sent a letter into the assembly, declaring, that his excellency had no design upon the civil rights of the colony; but would leave them, in all respects, as he found them. In the name of his excellency, he tendered a commission to governor Treat, empowering him to command the militia of the colony. He declared, that his excellency insisted, that they should acknowledge it an essential right, inherent in his majesty, to command the militia; and that he was determined not to set his foot out of the colony until he had seen his majesty's commission obeyed: That he would issue his proclamation, showing the means he had taken to give ease and satisfaction to his majesty's subjects of Connecticut, and that he would distinguish the disloyal from the rest.

The assembly, nevertheless, would not give up the command of the militia; nor would governor Treat receive a commission from colonel Fletcher.

The trainbands of Hartford assembled, and as the tradition is, while captain Wadsworth, the senior officer, was walking in front of the companies, and exercising the soldiers, colonel Fletcher ordered his commission and instructions to be read. Captain Wadsworth instantly commanded, "Beat the drums;" and there was such a roaring of them that nothing else could be heard. Colonel Fletcher commanded silence. But no sooner had Bayard made an attempt to read again, than Wadsworth commands, "Drum, drum, I say." The drummers understood their business, and instantly beat up with all the art and life of which they were masters. 66 Silence, silence," says the Colonel. No sooner was there a pause, than Wadsworth speaks with great earnestness, "Drum, drum, I say ;" and turning to his excellency, said, "If I am interrupted again I will make the sun shine through you in a moment. "2 He spoke with such energy in his voice and meaning in his countenance, that no further attempts were made to read or enlist men. Such numbers of people collected together, and their spirits appeared so high, that the Governor and his suite judged it expedient soon to leave the town and return to New York.

No

pen can describe the cruelties which were practis ed during the French and Indian war. Women soon ex

pecting to become mothers were ripped up, and their unborn offspring, dashed against a stone or tree. Infants, when troublesome, were despatched in the same manner. Some of the captives were roasted alive; others received deep wounds in the flesh, and sticks on fire thrust into them, and were thus tormented to death.

1694. Upon the solicitations of governor Fletcher and Sir William Phipps, agents, with a number of troops, were sent to attend a treaty with the Five Nations. The expense of it was about four hundred pounds.

December 10th, 1697, closed the horrid scene, by a treaty of peace between Great Britain and France. The winter of 1696 was unusually severe. Never had the country sustained such losses in commerce, nor had provisions ever been so scaree, or borne a higher price.

The surprise of Dover, in New Hampshire, was attended by circumstances of the most shocking barbarity.-That the natives had been cruelly injured by major Waldron, the principal citizen, may account for it, if not extenuate their ferocity, in obtaining revenge. Having determined upon their plan of attack, they employed more than their usual art to lull the suspicions of the inhabitants. So civil and respectful was their behaviour, that they often obtained permission to sleep in the fortified houses in the town.

On the fatal evening they assembled in the neighbourhood, and sent their women to apply for lodgings at the houses devoted to destruction; they were not only admitted, but were shown how they could open the doors, should they have occasion to go out in the night. When all was quiet, the doors were opened, and a signal given. The Indians rushed into Mr. Waldron's house, and hastened to his apartment. Awakened by the noise, he seized his sword, and drove them back; but when returning for his other arms. he was stunned with a hatchet, and fell. They then dragged him into the hall, seated him in an elbow chair, upon a large table, and insultingly asked him, "who shall judge Indians now?" each one, with his knife, cut gashes across his breast, saying, "I cross out my account." When weakened with the loss of

blood, he was about to fall from the table, his own sword was held under him, which put an end to his misery.

At other houses, similar acts of cruelty were perpetrated. In the whole town twenty-three persons were killed, twenty-nine carried prisoners to Canada and sold to the French.

The details of individual sufferings that occurred during this war, were they faithfully recorded, would excite the sympathies of the most unfeeling bosom. One instance only will serve to confirm the remark.

In an attack, by a body of Indians, upon Haverhill, New-Hampshire, in the winter of 1697, the concluding year of the war, a party of the assailants, burning with savage animosity, approached the house of a Mr. Dustan. Upon the first alarm, he flew from a neighbouring field to his family, with the hope of hurrying them to a place of safety Seven of his children he directed to flee, while he himself went to assist his wife, who was confined in her bed with an infant a week old; but before she could leave the bed the savages arrived.

