The first day's journey was but four miles, and was signalized by the murder of an infant. The Indians, however, seemed disposed generally to favor the captives, by carrying on their backs such children as were incapable of traveling. From mercenary motives, they wished to keep all alive that they could, as the captives would bring a price, or be serviceable to them in some way, in Canada. It was no sentiment of compassion that moved them; for, as soon as their patience failed them, the miserable captive, whether man, woman, or child, was knocked on the head. At night, they encamped in a meadow, in what is now Greenfield, where they cleared away the snow, spread boughs of trees, and made slight cabins of brush, for the accommodation of the prisoners. The strongest of the latter were bound after the Indian manner that night, and every subsequent night, in order to prevent escape. In the very first night, one man broke away and escaped, and, at the same time, Mr. Williams, who was considered the principal of the captives, was informed by the commander-in-chief, that if any more attempted to escape, the rest should be put to death.
In the second day's march occurred the death of Mrs. Williams. In the course of the route, it became necessary to cross Creek river, at the upper part of Deerfield meadow. From some change of conductors, Mr. Williams, who had before been forbidden to speak to his fellow-captives, was now permitted to do it, and even to assist his distressed wife, who had begun to be exhausted. But it was their last meeting, and most affecting was the scene. She very calmly told him that her strength was fast failing, and that he would soon lose her. At the same time, she did not utter the language of discouragement or of complaint, in view of the hardness of her fortune. When the company halted, Mr. Williams' former conductor resumed his place, and ordered him into the front, and his wife was obliged to travel unaided. They had now arrived at the margin of Green river. This they passed by wading through the water, which was about two feet in depth, and running with great rapidity. They now came to a steep mountain, which it was necessary to ascend. The narrative of Mr. Williams says, here: "No sooner had I overcome the difficulty of that ascent, but I was permitted to sit down, and to be unburthened of my pack. I sat pitying those who were behind, and entreated my master to let me go down and help my wife, but he refused. I asked each of the prisoners, as they passed by me, after her, and heard that, passing through the above said river, she fell down, and was plunged all over in the water; after which, she traveled not far; for, at the foot of the mountain, the cruel and blood-thirsty savage who took her, slew her with his hatchet, at one stroke." The same day, a young woman and child were killed and scalped.
After some days, they reached the mouth of White river, where Rouville divided his force into several parties, who took different routes to the St. Lawrence. Mr. Williams belonged to a party which reached the Indian village St. Francis, on the St. Lawrence, by the way of Lake Champlain. After a short residence at that village, he was sent to Montreal, where he was treated with kindness by the governor, Vaudreuil.
In the year 1706, fifty-seven of these captives were conveyed to Boston in a flag-ship, among whom were Mr. Williams and all his remaining children (two having been ransomed and sent home before), except his daughter Eunice, whom, notwithstanding all his exertions, he was never able to redeem, and whom, at the tender age of ten years, he was obliged to leave among the Indians. As she grew up under Indian influence, having no other home, and no other friends who could counsel and guide her, she adopted the manners and customs of the Indians, settled with them in a domestic state, and, by her husband, had several children. She became also, it is said, a Catholic, and ever afterwards firmly attached to that religion. This, perhaps, is scarcely a matter of surprise, as the sentiment was, the more easily instilled into her mind, from her age and the circumstances in which she was placed. Some time after the war, she visited her relations at Deerfield, in company with her husband. She was habited in the Indian costume, and, strange as it may seem, though every persuasive was used to induce her to abandon the savages, and to remain among her connections, all was in vain. She continued to lead the life of a savage, and, though she repeated her visits to her friends in New England, she uniformly persisted in wearing her blanket and counting her beads. Two of the children of Mr. Williams, after their return, became worthy and respectable ministers; one at Waltham, the other at Long Meadow, in Springfield.
The captive Mr. Williams, upon his return to the colony, was desired, by the remnant of his Deerfield friends, to resume the duties of his pastoral office in that place. He complied with their request, and, having rëmarried, reared another family of children, and died in 1729.
During Queen Anne's War, no other single tragedy occurred like that of Deerfield; but, at all times, the enemy were prowling about the frontier settlements, watching, in concealment, for an opportunity to strike a sudden blow, and, having done irreparable mischief, to escape with safety. The women and children retired into garrisons; the men left their fields uncultivated, or labored with arms at their sides, and having sentinels posted at every point whence an attack could be apprehended. Yet, notwithstanding these precautions, the Indians were often successful, killing sometimes an individual, sometimes a whole family, sometimes a band of laborers, ten or twelve in number; and, so alert were they in their movements, that but few of them fell into the hands of the whites.
Queen Anne died in 1714, and George I., of the house of Brunswick, ascended the throne of England. During the reign of the latter, a state of warfare existed between the enemy and the colony of Massachusetts and New Hampshire for several years, distressing to the former, but attended by few signal conflicts, disasters, or victories. At length, however, it was discovered that the Indians, although instigated still by the French, were not averse to peace. Accordingly, towards the latter part of the year 1725, a treaty was concluded at Boston, and the next spring was ratified at Falmouth. A period of tranquillity succeeded this event in the northern colonies.