Strange Stories of Colonial Days

by Various

  IV

  JONATHAN'S ESCAPE

  A Young Hero of Hadley who Fought at Turner's Falls in 1676

  Though the Indians of New England were for many years vastly superior innumbers to the white men, they were never wholly united, and theircowardice and lack of discipline were weaknesses for which theirtreachery and deceit could not compensate. The long conflict between theraces culminated in 1675 in King Philip's War, when the wily Wampanoagsachem succeeded in forming a confederation, embracing nearly all theNew England tribes, for a final desperate struggle.

  It seemed for a time as though the combination might succeed. At the endof the summer the scattered settlements, and especially those along theConnecticut River, which formed the outposts of the colonies, werepanic-stricken. Everywhere the savage allies had been victorious. Adozen towns had been attacked and burned, bands of soldiers had been cutoff, and isolated murders without number had been committed. Prowlingbands of Indians lurked about the stockaded towns, driving off cattleand rendering impossible the cultivation of the fields, so that thesettlers were called upon to face starvation as well as thescalping-knife and tomahawk.

  There was no meeting the Indians face to face, except by surprise. Theyfought from ambush, or by sudden assault on unprotected points, andwould be gone before troops could be brought to the scene. The white menwere unable to follow them without Indian allies, and they were slow toadapt themselves to the Indian mode of fighting. Flushed by theirsuccess, the confederates became overconfident, and grew to despisetheir clumsy opponents. In the spring of 1676 more than five thousandof them were encamped on the Connecticut River, twenty miles north ofHadley. Here they planted their corn and squashes, and amused themselveswith councils, ceremonies, and feasts, boasting of what they had doneand what they would do. They judged the white men by themselves, and didnot suspect the iron courage and stubborn determination that were urgingthe people in the towns below them "to be out against the enemy." On thenight of May 18th they indulged in a great feast, and after it was over,slept soundly in their bark lodges, all but the wary Philip, who,scenting danger, had withdrawn across the river.

  On that same evening about two hundred and fifty men and boys gatheredin Hadley street. Of this number fifty-six were soldiers from thegarrisons of Hadley, Northampton, Springfield, Hatfield, and Westfield.The rest were volunteers, among whom was Jonathan Wells, of Hadley,sixteen years old, whose adventures and miraculous escape have beenpreserved.

  The party was under the command of Captain William Turner, and theexpedition which it was about to undertake was inspired by a daringamounting to rashness. The plan was to attack the Indian camp, whichcontained four times their number of well-armed braves. Defeat meantdeath, or captivity and torture worse than death. The march began afternightfall so as not to attract the attention of the Indian scouts, andthe little band made its way safely through swamps and forests, past theIndian outposts, and at daybreak arrived in the neighborhood of thecamp. Here the horses were left under a small guard among the trees,while the men crept forward to the lodges of the enemy.

  The surprise was complete. The panic-stricken savages, crying that thedreaded Mohawks were upon them, were shot down by scores, or, plunginginto the river, were swept over the falls which now bear CaptainTurner's name. The backbone of Philip's conspiracy was broken, and hehimself was driven to begin soon afterwards the hunted wanderings whichwere to end in the fatal morass.

  But the attacking party, though victorious, was not yet out of danger.It was still heavily outnumbered by the surviving Indians. While thesoldiers were destroying arms, ammunition, and food, or scattered inpursuit of the fleeing enemy, the warriors rallied, and opened fire uponthem from under cover of the trees. Captain Turner became alarmed andordered a retreat. The main body hastily mounted and plunged into theforest, seeking to shake off the cloud of savages who hung upon theirflanks like a swarm of angry bees.

  Young Jonathan was with a detachment of about twenty who were somedistance up the river when the retreat began. They ran back to thehorses and found their comrades gone. The Indians pressed upon them innumbers they could not hope to withstand. It was every man for himself.In the confusion the boy kept his wits about him, and managed to findhis horse. As he plunged forward under the branches three Indianslevelled their pieces and fired. One shot passed through his hair,another struck his horse, and the third entered his thigh, splinteringthe bone where it had been broken by a cart-wheel and never properlyhealed. He reeled, and would have fallen had he not clutched the mane ofhis horse. The Indians, seeing that he was wounded, pursued him, but hepointed his gun at them, and held them at bay until he was out of theirreach. As he galloped on he heard a cry for help, and reining in hishorse, regardless of the danger which encompassed him, found StephenBelding, a boy of his own age, lying sorely wounded on the ground. Hemanaged to pull him up behind, and they rode double until they overtookthe party in advance. This brave act saved Belding's life.

