Chapter 14: "The Praying Indians"

John Eliot preaching to the Indians

October 1646

When I was reading Mary Rowlandson's Captive Narrative I kept coming across the term "a Praying Indian." The phrase was used as a title, rather than a simple observation.

So, me being me, I had to research.

And this is what I discovered:

Praying Indian is a 17th century term referring to Native Americans of New England who converted to Christianity.

In 1646, the General Court of Massachusetts passed an "Act for the Propagation of the Gospel amongst the Indians". This act and the success of Reverend John Eliot and other missionaries in preaching the Christianity to the New England tribes raised interest in England.

In 1649 the Long Parliament passed an Ordination forming "A Corporation for the Promoting and Propagating the Gospel of Jesus Christ in New England" which raised funds to support the cause. Contributors raised approximately 12,000 pounds to investment in this cause, to be used mainly in the Colony of Massachusetts and in New York.

Reverend Eliot received financial aid from this corporation to start schools for teaching the Native Americans.

On October 28, 1646, in Nonantum (in Newton), Rev. Eliot gave his first sermon to Native Americans in their own language. This happened in the wigwam of Waban, the first convert of his tribe.

Christian Indian Towns were eventually located throughout Eastern and Central Massachusetts. They included: Natick, Littleton (Nashoba), Lowell (Wamesit) (then part of Chelmsford), Grafton (Hassanamessit), Marlborough (Okommakamesit), Hopkinton (Makunkokoag), and Canton (Punkapoag). Today only Natick retains its original name (a proposal to rename it "Eliot" was rejected by the General Court).

These towns were situated so as to serve as an outlying wall of defense for the colony, but came to an end in 1675 during King Philip's War when residents were first confined to their villages (thus restricted from their farms and unable to feed themselves), and many were confined on Deer Island in Boston Harbor.

(from Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Praying_Indian, accessed 21 Mar 2007.

Another sloppy citation. So shoot me!)

One of the fun things about Wikipedia is that within their articles they hyperlink to practically every word except "and" and "the."

But they generally do a fine job of putting together a fast read on any subject. Leaving it to the reader to decide if they want to do more research.

More research?

Yes please! I'd love some more research! Pass the research please. Thank you! Oh, this is delicious. Yum yum!

The additional research pointed out that there were at one time 19 Praying Indian villages situated around the Massachusetts area, actually in a ring around Boston, each about 12-14 miles apart. The Praying Indian villages were fortified against attack by other hostile Indians tribes.

They also served as scouts for the English, serving a common interest for safety against the raiding hostile tribes.

Now this is how I imagine things going back then:

The Puritans are all about their faith. And their faith is now shared by some of the Native Americans. I have read the account of John Eliot's sermon as reported by a Native American, and it is a stirring document. Two races are united by a common faith. Glory!

So how did things come to pass that Mary Rowlandson and later Hannah Dustin were put into such dire circumstances at the hands of the Indians?

Well, this is what happened:

"The Praying Indians could have served as an intelligence force for the English. John Sassamon was a Christian Indian who served frequently as an interpreter and witness for both the English and the Native Americans.

As early as 1674, Sassamon discovered that his countrymen (hostile Indians) were preparing for war. He reported this information immediately to the governor of Plymouth Colony but was not believed because he was a Native American. (italics mine-Jill)

In April and again in May, 1675, Waban, Praying Indian leader at Natick warned the English of Philip's intentions to attack the colonists.

Various Native American sources reported that "when the woods were grown thick with green trees then it [war] was likely to appear...." In August, 1675, the three warriors accompanying the English to Quaboag (Brookfield) Plantation suggested that the local tribes should not be trusted. The English chose to disregard this advice and shortly thereafter the local Nipmuks ambushed them.

According to S. A. Drake, "... at this time if any Indian appeared friendly, all Indians were so declaimed against, that scarcely any one among the English could be found that would allow that an Indian could be faithful or honest in any affair."

(Isn't that a heart breaking statement? -Jill)

"Instead of using the Praying Indians as allies, the English disregarded any advice a Native American offered.

Although the colonials did raise a Praying Indian company, composed of 52 Native Americans, on July 2, 1675, and these warriors comported themselves well in the July Mount Hope campaign, a certain segment of the English population distrusted all Native Americans and felt that the Praying Indians would always be more loyal to the hostile tribes than to the English."

(Stupid, stupid stupid....)

"By August 30, 1675, the Governor and Council of the Massachusetts Colony, in response to public demand, disbanded all Praying Indian companies, confined these Christian Indians to the Old Praying Indian towns, and restricted their travel to within one mile of the center of those towns and only then when in the company of an Englishman."

(They did what???)

"If a Native American broke these rules, he could be arrested or shot on sight."

(OH MY GOSH!)

"Most Englishmen were unwilling to reside in these towns because of the prejudice directed toward any Englishman supporting the Praying Indian cause.

Christian Indians were caught between two warring factions: the English and the hostile tribes fighting with King Philip.

They (the praying Indians) pledged their loyalty to the English who refused to trust them and, at the same time, faced the enmity of their own people.

Their loyalty was rewarded with such public hatred toward them that in August, 1675, the General Council in Boston began to consider removing the Praying Indians to Deer Island in Boston Harbor.

Finally, in October, 1675, the order passed for removal; by December of that year, there were over 500 Christian Indians confined to the island. "The enmity, jealousy, and clamors of some people against them put the magistracy upon a kind of necessity to send them all to the Island...." where they "... lived chiefly upon clams and shell-fish, that they digged out of the sand, at low water; the Island was bleak and cold, their wigwams poor and mean, their clothes few and thin; some little corn they had of their own, which the Council ordered to be fetched from their plantations, and conveyed to them by little and little...."

(I can't stand it....this is horrible.)

"There they stayed until released in 1677, but the world to which they returned was totally changed. The English had defeated the warring tribes,leaving the Native Americans strangers in their own homeland."

(from: http://www.bio.umass.edu/biology/conn.river/praying.html. Accessed 21 Mar 2007.)

(By the way, any site that had .edu or .gov is a site you can generally trust. Watch out for .com or .org)

The Praying Indians were from a group of over a thousand Indians at when the Puritans arrived, at the end of this time, there were less than three hundred living.

Amazingly, some of those Praying Indian's decedents are still living. They never abandoned their faith, and just had a celebration of their 350 Anniversary last year. See details here!

I'm giving you the background on the Praying Indians because as you will soon see, Hannah Dustin is about to come into the hands of one Bampico, a former Praying Indian.

Chapter 13: Trail Mix

While in Salt Lake we dined at a little restaurant named "The Red Iguana", a restaurant that has received the honor of being named "The Best Mexican Food Restaurant" in Salt Lake for about 10 years running.

As you can tell by the menu, it's not your run of the mill Mexican hole in the wall.

Above is what I ordered, which is the last item on the menu pictured at the top of the page.

The menu has many pages, and it always takes time to figure out what to order each visit.

Of course I was thinking about our story as we ate.

And wondered what Hannah ate on the trail.

I imagine it wasn't anything as tasty as this.

So what did they eat on the trail?

Trail Mix?

I think not.

Let's find out.

As it happens, there is quite a collection of what are called "Captive Narratives" available to read on the Internet these days.

I can access the hard (paper) copies of the stories at my college library, but I prefer to do research electronically so I can copy and paste at will, mindful of copyright and plagiarism issues.

(And boy am I glad I don't have to teach that snooze of a class at work!)

Arguably the most famous and complete Captive Narratives out there is the one written by Mary Rowlandson, the wife of a Puritan minister who was abducted from Lancaster Massachusetts, a town that neighbored Haverhill in 1675.

Mary survived an amazing three month ordeal three with the Indians and wrote an in depth report about her experiences.

Mary was quite a gal. I think if she were living in modern times, she would be a blogger, as her attention to detail was extraordinary, and she also made sure to include details records of what she ate.

