On the 10th of June, I embarked with the Indian deputation, composed of sixteen men. Twenty had been the number originally designed; and upward of fifty actually engaged themselves to the council for the undertaking; to say nothing of the general enthusiasm, at the moment of hearing the Great Turtle’s promises. But exclusively of the degree of timidity which still prevailed, we are to take into account the various domestic calls, which might supersede all others, and detain many with their families.
In the evening of the second day of our voyage, we reached the mouth of the Missisaki, where we found about forty Indians, by whom we were received with abundant kindness, and at night regaled at a great feast, held on account of our arrival. The viand was a preparation of the roe of the sturgeon, beat up, and boiled, and of the consistence of porridge.
After eating, several speeches were made to us, of which the general topic was a request that we should recommend the village to Sir William Johnson. This request was also specially addressed to me, and I promised to comply with it
On the 14th of June, we passed the village of La Cloche, of which the greater part of the inhabitants were absent, being already on a visit to Sir William Johnson. This circumstance greatly encouraged the companions of my voyage, who now saw that they were not the first to run into danger.
The next day, about noon, the wind blowing very hard, we were obliged to put ashore at Point aux Grondines, a place of which some description has been given before. While the Indians erected a hut, I employed myself in making a fire. As I was gathering wood, an unusual sound fixed my attention for a moment; but, as it presently ceased, and as I saw nothing from which I could suppose it to proceed, I continued my employment, till, advancing further, I was alarmed by a repetition. I imagined that it came from above my head; but afterlooking that way in vain, I cast my eyes on the ground, and there discovered a rattlesnake, at not more than two feet from my naked legs. The reptile was coiled, and its head raised considerably above its body. Had I advanced another step before my discovery, I must have trodden upon it.
I no sooner saw the snake than I hastened to the canoe, in order to procure my gun; but the Indians, observing what I was doing, inquired the occasion, and being informed, begged me to desist. At the same time they followed me to the spot, with their pipes and tobacco pouches in their hands. On returning, I found the snake still coiled.
The Indians, on their part, surrounded it, all addressing it by turns, and calling it theirgrandfather; but yet keeping at some distance. During this part of the ceremony they filled their pipes; and now each blew the smoke toward the snake, who, as it appeared to me, really received it with pleasure. In a word, after remaining coiled, and receiving incense, for the space of half an hour, it stretched itself along the ground in visible good humor. Its length was between four and five feet. Having remained outstretched for some time, at last it moved slowly away, the Indians following it, and still addressing it by the title of grandfather, beseeching it to take care of their families during their absence, and to be pleased to open the heart of Sir William Johnson, so that he mightshow them charity, and fill their canoes with rum.
One of the chiefs added a petition that the snake would take no notice of the insult which had been offered him by the Englishman, who would even have put him to death but for the interference of the Indians, to whom it was hoped he would impute no part of the offense. They further requested that he would remain and inhabit their country, and not return among the English, that is, go eastward.
After the rattlesnake was gone, I learned that this was the first time that an individual of the species had been seen so far to the northward and westward of the river Des Français; a circumstance, moreover, from which my companions were disposed to infer that thismanitohad come or been sent on purpose to meet them; that his errand had been no other than to stop them on their way; and that consequently it would be most advisable to return to the point of departure. I was so fortunate, however, as to prevail with them to embark; and at six o’clock in the evening we again encamped. Very little was spoken of through the evening, the rattlesnake excepted.
Early the next morning we proceeded. We had a serene sky and very little wind, and the Indians therefore determined on steering across the lake to an island which just appeared in the horizon; saving, bythis course, a distance of thirty miles, which would be lost in keeping the shore. At nine o’clock, A.M., we had a light breeze astern, to enjoy the benefit of which we hoisted sail. Soon after the wind increased, and the Indians, beginning to be alarmed, frequently called on the rattlesnake to come to their assistance. By degrees the waves grew high; and at eleven o’clock it blew a hurricane, and we expected every moment to be swallowed up. From prayers the Indians now proceeded to sacrifices, both alike offered to the god rattlesnake, ormanito kinibic. One of the chiefs took a dog, and after tying its fore legs together, threw it overboard, at the same time calling on the snake to preserve us from being drowned, and desiring him to satisfy his hunger with the carcass of the dog. The snake was unpropitious, and the wind increased. Another chief sacrificed another dog, with the addition of some tobacco. In the prayer which accompanied these gifts, he besought the snake, as before, not to avenge upon the Indians the insult which he had received from myself, in the conception of a design to put him to death. He assured the snake that I was absolutely an Englishman, and of kin neither to him nor to them.
