A narrative of the captivity of Mrs. Johnson

Front matter

Indian Captivities Series

THE CAPTIVITY

OF

Introduction

A word in regard to the settlements in the Connecticut Valley antedating the time of the opening of the narrative of the captivity of Mrs. Johnson will clear the way for a better understanding of the story.

The upper Connecticut Valley and the State of Vermont were never the permanent abiding place of an Indian tribe. Indian families often found the rich unwooded interval lands in the valley convenient and comfortable squatting places for a season or two at a time, and at such times the soil was cultivated, chiefly for the growing of corn. The valley of the Connecticut River and the Lake Champlain Valley, or rather the river and the lake themselves, were Indian highways for two centuries, beginning with the advent of the French into Canada under the master hand of Samuel de Champlain, during the opening years of the seventeenth century. The history of these two great highways of the early days bristles with accounts of bloody attacks and counter attacks made by the French and Algonquins on the north, the English and Iroquois on the south. The story of the wanton cruelties of these attacks, of the burning and pillaging of homes, the capture and often the savage murder of helpless women and innocent children, makes a tale of horrors too revolting, too inhuman,

Xx to be included in the annals of civilized warfare. | By the close of 1636, settlements were well under way at Wethersfield, Windsor, Hartford, and Springfield, in the lower valley, with a total population of about one thousand. Then followed the stern, rugged push of settlement up both sides of the river in Massachusetts. A forge ahead into the wilds, then a surging back to the more populous and better fortified settlements, was the procedure for many years. The French Crown granted seigniories, and the English Crown charters, with profligacy, but the story of taking, holding, and keeping the land was written in blood.

Up to 1723, Northfield in Massachusetts, which included what is now Hinsdale in New Hampshire and Vernon in Vermont (all then supposed to be within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts), was the outpost of civilization in the valley. Fort Dummer, now Brattleboro, became the outpost in 1724. The site of the Old Fort is now marked by a granite monument which is situated a mile south of the Brattleboro ‘station, and about 50 rods easterly from, and within plain sight of, the railroad. Fort Dummer, with the settlement gathered about it, held the honor of outpost until 1740. Here was the birthplace of Colonel John Sargent, the first white person born in Vermont (1732). In 1740, a few families struggled on up the river to Charlestown, New Hampshire (No. 4), and old No. 4 held

XI the outpost honor until the settlement, in 1762, of Newbury, Vermont, and Haverhill, New Hampshire, in the Coos Country, sixty miles up the river. The story of Charlestown, with its fort and its handful of brave soldiers and settlers, during the early years leading up to the opening chapter of our story, is a counterpart of that of the beginnings of the towns to the south. At the opening of the narrative, in 1754, Charlestown had been for fourteen years a military post, and the most northerly white settlement, subject, of course, to the rule of alternate occupancy and vacating. The site of the Old Fort at Charlestown is marked by a suitable monument, erected and dedicated by the co-operation of the Union historical societies of Charlestown, New Hampshire, and Springfield, Vermont, on August 30, 1904, the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the raid on the fort and of the captivity of Mrs. Johnson.

These stories of Indian raids are historical gems, especially when the persons taken captive were moved to chronicle their experiences in enduring type. The writers were not in the commercial lists, but for the most part seem to have been actuated by a spirit of thankfulness and gratitude to Almighty God for remarkable deliverances, their narratives being characterized throughout by good old Puritanic piety. The Johnson narrative is no exception to the general rule, and has but little in its ee

= Rate subject matter that does not bear directly and concisely upon the beginnings and making of our New England homes. Written by a mother who gave birth to a promising daughter under such peculiar and trying circumstances, it is not strange that great emphasis should be given to this event. The narrative gives an unclouded view of the conditions surrounding a military post and a new settlement on the extreme frontier. It uncovers the Indian trail into Canada, discloses aboriginal habits and mode of life and warfare, and gives an insight into the captivities of the great New France of that era. The reader of these narratives does not need to be a master of logic to discover that the founders of our homes were refined, intelligent, very religiously inclined, and physically robust. The reader will be interested in Mrs. Johnson’s story of the locating, nearly fifty years after the event, of the spot where her daughter was born. The stones, a cut of which is reproduced in this volume (by the courtesy of The Tuttle Company, of Rutland, Vermont, publishers of Conant’s History of Vermont) stand in the town of Reading, Vermont, but the daughter was born “a half mile up the brook,” in the town of Cavendish. The History of Charlestown, New Hampshire, says in substance that Mrs. Johnson negotiated for these monuments, prepared the inscriptions, and directed that the smaller stone should be placed upon the

