by John Demos
The other women dropped to their knees and gave thanks to God. The baby made a little cry, just loud enough for the family in the parlor to hear. Reverend Williams opened the door and led the children in. He said a blessing, then gently kissed the baby on top of her head. Eunice gave her a big smile and touched the tip of her tiny nose. “Now I have a baby sister!” she said proudly. “I love her so much!” The whole family rejoiced.
For the next few days both mother and baby stayed in the borning room. Parthena went in often to make sure they were doing well. The baby slept a lot, and only cried a little. Eunice tried to be as helpful as she could; sometimes she straightened the swaddling bands or gently washed the baby’s face.
When a week had passed, Reverend Williams said it was time to baptize the baby in church. Everyone went except Eunice’s mother, who was still regaining her strength after giving birth. The baby was in a christening gown, a beautifully embroidered silk dress made for the occasion. Inside the church it was even colder than usual; Eunice, though wearing her heavy wool cape, was shivering as she watched. There were special prayers and hymns. Then her father dipped his hand into a big basin of water, sprinkled several drops on the baby’s forehead, and said, “I baptize you, dear Jerusha, and commit you to God’s care.” That was the name he gave her: Jerusha. It came from the Bible. (Eunice had been named after her mother.)
After another week Eunice’s mother was strong enough to go back to her normal life. But first she gave a small party for Goody Frary and the others who had helped with the birth. Parthena set out pies and cider in the parlor. No men were there, only women; it was a way for them to celebrate what they had all done together. Eunice came in carrying the baby, who was dressed in the same lovely gown. “Jerusha, Jerusha,” everyone called out, “how sweet you are! And what a pretty name you have!”
CHAPTER THREE
ENEMY ATTACK
Though all was well inside the Williams household, out in the village the worries grew stronger. The war with the French and their Indian allies was going badly; other towns nearby had already been attacked. Scary rumors flew around. Some people had seen footprints in the woods nearby. Others had heard strange sounds from across the meadows. Then there was a night when the moon shone red, like blood.
Sixteen soldiers came to Deerfield and moved into the town stockade, a special fortified house built of heavy logs, to protect the townspeople. Carpenters repaired the fence that surrounded the village center. Some families living on the outskirts decided to come in close and stay with relatives or friends. On Sundays, in church, Reverend Williams led prayers for everyone’s safety. When Eunice and her brothers went off to the schoolhouse every morning, Parthena walked with them just in case enemies appeared. But as one February day followed another and there was no actual sign of the enemy, people began to think that maybe the danger had passed.
The last night of the month—February 29, because it was a leap year—started as usual, with supper, then prayers and bedtime. Soon all the houses were dark, and the families asleep. The night watchman patrolled the roadways and saw nothing unusual. Eventually, as the night deepened, he sat down to rest. Everything was quiet, except for the soft sound of a lullaby coming from a house where a mother was trying to soothe her wakeful child. After listening for a few minutes, the watchman dozed off. The lullaby ended, and the village lay still. The moon was a thin sliver rising in the east. Sunrise was still several hours away.
At that very moment, enemy scouts were hiding in a field just to the north. When they saw the watchman was asleep, they signaled to the large group behind them—fifty Frenchmen in full military uniform and two hundred Mohawk warriors in thick wool cloaks and war paint. They had trudged through deep wilderness for weeks from Canada, waiting for just this chance.
Silently, with their hatchets and muskets held ready, they crossed the field. They climbed the snowdrifts piled against the fence, crawled over, and dropped down on the other side; from there they scattered to different parts of the village. Just then the watchman suddenly woke up, realized what was happening, and let out a shriek: “To arms! To arms! Enemies in the street! Everyone prepare!” But it was too late; the attack had already begun.
