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THE SONS OF 
version, treasured among the descend- 
ants of that sturdy band of mountain- 
eers, that the actual words of Allen’s 
answer were, “Come out of that, you 
d——d old rat, and you’ll find out!” 
Rough speech it is but consonant with 
the roughness of the man and his time, 
charged with a menace and determina- 
tion that, scorning a choice of words 
to illumine history, left death the only 
alternative to capitulation. 
The fiber of this primitive stock is 
manifest no less strongly in the women 
of the time than in the men; loyal to 
the same standards as their husbands, 
schooled in the same expedients, buoyed 
by the same determination, they bravely 
bore their parts to fruition in a national 
character. 
Taken from a multitude of instances 
the story of Hannah Dustan’s heroism 
may well serve to illustrate the hardi- 
hood and spirit of the women of New 
England. 
On the 15th of March, 1697, in an at- 
tack upon the Haverhill settlement, the 
Indians killed some sixteen of the set- 
tlers and carried twenty more into cap- 
tivity. Among the latter was Hannah 
Dustan who, forced to leave the bed 
whereon she had been confined one 
week before, was made to accompany 
her captors in their northward flight. 
Mary Neff, her nurse, taken at the same 
time, went with her. Mrs. Dustan, al- 
ready ill by reason of her confinement, 
had witnessed the death of her latest 
born at the hands of the Indians, seen 
the flight of her seven elder children in 
their father’s care and watched her own 
and her neighbors’ houses burn behind 
her. Snow was yet upon the ground 
and the air was keen with the chill of 
early spring. She was ill clad and one 
foot was bare. Behind her lay the 
tragedy of massacre,—before her 
stretched the wilderness journey and 
the unknown terrors of captivity. 
Soon the Indians separated, as was 
their custom after a foray, and Mrs. 
Dustan, Mary Neff and Samuel Leon- 
ardson, a boy captured near Worcester, 
Mass,, became the charges of a small 
THe SETTLERS 507 
party of two braves, three squaws and 
seven children. On the evening of 
March 30th, after a torturing march in 
inclement weather, they were all en- 
camped upon an island in the Merri- 
mac river near the mouth of the 
Contoocook. Mrs. Dustan had _in- 
structed the boy to inquire of one of 
the Indians as to their method of 
tomahawking an enemy and securing 
his scalp. Little dreaming of the pur- 
pose behind the inquiry, the Indian had 
pointed to his temple and said, “Strike 
um here,” following this up with a 
graphic illustration of the other opera- 
tion. The boy made careful report of 
this to Mrs. Dustan. 
On the morning of the 3lst, while 
the stars were still bright in the heavens 
and the Indians slept on,the courageous 
women and the equally courageous boy | 
rose and with the tomahawks of their 
captors killed them all with the excep- 
tion of a child and a wounded squaw 
who escaped into the woods. Then 
scuttling all the canoes but one, and 
putting into that a gun, a tomahawk 
and such food as they could find, they 
began their homeward journey. They 
had not gone far, however, before it 
was realized they had brought little 
convincing proof of their exploit with 
them. They therefore returned to the 
island and, by the light of the smoulder- 
ing fire, scalped their ten dead enemies 
and putting into a bag these grim tro- 
phies paddled southward through the 
mists which hung above the river. 
Aided by the swollen current and pro- 
tected by kindly chance from a meeting 
with other Indians, stopping only as 
obstructions to progress made portages 
necessary, these two women and this 
boy at last were reunited with kindred 
and friends and told their story. 
It is a grim story but a true one. It 
needs no embellishment of fiction, no 
further emphasis than attends the mere 
facts, to demonstrate their qualities of 
courage, of physical vigor, of fitness 
for the perilous existence which beset 
and surrounded the makers of our 
colonial history, 
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