A BALLAD 

In which is set forth the horrid cruelties practiced by the French and Indians on the night of 8th of last February. The which i did compose last night in the space of one hour; and am now writing, the morning of Fryday, June 12th, 1690. 

W.W.

God prosper long our. king and queen,
Our lives and safeties all;
A, sad misfortune once there did
Schenectady befall.

From forth the woods of Canada
The Frenchmen tooke their way,
The people of Schenectady
To captivate and slay.

  They marched for two and twenty daies,
All through the deepest snow;
And on a dismal winter night,
They strucke. the cruel blow.

  The lightsome sun that rules the day
Had gone down in the west;
And eke the drowsy villagers
Had sought and found their reste.

They thought they were in saftie all,
And dreampt not of the foe;
But att midnight they all awoke;
In wonderment and woe.

For they were in their pleasant beddes,
And soundelie sleeping, when
Each door was sudden open broke
By six or seven men.

  The men and women, younge and olde,
And eke the girls and boys,
All started up in great affright,
Att the alarming noise.

  They then were murtber's in their beddes,
Without shame or remorse;
And soone the floors and streets were strew'd
With many a bleeding corse.

  The village soon began to blaze,
Which shew'd the horrid sight---
But, 0, 1 scarce can beare to tell,
The misries of that night.

They threw the infants in the fire,
The men they did not spare;
But killed all which they could find,
Though aged or tho' fair.

0 Christe! In the still midnight air,
It sounded dismally;
The women's prayers, and the loud screams
Of their great agony.

Me thinks as if I hear them now
All ringing in my ear;
The shrieks and groans and woeful sighs
They uttered in their fear.

But some run off to Albany,
And told the dolefull tale;
Yet though we gave our chearful aid,
It did not much avail.

And we were horribly afraid,
And shook with terror, when
They told us that the Frenchmen were
More than a thousand men.

  The news came on the Sabbath morn
Just att the break of day,
And with a companie of horse,
I galloped away.

  But soon we found the French were gone
With all their great bootye;
And then their trail we did pursue,
As was our true dutye.

  The Mohaques joynd our brave partye,
And followed in the chase,
Till we came up with the Frenchmen,
Att a most likelye place.

  Our soldiers fell upon their rear,
And killed twenty-five;
Our young men were so much enraged
They took scarce one alive.

  D'Aillebout tham did commande,
Which were but thievish rogues,
Else why did they consent and goe,
With bloodye Indian dogges?

  And here I end the long ballad,
The which you just have redde;
I wish that it may stay on earth
Long after I am dead.

  Walter Wilie

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