IN Hatfield in the Countie of Hartford, dwelled an olde Widdowe, called Mother Dell, who had abiding with her in the house, onely her Sonne, named T. Dell: Into the house of this old woman (some foure yeares since) was seene goe in two prettie Children a Boy and a Girle, the Boy seemed not three yeares of age, and the Girle not much aboue foure. These Children were led into the said house by a wādring Pedler & his wife (or Puncke.) The going in of these chil­dren was noted by diuers, but especiallye by a Taylor dwelling in the towne called A. C. which Taylor markt them so much the more, for that they were hansomelye ap­pare [...]d and their coates made with new winges, skirtes and [...]ags, such as he had not seene the like of before, which [Page 2]made him presentlye vpon the sight of them, to make a pat­terne of those winges and Iagges: But doubting that he had not taken a true patterne, he watched to haue ano­ther sight of those Children, But when for two or three daies space hee could not see them, hee went to the house of Mother Dell, and did aske her for those Children? shee an­swered him verye shortly saying: they were safe enough, for they were gone againe with them that brought them.

With this answere the Taylor was satisfyed, because it no further conscernd him then the getting of a peece of a new fashion. But within a while after the boy was found dead in a ditch or water not farre from the Towne, with a great peece of wood tyed to his backe. The Childe being taken out, it did plainely appeare that hee was mur­thered before he was throwne in, The poore harmelesse Infant being found thus cruelly murthered, and none that looked on him taking knowledge of him. His pretty litle coate was taken and hanged vp in diuers market townes and proclamation made in euerie one of those Townes to this effect, that if any one whatsoeuer could and would tel where the Father or Mother of the murthered Childe (which wore that Coate) dwelt, he should haue fortye shil­lings for his paines, and his charges borne to bring him from and to the place where hee dwelt: But all this proo­ued to little or no purpose, till at the last, this newes came to the hearing of the Taylor, who comming to the place where the Coate was to bee seene, and taking good notice of it, he presently calde to his remembrance, that, that coate was worne by one of those Children which hee had seene goe into the house of Mother Dell.

The newes of this comming to the eares of Sir Hen­ry Butler and one other Knight, being both Iustices, and both dwelling neere to that place, a warrant was made, by veride whereof, the said Mother Dell and her Sonne were brought before them both, and strictlye examined, where they both confest y^e two such Children as the Tay­lor [Page 3]spake of, came into the house with a Pedler and his wife, and that they verily thought the Boy at that time had that coate on his backe: but all this was nothing to them, for they neither knew the Penlar nor his wife, onely they came thether to see if they had neede of any of their ware, (as it is a common vse for traueling Pedlars to cal at diuers houses) & when they had bestowed some lit­tle money with them, both hee his wife, and those Chil­dren (which they saide were theirs) went out on the back­side of the house, and what after became of them, they knew not.

Vpon this their confession, they were both bound ouer to appeare and answere at the next Assizes, the Iustices hoping ere that time to finde out the actor or actors of that more then monstrous tragedy. But alas their hopes were deceiued, for the time was not yet come wherein God had decreed to bring this cruell, barbarous, and bloody masa­cre to light: yet notwithstanding, they were still bound o­uer from Sise to Sise, almoste for foure yeares, in which time, the saide Mother Dell bestowed great cost in alte­ring repayring, and furnishing of her house, which made many of her neighbors much to wōder, for that they knew not from whence shee should haue wherewith to defray that charge.

But now let vs leaue both her and her Sonne to the bel and horror of a guiltie conscience, which alwaies waytes and attends on murtherers, and let vs now speake of the poore mangled and dismembred Girle, who was now in farre worse case then her dead Brother, had not hee which prouides for the whose world, in his good appointed tyme prouided for her: For her tongue was first cut out of her head by the rootes, then was shee led by this said Mother of mischiefe and her Sonne, (at a time when they were not seene) to the side of a wood, which was sildome fre­quented, in which place stood an old great hollow tree, which was not very high.

Hauing brought this helplesse and hopelesse child to this tree (which they ment should be her graue) the sonne got vp to the top, and rudely halled vp after him this harmles girle, who hauing seene her brother murthered before her face, had no reason to hope of life, yet did she not cease with teares and signes to begge for pitie of these pittilesse wret­ches, whose hearts being much harder then stone, would not relent: for this mercilesse villaine let her slippe into the tree where they left her, in hope neuer more to see her, or heare of her.

But he that preserued Daniel in the Lions den, and made the blinde to see, the lame to goe, and the dumbe to speake, did not onely preserue the life of this childe, but also did giue vnto her an extraordinarie strength and vigor, whereby she was able, and did make such a noyse, that a man comming by that way (not by chaunce, but surlye by the prouidence and appointment of God) hearing a strange humming, and hollow crying, drawing neare to that tree, perceiued the noyse and crie to come from thence, which made him get vp to the top of it, where being and looking downe into it, he behelde that pittifull, ruthfull, and bloody spectacle: which when he had a while looked on with pit­tie and compassion, and hauing spoke to her, and percey­uing by her signes that she could not answer him, he made meanes to drawe her out. Which when he had done, he be­gan (as may be easily imagined) to bethinke with him­selfe, what great trouble hee might come into if hee were found with the childe, he being a stranger, as it seemes he was.

