that has a child to look after." There was a swill pail standing near me, in which I observed some crusts and crumbs of bread swimming on the surface of the greasy liquor it contained. Sorely pinched with hunger, I. skimmed them off with my hands, and ate them ; and this was all the refreshment which the house afforded me. Some- where, in the course of this visit to Montreal, my Indian mother was so unfortunate as to catch the small pox, of which distemper she died, soon after our return, which was by water, to St. Francis.
And now came on the season when the Indians began to prepare for a winter's hunt. I was ordered to return my poor child to those of them who still claimed it as their property. This was a severo
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trial. The babe clung to my bosom with all its might; but I was obliged to pluck it thence, and deliver it, shrieking and screaming, enough to pen- etrate a heart of stone, into the hands of those un- feeling wretches, whose tender mercies may be termed cruel. It was soon carried off by a hunting party of those Indians to a place called Messiskow, at the lower end of Lake Champlain, whither, in about a month after, it was my fortune to follow them. I had preserved my milk, in hopes of seeing my beloved child again; and here I found it, it is true, but in a condition that afforded me no great satisfaction, it being greatly emaciated and almost starved. I took it in my arms, put its face to mine, and it instantly bit me with such violence that it seemed as if I must have parted with a piece of my cheek. I was permitted to lodge with it that and the two following nights ; but every morning that intervened, the Indians, I suppose on purpose to tor- ment me, sent me away to another wigwam, which stood at a little distance, though not so far from the one in which my distressed infant was confined but that I could plainly hear its incessant cries and heart-rending lamentations. In this deplorable con- dition I was obliged to take my leave of it, on the morning of the third day after my arrival at the place. We moved down the lake several miles the same day ; and the night following was remarkable on account of the great earthquake,* which terribly
* November 18, 1755.
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shook that howling wilderness. Among the islands hereabout we spent the winter season, often shifting our quarters, and roving about from one place to another, our family consisting of three persons only, besides myself, viz. : my late mother's daughter, whom, therefore, I called my sister, her sanhop,* and a pappoose. They once left me alone two dismal nights ; and when they returned to me again, per- ceiving them smile at each other, I asked, " What is the matter ?" They replied that two of my chil- dren were no more ; one of which, they said, died a natural death, and the other was knocked on the head. I did not utter many words, but my heart was sorely pained within me, and my mind exceed- ingly troubled with strange and awful ideas. I often imagined, for instance, that I plainly saw the naked carcasses of my deceased children hanging upon the limbs of the trees, as the Indians are wont to hang the raw hides of those beasts which they take in hunting.
It was not long, however, before it was so ordered by kind Providence that I should be relieved in a good measure from those horrid imaginations ; for, as I was walking one day upon the ice, observing a smoke at some distance upon the land, it must pro- ceed, thought I, from the fire of some Indian hut ; and who knows but some one of my poor children may be there ? My curiosity, thus excited, led me to the place, and there I found my son Caleb, a little boy between two and three years old, whom I
· Warrior husband.
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OF MRS. JEMIMA HOWE.
had lately buried, in sentiment at least, or, rather, imagined to have been deprived of life, and perhaps also denied a decent grave. I found him likewise in tolerable health and circumstances, under the protection of a fond Indian mother ; and, more- over, had the happiness of lodging with him in my arms one joyful night. Again we shifted our quar- ters, and when we had travelled eight or ten miles upon the snow and ice, came to a place where the Indians manufactured sugar, which they extracted from the maple trees. Here an Indian came to visit us, whom I knew, and could speak English. He asked me why I did not go to see my son Squire. I replied that I had lately been informed that he was dead. He assured me that he was yet alive, and but two or three miles off, on the opposite side of the lake. At my request he gave me the best directions he could to the place of his abode. I resolved to embrace the first opportunity that offered of endeavoring to search it out. While I was busy in contemplating this affair, the Indians obtained a little bread, of which they gave me a small share. I did not taste a morsel of it myself, but saved it all for my poor child, if I should be so lucky as to find him. At length, having obtained from my keepers leave to be absent for one day, I set off early in the morning, and steering as well as I could, according to the directions which the friendly Indian had given me, I quickly found the place which he had so accurately marked out. I beheld, as I drew nigh, my little son without the
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camp ; but he looked, thought I, like a starved and mangy puppy, that had been wallowing in the ashes. I took him in my arms, and he spoke to me these words, in the Indian tongue : " Mother, are you come ?" I took him into the wigwam with me, and observing a number of Indian children in it, I dis- tributed all the bread which I had reserved for my own child among them all, otherwise I should have given great offence. My little boy appeared to be very fond of his new mother, kept as near me as possible while I staid, and when I told him I must go, he fell as though he had been knocked down with a club. But, having recommended him to the care of Him that made him, when the day was far spent, and the time would permit me to stay no longer, I departed, you may well suppose with a heavy load at my heart. The tidings I had received of the death of my youngest child had, a little be- fore, been confirmed to me beyond a doubt; but I could not mourn so heartily for the deceased as for the living child.