XIII spot where her child was born, while the larger should mark the place where the Indians encamped; but regardless of her instructions the stones were placed together on the main road leading from Wethersfield to Reading—and here they have stood for a century.

Elizabeth Captive Johnson, the third white person born in Vermont, lived to womanhood, and became the wife of Colonel George Kimball. One of her daughters married Jason Wetherby, and her daughter married Oel Billings, the father of the late Frederick Billings of Woodstock, Vermont, one of the most distinguished sons of the Green Mountain State.

The book itself, The Captivity of Mrs. Fobnson, is one of the rarest Vermont productions. The story was first told by John C. Chamberlain, and published at Walpole, N. H., in 1796. The second edition was printed at Windsor, Vermont, in 1807. The third edition, enlarged with notes and appendix (the edition now reproduced), was printed at Windsor, 1n 1814. The last two editions are largely Mrs. Johnson’s own handiwork, and were revised and edited at her request. She died November 27, 1810, at the age of 81 years, a month or two after finishing the manuscript of the last edition of her book.

Horace W. Baltey.

Newbury, Vt., Fuly, 1907.

NARRATIVE OF THE CAPTIVITY OF

Mrs. JOHNSON.

INTRODUCTION.

NOTICES OF THE WILLARD FAMILY.

TO trace the progress of families, from their origin to the present day, when perhaps they are spread over the four quarters of the glcbe, and no memorandums are found except in the uncertain pages of memory, is a task which can be but feebly performed. In noticing the name of Willard, which was my family name, I cannot pretend to accuracy; but the information which I have collected will perhaps be of some service to others, who possess a greater stock; and if the various branches of families would contribute their mites, it would be an easy way of remedying the deficiency, which at present exists in American genealogy.

The first person by the name of Willard who settled in this country, was Major Willard, whose name is recorded in the history of New-England wars. In the year sixteen hundred and seventy five, in the time of “Philip’s war,’ a notorious Indian who lived within the present limits of the state of Rhode Island, Major Willard who then lived in the town of Lancaster in Massachusetts, commanded a troop of horse; and among his vigorous services, he relieved the town of Brookfield from the Nipnet Indians, who had burnt every house but one, and had almost reduced that to capitulation. When Lancaster was destroyed by the Indians, Major Willard removed to Salem, where he spent the rest of his days. He had two sons, one of whom was a settled minister in the town of Groton; which place he was driven from by the Indians, and was afterwards installed in Boston. His other son, Simon, established himself on Still River, since taken from Lancaster, and incorporated into the town of Harvard. He had nine sons, Simon, Henry, Hezekiah, John, Joseph, Josiah, Samuel, Jonathan and James; Josiah removed to Winchester in New-Hampshire, and afterwards commanded Fort Dummer; the rest inherited the substance of their father, and lived to very advanced ages in the vicinity of their birth.—They all left numerous families, who spread over the United States. His eldest son, Simon, was my grandfather; he had two sons, Aaron and Moses: Aaron lived in Lancaster, and Moses, my father, removed to Lunenburg. I ought to remark, that my grandmother Willard, after the death of her husband, married a person by the name of Farnsworth, by whom she had three sons, who were the first settlers of Charlestown, No. 4—one of them was killed by the Indians.

My father had twelve children; he removed to Charlestown, No. 4, in 1742, and soon had the pleasure to find his children settled around him: he was killed by the Indians in 1756.— My mother died in May, 1797,* and had lived to see twelve children, ninety-two grand-children, one hundred and twenty-three great grand-children, and four great-great-grand-children. The whole that survive are now settled on Connecticut River.

NOTICES OF MR. JAMES JOHNSON.

