bones being pounded for a soup that was cooked with various roots to give it a flavor.

When the march was resumed, Mrs. Johnson was ordered to walk with the others. She went as far as she could and fell in a dead faint. An Indian raised his hatchet to brain her, but was prevented by the one who claimed her as his personal captive. A council was held, and finally a back pack-saddle was made, upon which she was carried for the rest of the day upon the back of her husband. That night she rested well, and felt much stronger in the morning. She was able to walk, but in crossing a stream of water, waist-deep, was taken by a faint, and saved by her husband who laid the babe upon the ground and rushed back to her rescue. The Indians built a fire and warmed her back to life. The remainder of the day she was carried by her husband. In crossing another creek, Mr. Labarree, who was carrying the babe, lost his hold of it, and as it went into the water the mother never expected to see it again; but he managed to grasp a corner of its blanket and pull it to the surface in time.

Once across the river, and a pleasant surprise was in store for the captives. In their outward journey, the Indians. had deposited some bear's meat, flour and tobacco at this point, and all were permitted to enjoy a share.

The condition of the captives was indeed pitiable. "Mr. Johnson's situation," the wife relates, "was truly

My little son"— remember he was only six-" who had performed the whole journey on foot, was nearly lifeless. Mr. Johnson was emaciated and almost exhausted; often he laid me on the ground to save his own life and mine, for my weakness was too great to ride far without requiring rest. While prostrate on the earth, I often begged him to leave me there, to end a life which could last but a short time, and would take his with it, if he continued his exertions to save me." The result of this appeal would be that the husband would once more take up the loved burden, and struggle manfully along.

But it was the old story of the darkest hour just before the dawn. With "sorrow and anguish," the little cavalcade began the ninth day of its toilsome journey. Before proceeding far, the Indians informed them by signs that before night they would arrive at East Bay on Lake Champlain. "This was cordial to our drooping spirits, and caused an immediate transition from despair to joy; the idea of arriving at a place of water carriage translated. us to new life." All marched forward

with nervous alacrity. Two Indians were sent on a hunting scout, who were to meet them at the Bay with canoes. By the middle of the afternoon the waters of the lake were seen; the two Indians were there as by appointment, and had with them a ground squirrel, which was cooked, and tasted wonderfully well. After a long course of water-gruel and horseflesh, Mrs. Johnson confesses that the change in their surroundings and circumstances was such as to make the hour she sat on the banks of Lake Champlain, "one of the happiest" she had ever experienced-not because of any special joy within it, but for the hope it offered. A few hours would now bring them into the settlements of civilized and humane Frenchmen. No longer would her husband be called upon to carry her for her very life; and out of the wilderness, and the hourly danger, and the peril of starvation, they had all come alive at last. They had by no means seen the end of their troubles, but had reason to feel that the worst had gone by.

There were four canoes at hand, and the party was divided into squads of an equal number. Mrs. Johnson, her son and baby, and two Indians, occupied one boat. She was ordered to lie flat on the bottom, and when pain obliged her to move for relief, she received a rap from a paddle. At daybreak they arrived at a great rock on the west side of the lake, where a fire was kindled. The Indians went to the cabin of a French settler and ob

tained some bread, meat, and green corn; and although none of the meat was given the captives, they were allowed a portion of the bread and roast corn. A war-dance was indulged in, which the prisoners were compelled to join. The voyage was then resumed, and Crown Point was reached at noon.

The captives were taken to the residence of the French commander, and were given brandy, a good dinner, and a change of linen. They were detained here four days, during which they were not under the control of their savage masters. "Here we received great civilities, and many presents," Mrs. Johnson acknowledges. "I had a nurse who in a great measure restored my exhausted strength. My children were all decently clothed, and my infant in particular. The first day, while I was taking a nap, they dressed it so fantastically, a la France, that I refused to own it when brought to my bedside, not guessing that I was the mother of such a strange thing."

On the fourth day they were again delivered to the Indians, who placed them in a vessel bound for St. Johns. Mr. Johnson was permitted to send a letter to a friend in Albany, by a lady who was bound to that point, and through this means the anxious friends back at home learned of their whereabouts and condition.

After some journeyings, delays, and minor experiences, the savages finally drew near their home at St. Francis.

The captives were painted on check, chin, and forehead with bear's grease and vermillion, and all preparations made for a triumphal entry when the village should be reached. No sooner had they landed than great crowds of Indians came down to welcome them, all yelling at the top of their voices. When they reached the boats they formed themselves into a long parade, leaving a small space through which the captives must pass Each Indian then took his prisoner by the hand, and after ordering him to sing the war song, began to march through the gauntlet. They expected a severe beating from the lines, but only received a slight tap upon the shoulder from each Indian.

