I don’t usually do this. But over the years I have heard many people say, “Oh, life was simpler back then.” Really? Let me tell you a family story from 1697. Forget the buneficent, curly hairstyles, the lace fans, tea on a finely manicured lawn. This is a story with some real depth. A week after delivering her 12th child, 39-year-old Hannah Emerson Dustin (my 8th great aunt) was kidnapped in an Indian raid on Haverhill, Massachusetts. Her midwife, Mary Neff was also taken, along with baby Martha and over twenty other English captives. Hannah saw her home ransacked, burned, and her baby killed. It was mid March, and she had lost a shoe in the struggle out the door. It was cold and muddy; snow still on the ground in some spots. She probably had on little more than her shift. Hannah didn’t know if her family were alive. But her husband, Thomas, had mounted his horse and led their nine children to safety. There was no time to go back for his wife and baby. When Hannah discovered they were on their way to Canada to be sold to the French, her blood must have run cold…then boiled. Should she accept her fate? Well, clearly she didn’t or there would be no story. Hannah decided to escape or die trying. They knew they would have to employ stealth. One night, as their captors slept, Hannah, along with Mary and a young English boy named Samuel Lenordson attacked with hatchets. They killed all but two. Hannah took their scalps, and put them in the cloth they had cut from her loom. Then the three of them got the hell out of there in a canoe. Cold and hungry, filthy and gaunt; by sheer force of will they made it back to Haverhill. Hannah was reunited with Thomas and their children. The house Tom took Hannah to upon her return still stands in Haverhill today. If you think Hannah was off the hook because she was white, you’d be wrong. In fact, she could very well have been charged with murder. Why wasn’t she? Admittedly, I’m no expert on Puritan legalities. The bounty on scalps was actually no longer on the books. She took them as proof of what had happened. Because of this, her case was considered extreme, so the bounty was awarded to her husband. Hannah was free to go home and live her life. Here’s my question: Why was her case extreme? Because she was a woman. Women didn’t kill. Women were not capable of such violence. They were the life-givers, the nurturers, keepers of all that was moral and virtuous. Blah, blah, blah…Would her experience have been sensational had she been born a Henry and not a Hannah? Please. I recently saw a photograph of the statue of Hannah in Boscawen, NH, on what is now called Dustin Island (where the massacre took place). Nearby some graffiti had been sprayed: “What are you so proud of?” I find that a very valid and essential question. My answer: It has nothing to do with pride. This was a woman placed in an unthinkable situation. She wanted to go home to those she loved. In an age when women were not allowed to own their personal power, she looked her fate square in the eye and grabbed it by its horns. And no doubt she lived with PTSD (known then as Nostalgia) for the next forty years until her death. To me, Hannah is not a hero. Hannah is not a villain. No. Hannah is a survivor. When I portray this woman in her home at the 1697 Duston-Dustin Garrison House, visitors (often her own descendants) sometimes say to her, “Goody Dustin, you are a hero!” But to their shock, she vehemently denies it. In truth, Hannah would be mortified to know she was the first woman in North America to have not one but two statues erected in her honor. But, when you get right down to it, the statues aren’t for her, are they? They are for us. What do I mean by that? They are reminders of what happens when non-combatants are forced into the horror of war. When I gaze up at Hannah’s face at her other statue in Haverhill, I hear a whisper: “Let not what happened to me and mine be so ever again.” This is what happens when an Us vs Them mentality is allowed to thrive. This is what happens when my god is better than your god. This is what happens when my culture is superior to yours. This is what happens when you make a promise you never intend to keep; when you sign a treaty one day and break it the next. This is what happens in a world at war. It has nothing to do with pride. Still think life was simpler back then? Anyway, that’s my take on it. Visit the 1697 Duston-Dustin Garrison House and see for yourself.
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