If you have the time, you can read her complete story at this link:

http://www.library.csi.cuny.edu/dept/history/lavender/rownarr.html

It is a pity she didn't have a digital camera.

Scratch that...Thank God she didn't have a digital camera.

What she ate was pretty disgusting.

And she managed to choke it down anyway.

Hannah Dustin didn't report what she ate during her captivity.

But I imagine it wasn't much different that what Mary Rowlandson ate.

Hannah likely was familiar with the Rowlandson family, and possibly her captive narrative.

The ministry of the Rowlandson's home was soon to affect Hannah's and Mary Neff's life greatly.

But that comes later in our tale.

When Mary Rowlandson was taken captive she was forced to travel without any food for several days. Eventually she was given a spoonful of meal. Later she was given a piece of bear liver, which she eagerly began to roast over an open fire, only to have half of it snatched away before it was even cooked. She then burnt her mouth when she shoved the remaining half cooked piece into her mouth in order to prevent it too from being stolen.

At another time she was given "a finger sized" piece of baked cake, made of corn meal and ground nuts that she put into her "stinking pocket" where it molded overnight. She ate it anyway the next day.

At one stop an Indian woman boiled up an old horse leg, and Mary enjoyed the broth that was offered her.

Later the Indians would pull out horse hooves, or feet, which they had saved to boil when all other meat was gone.

They gathered grain from abandoned fields, abandoned because the homeowners had been massacred earlier.

And they cooked up whatever foods that they had plundered from the Puritans.

Meanwhile, I hope you aren't eating, or have a very strong stomach because I've copied one section of her writing that she wrote at length about what the Indians ate, and occasionally offered to her:

"Though many times they would eat that, that a hog or a dog would hardly touch; yet by that God strengthened them to be a scourge to His people.

The chief and commonest food was ground nuts. They eat also nuts and acorns, artichokes, lilly roots, ground beans, and several other weeds and roots, that I know not.

They would pick up old bones, and cut them to pieces at the joints, and if they were full of worms and maggots, they would scald them over the fire to make the vermin come out, and then boil them, and drink up the liquor, and then beat the great ends of them in a mortar, and so eat them.

They would eat horse's guts, and ears, and all sorts of wild birds which they could catch; also bear, venison, beaver, tortoise, frogs, squirrels,dogs, skunks, rattlesnakes; yea, the very bark of trees; besides all sorts of creatures, and provision which they plundered from the English."

Like I said, Mary was quite a gal. After recounting all this revolting food, this is what she had to say next:

"I can but stand in admiration to see the wonderful power of God in providing for such a vast number of our enemies in the wilderness, where there was nothing to be seen, but from hand to mouth.

Many times in a morning, the generality of them would eat up all they had, and yet have some further supply against they wanted.

It is said, "Oh, that my People had hearkened to me, and Israel had walked in my ways, I should soon have subdued their Enemies, and turned my hand against their Adversaries" (Psalm 81.13-14).

But now our perverse and evil carriages in the sight of the Lord, have so offended Him, that instead of turning His hand against them, the Lord feeds and nourishes them up to be a scourge to the whole land."

Huh????

Anyway, back to Hannah:

She was captive along with Mary Neff and at least one other Puritan woman who was also called Hannah, and there were 20 Indians, their squaws and their kids.

I'm figuring that means there were at least 40 people, if even just half the Indians had squaws and half of them had one kid.

Maybe the number was more like 50, or 60.

Could of been.

As I will be documenting later, the Indians ate three times a day.

Imagine, if you will, hiking through snow, and mud, and cold etc etc, and three times a day everyone takes a break to eat.

And this hiking on lasted for about 15 days.

I am amazed that they (the Indians) DID have food.

I know I couldn't possibly have dished up food for 50 three times a day for two weeks, even with my ample pantry at hand.

I've cooked for my family on camping trips with Coleman stoves and a store not too far away to replenish the junk food that makes camping such a special treat.
It was challenging to feed the four of us even with those modern conveniences!

I will leave you now to ponder this "manna in the wilderness" scene.

And hope you feel extra blessed by what you have had to eat today in comfort and in peace of your home.

They partied without me!

As I mentioned in my March 17th post, I love to give St. Patrick's Day parties.
Especially if the day falls on a Saturday.

But I had really not considered our cat's needs in this.

Luckily, good old Uncle Scott came to our furry friend's rescue while we were gone!

You remember Uncle Scott don't you?
The guy who watched our cats while we were gone near Valentine's Day?
The guy who gave the cats a Valentine Day gift basket?

Well, he watched Tiggie and Hart for us again this trip.

Just look what those two ridiculous boy cats got this time:

Ah, it's good for them to have Uncle Scott thinking about all their St. Patrick's Day holiday needs.

(Because I sure as heck didn't.)

The saying goes:

"Every Dog Has It's Day."

(Except for Canadian dogs named Otis, to hear him tell it.)

Around here we have a different saying:

"Every Cat Has It's Holiday. With Appropriate Gift Basket Included."

(Sing along...I'm leaving on a jet plane...

Leaving on an early flight, we said "Goodbye" to grandcat Meowsie at 5:30 am.
He didn't seem too shook up by us leaving.
Oh well, better than a long drawn out goodbye.

Jeff was bright eyed and bushy-tailed though.
And blind immediately after my camera flashed in his eyes.
(What is it about boys and goofy faces when you're trying to get a good picture?)

Jeff got us to the airport in the dark, and we hugged goodbye at the curb.
It is always hard to say good bye to family.

Inside the airport it was a madhouse. We had gotten there more than an hour early. It was a good thing too, the line snaked the entire length of the airport.
The terrorist in many ways is still winning every time we have to go through all the security measures at the airport.

I waited for Bernie to go get some coffee.
SLC airport is pretty drab.
Especially at six in the morning.

Bernie had to stand in line the longest time.
You'd think Salt Lake City Starbucks would have few customers.
You'd be so wrong.

As soon as he brought me a nice vanilla latte, I needed to use the girls room.
As I was washing my hands, I heard our names being paged.
Final call for us to report to gate A5 for our flight.
We had lost track of time in all that waiting in line.

I RAN back to the table, where Bernie was going "Did they just call our names?"

YES!!!!

I grabbed my coffee and started to run.
It was Bernie's plain black coffee with four shots of espresso, not mine, as I discovered as I took a quick sip on the escalator.

I put it down and we RAN as hard as we could, carrying bags and a backpack on my back that weighted a ton.
My heart was going crazy...
As we came up on the gate the agent said:
"You're Bernie and Jill? Just get on the plane?"
He didn't even check our tickets. How embarrassing.

Hmmm...I might start listening to last call pages.
Last call for some place fabulous?
"Yeah, we're Bob and Betty, whew, we JUST made it, close the doors, let's go!"

OK, that would be WRONG.
But fun to think about.

A lamp unto...

Isn't that just an adorable little cherub, or putti, or something or other?
I think so!

Look! It's part of a lamp!
The white globe is a pearlized glass, that looks kind of like lacy spots.
Doesn't it goes PERFECTLY with the polka dotted bedspread next to it in the guest room!?

Of course it does!
And the best part?
It was free!

It had been sitting in Jeff's garage without a shade.

I thought it came with the house, a left over from the former owners.
Turns out there had been a company party at work, and for some reason, the party was decorated using junk from the local thrift shop.
They spent a total of something like $100 on JUNK, as kind of a joke for some reason.
(I wasn't there...just reporting what Jeff said.)
After the party, they were just going to throw all the junk away.

Anyway, there was this lamp. The shade was all junky and broken, but Jeff figured someone could use a lamp. So it sat in his garage without a shade for a year waiting for "someone" to need it.
Nobody did.

I'm not surprised. Most of Jeff's friends are in the 20something age group, and this lamp just doesn't quite fit 20something taste.

