The young Puritans in King Philip's war

I. The Young Puritans Of Old

HADLEY.

II. The Young Puritans In King Philip’s War

¥oun0 J^uritan

THE

YOUNG PURITANS

KING PHILIP’S WAR.

BY

MARY P. WELLS SMITH,

AUTHOR OF “the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY,” THE “jolly good TIMES SERIES,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY L. J. BRIDGMAN.

BOSTON:

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 1898.

PEEFACE.

'HIS story continues the adventures and ex-

JL periences of ‘‘ The Young Puritans of Old Hadley/' its object being to make real to young readers the incidents connected with King Philip’s War in the Connecticut Valley. It is impossible to study the history of this period without strong impressions of its romance and picturesqueness. Many a line in Judd or Sheldon, seemingly a dry statement of facts, glows with highest romance if we but stop a moment to picture to ourselves the actual conditions and surroundings.

In these days of war, it may be of interest to see how war was conducted in this country by our forefathers, in times when not only were there no railroads, no telegraphs, no rifles, but also no bridges, no roads, save Indian footpaths through the all-surrounding wilderness; when, in fact, all things regarded as essentials in modern warfare were wanting. But then as now hearts beat high with heroism, and brave youths were prompt to do, to dare, to die if need be, for home and country. Hobson, and the hundreds of noble

Vlll

Preface

young patriots whose bodies lie to-day on Santiago’s hillsides, had their prototypes in Jonathan Wells and his comrades of King Philip’s War. The Puritans of old found, as do the Americans of to-day, their deepest faith expressed in Martin Luther’s Battle Psalm : —

“ A mighty fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing ;

Our helper He amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing.

For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe ;

His craft and power are great ;

And, armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.

“ God’s word above all earthly powers —

No thanks to them — abideth ;

The spirit and the gift are ours.

Through Him who with us sideth.

Let goods and kindred go.

This mortal life also ;

The body they may kill,

God’s truth abideth still ;

His kingdom is forever.”

MARY P. WELLS SMITH.

Greenfield, Mass.,

Contents

Chapter Page

I. ’T IS Spring Time 1

II. A Trip to Deerfield 19

CHAPTER I. 'tis spring-time

FTER a long, cold winter, at last spring smiled again on the little frontier settlement of Hadley. Gradually, oh so gradually ! the deep snow had melted, the ground had settled, and now, the middle of April, the settlers were resuming work on their land.

Goodman Ellis said to John, one morning, —

My son, our store of meal runneth low. Thou must take some maize to the mill this morning. Tarry not on the way, for we must push our planting smartly. Samuel Partridge, ever a forehanded man, told me but yesterday that already he had finished planting his allotment in the Great Meadow. This was like a spur in the side to me. Therefore idle not, but speed to the mill and back as fast as may be. Perchance thou mayst return in season to join me at corn planting ere noon.”

John was pleased at this errand. This bright April morning, when, after the long frozen silence of the winter, the robins, bluebirds, and phoebes were warbling joyously from every tree, when the sun shone so warmly and the scent of new grass filled the air, he had quite as soon be riding White Bess to mill as digging in Fort Meadow.

Struck with a happy thought, he said, —

Shall I go to Goodman Meekins’s mill ? ”

Should his father consent, this trip to the west side would involve a possibility of more adventures.

Nay, nay,” said Goodman Ellis, displeased.

Why waste time crossing the great river, when thou canst more easily ride up to Goodman Boltwood’s mill ? I discern signs of an idle spirit in thee, my son.”

Goodman Meekins dwelleth by his mill,” said John. Goodman Boltwood might not be at his mill this morning.”

He and his son Samuel rode out to the north early this morn,” said his father. Doubtless they have other grinding to do. So speed on. ’T is ever the early bird that secureth the first worm.”

John saddled White Bess, filled his bags from the bins, low down now, and threw them over White Bess’s broad back.

Prudence, who was sweeping the kitchen, came

’tis spring-time.

out the doors to shake a braided rag mat, one of her own making.

^^Ah, John,” she said, I would I wert thou. I long to be out doors this morning in the bright sunshine. But I have to stay in and spin my stint after my chores are done. I would I were a boy ! ”

Tut, tut, Pruda, that is unbecoming talk for a lass. Maids have to be maids, and do a maid’s part. Boys have to work far the hardest,” said John, nevertheless secretly agreeing with Pruda that it was far better to be a boy.

