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HOW 
 
 ENSIGN SHELDON BROFOHT 
 THE CAPTnT.S BACK 
 
 BY REV. HENRY H. BARBER 
 
 A POEM RiL\D Al ..... ^., . ...U.^v ^.. .x . 
 TABLET TO THE MEMORY (JF JOHN SHELL 
 THE SITE OF ~ ^ " "^ 
 
 BUILT B\ 
 
 RESIDED iU8T 22, 191) 
 
 lUprivted from th" Proreedingn of the Poewniuck Vallev 
 
 ^ 'm, Vol. V 
 
 m 
 
 PHINTFD BY 
 
 T. :«OREY & SON 
 
 GB£E2^FIEI^» MASS. 
 

 
 ^ f< i^ 
 
HOW ENSIGN SHELDON BROUGHT THE 
 CAPTIVES BACK. 
 
 Again the well-remembered scene 
 The quiet street, elm-arched and maple-bowered, 
 The spacious houses stoutly set between, — 
 Each quaint old dweUing ' 
 
 Its individual story telling, 
 With sad or happy memories richly «lowered; — 
 The old church, many- windowed, lofty-towered, 
 Lifting its shaft of white 
 Above the leafy green 
 Into the ampler light; 
 The climbing hill-side, laurel-flowered 
 When June puts on her morning-dress 
 Of many-tinted loveliness; 
 The spreading meadows, harvestful or shorn, 
 Their golden stubble or green-glancing corn 
 Here islanding Pine Hill, there stretching far 
 To Sugar-Loaf's blue steep, or Mount Tom's saw-tooth scaur. 
 
 Here East Rock lifts its nearer beetling heights. 
 Recalling youthful climbing joys and venturous delights, 
 Up winding paths, by doubtful devious ways, 
 Whence, eastward, Toby's couchant hon sleeps, 
 And far Mount Grace's domelike forehead peeps 
 Above the Notch in Northfield's wooded steeps. 
 Between, Connecticut shines in the morning rays. 
 Recalling Peskeompskut's memorable days, — 
 The summit gained, the valley's fair surprise 
 Rewards our weary feet and asking eyes; 
 Pocumtuck's tortuous line below us Ues, — 
 River of many windings, making Ught 
 
 [1] 
 
Of settled bound and territorial right; — 
 While parallelograms of varied crops 
 Far stretch till hill or stream their bounty stops; 
 And over them the Sunsick hills lie fair, 
 With Hoosac's range beyond, and still above them there, 
 Graylock's far-crowning summit, blue and bare. 
 
 How near to-day 
 That summer noon-tide almost sixty years away 
 When first I trod this since famihar street, 
 
 Its picturesque and antique style. 
 Unlike to all that I had known erewhile, 
 And to my youthful fancy passing fair and sweet; — 
 The old Academy, then deeply elm-embowered. 
 
 And thronged by many feet, — 
 Now grown a silent treasury of the Past, 
 With relics of the old-time hfe each year more richly dowered,- 
 By old associations once again empowered, 
 Grows vocal with yoimg voices long since stilled, 
 And rich with school-time memories gathering fast 
 Of long bright days with genial studies filled; 
 The loved Preceptor's kindling voice and eye, 
 The happy comradeships of days gone by, — 
 Making the ancient structure, in the far recall, 
 In other senses a Memorial Hall. 
 
 Comes back the vision of our Sunday ways, 
 The meetinghouse, well-thronged in those more churchly days; 
 
 The wonder that befell 
 When the blind sexton crossed the street to ring the bell, 
 Or waited, watch in hand, precise the hour to tell. 
 As his skilled fingers note the minutes well; — 
 Or when the sightless patriarch of the place 
 With solemn vision written on his face. 
 Took his accustomed place the preacher's stand beside; — 
 His reverend form lending the lofty pulpit grace, 
 Scripture and song by his high aspect glorified; 
 Conscience incarnate, which the town had grown 
 Almost to worship in the long years known 
 Of faithful witness to the truth alone. 
 
