Part 7 (1/2)
The distressed invalid replied to this note that ”he” was not in need of money. The same evening, however, another missive was received, enclosing two guineas. And the like favours were continued throughout the soldier's stay at the hospital.
Upon recovery, the ”blooming boy” resumed his uniform to rejoin the troops. Doctor Bana had kept the secret, and there seemed to Deborah no reason why she should not pursue her soldier career to the end.
The enamoured maid of Baltimore still remained, however, a thorn in her conscience. And one day, when near Baltimore on a special duty, our soldier was summoned by a note to the home of this young woman, who, confessing herself the writer of the anonymous letter, declared her love. Just what response was made to this avowal is not known, but that the attractive person in soldier uniform did not at this time tell the maid of Baltimore the whole truth is certain.
Events were soon, however, to force Deborah to perfect frankness with her admirer. After leaving Baltimore, she went on a special duty journey, in the course of which she was taken captive by Indians. The savage who had her in his charge she was obliged to kill in self-defence, after which there seemed every prospect that she and the single Indian lad who escaped with her would perish in the wilderness, a prey to wild beasts. Thereupon she wrote to her Baltimore admirer thus:
”Dear Miss ----:--Perhaps you are the nearest friend I have. But a few hours must inevitably waft me to an infinite distance from all sublunary enjoyments, and fix me in a state of changeless retribution. Three years having made me the sport of fortune, I am at length doomed to end my existence in a dreary wilderness, unattended except by an Indian boy. If you receive these lines, remember they come from one who sincerely loves you. But, my amiable friend, forgive my imperfections and forget you ever had affection for one so unworthy the name of
”YOUR OWN s.e.x.”
No means of sending this letter presented itself, however, and after a dreary wandering, Deborah was enabled to rejoin her soldier friends.
Then she proceeded to Baltimore for the express purpose of seeing her girl admirer and telling her the truth. Yet this time, too, she evaded her duty, and left the maiden still unenlightened, with a promise to return the ensuing spring--a promise, she afterward declared, she had every intention of keeping, had not the truth been published to the world in the intervening time.
Doctor Bana had been only deferring the uncloaking of ”Robert Shurtleff.” Upon Deborah's return to duty, he made the culprit herself the bearer of a letter to General Patterson, which disclosed the secret.
The general, who was at West Point at the time, treated her with all possible kindness, and commended her for her service, instead of punis.h.i.+ng her, as she had feared. Then he gave her a private apartment, and made arrangements to have her safely conducted to Ma.s.sachusetts.
Not quite yet, however, did Deborah abandon her disguise. She pa.s.sed the next winter with distant relatives under the name of her youngest brother. But she soon resumed her proper name, and returned to her delighted family.
After the war, she married Benjamin Gannett, and the homestead in Sharon, where she lived for the rest of her life, is still standing, relics of her occupancy, her table and her Bible, being shown there to-day to interested visitors.
[Ill.u.s.tration: GANNETT HOUSE, SHARON, Ma.s.s.]
In 1802 she made a successful lecturing tour, during which she kept a very interesting diary, which is still exhibited to those interested by her great-granddaughter, Mrs. Susan Moody. Her grave in Sharon is carefully preserved, a street has been named in her honour, and several patriotic societies have const.i.tuted her their princ.i.p.al deity.
Certainly her story is curious enough to ent.i.tle her to some distinction.
THE REDEEMED CAPTIVE
Of all the towns settled by Englishmen in the midst of Indians, none was more thoroughly peaceful in its aims and origin than Deerfield, in the old Poc.u.mtuck Valley. Here under the giant trees of the primeval forest the whitehaired Eliot prayed, and beside the banks of the sluggish stream he gathered as nucleus for the town the roving savages upon whom his gospel message had made a deep impression. Quite naturally, therefore, the men of Poc.u.mtuck were not disquieted by news of Indian troubles. With the natives about them they had lived on peaceful terms for many years, and it was almost impossible for them to believe that they would ever come to shudder at the mere presence of redskins. Yet history tells us, and Deerfield to-day bears witness to the fact, that no town in all the colonies suffered more at the hands of the Indians than did this peaceful village in Western Ma.s.sachusetts.
In 1702 King William died, and ”good” Queen Anne reigned in his stead.
Following closely upon the latter event came another war between France and England, a conflict which, as in the reign of William and Mary, renewed the hostilities between the French and English colonies in America. At an early date, accordingly, the settlement of Deerfield discovered that it was to be attacked by the French. At once measures were taken to strengthen the fortifications of the town, and to prepare, so far as possible, for the dreaded event.
The blow fell on the night of the twenty-ninth of February, 1704, when Major Hertel de Rouville, with upwards of three hundred and forty French and Indians, arrived at a pine bluff overlooking Deerfield meadow, about two miles north of the village--a locality now known as Petty's Plain.
Here he halted, to await the appropriate hour for an attack, and it was not until early morning that, leaving their packs upon the spot, his men started forward for their terrible work of destruction. Rouville took great pains not to alarm the sentinels in his approach, but the precaution was unnecessary, as the watch were unfaithful, and had retired to rest. Arriving at the fortifications, he found the snow drifted nearly to the top of the palisades, and his entire party entered the place undiscovered, while the whole population were in profound sleep. Quietly distributing themselves in parties, they broke in the doors of the houses, dragged out the astonished inhabitants, killed such as resisted, and took prisoner the majority of the remainder, only a few escaping from their hands into the woods.
[Ill.u.s.tration: WILLIAMS HOUSE, DEERFIELD, Ma.s.s.]
The house of Reverend John Williams was a.s.saulted at the beginning of the attack. Awakened from sleep, Mr. Williams leaped from his bed, and running to the door found the enemy entering. Calling to two soldiers who lodged in the house, he sprang back to his bedroom, seized a pistol, c.o.c.ked it, and presented it at the breast of an Indian who had followed him. It missed fire, and it was well, for the room was thronged in an instant, and he was seized, bound without being allowed the privilege of dressing, and kept standing in the cold for an hour. Meanwhile, the savages amused themselves by taunting him, swinging their hatchets over him and threatening him. Two of his children and a negro woman were then taken to the door and butchered. Mrs. Williams was allowed to dress, and she and her five children were taken captives. Other houses in the village were likewise attacked, one of them being defended by seven men, for whom the women inside cast bullets while the fight was in progress.
But the attacking force was an overpowering one, and De Rouville and his men had by sunrise done their work most successfully with torch and tomahawk. The blood of forty-nine murdered men, women and children reddened the snow. Twenty-nine men, twenty-four women, and fifty-eight children were made captive, and in a few hours the spoil-enc.u.mbered enemy were en route for Canada.
Through the midwinter snow which covered the fields the poor captives marched out on their terrible pilgrimage. Two of the prisoners succeeded in escaping, whereupon Mr. Williams was ordered to inform the others that if any more slipped away death by fire would be visited upon those who remained. The first night's lodgings were provided for as comfortably as circ.u.mstances would permit, and all the ablebodied among the prisoners were made to sleep in barns. On the second day's march Mr.
Williams was permitted to speak with his poor wife, whose youngest child had been born only a few weeks before, and to a.s.sist her on her journey.
”On the way,” says the pastor, in his famous book, ”The Redeemed Captive”, ”we discoursed on the happiness of those who had a right to an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens; and G.o.d for a father and friend; as also it was our reasonable duty quietly to submit to the will of G.o.d, and to say, 'The will of the Lord be done.'” Thus imparting to one another their heroic courage and Christian strength and consolation, the captive couple pursued their painful way.