Fudge, John,” said Pruda, one would think thou wert our father, thou talkest so grave and sage. ’T is not fair, and thou knowest it.”

And Prudence, drawing in a long breath of the sweet spring air, went back into the kitchen.

But fate was kind to Prudence that morning, if she were unluckily a little maiden. She was whirling the spinning-wheel briskly, hoping, if she finished her stint quickly, that her mother would let her go up to the river bank with Nathan and Abigail, when, to her surprise and delight, the door opened, and Submit Carter came in.

Why, Submit, is ’t indeed thou ? ” cried Prudence. How did Widow Burnham happen to suffer thee to come up in the morning ? ”

She sent me on an errand to thy mother,” said Submit, whose face, pale after the winter’s

4 YOUNG PUKITANS IN KING PIIILIP’S WAR.

confinement, was briglit now with a happy smile.

’T is about thee too,” she added, with a cheerful nod to her friend that filled Prudence with eager curiosity.

Goodwife Ellis,” said Submit, Widow Burnham craveth to know if thou wilt suffer Prudence to go with us this afternoon out the north highway to the woods ? ”

Prudence waited anxiously her mother’s reply.

Goeth the widow to the woods ? ” asked Goodwife Ellis, in surprise. That is strange for her. She is not wont to be a gadder.”

She goeth to gather roots and herbs to make a concoction for the spring distemper,” said Submit. Her kinsman in Wethersfield hath sent her a recipe that he saith is a sovereign cure for the distemper. The widow hath sent thee the recipe, thinking thou mightest like Prudence to gather the herbs for it. She goeth herself because I do not know the plants.”

Submit handed Goodwife Ellis the recipe, which was written on a scrap of coarse paper, so small that it was with difficulty she held it, as she read as follows : —

A SOVRAN REMEDY FOR YE BLOOD.

Take one Handfull of Sullendine, one Handfull of Spicknard, Black Cherry Tree Bark one half Handfull, Babrerry Bark one half Handfull, Bark of ye Root of

’t is spring-time.

Shoomak one Handfull. Put these in Three Quarts of Cyder And Let them Steep over Night. And take as much as you Can in the Morning — the Rule is one half pint. And keep on till you Done.

Verily, it soimdeth as if it had virtue,” said Goodwife Ellis. ‘‘I will gladly suffer Prudence to go, above all as the widow goeth herself.”

Submit and Prudence exchanged happy smiles, as Submit hastened away, saying she would call for Prudence soon after noon. The gloom had gone from Prudence’s face, and she made the wheel hum briskly, soon finishing her stint, and then helping her mother prepare dinner, — a simple meal of bean porridge with boiled salt pork, turnips, and rye and Indian bread.

John meantime had jogged slowly on his laden mare beside the broad, shining Connecticut, until he reached the small log mill three miles north of Hadley settlement, where, as he drew near, he heard the sound of grinding.

Mill River was full. The water poured over the dam, although the rude sandstones brought from Mt. Tom were revolving at their highest speed. The Porters’ big black horse was tied to a sapling near the mill, so John was not surprised to find Samuel Porter, a boy about his own age and an opposite neighbor, in the mill.

Good morrow, John,” said Samuel Boltwood, a tall, strong young man, who was tending the mill. Sam Porter is before thee, thou seest. Thou must be up with the lark, wouldst thou get ahead of Sam. Thou ’It have to wait till his grist is ground. Unload thy sacks, and my father will take out our toll. ’T will be a good hour before I am ready for thy corn.”

Samuel Porter was a bright boy, one of the best ^^scollards” in Master Younglove’s school, as much of a leader in play as in study. John liked him, and said heartily, —

I trow I am glad to find thee here, Sam. What can we do to pass the time while we wait for our grists ? ”

Let us explore the woods along the river’s bank to the northward,” said Sam. I have ne’er been up in that section.”

“ Nor I,” said John. Thou dost not think there is danger of encountering enemy Indians?”

Nay,” said Sam. There have been no Mohawks around this spring, and our river Indians are all netops with us, thou knowest.”

