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 them. 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: but now we may say, as Job, "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return: the Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." 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 "I shall not die but live, and declare the works of the Lord: the Lord hath chastened me sore yet he hath not given me over to death" (Psalm 118.17-18). "Look here, mother," says he, "did you read this?" And here I may take occasion to mention one principal ground of my setting forth these lines: even as the psalmist says, to declare the works of the Lord, and His wonderful power in carrying us along, preserving us in the wilderness, while under the enemy's hand, and returning of us in safety again. And His goodness in bringing to my hand so many comfortable and suitable scriptures in my distress. But to return, 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 aweeping, 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 a maze, and like one astonished. But now I may say as Psalm 137.1, "By the Rivers of Babylon, there we sate down: yea, we wept when we remembered Zion." 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.
The next morning we had to cross the Connecticut River to meet King Philip. They had already carried over two canoe-loads of people. I was to go on the next trip. But just as I put my foot on the canoe to step in, a sudden outcry rose among them. I had to step back. Instead of crossing, I had to travel four or five miles farther north along the river. Some of the Indians ran one way, and some another. I thought the confusion came from their spotting some English scouts nearby. Around noon, as we traveled upriver, the group stopped and sat down. Some ate, and others rested. As I sat among them, thinking about the past, my son Joseph unexpectedly came to me. We asked how each other was doing and mourned our miserable condition and how our lives had changed. We had had a husband and father, children, sisters, friends, relatives, a house, a home, and many comforts in life. But now we could say, like Job, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I asked Joseph whether he wanted to read. He told me he wanted to very much. I gave him my Bible, and he came upon this comforting passage: "I will not die but live, and proclaim the works of the Lord. The Lord has punished me severely, yet he has not handed me over to death" (Psalm 118.17-18). "Look here, mother," he said, "have you read this?" Here I may mention one of my main reasons for writing this account. As the psalmist says, I want to proclaim the works of the Lord. I want to tell of his wonderful power in sustaining us and preserving us in the wilderness while our enemies held us. He also brought us back safely. And I want to tell of his goodness in bringing me so many comforting, fitting scriptures in my distress. But to return to my story, we traveled until night. In the morning, we had to cross the river to Philip's people. While in the canoe, I could not help being amazed at the great number of pagans on the opposite bank. When I came ashore, they gathered all around me, and I sat alone in their midst. I noticed them asking one another questions, laughing, and celebrating their gains and victories. Then my courage began to fail, and I started weeping. As far as I remember, this was the first time I had wept in front of them. Although I had suffered so much, and my heart had often been close to breaking, I had shed no tears before them. Instead, all this time I had been dazed, like someone stunned. But now I could say, as in Psalm 137.1, "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yes, we wept when we remembered Zion." One of them asked why I was crying. I hardly knew what to say. Yet I answered that they would kill me. "No," he said, "no one will hurt you." Then one of them came and gave me two spoonfuls of meal to comfort me. Another gave me half a pint of peas. These gifts were worth more to me than many bushels would have been at another time. Then I went to see King Philip. He invited me to come in and sit down, and asked whether I wanted to smoke. Offering tobacco is a common courtesy nowadays among saints and sinners alike. But the offer did not suit me at all. Although I had once used tobacco, I had given it up when I was first captured. Tobacco seems to be bait the devil lays to make people waste their precious time. I remember with shame how, after smoking two or three pipes, I was immediately ready for another. Tobacco is that bewitching. But I thank God that he has now given me power over it. Surely many people could spend their time better than sitting around sucking on a stinking tobacco pipe.
Now the Indians gather their forces to go against Northampton. Over night 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 spake 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 spake to me to make a shirt for her sannup, 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 the room of it; which corns were the greatest provisions I had in my travel for one day.
Now the Indians gathered their forces to attack Northampton. During the night, one man went around yelling and hooting to announce the plan. Then they began boiling groundnuts and roasting corn for provisions, at least those who had corn. In the morning, they left. While I stayed in this place, Philip asked me to make a shirt for his boy. I did, and he gave me a shilling for it. I offered the money to my master, but he told me to keep it. With the money, I bought a piece of horse meat. Later, Philip asked me to make a cap for his boy and invited me to dinner in return. I went, and he gave me a pancake about as big as two fingers. It was made from roasted wheat, ground up and fried in bear fat. Yet I thought I had never tasted more pleasant food in my life. A Native woman asked me to make a shirt for her husband. She gave me a piece of bear meat in return. Another woman asked me to knit a pair of stockings and gave me a quart of peas as payment. I boiled my peas and bear meat together and invited my master and mistress to dinner. But the proud woman would eat nothing because I served the peas and meat together in one dish. She ate only one bite that my master gave her on the tip of his knife. When I heard that my son had come to this place, I went to see him. I found him lying flat on the ground. I asked him how he could sleep like that. He answered that he was not asleep but praying. He lay that way so they would not notice what he was doing. I pray God that my son may remember these things now that he has returned safely. The sun was now rising higher. Between its glare and heat and the smoke from the wigwams, I thought I would go blind. I could hardly tell one wigwam from another. Mary Thurston of Medfield was there and saw how much I was suffering. She lent me a hat to wear. But as soon as I left, the Native woman who held Mary Thurston captive ran after me and took it back. Here, a Native woman gave me one spoonful of meal. I put the meal in my pocket to keep it safe. Even so, someone stole it, but left five kernels of Indian corn in its place. Those kernels were the most food I had for one day of my journey.
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.
The Indians returned from Northampton with some horses, sheep, and other things they had taken. I asked them to take me to Albany on one of those horses and sell me for gunpowder. They had sometimes talked about doing that. I had no hope at all of getting home on foot by the route I had come. I could hardly bear to think of the many weary steps I had taken to reach this place.