John, with Hannah his
wife, jumped from an upper chamber window. The young woman sprained her
ankle in the fall, and lay helpless, but begged her husband to run to
Hatfield for aid, which he did, while she remained a prisoner. The
Indians soon got in at a back door, seized Mercy Sheldon, a little girl
of two years, and dashed out her brains on the door-stone. Her two
brothers and her sister Mary, a girl of sixteen, were captured. The
house was used for a short time as a depot for prisoners, and here also
was brought the French officer wounded in the attack on the Stebbins
house. A family tradition relates that as he lay in great torment he
begged for water, and that it was brought him by one of the prisoners,
Mrs. John Catlin, whose husband, son, and infant grandson had been
killed, and who, nevertheless, did all in her power to relieve the
sufferings of the wounded man. Probably it was in recognition of this
charity that when the other prisoners were led away, Mrs. Catlin was
left behind. She died of grief a few weeks later.

The sun was scarcely an hour high when the miserable drove of captives
was conducted across the river to the foot of a mountain or high hill.
Williams and his family were soon compelled to follow, and his house was
set on fire. As they led him off he saw that other houses within the
palisade were burning, and that all were in the power of the enemy
except that of his neighbor Stebbins, where the gallant defenders still
kept their assailants at bay. Having collected all their prisoners, the
main body of the French and Indians began to withdraw towards the pine
forest, where they had left their packs and snow-shoes, and to prepare
for a retreat before the country should be roused, first murdering in
cold blood Marah Carter, a little girl of five years, whom they probably
thought unequal to the march. Several parties, however, still lingered
in the village, firing on the Stebbins house, killing cattle, hogs, and
sheep, and gathering such plunder as the place afforded.

Early in the attack, and while it was yet dark, the light of burning
houses, reflected from the fields of snow, had been seen at Hatfield,
Hadley, and Northampton. The alarm was sounded through the slumbering
hamlets, and parties of men mounted on farm-horses, with saddles or
without, hastened to the rescue, not doubting that the fires were
kindled by Indians. When the sun was about two hours high, between
thirty and forty of them wer