At the conclusion of this speech, an Indian who sat near me observed, that if we were drowned it would be for my fault alone, and that I ought myself to be sacrificed, to appease the angry manito; nor was I without apprehensions that in case of extremity this would be my fate; but happily for me, the storm at length abated, and we reached the island safely.
The next day was calm, and we arrived at the entrance of the navigation which leads to lake Aux Claies. (This lake is now called lake Simcoe.) We presently passed two short carrying-places, at each of which were several lodges of Indians, (these Indians are Chippeways, of the particular description called Missisakies; and from their residence at Matchedash, or Matchitashk, also called Matchedash or Matchitashk Indians,) containing only women and children, the men being gone to the council at Niagara. From this, as from a former instance, my companions derived new courage.
On the 18th of June, we crossed lake Aux Claies, which appeared to be upwards of twenty miles in length. At its further end we came to the carrying-place of Toronto. Here the Indians obliged me to carry a burden of more than a hundred pounds weight. The day was very hot, and the woods and marshes abounded with musquitoes; but the Indians walked at a quick pace, and I could by no means see myself left behind. The whole country was a thick forest, through which our only road was a foot-path, or such as, in America, is exclusively termed anIndian path.
Next morning at ten o’clock, we reached the store of lake Ontario. Here we were employed two days in making canoes out of the bark of the elm tree, in which we were to transport ourselves to Niagara. For this purpose the Indians first cut down a tree; then stripped off the bark in one entire sheet of about eighteen feet in length, the incision being lengthwise. The canoe was now complete as to its top, bottom, and sides. Its ends were next closed by sewing the bark together; and a few ribs and bars being introduced, the architecture was finished. In this manner we made two canoes, of which one carried eight men and the other nine.
On the 21st, we embarked at Toronto, and encamped in the evening four miles short of fort Niagara, which the Indians would not approach till morning.
At dawn, the Indians were awake, and presently assembled in council, still doubtful as to the fate they were to encounter, I assured them of the most friendly welcome; and at length, after painting themselves with the most lively colors, in token of their own peaceable views, and after singing the song which is in use among them on going into danger, they embarked, and made for point Missisaki, which is on the north side of the mouth of the river or strait of Niagara, as the fort is on the south. A few minutes after I crossed over to the fort; and here I was received by Sir William Johnson, in a manner for which I have ever been gratefully attached to his person and memory.
Thus was completed my escape from the sufferings and dangers which the capture of fort Michilimackinac brought upon me; but the property which I had carried into the upper country was left behind. The reader will therefore be far from attributing to me any idle or unaccountable motive, when he finds me returning to the scene of my misfortunes.
FOOTNOTES:[61]The Panies are an Indian nation of the South.
FOOTNOTES:
[61]The Panies are an Indian nation of the South.
[61]The Panies are an Indian nation of the South.
James Whidden, the maternal grandfather of Mrs. Shute, was a captain in the army at the taking of Cape Breton in 1745. He owned a tract of land on Swan Island, in the river Kennebec, where he lived with his family. One of his daughters married Lazarus Noble, of Portsmouth, who lived on the island with her father. The Indians had been accustomed to visit Capt. Whidden for the purposes of trade. There was a garrison on the island to secure the inhabitants from the attacks of the enemy in time of war.
One morning, about the year 1755, a little after daybreak, two boys went out of the garrison and left the gate open. The Indians were on the watch, and, availing themselves of the opportunity, about ninety entered the garrison. The inhabitants immediately discovered that the enemy was upon them; but there was no escape. Captain Whidden and his wife retreated to the cellar, and concealed themselves. Noble and his hired man met the Indians at the head of the stairs, and fired upon them, wounding one of them in the arm. The Indians did not return the fire, but took Noble, his wife and seven children, with Timothy Whidden and Mary Holmes, prisoners. The hired man and two boys escaped. The captives were carried to the water’s side and bound; excepting such as could not run away. The Indians then returned to the garrison, burnt the barn and plundered the house, cut open the feather beds, strewed the feathers in the field, and carried off all the silver and gold they could find, and as much of the provisions as they chose. It was supposed they omitted to burn the house from the suspicion that the captain and his wife, from whom they had, in times of peace, received many favors, were concealed in it. Captain Whidden, after the destruction of his property on the island returned to Greenland, in this state, which is supposed to have been his native place, and there died.
The Indians also took, in a wood on the island, an old man by the name of Pomeroy, who was employed in making shingles. Having collected their captives and plunder, they immediately left the island, and commenced their return to Canada to dispose of their prey. Pomeroy was old and feeble, and unable to endure the fatigue of the march, without more assistance than the savages thought fit to render him, and they killed him on the journey. They were more attentive to the children, as for them they undoubtedly expected a higher price or a greater ransom. Abigail, one of the children, died among the Indians. The other captives arrived safe in Canada, and were variously disposed of. Mr. Noble was sold to a baker in Quebec, and his wife to a lady of the same place as a chambermaid. They were allowed to visit each other and to sleep together. Four of the children were also sold in Quebec, as were Timothy Whidden and Mary Holmes. The captives in that city were exchanged within a year, and returned to their homes. Mr. Whidden and Miss Holmes were afterward united in marriage.
