n with
the rest, and Lovewell sent him back in charge of a kinsman, thus
reducing their number to forty-four. When they reached the west shore of
Lake Ossipee, Benjamin Kidder, of Nutfield, fell seriously ill. To leave
him defenceless in a place so dangerous was not to be thought of; and
his comrades built a small fort, or palisaded log-cabin, near the water,
where they left the sick man in charge of the surgeon, together with
Sergeant Woods and a guard of seven men. The rest, now reduced to
thirty-four, continued their march through the forest northeastward
towards Pequawket, while the savage heights of the White Mountains,
still covered with snow, rose above the dismal, bare forests on their
left. They seem to have crossed the Saco just below the site of
Fryeburg, and in the night of May 7, as they lay in the woods near the
northeast end of Lovewell's Pond, the men on guard heard sounds like
Indians prowling about them. At daybreak the next morning, as they stood
bareheaded, listening to a prayer from the young chaplain, they heard
the report of a gun, and soon after discovered an Indian on the shore of
the pond at a considerable distance. Apparently he was shooting ducks;
but Lovewell, suspecting a device to lure them into an ambuscade, asked
the men whether they were for pushing forward or falling back, and with
one voice they called upon him to lead them on. They were then in a
piece of open pine woods traversed by a small brook. He ordered them to
lay down their packs and advance with extreme caution. They had moved
forward for some time in this manner when they met an Indian coming
towards them through the dense trees and bushes. He no sooner saw them
than he fired at the leading men. His gun was charged with beaver-shot;
but he was so near his mark that the effect was equal to that of a
bullet, and he severely wounded Lovewell and one Whiting; on which Seth
Wyman shot him dead, and the chaplain and another man scalped him.
Lovewell, though believed to be mortally hurt, was still able to walk,
and the party fell back to the place where they had left their packs.
The packs had disappeared, and suddenly, with frightful yells, the whole
body of the Pequawket warriors rushed from their hiding-places, firing
as they came on. The survivors say that they were more than twice the
number of the whites,--which is probably an exaggeration, though their
conduct, so unusual with Indians, in rushing forward instead of firing
fr