As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Though the Peace of Utrecht (1714) closed the war, desultory raids continued. In April, 1725, John Lovewell, of Dunstable, with forty-six men, marched against the Indian town of Pigwacket, or Pequawket (now Fryeburg). On the morning of May 8 they were suddenly attacked by a large force of Indians who had formed an ambuscade. Twelve men fell at the first fire, among them Lovewell himself. The survivors fought against heavy odds until sunset, when the Indians drew off without having been able to scalp the dead. It was this battle, in its day "as famous in New England as was Chevy Chase on the Scottish border," which inspired the earliest military ballad, still extant, composed in America. Its author is unknown, but it was for many years "the best beloved song in all New England."
LOVEWELL'S FIGHT
[May 8, 1725]
Of worthy Captain Lovewell I purpose now to sing,
How valiantly he served his country and his King;
He and his valiant soldiers did range the woods full wide,
And hardships they endured to quell the Indian's pride.
'Twas nigh unto Pigwacket, on the eighth day of May,
They spied a rebel Indian soon after break of day;
He on a bank was walking, upon a neck of land,
Which leads into a pond as we're made to understand.
Our men resolv'd to have him, and travell'd two miles round,
Until they met the Indian, who boldly stood his ground;
Then spake up Captain Lovewell, "Take you good heed," says he,
"This rogue is to decoy us, I very plainly see.
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"The Indians lie in ambush, in some place nigh at hand,
In order to surround us upon this neck of land;
Therefore we'll march in order, and each man leave his pack
That we may briskly fight them, when they make their attack."
They came unto this Indian, who did them thus defy,
As soon as they came nigh him, two guns he did let fly,
Which wounded Captain Lovewell, and likewise one man more,
But when this rogue was running, they laid him in his gore.
Then having scalp'd the Indian, they went back to the spot
Where they had laid their packs down, but there they found them not,
For the Indians having spy'd them, when they them down did lay,
Did seize them for their plunder, and carry them away.
These rebels lay in ambush, this very place hard by,
So that an English soldier did one of them espy,
And cried out, "Here's an Indian," with that they started out,
As fiercely as old lions, and hideously did shout.
With that our valiant English all gave a loud huzza,
To show the rebel Indians they fear'd them not a straw:
So now the fight began, and as fiercely as could be,
The Indians ran up to them, but soon were forced to flee.
Then spake up Captain Lovewell, when first the fight began:
"Fight on, my valiant heroes! you see they fall like rain."
For as we are inform'd, the Indians were so thick
A man could scarcely fire a gun and not some of them hit.
Then did the rebels try their best our soldiers to surround,
But they could not accomplish it, because there was a pond,
To which our men retreated, and covered all the rear,
The rogues were forc'd to face them, altho' they skulked for fear.
Two logs there were behind them that close together lay,
Without being discovered, they could not get away;
Therefore our valiant English they travell'd in a row,
And at a handsome distance, as they were wont to go.
'Twas ten o'clock in the morning when first the fight begun,
And fiercely did continue until the setting sun;
Excepting that the Indians some hours before 'twas night
Drew off into the bushes and ceas'd awhile to fight,
But soon again returned, in fierce and furious mood,
Shouting as in the morning, but yet not half so loud;
For as we are informed, so thick and fast they fell,
Scarce twenty of their number at night did get home well.
And that our valiant English till midnight there did stay,
To see whether the rebels would have another fray;
But they no more returning, they made off towards their home,
And brought away their wounded as far as they could come.
Of all our valiant English there were but thirty-four,
And of the rebel Indians there were about fourscore.
And sixteen of our English did safely home return,
The rest were kill'd and wounded, for which we all must mourn.
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Our worthy Captain Lovewell among them there did die,
They killed Lieutenant Robbins, and wounded good young Frye,
Who was our English Chaplain; he many Indians slew,
And some of them he scalp'd when bullets round him flew.
Young Fullam, too, I'll mention, because he fought so well,
Endeavoring to save a man, a sacrifice he fell:
But yet our valiant Englishmen in fight were ne'er dismay'd,
But still they kept their motion, and Wymans Captain made,
Who shot the old chief Paugus, which did the foe defeat,
Then set his men in order, and brought off the retreat;
And braving many dangers and hardships in the way,
They safe arriv'd at Dunstable, the thirteenth day of May.
The story of Lovewell's fight is told in another ballad printed in Farmer and Moore's Historical Collections in 1824. It is an excellent example of ballad literature, describing the struggle in great detail and with unusual accuracy.
