The genius and heroism of Champlain, Cartier, Marquette, Joliet, and La Salle, and the zeal and devotion of her missionaries, had given to the French not only Canada, then known as New France, Acadia, Hudson's Bay, and Newfoundland, but had also furnished her with a claim to the whole valley of the Mississippi, and to Texas as far as the Rio Bravo del Norte. A line drawn from Falmouth, now Portland, or Casco Pay, by the towns of Scarborough, Saco, Wells, York, Amesbury, Haverhill, Andover, Dunstable, Chelmsford, Groton, Lancaster, and Worcester constituted the frontier of Massachusetts, which then included Maine. Upon these settlements the stress of those cruel wars fell. The English colonists largely outnumbered the French, but the latter had in arraying the numerous tribes of the Algonkins against the English, and these savage allies made the warfare terrible to the settlers who were exposed to their incursions all along the extensive frontier. The only allies of the English were the Iroquois.

By the French the war was carried on in a most barbarous manner. They fitted out parties of savages to attack the English settlers, shooting them down while tilling their fields, seizing their wives and children, loading them with heavy packs of plunder from their own houses, and driving them before them into the wilderness. These, when faint with hunger and unable to stagger under their burdens, were murdered, and their scalps torn off and exhibited by the savages to their civilized masters on their arrival at the French head-quarters. Only those who have read the story of these barbarities can realize the perils and sacrifices, the heroism and sufferings of the early English settlers.

The greater part of the early settlers were engaged in agriculture. Those on the sea-coast pursued the fisheries with success. 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.

What a contrast does this simple, healthful, and laborious life of our ancestors present to that of most of their descendants!

To the Indians every part of the New England border was familiar ground. Many of them, before withdrawing to Canada, had lived in its vicinity, and had frequently visited the settlements to trade, and were thus well qualified to guide the French in their expeditions. Their motive was plunder, but it is doubtless true that some were governed by the remembrance of injuries, and it is proverbial that "an Indian never forgets an injury."

The first blow was struck by the Indians at Cocheco, now Dover, New Hampshire, which, from its exposed situation at the lowest ford of the Piscataqua, had been in constant dread of attack. The inhabitants had become alarmed at the attitude of the Indians, but were quieted by Major Waldron, the officer in command, who laughed at their fears. There were here five garrison-houses strongly built, to which the people retired at night, but the watch had become careless. These were strongly fortified dwellings calculated to repel Indian attacks.

At midnight the doors of four of these houses, including that of Major Waldron, were opened by some squaws, who had been permitted to lodge within them, and a large number of Indians rushed in, slaughtering all who resisted. Thirteen years before, Waldron had, by a stratagem, made prisoners of some four hundred Indians, more than half of whom were sold into slavery or executed at Boston. It was proposed to these Indians to join the English in a training and have a sham fight. The evolutions were so arranged by the English that the Indians were surrounded and secured. This piece of treachery was not forgotten by the Indians.

Waldron, now eighty years old, shouting, "What now? what now?" seized his sword and defended himself with great resolution, but was at length struck down by a blow from a hatchet. He was then dragged into his hall and placed in an arm-chair upon a table. He was a magistrate, and they mockingly cried out to him, "Judge Indians now! judge Indians now!"

He had the reputation of having taken advantage of the natives in trade, and in buying beaver of them, his fist, placed in the opposite scale, was accounted as weighing only a pound. After eating supper they began to torture him. Some who were in debt to him gashed him with their knives, saying, "I cross out my account," while others cut off the joints of his fingers, and said to him, "Now will your fist weigh a pound?" Finally, to end his misery, as he was sinking from loss of blood, they placed his sword so that he fell upon it. After burning the house, with the others near it, and having killed twenty-three persons, the Indians withdrew, taking with them to Canada twenty-nine captives. Some of these prisoners were sold to the French—the first instance, it is believed, of English captives being thus disposed of. Two months later another part of Dover, called Oyster Bay, now Durham, was attacked, and eighteen men killed while at work in the fields.

Count Frontenac, then in his seventieth year, had been recalled to the government of Canada. One of his first acts was to fit out and send three expeditions against the English settlements. One, from Montreal, was to strike Albany; another, from Three Rivers, was to assail the New Hampshire border; and the third, from Quebec, was directed to the frontier of Maine.

The expedition designed for Albany consisted of two hundred French and Indians, under De Mantet and De St. Hélène. They began their march in midwinter upon snow-shoes, carrying their packs upon their shoulders, and dragging their blankets and provisions over the snow on Indian sledges. Fearing that Albany was too strong for them, the Indians could not be persuaded to attack it, and Schenectady, a fortified town twenty miles from Albany, was selected instead. The weather was severe and the snow was deep, and the invaders suffered severely during the march, which took twenty-two days. So exhausted were they with cold, fatigue, and hunger before reaching the place, that some of them afterwards declared that they would have surrendered had they encountered serious opposition.