Fanny Noble, the principal subject of this memoir, at the time of her captivity, was about thirteen months old. She was carried by a party of Indians to Montreal. In their attempts to dispose of her, they took her one day to the house of Monsieur Louis St. Auge Charlee, an eminent merchant of that place, who was at that time on a journey to Quebec. His lady was called into the kitchen by one of her maids to see a poor infant crawling on the tile floor in dirt and rags, picking apple peelings out of the cracks. She came in, and on kindly noticing the child, Fanny immediately caught hold of the lady’s gown, wrapped it over her head, and burst into tears. The lady could not easily resist this appeal to her compassion. She took up the child, who clung about her neck and repeatedly embraced her. The Indians offered to sell her their little captive, but she declined buying, not choosing probably in the absence of her husband to venture on such a purchase. The Indians left the house, and slept that night on the pavements before the door. Fanny, who had again heard the voice of kindness, to which she had not been accustomed from her savage masters, could not be quiet, but disturbed the slumbers and touched the heart of the French lady by her incessant cries. This lady had then lately lost a child by death, and was perhaps more quick to feel for the sufferings of children, and more disposed to love them, than she would otherwise have been. Early the next morning the Indians were called into the house; Fanny was purchased, put into a tub of water, and having been thoroughly washed, was dressed in the clothes of the deceased child, and put to bed. She awoke smiling, and seemed desirous of repaying her mistress’ kindnessby her infantile prattle and fond caresses. Fanny could never learn for what price she was bought of the Indians, as her French mother declined answering her questions upon that subject, telling her to be a good girl, and be thankful that she was not still in their power.
M. and Madam St. Auge took a lively interest in their little captive, and treated her with much tenderness and affection. She felt for them a filial attachment. When her parents were exchanged, her mother, on her return home, called upon Fanny, and took the child in her arms, but no instinct taught her to rejoice in the maternal embrace, and she fled for protection to her French mamma. Mrs. Noble received many presents from the French lady, and had the satisfaction to see that her daughter was left in affectionate hands.
Fanny was taught to call and consider M. and Madam St. Auge as her parents. They had her baptized by the name of Eleanor, and educated her in the Roman Catholic religion. She learned her Pater Nosters and Ave Marias, went to mass, crossed herself with holy water, and told her beads with great devotion.
When four or five years old, she was enticed away from her French parents by Wheelwright, who had been employed by the government of Massachusetts to seek for captives in Canada. He carried her to the Three Rivers, where he had several other captives, and left her, as he pretended, with a relation of her French father for a few days, when she expected to return to Montreal. But she had not been to the Three Rivers more than twenty-four hours, when the old squaw who had sold her to Madam St. Auge came along in a sleigh, accompanied by a young sanop, seized upon Fanny, and carried her to St. Francois, where they kept her about a fortnight. She had now attained an age when she would be sensible of her misfortunes, and bitterly lamented her separation from her French parents. The Indians endeavored to pacify and please her by drawing on her coat or frock the figures of deer, wolves, bears, fishes, &c.; and once, probably to make her look as handsomely as themselves, they painted her cheeks in the Indian fashion, which very much distressed her, and the old squaw made them wipe off the paint. At one time she got away from the savages, and sought refuge in the best looking house in the village, which belonged to a French priest, who kissed her, asked her many questions, and treated her kindly, but gave her up to the claim of her Indian masters. While at St Francois, her brother, Joseph Noble, who had not been sold to the French, but still lived with the Indians, came to see her, but she had a great aversion to him. He was in his Indian dress, and she would not believe him to be a relation, or speak to him if she could avoid it. Shewas at last turned back by the Indians to Montreal, and to her great satisfaction was delivered to her French father, who rewarded the Indians for returning her. It was doubtless the expectation of much reward which induced the old squaw to seize her at the Three Rivers, as the Indians not unfrequently stole back captives, in order to extort presents for their return from the French gentlemen to whom the same captives had before been sold. Before this time she had been hastily carried from Montreal, hurried over mountains and across waters, and concealed among flags, while those who accompanied her were evidently pursued, and in great apprehension of being overtaken; but the occasion of this flight or its incidents she was too young to understand or distinctly to remember, and she was unable afterward to satisfy herself whether her French father conveyed her away to keep her out of the reach of her natural friends, or whether she was taken by those friends, and afterward retaken, as at the Three Rivers, and returned to Montreal. The French parents cautiously avoided informing her upon this subject, or upon any other which should remind her of her captivity, her country, her parents, or her friends, lest she should become discontented with her situation, and desirous of leaving those who had adopted her. They kept her secreted from her natural friends, who were in search of her, and evaded every question which might lead to her discovery. One day, when M. St. Auge and most of his family were at mass, she was sent with another captive to the third story of the house, and the domestics were required strictly to watch them, as it was known that some of her relations were then in the place endeavoring to find her. Of this circumstance she was then ignorant, but she was displeased with her confinement, and with her little companion found means to escape from their room and went below. While raising a cup of water to her mouth, she saw a man looking at her through the window, and stretching out his arm toward her, at the same time speaking a language which she could not understand. She was very much alarmed, threw down her water, and ran with all possible speed to her room. Little did she suppose that it was her own father, from whom she was flying in such fear and horror. He had returned to Canada to seek those of his children who remained there. He could hear nothing of his Fanny; but watching the house, he perceived her, as was just stated, and joyfully stretching his arms toward her, exclaimed, “There’s my daughter! O! that’s my daughter!” But she retreated, and he could not gain admittance, for the house was guarded and no stranger permitted to enter. How long he continued hovering about her is unknown, but he left Canada without embracing her or seeing her again.
