The following is an excerpt from The Collections of the New Hampshire Historical Society, Volume II, Published in Concord NH by Jacob B. Moore, Librarian in 1827:
History is the grand spy-glass which enables us to take a view of a variety of interesting objects of antiquity at once, and generally the more distant the object, the more wonderful and interesting they appear when brought within the field view of intelligence. Hence it is, that, while the ingenuity of historians has been employed in prying into the most rare foreign productions, on the catalogue of human exploits, many equally worthy the attention of the patriot and philanthropist, in our neighborhood, slumber in the tomb of oblivion unnoticed and unknown. Some of our own fore fathers, whose bones quietly repose beneath the sods of our own valleys, and whose achievements live only in the memories of their children can boast of deeds that will be the theme of admiration to historians some thousand years hence. Their hardships, their sufferings, their preservation and prosperity in a wilderness of enemies, their heroic defence against surrounding multitudes of hostile savages, are subjects which excite very little attention among those who are now enjoying the “milk and honey” of the land, but which ought to be enrolled among the deeds of Theban and Spartan valour.
We have made these remarks prefatory to the following sketch of one of the most chivalrous exploits the annals of our country can produce.
In the year 1749, John Kilburn, the hero of the following story, came to Walpole, N. H. The large and fertile meadows at the mouth of Cold River, slightly covered with butternut and elm, presented an inviting prospect to the new settlers, and an easy harvest to the hand of cultivation.— Here he built a log hut, and for two years lived in the solitude of the forest without any intercourse with friend or foe. He often sought opportunities to cultivate the friendship of the Indians, but on every occasion they studiously avoided him. During this time his life was one continual scene of danger and hardship, constantly exposed to the inclemencies of the weather and the secret attacks of an insidious foe. And what rendered his situation still more uncomfortable, he was obliged to camp out at different places each night, “the cold earth his bed,” with a bear skin for a covering, and a cartridge box for his pillow, in order to avoid the midnight prowling of the savages, who were watching in concealment for an opportunity to strike the deadly blow, and who often paid their nocturnal visits at his dwelling, and took from him such articles as might contribute to their convenience or the gratification of their wanton disposition. Very different is the situation of those, who are now cultivating the same soil, planting at their leisure the luxuriant corn, and reaping in ease and affluence the fruits of their land about a mile south of Kilburn’s, the site now occupied by the out buildings of Esq. T. Bellows labors.
In 1751, Col. Benjamin Bellows obtained the charter of Walpole, and began a settlement on the land about a mile south of Kilburn’s, the site now occupied by the out buildings of Esq. T. Bellows.. There was a fort also at Charlestown, then called Number Four. This addition to the strength of the white settlers, induced the Indians to treat them with more respect. About this time a company came down the river, landed their boats above the falls, and invited Kilburn to trade with them He visited their boats, bought some skins, and made some presents of flints, flour and fish-hooks. From this time the Indians continued to hunt and encamp about the neighborhood, and the report of their guns and the smoke of their wigwams were mingled with the familiar occurrences of life.
The affairs of the settlers continued to prosper till 1755, when the first alarming incident occurred to disturb the happiness and security of the whites. Two men by the name of Twitchell and Flint, who had gone back to the hills about a mile east to procure some ash timber for oars, were shot by the Indians; one of them was scalped, the other they cut open, and took out his heart, cut it in pieces and laid it on his breast.
This was the first christian blood spilt in Walpole. Their bodies were buried near where they were found; on a ridge of land the west side of the road, about two miles north of Walpole village, towards Drewsville, points out the spot hallowed by the remains of the first victims of Indian massacre. The solemn impression this occurrence made upon the minds of the new settlers was not soon effaced. It is said the guardian spirit of Twitchell continued to hover over his friends, warning them of the wiles and hostile intention of the Indians, as long as his murderers continued to live. A remarkable rock in Connecticut river, where he used to fish with never failing success, was for a long time held in religious veneration ; and to this day such is the propitious influence of the presiding spirit, that few of the angling votaries who come to worship on the “Twitchell Rock,” return without taking from the limpid stream a generous fry.
The massacre of Twitchell and Flint was the first harbinger of the rupture of the negotiation for peace between England and France, and the commencement of those horrid scenes of Indian barbarity that ensued.
