In the year 1745 he was taken at sea by a French man-of-war
off Louisbourg, after making a desperate resistence. His ship was in a
sinking condition and the blood was mid-leg deep on her deck. Your
grandfather was an upstanding man and did not prostrate easily, but the
Frencher was too big, so he was captured and later found his way as a
prisoner to Quebec. He was exchanged by a mistake in his identity for
Huron indians captivated in York, and he subsequently settled near
Albany, afterwards bringing my mother, two sisters, and myself from
Marblehead.
He engaged in the indian trade, and as I was a rugged lad of my years I
did often accompany him on his expeditions westward into the Mohawk
townes, thus living in bark camps among Indians and got thereby a
knowledge of their ways. I made shift also to learn their language, and
what with living in the bush for so many years I was a hand at a pack or
paddle and no mean hunter besides. I was put to school for two seasons
in Albany which was not to my liking, so I straightway ran off to a
hunters camp up the Hudson, and only came back when my father would say
that I should not be again put with the pedegogue. For this adventure I
had a good strapping from my father, and was set to work in his trade
again. My mother was a pious woman and did not like me to grow up in
the wilderness--for it was the silly fashion of those times to ape the
manners and dress of the Indians.
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