IN the year 1730, my great-uncle, Colonel Josiah Willard, while at Boston, was invited

*At the age of eighty-four, she busied herself in making a coverlid, which contains something of the remarkable—she did not quite complete it, it now contains upwards of five thousand pieces.

to take a walk on the long-wharf, to view some transports who had just landed from Ireland; a number of gentlemen present were viewing the exercise of some lads who were placed on shore, to exhibit their activity to those who wished to purchase. My uncle spied a boy of some vivacity, of about ten years of age, and who was the only one in the crew who spoke English: he bargained for him. I have never been able to learn the price; but as he was afterwards my husband, I am willing to suppose it a considerable sum. He questioned the boy respecting his parentage and descent. All the information he could get was, that young James, a considerable time previous, went to sea with his uncle, who commanded a ship and had the appearance of a man of property, that this uncle was taken sick at sea and died; immediately after his death they came in sight of this ship of Irish transports, and he was put on board. His being the only one of the crew who spoke | English, and other circumstances, have led | his friends to conclude that this removal on ' board the Irish ship, was done to facilitate the sequestration of his uncle’s property. He lived with Col. Willard until he was twenty years old, and then bought the other year of his time. In 1748 Gov. Shirley gave him a lieutenant’s commission under Edward Hartwell, Esq.

SITUATION OF THE COUNTRY IN 1744.

It is an old maxim, that after a man is in possession of a small independent property, it is easy for him to acquire a great fortune; just so with countries;—possess them of a few inhabitants, and let those be unmolested by Indians and enemies, the land will soon swarm with inhabitants. But when a feeble band only are gathered together, and obliged to contend with pestilence, famine and the sword, their melancholy numbers will decrease and waste away. The situation of our ancestors has often been described in language that did honor to the hearts that conceived it. The boisterous ocean, with unknown shores hemmed them in on one side, and a forest, swarming with savages, yelling for their blood, threatened on the other. But the same undaunted spirit which has defended them in so many perils, buoyed them above despair in their early struggles for safety and liberty. I shall be pardoned for the digression when | observe, that I have in all my travels felt a degree of pride in recollecting, that I belonged to a country whose valor was distinguished, and whose spirit had never been debased by servile submission.

At the age of fourteen, in 1744, I made a visit from Leominster to Charlestown, to visit my parents. Thro’ a long wilderness from

Lunenburg to Lower Ashuelot, now Swanzey, we travelled two days; a solitary house was all the mark of cultivation that occurred on the journey. Guided by marked trees, we travelled cautiously through the gloomy forest, where now the well-till’d farms occupy each rod of ground; from Ashuelot to Charlestown the passage was opposed, now by “the hill of difficulty,” and now by the slough despond. A few solitary inhabitants, who appeared the representatives of wretchedness, were scattered on the way.

When I approached the town of Charlestown, the first object that met my eyes was a party of Indians holding a war dance, a cask of rum which the inhabitants had suffered_ them to partake of, had raised their spirits to all the horrid yells, and feats of distortion which characterize the nation. I was chilled at the sight and passed tremblingly by. At this time Charlestown contained nine or ten families, who lived in huts not far distant from each other. The Indians were numerous, and associated in a friendly manner with the whites. It was the most northerly settlement on Connecticut River, and the adjacent country was terribly wild. A sawmill was erected, and the first boards were sawed while I was there: the inhabitants commemorated the event with a dance, which took place on the new boards. In those days there was such a mixture on the frontiers, of savages and settlers, without established laws to govern them, that the state of society cannot be easily described, and the impending dangers of war, where it was known that the savages would join the enemies of our country, retarded the progress of refinement and cultivation. The inhabitants of Charlestown began to erect a fort, and took some steps towards clearing their farms; but war soon checked their industry.

Se ee Re TS

CHARLESTOWN.

IN the year 1740, the first settlement was made in the town of Charlestown, then known by the name of No. 4, by three families who emigrated from Lunenburg, by the name of Farnsworth; that part of New-Hampshire west of Merrimac River was then a trackless wilderness. Within a few years past instances have been known, of new townships totally uninhabited, becoming thick settled villages in the course of six or seven years. But in those days, when government was weak, when savages were on our borders and Frenchmen in Canada, population extended with timorous and tardy paces; in the course of twelve years the families increased only to twenty two or three. The human race will not flourish unless fostered by the warm sunshine of peace.