 [2] 
 
Among the memoried ways 
 Clear seen through all the intervening days, 
 Come back the sununer evenings' quiet grace, 
 And cool dehghts of the old swimming-place; 
 Where the light foot-bridge swung across the stream, 
 Above its shadow, and the twilight gleam 
 Lighted the silent water; — all these memories seem 
 Fair in remembrance as a happy dream. 
 
 Then, on the homeward path the hush profound 
 Of the "Old Burying Ground," 
 With its rude heraldry of death 
 Carved on the moss-grown monuments around; 
 And, mingled with the soil beneath, 
 The ever-honored dust 
 Of valiant men and just, 
 First fathers of the ancient town 
 Who by "y® Barbarous Enemy" were stricken down: 
 The good first pastor and his slaughtered wife, 
 "Redeemed" from every earthly care and strife, — 
 As he before from lingering thrall and pain, 
 To gather in his scattered flock again, 
 And write his chronicle of captive life; 
 And the vast common grave to which were borne 
 The forty victims of one fatal morn. 
 
 That fateful morning! From this peaceful scene, 
 And small events of our own early years, 
 Pass we to story of the elder time, 
 Recall to-day heroic memories old. 
 Renew the record of their toils and tears. 
 Their deeds of valor and their trust subhme. 
 And in our homely rhjrme 
 Retell a tale a hundred times retold. 
 
 Near thirty years wore sped 
 Since the fray at the fatal Brook, 
 When the harvest wains met ambuscade, 
 
 Where the "Flower of Essex" fell, 
 And the dear-bought "Falls Fight" victory 
 Broke the power of the hostile tribes near by. 
 
 [3] 
 
The stricken settlers wlio forsook 
 
 Their homes in that terrible time 
 
 Had come back again to dwell ; 
 
 And a new generation tell 
 
 Their children, in prose or rhyme, 
 
 Of the horrors that befell, 
 And the old-time homes they battled for 
 In the bloody days of Philip's War. 
 
 The town had risen again, 
 And builded anew, and thriven amain; 
 There were forty homes in Deerfield Street 
 And church and civic order complete: — 
 Strong-built houses and stout stockade 
 Lessened the fear of savage raid; 
 Though in field and far out-lying farm 
 Came the fatal shot and the dread alarm, 
 As from hills around the foe watched well. 
 And like a blasting thunderbolt fell. 
 
 But more terrible days began, 
 
 With the War of good Queen Anne, 
 When the friendly tribes, half against their will, 
 Were embroiled of set purpose by crafty Vaudreuil, 
 And sent without mercy to bum, capture and kill, 
 Under bold Martigny and fell Rouville. 
 
 Then came ambush and slaughter and harrying 
 Into captivity carrying 
 
 Women and children and stalwart men. 
 
 Slain on the wood-path by river and glen. 
 
 Starved and frozen and wearied to death; 
 
 Struck down when they stumbled or stopped for breath; 
 
 With gauntlet and fagot to torture the brave, 
 
 Held the Jesuit's vassal, the savage's slave, — 
 
 Children lost to their mothers, babes torn from the arms, 
 
 Sent to towns far remote, or to wide-scattered farms, — 
 Such were some of the border-life terrors and fears 
 Of New England for more than a hundred years. 
 
 Among the first to feel 
 The storm of shot and steel 
 
 [4] 
 
From Canada pouring down, — 
 Troops of white men and hordes of red, 
 By the spirit of hate and vengeance led, 
 By hope of conquest and plunder fed. 
 And with blessing of priest and zealot sped, — 
 
 Was our devoted town. 
 
 The end of winter was drawing on 
 
 When rumors of peril came thick and fast, 
 
 And the httle provincial garrison 
 
 Had come to strengthen the settlers at last; — 
 
 The next day would the last day of winter be. 
 
 The Leap Year Day of the first Leap Year 
 
 Of the fateful eighteenth century; 
 
 And the morning was coming on; — 
 Within the stockade all were gathered for sleep, 
 Meaning watch and ward securely to keep. 
 
