39 Mary Rowlandson Captivity Narrative (1676)

Mary Rowlandson (1637-1711) was a colonial woman who was captured by Native Americans in 1676 during King Philip’s War and held captive for eleven weeks before being ransomed. Rowlandson’s three children were also taken captive, a six-year-old daughter dying of her wounds after about a week. Although she disliked the Indians, Rowlandson admitted she was treated well and not abused. Six years later, Mary wrote a captivity narrative that became extremely popular in New England in the 1680s.

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 the town, where they intended to lodge. There was hard by a vacant house, deserted by the English before, for fear of the Indians. I asked them whether I might not lodge in the house that night, to which they answered, “What, will you love Englishmen still?” This was the dolefullest 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.

The morning being come, they prepared to go on their way. One of the Indians got up upon 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’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.

The first week of my being among them I hardly ate any thing. The second week I found my stomach grow very faint for want of something, and yet it was very hard to get down their filthy trash. But the third week, though I could think how formerly my stomach would turn against this or that, and I could starve and die before I could eat such things, yet they were sweet and savory to my taste.

On the morrow morning we must go over the river, i.e. Connecticut, to meet with King Philip. Two canoes full they had carried over, the next turn I myself was to go. But as my foot was upon the canoe to step in there was a sudden outcry among them and I must step back, and instead of going over the river I must go four or five miles up the river farther northward. Some of the Indians ran one way and some another. The cause of this rout was, as I thought, their espying some English scouts who were thereabout. In this travel up the river about noon the company made a stop and sat down; some to eat and others to rest. As I sat amongst them, musing of things past, my son Joseph unexpectedly came to me. We asked of each other’s welfare, bemoaning our doleful condition and the change that had come upon us. We had husband and father, and children, and sisters, and friends, and relations, and house, and home, and many comforts of this life. I asked him whether he would read. He told me he earnestly desired it, I gave him my Bible, and he lighted upon that comfortable Scripture.

We traveled on till night and in the morning we must go over the river to Philip’s crew. When I was in the canoe I could not but be amazed at the numerous crew of pagans that were on the bank on the other side. When I came ashore, they gathered all about me, I sitting alone in the midst. I observed they asked one another questions, and laughed, and rejoiced over their gains and victories. Then my heart began to fail and I fell to weeping, which was the first time to my remembrance that I wept before them. Although I had met with so much affliction and my heart was many times ready to break, yet could I not shed one tear in their sight but rather had been all this while in amaze and like one astonished. There one of them asked me why I wept. I could hardly tell what to say, yet I answered, they would kill me. “No,” said he, “none will hurt you.” Then came one of them and gave me two spoonfuls of meal to comfort me and another gave me half a pint of peas which was more worth than many bushels at another time. Then I went to see King Philip. He bade me come in and sit down and asked me whether I would smoke it (a usual compliment nowadays amongst saints and sinners) but this no way suited me. For though I had formerly used tobacco, yet I had left it ever since I was first taken. It seems to be a bait the devil lays to make men lose their precious time. I remember with shame how formerly, when I had taken two or three pipes, I was presently ready for another, such a bewitching thing it is. But I thank God, He has now given me power over it; surely there are many who may be better employed than to lie sucking a stinking tobacco-pipe.

Now the Indians gather their forces to go against Northampton. Overnight one went about yelling and hooting to give notice of the design. Whereupon they fell to boiling of ground nuts and parching of corn (as many as had it) for their provision, and in the morning away they went. During my abode in this place, Philip spoke to me to make a shirt for his boy. Which I did, for which he gave me a shilling. I offered the money to my master, but he bade me keep it and with it I bought a piece of horse flesh. Afterwards he asked me to make a cap for his boy, for which he invited me to dinner. I went and he gave me a pancake about as big as two fingers. It was made of parched wheat, beaten and fried in bear’s grease, but I thought I never tasted pleasanter meat in my life. There was a squaw who spoke to me to make a shirt for her sannup [husband], for which she gave me a piece of bear. Another asked me to knit a pair of stockings, for which she gave me a quart of peas. I boiled my peas and bear together and invited my master and mistress to dinner. But the proud gossip, because I served them both in one dish, would eat nothing except one bit that he gave her upon the point of his knife. Hearing that my son was come to this place, I went to see him and found him lying flat upon the ground. I asked him how he could sleep so? He answered me that he was not asleep but at prayer and lay so, that they might not observe what he was doing. I pray God he may remember these things now he is returned in safety. At this place (the sun now getting higher) what with the beams and heat of the sun and the smoke of the wigwams, I thought I should have been blind. I could scarce discern one wigwam from another. There was here one Mary Thurston of Medfield, who seeing how it was with me, lent me a hat to wear. But as soon as I was gone, the squaw who owned that Mary Thurston came running after me, and got it away again. Here was the squaw that gave me one spoonful of meal. I put it in my pocket to keep it safe. Yet notwithstanding, somebody stole it, but put five Indian corns in place of it; which corns were the greatest provisions I had in my travel for one day.

The Indians returning from Northampton, brought with them some horses and sheep and other things which they had taken. I desired them that they would carry me to Albany upon one of those horses and sell me for powder, for so they had sometimes discoursed. I was utterly hopeless of getting home on foot, the way that I came. I could hardly bear to think of the many weary steps I had taken, to come to this place.

Source: The Open Anthology of Earlier American Literature, Chapter 38. https://pressbooks.pub/openamlit/chapter/the-first-remove/