ir beds, and the men seized their guns and commenced firing on
the suspicious object; but it seemed to bear a charmed life, and remained
unharmed. As the morning dawned, however, the mystery was solved by the
discovery of a black quilted petticoat hanging on the clothes-line,
completely riddled with balls.

As a matter of course, under circumstances of perpetual alarm and
frequent peril, the duty of cultivating their fields, and gathering their
harvests, and working at their mechanical avocations was dangerous and
difficult to the settlers. One instance will serve as an illustration.
At the garrison-house of Thomas Dustin, the husband of the far-famed Mary
Dustin, (who, while a captive of the Indians, and maddened by the murder
of her infant child, killed and scalped, with the assistance of a young
boy, the entire band of her captors, ten in number,) the business of
brick-making was carried on. The pits where the clay was found were only
a few rods from the house; yet no man ventured to bring the clay to the
yard within the enclosure without the attendance of a file of soldiers.
An anecdote relating to this garrison has been handed down to the present
tune. Among its inmates were two young cousins, Joseph and Mary
Whittaker; the latter a merry, handsome girl, relieving the tedium of
garrison duty with her light-hearted mirthfulness, and

"Making a sunshine in that shady place."

Joseph, in the intervals of his labors in the double capacity of brick-
maker and man-at-arms, was assiduous in his attentions to his fair
cousin, who was not inclined to encourage him. Growing desperate, he
threatened one evening to throw himself into the garrison well. His
threat only called forth the laughter of his mistress; and, bidding her
farewell, he proceeded to put it in execution. On reaching the well he
stumbled over a log; whereupon, animated by a happy idea, he dropped the
wood into the water instead of himself, and, hiding behind the curb,
awaited the result. Mary, who had been listening at the door, and who
had not believed her lover capable of so rash an act, heard the sudden
plunge of the wooden Joseph. She ran to the well, and, leaning over the
curb and peering down the dark opening, cried out, in tones of anguish
and remorse, "O Joseph, if you're in the land of the living, I 'll have
you!" "I'll take ye at your word," answered Joseph, springing up from
his hiding-place, and avenging himself for her c