During the first twenty years of its existence as a settled place, until the peace between Great-Britain and France, it suffered all the consternation and ravages of war; not that warfare which civilized nations wage with each other, but the cruel carnage of savages and Frenchmen. Sometimes engaged in the duties of the camp, at others sequestering themselves from surrounding enemies, they became familiar with danger, but not with industrious husbandry.

In the year 1744, the inhabitants began to erect a fort for their safety. When the Cape Breton war commenced, the Indians assumed the hatchet and began their depredations on Charlestown on the 19th day of April, A. D. 1746, by burning the mills and taking Captain John Spafford, Isaac Parker, and Stephen Farnsworth prisoners. On the second of May following Seth Putnam was killed. Two days after Capt. Payne arrived with a troop of horse from Massachusetts, to defend the place;— about twenty of his men had the curiosity to view the place where Putnam was killed, and were ambushed by the Indians. Capt. Stevens, who commanded a few men rushed out of the fort to their relief; a sharp combat ensued, in which the Indians were routed: they left some guns and blankets on the field of action, but they carried their dead off with them, which is a policy they never omit. Ensign

Obadiah Sartwell was captured, and Samuel Farnsworth, Elijah Allen, Peter Perin, Aaron Lyon and Joseph Massey fell victims to Indian vengeance.

On the 19th of June a severe engagement took place. Capt. Brown, from Stow in Massachusetts, had previously arrived with some troops; a party of his, joined a number of Capt. Stevens’ soldiers to go into the meadow after their horses. The dogs discovered an ambush, which put them into a posture for action, and gave them the advantage of the first fire. This disconcerted the savages, who being on higher ground over-shot, and did but little damage to the English. The enemy were routed, and even seen to drag several dead bodies after them. They left behind them guns, spears, and blankets, which sold at 40l. old tenor. During the time Capt. Josiah Brown assisted in defending the fort, Jedediah Winchel was killed, Samuel Stanhope, Coronet Baker and David Parker were wounded. During this summer the fort was entirely blockaded, and all were obliged to take refuge within the piquets. On the 3d day of August one Phillips was killed within a few feet of the fort, as he accidentally stepped out; at night a soldier crept to him with a rope, and he was drawn into the fort and interred. In the summer of the year

1746, Capt. Ephraim Brown from Sudbury, arrived with a troop of horse to relieve Capt. Josiah Brown. The Sudbury troop tarried about a month, and were relieved by a company commanded by Capt. Winchester, who defended the place till autumn, when the inhabitants, fatigued with watching, and weary of the dangers of the forest, deserted the place entirely for about six months. In the month of August previous to the evacuation, the Indians assisted by their brethren the French, were very troublesome and mischievous; they destroyed all the horses, hogs and cattle. An attack was made on the fort, which lasted two days. My father at this time lost ten cattle, but the people were secured behind their wooden walls, and received but little damage.

In this recess of the settlement of No. 4, the Indians and French were ice-locked in Canada, and the frontiers suffered only in apprehension. In March 1747, Capt. Phinehas Stevens, who commanded a ranging party of about 30 men, marched to No. 4, and took possession of the fort. He found it uninjured by the enemy, and an old spaniel and a cat, who had been domesticated before the evacuation, had guarded it safely thro’ the winter, and gave the troops a hearty welcome to their tenement.

Capt. Stevens was of eminent service to the infant settlement. In 1748 he moved his family to the place, and encouraged the settlers by his fortitude and industry. In the early part of his life, when Rutland suffered by savage vengeance, when the Rev. Mr. Willard was murdered, he was taken prisoner and carried to St. Francis. This informed him of the Indian customs, and familiarized him with their mode of warfare: he was an active, penetrating soldier, and a respectable, worthy citizen.