Her French parents put her to a boarding school attached to a nunnery in Montreal, where she remained several years, and was taught all branches of needle-work, with geography, music, painting, &c. In the same school were two Misses Johnsons, who were captured at Charlestown, in 1754, and two Misses Phipps, the daughters of Mrs. Howe, who was taken at Hinsdale, in 1755. Fanny was in school when Mrs. Howe came for her daughters, and long remembered the grief and lamentations of the young captives when obliged to leave their school and mates to return to a strange, though their native country, and to relatives whom they had long forgotten.
While at school at Montreal, her brother Joseph again visited her. He still belonged to the St. Francois tribe of Indians, and was dressed remarkably fine, having forty or fifty broaches in his shirt, clasps on his arm, and a great variety of knots and bells about his clothing. He brought his little sister Ellen, as she was then called, and who was then not far from seven years old, a young fawn, a basket of cranberries and a lump of sap sugar. The little girl was much pleased with the fawn, and had no great aversion to cranberries and sugar, but she was much frightened by the appearance of Joseph, and would receive nothing from his hands, till, at the suggestion of her friends, he had washed the paint from his face and made some alteration in his dress, when she ventured to accept his offerings, and immediately ran from his presence. The next day, Joseph returned with the Indians to St. Francois, but some time afterward M. St. Auge purchased him of the savages, and dressed him in the French style; but he never appeared so bold and majestic, so spirited and vivacious, as when arrayed in his Indian habit and associating with his Indian friends. He however became much attached to St. Auge, who put him to school; and when his sister parted with him upon leaving Canada, he gave her a strict charge not to let it be known where he was, lest he too should be obliged to leave his friends and return to the place of his birth.
When between eleven and twelve years of age, Fanny was sent to the school of Ursuline nuns in Quebec, to complete her education. Here the discipline was much more strict and solemn than in the school at Montreal. In both places the teachers were called half nuns, who, not being professed, were allowed to go in and out at pleasure; but at Quebec the pupils were in a great measure secluded from the world, being permitted to walk only in a small garden by day, and confined by bolts and bars in their cells at night. This restraint was irksome to Fanny. She grew discontented; and at the close of the year was permitted to return to her French parents at Montreal, and again enter the school in that city.
While Fanny was in the nunnery, being then in her fourteenth year, she was one day equally surprised and alarmed by the entrance of a stranger, who demanded her of the nuns as a redeemed captive. Her father had employed this man, Arnold, to seek out his daughter and obtain her from the French, who had hitherto succeeded in detaining her. Arnold was well calculated for this employment. He was secret, subtle, resolute and persevering. He had been some time in the city without exciting a suspicion of his business. He had ascertained where the captive was to be found—he had procured the necessary powers to secure her, and in his approach to the nunnery was accompanied by a sergeant and a file of men. The nuns were unwilling to deliver up their pupil, and required to know by what right he demanded her. Arnold convinced them that his authority was derived from the governor, and they durst not disobey. They, however, prolonged the time as much as possible, and sent word to M. St. Auge, hoping that he would be able in some way or other to detain his adopted daughter. Arnold, however, was not to be delayed or trifled with. He sternly demanded the captive by the name of Noble in the governor’s name, and the nuns were awed into submission. Fanny, weeping and trembling, was delivered up by those who wept and trembled too. She accompanied Arnold to the gate of the nunnery, but the idea of leaving forever those whom she loved and going with a company of armed men, she knew not whither, was too overwhelming, and she sank upon the ground. Her cries and lamentations drew the people around her, and she exclaimed bitterly against the cruelty of forcing her away, declaring that she could not and would not go any further as a prisoner with those frightful soldiers. At this time an English officer appeared in the crowd; he reasoned with her, soothed her, and persuaded her to walk with him, assuring her the guard should be dismissed and no injury befall her. As they passed by the door of M. St. Auge, on their way to the inn, her grief and exclamations were renewed, and it was with great difficulty that she could be persuaded to proceed. But the guard had merely fallen back, and were near enough to prevent a rescue, had an attempt been made. Captain M’Clure, the English officer, promised her that she should be permitted to visit her French parents the next day. She found them in tears, but they could not detain her. M. St. Auge gave her a handful of money, and embraced her, blessed her, and rushed out of the room. His lady supplied her with clothes, and their parting was most affectionate and affecting. She lived to a considerably advanced age, but she could never speak of this scene without visible and deep emotion.
