Puritan Girl, Mohawk Girl
Historical fiction, based on the life of Eunice Williams
As the armed conflicts between the English colonies in North America and the French settlements raged in the 1700s, a young Puritan girl, Eunice Williams, is kidnapped by Mohawk people and taken to Canada. She is adopted into a new family, a new culture, and a new set of traditions that will define her life. As Eunice spends her days learning the Mohawk language and the roles of women and girls in the community, she gains a deeper understanding of her Mohawk family. Although her father and brother try to persuade Eunice to return to Massachusetts, she ultimately chooses to remain with her Mohawk family and settlement.
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CHAPTER THREE
ENEMY ATTACK
ENEMY ATTACK
Though all was well inside the Williams household, out in the village the worries grew stronger. The war with the French and their Indian allies was going badly; other towns nearby had already been attacked. Scary rumors flew around. Some people had seen footprints in the woods nearby. Others had heard strange sounds from across the meadows. Then there was a night when the moon shone red, like blood.
Sixteen soldiers came to Deerfield and moved into the town stockade, a special fortified house built of heavy logs, to protect the townspeople. Carpenters repaired the fence that surrounded the village center. Some families living on the outskirts decided to come in close and stay with relatives or friends. On Sundays, in church, Reverend Williams led prayers for everyone's safety. When Eunice and her brothers went off to the schoolhouse every morning, Parthena walked with them just in case enemies appeared. But as one February day followed another and there was no actual sign of the enemy, people began to think that maybe the danger had passed.
The last night of the month--February 29, because it was a leap year -- started as usual, with supper, then prayers and bedtime. Soon all the houses were dark, and the families asleep. The night watchman patrolled the roadways and saw nothing unusual. Eventually, as the night deepened, he sat down to rest. Everything was quiet, except for the soft sound of a lullaby coming from a house where a mother was trying to soothe her wakeful child. After listening for a few minutes, the watchman dozed off. The lullaby ended, and the village lay still. The moon was a thin sliver rising in the east. Sunrise was still several hours away.
At the very moment, enemy scouts were hiding in the field just to the north. When they saw the watchman was asleep, they signaled to the large group behind them -- fifty Frenchmen in full military uniform and two hundred Mohawk warriors in thick wool cloaks and war paint. They had trudged through deep wilderness for weeks from Canada, waiting for just this chance.
Silently, with their hatchets and muskets held ready, they crossed the field. They climbed the snowdrifts piled against the fence, crawled over, and dropped down on the other side; from there they scattered to different parts of the village. Just then the watchman suddenly woke up, realized what was happening, and let out a shriek: "To arms! To arms! Enemies in the street! Everyone prepare!" But it was too late; the attack had already begun.
At the Williamses' house, Indian warriors were bashing their hatchets against the front door. They finally kicked it open and stormed inside. Eunice, fast asleep just a moment before, leaped from her bed in the front room and raced to the kitchen. Her brothers ran here and there--to the attic, to the cellar. Her father barely had time to grab his musket and aim it at the Indians. He squeezed the trigger, but it didn't fire--which was lucky, since, if it had, they would have killed him on the spot, and the rest of the family, too.
Eunice crawled under a table and buried her face in her hands. Minutes passed; shouts and screams filled the air, but in the darkness she couldn't tell from whom. Then, when a French soldier came in with a light, she crept back into the front room and peered around. She saw her father bound with a rope to a chair a few feet away, with spatters of blood on his nightshirt. She saw her mother knelling beside the feather bed, her eyes closed, softly praying. She saw her brothers, who had been brought from their hiding places and shoved into a corner. She saw Parthena--sweet, kind Parthena--sprawled across the floor. And she saw, finally, the tiny form of Jerusha, her baby sister, cradled in Parthena's arms. Both just lay there, not moving at all. Eunice could tell that both were dead, but why? Had Parthena refused to hand over the baby?
Eunice was so shocked that at first she just felt numb. She told herself it must be a nightmare from which she would soon awake. She closed her eyes as tightly as possible. But when she opened them again, she knew it was all real. Her throat felt choked; she could hardly breathe. When one of the Indian warriors came and lifted her off the floor, she wailed with terror.
As the attack went on, one house after another was taken. Only at the stockade was there much of the fight. The soldiers there held out for almost two hours, aiming their muskets through the upstairs windows. It was a furious battle. Twice the Mohawks rushed forward with burning sticks to set the building on fire, but were driven back. But when they tried a third time, it worked. With flames rising around them, the soldiers had to come out and surrender. They, along with many of the villagers, were captives.
The Mohawks took the whole group to the church and made them stand against a wall. There were more than a hundred of them, mostly families with children. Eunice and Warham were among the youngest. They clung to each other, sobbing loudly. Some of the Mohawks tried to comfort them. Their father had told them that Indians were kind to children, and soon they would find out if it was true.
The French soldiers had left to attack another town, so the Mohawks were in charge. Their plan was to take most of the captives back to Canada, a journey of over two hundred miles. It would be very difficult, especially in winter. The Mohawks looked everybody over to see who would be strong enough to survive. There were several old people and two very pregnant women whom they decided not to take; these were set free. The rest would have to go on as best they could.