And this feare of trouble (as was supposed by the graue and wise Iudge and Iustices of the Bench, when the mat­ter came to their hearing) made this man after he had pul­led her out of the tree, to make from her with all the haste he could. But the poore soule pursued him with all the haste she could, crying and calling vnto him for succor and helpe in the best manner she could, being therevnto vrged [Page 5]by paine and hunger, the least of which will force a man of a resolute and resolued spirit to breake silence, had hee vowed the contrarie: much more then being ioyned both together must they force a childe.

In briefe then, when she had lost the sight of him, God knowes what became of her, but no one man or woman can tell any certaine place of her abode for almost these foure yeares.

Many say they haue seene such a dumbe child wander vp and downe a begging, And she herselfe hath confessed (since the time that God hath lent her vse of her speech and vtterance, that she may bee easily vnderstood by any that shall heare her) that she did beg for her foode all that time.

And questionlesse, the Lord who had reserued her, both to bring so monstrous a murder, and cruell a massacre to light, and also to make manifest his almightie power to many misbeléeuing and vnbeléeuing miscreants (Atheists I meane) he, I say, as may most euidently appeare, did both preserue her, and prouide for her.

And now the time drawing neare, wherein it pleased God to giue these wicked wretches some part of of their reward, he so directed the course of this poore wandring childe, that she came backe againe to the towne of Hat­sield, where she receiued her wrongs, hauing yet no vse of speech nor vtterance, whereby she might be vnderstood. And wandring vp and downe the towne, little thinking she had beene neare the place where her innocent brother lost his life, and herselfe the instrument of her speech: but going along the streete▪ gasing here and there, as children will doe (yea and olde folkes too) when they come into a strange place, At last shee came by the house where this bloodie tragidie had beene acted: which house she no sooner sawe, but she knew, as did appeare by the signes of griefe and sorrow, which she made at the sight thereof. For what with her crying, and the extraordinarie noyse which shee made, shee drewe people about her, who did in some sorte [Page 6]seeme to greeue at the moane shee made: but surely they could not chuse but wonder, and desire to knowe what the sorrow and signes ment which the childe made. For one while she would gape wide with her mouth, drawing her fore finger to and fro it, as though she had beene cut­ting of some thing: then would she with her finger poynt into the house. And when this mother Dell and her sonne came to the doore, then her crying and her signes did séeme much to encrease, which made the lookers on to suspect much, but alas they knew not what. But at last amongst other folkes, came the Tailer before spoken of, and hee no sooner saw the child, noted her signes, and remembred the other Childe found in the water and murthered as is aforesaide, but straight he saies, that this was the other of those Children, which was ledde into that house long since by the Pedler and his Wife. Then some of the Neighbours together with the Taylor, tooke the childe and led her into the house, shee being within, stood sta­ring wildelye round about her, at last shee spied a paire of stayres, to which shee went directlye, and comming to them, shee looked earnestlye on them, looking about the house againe, she first pointed to the stayres, and then to a Corner of the house, as who should say, these stayres did stand there.

This signe the neighbors vnderstood well, because they knew the stayres had bene remooued and that made them thinke some foul [...] matter would bee pickt out of her other signes. Heereupon they beganne to lay handes on the Mother and her Sonne, to haue them againe (now with the Childe) before the Iustice, at which the childe seemed to reioyce.

Being brought before Sir Henry Butler, who was the next Iustice, (and had examined them diuers times be­fore concerning these Children) the Constable or Head bo­rough beganne to tell vnto his Worshippe the cause of their comming, and hauing related vnto him from point [Page 7]to point, what they had seene, the Childe marking, and vnderstanding them well, fell to her former signes againe before the Knight. Whereupon hee did with greate wisdome and discretion, examine them aparte, one from another. But they both remained still obstinate, and in their olde tale, confessing nothing, nor would anye of them acknowledge, that they had euer seene the Girle before, notwithstanding the Taylor did still affyrme it to their faces, that that was the Girle which the Pedler and his wife led into their house long since with the boy.

The Iustice assuring himselfe now, that these were the actors of that bloody Tragedy, & hoping that God would in time make it yet more plaine then if was, hee caused a Mittimus to be made & sent them to the Iayle, there to remaine with out dayle or maine prise vntill the Assises. And further hee willed the Constable to take the Childs backe againe with him to the Towne, and to haue a great care that she might be wel looked vnto, and to see the house of Mother Dell safely shut vp.

All this being doone according to the Knightes com­maūd, & the childes lodging & diet being much better, then it had beene long before, she began to gather both strength and spirit vnto her, and to take delight to playe amongst Children.

