Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson
sick babe in my lap. A very wearisome and tedious day I had of it; what
with my own wound, and my child's being so exceeding sick, and in a
lamentable condition with her wound. It may be easily judged what a
poor feeble condition we were in, there being not the least crumb of
refreshing that came within either of our mouths from Wednesday night
to Saturday night, except only a little cold water. This day in the
afternoon, about an hour by sun, we came to the place where they
intended, viz. an Indian town, called Wenimesset, northward of Quabaug.
When we were come, Oh the number of pagans (now merciless enemies) that
there came about me, that I may say as David, "I had fainted, unless I
had believed, etc" (Psalm 27.13). The next day was the Sabbath. I then
remembered how careless I had been of God's holy time; how many Sabbaths
I had lost and misspent, and how evilly I had walked in God's sight;
which lay so close unto my spirit, that it was easy for me to see how
righteous it was with God to cut off the thread of my life and cast me
out of His presence forever. Yet the Lord still showed mercy to me, and
upheld me; and as He wounded me with one hand, so he healed me with the
other. This day there came to me one Robert Pepper (a man belonging
to Roxbury) who was taken in Captain Beers's fight, and had been now a
considerable time with the Indians; and up with them almost as far as
Albany, to see King Philip, as he told me, and was now very lately come
into these parts. Hearing, I say, that I was in this Indian town, he
obtained leave to come and see me. He told me he himself was wounded in
the leg at Captain Beer's fight; and was not able some time to go, but
as they carried him, and as he took oaken leaves and laid to his wound,
and through the blessing of God he was able to travel again. Then I took
oaken leaves and laid to my side, and with the blessing of God it cured
me also; yet before the cure was wrought, I may say, as it is in Psalm
38.5-6 "My wounds stink and are corrupt, I am troubled, I am bowed down
greatly, I go mourning all the day long." I sat much alone with a poor
wounded child in my lap, which moaned night and day, having nothing
to revive the body, or cheer the spirits of her, but instead of that,
sometimes one Indian would come and tell me one hour that "your master
will knock your child in the head," and then a second, and then a third,
"your master will quickly knock your child in the head."
This was the comfort I had from them, miserable comforters are ye all,
as he said. Thus nine days I sat upon my knees, with my babe in my lap,
till my flesh was raw again; my child being even ready to depart this
sorrowful world, they bade me carry it out to another wigwam (I suppose
because they would not be troubled with such spectacles) whither I went
with a very heavy heart, and down I sat with the picture of death in my
lap. About two hours in the night, my sweet babe like a lamb departed
this life on Feb. 18, 1675. It being about six years, and five months
old. It was nine days from the first wounding, in this miserable
condition, without any refreshing of one nature or other, except a
little cold water. I cannot but take notice how at another time I could
not bear to be in the room where any dead person was, but now the case
is changed; I must and could lie down by my dead babe, side by side all
the night after. I have thought since of the wonderful goodness of
God to me in preserving me in the use of my reason and senses in that
distressed time, that I did not use wicked and violent means to end my
own miserable life. In the morning, when they understood that my child
was dead they sent for me home to my master's wigwam (by my master in
this writing, must be understood Quinnapin, who was a Sagamore, and
married King Philip's wife's sister; not that he first took me, but I
was sold to him by another Narragansett Indian, who took me when first I
came out of the garrison). I went to take up my dead child in my arms to
carry it with me, but they bid me let it alone; there was no resisting,
but go I must and leave it. When I had been at my master's wigwam, I
took the first opportunity I could get to go look after my dead child.
When I came I asked them what they had done with it; then they told me
it was upon the hill. Then they went and showed me where it was, where I
saw the ground was newly digged, and there they told me they had buried
it. There I left that child in the wilderness, and must commit it, and
myself also in this wilderness condition, to Him who is above all. God
having taken away this dear child, I went to see my daughter Mary, who
was at this same Indian town, at a wigwam not very far off, though we
had little liberty or opportunity to see one another. She was about
ten years old, and taken from the door at first by a Praying Ind. and
afterward sold for a gun. When I came in sight, she would fall aweeping;
at which they were provoked, and would not let me come near her, but
bade me be gone; which was a heart-cutting word to me. I had one child
dead, another in the wilderness, I knew not where, the third they
would not let me come near to: "Me (as he said) have ye bereaved of my
Children, Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin
also, all these things are against me." I could not sit still in this
condition, but kept walking from one place to another. And as I was
going along, my heart was even overwhelmed with the thoughts of my
condition, and that I should have children, and a nation which I knew
not, ruled over them. Whereupon I earnestly entreated the Lord, that He
would consider my low estate, and show me a token for good, and if it
were His blessed will, some sign and hope of some relief. And indeed
quickly the Lord answered, in some measure, my poor prayers; for as I
was going up and down mourning and lamenting my condition, my son came
to me, and asked me how I did. I had not seen him before, since the
destruction of the town, and I knew not where he was, till I was
informed by himself, that he was amongst a smaller parcel of Indians,
whose place was about six miles off. With tears in his eyes, he asked
me whether his sister Sarah was dead; and told me he had seen his
sister Mary; and prayed me, that I would not be troubled in reference
to himself. The occasion of his coming to see me at this time, was this:
there was, as I said, about six miles from us, a small plantation of
Indians, where it seems he had been during his captivity; and at this
time, there were some forces of the Ind. gathered out of our company,
and some also from them (among whom was my son's master) to go to
assault and burn Medfield. In this time of the absence of his master,
his dame brought him to see me. I took this to be some gracious answer
to my earnest and unfeigned desire. The next day, viz. to this, the
Indians returned from Medfield, all the company, for those that belonged
to the other small company, came through the town that now we were at.