LOVEWELL'S FIGHT
[May 8, 1725]
What time the noble Lovewell came,
With fifty men from Dunstable,
The cruel Pequa'tt tribe to tame,
With arms and bloodshed terrible,
Then did the crimson streams, that flowed,
Seem like the waters of the brook,
That brightly shine, that loudly dash
Far down the cliffs of Agiochook.
With Lovewell brave, John Harwood came;
From wife and babes 'twas hard to part,
Young Harwood took her by the hand,
And bound the weeper to his heart.
Repress that tear, my Mary, dear,
Said Harwood to his loving wife,
It tries me hard to leave thee here,
And seek in distant woods the strife.
When gone, my Mary, think of me,
And pray to God, that I may be,
Such as one ought that lives for thee,
And come at last in victory.
Thus left young Harwood babe and wife,
With accent wild she bade adieu;
It grieved those lovers much to part,
So fond and fair, so kind and true.
Seth Wyman, who in Woburn lived
(A marksman he of courage true),
Shot the first Indian whom they saw,
Sheer through his heart the bullet flew.
The savage had been seeking game,
Two guns and eke a knife he bore,
And two black ducks were in his hand,
He shrieked, and fell, to rise no more.
Anon, there eighty Indians rose,
Who'd hid themselves in ambush dread;
Their knives they shook, their guns they aimed,
The famous Paugus at their head.
Good heavens! they dance the Powow dance,
What horrid yells the forest fill?
The grim bear crouches in his den,
The eagle seeks the distant hill.
What means this dance, this Powow dance?
Stern Wyman said; with wonderous art,
He crept full near, his rifle aimed,
And shot the leader through the heart.
John Lovewell, captain of the band,
His sword he waved, that glittered bright,
For the last time he cheered his men,
And led them onward to the fight.
Fight on, fight on, brave Lovewell said,
Fight on, while heaven shall give you breath
An Indian ball then pierced him through,
And Lovewell closed his eyes in death.
John Harwood died all bathed in blood,
When he had fought, till set of day;
And many more we may not name,
Fell in that bloody battle fray.
When news did come to Harwood's wife,
That he with Lovewell fought and died,
Far in the wilds had given his life,
Nor more would in their home abide,
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Such grief did seize upon her mind,
Such sorrow filled her faithful breast;
On earth, she ne'er found peace again,
But followed Harwood to his rest.
'Twas Paugus led the Pequa'tt tribe;—
As runs the Fox, would Paugus run;
As howls the wild wolf, would he howl,
A large bear skin had Paugus on.
But Chamberlain, of Dunstable
(One whom a savage ne'er shall slay),
Met Paugus by the water side,
And shot him dead upon that day.
Good heavens! Is this a time for pray'r?
Is this a time to worship God?
When Lovewell's men are dying fast,
And Paugus' tribe hath felt the rod?
The Chaplain's name was Jonathan Frye;
In Andover his father dwelt,
And oft with Lovewell's men he'd prayed,
Before the mortal wound he felt.
A man was he of comely form,
Polished and brave, well learnt and kind;
Old Harvard's learned halls he left,
Far in the wilds a grave to find.
Ah! now his blood-red arm he lifts,
His closing lids he tries to raise;
And speak once more before he dies,
In supplication and in praise.
He prays kind heaven to grant success,
Brave Lovewell's men to guide and bless,
And when they've shed their heart blood true,
To raise them all to happiness.
Come hither, Farwell, said young Frye,
You see that I'm about to die;
Now for the love I bear to you,
When cold in death my bones shall lie;
Go thou and see my parents dear,
And tell them you stood by me here;
Console them when they cry, Alas!
And wipe away the falling tear.
Lieutenant Farwell took his hand,
His arm around his neck he threw,
And said, brave Chaplain, I could wish,
That heaven had made me die for you.
The Chaplain on kind Farwell's breast,
Bloody and languishing he fell;
Nor after this said more, but this,
"I love thee, soldier, fare thee well."
Ah! many a wife shall rend her hair,
And many a child cry, "Wo is me!"
When messengers the news shall bear,
Of Lovewell's dear bought victory.
With footsteps slow shall travellers go,
Where Lovewell's pond shines clear and bright,
And mark the place, where those are laid,
Who fell in Lovewell's bloody fight.
Old men shall shake their heads, and say,
Sad was the hour and terrible,
When Lovewell brave 'gainst Paugus went,
With fifty men from Dunstable.
