Sad and Deplorable NEVVES FROM Nevv England. Poetically Related by an Inhabitant there, and Newly sent over to a Merchant in LONDON.
BEING A TRUE NARRATIVE OF NEW-ENGLANDS Lamentable Estate at present, Occasioned by many un-heard of Cruelties, Practised upon the Persons and Estates of its United Colonies, without Respect of Sex, Age or Quality of Persons by the barbarous Heathen thereof.
LONDON, Printed for H. J. Anno Dom. 1676.
THE PROLOGUE.
THE times wherein old
Pompion was a Saint,
When men far'd hardly yet without complaint
On vilest
Cates; the dainty
Indian Maize
Was eat with
Clamp shells out of wooden Trayes
Under thatcht
Hutts without the cry of
Rent,
And the best
Sawce to every Dish,
Content.
When Flesh was food, and hairy skins made coats,
And Men as well as Birds had chirping Notes.
When Cimnels were accounted Noble Blood,
Among the tribes of common herbage food.
Of
Ceres bounty form'd was many knack,
Enough to fill
poor Robins Almanack.
These golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly sinn'd away for love of gold.
'Twas then among the bushes, not the street,
If one in place did an inferiour meet,
Good-morrow Brother; Is there ought you want?
Take freely of me what I have, you ha'nt.
Plain
Tom and
Dick would pass as current now,
As ever since,
Your Servant Sir, and bow.
Deep skirted doublets,
Puritanick capes,
(Which now would render men like upright Apes)
Was comelier wear our wiser Fathers thought,
Then the cast fashions from all
Europe brought.
'Twas in those days an honest
Grace would hold
Till an hot Puddin grew at heart a cold.
And men had better stomachs to Religion,
Then I to Capon, Turky cock or Pigeon.
When honest Sisters met to pray, not prate
About their own, and not their Neighbors state.
During
Plain-Dealings Reign, that worthy Stud
Of th' Ancient Planters Race before the Flood.
These Times were good, Merchants car'd not a rush
For other fare then
Jonakin and Mush.
Although men far'd and lodged very hard,
Yet Innocence was better then a Guard.
New Englands Beauties, which still seem'd to me
Illustrious in their own simplicity.
'Twas ere the Neighboring
Virgin-land had broke
The Hogsheads of her worse then hellish smoke.
'Twas ere the Islands sent their Presents in,
Which but to use was counted next to sin.
'Twas ere a
Barge had made so rich a fraight
As
Chocolate, dust Gold and bits of Eight.
Ere Wines from
France and
Moscovadoe too,
Without the which the drink will scarcely do.
From Western Isles, ere fruits and delicacies,
Did rot Maids teeth, and spoil their handsom faces▪
Or ere these times did chance, the noise of War
Was from our towns and hearts removed far.
No Bug-bear Comets in the Chrystal Air,
To drive our Christian Planters to despair.
No sooner Pagan malice peeped forth,
But Valour snib'd it; then were men of worth
Who by their Prayers slew thousands, Angel like,
Their weapons are unseen with which they strike.
Then had the Churches rest, as yet the coales
Were covered up in most contentious souls.
Freeness in Judgement, Union in Affection,
Dear Love, sound Truth, they were our grand Protection;
These were the Twins which in our Councels sate,
These gave Prognosticks of our future fate;
If these be longer-liv'd our hopes increase,
These warrs will usher in a longer Peace:
But if
New Englands love die in its youth
The Grave will open next for blessed Truth▪
This
Theam is out of date, the Peaceful Houres
When Castles needed not but pleasant Bowers.
Nor ink but bloud and tears now serve the turn
To draw the figure of
New Englands Urn.
New Englands hour of passion is at hand,
No power except Divine can it withstand;
Scarce hath her Glass of fifty years run out,
But her old prosperous Steeds turn heads about,
Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings,
To fear and fare upon their fruits of sinnings:
So that the Mirrour of the Christian world
Lyes burnt to heaps in part, her Streamers furl'd
Grief reigns, joyes flee, and dismal fears surprize,
Not dastard spirits only, but the wise.
Thus have the fairest hopes deceiv'd the eye
Of the big swoln Expectant standing by.
Thus the proud Ship after a little turn
Sinks into
Neptunes arms to find its Urn.
Thus hath the Heir to many thousands born
Been in an instant from the Mother torn.
Ev'n thus thine Infant-cheeks begin to pale.
And thy supporters, through great losses, fail.
