(from Mary Rowlandson,
The Soveraignty & Goodness of God, Being a
Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of
Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, 1682)
AFTER THE FOUNDING of Plymouth and the Bay Colony, two major wars were fought with the Indians. The first, the Pequot War (1636–37), was waged along the Connecticut shoreline. The second was called King Philip’s War (1675–76) after the Indian chief who raided an arc of villages twenty to forty miles north, west, and south of Boston. It was the fiercest of New England’s wars, and pivotal for the survival of the colonists.
As the settlers moved inland from the seacoast, speculators purchased land from the Indians. But the Indians’ concept of owning land was communal, while the colonists’ was proprietary. To live, a hunting Indian needed twenty times more land than a farmer did. When the Indians deeded land to the colonists, they thought the unused land was to be shared, not vacated; their hunting and fishing rights to be continued, not abrogated. Over time, the pioneer settlements moved within ten to forty miles of the Indian villages. This was near enough to heighten the Indians’ fear of encroachment, near enough for trading, and near enough for attack.
Upon the death of Massasoit, chief sachem of the Wampanoag tribe, who were the original friends of the Pilgrims, the tribe elected his son, King Philip, as his successor. Philip dressed with the flourish of a king, ran up bills in Boston, and sold land to pay for his debts. For nine years he watched and plotted as his hunting lands slowly shrank. In 1671 he was forced to acknowledge the English king, observe the king’s laws, pay tribute, and follow the advice of Plymouth in matters of war and the disposal of Indian lands. Silent and sullen, he faced a simple choice: total subjugation or total war, for which he would need the help of neighboring tribes. Philip brought into his league the Narragansetts (southwest of Providence) and the Nipmucks (around Sturbridge, Massachusetts), who were squeezed between the western settlements of the Bay Colony and those on the Connecticut River.
In June 1675 King Philip struck his first blow. From his base near Bristol, Rhode Island, he attacked Swansea (near Fall River), Massachusetts, then turned on Dartmouth (near Bedford). Escaping north, Philip had aroused the fear, wrath, and military union of Plymouth, the Bay Colony, and Connecticut.
The tempo quickened. The Indians struck Mendon, Massachusetts, in July, Lancaster and Brookfield in August, then, between September and December, the towns along the Connecticut River—Northfield, Deerfield, Hadley, Hatfield, and Springfield. In December attacks began against the arc of towns outside Boston, first Worcester and then Concord. In February 1676 it was Medfield and Lancaster, where Mrs. Rowlandson’s story begins. The raids continued through June, against Plymouth, Weymouth, Scituate, Chelmsford, and Groton. All told, the Indians assaulted thirty-nine towns and destroyed sixteen.
The settlers defended their villages from selected strong houses. At the first alarm, the townspeople would run to these garrisoned forts to fight. Thus surprise coupled with hit-and-run tactics was essential to the Indians’ success.
Mary Rowlandson was the wife of the minister in Lancaster during King Philip’s War. She writes, in this excerpt from a 1682 edition of her autobiographical narrative, The Soveraignty & Goodness of God, Being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, of the sack of Lancaster and her first ten days as a captive in three “removes,” or camps. After eighty-two days of captivity, she was ransomed for twenty pounds. Following the ordeal, she and her surviving son and daughter returned to Boston to be reunited with her husband.
ON THE TENTH of February, 1676, about sunrise, the Indians attacked Lancaster. Hearing the noise of some guns, we looked out. Several houses were burning, and the smoke ascending to heaven. There were five persons taken in one house. The father, the mother, and a suckling child they tomahawked. The other two they took and carried away alive. There were two others, who were set upon outside of their garrison. One was tomahawked, the other escaped. Another, running along, was shot and wounded, and fell down. He begged of them his life, promising them money, but they would not hearken to him, but tomahawked him and stripped him naked, and split open his bowels. Another, seeing many of the Indians about his barn, ventured and went out, but was quickly shot down. There were three others belonging to the same garrison who were killed. The Indians getting up upon the roof of the barn, had the advantage to shoot down upon them over their fortification. Thus these murderous wretches went on burning and destroying all before them.
At length they came and beset our own house, and quickly it was the dolefulest day that ever mine eyes saw. The house stood upon the edge of a hill. Some of the Indians got behind the hill, others into the barn, and others behind any thing that would shelter them. From all which places they shot against the house, so that the bullets seemed to fly like hail. They wounded one man among us, then another, and then a third. After two hours, they brought flax and hemp to set the house afire. They fired it once and one of our men ventured out and quenched it. But they quickly fired it again, and it took.
Now came the dreadful hour. Some in our house were fighting for their lives, others wallowing in their blood. The house on fire over our heads, and the bloody heathen ready to tomahawk us if we stirred out. Now might we hear mothers and children crying out for themselves, and one another, Lord, what shall we do? Then I took my children (and one of my sisters her’s) to go forth and leave the house. But as soon as we came to the door, and appeared, the Indians shot so thick, that the bullets rattled against the house, as if one had taken a handful of stones and threw them, so that we were fain to fall back.
But out we must go. The fire increasing, and coming along behind us, roaring, and the Indians gaping before us with their guns, spears, and hatchets, to devour us. No sooner were we out of the house, but my brother-in-law (being wounded in the throat, defending the house), fell down dead. Whereat the Indians scornfully shouted, and hallooed, and were presently upon him, stripping off his clothes. The bullets were flying thick, one went through my side, and the same (as it would seem) through the bowels and hand of my dear child in my arms, only six years old. One of my elder sister’s children, named William, had then his leg broken, which the Indians perceiving, they tomahawked him. Thus were we butchered by those merciless heathens, standing amazed, with blood running down to our heels.