When the winter broke up, we removed to St. John's ; and through the ensuing summer our prin- cipal residence was at no great distance from the fort at that place. In the mean time, however, my sister's husband, having been out with a scouting party to some of the English settlements, had a drunken frolic at the fort when he returned. His wife, who never got drunk, but had often experi- enced the ill effects of her husband's intemperance, fearing what the consequence might prove if he
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OF MRS. JEMIMA HOWE.
should come home in a morose and turbulent humor, to avoid his insolence, proposed that we should both retire, and keep out of the reach of it until the storm abated. We absconded, accordingly ; but it so happened that I returned and ventured into his presence before his wife had presumed to come nigh him. I found him in his wigwam, and in a surly mood ; and not being able to revenge upon his wife, because she was not at home, he laid hold of me, and hurried me to the fort, and, for a trifling con- sideration, sold me to a French gentleman whose name was Saccapee. "'Tis an ill wind certainly that blows nobody any good." I had been with the Indians a year lacking fourteen days ; and if not for my sister, yet for me 'twas a lucky circumstance indeed which thus at last, in an unexpected moment, snatched me out of their cruel hands, and placed me beyond the reach of their insolent power.
After my Indian master had disposed of me in the manner related above, and the moment of sober reflection had arrived, perceiving that the man who bought me had taken the advantage of him in an unguarded hour, his resentment began to kindle, and his indignation rose so high that he threatened to kill me if he should meet me alone, or, if he could not revenge himself thus, that he would set fire to the fort. I was therefore secreted in an upper chamber, and the fort carefully guarded, until his wrath had time to cool. My service in the fam- ily to which I was now advanced was perfect free- dom in comparison of what it had been among the 8
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barbarous Indians. My new master and mistress were both as kind and generous towards me as I could any ways expect. I seldom asked a favor of either of them but it was readily granted ; in con- sequence of which I had it in my power in many instances to administer aid and refreshment to the poor prisoners of my own nation who were brought into St. John's during my abode in the family of the above-mentioned benevolent and hospitable Sacca- pee. Yet even in this family such trials awaited me as I had little reason to expect ; but I stood in need of a large stock of prudence to enable me to encounter them. Must I tell you, then, that even the good old man himself, who considered me as his property, and likewise a warm and resolute son of his, at that same time, and under the same roof, be- came both excessively fond of my company ? so that between these two rivals - the father and the son - I found myself in a very critical situation in- deed, and was greatly embarrassed and perplexed, hardly knowing many times how to behave in such a manner as at once to secure my own virtue and the good esteem of the family in which I resided, and upon which I was wholly dependent for my daily support. At length, however, through the tender compassion of a certain English gentleman,* the governor, De Vaudreuil, being made acquainted with the condition I had fallen into, immediately ordered the young and amorous Saccapee, then an officer in the French army, from the field of Venus
* Colonel Peter Schuyler, then a prisoner.