This is the
Prologue to thy future woe
The
Epilogue no Mortal yet can know.
Sad and Deplorable News from New-ENGLAND.
IN
Seventy Five the
Critick of our years
Commenc'd our war with
Philip and his Peers.
Whither the Sun in
Leo had inspir'd
A feav'rish heat, and
Pagan spirits fir'd?
Whither some Rom
[...]sh Agent hatcht the plot?
Or whither they themselves? appeareth not.
Whither our Infant-thrivings did invite?
Or whither to our Lands pretended right?
Is hard to say; but
Indian spirits need
No grounds but Lust to make a Christian bleed.
And here, methinks, I see this greazy
Lout
With all his Pagan slaves coil'd round about,
Assuming all the Majesty his throne
Of rotten stump, or of the rugged stone
Could yield; casting some bacon-rine-like looks,
Enough to fright a Student from his books,
Thus treat his Peers, and next to them his Commons,
Kennel'd together all without a summons.
My friends, our Fathers were not half so wise
As we our selves who see with younger eyes
:
They sell our Land to English Men, who teach
Our Nation also fast to pray and preach.
Of all our countrey they enjoy the best,
And quickly they intend to have the rest.
This no wunnegin so big matchit law
Which our old fathers fathers never saw.
These English make, and we must keep them too,
Which is too hard for them or us to do.
We drink we so big whipt, but English they
Go sneep, no more, or else a little pay.
Me meddle Squaw me hang'd, our fathers kept
What Squaws they would whether they wak't or slept
Now if you'l fight Ile get you English coats,
And wine to drink out of their Captains throats
:
The richest Merchants houses shall be ours,
We'll lie no more on mats or dwell in bowers.
We'll have their silken wives, take they our Squaws,
They shall be whipt by vertue of our Lawes:
If ere we strike, 'tis now before they swell
To greater swarmes then we know to quell.
This my
Resolve, let neighboring
Sachems know,
And every one that hath Club, Gun or Bow,
This was assented to, and for a close
He strok't his smutty beard, and curst his foes.
This counsel lightning like their tribes invade,
And something like a muster's quickly made,
A ragged regiment, a naked swarm,
Whom hopes of booty doth with courage arm,
Set forth with bloody hearts, the first they meet
Of men or beasts, they butcher at their feet.
They round our skirts▪ they pare, they fleece, they kill,
And to our bordering towns do what they will.
Poor Hovills (better far then
Caesars Court
In the experience of the meaner sort)
Receive from them their doom next execution;
By flames reduc'd to horror and confusion
:
Here might be seen the smoking funeral Piles
Of wildred townes pitcht distant many miles.
Here might be seen the infant from the breast
Snatcht by a pagan hand to lasting rest
:
The mother
Rachel-like shrieks out my child,
She wrings her hands and raves as she were wild.
The bruitish wolves suppress her anxious moan
By crueltyes more deadly of her own.
Will she or nill the chastest turtle must
Tast of the pangs of their unbridled lust.
From farmes to farmes, from towns to towns they post
They strip, they bind, they ravish, flea and roast.
The beasts which wont their masters crib to know,
Over the ashes of their shelters low.
VVhat the inexorable flames do spare
More cruel Heathen lug away for fare.
These tidings ebbing from the outward parts,
Makes Tradesmen cast aside their wonted Arts
And studie Arms
: the craving Merchants plot
Not to augment but keep what they have got.
And every soul which hath but common sence
Thinks it the time to make a just defence.
Alarum every where resound in streets,
From
West sad tidings with the
Eastern meets.
Our common Fathers in their Councels close
A martial treaty with the Pagan Foes;
All Answers center here, that Fire and Sword
Must make their
Sachem universal Lord.
This armes the English with a resolution
To give the vapouring
Scab a Retribution.
Heav'ns they consult by Prayer, the best design
A furious foe to quell or undermine.
RESOLV'D that from the
Massachusets bands
Be prest on service some
Herculean hands;
And certainly he well deserv'd a jerk,
That slipt the Collar from so good a work.
Some Volunteers, some by compulsion goe,
To range the hideous Forest for a foe.
The tender Mother now's all bowels grown,
Clings to her son as if they'd melt in one.
Wives clasp about their Husbands as the Vine,
Hugs the fair Elm while tears burst out like Wine.
The new sprung love in many a Virgin-heart
Swells to a Mountain when the Lovers part.
