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VVRITTHN BY CLIFTON JOHNSON This edition of an instructive work now rare, in this binding done at the Bindery near the Common in Greenfield, Massarhusetts, is limited to seven copies which are bestowed by the donor npon the following persons, who are, as he thinks, his friends : Wii^UAM vStoddari) WrrxiAMS, Deerfield, Massachusetts. Cousin of the Unredeemed Captive ; dweller still upon the historic soil where each was born ; of lineage illustrious, in friendship steadfast. Charles Edgar Clark, Washington, District of Columbia. Rear-Adiniral in the United States Navy ; sailor also and navigator in all seas ; doctor of laws in academic fellowship with William, Emperor of Germany, and Theodore, President of the United States. Francis Almon Gaskill, Worcester, Massachusetts. Justice of the Superior Court ; patron of art in type and brush ; not by methods of Indian cruelty bu*^ with kindness gracious, maker of captives. Duncan Campbell Scott, Ottawa, Canada. Secretary of the Department of Indian Affairs ; author of "In the Village of _\Mger," "Life of vSimcoe," "L,abor and the Angel." ' John Lane, London, England. Printer and publisher ; disccverer and encourager of genius in poetry and art. Lucius Tuttle, Hoston, Massachusetts. Master of transportation ; student of colonial concerns ; collector of Americana. Melvin Ohio Adams, Boston, Massachusetts. Careful carrier of travelers by land and sea ; benefactor of the grammar school, academy and college ; friend of learning and lover of his fellowmen. No. 4^ 4^ A-x^^ O cii, "^ i I 1 I .-a '*: 4 t ^ :i4 i ■m % An Indian Seoul 4 AN UNREDEEMED CAPTIVE BEING THE STORY OF EUNICE WILLIAMS, WHO. AT fil^ AGE OF SEVEN YEARS, WAS CARRIED AWAY FROM DEERF ;.LD BY ti,e INDIANS IN THE YEAR 170^, AND WHO LIVED AMONG THE INDIANS IN CANADA AS ONE OF THEM THE REST OF HER LIFE WRITTEN BY CLIFTON JOHNSON WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND MANY OLD-TIME ENGRAVINGS MDCCCXCVIl I M *« Copyiiglit 1897 By Clifton Johnson . H'^;^.,- :'.t^^;*^m^^vt Printed by Griffith, Avtell & C!;uly C:9jfT/-'^ry~s Captive been determined and the next thing to be done was to go through the farce of purchasing it from tlie Indians. All the land occupied by our New England set- tlers was bought from the Indians, but the early pioneers never let sentiment interfere with business — they bought as cheaply as they could, independent of the real worth of their purchases. For instance, all the fertile lowdands from Suffield to Northfield were obtained from the natives for a few great coats and some hundred fathoms of wampum. The Indians were as children in the hands of the Puritans when it came to business. Major John Pynchon of Springfield, •niiiiiiiPiiP An Unredeemed in his double capacity of magistrate and trader, liad much to do with local Indians and effected nearly every important purchase from them. The Sachems of tlie valley kept a running account at Pynchon's shop, and to offset this ac- count they pledged their lands in payment. Here are the items of a bill against Umpachala, the Norwottuck Sachem, in payment of which the Indian gave P3-nchon a ,h^d of the town of Hadley : 2 coats, shag and wampum Red shag cotton, knife Wampum and 2 coats a kettle for your being drunk 5 5 I s. 7 10 5 10 The total is $64. It is no wonder if the Indians on rellection wanted to scalp such traders and their associates. Tech- nically there was no injustice, but ad- vantage was taken of the fact that the red man, with his simple wants and characteristic lack of foresight, was no match for the ambition and shrewdness ol the civilized white. Captive It was to Major Pynchon that the Declham authorities looked to get them a clear title to their tract oi land from the original owners. This he did with his usual economy, only reserving to the natives the right " of fishing in the waters and rivers, and free liberty to hunt deer and other wild creatures, and to gather walnuts, chestnuts and other nuts and things on the commons." The Deerfield grant was duly divided among the Dedham townspeople and in a few cases the new owners emigrated to their wilderness property. In the main, however, they held the land as a speculation, just as a person might now possess himself of suburban lots to be sold when he saw a chance to make a satisfactory profit. Two Hatfield men were the first to put up their rude abodes in the forests that then covered the site of the new town. This was in the early summer of 1670. Others followed, and in a few years the settlement had grown to quite a village, the houses dotted along on a 8 An Unredeemed H:' north and south Hnc in ahnost exactly the same place and manner as in the town of the present. In 1673, the General Court Ljranted the Deerfield settlers such an addition to the original 8000 acres as should make them a township seven miles square, provided that within three years they should settle " an able and orthodox minister." The frontier citizens did not await the time limit; for that same year Mr. Samuel Mather beofan his labors as the first minister of Deerfield. He '■rTT"'T''" t^-'^' ipiiilliiP Captive was then only twenty-two years old, a recent graduate of Harvard College and a near relative of those two New England notables, Increase and Cotton Mather. With the church thus established, the only thing that remained