She was carried down the river to Quebec, where she tarried a fewdays, and then sailed with Captain Wilson for Boston. She arrived at that port in July, one month before she was fourteen years of age. She was joyfully received by her friends, but her father did not long survive her return. After his death she resided in the family of Captain Wilson, at Boston, until she had acquired the English language, of which before she was almost entirely ignorant. She then went to Newbury, and lived in the family of a relative of her father, where she found a home, and that peace to which she had long been a stranger. Her education had qualified her for the instruction of youth, and she partially devoted herself to that employment. She was engaged in a school at Hampton, where she formed an acquaintance with Mr. Jonathan Tilton, a gentleman of good property in Kensington, whom she married about the year 1776. He died in 1798. In 1801, she married Mr. John Shute, of New Market, and lived in the village of Newfields, in that town, till her death, in September, 1819. She was much respected and esteemed in life, and her death was, as her life had been, that of a Christian.
In the year 1677, September the 19th, between sunset and dark, the Indians came upon us.[62]I and another man, being together, we ran away at the outcry the Indians made, shouting and shooting at some others of the English that were hard by. We took a swamp that was at hand for our refuge; the enemy espying us so near them, ran after us, and shot many guns at us; three guns were discharged upon me, the enemy being within three rods of me, besides many others before that. Being in this swamp, which was miry, I slumped in and fell down, whereupon one of the enemy stepped to me, with his hatchet lifted up to knock me on the head, supposing that I had been wounded and so unfit for any other travel. I, as it happened, had a pistol by me, which, though uncharged, I presented to the Indian, who presently stepped back, and told me if I would yield I should have no hurt; he said, which was not true, that they had destroyed all Hatfield, and that the woods were full of Indians, whereupon I yielded myself, and falling into their hands, was by three of them led away unto the place whence first I began to make my flight. Here two other Indians came running to us, and the one lifting up the butt end of his gun, to knock me on the head, the other with his hand put by the blow, and said I was his friend. I was now by my own house, which the Indians burnt the last year, and I was about to build up again; and there I had some hopes to escape from them. There was a horse just by, which they bid me take. I did so, but made no attempt to escape thereby, because the enemy was near, and the beast was slow and dull. Then was I in hopes they would send me to take my own horses, which they did; but they were so frightened that I could not come near to them, and so fell still into the enemy’s hands. They now took and bound me and led me away, and soon was I brought into the companyof other captives, who were that day brought away from Hatfield, who were about a mile off; and here methought was matter of joy and sorrow both: joy to see company, and sorrow for our condition. Then were we pinioned and led away in the night over the mountains, in dark and hideous ways, about four miles further, before we took up our place for rest, which was in a dismal place of wood, on the east side of that mountain. We were kept bound all that night. The Indians kept waking, and we had little mind to sleep in this night’s travel. The Indians dispersed, and as they went made strange noises, as of wolves and owls, and other wild beasts, to the end that they might not lose one another, and if followed they might not be discovered by the English.
About the break of day we marched again, and got over that great river at Pecomptuck [Deerfield] river mouth, and there rested about two hours. Here the Indians marked out upon the trees the number of their captives and slain, as their manner is. Now was I again in great danger, a quarrel having arose about me, whose captive I was; for three took me. I thought I must be killed to end the controversy, so when they put it to me, whose I was, I said three Indians took me; so they agreed to have all a share in me. I had now three masters, and he was my chief master who laid hands on me first; and thus was I fallen into the hands of the worst of all the company, as Asphelon, the Indian captain, told me which captain was all along very kind to me, and a great comfort to the English. In this place they gave us some victuals, which they had brought from the English. This morning also they sent ten men forth to the town of Deerfield to bring away what they could find. Some provision, some corn out of the meadow, they brought to us on horses, which they had there taken.