At the Williamses’ house, Indian warriors were bashing their hatchets against the front door. They finally kicked it open and stormed inside. Eunice, fast asleep just a moment before, leaped from her bed in the front room and raced to the kitchen. Her brothers ran here and there—to the attic, to the cellar. Her father barely had time to grab his musket and aim it at the Indians. He squeezed the trigger, but it didn’t fire—which was lucky, since, if it had, they would have killed him on the spot, and the rest of the family, too.
Eunice crawled under a table and buried her face in her hands. Minutes passed; shouts and screams filled the air, but in the darkness she couldn’t tell from whom. Then, when a French soldier came in with a light, she crept back into the front room and peered around. She saw her father bound with a rope to a chair a few feet away, with spatters of blood on his nightshirt. She saw her mother kneeling beside the feather bed, her eyes closed, softly praying. She saw her brothers, who had been brought from their hiding places and shoved into a corner. She saw Parthena—sweet, kind Parthena—sprawled across the floor. And she saw, finally, the tiny form of Jerusha, her baby sister, cradled in Parthena’s arms. Both just lay there, not moving at all. Eunice could tell that both were dead, but why? Had Parthena refused to hand over the baby?
Eunice was so shocked that at first she just felt numb. She told herself it must be a nightmare from which she would soon awake. She closed her eyes as tightly as possible. But when she opened them again, she knew it was all real. Her throat felt choked; she could hardly breathe. When one of the Indian warriors came and lifted her off the floor, she wailed with terror.
As the attack went on, one house after another was taken. Only at the stockade was there much of a fight. The soldiers there held out for almost two hours, aiming their muskets through the upstairs windows. It was a furious battle. Twice the Mohawks rushed forward with burning sticks to set the building on fire, but were driven back. But when they tried a third time, it worked. With flames rising around them, the soldiers had to come out and surrender. They, along with many of the villagers, were captives.
The Mohawks took the whole group to the church and made them stand against a wall. There were more than a hundred of them, mostly families with children. Eunice and Warham were among the youngest. They clung to each other, sobbing loudly. Some of the Mohawks tried to comfort them. Their father had told them that Indians were kind to children, and soon they would find out if it was true.
The French soldiers had left to attack another town, so the Mohawks were in charge. Their plan was to take most of the captives back to Canada, a journey of over two hundred miles. It would be very difficult, especially in winter. The Mohawks looked everybody over to see who would be strong enough to survive. There were several old people and two very pregnant women whom they decided not to take; these were set free. The rest would have to go on as best they could.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE JOURNEY
They set out that same afternoon. The Mohawks insisted on going as fast as possible, in case English soldiers were trying to catch up from behind. The captives were told to walk in a line, almost like it was a march. Mohawks were at the front and rear, and along the sides, to prevent anyone from escaping.
The Williamses were right in the middle. Eunice and her mother walked together, holding hands. Warham was too small to keep up and had to be carried by his father. The older boys, Samuel and Stephen, were just ahead. Sometimes they all sang songs, to boost their spirits. Occasionally, Reverend Williams tried to encourage others in the line. “God watches over us and will keep us safe,” he’d call out. The woods were thick, and the snow was deep; with every footstep, they sank in.
When the sun set, it was time to stop for the night. The Mohawks prepared a camp in the woods. Supper
was what they called kanontara—a mush made from dried corn and beans, mixed with snow and heated over a fire. Eunice didn’t like the taste, but she was hungry so she ate it anyway. Afterward the Mohawks brought blankets and animal skins to keep everybody warm. They took all the men to a separate area and tied their hands and feet to tree trunks; that way they couldn’t run off in the dark. The women and children huddled beneath a clump of fir trees. Eunice and Stephen lay down next to each other on a bit of ground that was clear of snow and covered with moss; at least it was soft. But it was so different from their bed and home, and they found it hard to sleep.