to fully round out the town life was a tavern. This came the year following, when Moses Crafts " was licensed to keep an Ordinary and to sell wines and strong liquors for one year, provided he kept good order in his house." Drinking was far more general in those days than now and the alehouse was inevitable, but it is to be noted that the church preceded it. In the story of our western country it is a different matter. There the saloon has always marched in the vanguard of civi- lization. At first the town was known bv its In- dian name of Pocumtuck, but the abund- ance of deer in its woodlands suggested, and in time gave, its present name ac- ceptance. The savages still hunted, trapped and fished in the valley, they bartered at the tavern or made small ex- lO An IJnredecmetl chanees of mats and baskets for civilized wares at the villaoe housedoors, and their wigwams were to be seen along the streamsides as of old. There was peace in the valley and the new settlers were beginning to conquer comfort and pros- perity. Captive II Chapter II Of King Philip's War— Deerfield Destroyed — The Settlement Again Uegun — Kev. lohn Williams P.ecomes the Second Minister — Eunice Williams Is Horn, 1696 — Her Life as a Child NIOW there rose the cloud of war — a A ^ war of bai-barism resisting the en- croachments of civiHzation. It started with Philip, sachem of theWampanoags, who burned ihit villaqre of Swanzey and three other villages of Plymouth Colony and murdered many of the inhabitants. By this time the Indians had acquired a good many firearms and become expert in the use of them, so that they were not so unequal a match for the whites as formerly. The Wampanoags were soon put down, but Philip escaped to the Nipmucks of Worcester County, and these savages carried on the war for a year, burning and slaughtering all the way from the Connecticut River, then 1 m^ Captive 13 i the western frontier, to within a -lozcn miles of Boston. In tlic end, the whites conquered and the greater number of the enemy was killed, while the rest were sold as slaves in the West Indies and elsewhere. Philip himself was ambushed and shot and the chieftain's hands were shown as a spectacle in Boston, while his ghastly head was set up on a pole in Plymouth, aiiording the occasion for a public thanks- giving. Scarcely any Indians were left in New England except the friendly IVIohegans. The brunt of the savage attacks was borne by the colonies of Massachusetts and Plymouth. Of ninety towns, twelve had been utterly destroyed, while more than forty had been the scene of hre and massacre. More than a thousand men had been slain, and a great many women and children. In the view of the majority of our ancestors, who lived in that day, this devastation had a religious aspect, and the preachers admonished their Hocks H An Unredeemed that these sufferings were directly due to their sins. We find Parson Stoddard of Northampton writing to Increase Mather that " man)' sins are so grown in fashion that it is a question whether they be sins," and begs him to call the governor's attention to "that intolerable pride in clothes and hair, and the toleration of so many taverns; and suffering home dwel- lers to be tippling therein." Mis con- clusion is that "it would be a dreadful tok'Mi of the displeasur(? of Ciod if these aftlictions pass awa\- without much sj)irit- ual advantaoe." Deerfield was one of the sufferers in King Philip's war. It was attacked on September- ist, 1675, sevtM'al houses were burned and one man killed. After that the inhabitants huddled together in two or three houses, poorly i^rotected by palisades and defended by a handful of soldiers. Many of them piled their household goods on their ox carts and wend(;d their way through the forests to the larger settlements down the river. At Hadley there was a strong garrison ,^^ !ving I'hiliii— I'loiii au OM I'liul k ,?-r'r.'. . ^^.rl^'TJ^-^jr-ri^'f -JgjP l''l.»^f^iT^;^'ry ~ '"" ■ T^-^'(^, fwM wsKmmsm^miK^^fmik Captive 15 1 which presently beo-an to feel the need of provisions, and in the middle of Sep- tember, Captain Lathrop with eighty men, besides teamsters and carts, w^ent up to Deeriield to secure the grain which the settlers had there harvested and stacked. It was on their return with the threshed grain that the famous massacre of IMoody Brook occurred, when all but a scant half dozen of the company were slaughtered by the savages. Soon after this disaster, the garrison was withdrawn from Deerfield and the Indians burned what was left of the ▼ ^ :Tr (■.»-■..■;" ■ ■ ^vv z'^^-^'^:-; ••-^. .ww.-5i^-.v--™v!-v^,j, J i6 An Unredeemed plantation. Several attempts were made to rebuild the village in the following years, but the savages were continually lurking about; more lives were lost, the new buildings were fired, and it was not till 1682 that the settlement was again made permanent. But the enterprise of our wilderness pioneers had been so paralyzed by the reverses and frights of the past that the growth of the hamlet was very slow. It was six years before they again had a minister. Their choice was John Williams, then but little more than twenty-one years of age. On their part his parishioners agreed to give their ^ i^ea I '!