The Dustins of the Warren Line
have their own stories, worthy of their own page.
Thomas was a brick
maker and he had a saw mill. He built a new brick house and it became a garrison
house which was, under his command, to be repaired and guarded by five men. This
garrison house has been maintained and is periodically open for tourists.
The problem he faced when the Abnaike Indians descended on Haverhill is
described by Jane James, p. 21: "On the morning of March15, 1697 about 20
Abinake Indians in war dress descended on the outlying homes of Haverhill.
Thomas Dustin, constable of Haverhill at the time, was working outdoors and saw
them approaching. He hurried to warn his family. He sent their seven children
aged 17 to 2 to the nearest garrisoned house (probably Onisephorus Marsh's)
telling them to run as quickly as possible. He then urged his wife Hannah to
come with him on the one horse. But six days earlier Hannah had given birth to
their 12th child, Martha. Although they certainly would have taken the baby with
them there was a neighbor who had been nursing Hannah, Mary (Corliss) Neff, a
widow, to consider.
One can imagine the awful confusion of those few moments with the Indians
approaching. Hannah urged Thomas to go with the children and protect them and he
did. He was resolved to save at least one of the fleeing children--"the
dearest one" according to [Cotton] Mather who later personally interviewed
Hannah. He intended to swing that one on the horse with him and ride on.
However, he could not make such a painful choice and so, dismounting and keeping
the horse between the fleeing band and the two or three Indians who followed,
they all arrived at the place of safety. He had a musket and Chase debates as to
whether he fired at the pursuers as some accounts suggest."
From T. F. Waters: "In March [15th] of that year [1697]
a band of Indians attacked a Haverhill house and carried away Hannah Dustan,
with her infant of a week old, and her nurse [Mary Neff, neeCorliss]. They
soon dashed out the brains of the baby against a tree, and tomahawked the
captives as soon as they lagged by the way. Mrs Dustan and her companion were
able to keep up with their captors for a hundred and fifty miles through the
wilderness.They were claimed by an Indian family, which consisted of two stout
men, three women and seven children. As they approached Penacook (now
Concord), the Indians told the women that when they reached the Indian camp in
that neighborhood they would be stripped, scourged and compelled to run the
gauntlet. Driven to frenzy, these women resolved to escape at any cost. On the
morning of April 30, a little before daybreak, Mrs Dustan roused her nurse and
an English lad, held captive with them. They armed themselves with the
hatchets of the Indians, and killed them where they lay. Only one squaw
escaped sorely wounded, and a boy, whom they had spared intending to take with
them, awoke and ran away. They took the scalps of ten, and brought them with
them on their long and perilous homeward journey. A bounty of fifty pounds was
voted them for this bloody deed, and the statue of Hannah Dustan stands today
in the public square of the City of Haverhill. Six of the Indians who were
killed and scalped in their wigwams were children, and Mrs. Dustan was the
mother of a large family. Her deed of blood, to which she was driven by fear
and a natural desire for revenge, reveals the fierce hatred of the English
toward the Indians, and the bitterness of life in those years of
anguish."
From "Historical Collections, Being a General Collection of Interesting
Facts, Traditions, Biographical Sketches,
Anecdotes, &c., Relating to the History and Antiquities of Every Town in
Massachusetts, with Geographical Descriptions" by John Warner Barber,
published 1839 by Dorr, Howland & Co.
On the 15th of March, 1697, a body of Indians made a descent on the westerly
part of the town, and approached
the house of Mr. Thomas Dustin. They came, as they were wont, arrayed with all
the terrors of a savage war dress, with their muskets charged for the contest,
their tomahawks drawn for the slaughter, and their scalping knives unsheathed
and glittering in the sunbeams. Mr. Dustin at this time was engaged abroad in
his daily labor. When the terrific shouts of the blood-hounds first fell on
his ear, he seized his gun, mounted his horse, and hastened to his house, with
the hope of escorting to a place of safety his family, which consisted of his
wife, whom he tenderly and passionately loved, and who had been confined only
seven days in childbed, her nurse, Mrs. Mary Neff, and eight young children.