But then Jeff had some guys come and stay with him for a long ski weekend.
The guest room only had an overhead lamp.
He figured the guest room should have a nightstand lamp, but didn't want to spend money or take the time to go get one.
After all, there was the lamp in the garage...it would work.

So he screwed in a light bulb, and plugged it in.
(Didn't even bother to dust it off. After a year in the garage, it needed dusting, bad.)

When we arrived, there was the lamp.
Jeff said he figured I would know what kind of lampshade it would need.

I said we should take it to Target (a department store.)
He recoiled.
"No, we're not taking it anywhere" he said firmly. "We'll just get a bunch of lampshades and return the ones that don't work."
(I imagine the idea of walking into a store holding this big old lamp didn't appeal to him. Definitely not a guy looking lamp, I have to admit.)

The three of us stopped by Lowe's, a home improvement/hardware story to get a ceiling fan, and there we looked at lampshade.

The ones with the cute beads dangling on the edge were swiftly dismissed.
The scalloped edged ones were dismissed.

We brought home two relatively plain ones.

An oyster/beige one, and a white one with a little bit of a curvy edge.

The white one got an immediate thumbs down.

The beige one, I pointed out, was too short.
Neither lampshade worked.

I went downstairs.
The men looked at each other, unwrapped the lampshade, and pronounced the lampshade to be perfect.

Take another look at what it looked like:

"It is too short" I protested. "It needs to be bigger, the next size up!"
(This current shade, Bernie noted, cost $40. For a free lamp. That meant the lamp was no longer free, and a bigger shade would cost more. And take up too much space. Therefore, this shade is just fine.)

A little more discussion with my non-HGTV watching family members, and they allowed that the lampshade probably should be at the same level as the cherub. (I think they winced at that. Like most manly men, both the word and thought of cherubs make them wince.)

They also pointed out that the lamp works just fine just the way it is.

I relented, provided Jeff goes to Target and buys a new lamp harp there that will be three inches shorter than the one currently on the lamp.
He is to take the old harp with him to Target to be sure he gets the right size.

He agreed to do this.

There was no time frame negotiated for this task.

The other lamp shade (another $40 item) needs to be returned to Lowes.

Now let's do the math:

Need to return lamp shade to Lowes to get money back.
Likelihood of task being completed this week: 100%

Need to go and buy a lamp shade harp to lower a lampshade to the correct level with the cherub on the lamp.
Likelihood of this task being completed anytime before my next visit: Um...what is less than zero?

Awww...lamps with pearlized finishes and cherubs.
Can you say "Middle Age Women Love This"?

And to think we got it for FREE!

Scenes from SLC

The Red Butte gardens were just starting to have blooms. These little iris were stunning. Be sure to enlarge that shot!

My grandcat Meowsie and I took a little snooze together. And we discovered he likes to nibble crocus. Not a good thing!

Skiing was grand for the boys, both Friday and Sunday. This was on Friday, as Bernie managed a little work via cell phone. So much for holiday time...you got to do what you got to do to keep the contracts running smooth.

The snow capped mountains encircle Salt Lake City. Oddly, the homes here never seem to be designed to enjoy the spectacular views.

All for now...just wanted to share some of the beauty, and of course, brag on my grandcat.

Chapter 12: Sunday, March 17, 1607

It's St. Patrick's Day as I write this, a Catholic holiday to be sure.

The Puritans loathed the Catholic ways and teachings, and my ancestors of the Puritan persuasion would be hard pressed to agree with my celebrations of a calendar day being designated for a Catholic Saint.

Yet I have to wonder at how both Puritan Hannah Dustin and Catholic Patrick were kidnapped by "heathens", and how after Patrick fled his captors, he then returned again to them to share his faith in the one true God.

How did Puritan Hannah view her "heathen" captors?
And what affect did the trials and hardships of her captivity have upon her personal faith?

By the Gregorian calendar, March 17th fell on a Sunday.

Back in Haverhill, the citizens would surely have gathered for worship. Their minister was Mr. Benjamin Rolf. Most likely the dead had been already buried in the typical Puritan manner; laid in a grave yard set apart from the church, utilizing the poorest of land.
The bodies would have been buried with their feet to the east and their heads to the west, to allow the dead to arise one day facing to the east, looking towards the rising sun.

Baby Hannah's body would likely have been discovered fairly quickly; the apple tree upon which her head was struck was on the edge of the Dustin property. That gruesome discovery undoubtedly would have verified to Thomas that Hannah and Mary were not just hiding from the Indians somewhere, but rather that they had been taken captive in a cruel heartless manner.

Saturday must have been difficult. Beyond the grim duty of burying Martha next to her dead older sister and two brothers, there was also the need to recover what could be salvaged from the burned Dustin home. With several families now homeless, the community would have had to share whatever they could to feed, clothe and house the broken families as best they could.

Thomas quickly returned to work on the new house. It, along with several other homes, was now being designated as a garrison house. Soldiers were placed to guard over his work at the clay pit, and by April 5th, there were orders given establishing the new house formally as a garrison.

Somehow, in two weeks, Thomas managed to complete his dream home in order to shield his neighbors from nightmarish danger.

Thomas was appointed Master of the Garrison, and he assigned six men to serve as guards, including Mr. Thomas Kingsbury, he who had lost his children during the March 15th raid.

I confess I hurt thinking about what it meant to Thomas to have had to been working on that home as he grieved.

To work on a house he could no longer furnish. A house that for now he would not share with his wife.

The Puritan marriage was a place of great passion. The pleasures of marriage were viewed as a means to experience passion as they should experience passion toward God.

It was the Puritans who first offered the summation of the duty of man:
To know God and enjoy Him forever.
That passion for enjoying God, and their marriages was reflected in their writings.
Puritans who loss their spouses were often inconsolable. Their love for the spouses and their love towards God was deeply intertwined.

It also hurts to imagine what it must have felt to Thomas to have had to bury yet another child.

It had only been five months since his 15 year old Mary had died!

It hurts when I imagine the shock of finding Martha dead, the shock of seeing all worldly belongings in flames, and not knowing the fate of his beloved wife.

I am sure on that Sunday, Thomas and the children were at church.
I am sure that there was a sermon given, likely exploring the reasons why life was short and death was nigh for all.
There would have been prayers prayed seeking God's strength and care for the mourning.
And I am sure there were prayers, both corporate and private, entreating God's watchful care over Hannah and the other now unaccountably missing from their midst.

As they prayed did Thomas yearn to gallop off looking for Hannah?
Did Hannah's brothers, John, Samuel and Jonathan talk of tracking the Indians, or going out looking until they could find their sister and bring her home safe?

Or did the Puritan teachings of predestination override their urge to short circuit her destiny which even then was unfolding?

While they prayed, did Hannah's four living sisters long to reach over to comfort their sister's children seated in the service beside them?

I imagine they did. I imagine families back then were little different than families today when it comes to caring for one another's children in times of crisis.

Interesting, the Puritans often reflected on death in their sermons. They did not enjoy a reassurance that upon death their souls would fly to heaven, rather, because they believed in pre-destination they felt that only an elect few would attain heaven.
They reflected on their short comings, and yearned to know God "in their hearts" more than simply in their minds.

Death stalked them. Burial was a simple affair, a rejection of the Catholic ceremonies. Graves were marked with symbols of death, such as skulls, a warning to any who would see the grave that death had come and would come for the viewer one day as well.

The body was merely resting there until the Resurrection. The grave in fact had stones at the head and the feet, and often rails connecting those stones, creating to the viewer an image of a bed.

As I write this I am exhausted by the consideration of all that day must have meant to Thomas, and the Haverhill community. I find myself like those who have had a crisis explode in their life.

My thoughts are jumbled.

There's so many facets to consider. So many things I will never know or fully understand on this earth.

But I do know one thing for sure.