-^^'TTWf-rsS:-%"~ Captive 17 minister a home-lot and 220 acres of meadow land. Also, they would build him a house 42 feet long, 20 feet wide, with a lean-to at the rear; would fence his home-lot, and within two years build him a barn and break up his ploughing land. F'or yearly salary he was to have sixty pounds. This was largely paid in produce, such as wheat, peas, Indian corn and pork. Soon after his ordination Mr. Williams married a young Northampton woman, and in the next sixteen years there were born to them eleven children. Of these, the sixth child and second daughter was born September 17th, 1696, and was named Eunice, after her mother. She it is who is the subject of this little book. She lived the simple life of the other village children, with its round of work and play, church-going and attend- ing school. She was quick in her studies and became a good reader, and under the double drill at school and home early memorized the catechism. She looked with interest at the tavern when ■■.f :?.■«'■ ■ ■ -^-'-v--i' '"-'^Fr ■'ipSt^' w^!^/.; i8 An Unredeemed she passed it, lialf fearfully, for she re- flected the home sentiment that it was a place with a decided flavor of ungodli- ness. Once, in the dusk of a summer evening, she saw two teamsters on the porch, using loud, rude words, and one shook his fist in the other's face, whereat her opinion of the tavern's badness was confirmed, and she ran home in great fright. On the other hand, she liked to loiter at the door of Deacon French's black- smith shop. That was a place of peace and sobriety, and it was a pleasant sight to see the sparks dance about and hear the metal ring as the Deacon wielded his hammer. The jxarsonage, with a number of other humble dwellings in the village center, was inclosed by a palisade that included within it about twenty acres. Outside the palisade, the little girl was not allowed to go unless accompanied by one of her elders. Hut this fence of stout posts with their pointed tops interested her, and she knew the whole line of it, and she often ''^■. ^TS^S' "W-ms mmmmFmwmi^m I 3 O o V J 'S'W'W*™llPP'W!"WPi!WI«l»Pi Captive 19 peeked through the chinks of it out into the surrounding woods and clearings. Here and there she could see stockaded dwellings, and she knew that some of her mates in the village school lived in them. It was a strange world, this woodland country outside the palisades. She had heard many stories of the Indians and of the wild creatures of the forest, and she, herself, when walking with her hand in her father's, on the way to make a pastoral call at a house beyond the village defences, had seen three deer feeding in a stumpy clearing. Near the northwest angle of the pali- saded part of the village stood the meet- ing-house, homely and square with a four-sided roof crowned by a tiny belfry. Close by the church was a heavily-built garrison house with an overhanging upper story and loopholes from which guns might be fired, fiunice knew that in case the Indians attacked them and carried the palisade, it was to this stout fort-house the people would retreat. She knew how the Indians had burned the m lO An Unredeemed town years before and the stories she heard made her fearful of every shadow when she stepped outdoors after sun- down. Often at bedtime she felt such fright that she would draw the clothes over her head and catch her breath at every sound. - ■ ■ o. Ml 1 ijin 1 , J5VII ii|.ifixin«^lipv|^lll!«fM Captive 21 Chapter III Of the Renewal of War— Mr. Williams' Appre- hension and the Warning of Col. Schuyler — The Superstitions of the Times — The Winter March of the Invaders — 'J'he Bell of St. Regis — The .Attack on the Town — The Old Indian House A S has been said France and England ^"^ were for nearly three-quarters of a century almost continually at war, and there was a feeling of intense hostility between their colonies over the seas, even when ther(^ was no armed e.xpedi- tion in the field. Under the pretext of protecting the eastern Indians from Eng- lish encroachment the French were con- stantly inciting them to marauding the New F^iigland frontiers. In 1703 plans were laid to cut off the outlyinir Enolish settlements from one end of New Enpf- land to the other, but these plans were not fully executed. Many eastern set- tlements were destroyed, but those on the 22 An Unredeemed western borders remained unmolested It is true th(M-e were rumors of an expe- dition against Deerfield, and Rev. ]\Ir. Williams was so apprehensive of danger that he applied to iht- ooxt^rnment of the province to detail a guard for the town, on which twcMity soldiers were sent for a garrison. Besides, the minister sufficiently rous(*d his people so that they strengthenetl th(." fortifications, but the danger was not as clearly realized as it should have be(Mi. What was known of the intentions of the enem)' came from Col. John Schuyler at Albany, who was in the habit of get- ting such intelligence from the Indians trading in that place. TIk; Indians who furnished him informati(-)n were Mohawks who knew of Canadian affairs through a band of their relatives settled at what was then called Saint Louis, now Caugh- nawaga, nine; miles above Montreal. The latter had been converted by the fesuit,, and persuad(xl to emigrate and setti;.