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 English men still?" 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 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. Little do many think what is the savageness and brutishness of this barbarous enemy, Ay, even those that seem to profess more than others among them, when the English have fallen into their hands.
Now we had to go with those barbarous creatures, our bodies wounded and bleeding, and our hearts no less wounded. We traveled about a mile that night, up a hill within sight of the town, where they planned to camp. Nearby stood an empty house, which the English had abandoned earlier for fear of the Indians. I asked whether I could stay in the house that night. They answered, "What, will you still love English men?" This was the most sorrowful night I had ever seen. Oh, the roaring, singing, dancing, and yelling of those black creatures in the night made the place vividly resemble hell. Just as wretched was the waste of animals they had plundered from the town. There were horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, calves, lambs, suckling pigs, and poultry. Some were roasting, some lay burning, and some were boiling to feed our merciless enemies. Our enemies were full of joy, though we were heartbroken. Adding to the sorrow of the previous day and the misery of that night, I thought of everything I had lost. I was bereft. Everything was gone. My husband was gone, or at least separated from me, since he was in the Bay. To add to my grief, the Indians told me they would kill him on his way home. My children were gone, my relatives and friends were gone. Our house, our home, and all our comforts, indoors and out, were gone. Nothing remained except my life, and I did not know whether I might lose that the next moment too. I had nothing left but one poor, wounded baby. At that moment, my baby's pitiful condition seemed worse than death, crying out for compassion. Yet I had no nourishment or suitable supplies to restore my baby's strength. Many people little imagine the savagery and brutality of this barbarous enemy when the English fall into their hands. Yes, even those among them who seem to profess greater religious devotion than the others.
Those seven that were killed at Lancaster the summer before upon a Sabbath day, and the one that was afterward killed upon a weekday, were slain and mangled in a barbarous manner, by one-eyed John, and Marlborough's Praying Indians, which Capt. Mosely brought to Boston, as the Indians told me.
Seven people were killed at Lancaster on a Sabbath day the previous summer. Another person was killed later on a weekday. All eight were brutally killed and mutilated by one-eyed John and Marlborough's Praying Indians. Capt. Mosely brought the Indians to Boston. This is what the Indians told me.