It was a pleasant morning of the 7th of June.  The governor had not yet arrived.  The settlers, thrown off their guard by the friendly message which the chiefs had returned, were scattered about in the fields engaged in their daily avocations.  Between eleven and twelve o’clock at noon, an unusual number of savages spread themselves through the villages and entered the dwellings.  They were apparently, as usual, entirely unarmed, though it afterwards appeared that they had concealed weapons.  They brought corn, beans, and other trifling articles for sale.

Suddenly the war-whoop was uttered from one savage throat as a signal, and was instantly re-echoed by a hundred others.  Tomahawks and knives and battle-axes gleamed in the air, and the work of extermination was instantly and energetically commenced.  The settlers were taken entirely by surprise.  Every Indian had marked his man.  Neither women nor children were spared.  Those who could not easily be captured were struck down.  Many of the Indians speedily regained their guns which they had concealed in the grass.  Houses were plundered and set on fire.

But the colonists did not submit to their fate without valiant resistance.  For several hours the most deadly battle raged.  The yells of the savages, and the shrieks of wounded women and children, devoured by the flames which consumed their dwellings, were awful beyond any power of the pen to describe.

Roelof Swartwout was entrusted with the municipal government at Esopus.  His office of Schout somewhat resembled that of a mayor in one of our modern cities.  He displayed much presence of mind and bravery on this occasion.  Rallying a few bold men around him, he at length succeeded in driving the savages from within the palisades and in shutting the gates.  Several hours of this awful conflict had now passed.  Evening had come.  Devastation, ruin, death surrounded them.  The outer village was in ashes.  The fields were strewn with the bodies of the dead.  The half-burned corpses of women and children were to be seen amidst the smoking cinders of their former homes.

The village within the palisades had been set on fire.  A few houses had been burned, consuming the mangled remains of those who had fallen beneath the tomahawk and battle-axe of the Indian.  Fortunately a change of the wind had saved most of the village from destruction.  Swartwout and his brave little band, protected by the palisades, were able through the loop-holes, to strike down any Indian, who should appear within reach of their bullets.  They were now safe.

But this awful storm of war, which had passed over their beautiful valley had, in three short hours of a summer’s afternoon, converted the whole scene into a spectacle of almost unearthly misery.  Every dwelling outside of the palisades was in ashes.  Several within the enclosure were consumed, and the charred bodies of the dead were intermingled with the blackened timbers.  Twenty-one of the settlers had been killed outright.  Nine were severely wounded.  Forty-five, mostly women and children, were taken captive, to be carried into bondage more dreadful than death.