- m the St. Lawrence where the)- naturally allied themselves with the French. I, '«P!' Captive 23 D(;erficld, at that time, except for a tew families at Northfield, was the most northerly srulement on the Connecticut river. It was perfectly easy for the enemy to approach it unawares, and there was in the air a feeling that some untoward calamity was brewing. It was an age of superstition. Women were hung for witches in Salem, and witch- craft was believed in everywhere. Did the butter or soap delay their coming, the churn and the kettle were bewitched. Did the chimney refuse to draw, wirches ^megu^ 24 An UnrcdccMiKJtl were blow i no- the smoke clown the llue. Did the loaded cart o'et strck, invisible hands were lioldinir it. Did tht; cow's milk orow scant, the imi)s had b(;en suck- inor her. Did the sick child cry, search was matle for the witches' pins. Ideas of this sort and the talc^s told to illus- trate tlu;m so worked on the minds of the people that adults, as well as children, w^ere ready to see a o-host in every slip of moonshines and trace to malign origin every sound that broke the stillness of the night — the ratde of a shutter, the creak of a door. th(s moan of the winds or the cries of the beasts antl birds. Vov two or three (;\enings [previous to February 29th, 1704, a new topic of su- pernatural int(T('st had be('n addetl to the usual stock. Ominous sounds had been heard in the night, and, says Rev. Solo- n)on Stoddard, " the pef)ple of Deerfieid were strangelv amazed l>v a trampling noise around the fort, as if it was besieged by Indians." The older men recalled simi- lar ,)mens before the outbreak of Philip's war, when from the cK'ar sky came the ■■^^'^^^^ "'^^W'w^-'.'^^ . ^^?f?^T»T'7»CT?'Ti^i^?P(lf«fF«pr^ Captive 25 sound of horses' hoofs, the roar of artil- lery, the rattle of small arms, and the beatinir of drums to the charge. These tales of fear were in everybody's mouth, and even the thouohtful were possessed with an undefinable dread. At that moment, just beyond the northern horizon, their foes were on the southward march bent on overwhelmine the settlement. A horde of b^-enchmen turned lialf Indian, and savacjes armed with civilized powers of destruction were hurrying towards our d(^omed frontier over the dreary waste of snow which stretched away for hundreds of miles to the St. Lawrence. This expedition, untlcr the command of liertel de Rouville, advanjetl by way of Lake Champlain, which they left near the present city of iUn'linoton to follow up the Winooski river. Lrom the head- waters of this.^U-ca.m th<'yi)assed through a gaj) in the (iieen ^L)untain!^ came down the valley of White river, then for a long distance traveled southward on the frozen Connecticut. 26 An Unredeemed In the dark shades of some ravine, a day's march nearer our border, each night their camp was pitched and kettles hung. Their fires Hghted up the mossy trunks and overhanging branches of the giant hemlock and towering pine, throwing their summits into a deeper gloom, and building u)) a wall of pitchy darkness, which enclosed the camp on every side. A frugal supper, and (piiet soon rtngned within this circle, and around each camp- hre the tired forms of the invaders were stretched on beds of evercrreens, to be up at dawn, and. after a hasty breakfast, onward aj^ain. Dogs with sledges aided to transport the equii)age of the camp, and the march was swift. 'I'he tinal day came and dogs, sledges and such baggage as was not needed were left behind, while the army pushed forward over the last miles of the journey with celerit) and ciution, and reached a pine-clad bluff overlook- ing the Deerfield X'alley on the night of February 2Sth. Here, behind a low ridge, the packs were unstrapped, the L rwi»"^^sft ■ - . ^^f-^w-h*^yff^ Captive 27 war paint put on, and all preparations made. One tradition has it that the object that broug'lit these three or four hundred French and Indians all this winter jour- ney from their northern homes was the capture o'i the bell in the village church. They er(; moved by ri_^hteous indigna- tion, for this bell had been taken by a colonial privateer from a French vessel while on its way to a Catholic church in Canada. It is said further that the in- vaders, after securing the bell, dragged it away on sledges to Canada, and that there, in a little church in St. Regis, it calls the worshipers to service to this day. Several times since its capture, so the story goes, efforts have been made by Deerfield people to have the bell re- in ried, and negotiating committees have 'inde the pilgrimage to St. Regis with th's end in vi(nv. But the French will noL part with the bell, and if it ever comes back it will come as it went — the spoils of war. The enemy lay in concealment on the I L -. 28 An Unredeemed bleak rid^^tt two miles north of the town till the darkest hour c^f the night came — that preceding- the fu'st grayness of morning. Then they crept in on the sleeping village. It was midwinter and the slight defence of palisades was in many {places drifted over with snow. More than that, a stiff crust ::•■' ormed on th(! snow sufhci(;nt to bear i ^veio-ht ol a man. and the enemx' left their snow- shoes behind at tin; borders of the meadow that intervened between their hiding |)lace and th(; village. The town sentinels pro\ed unfaithful. 'I'hey had retired shortl>' before, and there was no alarm given at the enetny's approach. 1 he savage foe came noiselessly over the palisades at the northwest corner, where th(i wintcM- winds had lifted the highest drifts, and distributed themselves among the peaceful homes. Then came the dr(;adful warwhoop, the blows of axes on resisting doors, the leaping of flames and the repo.t of muskets. Only two houses — ()n(.