A scout having ascertained that the town was in a profound slumber and without a guard, the spirits of the party were greatly raised. The town was left thus unguarded because the severity of the weather was supposed to be a sufficient security. As if in derision of possible danger, two snow images, it is said, stood as mock sentinels at the gate.

At midnight the assailants entered the open and undefended gate, divided into parties of six or seven, waylaid the doors of each house, and then raised the terrible warwhoop. Massacre and pillage now held high carnival. Barbarities too shocking to relate were perpetrated. In two hours upward of eighty well-built and well-furnished houses were burned, two only escaping the flames, and sixty persons were put to death. Forty of the inhabitants were carried into captivity. About sixty women, children, and old men were spared, out of regard for Glen, the chief magistrate, whose former kindness to French prisoners was now reciprocated. On their return to Montreal the party was pursued, and a number killed or captured.

Intelligence of this shocking event was borne to Albany by some of the poor fugitives who, with no other covering than their night-clothes, and during a fall of snow, made their way to that place, some of them badly frost-bitten.

The second party, under Hertel de Rouville, an experienced officer, attacked at daylight the village of Salmon Falls, on the Piscataqua. Here was a fortified house, with two stockade forts, for the protection of the inhabitants. The three parties into which Hertel had divided his command made a sudden and simultaneous attack. No watch had been kept, and the surprise was complete and the resistance brief. Soon the scattered dwellings and barns were in ashes. Thirty persons, of all ages and sexes, were tomahawked or shot, and fifty-four, mostly women and children, were carried into captivity. Hertel was pursued and overtaken by a large party of English at Wooster River, but succeeded in holding the narrow bridge that crossed it until dark, when he continued his retreat.

On the way, Hertel met the third party under Portneuf, who had also been joined by the Baron de St. Castin and some Kennebec Indians, swelling his forces to the number of four or five hundred. Together they attacked the fort and settlement at Casco Bay. Fort Loyal, a palisade work having eight cannon, stood at what is now the foot of India Street, Portland. The fort having been undermined, it was surrendered on the fourth day upon the promise of protection. No sooner, however, had the garrison laid down their arms, than the women and children and wounded were all murdered in cold blood. The commander and four others only were spared. Scarcely had they surrendered when four vessels, sent to their relief from Boston, appeared in the offing just too late. This successful raid greatly elated the French, who had not yet recovered from the effects of the blow struck at Montreal by the Iroquois in the previous year.

When Davis, the commander at Fort Loyal, reached Quebec, he told Frontenac of the pledge given by his captor, and of the violation of it. "We were promised good quarter," said he, "and a guard to conduct us to our English. I thought I had to do with Christians who would have been careful of their engagements, and not to violate and break their oaths. Whereupon," continues Davis, "the Governor shaked his head, and, as I was told, was very angry with Burniffe" (Portneuf).

After these exploits a grand council was held at Quebec by the Indians who came to trade. Frontenac himself took part in this, and brandishing a hatchet, sung the war-song and led the dance, whooping and yelling with the rest. The other Frenchmen present followed his example. This excited the enthusiasm of the Indians, who snatched the proffered hatchet and promised to make war on the English and Iroquois to the death.

Major Peter Schuyler, with a force of two hundred and sixty-seven men, of whom the larger part were Iroquois, marching from Albany, had surprised a French camp at La Prairie, opposite Montreal, driving them into their fort with considerable loss. Informed of Schuyler's approach, Valrenne, a Canadian officer, was sent to intercept him on his retreat. Placing himself upon the path by which Schuyler was retreating, the advanced parties of each met, and their warwhoops sounded the alarm.

Valrenne had posted his men to great advantage behind some fallen trees and thickets, on a ridge, barring the way of the English. The English made repeated charges, and the combatants on either side became The fight was long and stubborn, but the English at length broke through their foes, and forming again, attacked and finally drove them back. After the French had retreated, Schuyler and his men continued their march, carrying away their wounded, but losing their knapsacks.

York, one of the most important towns in the eastern country, was laid in ashes by a party of Abenakis from the Penobscot and the Kennebec. The village was a collection of scattered houses, along the banks of the river Agamenticus and the adjacent sea-shore. Some of them were built for defence. Snow fell as the party moved forward. Coming upon a boy chopping wood, they took him, and after getting what information they could from him tomahawked him. At the edge of the village they divided into two parties. The warwhoop was sounded at a given signal, and the savages burst into the houses and slaughtered or captured all their inmates. Rev. Samuel Dimmer, the minister, was shot as he was mounting his horse at his own door. His wife died in captivity. The few who escaped made for the fortified houses, which were not attacked by the Indians. The women and children were allowed to go free, in return, it is said, for the release some time before of some captive Indian children. One of the Indians arrayed himself in the gown of the slain minister, and preached a mock sermon to his captured parishioners. Two fortified houses of this period are yet standing at York. The Indian leader on this occasion was Madokawando, chief of the Penobscots.