Immediately upon his arrival, he rushed into his house, and found it a scene
of confusion - the women trembling for their safety, and the children weeping
and calling on their mother for protection. He instantly ordered seven of his
children to fly in an opposite direction from that in which the danger was
approaching, and went himself to assist his wife. But he was too late - before
she could arise from her bed, the enemy were upon them.
Mr. Dustin, seeing there was no hope of saving his wife from the clutches of
the foe, flew from the house, mounted his horse, and rode full speed after his
flying children. The agonized father supposed it impossible to save them all,
and he determined to snatch from death the child which shared the most of his
affections. He soon came up with the infant brood; he heard their glad voices
and saw the cheerful looks that overspread their countenances, for they felt
themselves safe while under his protection. He looked for the child of his
love - where was it? He scanned the little group from the oldest to the
youngest, but he could not find it. They all fondly loved him - they called
him by the endearing title of father, were flesh of his flesh, and stretched
out their little arms toward him for protection. He gazed upon them, and
faltered in his resolution, for there was none whom he could leave behind;
and, indeed, what parent could, in such a situation, select the child which
shared the most of his affections? He could not do it, and therefore resolved
to defend them from the murderers, or die at their side.
A small party of the Indians pursued Mr. Dustin as he fled from the house, and
soon overtook him and his flying children. They did not, however, approach
very near, for they saw his determination, and feared the vengeance of a
father, but skulked behind the trees and fences, and fired upon him and his
little company. Mr. Dustin dismounted from his horse, placed himself in the
rear of his children, and returned the fire of the enemy often and with good
suceess. In this manner he retreated for more than a mile, alternately
encouraging his terrified charge, and loading and fireing his gun, until he
lodged them safely in a forsaken house. The Indians, finding that they could
not conquer him, returned to their companions, expecting, no doubt, that they
should there find victims, on which they might exercise their savage cruelty.
The party which entered the house when Mr. Dustin left it, found Mrs. Dustin
in bed, and the nurse attempting to fly with the infant in her arms. They
ordered Mrs. Dustin to rise instantly, while one of them took the infant from
the arms of the nurse, carried it out, and dashed out its brains against an
apple tree. After plundering the house they set it on fire, and commenced
their retreat, though Mrs. Dustin had but partly dressed herself, and was
without a shoe on one of her feet. Mercy was a stranger to the breasts of the
conquerors, and the unhappy women expected to receive no kindnesses from their
hands. The weather at the time was exceedingly cold, the the March-wind blew
keen and piercing, and the earth was alternately covered with snow and deep
mud.
They travelled twelve miles the first day, and continued their retreat, day by
day, following a circuitous route, until they reached the home of the Indian
who claimed them as his property, which was on a small island, now called
Dustin's Island, at the mouth of the Contoocook river, about six miles above
the statehouse in Concord, New Hampshire. Notwithstanding their intense
suffering for the death of the child - their anxiety for those whom they had
left behind, and who they expected had been cruelly butchered - their
sufferings from cold and hunger, and from sleeping on the damp earth, with
nothing but an inclement sky for a covering - and their terror for themselves,
lest the arm that, as they supposed, had slaughtered those whom they dearly
loved, would soon be made red with their blood, - notwithstanding all this,
they performed the journey without yielding, and arrived at their destination
in comparative health.
The family of their Indian master consisted of two men, three women, and seven
children; besides an English boy, named Samuel Lennardson, who was taken
prisoner about a year previous, at Worcester. Their master, some years before,
had lived in the family of Rev. Mr. Rowlandson, of Lancaster, and he told Mrs.
Dustin that "when he prayed the English way he thought it was good, but
now he found the French way better."
