USA > New Hampshire > Strafford County > Rochester > History of the town of Rochester, New Hampshire, from 1722 to 1890, Vol. I > Part 2
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A few months only after the capture of the Pennacooks by Major Waldron occurred an event in the history of Indian warfare which gave to a part of our town a name which it has ever since borne. In March or April, 1677, a famous Indian scout and sagamore named "Blind Will," who had been frequently employed by Major Waldron, was sent out by him with seven of his Indians up the Cocheco river, to learn the designs of the enemy. They were sur- prised by a company of Mohawks, who had been stimulated by the English to make war upon their ancient enemies, the Eastern Indi- ans, and most of them were captured or slain. Blind Will himself was dragged away by the hair of his head, and being wounded per- ished in the woods " on a neck of land formed by the confluence of the Cocheco and Isinglass rivers." In the carly town records this place always bears the name, "Blind Will's Neck," now contracted to the simple term "The Neck." Thus more than fifty years be- fore the town was incorporated or known by any distinctive name, " The Neck" had been christened by this bloody incident.
In immediate connection with the story of Blind Will another Indian incident prior to the incorporation of the town finds an appropriate place. Horrible in the extreme, it fitly illustrates the savageness of this barbarous race.
The people living in the neighborhood of the Chestnut hills have probably heard with fear, in their childhood days, of the ghost of Rogers, whose grave is said to be near the camp-ground, or Trickey's ledge. Tradition says that Rogers, whom the Indians on account of his obesity nicknamed " Pork," being a prisoner, was unable to keep up with his captors, and therefore they put him to death in the most cruel manner, sticking pitch wood into his body and thus roast- ing him alive. He was literally barbecued. The place is still shown where his remains are said to be buried. Tradition has not exag- gerated this account, but on the contrary has palliated the statements of authentic history.
In the year 1690 an expedition of twenty-seven French soldiers, and about an equal number of Indians under Hoodgood, a noted warrior,
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was fitted out in Canada against the English settlements. They attacked Salmon Falls, and after an obstinate fight in which thirty of the brave defenders were slain, the garrison surrendered. Fifty- four prisoners were taken, and the atrocity above mentioned took place while on the retreat to Canada. The account is originally derived from Dr. Cotton Mather.
" Robert Rogers, a corpulent man, being unable to carry the burden which the Indians had imposed upon him, threw it down in the path and went aside into the woods to conceal himself. They found him by his tracks, stripped, beat, and pricked him with their swords; then tied him to a tree and danced round him till they had kindled a fire. They gave him time to pray and take leave of his fellow prisoners, who were placed round the fire to see his death. They pushed the fire toward him, and when he was almost stifled, took it away to give him time to breathe, and thus prolonged his misery; they drowned his dying groans with their hideous singing and yelling, all the while dancing round the fire, cutting off pieces of his flesh and throwing them in his face. When he was dead, they left his body broiling on the coals, in which state it was found by his friends and buried."
After reading this we can the more easily imagine what anxiety fell upon the early settlers at the mere intimation that the Indians were lurking around their homes. The very word Indian became a terror. The people were haunted at every step by the fear of sur- prise, and at the slightest alarm families were hurried to the garri- sons for refuge. We cannot wonder that they took their arms with them when they went forth to visit, or to work, to the shop, to the field, or to the church.
" The husbandmen, with muskets o'er them slung, In danger and in watching held the plough ; Sadly and slow the fearful moments sped, For savage men athirst for blood were nigh; And when at eve they bowed the weary head, They knew not but ere morn the war-whoop cry Would reach their lowly roof, and call them out to die."
In 1722 began the Indian war called "Lovewell's War" on account of the bold and memorable exploits of Capt. John Lovewell. He made several successful expeditions against the Indians, but finally being ambushed by a superior force under the chief Paugus near Lovewell's Pond, a long and bloody fight ensued in which he was slain, with many of his company, and the remainder escaped only through great suffering and hardship. This war fell with great severity upon the proprietors of Rochester, costing many of them their lives. The first victim was Joseph Ham, who was killed and three of his children taken prisoners. Soon after, Tristram Heard, another proprietor, was waylaid in the road and killed. Another,
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James Nock, one of the elders of the church at Oyster river, was killed while returning on horseback from setting beaver traps in the woods.