This same chief soon afterwards attacked the garrison at Wells, Maine. With him were some Frenchmen, under Portneuf, St. Castin, and La Brognerie. So confident were the leaders of success, that before the attack they arranged the details of the division of the provisions and property of the garrison. Convers, the English commander, occupying the larger of the five fortified houses in the place, had but fifteen men with whom to defend it. Fortunately, two sloops, with supplies and a few men, arrived on the day before the attack. Forewarned of the enemy's approach, the inhabitants had fled to the forts.

The attack began fiercely, before daylight. The enemy, five hundred strong, fired from behind breastworks of timber filled with hay. Convers, however, had two or three twelve-pound cannon, which were well served, the men loading and pointing them, and the women, who brought ammunition, lighting the fuse. Many stratagems were tried, and the sloops were several times set on fire by burning arrows; but by the coolness and bravery of the crews the flames were easily subdued. A fire-raft was then floated down upon them, and destruction seemed inevitable. Providentially, when close upon them, the wind drove it on shore.

Next the besiegers made a huge shield of planks, which they fastened to the back of a cart. La Brognerie, with twenty-six men, got behind it, and shoved the cart towards the stranded sloops. It was within fifty feet of them when a wheel sunk in the mud and it stuck fast. La Brognerie tried to extricate it and was shot dead. The rest ran, and some of them dropped under the fire of the sailors.

Becoming discouraged, the assailants then tried persuasion upon the English commander. Instead of boldly attacking and overwhelming the small force opposed to them, the Indians leaped, yelled, and fired, and called on the English to yield. Failing to convince Convers of the necessity for surrender, a flag was sent as a last resource, with a summons for him to capitulate. To this Convers replied, "I want nothing but men to come and fight me."

"As you are so stout," said the bearer of the flag, "why don't you come and fight in the open field like a man, and not in a garrison like a squaw?" The taunt was followed by a threat: "We will cut you as small as tobacco before to-morrow morning." "Come on," said Convers, not at all frightened, "I want work."

After a two days' siege, and the expenditure of their ammunition, the enemy withdrew. A handful of determined men had rendered abortive one of the most formidable expeditions that had yet been undertaken.

A war party of Abenakis, headed by Yillieu, a French officer, and the priest Thury, struck the settlement at Oyster River, now Durham, about twelve miles from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The people had been assured that the war was over, and no watch was kept. Approaching by moonlight in numerous small bands, the slaughter was frightful. One hundred and four persons, principally women and children, were victims. Some escaped to the fortified houses or to the woods. The devastation extended six or seven miles. The church, strangely enough, was spared, while the other houses were destroyed. One of the evil results of this shocking affair was that it helped the French by putting an end to the negotiations for peace with their Indian allies, which the English had nearly concluded.

Seven of the twelve fortified houses at Oyster River were successfully defended. One of these was saved by an ingenious stratagem of its owner, Thomas Bickford. Sending his wife and children down the river in a boat, he went back alone to defend his dwelling. When the Indians approached, he fired on them, sometimes from one loop-hole and sometimes from another, shouting the word of command to an imaginary garrison, and showing himself at different places, each time with a different hat, cap, or coat. Thus he saved both his family and home.

The new fort at Pemaquid was attacked by a strong force of French and Indians, under Iberville and the Baron de St. Castin. The fort, though well manned and supplied, had no casemates to protect its defenders from the explosion of bombs. Chubb, its commander, when summoned to surrender, replied that he would not give up the fort if the sea were covered with French ships and the land with Indians" A few bomb-shells, and a notification that if the fort had to be carried by assault the garrison would get no quarter from the Indians, caused Chubb to sound a parley, and he surrendered on condition that he and his men should be protected from the Indians, and sent to Boston to be exchanged. Meanwhile, Iberville sent them to an island in the bay, out of reach of the Indians. Chubb was arrested for cowardice, and kept awhile in Boston jail.

This officer had been guilty of a foul piece of treachery towards the Indians. While holding a conference with some of the Penobscots respecting an exchange of prisoners, he plied them with strong drink, and while they were intoxicated ordered his soldiers to fall upon them. Several were slain, including two chiefs. After his release from prison he returned to his home in Andover, but Indian vengeance followed him, and the next year he was killed by a party of savages.

A personage of considerable importance among the Abenakis at this time was the Baron Jean Vincent de St. Castin, a French nobleman who had resided twenty years among them, and who had married a daughter of the chief Madokawando. He had been an officer of the regiment of Carignan, in Canada, and when disbanded remained in the country. He established a trading-house and residence on the Penobscot, at a place now bearing his name. Living among the Indians, acquiring their language, and adopting their customs, he was highly regarded by them, and was made their great chief. His influence over them made him an object of dread to the people of New England.