> within the palisades and another outside — made a succ(.'ssful re- 1 '■■.^ wy, A!'!^''-' J',.*''.JJ3¥* y, W^S!!i»i*t**". tpv I Captive 29 sistance, and except for the occupants of these and a few who escaped to the woods, the rest of the inhabitants were either killed or captured. There was no time to lly to the garrison house, in whicli lived Captain John Sheldon, for it was surrounded by the savages in the first onslaught. Its door was heavily bolted and the savages, fniding they could not push it in by main force, hacked a hole with their tomahawks, then thrust a musket through the aper- ture and fired and killed the captain's wife. The captain's son leaped from a chamber window, gained the shelter of 30 An Unredeemed the woods and escaped to Hatfield. Soon the g-arrison house fell into the hands of the foe, and as it was one of the larg^est in the place, they usetl it as a depot for the prisoners they were fast collectino-. The house that made the stoutest fight was one about fifty yards distant from Sh(*l'lon"s, where w^ere seven armed men and several women. While the men fired on the savages the women loaded their guns or cast bullets 'or Tulure use, and after various attempts to take; the house by stratagiMu or burn it, the en- emy gave their attention to keeping out ol range of the defenders" shot. At the end of the fight the only two houses within the palisades that were not smoking ruins \v(M-e the one so bravely defended and the garrison house. The latter had been pillaged, and when the enemy began their retreat they set it on fire, but it was saved by the efforts of the few linglish who had escaped death and capture; and were still in the villaire. This building, as time went on and the ^m^ I'lic 1 >oui of the < M(l lutliaii lluiise iMi Captive 31 events of this February night receded into the past, came to be known as "The Old Indian House." It stood in its wonted place till 1848, when in its mossy and loose-clapboarded old age it w^as torn down. Even then its sills and other timbers were as sound as when the house was first erected. The old door, filled with nails and gashed by Indian tomahawks, has luckily been preserved, a most interesting- relic, with a few other fragments of the house, in the Deer- field Museum. An Un redcx^med Chapter I\ Of the Capture of the Minister's House — The Enemy's Retreat — The Death of Mrs. Will- iams — Eunice is Treated Kindly l>y Her Indian C'aiitor /~\NE of the houses first to be carried ^^ ill the assauk was that of the R(;v. John W'iUiams. For what we know of the details of th(^ affray and of the (experi- ences of himself and family in their captivity, we are indebted to his own qtiaint relation of the facts in his "The Redeemed Captive." 'I'iiis old-time book was pul)lished soon after the reverend author's return from Canada, and so o-reat was the interest in his narrative that six successive editions were called for. He tells how he was awakened from his sleej) by the violent endeavors of the enemy to break open doors and windows with axes and hatchets. No sooner was he out of bed than he saw that the foe hatl alreadv effected an (Mitrance, and he Captive 33 called to awaken the rest of the house- hold and reached up to the bed-tester for his pistol. InuTK.'diately the enemy broke into the room, a dozen or twenty ot them "with painted faces and hideous acclamations." d he minister cocked his pistol and [)ut it to the breast of the foremost Indian, but the wea[)on missed fire aiid he was seized, disarmed and bound. Then the savat^es " insulted over him awhile, holding up hatchets over his head and threatenino- to burn all he had." His two youngest children and his negro woman they killed and the others ot the family they huddled into the bedroom and held as prisoners. When the sun was an hour high the pillage and destruction were complete, thirty-eight of the b'nglish had been kill(?d and 119 made prisoners. Now the invaders [)rei)ared to retreat. By right of capture the minister was the property of the three Indians who had seized and bound him, but one of these had since been killed. The other tv^o now took him in charoe and fell into -i! 34 An Unredeemed J«S*t* the line of march. Little Eunice was the property of another savage, and no two of the family had for a master the same person. They were all separated. As they left their home they saw that nearly all th('ir neij^hbors' buil'.lings were in Hames and the torch was at once ap- plied to their own iioiise and barn. It was a dreadful experience for all and for none more so than for the seven- year-old luuiice Williams, dragoed weep- ing along by her Indian captor. As s(K-)n as th(^y saw the enemy in re- treat the English who had escaped, with such others as had meanwhile come from Hatfield, started in pursuit. A sharp skirmish ensued, in which the assailants lost nine men and were in imminent danger of being all captured. During the fight there was one crisis, when the Erench commander was so hard pushed that he sent orders to have all the cap- tives tomahawked, but the Indian mes- senger was fortunately killed before he delivered his orders, and the retreat of the English so soon followed, that the order was not repeated. Captive 3d Now the three hundred mile