Not so fortunate his neighbors. In a few minutes the Indians massacred twenty-seven men, women, and children, set several houses on fire, and with a number of captives started for Canada. It was the middle of March. The rivers and streams were swollen. There was snow on the ground. Mrs. Dustin had but one shoe; the other foot was bare; it was torn by the stones, chilled by the cold. Every step was marked with blood. Her fellow-captives fainted and fell one by one, and the tomahawk and scalping-knife finished them. All except Mrs. Dustin and Mary Neff were killed. For four days they travelled through the dark forest toward the northwest. The Indians gave them little to eat. The third day brought them to the rendez-vous of the Indians, on a little island where the Contoocook falls into the Merrimac. "There the old smoked in silence their pipes, and the young To the pike and the white perch their baited lines flung; There the boy shaped his arrows, and there the shy maid Wove her many-hued baskets and bright wampum braid." There were fertile intervales along the Merrimac where the deer found pasture. The Indians could spear salmon in abundance. They had captured a little boy named Samuel Leonardson near Worcester, Massachusetts, and he had learned to talk with them. Having been successful in their raids, all except twelve of the Indians started out to make another attack somewhere upon the English, expecting to return with captives, which they would sell to the French. Upon their return the whole party would go to Canada. The woman who had seen her infant dashed upon the rock, and who had endured such hardships, had a brave spirit, and preferred death to captivity. They who would be free, must themselves strike the blow. There was none but God to lean upon. She determined to make the attempt to be free. "Ask the Indians where they strike with the tomahawk when they want to kill a person quick?" she said to Samuel. "Strike 'em here," said the Indian, putting his finger on Samuel's temple. Mrs. Dustin saw where he placed his finger. "This is the way to take off a scalp," said the Indian, showing the boy how to run a knife around the head, and separate the scalp from the skull. The strong-hearted woman turns over her plans. They are on an island. There are twelve Indians in all; some are women, some children. Their canoes are drawn up beneath the alders. They are so far from any danger of surprise that no one keeps watch at night. The thought never comes to them that their captives--two feeble women and a boy--can escape. Night comes. The fires burn low. All are asleep, lulled by the music of the falling waters. No--all are not asleep. The woman of brave spirit never before was so wide-awake. Hannah Dustin awakes Mary Neff and Samuel Leonardson, informs them of her purpose, gives each a tomahawk. Each selects a victim. "Strike hard!"