Thomas and his community were at prayer.

And Hannah was praying as well.

Top o' the Morning to you!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Are you wearing green?
I remember when I was a kid that the custom was that if you weren't wearing a bit of green on St. Patrick's Day, you were fair game for receiving a pinch from anyone who noticed the fact.

In these litigious time, a giving someone a pinch is enough to get you convicted of an assault charge.
Better re-think that one.

I used to get up early on St. Patrick's Day, and go outside on the dewy lawn, hunting four leaf clovers.
I would gather as many as I could, (my father's unusual dichondra lawn always seeming to have several robust patches of four leaf producing clovers for my pleasure) and placing my bounty into a tiny bottle, I would head off to school.

There I would offer clovers to my friends, and to anyone who had neglected to wear a bit of green.
If I had managed to pinch any one, I probably would have been slugged back.
It wasn't worth the risk.

Of course some of my classmates slyly let it be known that they were wearing green underwear.
A hint of a waist band was usually pulled out to prove that their claim was true.
Green socks were also popular. Anything where the green wasn't apparent that might cause a wrongfully delivered pinch that could be repaid with, what was it, ten pinches?

Or a wallop, if no teacher was looking.

Ah...childhood memories.

As an adult I routinely cooked a meal of corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day, a delicious treat that my mom always made in a pressure cooker (the beef part, not the cabbage.)
None of my fellow wives bothered, informing me that they didn't like tough meat.
It wasn't until I began inviting people over to enjoy the traditional holiday meal that I discovered most people boil their corned beef, and indeed, that usually produces a tough slab of salty meat.

Pressure cookers, I have two in order to cook enough corned beef for a crowd.
Most people do not own even one!

The potato leek mix called colcannon was a part of the meal , with a small coin mixed in to be found by one lucky guest.

The night before I would make shamrock cookies, and Irish soda bread with fat raisins and a cross cut on the top.
I'd get out all our Chieftain albums, and the video tapes of "Darby O'Gill and the Little People", "The Quiet Man" and later the video of the Irish dancers in "Riverdance."

Brewing up a large pot of Irish Breakfast tea for breakfast, (and planning Irish Coffee for later), we'd open St. Patrick's Day cards, and look forward to an after school party.

If the day fell on a Saturday, we'd invite everyone over for tea and a plate of Irish food.

Now I know that in Ireland proper the day is lightly celebrated. A trip to church for mass, and that's about it my Irish born friends inform me. They scorn the green beer, green garb, green rivers and lunacy that America has engendered to their simple St. Patrick's Day.

And corned beef?
More likely would be Irish stew, or fish on the supper plate.

Oh well.

Today daughter Laura will be wearing outrageous green eyeshadow, a "Kiss me I'm Irish" teeshirt, and having a blast with her friends in San Diego.
Bernie, Jeff and I are headed to the famous pancake/waffle house that is locally owned here in Salt Lake.
Wonder if they'll serve green pancakes?

Then we plan to visit Red Butte Garden to see what is blooming, and look for a lamp shade for a lamp that came with the house.
A lamp that Jeff would never have purchased, not once in a million years.
But hey, the price was right (free!) and it looks great in the guest room, so I get to pick out a shade.

Luck of the Irish you know.

So tell the truth...
Are you wearing green today?
If so, please leave a comment and let me know.
If you're not, well, I promise not to give you a pinch.
Just type something in green on your blog and we'll call it close enough!

And in case you are wondering,

you "pinch" a blog by commenting

like this:

>>>>>PINCH<<<<

(Have fun with that!)

Oh, and here's a tip:
For a romantic St. Patick's day evening, rent the Pierce Brosnan movie "Laws of Attraction."
It is filmed in Ireland, and is a "put a big smile on your face" romantic comedy.
A perfect way to put a jig in your heart towards romance.

(Oh, and look!
Here's your lucky clover!)

Chapter 11: Hannah's story

The most interesting part of the Three Hundred Year Anniversary gathering in Haverhill, back in 1997, was the opportunity to meet other women like myself, who grew up with the last name Dustin.

We came from all over, and for the most part, we had never before had met.
Most of our ancestry had not included a common ancestor for a hundred years or two hundred, or even more years.

Yet we women all had something in common: We were the daughters of Hannah Dustin.

We were raised knowing her story. Many people are the descendants of famous men; war and politics assure many opportunities for men to acquire fame.

But women? Famous women are few and far between.
We, the decendents of Hannah, were self assured, savvy and strong.

It was interesting to meet so many confident women at once.

For awhile Thomas Dustin was the famous one. During the early 1800's his story appeared in every American child's school book, a shining example of fatherly love. America embraced the image of the father figure in the home. The success of the family, society, and the nation at large rested upon the father figure's shoulders.

John Greenleaf Whittier, Henry David Thoreau, and Nathaniel Hawthorne praised his historic exploits in their writings.

Yet it was Hannah whose name and exploits has inspired the placement of five monuments in her honor. No other American woman can make such a claim, it truly is remarkable.

And it was Hannah's stirring story that made her the first woman in America to have a statue erected in her honor.

Here I will begin her story.

As soon as her husband left to protect their children, the Indians invaded the cabin. Mary Neff attempted to leave with the infant Martha, but she was easily caught.
The "savages" force Hannah to rise, and to dress herself. In her haste to dress, she neglected to put on one of her shoes. She seated herself in the fireplace, which in those days were huge spaces, often with stools upon which one could sit to warm oneself or tend to the cooking.

Sitting despairingly in the chimney, she watched them rifle the house, of all that they could carry away. She watched as they ripped her weaving from her loom.
Grabbing Hannah roughly, the Indians dragged her outside while they fired the house.

A few of the Indians then dragged Hannah and Mary who carried the baby towards the woods. The rest of the Indian band was rejoined by those who had been pursuing Thomas and the children. Together they set about attacking the other houses in the village, killing twenty-seven people and capturing thirteen of the inhabitants.

Mary Neff carried the baby, assisting Hannah as she could via that small favor. The Indians were traveling fast; it was only a matter of time before the village would roust a mob to ride after them.

In the chaos, the infant Martha wailed, and Mary began to struggled to keep up.

One of the Indians settled the matter. Pulling the screaming babe from Mary's arms, the Indian swung Martha against an apple tree, dashing out her brains before her horrified mother's eyes.
Tossing the lifeless infant's body aside, Mary was shoved forward, and onward, as was Hannah as well.

The Indians forced the women to their utmost pace, at last reaching the woods and joining the squaws and Indian children who had been left behind there the night before. Here they were soon after joined by the rest of the savage band, bringing their plunder and other captives.

Fearing a prompt pursuit, the Indians immediately set out for Canada with their booty.

Along the way, some of the weaker captives, unable to keep up, were callously knocked on the head with a hatchet, and then they were rapidly scalped.

Miraculously, inspite of her post-partum condition, poorly clad in a simple shift and partly shod, Hannah, assisted by Mary Neff, somehow managed to keep up.
By her own account they marched "about a dozen miles" that day. Truly a remarkable feat.

During the next few days Hannah, Mary, the Indians and few others traveled about a hundred miles through the unbroken wilderness.
They journeyed on rough trails, in places still covered with the winter's snow, sometimes deep with mud. They crossed icy brooks, while rocks tore Hannah's half shod feet, and their poorly clad bodies suffered from the cold-each step a terrible journey, punishing them both physically and emotionally to the utmost.

Martha was dead. Her friends and neighbors, at first a small comfort of comradeship in the hardship had also been murdered before her eyes. The images must have been burned into her mind: The blood poured from their clubbed head, mixing with brain matter on the ground as they fell.

And then the scalps, there was the scalps that still swung from the belts of the Indians that shoved and threatened them even now.

Perhaps those horrors sealed Hannah into a state of emotional numbness. The hardship of trudging, slipping, through snowy passes and rough terrain probably no longer registered in Hannah's mind.

