The Story of Lovewell's Fight
On a morning in May of 1725, the peace
and beauty of the Saco River Valley was suddenly broken by the
appearance of mighty Paugus, chief of the Pequawket Indians,
with Wahowa and a band of eighty warriors, returning from a
scouting trip down the Saco. They were bound for their homes,
the wigwams of Pequawket, the only settlement for many miles in
this wilderness, with the exception of a small one on Lake
Ossipee. This was in the great bend of the upper waters of the
Saco, near where the village of Fryeburg is now located. The
Pequawket were a branch of the Sokokis tribe, driven north from
the mouth of the Saco into the interior, by the coming of the
English settlers. Their name means crooked place, which exactly
described the location of their settlement.
Paugus and his men were armed with guns,
knives and hatchets, their mighty forms and savage faces telling
of cruel and relentless purpose. Their hearts were filled with
bitterness toward the hated white men, who had driven their
people from the land they had occupied.
As they came within a few miles of their
wigwams, suddenly Paugus halted and gazed at the ground.
Instantly Wahowa followed his look and saw a mark on the soft
ground just at one side. ''White man! Trail!'' his fierce look
said, and his men knew there was danger.
They advanced slowly, reaching a small
brook, when suddenly the leader saw in the distance, under some
tall pine trees, the packs of their enemies. From his hiding
place, Paugus could count the packs, and found there were
thirty-four. His heart leaped for joy when he found that his
warriors far outnumbered those of the white men. When no
movement was made, Paugus sent several of his men to bring the
packs.
Suddenly, in the distance, a shot rang
out, followed by several others. These shots came from Capt.
John Lovewell and his thirty-four rangers from Dunstable,
Massachusetts, 130 miles from the Indian village of Pequawket.
How did these men happen to be in the enemy's country, so far
from their homes?
Capt. John Lovewell was a fighter, known
and feared by the Indians, as he and his band of rangers had
been on various expeditions and had killed and scalped many of
the red men.
Years before, some of the settlers had
cheated the Indians. The hatred of Squando, one of the chiefs of
the Sokokis tribe, had been aroused by a cruel act of some
sailors, who, just to see if the papoose could swim, tipped over
the canoe in which his squaw and papoose were coming down the
river. The child sank to the bottom of the river, the mother
rescued him, but the little boy soon sickened and died, and
Squando and his tribe swore vengeance on the white man. Thus a
few thoughtless and cruel men brought the hatred of the Indians
upon the white settlers.
So many white settlers had been killed
that John Lovewell and other men asked permission to form a
company of rangers to hunt and kill Indians. The Legislature of
Massachusetts granted their request and agreed to pay them one
hundred pounds or $500 in our money, for every Indian whose
scalp they brought home. John Lovewell was made captain of the
rangers. Their uniform was like that of woodsmen, and each was
armed with a firelock and a hatchet, carrying under his right
arm a powder horn, and at his waist a leather bag for bullets.
To each officer was given a pocket compass.
Chief Paugus of the Pequawket band had
been called The Scourge of Dunstable, because he had made raids
on the settlement and with his warriors had killed many of the
men and women. Paugus was a mighty man, tall and strong. He
could run like a fox and howl like a wolf, and do many other
wonderful things. Capt. Lovewell and his rangers decided to go
into that country and see if they could not kill some of the
Pequawket Indians so as to prevent their coming to the
settlements. So they started forth, a little band of forty-six
men. Some became sick and were sent back. Those who were still
active decided to build a fort on the west shore of Ossipee
Pond, in New Hampshire. They planned to return thither after the
battle, for protection. Only thirty-four men went on to the
Pequawket country.
Twenty-two days after they left their homes in Dunstable they
came to a pond near which they camped. It was later named
Lovewell's Pond in honor of the captain of the rangers.
The next morning, May 8th, while they
were still at prayers, they heard a gun, and, on going out to
look, saw an Indian on the other side of the pond, shooting
ducks. Suspecting some trap, the Captain said to his men, "Shall
we go forward or wait behind the trees until the Indians come
this way?''
The men talked it over and then said:
"Let us go forward!"
Skulking behind trees they advanced
cautiously about a mile and a half and surrounded the Indian,
whom they had seen shooting. Shots were exchanged and the Indian
succeeded in wounding Captain Lovewell and one other man before
being killed by the rangers.
These were the shots which Chief Paugus
and his warriors had heard, while they were examining the packs
which Lovewell's men had left hidden among the trees in the deep
ravine of the brook.
Captain Lovewell, although wounded,
tried to make the rangers think he was not badly hurt and led
the way back to the place where their packs had been left.
