her children. The
narrative proceeds: "She never spake any discontented word as to what
had befallen her, but with suitable expressions justified God in what
had happened.... We soon made a halt, in which time my chief surviving
master came up, upon which I was put into marching with the foremost,
and so made my last farewell of my dear wife, the desire of my eyes, and
companion in many mercies and afflictions. Upon our separation from
each other, we asked for each other grace sufficient for what God should
call us to."

For a short time Mrs. Williams remained where her husband had left her,
occupying her leisure in reading her Bible. He, as was necessary, went
on, and soon had to ford a small and rapid stream, and climb a high
mountain on its other side. Reaching the top very much exhausted, he was
unburdened of his pack. Then his heart went down the steep after his
wife. He entreated his master to let him go down and help her, but his
desire was refused. As the prisoners one after another came up he
inquired for her, and at length the news of her death was told to him.
In wading the river she had been thrown down by the water and entirely
submerged. Yet after great difficulty she had succeeded in reaching the
bank, and had penetrated to the foot of the mountain. Here, however,
her master had become discouraged with the idea of her maintaining the
march, and burying his tomahawk in her head he left her dead. Mrs.
Williams was the daughter of Reverend Eleazer Mather, the first minister
of Northampton--an educated, refined, and noble woman. It is pleasant,
while musing upon her sad fate, to recall that her body was found and
brought back to Deerfield, where, long years after, her husband was laid
by her side. And there to-day sleeps the dust of the pair beneath stones
which inform the stranger of the interesting spot.

Others of the captives were killed upon the journey as convenience
required. A journal kept by Stephen Williams, the pastor's son, who was
only eleven years old when captured, reflects in an artless way every
stage of the terrible journey: "They travelled," he writes, "as if they
meant to kill us all, for they travelled thirty-five or forty miles a
day.... Their manner was, if any loitered, to kill them. My feet were
very sore, so I thought they would kill me also."

When the first Sabbath arrived, Mr. Williams was allowed to preach. His
text was taken from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the verse in whi