For Hannah, then, there was no way of knowing if Thomas lived, if the children could have reached the Marsh house safely. Perhaps, most likely, in her mind, they too had been killed.

As far as she knew, her family was dead.

Perhaps she wanted to be dead too.

Chapter 10: After the dust settled and the smoke cleared

I slipped on snow this morning. While I love looking at snow, especially falling snow and snow on mountain tops, my ability to traverse snowy patches is limited. I routinely slip.

Thankfully, this time I did not fall. I made my way into the lobby of the Goldminer's Daughter lodge, a ski resort above Salt Lake City, and sought out a wireless hot spot.

When I couldn't connect using my laptop, the staff quickly gave me a loaner lap top to use.
I'm not even a registered guest. Amazing. Gracious hospitality in the northern climes.

While my husband and son carve the rapidly melting ski slopes, I am happily ensconced in an overstuffed chair, wearing a light tee shirt, and ready to tackle the next phase of the Dustin family saga.

The part which later includes snow.

Chapter 10

Eventually Thomas Dustin ventured out of the garrison house. Smoke enveloped the area, eight houses were burning and fields were aflame.

Twenty-seven people lay dead, gruesomely tomahawked, their blood soaking the ground about them. Among of the dead were the children of Thomas Kingsbury. The band of twenty Abenaki Indians had impacted the community greatly.

This had not been the first Indian raid upon Haverhill. Lives had been lost before, people had been taken captive before. Some of the captives escaped, others integrated into the Indian tribes, others simply died of the ordeal. Some had been sold into slavery to the French, later to escape and return to their home.

The entire region has suffered great loss during the proceeding ten years of the King William's War

"During its continuance, the north-eastern tribes had taken and destroyed all the settlements in Maine, with three exceptions, killed more than seven hundred persons, and carried off two hundred and fifty captives, many of whom never returned."

Seven hundred people had died. Not soldiers. Simply people who had settled the area seeking religious freedom.

One of the eight houses engulfed in flames was the home of Thomas Dustin.

There was no sign of Hannah, Mary or the babe.

The town people must have been in shock. It had only been a few years since the last Indian raid, and the garrison houses and troops were presumed to afford some safety. Perhaps they did, for who knows how many lives would have been lost had the garrison houses not been near at hand?

But for now Thomas and his children could only look at their home, and consider their loss: All that the family had owned, the bed, the loom, the spinning wheel, bowls, benches, quilts, grain, books, clothing, all were lost. And worse. Where was Hannah? What had happened to her?

It must have been difficult to grasp for the children. For now it appeared they were both homeless, and apparently motherless.

Chapter 11: Hannah's story

(Check back shortly...it will be posted today as well)

Chapter 9: "Impossible to choose": Thomas and his children

I'm posting twice today, this being March 15th, and the actually 310th anniversary of the events which occurred in Haverhill, Massachusetts to my family on March 15th, 1697.

If you missed reading chapter 8, please scroll down if you wish to read the story in order.
If this is your first visit to my blog, or this story, you can reading the story from the beginning by using the side bar to find the post which was dated March 8th.

Thank you for visiting my blog, and thank you for reading my story!

Above: "The Escape of the Duston Family," illustration from "The Duston Family" by Nathaniel Hawthorne. (Yes, that Nathaniel Hawthorne.)
From The American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge vol. II, published by the Boston Bewick Company, 1836

After Thomas left his wife and infant to their fate, he rode quickly to overtake his children who were escaping into the woods.

Thomas told this part of the story himself to a writer of the time, just a few weeks following the incident.

This is what was reported about the event published in 1697:


"Ere she (Hannah) could get up, the fierce Indians were got so near, that, utterly desparing to do her any service, he ran out after his children; resolving that on the horse which he had with him, he would ride away with that which he should in this extremity find his affections to pitch most upon, and leave the rest unto the care of the Divine Providence.


He overtook his children, about forty rod from his door; but then such was the agony of his parental affections, that he found it impossible for him to distinguish anyone of them from the rest; wherefore he took up a courageous resolution to live and die with them all.


A party of Indians came up with him; and now, though they fired at him, and he fired at them, yet he manfully kept at the reer of his little army of unarmed children, while they marched off with the pace of a child of five years old; until, by the singular providence of God, he arrived safe with them all unto a place of safety about a mile or two from his house."


The idea that he was able to get a shot off is questionable. The Dustin/Duston family book says this about the incident:


"Quickly seeing that he was too late, and doubtlessly urged by Hannah, he (Thomas) rode after the children, resolving to escape with at least one. On overtaking them, finding it impossible to choose between them, he resolved, if possible, to save them all.

A few of the Indians pursued the little band of fugitives, firing at them from behind trees and boulders, but Thomas, dismounting and guarding the rear, held back the savages from behind his horse by threatening to shoot whenever one of them exposed himself.

Had he discharged his gun, they would have closed in at once, for reloading took considerable time. He was successful in his attempt, and all reached the garrison safely, the older children hurrying the younger along, probably carrying them at times."

What Thomas meant when he stated that he resolved to save the one his affections "pitched on" is puzzling.

Perhaps he meant that as he rode he realized it was unlikely he would be able to rescue all seven children (presumably the eldest, Hannah, at 19 was not one of them.)

Perhaps he felt he would just grab which ever one he first encountered, or perhaps he secretly did have a favorite. Whatever the case, when he saw their faces, he realized he could not abandon any as readily as he had already abandon his wife and infant.

The mile to the Marsh Garrison must have seemed endless. Reading the book "Blink", I learned that in times of crisis, the heart rate rises, and changes in the human body occur to safeguard against injury. Unnecessary functions shut down, and often tunnel vision occurs, no sound is heard, yet everything seems to happen in slow motion.

As the family rushed into the Marsh garrison house, I wondered what Thomas did with his horse. Garrison houses specifically were built with small narrow doors, which would only allow one person to enter at a time.

Did Thomas jump off his horse, and run into the garrison, or did he discharge his weapon first?
Did the horse gallop away, or was it taken by the Indians?

How did he answer his children's questions concerning the well being of their mother?

And how long did they stay in the dark safety of the place, as other rushed in seeking safety.

How much could they hear of the mayhem that was being unleashed upon the neighbors and friends? Were the men tempted to go out and fight? Or did they wait until they thought the danger had passed before they ventured out from the garrison house again?

Two of my ancestors huddled in that garrison house so long ago: Thomas Dustin, age 45, and his son Nathaniel, age 12.

Also present were 17 year old Elizabeth, 14 year old Thomas Jr., 9 year old Sarah, 7 year old Abigail, 6 year old Jonathan and 5 year old Timothy.

I wonder what they thought when they most probably read their father's report that he had resolved to save the one whom his affections "pitched upon."

In truth, I like to think it was Nathaniel that he loved the most.

And I am glad that they all were saved.

Next chapter: "When the smoke cleared and the dust settled."

Chapter 8: "...and then all hell broke loose."

It is a curious thing, how the phrase "out of the ordinary" always meant to me "not part of the ordinary." I've been thinking about times in my life when shattering event encroached on my everyday life.

The retelling of those events, 9/11, deaths, car accidents, always begins with the telling of how ordinary things were moments before the event. "I was just...", like the benign activity should not have warranted the dreadful event that followed.

I've come to a conclusion: Like a child born out his mother's womb, so trauma is born out of the ordinary.

Onesiphorus Marsh's Garrison House

on Pecker Hill

March 15, 1697: The day probably began in what was later remembered as a most ordinary of manners. The family had slept snugly in the small home, likely in a single room with children clustered around the fireplace, slumbering on pallets of goose down quilts. Thomas and Hannah, married nearly twenty years, slept in the bed in which each of their twelve children had been lovingly conceived, and later born.

