JOHN GYLES Links at bottom of page:
EDITOR'S NOTE - The Thomas Gyles family settled on Merrymeeting Bay in 1669, on part of the property now owned by Dr. and Mrs. Robert Cummins. The site they chose at that time was a vast, untracked forest. Open hostility between the pioneers and the Indians often flamed into bloody warfare.
The Gyles family was raided by Indians in 1689. One boy in that family was spared death, and carried into slavery by the Indians. That lad lived through the ordeal, and years later, he recorded his experiences on paper. The following account was written by Dr. Cummins, based on the actual journal left so long ago by young John Gyles. F.D.C.
(NOTE: Evidence seems to suggest that by the time of the raid the Gyles family had moved and was living near Pemaquid.)
Hordes of whooping Indians from French Arcadia overran New England's earliest settlements with deadly regularity in the pioneer days - shooting, scalping, plundering and burning. Paint smeared braves hatcheted men, women and children; or dragged them off to a life of slavery in the northern woods. These grisly forays were a part of the struggle between France and England for control of North America . . . a struggle that would continue sporadically until 1759.
Thomas Gyles and his wife managed to escape the savagery for nearly 20 years. During these two decades the pair prospered in that tiny cabin near the Bay and they brought five children into the world. Thomas Jr., the eldest, was 16 years old in 1689. James, aged 14, was named for an uncle who had settled at Pemaquid. John (our subject), aged nine, was named for an uncle back in England. There was a daughter named Margaret, and a young boy named Tad.
The year, as we have said, was 1689. A band of Maliseet Indians from the Saint Johns River Basin in New Brunswick came down the coast on a summer raiding trip. They entered Merrymeeting Bay and laid waste to the tiny Gyles settlement.
We turn now to a diary kept by John Gyles, and to the entry dated August 2, 1689:
"My honored father took my two eldest brothers and me to a field near the river. We planned to spend the day gathering the harvest. After we had dined at noon, we went again to our labors, some in one field gathering corn, while the others went to a nearby field to gather hay. About one o'clock, we heard shots. My father expressed the hope that they had been fired by British soldiers stationed in the area to protect the inhabitants.
We retreated to our barn where, to our great surprise, 30 or 40 Indians discharged a volley of shot at us from behind rising ground. The whistling of their shot and their horrid howls so terrified me that I tried to run away. My brothers went one way and I ran another.
Looking back, I saw a stout, painted fellow after me with a gun and a cutlass, which any moment, I expected to feel crashing through my brains. I tripped and the Indian came upon me, seizing my left hand. He offered me no abuse, but tied my arm tightly, then lifted me up and led me away. The Indians also captured my brother James, but Thomas, my elder brother, made good his escape across the river.
After doing what mischief they could to the farm, the Indians made us sit with them as they ate; then we were marched eastward a quarter mile, where we halted again, and my father was brought to us.
My father stated he was a dying man and he wanted an opportunity to pray with his children. The Indians called my father a brave man, and allowed his request. Father solemnly recommended us to the protection of God, then he gave us his best advice; and finally, very weakly - he took his leave. He parted with a cheerful voice, but he looked so pale, because of his great loss of blood. The Indians led him aside, then I heard the dull blow of a hatchet, but not a shriek or groan from father."
On and on they went, through the woods and along the waterways; John always trotting, sometimes running at the heels of the Indians to keep up. John soon learned his captor's name was O-ski-tchm, and he realized that this Maliseet was not a cruel man.
The war party, numbering about a hundred braves and led by French officers, prodded their prisoners ever faster along the tree lined trails. At last, the column arrived east of Pemequid, where the Indians had cached their canoes. After a night's rest at New Harbor, the birchbark canoe procession of Indians and their captives pushed into the salty Atlantic rollers for the journey up the coast to the Penobscot.
At a French fort on the Penobscot (probably Castine), John was able to speak with both his mother and brother James. John met a Jesuit Missionary at the fort named Father N. Thury. To this fine Puritan lad, the meeting with the robed priest must have been equal to a personal call by Satan himself. The priest offered O-ski-tchin gold for the boy, but the Indian refused. The dark skinned, painted Indian fostered a fond liking for the fair-haired boy.
Father Thury guessed the boy was hungry, and gave John a biscuit. John put the bread in his pocket and later abandoned it under a log. Famished though he was, he feared the offering might contain a potion to make him susceptible to the blandishments of Popery.