 The sentry was pacing his weary round. 
 
 When his stranger ear caught a homeUke sound, 
 
 A remembered, famiUar lullaby, 
 Which a woman crooned in a house near by 
 
 To quiet a restless child: — 
 And the sentry, by the song beguiled, 
 'Neath the window sat down in the starlight there, 
 As the notes came soft on the silent air: — 
 
 /■ * "The deer and the doe and the little lithe fawn 
 
 \ Have sped through the wildwood from pipes of the dawn, 
 
 ; So the deer and the doe and the Httle fawn now 
 
 \ Are weary, my dearie, and so art thou; 
 
 \ So weary, my dearie! 
 
 ' They fled from the twang of the red man's bow, 
 
 I The deer and the fawn and the startled doe, 
 
 j They Ungered long by the bright river's brim. 
 Till the sunset clouds grew gray and dim; 
 So weary, my dearie! 
 
 * (This Lullaby was written to be read with this poem, by my daughter, 
 Mrs. AUce Barber Coleman, who has also written music for it. — H. H. B.] 
 
 [5] 
 
The fawn and the doe and the antlered deer 
 Follow the call of the katydid clear 
 To fragrant fields where the firefly gleams 
 Will light them into the land of dreams; — 
 Weary, my dearie! 
 
 Now the deer and the doe and the Uttle Uthe fawn 
 iVre fallen asleep till the pipes of the dawn, 
 FoT the deer and the doe and the Uttle fawn now 
 Are weary, my dearie, and so art thou, — 
 Weary, my dearie!" 
 
 More and more distant the music seems 
 Till the sweet strains pass into happy dreams, 
 And the watchman his listening posture kept 
 While the child and mother and watchman slept,- 
 And the stealthy foe nearer and nearer crept! 
 The same old legend, fulfilled the same; — 
 While the watchman slept, the enemy came ! 
 
 Over the palisades. 
 Where the crusted snow-drift aids, 
 In the darkness before the dawn, 
 In the furtive way of their forest raids 
 The murderous horde came on. 
 And the watchman woke with a start, 
 As the terrible yell arose, 
 To see the inclosure in every part 
 Swarming with deadly foes. 
 
 Terror was everywhere 
 
 And the wild despairing cry. 
 As gunshot and shouting filled the air. 
 
 And many rose up but to die. 
 
 Huddled together, and bound. 
 
 And threatened with dreadful death, 
 
 Women and children saw around 
 Flames and fierce fighting, and heard the sound 
 Of crashing axes and crackling doors, 
 And shrieks from under the falling floors 
 
 Where the household was stifled beneath. 
 
 [6] 
 
But one door held fast, with its doubled planks, 
 And deep-clinched spikes in their close-set ranks 
 Still stoutly barred to its massive posts. 
 Strong-built to baffle the savage hosts; — 
 But the axes at last made a passage through 
 For the musket its murderous work to do, — 
 So Ensign Sheldon's wife was slain, 
 And his children swelled the captive train. 
 
 But the eldest son, with his brave young bride. 
 
 From the window leaped on a sheltered side, 
 
 And though she was lamed they were unespied; 
 
 Unable to fly, she yet urged her spouse 
 
 To haste with the news and the Valley rouse: — 
 
 And though sorely loth young Sheldon ran 
 
 Ten miles with half-bandaged and freezing feet. 
 
 As none but a desperate woodsman can, 
 
 And from Hatfield and Hadley brought succor meet: 
 
 While the nobly self-forgetting wife 
 
 As hardily bore the captive life, 
 
 Painfully joining the long retreat 
 Shared serenely the lot of that hapless train, 
 And, ransomed, returned to her husband again. 
 
 Another house not far away 
 Helped also partly to save the day; 
 Benoni Stebbins kept up the fight, 
 Sent the foeman fleeing to left and right. 
 And when he was struck down the garrison — 
 Seven men and some women — fought stoutly on, 
 Held the savage at bay till the rising sun. 
 And though "almost spent" yet gallantly won; 
 "At the verry pintch," is the record's claim, 
 The Hadley and Hatfield helpers came. 
 And the baffled French and their red allies 
 Drew sulkily off with half their prize. 
 