From hence we went up about the falls, where we crossed that river again; and whilst I was going, I fell right down lame of my old wounds, which I had in the war, and whilst I was thinking I should therefore be killed by the Indians, and what death I should die, my pain was suddenly gone, and I was much encouraged again. We had about eleven horses in that company, which the Indians used to convey burdens, and to carry women. It was afternoon when we now crossed that river. We traveled up it till night, and then took up our lodging in a dismal place, and were staked down, and spread out on our backs; and so we lay all night, yea, so we lay many nights. They told me their law was that we should lie so nine nights, and by that time it was thought we should be out of our knowledge. The manner of staking down was thus: our arms and legs stretched out, were staked fast down, and a cord about our necks, so that we could stir noways. The first night of staking down, being much tired,I slept as comfortable as ever. The next day we went up the river, and crossed it, and at night lay in Squakheag [Northfield] meadows. Our provision was soon spent, and while we lay in those meadows the Indians went a hunting, and the English army came out after us. Then the Indians moved again, dividing themselves and the captives into many companies, that the English might not follow their tracks. At night, having crossed the river, we met again at the place appointed. The next day we crossed it again on Squakheag side, and there we took up our quarters for a long time. I suppose this might be about thirty miles above Squakheag; and here were the Indians quite out of all fear of the English, but in great fear of the Mohawks. Here they built a long wigwam, and had a great dance, as they call it, and concluded to burn three of us, and had got bark to do it with; and, as I understood afterward, I was one that was to be burnt, sergeant Plimpton another, and Benjamin Waite’s wife the third. Though I knew not which was to be burnt, yet I perceived some were designed thereunto; so much I understood of their language. That night I could not sleep for fear of next day’s work. The Indians being weary with the dance, lay down to sleep, and slept soundly. The English were all loose; then I went out and brought in wood, and mended the fire, and made a noise on purpose, but none awakened. I thought if any of the English would awake, we might kill them all sleeping. I removed out of the way all the guns and hatchets, but my heart failing me, I put all the things where they were again. The next day, when we were to be burnt, our master and some others spoke for us, and the evil was prevented in this place. Hereabouts we lay three weeks together. Here I had a shirt brought to me to make, and one Indian said it should be made this way, a second another way, a third his way. I told them I would make it that way my chief master said; whereupon one Indian struck me on the face with his fist. I suddenly rose up in anger, ready to strike again; upon this happened a great hubbub, and the Indians and English came about me. I was fain to humble myself to my master, so that matter was put up. Before I came to this place, my three masters were gone a hunting; I was left with another Indian, all the company being upon a march; I was left with this Indian, who fell sick, so that I was fain to carry his gun and hatchet, and had opportunity, and had thought to have dispatched him and run away; but did not, for that the English captives had promised the contrary to one another; because, if one should run away, that would provoke the Indians, and endanger the rest that could not run away.
Whilst, we were here, Benjamin Stebbins, going with some Indians to Wachuset Hills, made his escape from them, and when the news of hisescape came we were all presently called in and bound; one of the Indians, a captain among them, and always our great friend, met me coming in, and told me Stebbins was run away; and the Indians spake of burning us; some, of only burning and biting off our fingers, by and by. He said there would be a court, and all would speak their minds, but he would speak last, and would say, that the Indian who let Stebbins run away was only in fault, and so no hurt should be done us, and added, “fear not,” so it proved accordingly. Whilst we lingered hereabout, provision grew scarce; one bear’s foot must serve five of us a whole day. We began to eat horse-flesh, and eat up seven in all; three were left alive and not killed. After we had been here, some of the Indians had been down, and fallen upon Hadley, and were taken by the English, agreed with and let go again. They were to meet the English upon such a plain, there to make further terms. Ashpalon was much for it, but Wachuset sachems, when they came, were much against it, and were for this: that we should meet the English, indeed, but there fall upon them and fight them, and take them. Then Ashpalon spake to us English, not to speak a word more to further that matter, for mischief would come of it. When those Indians came from Wachuset there came with them squaws and children, about four score, who reported that the English had taken Uncas, and all his men, and sent them beyond seas. They were much enraged at this, and asked if it were true; we said, no. Then was Ashpalon angry, and said he would no more believe Englishmen. They examined us every one apart, and then they dealt worse with us for a season than before. Still provision was scarce. We came at length to a place called Squaw Maug river; there we hoped for salmon; but we came too late. This place I account to be above two hundred miles above Deerfield. We now parted into two companies; some went one way, and some went another way; and we went over a mighty mountain, it taking us eight days to go over it, and traveled very hard too, having every day either snow or rain. We noted that on this mountain all the water run northward. Here also we wanted provision; but at length we met again on the other side of the mountain, viz: on the north side, at a river that runs into the lake; and we were then half a day’s journey off the lake.