In a brief time the savages made such disposition of their captives as suited the best interests of the masters. Mrs. Johnson and the baby fell, by exchange, into the hands of the sonin-law of the grand sachem—an InIdian who informed her that he had an English heart, but that his wife was true Indian blood. She was adopted into his family, and had little in her treatment to complain of. The little son became the property of a hunter, who wished an attendant upon his excursions. Mr. Johnson was carried to Montreal to be sold; as also were the two little girls, Miriam, and Labar

The life Mrs. Johnson was allowed to lead speaks well for the good hearts of the savages among whom she had fallen. She was obliged to perform little labor, treated with kindness, and allowed to visit among the French settlers of the neighborhood as she desired. But time passed heavily, and she longed to be united to her dear ones. Early in November she received a letter from her husband requesting her to prevail upon her brother, as her owner had become by adoption, to take her to Montreal for sale, where Johnson had already made provision for her purchase. He consented, and upon her arrival in Montreal she had the pleasure of meeting those who had been sent on before. They had all been purchased by persons of respectability, who treated them kindly. A M. Du Quesne had bought the sister, the eldest daughter was owned by three affluent old maids, and the youngest by the mayor of the city. Mr. Johnson was granted a two months' parole, for the purpose of going to New England to raise cash for his family's delivery; and Mrs. Johnson was purchased of the savages for seven hundred livres, by the M. Duquesne who already had possession of the sister.

It would certainly seem as though an early deliverance, with little further tribulation, might be counted on by this mother and those who had been thrust into captivity with her; yet, in one sense of the word, their trouble had but just begun. Instant

death by the knife, or starvation by the wilderness way, did not threaten them, but imprisonment, want, long separation, and the cruel torture of an uncertain fate, were in reserve.

Mr. Johnson sat out upon his quest for aid, on November 12, accompanied by two Indian pilots, for whose fidelity the French commander had made himself responsible. He reached Albany, where his guides were to await his return, while he passed on to Boston. The matter of redemption of the captives was laid before Governor Shirley, who in turn presented it to the general assembly. Mr. Johnson was immediately granted the sum of ten pounds to defray expenses. He received no further help from Massachusetts, and was advised to apply to New Hampshire; and when his case was there presented, the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds was granted; to be applied to the redemption not only of the Johnson party, but of such other captives as had been taken from that province.

Mr. Johnson had proceeded as far as Boston on his return journey, when he was laid under positive orders of Governor Shirley to proceed no further, because the movements of the French in Canada for the invasion of New Hampshire and New York, were such as to make his return dangerous, not only to himself, but to the public safety. It was a cruel position in which to place him. His parole was nearly expired, his word would be broken, his credit gone with those

who had befriended him, and he could not tell what new trouble might not ensue. But all efforts to obtain permission were in vain, and he was compelled to face his despairing disappointment as best he could.

Meanwhile the penalty of this severe order fell upon those who had already suffered enough. M. Du Quesne had generously made provision for Mrs. Johnson and her sister and babe, until her husband could return. She was treated with great civility by the French, dined frequently in the first families, and received invitations to all social gatherings. The lady who had purchased her daughter Polly from the Indians, kindly returned her to the mother's arms. The babe that had been born in the forest was tenderly cared for, and M. Du Quesne acted as its godfather when it was baptized, and given the name of Louise Captive. But when the Indians who had expected to guide Mr. Johnson on his return, came back without him, all this was changed. The change from coldness to neglect and from neglect to contempt, was noted by the mother; and M. Du Quesne, who supposed Johnson had wilfully broken his parole, refused to advance further money for the wife's support, and would not see her face. It was indeed a season of hardship-no word from her husband, no word from her son. With her sister she took a small room, and managed to live through the winter as best she could.

In April, the Indians again went to

Albany, but brought no word of the missing Johnson. Darkness increased, but she summoned all her resolution, and indulged the hope that light would come. In June she learned. that her husband was without the city, waiting to come in. He was conducted in by a file of men, and explained to the authorities the cause of his delay. But a new governor had been sent from France, who knew nothing of the conditions under which he had set forth, and would not excuse the breach of his parole. The bills he had brought were protested, and they were reduced almost to destitution. By July, however, his affairs were in a fair way of settlement, when he was arrested and thrown into jail. On the 22nd, with his wife and two younger children he was placed on shipboard and sent to Quebec.

In two days that city was reached, and they were conducted to the prison. Mrs. Johnson feelingly describes what awaited them there. "This jail was a place too shocking for description. In one corner sat a poor being, half dead with the small-pox; in another were some lousy blankets and straw; in the center stood a few dirty dishes, and the whole presented a scene miserable to view. The terrors of starvation and the fear of suffocation in filth, were overpowered by the more alarming evil of the small-pox, which none of us had had. But there was no retreat; the first fortnight waited anxiously for the attack of the disease, in which time we were sup

we

ported by a small piece of meat a day, which was stewed with some. rusty crusts of bread, and brought to us in a pail that swine would run from."

Their fears were realized. Mrs. Johnson was taken with the dread disease and removed to the hospital. The babe, Louise Captive, was put out to nurse, but in a few days was returned, the woman in charge fearing she would not be paid. The father proceeded to bold measures-he told her to

carry it to the Lord Intendant and inform him that he must allow her for its keeping, or it would be left on his door step. She did so; the officer smiled at her story, remarked that it was "a pretty little English devil" and should not die. He ordered a clerk to draw an order for its allowance, and the woman cared for it until October, except for a few days when it was down with the small-pox.

Mr. Johnson and the other child were both taken with the disease, but all recovered. They all went back to prison; in November, Mrs. Johnson was very ill of a fever; the cold weather came on, and they suffered fearfully. The good services of friends finally succeeded in their behalf, and in January, 1756, they were removed. to the new civil prison, where they had comparative comfort, excellent fare, and kind treatment.

Many interesting incidents were crowded into the months that followed; not the least was the permission granted them to leave the prison on