 Then the terrible northward march began, 
 The marshalled captives, the gathered loot, 
 
 [7] 
 
The attempted rescue, and vain pursuit; 
 The sinking women, and man after man 
 Savagely slain as their strength gave out, — 
 More than a month on that dreadful route. 
 
 And the crowning cruelty! Far and wide 
 The victims were scattered on every side, — 
 Parents and children sundered far, 
 Claimed by the red man as prizes of war; 
 In the forest wigwam taught to forget 
 The old home faith and the old home ties, 
 Till the maiden an alien suitor met, 
 And the lad came to see with a savage's eyes, 
 And learned the wilderness hfe to prize; — 
 Or, hemmed in by border or nunnery life, 
 The tender mother or parted wife 
 Longed for the tidings that did not come 
 Of the far away unforgotten home. 
 And as years went by, and release came not 
 Grew heart-sick, as if by that home forgot. 
 
 But not for a moment forgotten there. 
 
 These victims of heartbreak and slow despair; 
 
 The harried village stood blackened and lone. 
 
 Many dwellings unpeopled for many days. 
 
 Till the inmates came back from the wilderness ways: 
 
 One stood here till days well down to our own 
 
 "WTiose behacked, battered portal, stout door posts and all, 
 
 Now fittingly graces Memorial Hall. 
 
 Here Ensign Sheldon was left alone. 
 But with faith still unbroken and spirit untired. 
 He labored and journeyed like one inspired; 
 And as soldier and deacon, and selectman, 
 Served the state and the church in the township's van;— 
 Petitioned, and pleaded, and sent report 
 To Governor, Council, and General Court, 
 Urging thought and speed for ransom to go 
 To the captives held by the far-off foe; 
 
And when another winter had come 
 
 John Sheldon set forth from his desolate home, 
 
 As the Province's agent joyfully went 
 
 On a mission of mercy and rescue sent; — 
 
 Into the wilderness plunged once more, 
 
 Privations and perils manfully bore, — 
 
 The wintry blast and the treacherous shore 
 
 Of river and lake, and the terrible strain 
 
 Of ambush from yet more treacherous men; — 
 
 Three hundred miles on this merciful quest 
 
 "I'hree times he trod ere his feet had rest, 
 
 Till success, long delayed, grew to better and best. 
 
 Meantime, with the captives the Jesuits wrouiiiit, 
 
 Creed and catechism strenuously taught, 
 
 Promise and ban of the Church they brought, 
 
 With hopes and terrors skillfully fraught, 
 
 .\nd the children's fancy artfully caught 
 
 With incense and candles and solemn rites. 
 
 And with constant pressure through days and nights. 
 
 While the months went by and no ransom came, — 
 
 What wonder that converts grew apace 
 
 As the new-found home grew a home-like place? 
 
 So that many forebore to return again. 
 
 Or by new-formed ties were drawn to remain? 
 
 So the young men chose French or Indian brides. 
 
 For the priests urged marriage on man and maid 
 
 In the Church's name, till, allured or afraid, 
 
 Many made them new homes in the stranger land. 
 
 Received a new faith at the stranger's hand, 
 
 And came no more to the old firesides. 
 
 But the story is told, with relish keen, 
 That one spirited Deerfield girl of seventeen 
 Proved more than a match for the priest's hot zeal; 
 When he kept urging his tiresome appeal 
 And her duty to marry then and there, — 
 With a Catholic bridegroom sHly in ken, — 
 She rose in her place and modestly said: — 
 "I am now convinced, and am ready to wed, 
 
 [91 
 
// one of my fellow-captives ivill !" 
 And one there was, as she doubtless knew, 
 Who was more than ready the part to fulfil, 
 And promptly came forward with resolute air; 
 So the baffled priest was forced to do, 
 What his oflBce required for the canny pair. 
 And to marry the heretics then and there. 
 So Sarah Hojrt, the tradition said, 
 And Ebenezer Nims were wed. 
 