But now (Gentle Reader) let mee intreate thee as thou readst, not onelye to admyre and wonder, but to prayse & and magnifie the mightie maker and preseruer of vs all, for his great mercy and might shewed to this poore childe, in this next succeeding action, which if wee looke into but with the eyes of naturall reason and humane sence, it will be thought incredible and impossible. But with God no­thing is impossible, & this ought not to be thought incredi­ble, because it was so lately and so neere vnto vs done, and for that the Childe is yet liuing in Harfield, to affirme for truth, all that is heere written of her.

Now you shal vnderstand, that this girle being playing with other children on the backe-side of some mans house in the towne, where cocks, hens, & chickens were féeding, It pleased God at that time, to make a cocke to be (as it were a tutor to the child, and) his first messenger of this mightie miracle, like as a bird of the same name and na­ture, vsing the selfe same note, put Peter in minde that hee had denied his maister: from which his remembrance, sprung his true and heartie repentance. But to proceede: This child being playing (as I said before) one of the cocks in the yard began to crow, and another answered him and thus they continued aprettie while. At last one of the chil­dren began (after their maner) to mocke the cockes, cry­ing cocke-adoodle-doo: in the end this dumbe child, stray­ning her selfe, cried as t [...] rest had done, cocke-adoodle doo, which made all the children amazde: and one of them that stoode next her, said: what, canst thou speake now? I that I can (said she) speaking it so plainly that they all vnder­stoode her. The hearing of this made the children breake vp their play, and runne home with ioy to the house where this child was kept, to carrie newes. And when she came home to the house where she was kept, and the folke of the house finding the report of the children to be true, with ex­ceeding ioy (after the asking of her some few questions, to which she did answere verie directly) they led her againe to the knight before named, to whom they tolde what had happened. Which when he had heard (he being furnished with the feare of God, which is indeede the true fountaine and foundation of wisedome) hee first of all gaue thankes to God, and then he did aske her who cut out her tongue? she said, the olde woman and her sonne, that killed her bro­ther, and put her into the trée: then he asked her who tooke her out of the tree? and she saide, a man, that when hee had done did runne away from her because she could not speake to him. He likewise asked whither she went then? but alas she could not tell him: then he did aske her, who brought [Page 9]her to the old womans house first? and she said a man and a woman that had killed her father and her mother, and ta­ken a great bagge of money from them. And she said that the man and woman had giuen a great deale of that mo­ney to the olde woman: and that the olde woman did at that time lift vp her hands thrée times, and did sweare thrée times, that she would neuer tell any body who they were. These and many other questions the Knight did aske her, to all which she did answer, with more reason and sense, then is common to one of her age.

To conclude, the Sises being come, an Inditement was preferd against the mother and the sonne, to which in­ditement they pleaded not guiltie, and put themselues to the ordinarie triall. Whereupon the childe was brought before the Bench, and stoode vpon the Table betweene the Bench and the Iury. Where after that the foresaid knight had opened some part of this foule offence, the childe was asked diuerse of the former questions: to which she answe­red as before. The taylor likewise was there, who tolde vnto the Iurie what he had seene. Then the Iurie was willed to goe togither: but before they went, they did looke into the childes mouth, but could not see so much as the stumpe of a tongue therein. The Iurie staid not long be­fore they returned with their verdite guiltie, wherevpon they had sentence of death pronounced against them, and were both hanged at Hartfort the fourth day of August. 1606.

Thus farre (gentle reader) haue I set down briefly and truly the maner of this monstrous massacre. And how farre it hath pleased God to reueale some of the Authors: and for some secrete purpose best knowne to himselfe, to conceale the rest, which questionlesse shall be made knowne in his good appointed time, when it shall bee most for his honour and glorie. In the meane time, let me intreat all you which doe reade or heare this ruthfull discourse, to meditate (as I doe and will) on the many miseries and mischances man­kinde [Page 10]is subiect to, which if you doe, questionlesse you will make lesse ioy at the birth of your children, and lesse sorrow at their death then commonly you doe, and rather secke (in some sort) to imitate those Heathens, which did sing and daunce at the death of their children, then those Christians which doe mourne and sorrow as men past hope. As for the loue which ordinarily men beare vnto their children, it may more fitlye bee called loue to themselues, then to their children. For notwithstanding we all know or ought to know, that no one is truly happy till his end, if he die well, yet many (nay most of vs) doe rather desire to haue our children suruine vs, then to see them fairely bestowed before vs. Neuer thinking, respecting, or regarding, what may come to them after our death: so our humors be fed in our liues. And if this may not truly be said to be selfe-loue, I know not what is selfe-loue. Therefore let vs all and euery one of vs, referre and put our willes to Gods will, assuring our selues, that all things shall worke togither for the best, for them that loue and feare him.

As for the Pedler and his wife, which the child hath con­fest to haue robbed and kild her father and mother, they are not yet found out, nor is the place and above of her too vn­fortunate Parents yet knowne But yet all in good time, if it be the will of the Amightie, both the one and the other shall come to light.

Amen.