In despair of rendering her assistance, Mr. Dustan flew to the door, mounted his horse and determined in his own mind to snatch up the child which he loved best. He followed in pursuit of his little flock, but on coming up with them, he found it impossible to make a selection. He determined, therefore, to meet his fate with them; to defend and save them from the knife of the pursuing savages, or die by their side.

A body of the Indians soon came up with them, and from short distances, commenced a fire upon him and his little company. For more than a mile he continued to retreat, placing himself between the fire of the Indians and his children, and returned their shots with great spirit and success. At length he saw them all safely lodged from their bloody pursuers, in a distant house.

It is not easy to find a nobler instance of fortitude and courage, inspired by affection, than is exhibited in this heroic act. Let us ever cultivate the influence of those ties of kindred, which are capable of giving so generous and elevated a direction to our actions.

As Mr. Dustan quitted his house, a party of Indians entered it. Mrs. Dustan was in bed, but they ordered her to rise instantly, and before she could finish dressing, obliged her and the nurse, who had in vain attempted to escape with the infant, to quit the house, which they plundered and burnt.

In these distressing circumstances, Mrs. Dustan began her march, with other captives, in the wilderness. The air was keen, and their path led through snow and deep mud, and their savage conductors delighted rather in their affliction, than in alleviating their distress.

The company had proceeded but a short distance, when an Indian, thinking the infant an incumbrance, took it from the arms of the nurse, and violently terminated its life. Such of the other captives as became weary and incapable of proceeding, the Indians killed with their tomahawks. Feeble as Mrs. Dustan was, both she and her nurse sustained with wonderful energy, the fatigues and misery attending a journey of one hundred and fifty miles.

On their arriving at the place of their destination, they found the wigwam of the savage who claimed them, to be inhabited by twelve Indians. In the ensuing April, this family set out, with their captives, for an Indian settlement, still more remote. The captives were informed that on their arrival at the settlement, they must submit to be stripped, scourged, and run the gauntlet between two files of Indians. This information carried distress to the minds of the captive women, and led them promptly to devise some means of escape.

Early in the morning of the 31st of April, Mrs. Dustan awaking her nurse and another fellow-prisoner, they despatched ten of the twelve Indians, while they were asleep; the other two escaped. The women then commenced their difficult and dangerous journey through the wilderness, and at length arrived safe at Haverhill. Subsequently they visited Boston, and received from the general court a handsome consideration for their extraordinary sufferings and heroic conduct.

In 1698, the earl of Bellamont was appointed governor. He was particularly instructed to clear the American

seas of the pirates who infested them, and who it was suspected had even received encouragement from governor Fletcher.

The government declining to furnish the necessary naval force, the earl, with others, engaged in a private undertaking against them. The associates procured a vessel of war; gave the command of it to a captain Kidd, and sent him to cruise against the pirates. He had been but a short time at sea, when disregarding his instructions, he made a new contract with his crew, and on the Atlantic and Indian ocean became himself a daring, atrocious, and successful pirate. Three years afterwards, he returned, burned his vessel, and appeared publicly in Boston. He was apprehended and sent to England. where he was tried and executed.

When Gov. Bellamont had settled the affairs of that Government, he returned to New-York, where he died in 1701, greatly lamented.

Scarcely had the colonies recovered from the war which ended in 1697, before they were again involved in the horrors of another war with the French, Indians and Spaniards, which continued from 1702 to March 31, 17

13.

In February 1704, Deerfield, in Massachusetts, was surprised in the night. About 40 persons was killed, and 150 made prisoners, among whom were Mr. Williams, the minister, and his family. They came to the house of Mr. Williams, forced open the doors and entered the room where Mr. Williams was sleeping. Awaked by the noise, he seized his pistol, and snapped it at the first Indian, but it missed fire, the house was then plundered, and two of his children and the black female servant, were butchered before his eyes. The savages at length suffered his wife and himself, with five children, to put on their clothes, and prepare for a long journey. Every house but the one next to Mr. Williams' was consumed.

"One house still remains, as a painful memento to posterity. The front door was hacked and hewn with hatchets, until the savages had cut a hole through it; through this hole they fired into the house; this door,