 More than a hundred ransomed souls, — 
 As many as missing on Deerfield's rolls. 
 Though to many sad households not the same^ 
 Through Sheldon out of the prison house came; — 
 His mission to comfort, release and bless, 
 As he braved in the wintry wilderness 
 
 Perils of lurking savage foes, 
 
 Perils of waters, and keen distress 
 
 Of slow starvation or long duress. 
 
 Perils of torture, — all he chose 
 To save to freedom, native home and faith 
 Children and neighbors in the hapless town 
 
 And, as the record truly saith. 
 Still other captives all the Valley down. 
 
 Thrice this chivalric and undaunted man, 
 
 .\fter this work of ransom and relief began. 
 
 So painfully adventured and heroically endured ; 
 
 Tlirough long delays and stern refusals waited. 
 Baffled, put off with diplomatic art. 
 By Jesuitic trick time and again checkmated, 
 But keeping firm resolve and never losing heart. 
 
 Till first a few, and then a larger part. 
 Were to his constancy and strong demand assured ; 
 
 At last all rescued, free at last to come, 
 Free to reUght the blackened hearth, rebuild the ruined home! 
 All, save the homes forever desolate, 
 Missing the children or the household mate! 
 All, save the forty slaughtered in the first surprise, 
 All, save the twenty perished in the wilderness; 
 
 [101 
 
All, save the fallen in the rash pursuit, — 
 The forms forever fled, the lips forever mute! 
 And all but those who in the savage ways and dress, 
 The wilder, freer life, the lawless enterprise 
 Of wild adventure and the open skies, 
 Found fuller scope for youthful storm and stress, 
 And brooked no more the stricter Puritan Ufe; — 
 Or taught by priest and nun. 
 By terrors holden or by kindness won. 
 (Thank God that in that time of savage strife, 
 
 The human heart. 
 Revealing often its diviner part, 
 Made many a noble friendship, many a new love start.) 
 So new-found ties of faith and home 
 Held freely bound some lives that else had come 
 Back to the yearning hearts whence they were torn, 
 Back to the broken households waiting them forlorn. 
 
 But, for the rest. 
 Each scattered brood possessed 
 Its old-time nest, 
 Or o'er its ashes built the home anew 
 To manful enterprise and steadfast purpose true; — 
 Reformed the civic order, opened again the house of prayer, 
 And set the sacred candlestick aflame for service there; 
 The "Redeemed Captive" pastor back again their fate and faith to share; 
 
 Holding at "not a blackberry's worth" 
 The flattering offers of the Papist North 
 If he the Roman doctrine would declare 
 Renounce the Pilgrim faith, and settle there. 
 
 So Ensign Sheldon's rescue work was done, 
 A work in stem resolve and bitter loss begun, 
 Through steadfastness and long endurance well achieved, — • 
 
 Record worth handing down from sire to son, 
 
 Never of honor here to be bereaved; 
 
 But in this monumental legend told. 
 
 With other tales of the brave days of old, 
 Set here and there in script of bronze or stone; 
 Recoiinting scenes of tragedy and woe, 
 
 fill 
 
Our hearts to set aglow, 
 
 Till we more largely know 
 That faith and helpful service and high sacrifice 
 Are the great forces that alone suffice 
 
 To guard a people's ways, 
 Through all their peaceful as their stormier days 
 
 O town of fertile fields and pleasant homes, 
 O peaceful vale to which no terror comes, 
 
 Of high, heroic memories. 
 Embosoming shade and sunny skies. 
 The fathers looked not backward, but before! 
 
 Read you the lesson right. 
 
 Their toils and trust requite. 
 Bear in your day the worthy part in theirs they bore! 
 While of their fortitude and noble record glad, 
 
 Fail not to add 
 That service of the living which is honor to the dead; — 
 " Thanksliving is the best thanksgiving," Parson Williams said! 
 
