Thus the place was
completely surrounded. The signal was then given: they all screeched
the war-whoop together, burst in the doors with hatchets, and fell to
their work. Roused by the infernal din, the villagers leaped from
their beds. For some it was but a momentary nightmare of fright and
horror, ended by the blow of the tomahawk. Others were less fortunate.
Neither women nor children were spared. "No pen can write, and no
tongue express," wrote Schuyler, "the cruelties that were committed."
[Footnote: "The women bigg with Childe rip'd up, and the Children
alive throwne into the flames, and their heads dashed to pieces
against the Doors and windows." _Schuyler to the Council of
Connecticut_, 15 _Feb_., 1690. Similar statements are made by Leisler.
See _Doc. Hist. N. Y._, I. 307, 310.] There was little resistance,
except at the block-house, where Talmage and his men made a stubborn
fight; but the doors were at length forced open, the defenders killed
or taken, and the building set on fire. Adam Vrooman, one of the
villagers, saw his wife shot and his child brained against the
door-post; but he fought so desperately that the assailants promised
him his life. Orders had been given to spare Peter Tassemaker, the
domine or minister, from whom it was thought that valuable information
might be obtained; but he was hacked to pieces, and his house burned.
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