“ Deacon Goodman saith he liketh not their motions this spring,” said John. They did not apply for ground to plant on last winter, as usual, but waited until planting time. And ’tis rumored that Wappaye told the Deacon there would be war between the Indians and the English this summer.”

The Indians seem uneasy,” said Sam, but my father thinketh it means naught.”

’tis spring-time.

The boys mounted their horses and rode off, winding along in the open spaces under the great trees that stood in the forest to the north of the mill. The Indians having burnt out the underbrush, there were few obstacles to their progress save low-hanging branches or fallen trees.

Suddenly their attention w^as attracted by a splashing sound from the river on their left.

Hark ! What is that, I wonder ? ’’ said John.

It soundeth like a horseman fording the river,’’ said Sam.

Turning their horses towards the river, they peered around the tree trunks, through the haze of tiny new buds and starting blossoms which veiled the branches in a tender mist of soft green.

I vow ! ’t is a moose, as sure as I sit this horse ! ” whispered Sam. ’ T is lucky thou hast thy snaphance with thee.”

The Wells boys had the huge branching horns of a moose for a musket rest over their mantle-tree, and John knew that moose were sometimes killed in the vicinity, though not so common as smaller deer; but this was the first one he had chanced to see.

So excited he could hardly hold his gun steadily, he poised it, waiting motionless to take aim.

The moose, only its head and neck visible in the deeper water, swam stoutly to shore, scrambled up the bank, and began nibbling the low branches of a maple. Then, startled, it paused, sniffed the air keenly in the direction of its unseen enemies an instant, and, turning, plunged into the stream again. John fired, but missed.

We must n’t lose him ! ” shouted John, spurring his horse on to the river bank, and into the water.

Here ’s for him ! ” cried Sam, close behind.

The horses, well used to fording and swimming streams, nothing daunted, swam valiantly on, but, laden with their riders, could not overtake the terrified moose, who well knew that he was swimming for his life. Still they were not far behind him when he struggled up the opposite bank and made for the shelter of the forest.

The boys pressed on after him, lying low on their horses as they dodged among the trees on the track of the moose, who found himself so hotly pursued that he again took to the river, his great head, projecting from the water, leaving a wide spreading ripple on the stream’s smooth surface.

Again the boys urged their horses into the river, so excited they saw nothing, thought of nothing, but the moose.

As John mounted the bank again, he fired, hitting the moose in the hip, a slight, grazing wound, but enough to infuriate it. He turned on his pursuers, and, lowering his head, came fiercely at them.

’tis spking-time.

John had no time to reload, and Sam had no gun. The boys threw themselves from their panting horses, which lost no time in vanishing into the woods. Sam Porter seized a huge pine knot from a pile of driftwood left on the bank by the spring floods, crying, —

Load your gun, John, while I hold him back a minute with this.”

Fortunately for the boys, the moose had but lately shed his horns, and his new horns were barely sprouting. But he came at Sam furiously^ trying to strike him down with his fore legs.

Sam waited until the moose was almost upon him, and then dealt him a sounding rap on the side of the head with the pine knot, which staggered him an instant. John fired again, and this time the bullet went straight to the mark. The moose fell, and Sam gave him a finishing blow with the pine knot.

The boys, breathless, but full of excited delight, stood gazing down on their stalwart prey. The moose looked immense, stretched out on the ground. He was as large as a horse, seven feet long, and standing fifteen feet high at his shoulders. Awkward and clumsy though he was, still there was a majesty about this fallen king of the forest that made John say, —

‘‘ What a fine fellow he was ! T was almost a pity to bring him low.”

Thou 'It not think much about that when once thou dost taste moose steak, — a toothsome titbit, I promise thee," said Sam.

] 'll go halves with thee," said John. But for thy timely aid ten chances to one I should have lost him. But how shall we get him home?"

We must take him, e’en if we bear him on our backs," said Sam. He is too rich a prize to lose. But first let us try to catch our horses."

The horses, luckily, had fallen eagerly to cropping the sweet new grass springing up in a forest opening near by, and were soon brought up and tethered to tree branches, while the boys fell to skinning and dressing their game with their hunting knives. They cut it in huge pieces for easier carrying. Sam insisted John should take the head.