We staid there a great while, to make canoes to go over the lake. Here I was frozen, and again we were like to starve. All the Indians went a hunting, but could get nothing; divers days they powwowed, and yet got nothing; then they desired the English to pray, and confessed they could do nothing; they would have us pray, and see what the Englishman’s God could do. I prayed, so did sergeant Plimpton, in anotherplace. The Indians reverently attended, morning and night. Next day they got bears; then they would needs have us desire a blessing, and return thanks at meals; after a while they grew weary of it, and the sachem bid forbid us. When I was frozen they were very cruel toward me because I could not do as at other times. When we came to the lake we were again sadly put to it for provision. We were fain to eat touchwood fried in bear’s grease. At last we found a company of raccoons, and then we made a feast; and the manner was that we must eat all. I perceived there would be too much for one time, so one Indian who sat next to me bid me slip away some to him under his coat, and he would hide it for me till another time. This Indian, as soon as he had got my meat, stood up and made a speech to the rest, and discovered me; so that the Indians were very angry and cut me another piece, and gave me raccoon grease to drink, which made me sick and vomit. I told them I had enough; so ever after that they would give me none, but still tell me I had raccoon enough. So I suffered much, and being frozen, was full of pain, and could sleep but a little, yet must do my work. When they went upon the lake, and as they came to it, they lit of a moose and killed it, and staid there till they had eaten it all up.
After entering upon the lake, there arose a great storm, and we thought we should all be cast away, but at last we got to an island, and there they went to powwowing. The powwow said that Benjamin Waite and another man was coming, and that storm was raised to cast them away. This afterward appeared to be true, though then I believed them not. Upon this island we lay still several days, and then set out again, but a storm took us, so that we lay to and fro, upon certain islands, about three weeks. We had no provision but raccoons, so that the Indians themselves thought they should be starved. They gave me nothing, so that I was sundry days without any provision. We went on upon the lake, upon that isle, about a day’s journey. We had a little sled upon which we drew our load. Before noon, I tired, and just then the Indians met with some Frenchmen; then one of the Indians that took me, came to me, and called me all manner of bad names, and threw me down upon my back. I told him I could not do any more; then he said he must kill me. I thought he was about to do it, for he pulled out his knife and cut out my pockets, and wrapped them about my face, helped me up, and took my sled and went away, giving me a bit of biscuit, as big as a walnut, which he had of the Frenchman, and told me he would give me a pipe of tobacco. When my sled was gone, I could run after him, but at last I could not run, but went a foot-pace.The Indians were soon out of sight I followed as well as I could, and had many falls upon the ice.
At last, I was so spent, I had not strength enough to rise again, but I crept to a tree that lay along, and got upon it, and there I lay. It was now night, and very sharp weather: I counted no other but that I must die here. Whilst I was thinking of death, an Indian halloed, and I answered him; he came to me, and called me bad names, and told me if I could not go, he must knock me on the head. I told him he must then do so; he saw how I had wallowed in the snow, but could not rise; then he took his coat and wrapt me in it, and went back and sent two Indians with a sled. One said he must knock me on the head, the other said no, they would carry me away and burn me. Then they bid me stir my instep, to see if that were frozen; I did so. When they saw that, they said that was Wurregen. There was a chirurgeon among the French, they said, that could cure me; then they took me upon a sled, and carried me to the fire, and made much of me; pulled off my wet and wrapped me in my dry clothes, and made me a good bed. They had killed an otter, and gave me some of the broth made of it, and a bit of the flesh. Here I slept till toward day, and then was able to get up and put on my clothes. One of the Indians awaked, and seeing me walk, shouted, as rejoicing at it. As soon as it was light, I and Samuel Russell went before on the ice, upon a river. They said I must go where I could on foot, else I should freeze. Samuel Russell slipt into the river with one foot; the Indians called him back, and dried his stockings, and then sent us away, and an Indian with us to pilot us. We went four or five miles before they overtook us. I was then pretty well spent. Samuel Russell was, he said, faint, and wondered how I could live, for he had, he said, ten meals to my one. Then I was laid on the sled, and they ran away with me on the ice; the rest and Samuel Russell came softly after. Samuel Russell I never saw more, nor know I what became of him. They got but half way, and we got through to Shamblee about midnight. Six miles off Shamblee, (a French town,) the river was open, and, when I came to travel in that part of the ice, I soon tired; and two Indians ran away to town, and one only was left; he would carry me a few rods, and then I would go as many, and then a trade we drove, and so were long in going the six miles. This Indian was now kind, and told me that if he did not carry me I would die, and so I should have done, sure enough; and he said I must tell the English how he helped me. When we came to the first house, there was noinhabitant. The Indian was also spent, and both were discouraged; he said we must now die together. At last he left me alone, and got to another house, and thence came some French and Indians; and brought me in. The French were kind, and put my hands and feet in cold water, and gave me a dram of brandy, and a little hasty pudding and milk; when I tasted victuals, I was hungry, and could not have forborne it, but I could not get it. Now and then they would give me a little, as they thought best for me. I laid by the fire with the Indian that night, but could not sleep for pain. Next morning, the Indians and French fell out about me, because the French, as the Indians said, loved the English better than the Indians. The French presently turned the Indians out of doors, and kept me.