march to Canada bci:^an in earnest. They crossed the meadow and the river nortli of the town, and then, ac the foot of the moun- tain, the Indians took away their prison- ers' shoes and e^ve thcuii moccasins to enable them to travel more swiftly. They made little progress that day, and nicrht overtook them in Greenfield meadows, where they dug awa}- the snow and made some rude wigwams o( brush and cut spruce branches for beds. To prevent escapes, Mr. WilliaMis and the other men prisoners were bound, and this continued the ]:)ractice every night of the journey, During the evening some of the Indians goi drunk on the liquors they had brought away from Deerfield and in their orgies they at- tacked Mr. Williams' negro man and killed him. Early the next day, when the march was resumed, they found that (ireen river, near their camping place, barred their way with open water. The stream was swift and the water above knee deep. 36 An Unredeemed but the order was given to wade it. Mrs. Williams, wliv) was weak from a r7 restinor-place can be seen to-tlay in the olil biirying-crround. If y(^u ha\'e patience you can decipher the mossy inscription which reads: J/ere lyrth iiic hodv of MRS. EUy/CR n//./JAMS, the 7','rtuous (j,- (/esirablc ccnwit of the Rro'r.i. .Ur. Jolt II Willhims, i^-' iiaii\:^iitrr to \e Rev" id. Afr. Elcazer d- Mrs. Estlier Mather '[f Northiunpton. She 7(',fs horn .-///.r/. _,^ ^^6^, anU Jell hy ra^^^ „f ye /iarh(jroii.\ E'leiiiy Marrh /, tycj.. P/V7'. j/.j,S'. Iter rhUJreii rise nf and eali her Jilesseil. I'his incident <^{ Mrs. Williams' death was tyj:>ical of the priscnc.'rs' treatment. It was th(; same all throusjli the march — any who became burdensome, sick women, wounded men, or infants in arms, met a (jdick death and were left to tlu; b'uiai of th(! siftino- winter snows, in the case of the children able to walk some icMulerness was shown. The Mo- hawk who was Eunice's master cairied her dryshod across th(^ coKl waters of Green river, though when he picked her .8 An Unredeemed up she struggled with Tear and kicked him fiercely. Many times afterward when the little girl 1-""came too tired to keep up with the : ,st in the tramp through the drifts, the Indian carried heron his back. She saw other children carried in like man- ner by their captors, hut, it is quite likely, they were moved less by sympathy than by ho|)e of gain. l'\)r the children were theirs, and when they reachetl Canada they could either dispose of them or retain them for llunr own service. On the fourth da)' the army reached the Connecticut river in the vicinity of Hrattlcboro, and thence northward to White river they traveled on the ice. At the mouth of White ri\'(;r the force was divided and made its way to Canada by several dilhM'ent routes. They had largely to secure their provisions on the march and there w^ere times when they suffered severely from hunger. Captive 39 Chapter V Of Eunice Among the Indians in Canada — The Jesuits and the Prisoners — Mr. WiUiams Is Allowed to Visit His Daughter — Attempts to Redeem Eunice P UNICE was taken by her captor to his *— ' home at Caughnawaga, the Indian settlement, nine miles above Montreal. Her father at length reached the latter place, and as soon as he learned where Eunice was held, he begged permission to see her. I'his was given reluctantly, and only at the express command of the governor, in whom the English found a considerate foe, if he was not a positive friend. The dominant influence in con- trol of the child was that of the Indians and the Jesuit priests by whom this particular band of Indians had been converted. No doubt her Indian master made the white child useful, and it may be he took a fancy to her that made him reluctant to part with her for ransom 40 An Unredeemed money. But there is no (question as to the position of the Jesuits, They showed the greatest eagerness for proselyting; and kidnaping, and threats, and torture were naught if they could by those means save souls. Their power was always used to retain the children of the English, to make them forget their ear- lier impressions and homes, and to adopt the true religion. The priests told Mr. Williams that the Mohawks would as soon part with their *^arts as his child. The governor had no power to compel the Indians to surrender the child, as they were allies rather than subjects, and the priestly faction was too powerful for him to directly oppose. The father's interview with his daugh- ter lasted an hour. The little girl did not like her Indian life and cried to be taken away. Among other things she said that the savages did not keep the Sabbath, and she thought, a few days before, they "had been mocking the devil," and these things troubled her New England conscience greatly. Captive 41 Her father told her to pray every day and not to forget her catechism or the Scriptures she had learned by heart. In reply the child said that " a tall, lean man in a black gown comes and makes me say some prayers in Latin, but," she added, " I don't understand one word of them; I hope it v;on't do me any harm." The interview came to an end and the minister went sadly back to Mont- real. The governor made every eftbrt to secure the child's release, but without success. He understood he had the promise of her at one time it he would procure an Indian girl in her stead, and he sent a long distance up the river