The next morning the Mohawks got everyone up before sunrise in order to make an early start. They walked all day, following a rough trail. They crossed a frozen river and climbed a small mountain. Even though Eunice and her brothers were strong, they found it very tiring. From the top of the mountain, they could look back and see Deerfield. Before leaving, the Mohawks had set fire to most of the town, so now there was only a pile of smoldering ruins. The captives knew that had happened, but still, they were shocked to see it. Eunice could just make out what was left of her own house. Everything familiar was gone.
In the afternoon, as they walked on, snow began to fall and the wind rose. The cold seemed to reach to their bones. Stephen stumbled on some rocks and hurt his leg, but still kept going. Another boy fell into an icy stream and had to be pulled out; the Mohawks wrapped him in blankets to stop his shivering. But Eunice’s mother, still weak after giving birth a month before, had the hardest time of all. She would take a few steps and then have to rest, which made her lag behind. Finally, she stopped and sat under a tree. She told the others she couldn’t go any farther. Eunice nestled beside her, anxiously looking up into her face.
Several of the Indians came running and talked excitedly among themselves. What should they do with her? She couldn’t be carried like a child on such a long journey. But if they left her behind, she would freeze or starve to death, or be attacked by wild animals. It was best, they decided, to end her life right there.
They used hand signals to explain it to her and say they were sorry but could do nothing else. And Eunice’s mother soon understood what they were signaling. She hugged her husband, her children, her Deerfield friends and neighbors, and said goodbye. As Eunice sobbed, her mother held her tight and whispered in her ear, “You must be strong, my sweet one, after I am gone; your dear father will always take care of you.” Everyone was weeping. They formed a circle around Eunice’s mother, knelt in the snow, and prayed together for her soul. Then two Mohawk men took her away, out of sight; when they came back, she wasn’t with them.
Eunice and her brothers huddled together, their bodies limp, their faces streaked with tears. Reverend Williams, too, struggled with his grief, but knew he must be strong for the children. He took them into his arms one by one. He told them their mother was in heaven now and would never again have to suffer.
The Mohawks stood to one side and allowed them time for this. Then, with darkness falling, they made another camp in the forest. Again the men were tied up to prevent escape. For the Williams family, it was the longest, saddest night they had ever known. Eunice cried herself to sleep.
The next day was like the previous ones: walking, walking, walking. With new snow underfoot, it was more difficult than ever. Eunice did her best, but finally it was too much. One of the Mohawks saw how tired she was and lifted her onto his back. She didn’t know how to feel about this; it was confusing. He was among the men who had ruined her home and taken her mother’s life. Yet he and some of the others seemed friendly. Anyway, she had no choice. From this point on, she, like Warham, was carried.
Others in the group were also having difficulty. Goody Brooks developed a bad cough and then a fever. Goodman Kellogg lost his gloves, and his fingers froze. Eunice’s father had large sores on his feet. Years later, in a book he wrote about being captured and walking to Canada, he recalled how every night he had to wring blood out of his socks.
The days turned to weeks, and still they went on. The weather warmed up and turned the snow to slush. They crossed more rivers and climbed more mountains, till they finally came to a great lake. You couldn’t see across it to the other side, and there were islands in the middle. The French called it Lake Champlain after one of their leading explorers; the Indian name for it was Oniataroten (meaning “standing water”). The ice on the lake had melted, and there were canoes waiting along the shore; they could travel from here by water. There were enough canoes to hold everyone. Clearly, the Indians had planned their attack very well and made provisions for the long march back. The captive men had to help with the paddling, while the women and children rode as passengers.
By this point the captives had grown used to the wilderness, to the overnight camps, to the strange food, to sometimes being cold and wet. But lake travel was different, with its own risks and problems. Eunice was in the first canoe, crouched in the middle. She didn’t know how to swim and was afraid of falling overboard. The canoe just behind hers was leaky and had to be abandoned. Another hit a rock and overturned; a woman nearly drowned. Whenever the wind rose it made waves on the lake, and everyone got splashed. However, they did move faster on the lake than they had on land. And if the weather was clear, they could see for miles. There were tall mountains on the western horizon. Once, as they paddled near the shore, a mother bear and two cubs came ambling out of the forest. Eunice watched the cubs romp happily at the water’s edge while the mother lay down to nap. Another time, she saw a moose wade right into the lake and splash around. High overhead, eagles and hawks swooped through the sky.
