"Ask the Indians where they strike with the tomahawk when they want to kill a person quick?" she said to Samuel.
"Strike 'em here," said the Indian, putting his finger on Samuel's temple.
Mrs. Dustin saw where he placed his finger.
"This is the way to take off a scalp," said the Indian, showing the boy how to run a knife around the head, and separate the scalp from the skull.
The strong-hearted woman turns over her plans. They are on an island. There are twelve Indians in all; some are women, some children. Their canoes are drawn up beneath the alders. They are so far from any danger of surprise that no one keeps watch at night. The thought never comes to them that their captives—two feeble women and a boy—can escape.
Night comes. The fires burn low. All are asleep, lulled by the music of the falling waters. No—all are not asleep. The woman of brave spirit never before was so wide-awake. Hannah Dustin awakes Mary Neff and Samuel Leonardson, informs them of her purpose, gives each a tomahawk. Each selects a victim.
"Strike hard!"
A signal, and the hatchets crush through the skulls of the sleeping Indians, blow after blow in quick succession. It is the work of a minute, but in that brief time ten of the twelve Indians are killed; two only escape in the darkness.
The prisoners—prisoners no longer—gather the provisions, take the guns of the Indians, and place them in a canoe. The thoughtful women, to prevent pursuit, quickly cut holes in all the other canoes and set them adrift. They take their seats in the remaining canoe, and push out into the stream.
A thought comes. If they are spared to reach their home, will their friends believe their story? They will have evidence that can not be disputed. They paddle back to the island. Mrs. Dustin runs a knife around the scalp-locks of the dead Indians, and takes them from the skulls. They start once more in the darkness. They know that the river will bring them to their homes.