The assailants, in approaching the place, used every precaution to avoid disturbing the soldiery or the inhabitants by noise in walking over the crusted snow, stopping occasionally, that the sound of their feet might appear like the fitful gusts of the wind. But the precaution was unnecessary, for the guard within the fort had retired, and fallen asleep. None, of all who were in the village, awaked, except to be put immediately into the sleep of death; to be doomed to a a horrible captivity, or to effect a difficult and hazardous escape into the adjacent woods amidst the snows of winter. The houses were assaulted by parties detached in different directions; the doors were broken open, the astonished people dragged from their beds, and pillage and personal violence in all its forms ensued. They who attempted resistance, were felled by the tomahawk or musket. [Illustration: Capture of Mr. Williams.] Some of the separate features of this work of destruction and scene of agony, deserve particular notice, and will ever call up the painful sympathies of the reader of history. The minister of the place, the Rev. John Williams, who subsequently wrote a narrative of the affair, and of his own captivity, was a conspicuous actor and sufferer in the sad tragedy. Early in the assault, which was not long before the break of day, about twenty Indians attacked his house. Instantly leaping from his bed, he ran towards the door, and perceived a party making their entrance into the house. He called to awaken two soldiers who were sleeping in the chamber, and had only returned to the bedside for his arms, when the enemy rushed into the room. Upon this, as he says, "I reached my hands up to the bed-tester for my pistol, uttering a short petition to God, expecting a present passage through the _valley of the shadow of death_." He levelled it at the breast of the foremost Indian, but it missed fire: he was immediately seized by three Indians, who secured his pistol, and, binding him fast, kept him naked in the cold, nearly the space of an hour. One of these captors was a leader or captain, who soon met the fate he merited. Says Mr. Williams, "the judgment of God did not long slumber, for by sun-rising he received a mortal shot from my next neighbor's house." This house was not a garrison, but being defended by seven resolute men, and as many resolute women, withstood the efforts of three hundred French and Indians. They attacked it repeatedly, and tried various methods to set it on fire, but without success; in the mean while suffering from the fire which was poured upon them from the windows and loop-holes of the building. The enemy gave up the attempt in despair. Mrs. Williams having been confined but a few weeks previously, was feeble--a circumstance which rendered her case hopeless; but her agony was intensely increased by witnessing the murder of two of her little ones, who were dragged to the door, and butchered, as was also a black