fo"" one. But when he offered her she was refused. He agreed to pay them a large sum of money, but they said, " No." Finally his lady went over and begged the little girl from the tribe, but all in vain. She staid on, she was dressed as an Indian, she lived as one, and at length she had well-nigh forgotten how to speak Knglish. Three years passed and it was reported that she herself was unwilling to leave the life she had adopted. it 42 An Unredeemed Mr. Williams and the others of his family had all been redeemed by the end of I 706. Their period of captivity had not been all hardship. The French, in general, showed them only kindness. Real pity seemed to be felt for the pris- oners, and some declared openly that they decried the official methods of con- quest. They said that to send the Indians, with their barbaric notions of warfare, against the English was no better than massacre. With the official class the captives did not fare so well. They found most of them given to intrigue and double deal- ing. As for the Indians, they were crafty and uncertain, and the priests were apt to be so zealous for the religion of Rome, and so bent on making all the world ac- cept their faith, whether it would or not, that the springs of sympathy were dried up within them. Yet, if the methods of the latter were sometimes unfeeling and cruel, those of the captives in dealing with the priests were not above re- proach. Mr. Williams himself was very Captive 4-5 bumptious on the subject of religion, and was often needlessly irritating in his talk with the Jesuits. He told them openly that they were humbugs and their religion a lie, and that his own New England doctrine was the only true stripe. Nothing would persuade him to enter one of their churches — he would as soon go into a workshop of Satan's. So each party saw things their own way, and each, in the view of the other, was going in obstinacy and blindness straight down the road that led to Sheol. Mr. Williams, in the final pages of his book, bespeaks the prayers of all New England for the ten-year-old daughter he left behind in Canada. No doubt this request met with wide response. In his own prayers she was remembered as long as he lived, antl he never ceased to petition, not only for her release, but for the soul jeopardized by the influence of the priests. It is known also that she was constantly prayed for by her brother. Rev. Stephen Williams of Longmeadow, who was concerned both for her " Spirit- Wr^iBSIIm 44 An Unredeemed iial and Eternal Good," and that " God would touch her heart and incline her to turn to her friends." A few days after Mr. Williams reached Boston from Quebec, he was visited by Captive 45 a delegation from Deerfield, and in be- half of the town was entreated to return to his former parish. After due deliber- ation the call was accepted. A new house was built for him and in a short time he married again and the troubled days of capture and captivity seemed largely to be laid away in the silence of the past, out of sight and out of mind. But he did not forget the daughter in Canada. On one occasion, the report was brought to Deerfield that Eunice Will- iam's Indian master had promised to bring her home within two months, but the two months went by and the cap- tive did not return. Several years passed and in 171 1 an Indian squaw came timidly into the heart of Boston and sought the old Province House, She wished to see the governor, and she asked of him her chil- dren, captured recently and now held in Boston, rhe governor thinks and then he speaks. He says he will exchange the children of the woman for Eunice Will- -■■.■■■f'.- itf-Vfttgmse f^ J 46 An Unredeemed iams, now held captive by the praying Mohawks of Caughnawaga. Forth went the squaw and for many long summer days she pushed on through the wilderness toward Mont- real. But when she reached her jour- ney's end there was the same old mys- tery of delay and objection. At last the offer was made by the French of four other English prisoners to be given in- stead of Eunice, and the offer was ac- cepted and the Boston pappooses went to the mother, and the minister's daugh- ter was still among the Indians. In 1 713, John Schuyler made the jour- ney to Canada in the interest of the prisoners held there and he took pains to see Eunice at Caughnawag„ with the hope to bring her away with him. But he found that she had not only accepted the faith of the Jesuits and been re- baptised Margaret, but that she was now married to a young Indian. She, with her husband, was brought in to see Schuyler at the house of one of the priests. He reports her to have been T Captive 47 looking " very poor in body and bashful in the face." He desired her to sit down, which she did. First he spoke to her in Eng-- Hsh, but she did not respond. He thought she could not understand and then employed his Indian "Languister" to convey what he would say to her. Nevertheless, she would speak not one word. Finally Schuyler asked the priest to talk with her, and beg of her, if she would not return home to stay, at least to go to see her father and afterward return to Canada. But she continued silent until the very last, when, in T 48 An Unredeemed response to a tinal appeal, she said in a low voice, " Zaghte oghte," which in Pinglish means, "It may not be." Those words were the only ones she would vouchsafe in all