They were very kind and careful, and gave me a little something now and then. While I was here, all the men in that town came to see me. At this house I was three or four days, and then invited to another, and after that to another. In this place I was about thirteen days, and received much civility from a young man, a bachelor, who invited me to his house, with whom I was for the most part of the time. He was so kind as to lodge me in the bed with himself, gave me a shirt, and would have bought me, but could not, as the Indians asked one hundred pounds for me. We were then to go to a place called Sorel, and that young man would go with me, because the Indians should not hurt me. This man carried me on the ice one day’s journey, for I could not now go at all, and there was so much water on the ice we could go no farther. So the Frenchman left me, and provision for me. Here we staid two nights, and then traveled again, for now the ice was strong, and in two days more we came to Sorel. When we got to the first house, it was late in the night; and here again the people were kind. Next day, being in much pain, I asked the Indians to carry me to the chirurgeons, as they had promised, at which they were wroth, and one of them took up his gun to knock me, but the Frenchman would not suffer it, but set upon him and kicked him out of doors. Then we went away from thence, to a place two or three miles off, where the Indians had wigwams. When I came to these wigwams, some of the Indians knew me, and seemed to pity me.
While I was here, which was three or four days, the French came to see me; and it being Christmas time, they brought cakes and other provisions with them and gave to me, so that I had no want. The Indians tried to cure me, but could not. Then I asked for the chirurgeon, at which one of the Indians in anger struck me on the face with his fist. A Frenchman being by, spoke to him, but I knew not what hesaid, and then went his way. By and by came the captain of the place into the wigwam, with about twelve armed men, and asked where the Indian was that struck the Englishman. They took him and told him he should go to the bilboes, and then be hanged. The Indians were much terrified at this, as appeared by their countenances and trembling. I would have gone too, but the Frenchman bid me not fear; that the Indians durst not hurt me. When that Indian was gone, I had two masters still. I asked them to carry me to that captain, that I might speak for the Indian. They answered, “You are a fool. Do you think the French are like the English, to say one thing and do another? They are men of their words.” I prevailed with them, however, to help me thither, and I spoke to the captain by an interpreter, and told him I desired him to set the Indian free, and told him what he had done for me. He told me he was a rogue, and should be hanged. Then I spoke more privately, alledging this reason, that because all the English captives were not come in, if he were hanged, it might fare the worse with them. The captain said “that was to be considered.” Then he set him at liberty upon this condition, that he should never strike me more, and every day bring me to his house to eat victuals. I perceived that the common people did not like what the Indians had done and did to the English. When the Indian was set free, he came to me, and took me about the middle, and said I was his brother; that I had saved his life once, and he had saved mine thrice. Then he called for brandy and made me drink, and had me away to the wigwams again. When I came there, the Indians came to me one by one, to shake hands with me, saying Wurregen Netop, and were very kind, thinking no other but that I had saved the Indian’s life.
The next day he carried me to that captain’s house, and set me down.[*] They gave me my victuals and wine, and being left there a while by the Indians, I showed the captain my fingers, which, when he and his wife saw, they ran away from the sight, and bid me lap it up again, and sent for the chirurgeon; who, when he came, said he could cure me, and took it in hand, and dressed it. The Indians toward night came for me; I told them I could not go with them. They were displeased, called me rogue, and went away. That night I was full of pain; the French feared that I would die; five men did watch with me, and strove to keep me cheerly, for I was sometimes ready to faint. Oftentimes they gave me a little brandy. The next day the chirurgeon came again, and dressed me; and so he did all the while I wasamong the French. I came in at Christmas, and went thence on the second of May.
Being thus in the captain’s house, I was kept there till Benjamin Waite came; and now my Indian master, being in want of money, pawned me to the captain for fourteen beavers’ skins, or the worth of them, at such a day; if he did not pay, he must lose his pawn, or else sell me for twenty-one beavers, but he could not get beaver, and so I was sold. By being thus sold, adds Dr. Mather, he was in God’s good time set at liberty, and returned to his friends in New England again.