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The Truthfull Relate......
THE TRUTHFUL RELATE OF HANNAH DUSTON, 1697
The screams reached me ears and I was filled with terror, for my babes were running all about outside the place and Mary was urging me to arise from me birthing bed and make haste to the Fort. My Husband, Thomas, entered and tried his strongest to carry me and the newborn babe, Martha, out of the place, but I would have none of it, telling him to go and see about the older children and to get them and himself to the Fort for safety. After some argument he did as I bid and gathered up what siblings were to be found and made for the Fort on foot, the rest following him close behind. The savages were inside and upon me and Mary Neff now. There would be no escaping.
I, in a weakened state having birthed my 10th child 6 days before, nevetheless rose and pulled my babe to my breast as the savages forced Mary and meself to the outside. Thomas was firing at the indians as they pursued my family to the Fort. Made to march on foot, babe n arms, her loud wails un- nerving the indians immensely, we were halted, not to rest but so for the indians to stop the pitiful cries of my last born child by wresting her from my weak arms and then dashing her tiny body into the side of a mighty tree. Her body lie lifeless and her blood and matter clung to the bark of the tree. Numb and shocked, I dare not scream lest the same fate befall meself. We were made to march at a rapid pace into the deep woods leaving Martha's tiny body atop the earth unburied.
I learned later that thirteen others had been taken, although not with Mary and meself, but taken off with other savages to parts unknown to this day. More than twenty were killed before their legs could carry them to the Fort. None were as Godly Blessed as my Husband and children as they were swift of feet and fortunate in life. My Husband related to meself after my return to his side that he had gone scouting for a trail to allow my rescue but was unable to discover any signs of our swift departure.
For a fortnight and more we traveled north and ate what little the indians would toss our way when stopped to rest. I was weakened from my recent travil and from little rest with unduly small portions of food. My feet and Mary's were swollen and cut, our common clothing torn and nearly in strips on our limbs. Still we pushed onward, for to do not would mean certain death at the whim of these captors.
A river, the Merrimack, I later discovered, was looming before us and soon we were crossing it in canoes hidden along the bank. Our destination was an island in this large river where the savages kept a camp of sorts. We were released from bondage and ties for the first time in many days and allowed to be free to walk about. Here we met more captives and the indians that had carried them off.
Being on an island was akin to being tied and bound for the savages had no thought that we would dare an escape.
Soon all were sleeping deeply save Mary, Samuel and meself. Feining slumber, we allowed our guards to believe we were likewise asleep. Patiently we listened for the sounds of deep sleep from the dozen guards in our shelter, then silently we arose and with hatchets and other like weapons, set about killing our guards. Bashing their heads in at the tops and in the fronts we rendered them lifless in swift fashion. Gathering some food and weapons we made for the canoes along the river bank and pushed off into the river heading away towards freedom. I soon came to understand that we had no keepsake of our ill deeds and that we would likely not be believed when we reached our homes. I turned us back around to the island in fear, but knowing I had to find and bring a memento of the deaths of our captors for proof. Reaching the island, all was quiet and still. Creeping through the trees I came to the shelter where I had done the unthinkable for a woman and entering found the melee in the same disorder as when we had left. When I departed only minutes later, I had ten scalps of ten indians to hold me steadfast should there be any doubters to my ordeal.
Again, we were off in the river and soon came to a cabin where we were greeted and fed and allowed to continue to our homes. We abandoned the canoes for dry land and walked the remainder of the way finally finding our homes and families to whom we told our stories. We were given up for lost by all but were recieved with gladness and celebration.
Hannah Emerson Duston lived this tale in March of 1697 in Haverhill, Massachusettes. After returning to her family, she went before the govenor and officials with her story and her scalps. They did not doubt her tale.
The island was later named Duston Island.
Hannah was my 9th great grand aunt, the sister of Johnathan Emerson. Their father was Michael Emerson, of the Haverill Massachusettes Emersons.
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Spring comes, the grass grows by itself.
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