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OF MRS. JEMIMA HOWE.
to the field of Mars, and at the same time also wrote a letter to his father, enjoining it upon him by no means to suffer me to be abused, but to make my situation and service in his family as easy and de- lightful as possible. I was, moreover, under un- speakable obligations to the governor upon another account. I had received intelligence from my daugh- ter Mary, the purport of which was, that there was a prospect of her being shortly married to a young Indian of the tribe of St. Francis, with which tribe she had continued from the beginning of her cap- tivity. These were heavy tidings, and added greatly to the poignancy of my other afflictions. However, not long after I had heard this melancholy news, an opportunity presented of acquainting that humane and generous gentleman, the commander-in-chief, and my illustrious benefactor, with this affair also, who, in compassion for my sufferings, and to miti- gate my sorrows, issued his orders in good time, and had my daughter taken away from the Indians, and conveyed to the same nunnery where her sister was then lodged, with his express injunction that they should both of them together be well looked after and carefully educated, as his adopted chil- dren. In this school of superstition and bigotry they continued while the war in those days between France and Great Britain lasted ; at the conclusion of which war the governor went home to France, took my oldest daughter along with him, and mar- ried her to a French gentleman, whose name is Cron Louis. He was at Boston with the fleet under
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Count d'Estaing, (1778,) as one of his clerks. My other daughter still continuing in the nunnery, a considerable time had elapsed after my return from captivity, when I made a journey to Canada, resolv- ing to use my best endeavors not to return without her. I arrived just in time to prevent her being sent to France. She was to have gone in the next vessel that sailed for that place ; and I found it ex- tremely difficult to prevail with her to quit the nun- nery and go home with me; yea, she absolutely refused ; and all the persuasions and arguments I could use with her were to no effect until after I had been to the governor and obtained a letter from him to the superintendent of the nuns, in which he threatened, if my daughter should not be immediately delivered into my hands, or could not be prevailed with to submit to my maternal authority, that he would send a band of soldiers to assist me in bring- ing her away. Upon hearing this, she made no fur- ther resistance ; but so extremely bigoted was she to the customs and religion of the place, that, after all, she left it with the greatest reluctance and the most bitter lamentations, which she continued as we passed the streets, and wholly refused to be com- forted. My good friend, Major Small, whom we met with on the way, tried all he could to console her, and was so very kind and obliging as to bear us company, and carry my daughter behind him on horseback.
But I have run on a little before my story, for I have not yet informed you of the means and man-
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ner of my own redemption, to the accomplishing of which, the recovery of my daughter, just mentioned, and the ransoming of some of my other children, several gentlemen of note contributed not a little ; to whose goodness, therefore, I am greatly indebted, and sincerely hope I shall never be so ungrateful as to forget .· Colonel Schuyler, in particular, was so very kind and generous as to advance two thousand seven hundred livres to procure a ransom for myself and three of my children. He accompanied and conducted us from Montreal to Albany, and enter- tained us in the most friendly and hospitable man- ner a considerable time at his own house, and I believe entirely at his own expense.
I have spun out the above narrative to a much greater length than I at first intended, and shall conclude it with referring you for a more ample and brilliant account of the captive heroine who is the subject of it to Colonel Humphrey's History of the Life of General Israel Putnam, together with some remarks upon a few clauses in it. I never indeed had the pleasure of perusing the whole of said his- tory, but remember to have seen, some time ago, an extract from it in one of the Boston newspapers, in which the colonel has extolled the beauty, and good sense, and rare accomplishments of Mrs. Howe, the person whom he endeavors to paint in the most lively and engaging colors, perhaps a little too highly, and in a style that may appear to those who are acquainted with her to this day romantic and 8 *
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CAPTIVITY AND SUFFERINGS OF MRS. HOWE.
extravagant ; and the colonel must needs have been misinformed with respect to some particulars that he has mentioned in her history. Indeed, when I read the extract from his history to Mrs. Tute, (which name she has derived from a third husband, whose widow she now remains,) she seemed to be well pleased, and said at first it was all true, but soon after contradicted the circumstance of her lover's being so bereft of his senses, when he saw her moving off in a boat at some distance from the shore, as to plunge into the water after her, in con- sequence of which he was seen no more. It is true, she said, that as she was returning from Montreal to Albany, she met with young Saccapce on the way ; that she was in a boat with Colonel Schuyler ; that the French officer came on board the boat, made her some handsome presents, took his final leave of her, and departed, to outward appearance in tolerable good humor.
