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. 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."
When morning came, they prepared to continue their journey. One of the Indians mounted a horse, and they placed me behind him with my poor sick baby in my lap. It was an exhausting, miserable day. I had my own wound to bear, and my child was terribly sick and suffering from her wound. You can easily imagine how weak we were. From Wednesday night to Saturday night, neither of us had so much as a crumb to sustain us. We had only a little cold water. That afternoon, with about an hour of sunlight left, we reached their destination. It was an Indian town called Wenimesset, north of Quabaug. When we arrived, oh, how many pagans, now merciless enemies, gathered around me! I could say with David, "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed, etc." (Psalm 27.13). The next day was the Sabbath. I remembered how careless I had been with God's holy day. I thought of how many Sabbaths I had wasted, and how wickedly I had lived in God's sight. These thoughts weighed so heavily on my spirit that I could easily see how justly God could end my life. He could cast me out of his presence forever. Yet the Lord still showed me mercy and sustained me. Just as he wounded me with one hand, he healed me with the other. That day, Robert Pepper, a man from Roxbury, came to see me. He had been captured in Captain Beers's fight and had spent a considerable time with the Indians. He told me he had traveled with them almost as far as Albany to see King Philip. He had only recently come into this area. When he heard I was in this Indian town, he obtained permission to visit me. He told me he had been wounded in the leg at Captain Beer's fight. For a time, he could not travel unless they carried him. But he put oak leaves on his wound, and through God's blessing he was able to travel again. Then I put oak leaves on my side, and with God's blessing, the leaves healed me too. Yet before I healed, I could say, as in Psalm 38.5-6, "My wounds stink and fester. I am troubled and bowed down greatly. I mourn all day long." I spent much of my time sitting alone with my poor wounded child in my lap. She moaned night and day. I had nothing to restore her strength or lift her spirits. Instead, one Indian would come and tell me, "Your master will strike your child in the head and kill her." Then a second would come, and then a third, saying, "Your master will soon strike your child in the head and kill her."
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.
This was the comfort they gave me. As he said, you are all miserable comforters. For nine days I knelt with my baby in my lap, until my skin was raw again. My child was close to leaving this sorrowful world when they told me to carry her to another wigwam. I suppose they did not want to be troubled by such a sight. I went with a very heavy heart and sat down with the image of death in my lap. About two hours into the night, my sweet baby passed from this life like a lamb, on February 18, 1675. She was about six years and five months old. Nine days had passed since she was first wounded. During that miserable time, she had received no relief of any kind, except a little cold water. At other times, I could not bear to be in a room with a dead person. But now everything had changed. I had to lie beside my dead baby all that night, and I could bear it. Since then, I have thought about God's wonderful goodness in preserving my reason and senses during that terrible time. He kept me from using wicked and violent means to end my own miserable life. In the morning, when they learned my child was dead, they summoned me back to my master's wigwam. By my master, I mean Quinnapin, a Sagamore who had married the sister of King Philip's wife. He was not the man who first captured me. Another Narragansett Indian captured me when I first came out of the garrison and then sold me to Quinnapin. I went to lift my dead child into my arms and carry her with me. But they told me to leave her alone. I could not resist them. I had to go and leave her there. After reaching my master's wigwam, I took the first chance I could to go back for my dead child. When I arrived, I asked what they had done with her. They told me she was on the hill. Then they showed me the place. I saw freshly dug earth, and they told me they had buried her there. There I left my child in the wilderness. I had to entrust her, and myself in this wilderness, to him who is above all. After God took this dear child away, I went to see my daughter Mary. She was in the same Indian town, in a wigwam not far away. But we had little freedom or opportunity to see each other. She was about ten years old. A Praying Indian had first captured her at the door, and she was later sold for a gun. Whenever I came into view, she would begin to cry. Her crying angered her captors. They would not let me come near her and told me to go away. Those words cut me to the heart. One child was dead. Another was somewhere in the wilderness, and I did not know where. They would not let me near the third: "You have taken my children from me, as he said. Joseph is gone, and Simeon is gone, and you will take Benjamin too. All these things are against me." I could not sit still in this condition, but kept walking from place to place. As I walked, thoughts of my situation nearly overwhelmed me. I had children, yet a people I did not know ruled over them. So I earnestly begged the Lord to consider my miserable condition and show me a sign of his favor. If it was his blessed will, I asked for some sign and hope of relief. And indeed, the Lord soon answered my poor prayers in some measure. As I walked about, mourning and grieving over my condition, my son came and asked how I was. I had not seen him since the town was destroyed, and I did not know where he was. He told me he was with a smaller group of Indians, about six miles away. With tears in his eyes, he asked whether his sister Sarah was dead. He told me he had seen his sister Mary and begged me not to worry about him. This was how he came to visit me. As I said, there was a small Indian settlement about six miles away. Apparently, he had been held there during his captivity. At this time, some Indian fighters from our group joined others from that settlement to attack and burn Medfield. My son's master was among them. While his master was away, his master's wife brought him to see me. I took his visit as a gracious answer to my earnest and sincere prayer. The next day, the Indians returned from Medfield. The whole force passed through the town where we were staying, including those from the smaller settlement. But even before they reached us, what furious roaring and whooping there was! They began their noise about a mile away. Their cries and whoops announced how many people they had killed, twenty-three on that occasion. The Indians who had stayed with us gathered as soon as they heard the whooping. Each time the returning fighters repeated the number, those waiting shouted until the very earth echoed. They continued until the fighters reached the Sagamore's wigwam. Then came hideous taunting and triumphant celebration over the Englishmen's scalps they had taken and brought back, as was their custom. I cannot overlook God's wonderful mercy in sending me a Bible during those troubles. One of the Indians returning from the fight at Medfield had brought some plunder. He came to me and asked whether I wanted a Bible. He had one in his basket. I was glad and asked whether he thought the Indians would let me read. He said yes. So I took the Bible. In that sorrowful time, I thought first of reading chapter 28 of Deuteronomy, and I did. After reading it, my darkened heart told me there was no mercy for me. The blessings were gone, curses had taken their place, and I had lost my chance. But the Lord helped me keep reading until I reached the first seven verses of chapter 30. There I found a renewed promise of mercy if we returned to him in repentance. Though we were scattered from one end of the earth to the other, the Lord would gather us together. He would turn all those curses against our enemies. I hope I never live to forget this Scripture or the comfort it gave 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."
Now the Indians began talking about leaving this place, some going one way and some another. Besides me, there were nine English captives here (all of them children, except one woman). I had a chance to go and say goodbye to them. Since they were going one way and I another, I asked whether they prayed earnestly to God for deliverance. They told me they prayed as best they could. It comforted me somewhat that the Lord moved children to turn to him. The woman, goodwife Joslin, told me she would never see me again and felt like running away. I urged her not to run away under any circumstances, for we were nearly thirty miles from any English town. She was heavily pregnant, with only a week left before she expected to give birth. She also carried another child in her arms, two years old. There were difficult rivers to cross, and we were weak from our poor, meager food. I had my Bible with me, so I took it out and asked whether she would read. We opened the Bible to Psalm 27. We paid particular attention to the last verse: "Wait for the Lord. Be courageous, and he will strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, for the Lord."