My elder sister being yet in the house, and seeing those woeful sights, the infidels hauling mothers one way, and children another, and some wallowing in their blood, and her eldest son telling her that her son William was dead, and myself was wounded, she said, And, Lord let me die with them: which was no sooner said, but she was struck with a bullet, and fell down dead over the threshold. The Indians laid hold of us, pulling me one way, and the children another, and said, “Come, go along with us.” I told them they could kill me. They answered, if I were willing to go along with them, they would not hurt me.
Oh, the doleful sight that now was to behold at this house! Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he has made in the earth. Of thirty-seven persons who were in this one house, none escaped either present death, or a bitter captivity, save only one, who might say as in Job i.15: And I only am escaped to tell the news. There were twelve killed, some shot, some stabbed with their spears, some tomahawked. When we are in prosperity, oh, the little that we think of such dreadful sights, and to see our dear friends and relations lie bleeding out their heart’s blood upon the ground. There was one who was chopped into the head with a hatchet, and stripped naked, and yet was crawling up and down. It is a solemn sight to see so many Christians lying in their blood, some here, and some there, like a company of sheep torn by wolves. All of them stripped naked by a company of hell-hounds, roaring, singing, ranting and insulting, as if they would have torn our very hearts out; yet the Lord by his almighty power preserved a number of us from death, for there were twenty-four of us taken alive and carried captive.
I had often before this said, that if the Indians should come, I should choose rather to be killed by them, than taken alive; but when it came to the trial, my mind changed; their glittering weapons so daunted my spirit, that I chose rather to go along with those (as I may say) ravenous bears, than that moment to end my days. And that I may better declare what happened to me during that grievous captivity, I shall particularly speak of the several Removes we had up and down the wilderness.
THE FIRST REMOVE
Now away we must go with those barbarous creatures, with our bodies wounded and bleeding, and our hearts no less than our bodies. About a mile we went that night, up upon a hill within sight of our town, where they intended to lodge.
This was the dolefulest night that ever my eyes saw. Oh the roaring and singing and dancing and yelling of those black creatures in the night, which made the place a lively resemblance of hell; and as miserable was the waste that was there made, of horses, cattle, sheep, swine, calves, lambs, roasting pigs, and fowl, (which they had plundered in the town), some roasting, some lying and burning, and some boiling, to feed our merciless enemies, who were joyful enough, though we were disconsolate.
To add to the dolefulness of the former day, and the dismalness of the present night, my thoughts ran upon my losses and sad bereaved condition. All was gone, my husband gone (at least separated from me, he being in the Bay; and to add to my grief, the Indians told me they would kill him as he came homeward); my children gone, my relations and friends gone, our house and home and all our comforts within door and without, all was gone, except my life, and I knew not but the next moment that it might go too. There remained nothing to me but one poor wounded babe and it seemed at present worse than death, that it was in such a pitiful condition, bespeaking compassion and I had no refreshing for it, nor suitable things to revive it.
THE SECOND REMOVE
But now, the next morning, I must turn my back upon the town, and travel with them into the vast and desolate wilderness, I knew not whither. It is not my tongue nor pen can express the sorrows of my heart, and bitterness of my spirit, that I had at this departure: but God was with me in a wonderful manner, carrying me along, and bearing up my spirit, that it did not quite fail.
One of the Indians carried my poor wounded babe upon a horse; it went moaning all along: “I shall die, I shall die.” I went on foot after it, with sorrow that cannot be expressed. At length I took it off the horse and carried it in my arms till my strength failed, and I fell down with it. Then they set me upon a horse with my wounded child in my lap, and there being no furniture upon the horse’s back, as we went down a steep hill, we both fell over the horse’s head at which they like inhuman creatures laughed, and rejoiced to see it, though I thought we should there have ended our days, overcome with so many difficulties. But the Lord renewed my strength still, and carried me along that I might see more of his power.
After this it quickly began to snow and when night came on they stopped. And now I must sit down in the snow before a little fire, and a few boughs behind me, with my sick child in my lap, and calling much for water, being now (through the wound) fallen into a violent fever. My own wound was also growing so stiff that I could scarce sit down or rise up; yet so it must be that I must sit all this cold winter night upon the cold snowy ground, with my sick child in my arms looking that every hour would be the last of its life, and having no Christian friend near me, either to comfort or help me. Oh, I may see the wonderful power of God, that my spirit did not utterly sink under my afflictions; still the Lord upheld me with his gracious and merciful spirit, and we were both alive to see the light of morning.
THE THIRD REMOVE
The morning being come, they prepared to go on their way. One of the Indians got up on a horse and they set me up behind him with my poor sick babe in my lap. A very wearisome and tedious day I had of it; what with my own wound, and my child being so exceedingly 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 refreshment 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 an Indian town called Wenimesset. When we were come, oh the number of pagans (our merciless enemies) that there came about me! I might say, as David, Psal.xxvii.13. I had fainted, unless I had believed, etc. 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 closely upon 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. Then I took oak 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 Psal.xxxviii. 5, 6. My wounds stick and are corrupt, I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day long. I sat much alone with my 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 tomahawk her, and then a second and then a third, your master will quickly knock your child in the head.
This was all 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 upon 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), whit her 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 February 18, 1675, it being about six years and five months old. It was about nine days from the first wounding in this miserable condition, without any refreshing of one nature or another, 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 can 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 sense in that distressed time, that I did not use wicked and violent means to end my own 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 Quanopin, 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 awhile at my master’s wigwam, I took the first opportunity I could 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.