The Provincial Council offered a bounty of one hundred pounds for every Indian scalp. The prospect of so large a reward encour- aged Abraham Benwick to raise a company of volunteers, whose services were speedily called into requisition. In June, 1724, Moses Davis and his son, being at work in a cornfield, went to a brook to drink, where they discovered three Indian packs. Notice was immediately given to the company, and while guiding them to the spot they fell into an ambush and Davis and his son were both killed. The company fired upon the Indians and killed their leader, a half-breed Indian, supposed to be the son of the Jesuit priest Ralle, who was the chief instigator of the Indians against the English set- tlers. His scalp was presented to the lieutenant-governor in council by Robert Burnham, and the bounty was paid to Capt. Francis Mathews in trust for the company. All the men named above were proprietors of Rochester, and Capt Mathews was the first selectman chosen by the town.
Several families of Quakers, although conscientiously opposed to war even in self-defense, yet suffered among the others. Ebenezer Downs, one of this class, having been taken prisoner, was required to dance for the amusement of his captors, and upon refusal was grossly insulted and abused. Another, John Hanson, who lived in Dover and had a large family, adhered to peace principles so rigidly that he would not even remove to the garrison for safety. While he and his eldest daughter were gone to the Friends' weekly meet- ing, a party of French Mohawks entered the house, killed and scalped two small children, captured his wife with an infant, the nurse, two daughters, and a son, and carried them to Canada. When they were afterward redeemed, the Indians threatened that they would again capture them. A party came to Dover for this purpose, but failing of carrying out this design, lying in wait, they shot dead Benjamin Evans, wounded William Evans and cut his throat. John Evans being slightly wounded feigned death, and submitted to be scalped without discovering any signs of life. He lived for many years. Peace was finally concluded in December, 1725.
Peace was not, however, of long duration. France held the Can- adas and Nova Scotia, and was ambitious to connect these with her
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colonies in Louisiana, while England occupied only a narrow strip along the Atlantic coast, and saw with alarm the aggressive move- ments of her rival. Each jealously eager for the extension of her own domains, encroachments and wars continually ensued until the final conquest of Canada by the British brought permanent peace. An Indian war was invariably an appendage to a war between these two nations, and as invariably the Indians were engaged upon the side of France. This is not to be wondered at. The Canadian French were a roving, adventurous people, by their plastic nature well calculated to gain the friendship and alliance of the red man. They were themselves half Indian in manners, joining in the chase and the dance, building and living in wigwams, and training their children to the Indian mode of life. The French Jesuits traversed continent and ocean to carry their religion to these heathen tribes, and though they failed to civilize them yet they exerted over their passions a restraining influence, which was lost, however, as they withdrew from sight. These priests claimed to have converted great numbers; but their conversion consisted in wearing little cru- cifixes on their necks, being immersed in river or lake, and learning by rote a few formulas of prayer. It is not strange, therefore, that they acquired a powerful influence over these forest tribes. There were strong ties of brotherhood between the two races, and as the French always remained loyal to the home government, their Indian allies were easily stimulated to attack the settlements of the English enemies of France. The French furnished arms and ammunition for these hostile excursions, and found ample repayment in the large number of captives for whose redemption heavy ransoms were paid by their friends. The Indians were serviceable allies, wily and cruel foes. They dwelt at remote distances in the wilderness, whither they could be pursued only with great difficulty and expense. Making incursions in small bands, they fell unexpectedly upon the isolated settlements, showing little or no mercy to their victims. Their attacks could never be foreseen. Accustomed to forest life, quick in all their perceptions and motions, trained in the love of cruelty and bloodshed, and expert in every artifice to entrap a foe, they were a dangerous and dreaded race.
Although the settlement of Rochester was long postponed on account of Indian wars, yet for nearly twenty years after the settle- ment began, nothing occurred to interrupt its progress. At this time
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there must have been nearly one hundred and fifty families, and being on the very frontier they were most helplessly exposed to all the horrors of the impending conflict. For a few weeks or months they might have neglected their work and lived in garrisons or en- gaged in active warfare, but as the contest continued year after year they were compelled to expose themselves in order to provide means of subsistence.
