he would try to save all.The Indians reach the house，and seize Mrs.Dustin and Mary Neff.They dash the infant against a rock，and the mother beholds its bleeding corpse.They rush after the fleeing family.“Run for your lives！”shouts Mr.Dustin to his children，then leaps from his horse，shelters himself behind the animal，rests his gun across the horse’s back，taking deliberate aim at the foremost Indian.He fires，springs into the saddle，and is away，with the bullets flying around him.He loads his gun while on the gallop，reaches his children，dismounts，and is ready for the pursuers；so，keeping them at bay，he reaches the garrison，saving all his children.
In a few moments，twentyseven men，women and children in the settlement are massacred，their houses set on fire，and the Indians are fleeing toward Canada.
It was the middle of March.In the woods there was still much snow.The streams were swollen with its melting，and yet，with but one shoe，Mrs.Dustin began her march through the wilderness，driven by her captors.Her feet were torn and chilled.Every step was marked by her blood.Some of her fellowcaptors grew faint and fell，and then the tomahawk dispatched them.All except Mrs.Dustin and Mary Neff were killed.
Three days brought them to the Indian rendezvous，a little island at the junction of the Merrimac and Contoocook Rivers，in Boscawen，New Hampshire.It was a place where the Indians could catch fish，and where Mrs.Dustin found a little boy，Samuel Leonardson，who had been a captive for more than a year，and who had learned the Indian language.
In a few days，all except twelve of the Indians started upon another marauding expedition.Upon their return，the captives would be taken to Canada.The woman who has seen her infant dashed against a stone has an heroic spirit.Death will be preferable to captivity.They who would be free must strike the blow that will give them freedom.She lays her plans.
“Ask the Indians where they strike with the tomahawk when theywant to kill a person quick，”she says to Samuel.
“Strike ‘em here，”the Indian replies to Samuel’s question，placing his finger on Samuel‘s temples.
Little does the savage think that his own hatchet will be buried in his brains by the keeneyed woman who watches his every movement.The Indian shows Samuel how to take off a scalp，all of which Mrs.Dustin observes.
Night comes，and she informs Mary Neff and Samuel of her plan，andstimulates them by her heroic courage.
There are twelve Indians in all who lie down to sleep，feeling that their captives cannot escape.“No one keeps watch.The wigwam fires burn low.No sound breaks the stillness of the night except the waters of the Contoocook sweeping over its rocky bed.Mrs.Dustin rises，seizes a tomahawk，gives one to Mary Neff，another to Samuel.Each selects a victim.A signal，and the hatchets descend，crushing through the skulls of the Indians，blow after blow in quick succession.It is the work of a minute，but in that brief time ten of the twelve have been killed；the two escape in the darkness！
The prisoners，prisoners no longer，gather up the provisions，take the guns of the Indians，scuttle all the canoes but one，and take their departure down the Merrimac.A thought comes to the woman：will their friends believe the story they have to tell？
A few strokes of the paddle bring them back to the island.Mrs.Dustin runs the scalpingknife around the brows of the dead Indians，takes their scalps，and starts once more，guiding the canoe with her paddle，landing，and carrying it past dangerous rapids，reaching Haverhill，sixty miles distant，with her bloody trophies，to the astonishment of her friends，who thought her dead.The Government of Massachusetts made her a present of fifty pounds；and in these later years the people of the Merrimac Valley，to commemorate her heroism，have reared a monument upon the spot where she achieved her liberty.
Lovewell’s Fight
ANONYMOUS
A popular ballad.Written shortly after the battle of May 8，1725，with the IndiansOF worthy Captain LOVEWELL I purpose now to sing，How valiantly he served his country and his king；He and his valiant soldiers did range the wood full wide，And hardships they endured to quell the Indian‘s pride.’Twas nigh unto Pigwacket，on the eighth day of May，They spied a rebel Indian soon after break of day；He on a bank was walking，upon a neck of land，Which leads unto a pond as we‘re made to understand.
Our men resolved to have him，and traveled two miles round，Until they met the Indian，who boldly stood his ground；Then up speaks Captain LOVEWELL，“Take you good heed，”says he，“This rogue is to decoy us，I very plainly see.
“The Indians lie in ambush，some place nigh at hand，In order to surround us upon this neck of land；Therefore we’ll march in order，and each man leave his pack；That we may briskly fight them when they make their attack.”
They came unto this Indian，who did them thus defy，As soon as they came nigh him，two guns he did let fly，Which wounded Captain LOVEWELL，and likewise one man more，But when this rogue was running，they laid him in his gore.
Then having scalped the Indian，they went back to the spot，Where they had laid their packs down，but there they found them not，For the Indians having spied them，when they them down did lay，Did seize them for their plunder，and carry them away.
These rebels lay in ambush，this very place hard by，So that an English soldier did one of them espy，And cried out，“Here‘s an Indian ；”with that they started out，As fiercely as old lions，and hideously did shout.
With that our valiant English all gave a loud huzza，To show the rebel Indians they feared them not a straw：So now the fight began，and as fiercely as could be，The Indians ran up to them，but soon were forced to flee.
Then spake up Captain LOVEWELL，when first the fight began，“Fight on，my valiant heroes！you see they fall like rain.”
For as we are informed，the Indians were so thick，A man could scarcely fire a gun and not some of them hit.