When John's mother heard that the boy might be sold to a priest, she said, (quoting from Gyles' diary), "Oh, my dear child, if it be God's will, I'd rather follow you to your grave than see you sold to a Jesuit; for the Jesuit would ruin you, body and soul."
Apparently it was one thing to be carried into the wilds by savages, but to the iron-willed Puritan, it was infinitely worse to fall into the clutches of this alien.
The journey into Canada proved uneventful for John and the other captives. Eventually they found themselves inside a stockaded Indian fort outside present-day Lower Woodstock, New Brunswick. The Indian name for that compound which John now had to call home was Meductic.
John adjusted quickly to his new life at Meductic. He began to learn the Indian tongue; and soon, was hunting, fishing and gardening with the women and children of the village. Escape was ever in the minds of the captives at Meductic. Liberation by English forces was all they had to live for.
But John Gyles did not stay long at Meductic, O-ski-tchin soon took the lad farther into the wilds. John recalls that day in his diary:
"We left Meductic and went up the Saint John River about ten miles . . . to where there was a wigwam. At our arrival, an old squaw saluted me with a yell, taking me by the hair and one hand; but I was so rude as to break her hold and free myself. She gave me a filthy grin and the Indians set up a laugh, so the incident was passed over. Here we lived upon fish, wild grapes, roots, berries, etc., for several months."
With the coming of winter, John and the ten Indians in O-ski-tchin's wigwam paddled inland until their passage was blocked by ice. At that point, the Indians hid their canoes and set out afoot through the wilds. It was tough going for the boy and, without the support and encouragement of the Indians, Gyles guessed he might have perished that winter. In his diary, John tells of the joy of his company when a moose was captured for food, and when a mother bear was taken with her four fat cubs. John endured real hardship that winter; but spring finally arrived and the winter hunt had proved rewarding; so, in canoes made of moose skins, the party came out of the deep woods to Meductic and the French Traders.
While John existed with the Indians, learning to hunt with a bow, handle a canoe and speak their language, events were speeding by in the outside world that would affect him greatly.
The French -Indian assault that brought tragedy to the Gyles and other families in 1689; plus the attack against Falmouth the following summer, brought fierce reprisal from the English. An expedition led by Sir William Phipps attacked and burned Port Royal, the citadel of French power in North America.
One evening while seated at a campfire, O-ski-tchin said quite matter-of-factly to John, "You had a brother taken with you that day on Merrymeeting Bay"... Eager for any news, John said, "Yes, my brother James . . . have you heard news of him?"
The numbing answer uttered by the Indian burned John Gyles' ears. "Your brother is dead," said O-ski-tchin. After three years of captivity, James had escaped from his Penobscot captor, but the Indians had overtaken James as he fled desperately down river. James had been tortured, then burned to death.
Another blow came on the heels of the news about James. "John," said O-ski-tchin, "I have sold you to my brother Husa. I am moving deeper into the woods and you can't follow." John was a bitter and shattered young man of 15 by now, having lived with the Indians six long years. His mind boiled with just one thought. Escape to the south.
But fate was not through with John Gyles. Several days after he had moved in with the Indian Husa, that old man died. On that same day, O-ski-tchin returned and again claimed rights to John. The feud between O-ski-tchin and Husa's widow was taken to a Jesuit for final judgment. The Priest, Father Simon, suggested that John be sold out of the tribe and that the money from his sale be divided between the widow and O-ski-tchin. The two liked that idea.
No sale was made immediately and O-ski-tchin took John up river to a place he called Jemseg, where a French friend of the Indian lived. After some discussion between the Indian and the Frenchman, Sieur de Chauffours, John was ushered into the house and informed he was now the property of this French nobleman. All that John could think of was the last words and wishes of his mother. He was terrified.
John soon realized that life with the French family could be far better than the one he had known with the Indians. Within the year, Marguerite Guyon de Chauffeurs was sewing him a new wardrobe. Even better, he was teaching her English and she was teaching him French. John had his own quarters, and he was free to wander anywhere on the plantation grounds.
John was still a slave, but at seventeen, he was living as a member of the de Chauffeurs family. He helped the Frenchman during repeated trading sessions with the Indians of the area. For John, it was an uncommon year of slavery.
Later in that same year, (1697), Sieur de Chauffeurs was obliged to sail to France on business for several months. Thoughts of the trip made the Frenchman jittery, for he had reports that the English to the south were preparing an offensive against Acadia. He feared what might happen to his family and home while he was gone.