In 1744 the proprietors voted to give to the settlers all the mill rents then due, to be appropriated for building five block-houses or forts, -
" three on the great road that leads to Norway Plains, one at Squamanagonic upper mill, and one on the road by Newichwannoc river near the Widdo Tebbets's, or as his Excellency should otherwise order," --
and appointed a committee to carry out the vote. These forts were built, although the rents could not be collected to pay for them. Besides these public garrisons, many others were built at private expense, receiving the names of their owners. One such was built by Richard Wentworth, near where Thomas Fall now lives on the main road. The Rawlins garrison was not far from the same place. The Rev. Amos Main occupied a garrison house near the top of Rochester hill. The Goodwin garrison was on the land now owned by John Crockett, opposite the Bartlett place; Copp's garrison, near where Mr. Crockett lives. The garrison at Squamanagonic stood where now is the garden of Col. Charles Whitehouse. The one upon Newichwannoc road was not far from Asa Roberts's house. The only one of these forts now remaining forms the rear part of the present house of Edward Tebbets. The upper story having been removed and the lower covered with clapboards and painted, it would not be recognized by any outward appearance as a house built to protect the people of Rochester from the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage. Garrisons were built two stories in height, the lower story being of solid timber with strong window shutters fastening upon the inside. The upper story projected three or four feet upon all sides, so that water could be poured down to extinguish flames in case the house should be fired, while an enemy who came near was exposed to certain death. Loop-holes were pro- vided large enough on the outside for a gun-barrel to be pointed through them, and hollowed or beveled upon the inside to allow the gun to be aimed in different directions. The second story was built
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according to the fancy or ability of the owner. In the Richard Wentworth garrison it was made of thick planks dovetailed together at the corners like a chest, and without any frame, except a few braces. The cellars of the public garrisons were divided by walls. into many apartments for the accommodation of different families; this was the case with the one at Gonic. As an additional protec- tion, oftentimes the whole building was surrounded with a rampart. or palisade formed of timber or posts set in the ground. To these fortified houses the men, when driven from their labor in the field, retreated; here they left their women and children when they went abroad; and here they were compelled to pass much of their own time in inactivity, while perhaps the cattle were being killed in the pastures near by, and the crops remained unharvested or were being destroyed by the enemy.
A few anecdotes will illustrate the cunning of the Indians and the. necessary caution of the settlers. One day the cattle were discov- ered in the cornfield at Col. McDuffee's. The boys were starting at once to drive them out, when they were stopped by the Colonel, who said he knew the fence was strong, and the rascally Indians must have laid a plot to trap them. No one was allowed to move out of doors for a day or two, but when it was safe to venture forth, the place of concealment contrived by the Indians was discovered, and it was evident that they had broken down the fence, driven the cattle into the field, and placed themselves in ambush to kill or cap- ture whoever came out. At one of the garrisons a large number of hogs were kept, which were suffered to roam about during the day to feed upon acorns and such other food as they could find, and were called home at night. One evening they were called a long time, but none made their appearance. In the night, when it was quite dark, the hogs seemed to return suddenly, and a grunting as of a large drove was heard all around the building. The family, however, were too wary to be deceived, and at once suspected the truth, that the Indians had dispatched the hogs and were now imi- tating their grunts to entice somebody out of the garrison. These are only a few out of the many tricks and treacheries of their crafty foes. More than once a hatchet was found sticking in the garrison door, as a token of threatening and defiance. That the imagination of the settlers sometimes magnified the real danger or excited need- less fears is very probable. It could hardly be otherwise ; for little
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would be required to produce alarm after a few persons had fallen vietims to these wily and savage foes.