In the spring of 1755, an Indian by the name of Philip, who had acquired just English enough to be understood, visited Kilburn's house pretending to be on a hunting excursion in want of provisions. He was treated with kindness, and furnished with everything he wanted, such as flints, flour, &c.— Soon after he was gone, it was ascertained that the same Indian had visited all the settlements on Connecticut river about the same time, and with the same plausible pretensions of hunting. Kilburn had already learned a little of the Indian finesse, and suspected, as it proved, that this Philip was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Not long after, the following intelligence was communicated to all the forts, by a friendly Indian, sent by General Shirley, from Albany. He stated that four or five hundred Indians were collected in Canada, whose object it was to butcher the whole white population on Connecticut river. Judge then of the feelings of a few white settlers, when they learned the impending danger. To desert their soil, cattle and crops of grain, would be leaving their all, and to con tend with the countless savages of the Canadian regions, was a hopeless resort. But accustomed to all the hardships and dangers of life, they boldly resolved to defend themselves or die in the cause. Kilburn and his men now strengthened their defence with such fortifications as their rude implements would allow, which consisted in surrounding their habitation with a pallisado of stakes stuck into the ground.
Col. Benjamin Bellows had at this time about 30 men under his command at the fort about a mile south of Kilburn's house, but this could afford Kilburn no protection while attending to his cattle and crops.
They were now daily expecting the appearance of the Indians, but the time of their attack no one could foresee or prevent. Before their arrival perhaps we may have time to describe the situation of Kilburn's house, and the surrounding scenery.
Passing down Connecticut river from Bellows Falls on the east bank, the eye is feasted with an endless variety of the most romantic scenes in nature. On the left, Fall mountain presents his terrific and almost perpendicular front more than five hundred feet high, which threatens to crush the traveller as he follows the narrow pass, or hurl him into the foaming abyss below. On the right, the rolling surges of the angry Connecticut keep up a ceaseless struggle with the stubborn, jagged rocks; it seems a sublime war of the elements. Pass along and view the rent rocks, the huge broken fragments which have been precipitated either by their own weight or some convulsion in nature, quite into the bed of the river; some just adhering to the sloping side of the mountain, some suspended as by enchantment almost over your head. Along this narrow defile was the great Indian tract from Charlestown to Walpole meadows; here was the head of shad navigation, the great fishing ground from time immemorial ; here was the spot so congenial to their wild natures, so fruitful for the projection of warlike exploits and murderous excursions.
As we emerge from this narrow pass, we come to the site of an ancient Indian village, now occupied by Wightman's tavern, where they celebrated their sepulchral rites, and where the plough and harrow are annually exposing to view their various implements of war and mouldering remains. Cold River, half concealed with the shady maple and lofty graceful elm, detains us a short time with her gentle whispers. After crossing this stream and passing on the turnpike towards Walpole village about fifty rods, we find before us an open meadow about half a mile across. Near the centre of this meadow was planted the first corn in Walpole; here was erected the first dwelling for civilized man; here four men boldly defended themselves against as many hundred Indians, and here moulder the bones of their slaughtered enemies.— We are now on consecrated ground, within a few rods of the spot where stood Kilburn's hut; we instinctively stop, turn our face to the east and view one of nature’s most perfect amphitheatres, seemingly designed for deeds of noble doings. On the brow of that circular eminence to the east, which rises about 40 feet, and from which now issues a medicinal spring, were stationed 200 Indians when the little garrison in the log house were summoned to surrender. But we must no longer dwell on the descriptive; the Indians are coming just behind us, and have already crossed Cold river and are now in ambush.
Kilburn and his son John, in his eighteenth year, a man by the name of Peak, and his son, were returning home from work about noon, August 17th, 1795, when one of them discovered the red legs of the Indians among the alders “as thick as grass hoppers.” They instantly made for the house, fastened the door, and began to make preparations for an obstinate defence. Beside these four men, there were in the house, Kilburn's wife and his daughter Hitty, who contributed not a little to encourage and assist their companions, as well as to keep a watch upon the movements of the enemy. In about 15 minutes, the Indians were seen crawling up the bank east of the house, and as they crossed a foot path one by one, 197 were counted; about the same number remained in ambush near the mouth of Cold river.
