 |
| Google image |
Imagine a wet, drizzly day. It’s September 24th so it’s probably a bit chilly, too. You’re 21. Just another normal day. You set out with a friend to go to work in a nearby forest with a gun, ammunition and some lunch because you expect to be gone most of the day. You cross the river, meet up with other men, find your work area and a hollowed-out log where you’ll keep your stuff dry while you work.
A year later the stuff is still in the log, safely hidden. The only evidence that could prove it was you who was there is concealed as worried friends and townspeople start the search for you and your friend.
It’s 1724. There are always concerns about Indians and being captured and scalped. Those were the days. Turns out Nathan Cross and Thomas Blanchard, and the rest of the work party were missed after a while when they didn’t come home for supper. I’ve had those awful feelings when my children don’t show up when they’re scheduled, or aren’t where they said they’d be. Times may have changed, but I’m learning that danger just changes faces.
.jpg) |
| Merrimack River, New Hampshire |
It took a while, but by following clues along the shores of the Merrimack river the search party found the group being held captive by a group of Mohawk Indians from Canada. They had a skirmish when confronted, rescuing all but Nathan and Thomas who were carried up into Canada where they’d spend a year until they found a way (I can’t imagine what that was) to pay their ransom.
The guns and provisions that were secreted away were found exactly where they’d left them in the log in the woods. Nathan’s musket can be seen in a museum in Nashua.
We’re still in Hudson, New Hampshire, but the country is slowly waking up and changing. By 1777 John is married with 7 children, ages 1 to 18. His wife Elizabeth is 42. Grandpa Nathan has been dead for 11 years. But I’m sure John kept his dad’s memory and story alive for the 4 children who never met him.
I can hear Grandpa Nathan saying, “Sure! Who wants to sit on my lap?” when begged for the umpteenth time to tell his story of the famous kidnapping by the Indians. Was that the only story he had? I have to wonder.
 |
| Fort Ticonderoga, New York (Google image) |
Add me to the list of people who wish they could have heard the story.
Me too! I love history and hearing it from someone in my family has made it all the more intriguing. My grandpa tells stories of WWII and sometimes the details sound outrageous, but really, how would those of us who come after know any different?
Sandi,I love when people start getting older and memories become so dear. The stories are told over and over again. I used to say,"You already told that story!",even if I said it to myself. But now I see how important it is to listen. There's a definite phase we all slip into of "remembering". A lot of my friends on Facebook have started a "If You Grew Up in Falmouth…Remember?"Page. You wouldn't believe the activity!Thanks for stopping by!Betsy
A good story goes a long way.
Yes, Stan! Where would we be without them? BTW You are a wonderful storyteller!Betsy
HOW do you find all these stories Betsy! How interesting! My family hails from Lebanon – we have collected some of the stories, some larger than life and verging into the area of myths, and I love it!Lori
Hey Lori,Yesterday early in the morning I was looking for a story (one that I'd write from facts on documents) and just came upon one from my husband's line. It occurred in the town we're now living in so it has a lot of documentation already available. But when I read about his son and his war experience another story surfaced. That's where I started having fun. It's really not hard to tell a story when you're just wondering around the facts. Thanks for enjoying. I'd LOVE to hear some of yours!