The head and tongue are the sweetest morsels of all," he said. They belong fairly to thee, for 't was thy shot brought him down."

Then I shall bring thee a portion when my mother cooketh it," said John, fully appreciating Sam’s generous spirit.

^^Be sure to take the large bones," said Sam, for their marrow maketh a fair butter."

WeTl throw none away, then, for butter is a rare enough dish with us," said John, as he began gathering up the bones.

'tis spring-time.

With strips of moose-wood bark, and tender withes from young saplings, the boys managed to fasten their precious loads upon their horses. It took them some time to make their way back through the woods to the mill. The sun was high in the sky, and Robert Boltwood and his son were standing in the mill door looking anxiously out, as the boys emerged from the woods.

^^We feared you were perchance lost in the forest, you tarried so long,” said Samuel Boltwood ;

but in truth you had good excuse for tarrying, I see,” he added, seeing the moose’s head dangling before John from the saddle.

Rare good fortune, that speaketh well for your prowess as youthful hunters,” said his father. But our youth should not be too venturesome. ’T is all wilderness to the northward, and we know not what unknown perils may lurk there. Your grists are ground. Can ye load them on your steeds, with all your good moose meat ? ”

With the help of the Boltwoods, all was at last loaded, leaving room for the boys to ride. But, so heavily laden, the horses were forced to go slowly.

The tree shadows begin to lie to the eastward,” said John. It must be long past noon.”

I need no tree shadows to tell me that,” said Sam. My empty stomach is as sure a dial as

Mr. Russell’s clock. It hath been crying ‘ Dinner^ this hour or more.”

I know not what iny father will say,” said John. “ ’T is verily well for me that I have the moose meat.”

As they neared the settlement, riding one behind the other in the narrow path, through the trees they saw forms moving in the woods. Drawing nearer, Sam said, —

Yonder is that old gossip. Widow Burnham. I wonder what brought her so far from the inglenook ? She must be digging for witch gold, rnethinks. And thy sister .Prudence and the bound girl are with her.”

The widow, much bundled S,bout the head with prudent wrappings, and muffled in cloak and shawl, was half sitting down, tugging hard at a tough sumach root, which, though she had made Submit dig well around it with an old case knife, refused to yield to her efforts. Opposition to her will always angered the widow.

“ Thou shalt come up, thou stubborn, stiff-necked thing, I tell thee,” said the widow, giving a harder pull.

The root suddenly yielded, and over went the widow sprawling on her back in most undignified fashion.

Submit dared not even smile, but bent to picking wintergreen leaves with zeal, as if she had not seen the widow’s disaster. But Prudence laughed involuntarily.

Thou ’rt a bold, impudent young hussy, Prudence Ellis,” burst out the widow, as she gathered herself up, ^^and I shall not scruple to tell thy father of thy unseemly behavior. Disrespect to elders is a sore sin in youth, which the Lord will surely punish, as thou wilt see.”

Truly, I rtieant not to laugh, Widow Burnham,” said Prudence. I am sorry for thy mishap. ’Twas so sudden, and thou went over so quickly, I laughed before I thought.”

The boys had been greatly amused at the widow’s downfall, which they saw from afar.

I mistrust Pruda’s giggling hath gotten her into trouble with the old shrew. I must to her rescue,” said John, drawing on a sober face as he rode up.

Good morrow. Widow Burnham,” he said.

By good fortune, Sam and I have slain a fine moose, and I thought to bring thee down a piece of the meat this even, an ’t would be plfeasing to thee.”

The widow’s brow cleared at once, and she said, —

Verily it will, for ’tis long enough since I have tasted fresh meat. Having none to hunt or fish for me, I must needs depend on the civility of my neighbors. I shall take it as most civil in thee, Master John. Could st thou spare me a bone or two, the marrow will come in good play.”

John promised the bones also. Here Prudence said, —

John, thou art o’er late. Our mother is sorely disturbed lest some harm hath befallen thee.”

’Twas Sir Moose that hindered us. We shall soon be home now.”

‘‘A fair excuse, I trow,” said the widow, in high good humor now.