Eunice rode with the same man who had carried her through the forest. He was her captor and the one who looked after her. Sometimes he would speak to her in his own language while pointing here or there; with enough repetition, she could begin to grasp what he meant. He sounded out his name—A-ra-kwen-te—and she sounded out hers. She never stopped thinking of her mother, though; it was a constant sorrow. She counted on seeing her father and brothers, and most of the time they were nearby. She looked forward to nighttime, when they could all lie down and go to sleep together. That was when she felt the safest.
Before setting out one morning, the Indians decided to divide all the captives into smaller groups. This, they thought, would make the travel go faster. But it meant that the Williams family would be split up. When Eunice realized what the plan was, she ran to Arakwente. She flung herself on the ground, weeping bitterly. He picked her up and tried to calm her. But when she continued to cry, he carried her to his canoe and put her in it. Then he climbed in behind her and started off. Her father stood on the shore, helplessly waving goodbye. When she tried to wave back, her arm wouldn’t move; it was like she was paralyzed, she was so sad.
From this point on, Eunice was in a group with Arakwente, six more Indian men, and two other children from Deerfield, Martha French and Joseph Kellogg. Both of them were her friends from before. It made Eunice feel a little better that they could talk together and comfort each other. After more days on the lake, the Indians decided to leave their canoes behind and again travel through the forest. As before, Eunice rode on Arakwente’s back. They headed off on a wide path that would lead them straight northward, into Canada. From time to time they passed groups of Indians going in the opposite direction. Whenever that happened, they would stop to pay their respects; sometimes there were long speeches of greeting in Indian languages. Once a young warrior wearing a large feathered headdress smiled at Eunice and motioned toward her as if he wished to take her with him. She was very afraid and ran behind a tree to hide. But Arakwente shook his head and waved the other man off. He was her protector now.
They came to a large Indian encampment where they were invited to stay overnight in a tipi. The next morning, they joined their hosts in a hunt for game. One man killed a deer and brought it back to the camp, where the women built a fire big enough for roasting whole joints of meat. Then they had a f
east and ate and ate until not a scrap was left.
A few days later, as they continued along the path, they met another group with several captives, including Eunice’s brother Stephen. His head was shaved except for a ridge down the middle, and he was dressed in woolen blankets Indian-style; at first Eunice hardly recognized him. But of course they were happy to see each other. They hugged and sat side by side, talking about their recent experiences. And they prayed together, just as their father had taught them. Pretty soon, though, their masters said it was time to go. After they parted, Eunice felt more alone than ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
CANADA
By now they were in Canada, near where Arakwente lived. It was a large village set alongside the region’s biggest river, the St. Lawrence, and home to many Indians of the Mohawk nation. Its name was Kahnawàke (meaning “besides the rapids”), and its people were called the Kahnawakenerons.
The first thing Eunice saw as they approached was a tall fence made of wooden posts that surrounded the village. Arakwente gave a shout to announce their arrival. A large wooden gate flew open and several Indian children came running out. When they saw Eunice—still on Arakwente’s back—they gave her smiles of welcome. One little girl reached up and stroked Eunice’s hair, but Eunice was scared and shrank away.
A minute later a very tall man emerged through the gate. He was dressed in a deerskin tunic and leggings and had dark tattoos all over his face. He and Arakwente embraced, laughing, and began a loud conversation. Eunice couldn’t understand much, though by now she did know a little of their language. She thought she heard the words for “fire,” “forest,” “snow,” and “white people.” After a few minutes the tall man turned to her and bowed low, but again she shrank away. It was all so strange and frightening. She held back her tears, but felt a terrible longing for her own family.
