cold torrent. The party that included her husband and eleven-year-old Stephen, had waded through the swift current and were out of sight upon the wooded heights beyond, when Mrs. Williams and her companions were ordered to follow. She was not half-way across when the water bore her off her feet and, as she fell, went over her head. Weakened by her recent illness and the hardships and distress of the past two days, she dragged herself up and to the shore, sinking there too much exhausted to walk a step further, much less to climb the mountain at the foot of which she lay. With one stroke of his tomahawk her "master" put her out of pain and forever beyond the reach of sorrow. A little company of her former neighbors, following cautiously upon the Indians' trail some days later, found her body, brought it back to Deerfield and gave it loving burial. The inscription upon the time-battered stone in the town burying-ground may still be deciphered: 66 Here lyeth the body of Mrs. Eunice Williams, the virtuous and desirable consort of the Rev. John Williams and daughter of Rev. Eleazar and Mrs. Esther Mather of Northampton. She was born Aug. 2, 1664, and fell by the rage of the barbarous enemy, March 1, 1703-4. Her children rise up and call her blessed." The terrible news was elicited by the husband from other of the prisoners who overtook him at the top of the hill where he was permitted by his master to rest for a few minutes and to lay aside his pack. Mr. Williams was begging to be also allowed to return to look after his wife as the sad train came up with him. To the horror of the shock succeeded "comfortable hopes of her being taken away, in mercy to herself from the evils we were to see, feel, and suffer under, and joined to the assembly of the spirits of just men made perfect, to rest in peace and joy unspeakable and full of glory." To the devout believer it was not a far cry from the bleak mountain-top to the gates of the Celestial City. While he toiled onward, taunted by his master for the tears he could not restrain, his soul arose in the last prayer he was to offer for the wife of his youth: "I begged of GOD to overrule in his providence that the corpse of one so dear to me, and whose spirit he had taken to dwell with him in glory, might meet with a Christian burial, and not be left for meat to the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the earth. A mercy that GoD graciously vouchsafed to grant." Before hurrying on to the arrival of the captives at Chamblée, I cannot refrain from transcribing a passage that is infinitely pathetic and also, in the ending, graphically significant of the militant Protestantism interwoven with the very roots of our minister's being. "On the Sabbath day, (March 5,) we rested, and I was permitted to pray, and to preach to the captives. The place of scripture spoken from, was Lam. i. 18: The Lord is righteous, for I have rebelled against his commandment: Hear I pray you, all people, and behold my sorrow : My virgins and my young men are gone into captivity. The enemy who said to us, Sing us one of Zion's songs, were ready some of them, to upbraid us, because our singing was not so loud as theirs. When the Macquas and Indians were chief in power, we had this revival in our bondage, to join together in the worship of GOD, and encourage one another to a patient bearing the indignation of the Lord, till he should plead our cause. When we arrived at New France" (Canada) “we were forbidden praying with one another, or joining together in the service of Gon." Four closely printed pages are devoted to struggles with the Jesuits at Fort St. Francois, who invited him to dinner, and, after the meal, informed him that he, with the other captives, would be forced to attend mass. He argued with them upon the disputed points between |