The rangers had just reached the brook,
when, suddenly, the air was filled with the hideous yells of the
savages, as they darted from behind trees and rushed upon the
white men. Though taken completely by surprise, the rangers
quickly formed into groups and ran toward the Indians. Paugus
ordered his men to shoot high at the first volley, so that none
of the rangers were injured, but the rangers aimed straight at
the Indians and killed nine of them.
Paugus withdrew his men toward the
ravine, but soon rushed out upon the rangers, firing when twice
a gun's length away. The rangers were driven back. Captain
Lovewell and six of his men were killed and several others
wounded.
"Take quarter?" asked the Indians, holding up ropes, which meant
they would bind the white men as prisoners.
"Only at the muzzles of our guns!" replied Ensign Wyman, who was
in command after the other officers were killed.
The rangers fell back to the shore of the pond. Prom the
protection of a bank, they shot at the Indians, who returned the
fire. The sun rose higher and higher, but it was not very light
in the thick woods. The men were faint and famished, having had
no food since early morning. Only twenty-five of the rangers
were capable of shooting, but they scattered as best they could
and kept on firing wherever an Indian appeared from behind the
trees or rocks.
The terrible battle lasted until sunset.
The Indians kept yelling and howling, barking like dogs and
making all kinds of wild and hideous noises. The rangers replied
with yells and cheers.
Once the Indians held a pow-wow to keep
up their courage. The rangers heard them beating the ground and
uttering unearthly yells. Ensign Wyman crept up behind the trees
and, taking careful aim, shot Chief Paugus through the heart. As
it became dark, the Indians withdrew, leaving fully half of
their number dead under the trees and beside the brook.
The rangers dared not move. They thought the Indians were
planning to return and kill them all. The wind came up and,
blowing through the pine trees, added its sighs to the anguished
moans of wounded and dying men. At last, as the Indians did not
return, the rangers tried to assemble their men. They had no
food, for the Indians had taken it. They had no extra
ammunition, for the Indians had emptied their packs. Their
blankets also had been carried away and the night was cold. Of
the twenty-two brave men surviving, two were so badly wounded
they could not be moved and eight others were suffering from
wounds.
A harassing question arose. Should the
able-bodied leave their friends alone to die or to be captured
by the Indians in the morning, or should they remain and all
share the same fate! The wounded urged their comrades to go
while escape was possible. One asked to have his gun loaded, so
that he might protect himself if the Indians came before he
died. All spoke bravely and sent messages to the dear ones at
home.
With many misgivings and sick at heart,
a remnant of the brave band of rangers started about mid-night
on the journey to the fort, nearly 40 miles away. Chaplain Frye,
their beloved young comrade, staggered along for a short
distance, then sank down to die. They divided into three
parties, so that the Indians could not trail them. Only nine
were unhurt. Eleven were suffering from wounds of various kinds.
Four were left along the way, the others promising to send men
from the fort to assist them.
They were cheered on the journey by the
thought of relief and refreshment at the fort. What was their
bitter disappointment to find, on arriving there after several
days' journey, that it was empty. Later on, they found that one
of their number had deserted at the first of the battle, terror
stricken, and had returned to the fort and told such terrifying
stories that the others had fled. They left behind a birch bark
message saying that Lovewell and all his men had been killed by
the Indians.
The little remnant of Lovewell's band
found shelter, however, and a little food and after they had
gained sufficient strength, they began to make preparations for
returning home. What was their surprise to see one of their
comrades whom they had given up as dead, coming into the fort.
He had received several wounds but would not stay and be scalped
by the Indians, so crawled along the shore of the pond until he
came to a canoe, in which he floated down the lake to a point
near the fort, to which he finally managed to crawl.
Twelve of the men reached their homes in
Dunstable. Several days later, four others came in. They had had
no food for four days, excepting two mouse squirrels and some
partridges which they had roasted. A party was organized to go
to the assistance of the men left on the way, to visit the
battlefield and to bury the dead. This party was not attacked by
the Indians.
The Pequawket never rallied from this
terrible battle. Only twenty-four of their warriors survived and
these sadly left their village and retreated toward Canada.
Their spirit was broken and while there were other battles
between the Indians and the white men, in other places in Maine,
the reign of terror of the Pequawket was over.
Should you visit Lovewell's Pond, a
short distance from the village of Fryeburg, on the shores of
which this battle took place; you will find, on the
battleground, a bronze tablet, in honor of Capt. Lovewell and
his band of rangers. This was erected by the Society of Colonial
Wars in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, June 17th, 1904.
Sometime you may motor along a part of
the trail which these Indians traveled, and which it is very
likely Capt. Lovewell and his rangers followed on some part of
their journey. It is known as the Pequawket trail, running along
the banks of the Saco River and into the heart of the wonderful
White Mountain region.
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Bronze Tablet Erected in Memory
of Lovewell's Fight, on Shore of Lovewell's Pond |
Eva E. Shorey
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