aster.
On the 10th of that month at sunrise the Indians came swarming into the
lovely village. Danger had already been apprehended, the pastor, Joseph
Rowlandson, the only Harvard graduate of 1652, had gone to Boston to
solicit aid, and Captain Wadsworth's company was slowly making its
way over the difficult roads from Marlborough, but the Indians were
beforehand. Several houses were at once surrounded and set on fire,
and men, women, and children began falling under the tomahawk. The
minister's house was large and strongly built, and more than forty
people found shelter there until at length it took fire and they were
driven out by the flames. Only one escaped, a dozen or more were slain,
and the rest, chiefly women and children, taken captive. The Indians
aimed at plunder as well as destruction; for they were in sore need of
food and blankets, as well as of powder and ball. Presently, as they saw
Wadsworth's armed men approaching, they took to flight and got away,
with many prisoners and a goodly store of provisions. [Sidenote: Attack
upon Lancaster, February 10, 1676]

Among the captives was Mary Rowlandson, the minister's wife, who
afterward wrote the story of her sad experiences. The treatment of the
prisoners varied with the caprice or the cupidity of the captors. Those
for whom a substantial ransom might be expected fared comparatively
well; to others death came as a welcome relief. One poor woman with a
child in her arms was too weak to endure the arduous tramp over the icy
hillsides, and begged to be left behind, till presently the savages
lost their patience. They built a fire, and after a kind of demon dance
killed mother and child with a club and threw the bodies into the
flames. Such treatment may seem exceptionally merciful, but those modern
observers who best know the Indian's habits say that he seldom indulges
in torture except when he has abundance of leisure and a mind quite
undisturbed. He is an epicure in human agony and likes to enjoy it in
long slow sips. It is for the end of the march that the accumulation
of horrors is reserved; the victims by the way are usually despatched
quickly; and in the case of Mrs. Rowlandson's captors their irregular
and circuitous march indicates that they were on the alert. Their
movements seem to have covered much of the ground between Wachusett
mountain and the Connecticut river. They knew that the white squaw of
the great medicine man of an English village was worth