The boys rode on. Prudence and Submit, in spite of the Widow Burnham’s society, were having a happy afternoon. After the long shutting in of the winter, to be once more out doors, and in the wild beauty of the woods, was indeed a delight. Their cheeks grew pink in the soft air and spring sunshine, as they groped among the bushes and under the dead leaves, filling their baskets high with wintergreen leaves and berries, and the roots the widow dug.

As Prudence pushed awa’y a mass of leaves and rusty pine needles under a pine tree, she pulled out a green vine-like plant, covered with beautiful pinkish white blossoms, of exquisitely delicate fragrance.

0 how lovely ! What a sweet perfume ! I ne’er saw aught like them before,” cried Prudence, more delighted than if she had struck a mine of gold.

’tis spring-time.

I have seen them near Boston,” said Submit, with a side glance at the widow, to see how she bore talk about anything so trivial as flowers.

They call them there Mayflowers, because T is said the Pilgrims at Plymouth first called them so, after the ship they came over in.”

It matters not who called them so,” said the widow, sharply. Mayflowers they are, and that is enough. Waste not precious time plucking idle posies. The afternoon waneth, and we must soon turn homewards.”

But Submit had already gatliered a bunch of the sweet flowers, with some ferns that had kept green under the winter snow-banks. She hid these treasures deep down in her basket. When she reached home, she put them in a pewter mug on the window sill of her little room, and sat Francesca close beside them to enjoy them too.

Their beauty and fragrance ministered to deep needs of her nature. She loved them, and, as she looked on them, they brought to her mind Granny Allison’s words, God loveth us e’en as a father pitieth his children.”

For ’t is God who maketh the beauteous flowers to blow,” thought Submit, with a feeling of almost love towards this Unseen Friend, who could not be so terrible as Widow Burnham pictured Him, if He too loved the flowers.

Prudence, who had ventured to gather more

16 YOUKG PURITANS IN KING PHILIP’s WAR.

flow^s than Submit dared, ran across the street when she reached home, to give some to her kind friend, Mistress Hepzibah Wells, whom she well knew loved all bright things.

The first Mayflowers ! ” said Mistress Hepzibah. Now we can believe the winter is over at last. Thank thee most heartily, Pruda. 1 not forget thy kindness,” she said, fastening a spray or two in the front of her gray gown.

Goodman Ellis’s displeasure that his son had apparently wasted a whole day going to and from the grist mill was changed into praise when he saw the goodly store of moose meat, so welcome after the long winter’s drain on their stores, and he readily consented that John should take a portion to Widow Burnham.

As John was going down the street that evening on this errand, he saw a group of people gathered in front of Mr. Russell’s house, around a man on horseback, whom, on nearer approach, he recognized as Nathaniel Warner.

Nathaniel, he knew, had lately ridden post to the Bay, for the first time after the long shutting in of the winter, and now, doubtless, had brought back the first news from the outside world that had reached Hadley for months.

Well might his return be an exciting event. John saw Sergeant Joseph Kellogg, Mr. Tilton, Lieutenant Smith and his sons, even Mr. Russell

’t is spring-time.

himself, in the group clustered around Nathaniel, who passed out packets of letters to one and another as he talked.

I too will tarry to hear the latest news from the Bay,” thought John. Perchance there may be letters from Old England for my father, which will gladden him, for ’t is long since we heard from home.”

As he drew nearer, he heard the name Philip.”

What tidings is there ? ” he asked of Stephen Belding, who stood near the outer edge of the group.

Hush,” said Stephen. Hearken to Nathaniel.”

‘‘At the March Court in Plymouth,” Nathaniel was saying, “ Philip appeared of his own accord. He protested his innocence of any evil designs against the English, and spake many smooth words. The Assistants were ill . satisfied, yet, having no proof against him, dismissed him friendly, warning him however that, if aught more were heard against him, they should demand his arms to be delivered up.”

“ 'T is well matters are no worse,” said Mr. Tilton, with a look of relief.

“ That is not all,” said Nathaniel. “ Soon after Philip left, Sausarnan disappeared. He was that faithful, praying Indian who last fall brought tidings to Governor Winslow of Plymouth of Philip’s evil designs.”

“ Yea, yea, we remember that well,” said one and another.

Saiisaman said then, if ’t were known he were the informer, his life would be little worth,” said Sergeant Kellogg.

