pended as by enchantment almost over your head. Along this narrow defile was the great Indian tract from Charlestown to Walpole meadows; here was the head of shad navigation, the great fishing ground from time immemorial; here was the spot so congenial to their wild natures, so fruitful for the projection of warlike exploits and murderous ex cursions. As we emerge from this narrow pass, we come to the site of an ancient Indian village, now occupied by Wightman's tavern, where they celebrated their sepulchral rites, and where the plough and harrow are annually exposing to view their various implements of war and mouldering remains. Cold River, half concealed with the shady maple and lofty graceful elm, detains us a short time with her gentle whispers. After crossing this stream and passing on the turnpike towards Walpole village about fifty rods, we find before us an open meadow about half a mile across. Near the centre of this meadow was planted the first corn in Walpole; here was erected the first dwelling for civilized man; here four men boldly defended themselves against as many hundred Indians, and here moulder the bones of their slaughtered enemies.We are now on consecrated ground, within a few rods of the spot where stood Kilburn's hut; we instinctively stop, turn our face to the east and view one of nature's most perfect amphitheatres, seemingly designed for deeds of noble doings. On the brow of that circular eminence to the east, which rises about 40 feet, and from which now issues a medicinal spring, were stationed 200 Indians when the little garrison in the log house were summoned to surrender. But we must no longer dwell on the descriptive; the Indians are coming just behind us, and have already crossed Cold river and are now in ambush. Kilburn and his son John, in his eighteenth year, a man by the name of Peak, and his son, were returning home from work about noon, August 17th, 1755, when one of them discovered the red legs of the Indians among the alders" as thick as grasshoppers." They instantly made for the house, fastened the door, and began to make preparations for an obstinate defence. Beside these four men, there were in the house, Kilburn's wife and his daughter Hitty, who contributed not a little to encourage and assist their companions, as well as to keep a watch upon the movements of the enemy. In about 15 minutes, the Indians were seen crawling up the bank east of the house, and as they crossed a foot path one by one, 197 were counted; about the same number remained in ambush near the mouth of Cold river. The Indians had learned that Col. Benjamin Bellows with his men were at work at his mill about a mile east, and that it would be best to waylay and secure them before disturbing those who had taken refuge in the log house. Bellows and his men (about 30) were returning home with each a bag of meal on their backs, when their dogs began to growl and betray symptoms of an enemy's approach. He well knew the language of his dogs, and the native intrigue of the Indians. Nor was he at loss in forming his opinion of their intention to ambush his path, and conducted himself accordingly. He ordered all his men to throw of the meal, advance to the rise, carefully crawl up the bank, spring upon their feet, give one whoop and instantly drop into the sweet fern. This mancuvre had the desired effect; for as soon as the whoop was given the Indians all arose from their ambush in a semicircle around the path Bellows was to follow. This gave his men a fine chance for a shot, which they improved instanter. The first shot so disconcerted the plans and expectations of the Indians that they darted away into the bushes without firing a gun. Bellows finding their number too numerous for his, ordered his men to file off to the south and make for the Fort. The Indians next appeared on the eminence east of Kilburn's house when the same "old devil " Philip, who had visited him the summer before, came forward and securing himself behind a tree called out to those in the house to surrender. "Old John, young John," says he, "I know you, come out here We give ye good quarter." Quarter," vociferated old Kilburn, with a voice of thunder, that rang through every Indian heart, and every hill and valley, "You black rascals, begone, or we'll quarter you.' Who would have anticipated this more than Spartan reply from four men, when called upon by as many hundreds to deliver up their arms. Philip then returned to his companions, and after a few minutes consultation, the war whoop commenced, as if (to use the expression of an ear witness) "all the devils in h--ll had been let loose."_ Kilburn was so lucky as to get the first fire before the smoke of the enemies' guns obstructed his aim; and was confident he saw an Indian fall, which from his extraordinary size and other appearances must have been Philip. The Indians rushed forward to the work of destruction; and probably not less than 400 bullets were lodged in Kilburn's house at the first fire. The roof was a perfect "riddle sieve." Some of them fell to butchering the cattle, others were busily employed in wantonly destroying the hay and grain, while a shower of bullets kept up one continual pelting against the house. Meanwhile Kilburn and his men were by no means idle. Their powder was already poured into hats for the convenience of loading in a hurry, and every thing prepared for a spirited defence or glorious death. They had several guns in the house which were kept hot by incessant firing through the port holes, and as they had no ammunition to spare, each one took special aim, to have every bullet tell. The women, with true Grecian firmness, assisted in loading the guns, and when their stock of lead grew short, they had the forethought to suspend blankets in the roof of the house to catch the enemies' balls, which were immediately run into bullets by them, and sent back to the savages with equal velocity. Several attempts were made to burst open the doors, but the bullets within scattered death with such profusion, that soon compelled them to desist from the rash undertaking. Most of the time the Indians endeavored to keep behind stumps, logs and trees, which evidently evinced, that they were not insensible to the unceremonious visits of Kilburn's bullets. All the afternoon one incessant firing was kept up till nearly sundown, when the Indians began to disappear; and as the sun sunk behind the western hills, the sound of the guns and the cry of the war whoop died away in silence. This day's rencounter proved an effectual check to the expedition of the Indians, and induced them immediately to return to Canada; and it is within the bounds of reason to conclude, that this matchless defence was instrumental in rescuing hundreds of our fellow citizens from the horrors of an Indian massacre. Thus did our intrepid Leonidas, not with 300 but only three followers, repulse the congregated forces of the Canadian savages. Seldom has it fallen to the lot of any of our forefathers, by personal courage and valor, to reap a more brilliant crown of laurels than that won by Kilburn on that memorable day. Only one of this invincible band of heroes was wounded. Peak by exposing himself too much before the port hole, received a ball in his hip, which for want of surgical aid proved fatal the 5th day. 1 During the whole of the Indian and French war, that continued till 1763, the Indians never afterwards made their appearance in Walpole. Kilburn lived to see the town of Walpole populous and flourishing, his fourth generation on the stage, and reciprocate with them all the comforts and enjoyments of civilization. He possessed an honest heart, manifested in his upright deportment, a christian temper, and died in the expectation of seeing that country where wars and fightings never come. A substantial, plain, unpolished stone, indicative of the character which he maintained, points out the spot in Walpole burying ground, where sleep his mortal remains with this inscription : "In memory of JOHN KILBURN, who departed His son "young John" for the last time revisited the field of his youthful exploits in 1814. After that he resided in Shrewsbury, Vt. with his children, till he died, which was in 1822. Journal of Proceedings of the Convention at Dracut, in November, 1776. State of the At a Convention of the Committees Mass. Bay. and Agents of sundry towns and districts, belonging to said state, and the state of NewHampshire, held at the house of Major Joseph Varnum, in Dracut, in the state of the Mass. Bay, aforesaid, Tuesday the 5th day of November, 1776, present, |