Six day old baby Martha undoubtedly had awoken Hannah at least once in the night, and had been nursed and tended in the wee hours, held and kissed in the mussy sleepy state that all nursing mothers experience with their newly born children.

I imagine Thomas slept through the feeding, his daily labor creating a state of exhaustion that would not have been easily disturbed.

Perhaps some of the older children stirred. Perhaps five year old Timothy, the next youngest child crept into their bed seeking warmth and reassurance of his mother's love.

Hannah must have recalled him as an infant, and wondered at how simple it was to care for Martha, a single baby, after the hectic needs that her last born twins had required. Nursing twins Timothy and Mehitable with her other son Jonathan only two, well, those were busy months, until Mehitable died at three months of age, on a cold December day.

They always named their children at birth. Many families didn't, calling the newborn "it" until it was clear that the babe would survive its infancy.

She and Thomas named their children as soon as they were born, honoring family members and enjoying the bond between their children and their aunts and uncles, or searching the scriptures for biblical names, to inspire Godly character.

Likely Martha's wails awoke the family again at dawn. While the babe nursed, the family roused, the fire was stirred and a simple meal was cooked by the older girls. They would soon be wives as well, and knew what was need to know to prepare a meal for a hungry family.

But before the family would have eaten, Thomas would have lead his wife and children through a brief study of the Bible, a "devotion" and a prayer.

"The Puritans viewed the male head of the household as the one Biblically responsible for commanding and instructing the family in the way of the Lord. Historians of New England agree on the prevalence of this pattern in the 17th century.

According to the standard work on this subject: "Every morning immediately upon rising and every evening before retiring a good Puritan father led his household in prayer, in scriptural reading, and in singing of psalms"

New England Puritans, like their counterparts in England and Scotland, did not view family worship as a rival to congregational worship, but rather as its complement: "Domestic instruction and worship was considered indispensable to the success of the weekly services in the church, for religion was too important a matter to be left to weekly lessons"

Historians also have observed that the Puritan family was expected not only to be a little church but a little school, and a little commonwealth. One of the leading new historians of the period affirms that "The family was regarded as a religious society with the obligations of group Scripture reading, prayer, and catechizing... Within the family the husband was without question the master. He was prince and teacher, pastor and judge in his household" (Francis J. Bremer, The Puritan Experiment, p. 177). "

A sample of a morning prayer, from a collection of prayers used as by the Puritans as a model, was as follows:

Almighty God, as I cross the threshold of this day I commit myself, soul, body, affairs, friends, to Thy care. Watch over, keep, guide, direct, sanctify, bless me. Incline my heart to thy ways. Mould me wholly into the image of Jesus, as a potter forms clay. May my lips be a well-tuned harp to sound Thy praise.

Let those around see me living by Thy Spirit, trampling the world underfoot, unconformed to lying vanities, transformed by a renewed mind, clad in the entire armour of God, shining as a never-dimmed light, showing holiness in all my doings. Let no evil this day soil my thoughts, words, hands. May I travel miry paths with a life pure from spot or stain.

In needful transactions let my affection be in heaven, and my love soar upwards in flames of fire, my gaze fixed on unseen things, my eyes open to the emptiness, fragility, mockery of earth and its vanities. May I view all things in the mirror of eternity, waiting for the coming of my Lord, listening for the last trumpet call, hastening unto the new heaven and earth.

Order this day all my communications according to Thy wisdom, and to the gain of mutual good. Forbid that I should not be profited or made profitable. May I speak each word as if my last word, and walk each step as my final one. If my life should end today, let this be my best day."

"The potter molding clay." How real that phrase must have sounded to the family gathered for prayer. How impossible the final phrase must have sounded. Surely this phrase was almost unthinkable.

The meal would have been brief, there was work to be done. Mary Neff arrived, her services as a nurse continued to be offered to support Hannah as she recovered her strength from childbearing.

Thomas rode out to work near his new house, his gun near at hand if it be needed. Looking up from his labor, he saw movement in the woods, one, two quick flashes. He stopped, reached for his gun, and looked again.

An entire band of Indians were stealthily emerging from the woods.

Quickly Thomas mounted his horse, and galloped back to his house, shouting for his children to run to the garrison house while he dashed inside hoping to save his wife and baby.

The children obeyed instantly. They ran into the woods, heading towards Pecker's Hill, and the safety of the Marsh Garrison house.

Inside the home Hannah was in bed, still in her nightdress, Mary Neff by her side.
There was little time talk, the Indians were now rushing towards the house.

In a conversation that was never recorded, a decision was made: Thomas would go and protect the fleeing children, leaving Hannah, Mary and the child to their fate.

The town had been raided before, as had many of the villages in the colony. Frequently the men were killed while children and younger women were taken captive, to be later sold as slaves by the Indians, in order to raise money for French/Indian war chest.

Perhaps it was hoped that an older woman, newly delivered of a child, the babe in arms, would stir sympathy from the savages, and be left unmolested. Hannah surely faced a horror beyond imagination as she saw her husband gallop away, and their house was invaded by the marauding Indians.

Tomorrow: Chapter 9: "Impossible to choose: Thomas and his children"

Chapter 7: A quiet day...

The Dustin House

Haverhill, Massachusetts

It's raining and thundering here, and my darlin' husband had a bumpy flight home this afternoon.

We're keeping one eye on the Weather Channel, mindful of weather alerts.
As long as I was checking the weather map, I took a look at the weather today in Haverhill Massachusetts. It is 70 degrees, which seems unseasonably warm to me, and showers are expected later.

Now back to our story:

March 14th, 1697 fell on a Thursday according to the Gregorian calendar.

Thomas Dustin, farmer, brick maker, past constable for his end of town, husband and father of eight undoubtedly had enough to keep him busy from sun up to sun down.

He had volunteered for one additional task within the community; bringing firewood for the new minister.

The first house that Thomas and Hannah lived in was built of bricks imported from Europe. Upon discovering a clay pit on his property, Thomas experimented with making bricks himself, apparently with great success. There was later comment in New England noting the quality of bricks from Haverhill.

As to the house which Thomas was nearly finished constructing, modern examination reports the following:

"As it (the house) is still standing, it is possible to tell of its construction. A Haverhill writer says that " white oak, which is today well preserved, was used in its massive framework, and the floor and roof timbers are put together with great wooden pins. In early days the windows swung outward, and the glass was very thick, and set into the frames with lead."

Beyond that, what other activities were undertaken by the family on this day can only be imagined. A historian commenting on the times had this to say about the typical day of the times:

"Their every-day dress was plain, strong, and comfortable, and was the product of their own looms and knitting-needles. A cocked-up hat, a short frock of strongest warp, a pair of old leather breeches, and leggings confined above the knee and tied over the shoe with a string round the middle of the foot, was the costume of the man.

The farm work obliged them to be up before daylight. The early breakfast consisted of pea or bean porridge, boiled with salted beef or pork, served in wooden bowls, together with bread and beer. The bread was generally some preparation of Indian-corn mixed with rye. Dinner at noon began with Indian pudding and ended with boiled salt pork, fried eggs, brown bread, cabbage, and cider. Sometimes they had succotash, a native dish of corn and beans boiled together in the milk. Hasty pudding, consisting of the boiled meal of maize or rye, and eaten with molasses or milk, was a common dish.

The spoons were pewter, the plates "wooden trenchers." Their sofa was the settle, their carpets clean white sand, their ceilings rough boards and rafters, and their parlor was at once kitchen, bedroom, and hall. Besides other household labor, the women did all the sewing, knitting, mending, spinning, cooking, and washing. Their toil was unremitting. Religious exercises, morning and evening, were never omitted. By eight o'clock the entire family were in bed."

And with that, I will leave the family to their chores and domestic pursuits, at peace, for the moment.

Stay tuned for tomorrow episode: "Chapter 8...and then all hell broke loose."