Nephews and Kindred turn all springs of tears,
Their hearts are so surpriz'd with pannick fears:
But dolefull shrieks of captives summon Forth
Our walking Castles, men of noted worth,
Made all of life, each Captain was a
Mars,
His name too strong to stand on wat'rish verse
:
Due praise I leave to some
Poetick hand,
Whose Pen and Wits are better at command.
Methinks I see the
Trojan-Horse burst ope,
And such rush forth as might with Giants cope:
These first the
Natives treachery felt, too fierce
For any but eye witness to rehearse.
Yet sundry times in places where they came
Upon the
Indian skins they carv'd their name.
The trees stood Centinels, and bullets flew
From every bush (a shelter for their crew)
Hence came our wounds and deaths from every side,
While sculking enemies squat undescri'd,
That every stump shot like a Musquetier,
And Bowes with Arrows every tree did bear.
The Swamps were Courts of Guard, thither retir'd
The stragling blew-Coats when their Guns were fir'd
In dark Meanders, and these winding Groves,
Where Bears and Panthers with their Monarch moves.
These far more cruel slily hidden lay,
Expecting
English men to move that way.
One Party lets them slip, the other greets
Them with the next thing to their winding sheets;
Most fall, the rest thus startled back return,
And from their by-past foes receive an urn.
Here fell a Captain, to be nam'd with tears,
Who for his Courage left not many Peers,
With many more who scarce a number left
To tell how treacherously they were bereft.
This flusht the Pagan-courage, now they think
The victory theirs, not lacking meat or drink.
The ranging Wolves find here and there a prey,
And having fill'd their paunch they run away
By their Hosts light, the thanks which they return
Is to lead Captives, and their Taverns burn.
Many whose thrift had stor'd for after-use
Sustain their wicked plunder and abuse.
Poor people spying an unwonted light,
Fearing a Martyrdom, in sudden fright
Leap to the door to fly, but all in vain,
They are surrounded with a Pagan train;
Their first salute is death, which if they shun,
Some are condemn'd the Gauntelet to run;
Death would a mercy prove to such as those
Who feel the rigour of such hellish foes.
Posts daily on their
Pegase
[...] Steeds,
Bring sad Reports of worse then
Nero's deeds;
Such bruitish Murthers as would paper stain,
Not to be heard in a
Domitians Reign.
The Field which Nature hid is common laid,
And Mothers Bodies ript for lack of aid.
The secret Cabinets which Nature meant
To hide her Master-Piece is open rent;
The half-form'd Infant there receives a death
Before it sees the light, or draw its breath;
Many hot welcomes from the Natives arms,
Hid in their sculking holes, many alarms
Our brethren had, and weary weary trants,
Sometimes in melting heats and pinching wants:
Sometimes the Clouds with sympathizing tears,
Ready to burst, discharg'd about their ears;
Sometimes on craggy hills, anon in bogs
And miry swamps better befitting hogs,
And after tedious Marches, little boast
Is to be heard of stew'd, or bak'd, or roast,
Their b
[...]ds are Hurdles, open house they keep
Through shady boughs the sta
[...]s upon them peep;
Their Chrystal drink drawn from the Mothers breast
Disposes not to mirth, but sleep and rest.
Thus many days and weeks some months run out
To find and quell the vagabonding Rout,
Who like Inchanted Castles fair appear,
But all is vanisht if you come but near;
Just so we might the
Pagan Archers track
With towns and Merchandize upon their back;
And thousands in the
South who setled down,
To all the Points and Winds are quickly blown.
At many Meetings of their fleeting crew,
From whom, like hail, arrows and bullets flew
:
The
English courage with whole swarmes dispute,
Hundreds they hack in pieces in pursuit.
Sed haud impune, English sides do feel,
As well as tawny skins, the lead and steel;
And some such gallant Sparks by bullets fell,
As might have curst the Powder back to Hell
:
Had only Swords these Skirmishes decided
All
Pagan Sculls had been long since divided.
The lingring War out-lives the Summer-Sun,
Who hence departs hoping it might be done
Ere his Return at
Spring; but ah, he'll find
The Sword still drawn, men of unchanged mind.
Cold Winter now nibbles at hands and toes
And shrewdly pinches both our friends and foes.
Fierce
Boreas whips the
Pagan tribe together,
Advising them to fit for Foes and Weather
:
The Axe which late had tasted Christian blood,
Now sets its steely teeth to feast on wood.
The forests suffer now, by weight constrain'd
To kiss the Earth with souldiers lately brain'd.