The Frenchman did leave his family at Jemseg, but first he entrusted them and his property to the care of his slave John Gyles. A bond of respect and affection united the two men, in spite of the fact they belonged to opposing and warring nations.
Actual news of the renewed assault by the British reached the estate at Jemseg less than a fortnight after Chauffeurs' ship had cleared for Fundy Bay. "Little English," cried the madame, "The English are upon us. They are burning our villages, and destroying our homes." The lady's voice turned hysterical. She felt so alone.
What a quandary for John Gyles! For him English ships and freedom were only hours away, yet he could not ignore the pleas of Madame de Chauffeurs. He made his decision quickly.
John directed the other slaves on the estate to carry the stores and valuables from the main house into the woods, where they might be safe from destruction when the British struck. He then penned a bold note and nailed it to the front door:
"I entreat the General of the English not to burn my house or barn, nor destroy my cattle. I have shewn kindness to English captives as we were capacitated, and have bought two captives of the Indians and sent them to freedom in Boston. I have one captive with me now, and he shall go to freedom when an opportunity presents itself, and he wants to leave." The lady signed the note, then John signed it himself.
Gyles took the family and the farmhands in a large boat and fled up an eastern branch of the Saint John to Grand Lake. For days they hid in a wilderness shelter, listening to the echo of guns across the miles of forest. When the guns finally fell silent, the refugees moved back down the river, expecting to find the once grand estate in ruins. To their amazement, however, they found the note had saved the house. Not even an out-building had been plundered!
The Sieur de Chauffeurs returned the next spring, happy indeed to find that his estate had been spared while all others on the river lay in ruin. He thanked John endlessly, telling him he could have his freedom immediately, or he could remain there at Jemseg; not as a slave, but as a son of the Frenchman, and heir to his considerable wealth.
John chose freedom and Boston. The Sieur and his lady were saddened by John's choice, but they understood his feelings and said they would honor his decision. On June 13, 1698, John was placed on an English sloop bound for Boston. The vessel bearing John Gyles arrived in Boston, June 18. After breakfast aboard the sloop in the harbor, John was hailed to the deck by a handsome, well-dressed young man.
"You are John Gyles, the former Indian captive?" the young man asked. "I am," John replied eagerly, "and I hope that you have news of my family, for I fear that I have not seen them for so long that I would recognize none but my dear mother."
"Your mother is dead," said the messenger, "the Indians released her and your sister Margaret, but I fear that your mother died of a broken heart. She worried so about you."
"My brothers," asked John. "James was slain I know, but what of Thomas, and of little Tad, can you tell me their fate?"
"Thomas is at home this moment preparing a feast to honor your return, John," said the young stranger, who added, "I didn't know how to tell you before, but I am little Tad."
Because of John Gyles linguistic skills and intimate knowledge of the Indians, he was engaged for many years after his return as an interpreter at Pejebscot (what is now Brunswick). He was commissioned first as a lieutenant, then as a captain in the Army. While serving in the military, John was named by the Pejebscot Proprietors to build Fort George at Brunswick Falls, on the Androscoggin River. Gyles built the garrison of stone, completing the 50 foot square compound by November 25, 1715. In return for his labors, Gyles was given some ten acres of land west of the fort to erect a saw mill or a grist mill. He also built a house on the site, and lived there for ten years.
Gyles eventually left Brunswick, moving to Salisbury, Massachusetts, where he became a prosperous inn keeper. While living in Brunswick however, he must have returned at least a few times to that cellar hole near the bay shore where his life had been disrupted many years before. Those visits must have carried him back to the days in captivity, and caused him to re!ive many memories, some good and some bad.
Early Canadiana Online - John Gyles - First
Version
A copy of his original version at the Canadiana Online website
Memoirs
of odd adventures, strange deliverances, &c. in the captivity of
John Gyles, Esq.,
(Text of John Gyles' account of his capture and captivity)
Early Canadiana Online - John Gyles - Second
Version
A
copy of James Hannay's version at the
Canadiana Online website
This version is easier to resd.)
Travellers and Explorers, 1583&endash;1763. John Gyles.
40.
Captured by the Indians BY JOHN GYLES (1736)101
Hart, Albert Bushnell with Mabel Hill . Camps and
Firesides of the Revolution Electronic Text Center,
University of Virginia Library