These unfortunate women had been but a few days with the Indians, when they
were informed that they must soon start for a distant Indian settlement, and
that, upon their arrival, they would be obliged to conform to the regulations
always required of prisoners, whenever they entered the village, which was to
be stripped, scourged, and run the gauntlet in a state of nudity. The gauntlet
consisted of two files of Indians, of both sexes and of all ages, containing
all that could be mustered in the village; and the unhappy prisoners were
obliged to run between them, when they were scoffed at and beaten by each one
as they passed, and were sometimes marks at which the younger Indians threw
their hatchets. This cruel custom was often practiced by many of the tribes,
and not unfrequently the poor prisoner sunk beneath it. Soon as the two women
were informed of this, they determined to escape as speedily as possible. They
could not bear to be exposed to the scoffs and unrestrained gaze of their
savage conquerors - death would be preferable. Mrs. Dustin soon planned a mode
of escape, appointed the 31st inst. for its accomplishment, and prevailed upon
her nurse and the boy to join her. The Indians kept no watch, for the boy had
lived with them so long they considered him as one of their children, and they
did not expect that the women, unadvised and unaided, would attempt to escape,
when success, at the best, appeared so desperate.
On the day previous to the 31st, Mrs. Dustin wished to learn on what part of
the body the Indians struck their victims when they would despatch them
suddenly, and how they took off a scalp. With this view she instructed the boy
to make inquiries of one of the men. Accordingly, at a convenient opportunity,
he asked one of them where he would strike a man if he would kill him
instantly, and how to take off a scalp. The man laid his finger on his temple
- "Strike'em there," said he; and then instructed him how to scalp.
The boy then communicated his information to Mrs. Dustin.
The night at length arrived, and the whole family retired to rest, little
suspecting that the most of them would never behold another sun. Long before
the break of day, Mrs. Dustin arose, and having ascertained that they were all
in a deep sleep, awoke her nurse and the boy, when they armed themselves with
tomahawks, and despatched ten of the twelve. A favorite boy they designedly
left; and one of the squaws, whom they left for dead, jumped up, and ran with
him into the woods. Mrs. Dustin killed her master, and Samuel Lennardson
despatched the very Indian who told him where to strike, and how to take off a
scalp.
The deed was accomplished before the day bagan to break, and, after securing
what little provision the wigwam of their dead master afforded, they scuttled
all the boats but one, to prevent pursuit, and with that started for their
homes. Mrs. Dustin took with her a gun that belonged to her master, and the
tomahawk with which she committed the tragical deed. They had not proceeded
far, however, when Mrs. Dustin perceived that they had neglected to take their
scalps, and feared that her neighbors, if they ever arrived at their homes,
would not credit their story, and would ask them for some token or proof. She
told her fears to her companions, and they immediately returned to the silent
wigwam, took off the scalps of the fallen, and put them into a bag. They then
started on their journey anew, with the gun, tomahawk, and the bleeding
trophies, - palpable witnesses of their heroic and unparalleled deed.
A long and weary journey was before them, but they commenced it with cheerful
hearts, each alternately rowing and steering their little bark. Though they
had escaped from the clutches of their unfeeling master, still they were
surrounded with dangers. They were thinly clad, the sky was still inclement,
and they were liable to be re-captured by strolling bands of Indians, or by
those who would undoubtedly pursue them so soon as the squaw and the boy had
reported their departure, and the terrible vengeance they had taken; and were
they again made prisoners, they well knew that a speedy death would follow.
This array of danger, however, did not appall them for home was their
beacon-light, and the thoughts of their firesides nerved their hearts.
They continued to drop silently down the river, keeping a good lookout for
strolling Indians; and in the night two of them only slept, while the third
managed the boat. In this manner they pursued their journey, until they
arrived safely, with their trophies, at their homes, totally unexpected by
their mourning friends, who supposed that they had been butchered by their
ruthless conquerors. It must truly have been an affecting meeting for Mrs.
Dustin, who likewise supposed that all she loved, - all she held dear on earth
- was laid in the silent tomb.
After recovering from the fatigue of the journey, they started for Boston,
where they arrived on the 21st of April. They carried with them the gun and
tomahawk, and their ten scalps - those witnesses that would not lie; and while
there, the general court gave them fifty pounds, as a reward for their
heroism. The report of their daring deed soon spread into every part of the
country, and when Colonel Nicholson, governor of Maryland, heard of it, he
sent them a very valuable present,and many presents were also made
to them by their neighbors.
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