Castin led two hundred Indians at the capture of Pemaquid, and was wounded at Port Royal in 1707. Having acquired a fortune by trade with the natives, he finally returned to France, and there ended his days.

An incident of this war, exhibiting the wonderful heroism of a woman, is too remarkable to be passed over in silence.

Early in the morning of March 15, 1697, when the war which had lasted ten years was nearly over, a party of Indians swooped suddenly down upon Haverhill, a little village on the Merrimac, about thirty-two miles from Boston. As the number of the band was small, its attack was swift, and its disappearance was equally rapid.

Upon the outskirts of the town stood the house of Thomas Duston, one of eight that were singled out for attack. Mr. Duston was at work at the time at some distance from his house, but on discovering the approach of the Indians at once regained it, having only time to direct the flight of his children, seven in number, the youngest being two years old, when the Indians were upon them.

"Run for your lives!" shouted the father; and the little flock hastily left their home and ran towards the nearest fortified house.

Mrs. Duston was ill in bed, and the husband was compelled to leave her to her fate. Mounting his horse, he soon overtook the children about forty rods from the house, and urged them forward.

His first thought had been to take up one of them and escape with it. Feeling it impossible to choose one from among them, he put himself between them and the pursuing Indians, faced about, and aiming his gun at the savages, succeeded in keeping them at bay until the fugitives reached a place of safety, when the Indians gave up the chase.

Meantime, some of the band had entered the house and driven the sick woman from her bed. They then pillaged the dwelling and set it on fire. Ill as she was, Mrs. Duston was compelled to march. Mrs. Neff, her nurse, attempted to escape with the infant child of Mrs. Duston, but was taken, and the infant's brains dashed out against an apple-tree. In this raid twenty-seven persons were killed and thirteen carried into captivity.

After travelling one hundred and fifty miles the band separated, dividing the captives. Mrs. Duston, Mrs. Neff, and Samuel Leonardson, a boy, fell to the lot of an Indian family consisting of twelve persons. The prisoners were kindly treated, but were told that on arriving at their village they would, according to Indian custom, be stripped and compelled to run the gauntlet. This news inspired Mrs. Duston with a desperate resolution. She determined, if possible, to escape, and consulted with her companions as to how it could be done.

They were now on an island at the mouth of the Contoocook River, about six miles above Concord, New Hampshire.

"Show me how you scalp an enemy," said the boy, who in a former captivity had gained some knowledge of their language, to one of his captors. Without mistrusting the motive of the inquiry, the Indian explained to him the manner in which it was done.

That night, when the Indians were sound asleep, the three captives noiselessly arose, grasped the tomahawks of the warriors, assigned to one another the work each was to do, and so effectively did they deal their blows that but one of those they designed to kill escaped, and that one was a woman. A boy whom they did not wish to harm was also allowed his liberty. Mrs. Duston killed her captor, and the boy slew the Indian who had taught him how to scalp and where to deal the deadly blow.

Filling a boat with provisions and arms, they proceeded down the Merrimac to their home, where the ten scalps and the arms they had secured afforded ample evidence of the truth of their wonderful story. The country was filled with amazement at the exploit of these women. The General Court gave them a reward of £50, and other gratuities were showered upon them. A monument at the mouth of the Contoocook River perpetuates the fame of this achievement, one of the most remarkable in Indian history.

Exeter, New Hampshire, owed its preservation from destruction to an accident. A party of concealed Indians were intending to fall upon it at daybreak on the following morning. Some women and children, in the afternoon, went into the adjacent fields to gather strawberries. They had been warned of the danger from Indians, but could not be prevented. Some one in the town fired alarm-guns to scare them back. This caused a muster of the men, and the Indians, supposing themselves discovered, hastily decamped.

Although a treaty of peace had been made at Ryswick between France and England, there was no cessation of murder and devastation in New England. At Lancaster twenty or thirty of the inhabitants, with their minister, were massacred. Several houses were burned, and a number of persons were put to death in Andover. A treaty was at length concluded with the Indians at Pejepscot, on the Kennebec, and the war of ten years was closed for a brief period. 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.

Very soon another war broke out between England and France—Queen Anne's War, as it was commonly called. In America it involved South Carolina., bordering on Spanish Florida, and New England, which had Canada on its northern frontier. It was closed by the peace of Utrecht in 1713. At the south it resulted in the extension of the English boundary; at the north its history is a chapter of horrors, with no other result than to add largely to the sum of human misery.

Governor Dudley, of Massachusetts, held a conference at Casco with the Abenakis, who made strong professions of friendliness. One of the chiefs said: "The clouds fly and darken, but we still sing with love the songs of peace. Believe my words: so far as the sun is above the earth are our thoughts from war or the least rupture between us."