  The retreat had become a rout. All was panic and dismay; but Jonathanwas unwilling to desert the comrades left behind. He sought out CaptainTurner, and begged him to halt and turn back to their relief. "It isbetter to save some than to lose all," was the Captain's answer. Theconfusion increased, and to add to it the guides became bewildered andlost their way. "If you love your lives, follow me!" cried one. "If youwould see your homes again! follow me," shouted another, and the partywas soon split up into small bands. The one with which Jonathan foundhimself became entangled in a swamp, where it was once more attacked bythe Indians. He escaped again, with ten others, who, finding that hishorse was going lame from his wound, and that he himself was weak fromloss of blood, left him with another wounded man and rode away. Hiscompanion, thinking the boy's hurt worse than his own, concluded that hewould stand a better chance of getting clear alone, and riding off onpretence of seeking the path, failed to return. Jonathan was now whollydeserted. Wounded, ignorant even of the direction of his home,surrounded by bloodthirsty Indians, and weak with hunger, he pusheddesperately on. He was near fainting once, when he heard some Indiansrunning about and whooping near by; but they did not discover him, and anutmeg which he had in his pocket revived him for a time.

  After straying some distance farther he swooned in good earnest, andfell from his horse. When he came to he found that he had retained hishold on the reins, and that the animal stood quietly beside him. He tiedhim to a tree, and lay down again; but he soon grew so weak that heabandoned all hope of escape, and out of pity loosed the horse and lethim go. He succeeded in kindling a fire by flashing powder in the pan ofhis gun. It spread in the dry leaves and burned his hands and faceseverely. Feeling sure that the Indians would be attracted by the smokeand come and kill him, he threw away his powder-horn and bullets,keeping only ammunition for a single shot. Then he stopped his woundwith tow, bound it up with his neckcloth, and went to sleep.

  In the morning he found that the bleeding had stopped and that he wasmuch stronger. He managed to find a path which led him to a river whichhe remembered to have crossed on the way to the camp. With great painand difficulty, leaning on his gun, the lock of which he was careful tokeep dry, he waded through it, and fell exhausted on the farther bank.While he lay there an Indian in a canoe appeared, and the boy, who couldneither fight nor run, gave himself up for lost. But he remembered thethree Indians in the woods, and putting a bold face on the matter, aimedhis gun, though its barrel was choked with sand. The savage, thinking hewas about to shoot, leaped overboard, leaving his own gun in the canoe,and ran to tell his friends that the white men were coming again.

  Jonathan knew that pursuit was certain, and as it was broad daylight,and he could only hobble at best, he assured himself that there was nohope for him. Nevertheless he looked about for a hiding-place, andpresently, a little distance away, noticed two trees which, underminedby the current, had fallen forward into the stream close together. Amass of driftwood had lodged on their trunks. Jonathan got back into thewater so as to leave no tracks, and creep
ing between the trunks underthe driftwood, found a space large enough to permit him to breathe. In afew minutes the Indians arrived in search of him, as he had expected.They ransacked the whole neighborhood, even running out upon the mat ofdriftwood over his head, and causing the trees to sink with their weightso as to thrust his head under water; but they could find no trace ofhim, and at last retired, completely outwitted.

  The boy limped on, tortured by hunger and thirst, and so giddy withweakness that he could proceed but a short distance without stopping torest. Happily he saw no more of the Indians, and at last, on the thirdday of his painful journey, he arrived at Hadley, where he was welcomedas one risen from the dead.

  The story of his escape was told for years around the wide fireplacesthroughout the country-side, and was thought so remarkable that one whoheard it, unwilling that the record of so much coolness and courageshould be lost, wrote it down for future generations of boys to read.