Chapter 6: A brief intermission, and then back to our story : And then it got worse

We interrupt this story briefly to bring you another story:

I have a funny story to tell before I continue with the Dustin family saga. Yesterday I while I was out and about, I scooped up some great bargains on my favorite style of shirt, found a dress that will probably be the one I will wear on Easter with the new hat, saw several Easter hats priced between $250 to $500 (whoa!) and polished off the day by treating myself to a pedicure at a shop outside of Kingwood, where the prices are much more reasonable than in my particular zip code.

I thought I'd get a St. Patrick's day pedicure, as I am sure most of my readers have already procured, or will do so in the next day or two.

Being a walk-in appointment, I was told to select my nail polish color and take a seat in the massaging chair.

It took a few minutes for me to select from the several shades of green polish available, but I made my choice, and told the receptionist/head manicurist/best English speaker what I had in mind: Green polish, white four leaf clovers and an emerald gem in the center of each clover. She smiled and I (silly me!) presumed all was well.

May I just say that the concepts of "clover" "St. Patrick" "emerald", "green jewel, not blue jewel", "four, not five", and "leaf points go into the middle,not outward" are difficult to communicate to non-English speakers?

I resorted to drawing a picture of a clover on the back of an envelope to illustrate what I wanted. The poor woman whose sorry lot in life had been to get me for a customer wrinkled her brow at the picture, and gave me a look that communicated clearly that she was feeling very sorry she had ever left Viet Nam all those years ago, and besides which, applying green polish to toenails made her feel ill.

Too bad, so sad. We got through it.

But then it only got worse. Silly SILLY me...as my toes were drying I remembered I also needed a touch of wax to smooth my middle aged hormonally wacky chin and upper lip.

I spoke to the receptionist again, and she nodded and let lose a volley of vowels and consonants towards my non-English speaking pedicurist that I (not having learned my lesson previously) presumed meant : Give her a wax job.

And she did give me a wax job. A very good one I might add, with great and tender attention to details.

But her true feelings had their vent: With each rip of the wax, and my involuntary flinch, she gave way to a burst of laughter.

My deeply embedded Christian heritage lived out in modern times is oft found within the scriptural boundaries of "Vengeance is mine" saith the Lord "I shall repay!"

Had I experienced the teaching of another way?

Hard to say. But I wondered...could it be?

"Vengeance is sweet", perhaps saith the Buddah, "You yourself can repay!"

It probably was sweet. And she got a nice tip to boot.

Now, back to our story in progress...

Elizabeth was certainly a wayward soul, yet in her promiscuousness, she was much like a lot of the people of the day. Colonial records show that nearly a majority of all brides were pregnant on their wedding day, and fornication charges were frequently seen on court dockets.

Unmarried people caught in a "private" moment were fornicators. Married people having a fling apart from their spouses were adulterers. A single woman and a married man? She was engaged in whoredom.

Elizabeth no doubt had in effect lived the "scarlet letter" experience with the birth of Dorothy. Pregnant again, she had many fears. It was against the law to conceal a bastard, perhaps a law designed to assure that such children would at least receive minimal care as opposed to being abandoned.

Perhaps that was Elizabeth's greatest struggle. The children had been born silently. No one knew. I wonder why she didn't just take the tiny bodies out to the woods or drop them into the river, instead of sewing them into a bag, and then burying them where surely someone would notice. Maybe her heart was tender to her children, and she wished to provide them with a decent burial.

On the following Sabbath day Elizabeth stayed home, telling her parents that she felt ill. Likely she used the time to do the digging and burial regardless of how she felt.

That decision probably sealed her fate.

The Puritans had risked everything to come to the New World for religious freedom. They believed that their only hope for survival was the providence of God, and His Favor. Obedience to the Word was critical in their thinking, lest God tire of them and leave them defenseless in a land that they believed was solely inhabited by devils prior to their arrival.

They watched for evidence that the devils, that had fled upon their arrival, might be attempting to reclaim their territory.

The best defence against spiritual lapse was regular fellowship. Sabbath observation was the law, and should someone not be at the regular Sabbath church meeting, a committee would soon be at their door, inquiring as to the reason for the neglect. In a way this was a kindness; should a person or family be taken ill, needs could be identified and care could be given.

Neglecting the sabbath for reasons other than serious illness was rare, as for each instance there were escalating fines levied upon the sinner. Few chose to miss church except under the most difficult of circumstance.

I will quote here below from the researcher at the University at Southern Maine:

'The Sunday following the birth, while her parents were at church, some concerned citizens of Haverhill who suspected that Elizabeth was pregnant went to the Emerson house to find her.

When they arrived at the Emerson home they inquired after Elizabeth's health which she descibed to them as "not well."

She was read a warrant and told that the women who were present were appointed to examine her. Elizabeth submitted to this examination without protest.

Meanwhile, the men went into the backyard and found the bodies of the two infants sewn up in a bag and buried in a shallow grave.

The discovery of the bodies led to statements being taken by Nathaniel Saltonstall. The depositions of the parties involved were similar. They suspected Elizabeth of being with child and therefore sought her out that Sunday morning with the intent of making inquiry.

Elizabeth denied any wrongdoing, stating that she "never murdered any child in my life."
She also said "I never committed a murther that I know of...."
But the evidence against her in the form of the infant bodies and the physical examination by the women present, where they discovered Elizabeth to be post partum, was overwhelming."

Most of the women of the time spent the majority of their childbearing years pregnant. They knew the signs that betrayed a woman's condition. And the woman who later testified in court concerning Elizabeth's condition was the town's midwife.

Mary Neff. The same Mary Neff who would later be with Hannah as she bore her twelfth child Martha.

"The following day, May 11th, Elizabeth, Michael and Hannah Emerson were all questioned and a transcript of that exchange is still extant. Elizabeth was asked her husband's name to which she replied, "I have never [had] one." She confessed that she did give birth to twins.

When asked where they were born she replied, "On the bed at my father's beds feet...."
She stated that she did not call for help during her travail because, "there was nobody near but my Father and Mother and I was afraid to call my mother for fear of killing her." When asked if she told her father or mother afterwards, she replied, "No, not a word; I was afraid." Elizabeth was then questioned as to whether either of her parents knew of her pregnancy to which she replied that they did not know of the pregnancy, birth or burial of them.

How could Elizabeth have given birth to twins in the same room her parents were sleeping and kept it a secret from them? The record indicates that her mother did suspect Elizabeth of being pregnant but was told "no" every time she inquired of Elizabeth. Elizabeth's fear of "killing" her mother denotes a certain amount of love and respect, but what of her statement, "No, not a word; I was afraid"?

Elizabeth had, after all, been in this position before. She already had one illegitimate child which her father had unsuccessfully tried to pin on Timothy Swan. Could it be that the treatment she had received from her father after the incident with Robert Swan, Sr. made her loathe to reveal to him her latest indiscretion?

After all, Michael was known to have beaten her severely at least once; perhaps she was afraid of similar treatment if the truth was made known to him. Whatever her reason, it must have been compelling for her to have given birth to twins in complete silence while her parents slept mere inches away.

Michael was also questioned on May 11th regarding his daughter's crime.

According to the transcript, he did not even suspect that Elizabeth was with child, nor did he know of the birth or burial of them. When asked if he knew who the father was, he stated for the first time on the record, that the father of the children was Samuel Ladd.

Ladd was a resident of Haverhill. He was considerably older than Elizabeth, for he was married to his wife on December 1, 1674 when Elizabeth was 9 years old. At the time of the twins birth... his age as 42 and Elizabeth's as 28. Although Samuel Ladd was named as the father of the children a number of times in the court records, he was even said to be the one person who knew of Elizabeth's pregnancy, he was never questioned about the matter."

And in yet another odd twist of fate, Mrs. Samuel Ladd was likewise delivered of twins at nearly the same time as Elizabeth delivered her twins.

