Harper's Young People, August 17, 1880.
by Various.
OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
NO. IV.
JOHN KERZAR, HANNAH DUSTIN, AND THE INDIANS.
It was in August, 1692. John Kerzar, who lived on the banks of the Merrimac, a few miles from the sea, went out into his meadow with his scythe to cut grass. He took his gun along with him to shoot a bear if he saw one in his corn, or an Indian if one made his appearance. He leaned his gun against a tree, and went on with his mowing, not knowing that an Indian was crawling through the tall grass toward him. The Indian reached the tree, seized the gun, and cocked it.
"Me kill you now," said the Indian.
John Kerzar was brave. He was quick to think. He could yell louder than any Indian. No use for him to run; that would be certain death. With a yell like the blast of a trumpet, and uplifted scythe, he rushed upon the Indian, who, instead of firing, dropped the gun and took to his heels. Kerzar was upon him in an instant, swinging his scythe, and making such a fearful gash that the Indian fell dead at his feet.
Kerzar lived in Haverhill. It was a frontier settlement, and the Indians either had a spite against it, or else it was more convenient for them to attack than other settlements, for they made many attempts to destroy the place.
Thomas Dustin was at work in his field one day, when he saw a large number of Indians coming toward him from the woods. He had eight children, the youngest a week old. The mother was in bed with the infant, tended by her nurse Mary Neff. "Run for the garrison," he shouted.
The children started, the oldest boys and girls carrying the youngest.
Mr. Dustin rushed to the stable and bridled his horse, intending to take Mrs. Dustin; but the Indians were so close upon him that he could not.
He leaped upon the horse with his gun, and galloped away, the bullets flying around him, leaving his wife, baby, and Mary Neff.
The Indians entered the house, dragged Mrs. Dustin from the bed, and seized the nurse. One caught up the infant by the legs, and dashed its head against a rock.
Mr. Dustin overtook his children. It would be impossible, he thought, to save them all; which should he leave? All were equally dear. How could he make a selection? He would not; he would die in defending them, and do what he could to save all.
"Run!" he shouted, urging them on; then leaped from his horse, and fired, sprung upon the animal, again loaded his gun while upon the gallop, overtook his children, dismounted, fired again, and so, keeping the Indians at bay, brought all his children in safety to the garrison.
Not so fortunate his neighbors. In a few minutes the Indians massacred twenty-seven men, women, and children, set several houses on fire, and with a number of captives started for Canada.
It was the middle of March. The rivers and streams were swollen. There was snow on the ground. Mrs. Dustin had but one shoe; the other foot was bare; it was torn by the stones, chilled by the cold. Every step was marked with blood. Her fellow-captives fainted and fell one by one, and the tomahawk and scalping-knife finished them. All except Mrs. Dustin and Mary Neff were killed. For four days they travelled through the dark forest toward the northwest. The Indians gave them little to eat. The third day brought them to the rendez-vous of the Indians, on a little island where the Contoocook falls into the Merrimac.
"There the old smoked in silence their pipes, and the young To the pike and the white perch their baited lines flung; There the boy shaped his arrows, and there the shy maid Wove her many-hued baskets and bright wampum braid."
There were fertile intervales along the Merrimac where the deer found pasture. The Indians could spear salmon in abundance.
They had captured a little boy named Samuel Leonardson near Worcester, Massachusetts, and he had learned to talk with them.
Having been successful in their raids, all except twelve of the Indians started out to make another attack somewhere upon the English, expecting to return with captives, which they would sell to the French. Upon their return the whole party would go to Canada.
The woman who had seen her infant dashed upon the rock, and who had endured such hardships, had a brave spirit, and preferred death to captivity.
They who would be free, must themselves strike the blow. There was none but God to lean upon. She determined to make the attempt to be free.
"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.
The current bears them on. Soon they are amid the rapids at Pennacook, but the thought of home, of liberty, cools their brains and steadies their nerves. The intrepid women handle the paddles dexterously, steering clear of sunken rocks and dangerous whirlpools.
They come to a space of clear water, and then to falls, around which they must carry the canoe. They are in danger of death by drowning, in danger of prowling savages, whose wigwams are still standing along the bank of the winding stream, but no Indian discovers them. With tireless energy they ply their paddles. Days pass. At last they sweep round a bend, and behold familiar scenes: they are once more at home, coming upon their sorrowing friends like apparitions from the dead. It is a marvellous story they have to tell of endurance, heroism, and victory.
No one can doubt their words, for there are the scalps, evidence undoubtable.
By every fireside the story of Hannah Dustin, Mary Neff, and Samuel Leonardson is narrated. Presents come to them--fifty pounds from the General Court of Massachusetts, and a rich present from the Governor of New York.
A monument has been reared upon the spot where they obtained their freedom, commemorative of their endurance, resolution, and heroic action.
THE ROVERINGS AT CONEY ISLAND.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
The two Eds wanted to go very much.
"I can learn to build forts in the sand, and then grow up to be a soldier," urged Edward.
"And I might watch the men steer the boats, and by-and-by be ready to sail off somewheres on a ship, and bring back an India shawl," suggested Edgar, cunningly, and Mrs. Rovering decided at once that they should go.
"By the boat?" cried Edgar.
"No, by the cars," exclaimed Edward; and thereupon arose a discussion on the point, which lasted until Mr. Rovering came home to dinner, and said they could go by both.
So on the next morning, which happened to be Saturday, the family set out, armed with an immense lunch basket, and shaded by huge straw hats.