belonging to Narragansett, Long Island, and Pequod, who had all been at work about seven weeks with one Mr. Jonathan Tyng, of Dunstable, upon Merrimack River; and, hearing of the war, they reckoned with their master, and getting their wages, conveyed themselves away without his privity, and, being afraid, marched secretly through the woods, designing to go to their own country.”  However, they were released soon after.  Such were the hired men in those days.  Tyng was the first permanent settler of Dunstable, which then embraced what is now Tyngsborough and many other towns.  In the winter of 1675, in Philip’s war, every other settler left the town, but “he,” says the historian of Dunstable, “fortified his house; and, although `obliged to send to Boston for his food,’ sat himself down in the midst of his savage enemies, alone, in the wilderness, to defend his home.  Deeming his position an important one for the defence of the frontiers, in February, 1676, he petitioned the Colony for aid, “humbly showing, as his petition runs, that, as he lived “in the uppermost house on Merrimac river, lying open to ye enemy, yet being so seated that it is, as it were, a watch-house to the neighboring towns, “he could render important service to his country if only he had some assistance,” there being, “he said,” never an inhabitant left in the town but myself.”  Wherefore he requests that their “Honors would be pleased to order him three or four men to help garrison his said house,” which they did.  But methinks that such a garrison would be weakened by the addition of a man.

    “Make bandog thy scout watch to bark at a thief,
     Make courage for life, to be capitain chief;
     Make trap-door thy bulwark, make bell to begin,
     Make gunstone and arrow show who is within.”

Thus he earned the title of first permanent settler.  In 1694 a law was passed “that every settler who deserted a town for fear of the Indians should forfeit all his rights therein.”  But now, at any rate, as I have frequently observed, a man may desert the fertile frontier territories of truth and justice, which are the State’s best lands, for fear of far more insignificant foes, without forfeiting any of his civil rights therein.  Nay, townships are granted to deserters, and the General Court, as I am sometimes inclined to regard it, is but a deserters’ camp itself.

As we rowed along near the shore of Wicasuck Island, which was then covered with wood, in order to avoid the current, two men, who looked as if they had just run out of Lowell, where they had been waylaid by the Sabbath, meaning to go to Nashua, and who now found themselves in the strange, natural, uncultivated, and unsettled part of the globe which intervenes, full of walls and barriers, a rough and uncivil place to them, seeing our boat moving so smoothly up the stream, called out from the high bank above our heads to know if we would take them as passengers, as if