A thrill of horror ran through the settlement when on the twenty- seventh day of June, 1746, by an artfully contrived and boldly exe- euted plot, four men were murdered within sight of a garrison, and a fifth was wounded and taken prisoner. Their names were Ger- shom Downs, Joseph Heard, John Richards, and Joseph Richards. They were on the way to their work in the field, carrying guns and traveling in company for mutual protection. A band of Indians, having first sent one of their number forward to station himself behind a tree at a convenient distance on the opposite side of the road, had concealed themselves near where these men must pass. Having thus prepared a snare with the noted cunning of the race, they awaited the approach of their victims. When the workmen arrived at the ambush the solitary decoy suddenly stepped forth in full view and fired upon the company. "Face your enemies; fire!" was the instant order of Joseph Richards who acted as captain. All immediately discharged their pieces at the savage, who having thus drawn their fire, instantly disappeared and escaped unharmed. The remaining Indians springing from their ambush in the rear, immediately rushed forward with terrific whoops and yells. All the guns on both sides having been discharged, an exciting race ensued. The men fled down the road toward a deserted house owned by John Richards. The Indians followed with caution, lest some of the guns might still remain loaded. The flying party, except John Richards, who was wounded succeeded in reaching the house. Closing the door behind them, they planted themselves firmly against it and hastened to reload their guns. But before they could accomplish this, the Indians mounted to the roof, tore off the poles of which it was constructed, and falling upon the now defenseless men, dispatched them in the most brutal manner. The guns of the murdered men were afterwards found half-loaded; and an unfinished web which Mrs. Richards had left in the loom, was stained with the blood of her neighbors. John Richards, instead of following the others, directed his flight towards the garrison where his wife was dwelling; but before he could reach it, an Indian overtook him, and with uplifted tomahawk was about to take his life. Richards called for quarter and was spared. His wound not being dangerous, and being able to travel, he was carried prisoner to Canada. This
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massacre occurred near the spot where a schoolhouse now stands, on the main road. The ambush was a short distance this side, near where Bidfield Meserve now resides. Taking the wounded Rich- ards with them, the Indians, to escape pursuit, struck hastily into Whitehall swamp. After killing some cattle and cutting out their tongues and a few tidbits, they came out on the Salmon Falls road near Adams's Corner. Here a party of men were at work in the field, one of whom had stationed his son, Jonathan Dore, a boy of twelve years, on the fence to keep a sharp lookout and give the alarm if any Indians appeared. As in youthful innocence he sat whistling on the fence, the Indians suddenly came in sight. He gave the alarm and the men all escaped; but before he could get down from the fence the Indians had seized him. The father from his hiding-place saw his son captured and carried away, but knew that all attempts at rescue were hopeless.
The foregoing account of the capture of Richards and the slaugh- ter of his companions is founded upon a few lines in Belknap's His- tory. In order to form a more minute and connected narrative, incidents and particulars derived from tradition and other sources have here been added. The correctness of Belknap's history of the affair has been unjustly questioned by a great-grandson of Richards, who received a different version from his father Tristram. His account was published in a history of the Richards family by Rev. Abner Morse. The following is the account as given in Mr. Morse's book, and is, to say the least, interesting : -
" Richards and the other young man [doubtless meaning Dore] having arrived in Canada and appearing to be contented, were permitted to go out hunting with the Indians ; and as they did not try to escape were, after about a year, allowed to go out alone. They then planned a way to escape. They found a large hollow log in the forest, and prepared it to hide in. As they passed that way they stowed a part of their provision there, and one evening crawled into the log out of sight. The Indians, finding that Richards and his mate did not come home at dark as usual, were soon searching for them, making the woods ring with their calls and answers, and many times passed over the log. After twenty-four hours' search the Indians gave them up and retired to their wigwams. Richards and his mate hearing no more of the Indians, then crept from their hiding-place and started for Rochester. Their scanty allowance was soon gone, and they began to suffer from hunger and fatigue. Richards's mate now gave himself up to die, as he could go no further. Richards, being loath to leave him, carried him some distance, but finding his own strength failing also, and the young man begging Richards not to die with him, but to save his own life if possible, he reluctantly consented to do so. They found here the entrails of a deer, which some hunter had left, and striking a fire, broiled it on the coals. 'This,' said Richards, 'was the sweet- est meat that I ever ate.' He now left his companion, but had proceeded but a little way when he heard dogs barking behind him, and returning discovered
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that some hunters had found his friend. They were from Rochester, and carried Richards and his friend home."