The Indians had learned that Col. Benjamin Bellows with his men were at work at his mill about a mile east, and that it would be best to waylay and secure them before disturbing those who had taken refuge in the log house. Bellows and his men (about 30) were returning home with each a bag of meal on their backs, when their dogs began to growl and betray symptoms of an enemy's approach. He well knew the language of his dogs, and the native intrigue of the Indians. Nor was he at loss in forming his opinion of their intention to ambush his path, and conducted himself accordingly. He ordered all his men to throw of the meal, advance to the rise, carefully crawl up the bank, spring upon their feet, give one whoop and instantly drop into the sweet fern. This maneuver had the desired effect; for as soon as the whoop was given the Indians all arose from their ambush in a semicircle around the path Bellows was to follow.
This gave his men a fine chance for a shot, which they improved instanter. The first shot so disconcerted the plans and expectations of the Indians that they darted away into the bushes without firing a gun. Bellows finding their number too numerous for his, ordered his men to file off to the south and make for the Fort. The Indians next appeared on the eminence east of Kilburn's house when the same “old devil” Philip, who had visited him the summer before, came forward and securing himself behind a tree called out to those in the house to surrender. “Old John, young John,” says he, “I know you, come out here—We give ye good quarter.” “Quarter,” vociferated old Kilburn, with a voice of thunder, that rang through every Indian heart, and every hill and valley, “You black rascals, begone, or we’ll quarter you.”
Who would have anticipated this more than Spartan reply from four men, when called upon by as many hundreds to deliver up their arms.
Philip then returned to his companions, and after a few minutes consultation, the war whoop commenced, as if (to use the expression of an ear witness) “all the devils in h--ll had been let loose.”— Kilburn was so lucky as to get the first fire before the smoke of the enemies' guns obstructed his aim; and was confident he saw an Indian fall, which from his extraordinary size and other appearances must have been Philip. The Indians rushed forward to the work of destruction ; and probably not less than 400 bullets were lodged in Kilburn’s house at the first fire. The roof was a perfect “riddle sieve.” Some of them fell to butchering the cattle, others were busily employed in wantonly destroying the hay and grain, while a shower of bullets kept up one continual pelting against the house. Meanwhile Kilburn and his men were by no means idle. Their powder was already poured into hats for the convenience of loading in a hurry, and everything prepared for a spirited defence or glorious death. They had several guns in the house which were kept hot by incessant firing through the port holes, and as they had no ammunition to spare, each one took special aim, to have every bullet tell. The women, with true Grecian firmness, assisted in loading the guns, and when their stock of lead grew short, they had the forethought to suspend blankets in the roof of the house to catch the enemies' bails, which were immediately run into bullets by them, and sent back to the savages with equal velocity. Several attempts were made to burst open the doors, but the bullets within scattered death with such profusion, that soon compelled them to desist from the rash undertaking. Most of the time the Indians endeavored to keep behind stumps, logs and trees, which evidently evinced, that they were not insensible to the unceremonious visits of Kilburn’s bullets.
All the afternoon one incessant firing was kept up till nearly sundown, when the Indians began to disappear; and as the sun sunk behind the western hills, the sound of the guns and the cry of the war whoop died away in silence. This day's rencounter proved an effectual check to the expedition of the Indians, and induced them immediately to return to Canada; and it is within the bounds of reason to conclude, that this matchless defence was instrumental in rescuing hundreds of our fellow citizens from the horrors of an Indian massacre. Thus did our intrepid Leonidas, not with 300 but only three followers, repulse the congregated forces of the Canadian savages.
Seldom has it fallen to the lot of any of our fore fathers, by personal courage and valor, to reap a more brilliant crown of laurels than that won by Kilburn on that memorable day. Only one of this invincible band of heroes was wounded. Peak by exposing himself too much before the port hole, received a ball in his hip, which for want of surgical aid proved fatal the 5th day.
During the whole of the Indian and French war, that continued till 1763, the Indians never after wards made their appearance in Walpole. Kilburn lived to see the town of Walpole populous and flourishing, his fourth generation on the stage, and reciprocate with them all the comforts and enjoyments of civilization. He possessed an honest heart, manifested in his upright deportment, a christian temper, and died in the expectation of seeing that country where wars and fighting’s never come. A substantial, plain, unpolished stone, indicative of the character which he maintained, points out the spot in Walpole burying ground, where sleep his mortal remains with this inscription:
“In memory of JOHN KILBURN, who departed this life for a better, April 8th, 1789, in the 85th year of his age. He was "The first settler of this Town, in 1749.”
His son “young John” for the last time revisited the field of his youthful exploits in 1814. After that he resided in Shrewsbury, Vt. with his children, till he died, which was in 1822.
