The sound of glass shattering and wood splintering woke seven-year-old Eunice Williams. Indians were ransacking the house. Her father shouted for help. Then footsteps pounded up the stairs and strangers rushed into her room. Strong hands yanked her out of bed and pushed her toward the stairs and down. John, only six, clung to her. She saw that the barn was ablaze. Her father, arms tied, was in his nightshirt. Indians shouted at him and waved their hatchets before his face. After a time several grabbed John and the baby and took them outside; another Indian followed with a club. Eunice's mother screamed but they held her back. After a few moments the Indians came back in and seized Parthena, a slave. They dragged her outside and her screams ceased.
Soon, morning light filtered through the broken window. The Indians untied one of Eunice's father's arms, gave him his pants and gestured for him to dress. They also thrust clothes toward her, and she put them on. Then she and her family were herded outside, where Parthena and Little John lay dead in the snow, and the baby in a heap near a boulder. The Indians rushed Eunice and her parents into the meeting house. Inside, many of their neighbors were huddled against a wall. The Indians gave them all moccasins, and forced them to run toward the woods. Gunshots clattered at the far edge of the village, and the Indians made them run faster, deep into the forest. Those who lingered were dispatched with clubs or hatchets.
Throughout the day the captives scrambled onward. When Eunice stumbled and fell, exhausted, an Indian carried her on his shoulders, mile after mile. At night he covered her with a blanket. Sunrise brought the same frantic rush to the north. Eunice's mother, weakened from the new baby, fell behind. Her father tried to help her but could not. He paused with her to pray, but the Indians pushed him forward. Eunice never saw her mother again.
The Indians broke into smaller groups, and Eunice was separated from her father and brothers. The same Indian as before carried her. When they rested, he gave her the best pieces of meat. He smiled, saying something she didn't understand.
During the weeks that followed she was taken several hundred miles to a large Mohawk settlement near Montreal. There, the captive men were stripped naked and forced to run past the villagers, who beat and poked them with clubs and burning sticks. The women and children were treated more leniently. Their hair was cut; some had their ears pierced. Amidst great ceremony, they were immersed in water and their bodies were painted. Then they were given Mohawk clothing. Women wore loose sleeveless tunics, skirts that hung to their knees, leggings ornamented with moose hair, and leather moccasins. Their hair was greased and pulled back, fastened with a ribbon of eel skin.
Eunice was settled among a Mohawk family, and she came to understand that she had been adopted by them. But the family was unlike the one she had known. Mohawk husbands and wives lived apart from each other, with their own parents; children stayed with their mother and her large group of relatives.
The Abduction of Daniel Boone's Daughter by the Indians (1853), a painting by Charles Ferdinand Wimar.
Source: Charles Ferdinand Wimar, The Abduction of Daniel Boone's Daughter by the Indians, 1853. Oil on canvas, 40 5/i6 X 50 1/4". Mildred Lane Kemper Art Museum, Washington University in St. Louis. Gift of John T. Davis, Jr., 1954.
In 1706, two years after Eunice had been taken from Deerfield, Massachusetts, her father, a puritan minister, was ransomed and returned home. Her brothers were similarly "redeemed"soon afterward. But the Mohawk made no offer to redeem Eunice. In response to written pleas from her father, the Mohawk stated that they "would as soon part with their hearts"as with Eunice; besides, they added, the girl was "unwilling to return"to Massachusetts. In 1713 her father received word that his daughter had married a Mohawk.
Shortly afterward, English and French officials prevailed on the Mohawk to allow Eunice to speak with a trader sent by her father. By then, she had forgotten English, so the trader was obliged to speak to her through an interpreter. He pleaded for her to return home. She sat in stony silence. Finally, she uttered two Mohawk words: Jaghte Oghte (maybe not). She would remain with her people: the Mohawk.
Decades later, she agreed to visit her English brothers.
The women of Deerfield gave her a dress and invited her to stay in their homes, but she wrapped herself in an Indian blanket and slept in an orchard with her husband. She returned to Canada and died there in 1785, where she was known by the name Gannenstenhawi,"she who brings in corn."
World History