The lofty Oaks and Ash do wag their head
To see so many of their Neighbors dead;
Their fallen Carcasses are carried thence
To stand our Enemies in their defence.
Their Myrmidous inclos'd with clefts of Trees,
Are busie like the Ants or nimble Bees:
And first they limber Poles fix in the ground,
In figure of the Heavens convex
[...] all round
They draw their Arras-mats, and skins of beasts,
And under these the E
[...]ves do make their Nests.
Rome took more time to grow then twice six hours,
But half that time will serve for
Indian bowers.
A City shall be rear'd in one days space
As shall an hundred English-men out-face.
In several Precincts there swarmes unite,
Rather to keep a Winter-Guard then fight;
A dem and dismal Swamp some Scout had found
Whose bosom was a spot of rising ground,
Hedg'd up with mighty Oaks, Maples and Ashes,
Nurst up with springs, quick bogs, and miry plashes,
A Place which Nature coin'd on very nonce
For tygers, not for Men to be a Sconce.
'Twas here these Monsters, shap'd and fac'd like men,
Took up their Rendezvouz and b
[...]umal den,
Deeming the depth of snow, hail, frost and ice,
Would make our Infantry more tame and wise,
Then by forsaking beds and loving Wives,
Meerly for
Indian skins to hazard lives:
These hopes had somthing calm'd the boiling passion
Of this in
[...]orrigible warlike Nation.
During this short
Parenthesis of Peace
Our forces found, but left him not at ease.
Here English valour most illustrious shone,
Finding their numbers ten times ten to one.
A shower of leaden Hail our Capt
[...]ins feel,
Which made the bravest Blades among us reel.
Like to some Ant-hill newly spurn'd abroad,
Where each takes heels and bears away his load:
Instead of Plate and Jewels
Indian Trayes,
With baskets up they snatch, and run their wayes.
Sundry the Flames arrest, and some the blade,
By bullets heaps on heaps of
Indians laid.
The Flames like lightning in their narrow streets,
Dart in the face of every one it meets.
Here might be heard an hideous
Indian cry,
O
[...] wounded ones who in the Wigwams fry.
H
[...]d we been
Cannibals, here might we feast
On brave
Westphalia Gammons ready drest.
The tawny Hue is
Ethiopick made
Of such, on whom
Vulcan his clutches laid.
Their fate was sudden, our advantage great
To give them once for all a grand defeat;
But tedious travel had so crampt our Toes,
It was too hard a task to chase the foes.
Distinctness in the numbers of the slain,
Or the account of Pagans which remain,
Are both uncertain, losses of our own
Are too too sadly felt, too sadly known.
Warr digs a common Grave for friends and foes,
Captains in with the private souldier throws.
Six of our Leaders in the first assault,
Crave re-admission to their Mothers Vault,
Who had they fell in ancient
Homers days,
Had been enroll'd with
Hecatombs of praise.
As Clouds disperst, the
Natives Troops divide,
And like the Streams along the thickets glide.
Some breathing time we had, and short God knows,
But new alarums from recruited foes
Bounce at our ears, the mountain clouds of smoke
From martyr'd towns the Heav'ns for aid invoke;
Churches, Barns, Houses, with most pond'rous things
Made volatile, flie o're the Land with wings.
Hundreds of Cattel now they sacrifice
For aiery spirits up to gormandize;
And to the
Molech of their Hellish guts,
Which craves the flesh in gross, their Ale in Butts.
Lancaster, Mendon, Medfield, wildred
Groton,
With many Villages by me not thought on,
Dy in their youth by Fire that useful foe,
Which this grand Cheat the world will overflow.
The wandring Priest to every one he meets
Preaches his Churches Funeral in the streets.
Sheep from their Fold are frighted. Keepers too
Put to their trumps not knowing what to do.
This Monster War hath hatcht a beauteous Dove
In dogged hearts, of most unfeigned love;
Fraternal love, the livery of a Saint
Being come in fashion, though by sad constraint;
Which if it thrive and prosper with us long
Will make
New-England fourty thousand strong.
But off the Table Hand, let this suffice
As the Abridgement of our miseries.
If Mildew Famine, Sword, and Fired Towns,
If Slaughter, Captivating, Deaths and Wounds,
If daily Whippings once Reform our Ways,
These all will issue in our Fathers Praise;
If otherwise, the Sword must never rest
Till all New-Englands
Glory it divest.
FINIS.