In a few days after the fort was taken possession of by Capt. Stevens’s troops, a party of 500 French and Indians, commanded by Mons. Debelcie, sallied from their den in Canada, and made a furious attack on the fort. The battle lasted five days, and every stratagem which French policy or Indian malice could invent, was practised to reduce the garrison. Sometimes they made an onset by a discharge of musquetry, at others they discharged fire arrows, which communicated fire to several parts of the fort. But these were insufficient to daunt the courage of the little band that were assailed. Their next step was to fill a cart with combustibles, and roll it against the walls, to communicate fire; but the English kept up such a brisk incessant fire that they were defeated in the project. At length the Monsieurs, tired with fighting, beat a parley; two Indians, formerly acquainted with Capt. Stevens, came as negociao Peabtiny a he AN Fe ih a ators, and wished to exchange some furs for corn; this Capt. Stevens refused, but offered a bushel of corn for each hostage they would leave to be exchanged, at some future day. These terms were not complied with, and on the fifth day the enemy retreated, at which time the soldiers in the garrison honored them with as brisk a discharge as they could afford, to let them know that they were neither disheartened nor exhausted in ammunition. The garrison had none killed, and only one, by the name of Brown, was wounded.

Perhaps no place was ever defended with greater bravery than this fort during this action; 30 or 40 men, when attacked by 500, must have an uncommon degree of fortitude and vigilance to defend themselves during a siege of five days. But Capt. Stevens was equal to the task, and will be applauded by posterity. After the battle he sent an express to Boston with the tidings. Gov. Charles Knowles happened to be then at Boston, and rewarded Capt. Stevens with a handsome sword, in gratitude for which the place was afterwards called Charlestown.

In November 1747, a body of the troops set out from the fort, to return to Massachusetts: they had not proceeded far before the Indians fired on them. Isaac Goodale and

Nathaniel Gould were killed, and one Anderson taken prisoner. From this period until the end of the Cape Breton war, the fort was defended by Capt. Stevens. Soldiers passed and repassed to Canada, but the inhabitants took sanctuary in the fort, and made but little progress in cultivation. During the Indian wars, which lasted till the year 1760, Charlestown was noted more for its feats of war, than a place of rapid improvement. Settlers thought it more prudent to remain with their friends in safety, than risk their scalps with savage power. Since that period, it has become a flourishing village, and contains all that a rural situation affords of the useful and the pleasant; numerous farms and stately buildings now flourish where the savage roamed the forest—The prosperity of the town was greatly promoted by the Rev. Bulkely Olcott, who was a settled minister there about 32 years. In the character of this good man was combined the agreeable companion, the industrious citizen, and unaffected christian. During the whole of his ministry, his solicitude for the happiness of his parishoners was as conspicuous, in the benefits they received from his assistance, as in their sincere attachment to his person. As a divine he was pathetic, devout and instructive, and may with propriety be said to have

Shewn the path to heaven, and led the way.

He was highly respected through life: in June, 1793, he died, much lamented.

REMOVAL TO CHARLESTOWN, &c.

IN May 1749, we received information of the cessation of arms between Great Britain and France. I had then been married about two years, and Mr. Johnson’s enterprising spirit was zealous to remove to Charlestown; in June we undertook the hazardous and fatiguing journey: we arrived safe at the fort, and found five families, who had ventured so far into the woods during hostilities. But the gloomy forest, and the warlike appearance of the place, soon made me homesick. Two or three days after my arrival, orders came from Massachusetts to withdraw the troops: government placed confidence in the proffered peace of Frenchmen, and withdrew even the appearance of hostility. But French treachery and savage malice will ever keep pace with each other. Without even the suspicion of danger, the inhabitants went about their business of husbandry. The day the soldiers left the fort, Ensign Obadiah Sartwell went to harrow some corn, and took Enos Stevens, the fourth son of Phinehas Stevens, Esq. to ride horse; my father and two brothers were at work in the meadow; early inthe afternoon the Indians appeared and shot Ensign Sartwell and the horse, and took young Stevens a prisoner. In addition to this, my father and brothers were in the meadow, and we supposed they must be destroyed.— My husband was gone to Northfield. In the fort were seven women and four men: the anxiety and grief we experienced was the highest imaginable. The next night we dispatched a post to Boston, to carry the news of our disaster, but my father and brothers did not return. The next day but one my husband and five or six others arrived from Northfield. We kept close in the garrison, suffering every apprehension for ten or twelve days, when the sentry from the box cried out that troops were coming: joyful at the relief, we all mounted on the top of the fort, and among the rest discovered my father. He, on hearing the guns, supposed the fort was destroyed, left his team in the meadow, and made the best of his way to Northfield with my two brothers.—The soldiers were about thirty in number, and headed by Major Josiah Willard, of Fort Dummer. Enos Stevens was carried to Montreal, but the French commander sent him back directly, by the way of Albany. This was the last damage done the frontiers during the Cape Breton War.