Sixteen soldiers came to Deerfield and moved into the town stockade, a special fortified house built of heavy logs, to protect the townspeople. Carpenters repaired the fence that surrounded the village center. Some families living on the outskirts decided to come in close and stay with relatives or friends. On Sundays, in church, Reverend Williams led prayers for everyone's safety. When Eunice and her brothers went off to the schoolhouse every morning, Parthena walked with them just in case enemies appeared. But as one February day followed another and there was no actual sign of the enemy, people began to think that maybe the danger had passed.
The last night of the month--February 29, because it was a leap year -- started as usual, with supper, then prayers and bedtime. Soon all the houses were dark, and the families asleep. The night watchman patrolled the roadways and saw nothing unusual. Eventually, as the night deepened, he sat down to rest. Everything was quiet, except for the soft sound of a lullaby coming from a house where a mother was trying to soothe her wakeful child. After listening for a few minutes, the watchman dozed off. The lullaby ended, and the village lay still. The moon was a thin sliver rising in the east. Sunrise was still several hours away.
At the very moment, enemy scouts were hiding in the field just to the north. When they saw the watchman was asleep, they signaled to the large group behind them -- fifty Frenchmen in full military uniform and two hundred Mohawk warriors in thick wool cloaks and war paint. They had trudged through deep wilderness for weeks from Canada, waiting for just this chance.
Silently, with their hatchets and muskets held ready, they crossed the field. They climbed the snowdrifts piled against the fence, crawled over, and dropped down on the other side; from there they scattered to different parts of the village. Just then the watchman suddenly woke up, realized what was happening, and let out a shriek: "To arms! To arms! Enemies in the street! Everyone prepare!" But it was too late; the attack had already begun.
At the Williamses' house, Indian warriors were bashing their hatchets against the front door. They finally kicked it open and stormed inside. Eunice, fast asleep just a moment before, leaped from her bed in the front room and raced to the kitchen. Her brothers ran here and there--to the attic, to the cellar. Her father barely had time to grab his musket and aim it at the Indians. He squeezed the trigger, but it didn't fire--which was lucky, since, if it had, they would have killed him on the spot, and the rest of the family, too.
Eunice crawled under a table and buried her face in her hands. Minutes passed; shouts and screams filled the air, but in the darkness she couldn't tell from whom. Then, when a French soldier came in with a light, she crept back into the front room and peered around. She saw her father bound with a rope to a chair a few feet away, with spatters of blood on his nightshirt. She saw her mother knelling beside the feather bed, her eyes closed, softly praying. She saw her brothers, who had been brought from their hiding places and shoved into a corner. She saw Parthena--sweet, kind Parthena--sprawled across the floor. And she saw, finally, the tiny form of Jerusha, her baby sister, cradled in Parthena's arms. Both just lay there, not moving at all. Eunice could tell that both were dead, but why? Had Parthena refused to hand over the baby?
Eunice was so shocked that at first she just felt numb. She told herself it must be a nightmare from which she would soon awake. She closed her eyes as tightly as possible. But when she opened them again, she knew it was all real. Her throat felt choked; she could hardly breathe. When one of the Indian warriors came and lifted her off the floor, she wailed with terror.
As the attack went on, one house after another was taken. Only at the stockade was there much of the fight. The soldiers there held out for almost two hours, aiming their muskets through the upstairs windows. It was a furious battle. Twice the Mohawks rushed forward with burning sticks to set the building on fire, but were driven back. But when they tried a third time, it worked. With flames rising around them, the soldiers had to come out and surrender. They, along with many of the villagers, were captives.
The Mohawks took the whole group to the church and made them stand against a wall. There were more than a hundred of them, mostly families with children. Eunice and Warham were among the youngest. They clung to each other, sobbing loudly. Some of the Mohawks tried to comfort them. Their father had told them that Indians were kind to children, and soon they would find out if it was true.
The French soldiers had left to attack another town, so the Mohawks were in charge. Their plan was to take most of the captives back to Canada, a journey of over two hundred miles. It would be very difficult, especially in winter. The Mohawks looked everybody over to see who would be strong enough to survive. There were several old people and two very pregnant women whom they decided not to take; these were set free. The rest would have to go on as best they could.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE VISIT
They stood staring at each other for several minutes. Eunice crouched behind her father, crying softly. Then Arakwente appeared, walking rapidly from the opposite end of the village. His manner was solemn, and his eyes showed concern. "My English brother," he said to Reverend Williams through the translator, "do not fear for this child. We love her and will always keep her safe. She belongs with us now. Bid her goodbye, and go in peace."
Eunice's father realized he could do nothing more. He knelt down and offered what little encouragement he could. "I cannot free you from them just now," he said. "But they have promised to look after you, and I believe them...I will come back when I can. And one day you, your brothers, and I will all be together again in own own home." He rose and walked slowly away. When he reached the river, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. His last glimpse of Eunice would stay in his memory forever: a weeping child with hands outstretched, as the gate closed behind him.
Eunice's father realized he could do nothing more. He knelt down and offered what little encouragement he could. "I cannot free you from them just now," he said. "But they have promised to look after you, and I believe them...I will come back when I can. And one day you, your brothers, and I will all be together again in own own home." He rose and walked slowly away. When he reached the river, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. His last glimpse of Eunice would stay in his memory forever: a weeping child with hands outstretched, as the gate closed behind him.