the two hours Schuyler spent with her. Schuyler was much "Hoved, now compassionate, now indig- nant, and he said to her as he left, " Had I made such proposals and prayings to the worst of Indians, I do not doubt but 1 would have had a reasonable answer and consent to what I said." At this Eunice's husband touched Schuyler on the arm and said in broken English, " She no go. Her father marry twice times. He no have marry, she go." Schuyler said no more. He caught Eunice's limp, unresisting hand within his two strong brown ones and held it a moment, then turned on his heel and hurried away. ma tia m Captive 49 I 1 Chapter \'I Of the Return of Peace -The Troubles of the Commission to Secure the Release of the Captives Held in Canada — Eunice Refuses to Return — Visits of Kunicc and her l)e- scendants to Their Old Home 'X'HE same year Schuyler made liis ^ Canadian journey peace was estab- lished between P>ance and England, and in the autumn orders were received in America for the release of captives. A commission was at once appointed by Governor Dudley of ^Massachusetts to go to Canada to hunt up and bring home the New England people held there. This commission left Northampton for Albany on the 9th of November, and one of the party was Pastor Williams of Deerfield. The horseback journey to Alban)' oc- cupied four days. Here winter came, with uncertain weeks of cold and thaws which kept them from proceeding north- 50 An Unredeemed warci til! late in December. Then they went on by way of Saratoga and Crown Point, sometimes on snow-shoes, some- times in canoes. Thus they reached Chambl)\ whence th(^\ jjroceeded to Quebec in sleiL'hs. Governor De \'auilrueil ^'a\e them his word of lionor that all prisoners shoukl have full liberty to return, and told his visitors to go freely among them aiid send for them to come to their lodgings. The commission were much pleas(>d with their recej)tion, but soon after we find them comj)laining to the go\ernor that the priests are exerting themselves to (prevent the prisoners going. His Excellericy replied that he could "as easily alter the course of the waters as prevent the priests' endeavorr," Mr. Williams was no less ardent than the priests, and it was presently forbid- den that he should have any religious talk with the captives. He was accused of being abroad after eight o'clock in the evening to discourse on religion with some of the I'^nglish, and he was II I i ^(!^;t!5B'!^:^ Captive 51 told that if he repeated the offense he would be confined a })risoner in his lodgings. The priests affirmed that he undid in a moment all they had done in seven years to establish their religion. Early in this Canadian trip Mr. Will- iams had an interview with his daugh- ter, but she would not leave the Indians; and though he pleaded with them, and with the priests and authorities, some- times so much moved that the tears streamed down his face, they simj)ly said that the girl could go or stay as she chose, and she chose to stav. After nine months' absence the com- mission returned, their efforts largely baltled, and with buttwenty-si.x prisoners. No furth(jr attempt was mad(; officially for the red(;mption of Kunice Will- iams, but in 1740 an(nher inter- view was liad with her, which led to her thricti revisiting the placid of her nativity. Slie came wiih her husband and others of the tribe, all in Indian costume, and so entirely had she lost her English that it was only by m(;ans • >"^**"--"-f^^r^ An Unredeemed of an interpreter that it was possible to carry on the simplest conversation with her. It is said, too, that civih'zed life was so repugnant to her that she refused to sleep in her relatives' houses. The legend is that while visiting her brother, the minister of Longmeadow, she persisted in staying with the In- dians who pitched their camp in the woods east of the parsonage. She was kindly received by her friends, but all induccmients held out to get her to sta\' in lier old home were una- vailing. The (ien(;ral Court offered a grant of land on condition that she and her husband and children would remain in New bjigland. She refused on the ground that it woultl endanger her soul. Th'j die was cast, she had adopted the lif(; ai\ '. religion of the North, and thus she lived a true savage all her ninety years, if there was an undue forc(! used earlier, later it was ihv. ties of family and habit that boimd her. It is understootl that hv.v husband adopted ^ j2 >:ii**"---»;.i^r-5 [ I Captive C ^ :)j) his wife's name and became a Williams, and that their Indian descendants are still a part of the tribe, members in good and regular standing in spite of the fact that they keep the Puritan name. A company of these Williams Indians visited Ueerfield as re-cently as 1837. There were several families, amounlino- in al! to twenty-three persons. The eldest, a woman of eighty years, affirmed that Eunice was her grandmother. Dur- ing their stay of a little more than a week they encamjjed on the village outskirts, and employed their spare time in mak- ing baskets. They visited the graves of their ancestors, Rev. John Williams and wife, and attended service on Sunda)- in an orderly and reverent manner. They refused to receive company on the Sab- bath, and at all times and in all respects seemed disposed to conduct themselves decently and inoffensively. Their en- campment was fre(|uent