CURSORY NOTICES.

A detail of the miseries of a “ frontier man,” must excite the pity of every child of humanity. [he gloominess of the rude forest, the distance from friends and competent defence, and the daily inroads and nocturnal yells of hostile Indians, awaken those keen apprehensions and anxieties which conception can only picture. If the peaceful employment of husbandry is pursued, the loaded musket must stand by his side; if he visits a neighbor, or resorts on Sundays to the sacred house of prayer, the weapons of war must bear him company; at home, the distresses of a wife, and the tears of lisping children often unman the soul that real danger assailed in vain. Those who can recollect the war that existed between France and England fifty years ago, may figure to themselves the unhappy situation of the inhabitants on the frontiers of New- Hampshire; the malice of the French in Canada, and the exasperated savages that dwelt in their vicinity, rendered the tedious days and frightful nights a season of unequalled calamities. The daily reports of captured families and slaughtered friends, mingled grief with fear. Had there been an organized government to stretch forth its protecting arm, in any case of danger, the misery might have been in a degree alleviated.

But the infancy of our country did not admit of this blessing. While Governor Shirley of Massachusetts, was petitioning to England for a fleet and army, Benning Wentworth, the governor of New-Hampshire, implicitly obeying the advice of his friend Shirley, remained inactively secure at his seat at Portsmouth. At the commencement of the year 1745, the expedition to Louisburg was projected, the success of which originated from the merest accident, rather than from military valor or generalship; this drained New-Hampshire of most of its effective men. From that period till the peace, which took place in the year 1749, the savages committed frequent depredations on the defenceless inhabitants, and the ease with which they gained their prey, encouraged their boldness, and by scattering in small parties, they were able to infest the whole frontier of New-Hampshire, from fort Dummer on Connecticut river, to the lowest settlement on Merrimack. During this war, which is known by the name of the Cape Breton war, the town of No. 4 could hardly be said to be inhabited; some adventurers had made a beginning, but few were considered as belonging to the town. Capt. Stevens, whose valour is recorded as an instance of consummate generalship, part of the time kept the fort, which afforded a shelter to the enterprising settlers in times of imminent danger.

But even his vigilance did not save the town from numerous scenes of carnage.—At the commencement of the peace, in 1749, the enterprising spirit of New-England rose superior to the dangers of the forest, and they began to venture innovation. The Indians, still thirsty for plunder and rapine, and regardless of the peace which their masters, the French, had concluded, kept up a flying warfare, and committed several outrages upon lives and property; this kept the increasing inhabitants in a state of alarm, for three or four years; most of the time they performed their daily work without molestation, but retreated to the fort at each returning night. Our country has so long been exposed to Indian wars, that recitals of exploits and sufferings, of escapes and deliverances have become both numerous and trite.—The air of novelty will not be attempted in the following pages; simple facts, unadorned, is what the reader must expect; pity for my sufferings, and admiration at my safe return, is all that my history can excite. The aged man, while perusing, will probably turn his attention to the period when the facts took place, his memory will be refreshed with the sad tidings of his country’s sufferings, which gave a daily wound to his feelings, between the years 1740 and 1760; by contrasting those days with the present, he may rejoice that he witnesses those times which many have “waited for, but died without a sight.” Those “in early life,” while they commisserate the sufferings which their parents and ancestors endured, may felicitate themselves that their lines fell in a land of peace, where neither savages nor neighboring wars molest their happiness.