that once troubled boundary between the French of
Canada and the English of the New England States, but there is not a
more pitiful story than that which has been recorded touching the
Williams family of Deerfield, who were captured by the Indians during
one of their inroads in the year 1704. John Williams was a minister who
had come to Deerfield when it was still suffering from the ruinous
effects of King Philip's war. His parishioners built him a house, he
married, and had eight children. The story of the Indians' invasion, the
destruction of the village, and the capture of over one hundred
prisoners is admirably told by Francis Parkman in one of those excellent
works of his dealing with the old regime of Canada and New England.

"A war party of about fifty Canadians and two hundred Indians left
Quebec about mid-winter, and arrived at Deerfield on the 28th of
February, 1704. Savage and hungry, they lay shivering under the pines
till about two hours before dawn the following morning; then, leaving
their packs and their snowshoes behind, they moved cautiously towards
their prey. The hideous din startled the minister, Williams, from his
sleep. Half naked, he sprang out of bed, and saw, dimly, a crowd of
savages bursting through the shattered door. With more valor than
discretion he snatched a pistol that hung at the head of the bed, cocked
it and snapped it at the breast of the foremost Indian. It missed fire.
Amid the screams of his terrified children, three of the party seized
him and bound him fast, for they came well provided with cords, as
prisoners had a great market value. Nevertheless, in the first fury of
their attack, they dragged to the door and murdered two of the children.
They kept Williams shivering in his shirt for an hour, while a frightful
uproar of yells, shrieks, and gunshots sounded from within. At length
they permitted him, his wife, and five remaining children to dress
themselves. After the entire village had been destroyed and the
inhabitants either murdered or made captive, Williams and his wife and
family were led from their burning house across the Connecticut River to
the foot of the mountain, and the following day the march north began
with the hundred or more prisoners."

The hardships of the prisoners, and the crimes of the victors during
that long and arduous march north through snow and ice, forms a chapter
of pathos in the early history of those eastern states.

"At the mouth of the Wh