 Two himdred years and more. 
 Since the Grand Monarque's pride 
 Essayed to bring the Stuart back to England's throne and shore.. 
 And the wise settlement of many years defied; 
 
 For this each countryside 
 In far New England burst in flame and ran with blood; — 
 The murderous savage lurked in every wood. 
 And fell like pestilence upon each sleeping town. 
 Striking the strong man and the infant down, 
 Leaving the newly-planted village desolate, 
 Fire-blackened home-sites and deserted street. 
 Victim of bootless war and causeless hate; 
 And making, by the captives' bleeding feet 
 The wintry forest trail to far Quebec again 
 A Via Dolorosa, path of pain! 
 
 Again, and once again. 
 
 Since those far tragic days, 
 The heavy tread of armed men 
 Has sounded through the forest ways; 
 
 [12] 
 
On the old Indian track 
 Northward the conquering Briton went, 
 On far colonial conquest bent, 
 In that great game of strength and chance, 
 Set England's lion 'gainst the hiies of France, 
 The high stake sovereignty, the target Quebec ; — 
 Each young chivalric captain's tragic fate 
 The theme of martial poesy and romance, 
 
 While History's blood-stained page. 
 Heroic record of a stormy age. 
 Their myrtle and their laurel deck. 
 And, later, when our sires 
 
 Warfare for independence fires, 
 They take the same historic route, 
 Through oft-repeated failures wearing out 
 The world-power they so stubbornly assailed ; 
 
 So, while their special project failed. 
 Their spirit greatened, and their cause prevailed! 
 
 Kingdoms have fallen, and great nations grown ; 
 
 And near a peaceful century flown, 
 
 Since that last warful pilgrimage. 
 
 Rises a better age 
 Of international peace. 
 Heeding Humanity's high call 
 Moving to-day, within the hearts of all, — 
 A spirit steadfastly intent 
 To compass war's surcease. 
 And bring the genial arbitrament 
 Of friendly counselhngs and mutual consent ; 
 And we, Americans, may well rejoice 
 That to our country leadership is given 
 To urge all peoples to this better choice, 
 The long "Desire of Nations," and the way approved of Heaven! 
 
 The ancient Chinese Sage, 
 
 When asked for one great word 
 Wlience all the wisdom gained through every age 
 To teach all human welfare might be well inferred, 
 
 [13] 
 
Pondered a moment, and then made reply, — 
 "Is not this great word Reciprocity ?" 
 
 The kindred blood that flows 
 
 Within our veins, and those 
 Of alien neighbors sprung from that old captive train, 
 
 Unites with stronger ties, 
 
 Formed through the centuries, 
 To make joyous response to that great word now uttered once again ! 
 
 Among heroic names. 
 
 We celebrate the claims 
 Of men who helped to make their homes our own; 
 
 Who wrought in field and wood, 
 
 Who ventured fire and flood. 
 And planted fair abodes where first these fields were sown. 
 
 Their steadfast hardiness, 
 
 Their triumph o'er distress, 
 To ruined homes and kindred graves still turning back; 
 
 To venture yet again. 
 
 Enduring toil and strain. 
 To meet the fierce attack, or tread once more the captive track! 
 
 Honor the men who built the outpost town. 
 Their valorous ventures its dear-bought renown! 
 Honor the man who brought the captives back, 
 Braving the savage and the wintry wrack! 
 Honor to those who patiently have wrought, 
 In records dim, by graves obscure, have sought 
 The faded Hnes of ancient kin to track. 
 And many an unknown fate to new remembrance brought; 
 Honor, thrice honor, to the man, 
 Our many-yeared sage. 
 And always youthful antiquarian. 
 
 Whose ever green old age 
 For us and for the after time has borne 
 Rich harvest of historic lore, 
 
 [14] 
 
And this fair Valley's dim and stormy mom 
 With storied charm and fresh romance has brightened o'er; 
 And set the pious fashion of memorial days 
 To keep the children in remembrance of the Fathers' ways! 
 
 Another tablet here he fitly rears 
 To mark the spot, 
 Where his far ancestor in those eventful years 
 Builded, endured, and bravely wrought. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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