Not to dwell upon the improbability that hunters from Rochester should have been, in time of war, at such a dangerous distance in the wilderness in the enemy's country, it is well known that Dore did not escape as related. After careful investigation there is no doubt the following accounts are substantially correct. Belknap's general accuracy as a historian is unquestioned. He derived his information of this particular event from the Rev. Joseph Haven, at a period when many persons were still living who dwelt here when these events took place. Even Richards himself lived in the village after Mr. Haven's settlement here. The account also agrees with the tradition pre- served and credited by the people in the locality of the tragedy.
Richards was kindly used by the Indians, and under their skillful treatment his wound was soon healed. After remaining a year and a half in Canada, he was sent by a flag of truce to Boston, and thence returned to his friends at Rochester. He bought the place now owned by a son of Hon. Jacob H. Ela, and here lived till 1792, when he died at the age of seventy. His son of the same name inher- ited the place, and for years was a miller in the Horne and Hurd mill, opposite where Dea. Barker's grist-mill now stands. He served through the Revolutionary War; was in the battle of Bunker Hill and at the surrender of Ticonderoga, where he narrowly escaped capture. He was also at the battle of Bennington and at the sur- render of Burgoyne. He is remembered by many now living. The following lines are commemorative of Richards and his mill : -
" Roll on, fair river ! yield your torrent still, And turn with vigorous sweep Old Richards' mill. While others sing the men and deeds of fame, Be ours to consecrate Old Richards' name. For oft the aged miller at his hearth Detained our boyish troop with well-timed mirth; Told us strange tales, nor waited to be pressed. Laughing old man ! he loved the tale and jest ; Strong was his arm, and while the mill went round, He hooped his pails and tubs with clattering sound. His long gray coat with dust was thick beset; His broad-brimmed hat was hat and epaulette; Nor was he all for jesting, - in a trice He sober grew, and gave us sage advice, With shake of head and keen emphatic eye Descanting loud on truth and honesty. But baffled oft to make his audience hear, When wheels and tubs and hammer claimed the ear, He raised his voice, and with its accents shrill Defied the deafening clamor of the mill."
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Nothing was heard of young Dore until the surrender of Fort William Henry in August, 1757, more than eleven years after his capture. This fort was garrisoned by British soldiers, among whom were recruits from New Hampshire towns. When compelled to surrender, it was stipulated that the French should protect the garrison from the Indians, who were ready to massacre them. But the French perfidiously abandoned the garrison, after they had laid down their arms and marched out of the fort, and one of the most horrible scenes of butchery recorded in American annals took place. The Indians were unrestrained, and nearly half of the garrison were murdered. Among the New Hampshire soldiers who escaped was a Dover man. On his arrival home he declared confidently that he had seen Jonathan Dore. Dore's father's house had been a stopping- place for teamsters who came from Dover to Rochester for the pur- pose of logging on the Salmon Falls river. This man had been there frequently, and knew Dore well when a child. He said that when the massacre became general after the surrender of the fort, he fled to the woods and was closely pursued by an Indian. When he found the Indian was within a few feet of him, having no way of escape he turned round and faced the Indian, to meet his unavoid- able fate. The uplifted tomahawk was just descending upon his head when he recognized, amid the paint and costume of the Indian, the eyes of Jonathan Dore. The recognition seemed mutual. The Indian dropped his tomahawk by his side and walked slowly back to the fort. This story of the soldier gained little credit. It was not thought possible that the boy of twelve could be recognized in the man of twenty-three painted and dressed as a native of the wil- derness. Nothing more was heard of Dore until December, 1759, when he suddenly made his appearance in Rochester, after an ab- sence of thirteen years and a half. His story was substantially as follows :- He was treated kindly and adopted into the St. Francis tribe, to which his captors belonged. He married an Indian girl at an early age, and had several children. He acquired the habits and disposition of an Indian, and almost forgot that he was descended from another race. He bore a part in all the cruelties at the taking of Fort William Henry. A white man whom he was pursuing turned upon him just in season to arrest the descending tomahawk, and then Dore saw a face which had been familiar to him in the days of childhood. The recollection of his father's fireside and the
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