inhabitants relapsed into their old habits; and some even began to
believe that the rumored descent of the Indians was only a pretext for
quartering upon them two-score of lazy, rollicking soldiers, who
certainly seemed more expert in making love to their daughters, and
drinking their best ale and cider, than in patrolling the woods or
putting the garrisons into a defensible state. The grain and hay harvest
ended without disturbance; the men worked in their fields, and the women
pursued their household avocations, without any very serious apprehension
of danger.

Among the inhabitants of the village was an eccentric, ne'er-do-well
fellow, named Keezar, who led a wandering, unsettled life, oscillating,
like a crazy pendulum, between Haverhill and Amesbury. He had a
smattering of a variety of trades, was a famous wrestler, and for a mug
of ale would leap over an ox-cart with the unspilled beverage in his
hand. On one occasion, when at supper, his wife complained that she had
no tin dishes; and, as there were none to be obtained nearer than Boston,
he started on foot in the evening, travelled through the woods to the
city, and returned with his ware by sunrise the next morning, passing
over a distance of between sixty and seventy miles. The tradition of his
strange habits, feats of strength, and wicked practical jokes is still
common in his native town. On the morning of the 29th of the eighth
month he was engaged in taking home his horse, which, according to his
custom, he had turned into his neighbor's rich clover field the evening
previous. By the gray light of dawn he saw a long file of men marching
silently towards the town. He hurried back to the village and gave the
alarm by firing a gun. Previous to this, however, a young man belonging
to a neighboring town, who had been spending the night with a young woman
of the village, had met the advance of the war-party, and, turning back
in extreme terror and confusion, thought only of the safety of his