Great Events in the History of North and South America

by Charles A. Goodrich

The drama opened at Deerfield, on the Connecticut river, on the 19th of February, 1704. The preliminaries to it had occurred a little before in the destruction of several small settlements from Casco to Wells in Maine, and the killing and capture of one hundred and thirty people in the aggregate. This was in contravention to the solemn assurance given by the eastern Indians, of peace with New England. As Deerfield was a frontier town, the enemy had watched it for the purpose of capture from an early period. Indeed, it had been constantly exposed to inroads, during King William's War, but had resolutely maintained its ground, and increased in size and population, especially from the termination of that war. It was palisaded, though imperfectly; several detached houses were protected by slight fortifications, and twenty soldiers had been placed within it. They had, however, been quartered about in different houses, and, forgetting their duty as soldiers, were surprised with the rest of the inhabitants. There was a great depth of snow upon the ground, a circumstance which gave the enemy an easy entrance over the pickets. The commander of the French was Hertel de Rouville.

The assailants, in approaching the place, used every precaution to avoid disturbing the soldiery or the inhabitants by noise in walking over the crusted snow, stopping occasionally, that the sound of their feet might appear like the fitful gusts of the wind. But the precaution was unnecessary, for the guard within the fort had retired, and fallen asleep. None, of all who were in the village, awaked, except to be put immediately into the sleep of death; to be doomed to a a horrible captivity, or to effect a difficult and hazardous escape into the adjacent woods amidst the snows of winter. The houses were assaulted by parties detached in different directions; the doors were broken open, the astonished people dragged from their beds, and pillage and personal violence in all its forms ensued. They who attempted resistance, were felled by the tomahawk or musket.

Capture of Mr. Williams.

Some of the separate features of this work of destruction and scene of agony, deserve particular notice, and will ever call up the painful sympathies of the reader of history. The minister of the place, the Rev. John Williams, who subsequently wrote a narrative of the affair, and of his own captivity, was a conspicuous actor and sufferer in the sad tragedy. Early in the assault, which was not long before the break of day, about twenty Indians attacked his house. Instantly leaping from his bed, he ran towards the door, and perceived a party making their entrance into the house. He called to awaken two soldiers who were sleeping in the chamber, and had only returned to the bedside for his arms, when the enemy rushed into the room. Upon this, as he says, "I reached my hands up to the bed-tester for my pistol, uttering a short petition to God, expecting a present passage through the valley of the shadow of death." He levelled it at the breast of the foremost Indian, but it missed fire: he was immediately seized by three Indians, who secured his pistol, and, binding him fast, kept him naked in the cold, nearly the space of an hour. One of these captors was a leader or captain, who soon met the fate he merited. Says Mr. Williams, "the judgment of God did not long slumber, for by sun-rising he received a mortal shot from my next neighbor's house." This house was not a garrison, but being defended by seven resolute men, and as many resolute women, withstood the efforts of three hundred French and Indians. They attacked it repeatedly, and tried various methods to set it on fire, but without success; in the mean while suffering from the fire which was poured upon them from the windows and loop-holes of the building. The enemy gave up the attempt in despair. Mrs. Williams having been confined but a few weeks previously, was feeble—a circumstance which rendered her case hopeless; but her agony was intensely increased by witnessing the murder of two of her little ones, who were dragged to the door, and butchered, as was also a black woman belonging to the family. Rifling the house with the utmost rudeness, the enemy seized Mrs. Williams, ill as she was, and five remaining children, with a view to carry them into captivity.

While these transactions were in progress, a lodger in the house, Captain Stoddard, seized his cloak, and leaped from a chamber window. He escaped across Deerfield river, and finding it necessary to secure his feet from injury, he tore the cloak into pieces, and wrapped them up in it, and was thus enabled, though in great exhaustion, to reach Hatfield. An assault was made upon the house of Captain John Sheldon, but the door was so strong and so firmly bolted, that the enemy found it difficult to break or penetrate it. Their only resort, therefore, was to perforate it with their tomahawks. Through the aperture thus made, they thrust a musket, fired, and killed Mrs. Sheldon, a ball striking her as she was rising from her bed in an adjoining room. The mark of the ball was long to be seen in a timber near the bed, the house having been carefully preserved, bearing upon the front door the marks of the Indian hatchet. In the mean time, the son and son's wife of Captain Sheldon, sprang from a chamber window at the east end of the building; but unfortunately for the lady, her ankle became sprained by the fall, and being unable to walk, she was seized by the Indians. The husband escaped into the adjoining forest, and reached Hatfield. The enemy at length gaining possession of the house, reserved it on account of its size as a dépôt for the prisoners taken in the village.

At the expiration of about two hours, the enemy having collected the prisoners, and plundered and set fire to the buildings, took up their march from the place. Forty-seven persons had been put to death, including those killed in making the defence. "We were carried over the river to the foot of the mountain, about a mile from my house," says Mr. Williams, "where we found a great number of our Christian neighbors—men, women, and children—to the number of one hundred, nineteen of whom were afterwards murdered in the way, and two starved to death near Coos in a time of great scarcity and famine the savages underwent there. When we came to the foot of the mountain, they took away our shoes, and gave us Indian shoes, to prepare us for our journey."

At this spot, a portion of the enemy was overtaken by a party of the English, consisting of the few who had escaped, together with the men who had defended the two houses, and a small number from Hatfield, and a brisk fight ensued. The little band, however, was in danger of being surrounded by the main body of the enemy's troops, as they came into the action, and, accordingly, they were compelled to retreat. They left nine of their number slain. The attack on the enemy, under such circumstances, indicated the resolute and sympathizing spirit of the people, but it had well nigh proved fatal to the prisoners. Rouville, fearing, at one time, a defeat, had ordered the latter to be put to death, but, providentially, the bearer of the message was killed before he executed his orders. They were, nevertheless, held in readiness to be sacrificed in the event of disasters happening to the enemy.

Soon after the termination of the skirmish, Rouville commenced his march for Canada. Three hundred miles of a trackless wilderness were to be traversed, and that too at a very inclement season of the year. The prospects of the captives were gloomy beyond description. Many were women, at that time under circumstances requiring the most tender treatment. Some were young children, not sufficiently strong to endure the fatigues of traveling. Infants there were, who must be carried in their parents' arms, or left behind to be butchered by the savage or frozen on the snow; and, of the adult males, several were suffering from severe wounds.