"Hannah was the next to be questioned regarding her daughter's crime. She stated for the record that she suspected her daughter was pregnant but as she was big, she could not tell and Elizabeth would not confess to it.

She was then accused of being the one to sew them up in a bag but again she denied any knowledge of it. She too named Samuel Ladd as the father of the children.

The women who were sent to the house to examine Elizabeth also gave testimony at the same time as the Emersons. They testified that one of the children had its navel string twisted about its neck. There was apparently no sign of violence to either of the children but in their opinion one or both of them died "for want or caer att the time of travell."

With these statements went another intriguing document. In it, Elizabeth confessed that Samuel Ladd was the father of the children and that the "place of his begetting...was at Rob't Clements inn house." Elizabeth also states for the record that Samuel is the only man with whom she had slept, indicating by this that he was not only the father of the dead twins but the father of Dorothy as well, contrary to her father's assertion that Timothy Swan was the father of Dorothy."

Following that bit of detective work in Haverhill, "Elizabeth was remanded to the custody of the Boston prison on May 13, 1691, accompanied by a letter from Nathaniel Saltonstall (a military officer charged with the care of Haverhill. It was he who later gave orders to build the extra garrison houses for the citizen's protection against Indian threat.)

In (the) letter (Saltonstall) writes that he had Elizabeth before him on May 11th and 13th..."upon examination for whore-dom." He then reiterated the facts of the case as they were known and commanded the prison keeper to safely keep her in prison until she "shal be thence delivered by due order of Law."

Elizabeth was kept in prison until September 1691 when she was sentenced to hang for her crime. Previous to this case it was a crime in England to conceal the death of a bastard child. This law, though repealed in England by the time of the Emerson case, was still on the books in the Massachusetts Bay.

Therefore, while it was never sufficiently proven that she intentionally killed her children, such proof was unnecessary as their very concealment was considered to be a crime.

She did maintain her innocence of the charge throughout the proceedings but that was of little consequence, even though by 1691 convictions on the charge of concealment of the death of a bastard were waning.

Nathaniel Saltonstall's comment that she had been examined for "whore-dom" was, perhaps, more to the point.

It could be that the good people of Haverhill had tired of the antics of Elizabeth and had determined that being a whore, she could just as easily be a murderess. The society at large may have wanted to point to her as a warning to their own children. At the time, fewer and fewer of the children of the first settlers were owning the covenant and that was certainly a cause for great concern among the "saints." (And certainly political and military issues were simmering as well.)

And what of Samuel Ladd? No legal actions were brought against him whatsoever. Yet in another twist of fate, perhaps we can conclude that justice was ultimately served. There will more to his story later.

"Although convicted in September 1691 Elizabeth was not hanged until June 8, 1693. In the interim she came under the care and guidance of the Reverend Cotton Mather. How he found time to minister to Elizabeth while at the same time actively pursuing the Salem Witch Trials is unknown."

Yes, that's right. Poor Elizabeth was in prison in Boston at the time that the Salem Witch trials were in full swing.

About the Salem Witch Trials:
"In Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692 there had been a bitter strife between the minister, Samuel Parris, and his congregation, when the delusion of witchcraft gave him an opportunity to wreak a terrible vengeance. Person after person, disliked by him, was accused by members of his family, and put to death. Other people made it an occasion to get even with enemies, and fear laid hold on the hearts of all.

A group of young girls began having hysterical fits. The girls claimed that witches afflicting them and began to name certain people in the village as witches. Based virtually on the testimony of these girls alone, authorities began to arrest and then to try several astonished Salem citizens.

Nineteen people were hanged; one man was pressed to death with heavy weights; an unknown number died in prison.

Fifty-five were tortured or terrified into making confessions, and the jails were full. One hundred fifty prisoners awaited trial; two hundred more were accused of suspected. If an officer refused to arrest a person accused of being a witch, he was in turn accused and imprisoned. The craze spread to other communities and the country became aroused.

Ironically, only those who maintained their innocence were executed; those who confessed escaped the hangman's noose. Realizing this fact, some confessed in order to save themselves. Others could not do so in good conscience. Mary Easty said to her judges, "I know not the least thing of witch craft, therefore I cannot, I dare not belie my own soul. I beg your honors not to deny this my humble petition from a poor dying Innocent."

She was hanged anyway.

It should be said in Mather's defence that he spoke firmly against the hysteria.

"Several facts are ignored in the blast of accusations hurled at the Puritans. The ministers of Massachusetts, rather than being persecuting fanatics, actually counseled caution and restraint to the more zealous civil authorities. It was the opposition of some of the clergy, in fact, that helped end the witch trials.

Boston pastor Cotton Mather, who is often falsely accused of urging authorities on, said, "It were better that ten suspected witches should escape than that one innocent person should be condemned."

Part of the Witch Trials was fueled by the thought that the failed navy offensive against Canada was indicating that God providence was being withdrawn and the devil's were attempting to reclaim their hijacked land. The Native American, untouched by Scripture and Redemption, were viewed as devilish ambassadors.

The majority of the people in prison with Elizabeth Emerson were older women charged with witchcraft. And astonished to be so. A thing called "spectral evidence" was being hotly debated, the idea that if someone was to see your shape in a vision, either indicated that you gave your permission to the devil for your shape in image for to be used, or that you DIDN'T give your permission, and the devil used your shape anyway.

All it took was for a grumpy word to be uttered concerning another, and it was counted a curse, and off to the slammer you went. Likewise, all it took was for someone to report a fantastic dream in which you appeared, riding a dog, or whatever, and again, you were shown to your jail cell.

Elizabeth Emerson must have heard an earful while she was there. The case against the rest of the people around in her rested on theological detail. I imagine the inmates were pretty vexed by the religious leaders visiting the jail, and Elizabeth no doubt was less than thrilled to come to the attention of the pre-emanate Cotton Mather.

Perhaps it was purely convenience for Mather, as Elizabeth was incarcerated in Boston, with the unfortunate victims of the witchcraft hysteria.

He did, however, get her to do something which nobody else could, to "confess."

During his sermon on Job 36:14 he read to the congregation what he claimed was a confession given him by Elizabeth.

He writes that she confessed that "when they were born, I was not unsensible, that at least, One of them was alive; but such a Wretch was I, as to use a Murderous Carriage towards them, in the place where I lay, on purpose to dispatch them out of the World."

What did she mean by "murderous carriage?" Did she lay upon them or did she merely neglected them? Or were they, as per her initial assertion, truly stillborn?

According to Mather, she claimed that she should have listened to her parents, that she was "always of an Haughty and Stubborn Spirit." and that "Bad Company" was what led to her downfall.

Although her confession is very moving and seemingly sincere, Cotton Mather was not moved.

He claimed that she "has more to confess, I fear..." and held little hope for her salvation. According to Mather "there never was Prisoner more Hard-Hearted, and more Unfruitful than you have been..."

It is a little puzzling that Mather was so disappointed with his prisoner. She did, after all, confess her crime and exhort the rising generation not to follow in her footsteps.

Perhaps she did not confess readily enough to suit him. She was in prison for a little over two years and under those circumstances would surely have been broken into a confession at the hands of a less expert confessor than Mather.

She may have continued to protest her innocence until very near the end, disappointing Mather who would have wanted to use her for his own ends.

Elizabeth was executed in Boston on that June day in 1693 and there her story ends. Her confessions were still viewed as "Not good enough."

Dorothy, her daughter, also diseappeared from the record, and one can't help but wonder at her fate. Michael, in his last will dated 1709, left distributions of a few shillings to at least some of his grandchildren, but Dorothy was noticeably absent.

Some say she went to live with her aunt Hannah. We can only hope that whatever happened that she was treated well, and that perhaps her little life was treasured by someone.

Tomorrow: Back to Thomas and Hannah.