She moreover says that when she went to Canada for her daughter, she met with him again ; that he showed her a lock of her hair, and her name, like- wise, printed with vermilion on his arm. As to her being chosen agent to go to Europe, in behalf of the people of Hinsdale, when Colonel Howard ob- tained from the government of New York a patent of their lands on the west side of Connecticut River, it was never once thought of by Hinsdale people until the above-mentioned extract arrived among them, in which the author has inserted it as a mat- ter of undoubted fact.
HILTON, OF FAMOUS MEMORY.
ORIGINAL, C. C.
AMONG the marvellous instances of courageous venture and good fortune which are presented to us in the history of the old days of Indian warfare, nothing is more remarkable than the following, which, while it is unquestionably true in substance, has never, so far as the relater knows, been put in print. It has lain now fifty years in the memory of the relater, who received it from men who had themselves burned gunpowder in Indian wars, and who were familiar with the stories, hardships, and sufferings of their own sires and grandsires. While so many things have been recorded of that great friend, fighter, killer, and circumventor of Indians, it seems strange that the affair about to be related has hitherto escaped the attention of collectors.
This Hilton had been for many years a particular favorite among the red skins, having on various occasions done them good turns in their quarrels with one another. He had also, much to their ad- vantage, at sundry times, stood their true friend in the traffic carried on by them with the pale faces.
(91)
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HILTON, OF FAMOUS MEMORY.
But circumstances changed, and Indians and set- tlers changed with them. In a time of war it was found by the former that all their plans were antici- pated and frustrated, and all their stratagems baf- fled by the bravery, sagacity, and untiring activity of their old friend Hilton. They therefore deter- mined, though sorrowfully, on capturing and killing him at all hazards. The aged chief, who held in grateful memory former days of intimacy, kindness, and friendship, with a lip tremulous in spite of de- termination, and with an eye moistened in sorrow, though fixed and steady as death, said aloud, in tones which never yet had failed of bringing to his cabin the scalps of the slain, "It must be done! Hilton, no longer the red man's friend - Hilton must die ! Warriors, ten of you, brave and saga- cious men, keen of sight and fleet of foot, go to the settlement, nor let me look on your faces again till you show me Hilton, living or dead ! Go, warriors, go !"
This time, sure enough, the Indians got the start of Hilton. Passing the outposts unobserved, and eluding the vigilance of his videttes, they found him, as they came in sight of the settlement, busily and unconcernedly engaged in hoeing corn in a field not far from the fort, while his trusty gun was seen leaning against a tree at some distance.
Their plan was laid at once, which was, to pass around through the woods to a point nearest the gun, secure that, and then rush upon him and take him alive. In this they were successful ; being
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wholly unobserved by the lookouts of the garrison as well as by him, whom alone they wanted to see, until the instant of their laying hands on his weap- on, when, rising to his full, great height over a corn hill, to which he had been stooping for the purpose of removing weeds, he beheld them ad- vancing upon him. It was a critical moment.
But Hilton had seen hard spots before, and had survived ; and it was his determination to do so in this case. Advancing towards them with a quick step and easy affability of manner, his hand being extended in familiar greeting, " Oho ! my old friends," said he, "is it you ? I am glad to see you-in- deed I am - and now what can I do for you ? Will you sit here while I go to the house and bring you out something good to eat and drink ?" " No, no ! Hilton go with Indians- quick, quick !" said the tawny savages. "With all my heart," quoth he. " Lead on, my good fellows. This is not the first time you and I have tramped the woods together. I see how it is-you want me to go and see my old friend, your great chief. It is well ; I shall rejoice to see him once again."
Thus glibly and unconcernedly he talked as they hurried along the forest path.
At length, about six miles from the fort, or gar- rison, they came to a deserted log cabin, where, knowing that they had done their work so adroitly as to occasion no alarm in the settlement, they con- cluded to stop a while, take some food, and prepare themselves for a long march in the forest.
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