The Story Of Hannah Emerson Duston
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 Duston. 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. Duston 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. Duston, 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
fleeing 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. Duston 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. Duston dismounted from his horse, placed himself in the rear of his
children, and returned the fire of the enemy often and with good success. In
this manner he retreated for more than a mile, alternately encouraging his
terrified charge, and loading and firing 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. Duston left it, found Mrs. Duston in
bed, and the nurse attempting to fly with the infant in her arms. They ordered
Mrs. Duston 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. Duston 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 kindness from their hands. The weather at
the time was exceedingly cold, the March-wind blew keen and piercing, and the
earth was alternately covered with snow and deep mud.
They traveled 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 Duston's
Island, at the mouth of the Contoocook river, about six miles above the
state-house 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.
Duston 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
infrequently 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. Duston 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. Duston wished to learn on what part of the
body the Indians struck their victims when they would dispatch 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. Duston.
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. Duston 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 dispatched 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. Duston killed her master, and Samuel Lennardson
dispatched the very Indian who told him where to strike, and how to take off a
scalp. The deed was accomplished before the day began 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. Duston took with her a gun that belonged to her master, and
the tomahawk with which she committed the tragically deed. They had not
proceeded far, however, when Mrs. Duston 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. Duston, 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.
Hannah Emerson Duston has a statue erected in the center of Haverhill, MA for
the extensive ordeal she endured when captured by Indians, killed 1 week old
Martha, and took her and others just north of Concord NH. They killed the
Indians and escaped down the river to Hudson, NH.
A statue of Hannah was erected in Boscawen, MA. The statue claims to be the
first America commemorated to a woman in 1874. To the best of our knowledge,
this claim still stands to the most celebrated woman we are aware of in our
lineage.
Hannah Emerson b. 1657, Haverhill, MA daughter of Michael Emerson & Hannah
Webster.
Hannah Webster b. abt 1639, Ipswich, MA daughter of John Webster b. 1604 in
Suffolk, ENGLAND d. 1646 Ipswich, MA, and Mary Shatswell b. abt 1610,
Ipswich, ENGLAND d. 1694 Newbury, MA. dau of John Shatswell and Judith Unknown.