But before they came to us, Oh! the outrageous roaring and hooping that
there was. They began their din about a mile before they came to us.
By their noise and hooping they signified how many they had destroyed
(which was at that time twenty-three). Those that were with us at home
were gathered together as soon as they heard the hooping, and every time
that the other went over their number, these at home gave a shout, that
the very earth rung again. And thus they continued till those that had
been upon the expedition were come up to the Sagamore's wigwam; and
then, Oh, the hideous insulting and triumphing that there was over some
Englishmen's scalps that they had taken (as their manner is) and brought
with them. I cannot but take notice of the wonderful mercy of God to
me in those afflictions, in sending me a Bible. One of the Indians that
came from Medfield fight, had brought some plunder, came to me, and
asked me, if I would have a Bible, he had got one in his basket. I was
glad of it, and asked him, whether he thought the Indians would let
me read? He answered, yes. So I took the Bible, and in that melancholy
time, it came into my mind to read first the 28th chapter of
Deuteronomy, which I did, and when I had read it, my dark heart wrought
on this manner: that there was no mercy for me, that the blessings
were gone, and the curses come in their room, and that I had lost my
opportunity. But the Lord helped me still to go on reading till I came
to Chap. 30, the seven first verses, where I found, there was mercy
promised again, if we would return to Him by repentance; and though
we were scattered from one end of the earth to the other, yet the Lord
would gather us together, and turn all those curses upon our enemies. I
do not desire to live to forget this Scripture, and what comfort it was
to me.
Now the Ind. began to talk of removing from this place, some one way,
and some another. There were now besides myself nine English captives
in this place (all of them children, except one woman). I got an
opportunity to go and take my leave of them. They being to go one way,
and I another, I asked them whether they were earnest with God for
deliverance. They told me they did as they were able, and it was some
comfort to me, that the Lord stirred up children to look to Him. The
woman, viz. goodwife Joslin, told me she should never see me again, and
that she could find in her heart to run away. I wished her not to run
away by any means, for we were near thirty miles from any English town,
and she very big with child, and had but one week to reckon, and another
child in her arms, two years old, and bad rivers there were to go over,
and we were feeble, with our poor and coarse entertainment. I had my
Bible with me, I pulled it out, and asked her whether she would read. We
opened the Bible and lighted on Psalm 27, in which Psalm we especially
took notice of that, ver. ult., "Wait on the Lord, Be of good courage,
and he shall strengthen thine Heart, wait I say on the Lord."
THE FOURTH REMOVE
And now I must part with that little company I had. Here I parted from
my daughter Mary (whom I never saw again till I saw her in Dorchester,
returned from captivity), and from four little cousins and neighbors,
some of which I never saw afterward: the Lord only knows the end of
them. Amongst them also was that poor woman before mentioned, who came
to a sad end, as some of the company told me in my travel: she having
much grief upon her spirit about her miserable condition, being so near
her time, she would be often asking the Indians to let her go home; they
not being willing to that, and yet vexed with her importunity, gathered
a great company together about her and stripped her naked, and set her
in the midst of them, and when they had sung and danced about her (in
their hellish manner) as long as they pleased they knocked her on head,
and the child in her arms with her. When they had done that they made
a fire and put them both into it, and told the other children that were
with them that if they attempted to go home, they would serve them in
like manner. The children said she did not shed one tear, but prayed all
the while. But to return to my own journey, we traveled about half a day
or little more, and came to a desolate place in the wilderness, where
there were no wigwams or inhabitants before; we came about the middle
of the afternoon to this place, cold and wet, and snowy, and hungry, and
weary, and no refreshing for man but the cold ground to sit on, and our
poor Indian cheer.
Heart-aching thoughts here I had about my poor children, who were
scattered up and down among the wild beasts of the forest. My head was
light and dizzy (either through hunger or hard lodging, or trouble or