“ So it hath proved,” said Nathaniel. His friends, searching for him, found his hat and gun on the ice at Assowamsett Pond, in Middleborough. Looking further, they found his body under the ice. Thinking him accidentally drowned while fishing through the ice, they buried him. But Governor Winslow was shrewdly suspicious of this sudden death. He had the corpse dug up and examined. It was plain that Sausaman had been foully murdered.”

‘‘ Have they detected the murderers ? ” asked Mr. Russell.

^^Nay, though suspicion pointeth strongly towards some of Philip’s men. In spite of Philip’s smooth professions, there are many suspicious circumstances that speak ill for his good intentions. Governor Winslow and others feel grave concern, and will keep vigilant watch on his motions.”

Mr. Russell had sundry weighty packets from England and the Bay, with which he now withdrew into the house, and the little group scattered to bear home the ill tidings, yet with an underlying hope that the people of Plymouth were over-anxious and unduly alarmed.

Chapter II. A Trip To Deerfield

O NE May evening, when Goodman Ellis and John were busy in the paddock back of the house milking, young Sergeant John Hawks appeared to them.

“ Good even, Goodman Ellis,’’ he said. Canst spare thy vson John to help me on the morrow ? I go to drive my cattle up to the cow commons that I have hired for the summer of Mr. John Pynchon, at Pocumtuck. They will be unruly enough, and ’t will be more than I can manage to get them through the forest alone. I thought perchance thou couldst spare John to-morrow to help me, thy planting being so forward, and there being a town meeting to-morrow which thou wilt doubtless attend.”

Goodman Ellis had purchased his home of John Hawks, and knew him well. After selling in Hadley, Haw^ks had moved to Hatfield, delaying his going to Deerfield, or Pocumtuck, (where he had taken up land and proposed settling,) until that little plantation should be more firmly established.

Thinkest thou now to dwell at Pocumtuck ? ” asked Goodman Ellis.

“ I go up for the summer, at all hazards/' said Hawks. ‘‘The meadows there are most fertile, and Mr. Pynchon, who holdeth much land there, hath rented me sixteen cow commons at so advantageous a rate, that it is greatly to my profit to go.”

“ Is it prudent to move so far away into the wilderness?” asked Goodman Ellis. “There is naught but forests and Indians around thee there, on every side.”

“ There are nigh twenty families at Pocumtuck now,” said Hawks. “ My brother-in-law, Experience Hinsdale, and his father and four brothers have dwelt there now nigh three years in safety. They take no thought of this idle talk about an Indian war. Their Pocumtuck Indians come and go freely among them ; a lazy, shiftless set of heathen, that no Englishman need fear. The Mohawks have broken whatever spirit they once had. Wilt suffer John to go with me ? ”

John, who was extremely anxious to take this trip into a new region, ventured to say, —

“ I will gladly go with Sergeant Hawks, an thou allowest me, father.”

“ Yea, doubtless,” said his father, with a grim smile. “ I am willing he should go, Hawks. But comest thou back to-morrow ? I would not have John return alone, the path being strange to him, and none too plain, I doubt.”

’T is plainer than thou thinkest,” said Hawks, for we use the old Indian path, trodden by the savages up and down the great river long ere an English foot was set on it. But I return as soon as possible, to take back my wife and little ones.”

The next day, John, taking Watch with him, paddled over the Connecticut to the Hatfield side in the dewy freshness of the early morning. Watch sat up in the canoe with an alert look, well aware that some expedition was on foot, and evidently prepared to do his part.

Soon John and Sergeant Hawks wpre riding along the old Indian footpath into the northern w^oods, driving before them as best they could about twenty cows and young cattle. Hard work it was. Often did John dismount, leaving White Bess to follow Sergeant Hawks’s horse, while he, actively aided by Watch, who fiew loudly barking at the heels of the stragglers, drove back into the path, now this wild creature, now that, bent on escaping into the freedom of the woods.

Verily, T is warm work,” said Hawks, taking off his steeple-crowned hat to wipe his dripping brow. I see not how I could manage the business, but for thee and thy trusty hound Watch, John. The sun’s height showeth it to be nigh the noon hour. We will halt here by this brook-side, Weequoiannuck, as the Indians call it, and eat our luncheons.”