Instead of going toward the Bay, which was that I desired, I must go with them five or six miles down the river into a mighty thicket of brush; where we abode almost a fortnight. Here one asked me to make a shirt for her papoose, for which she gave me a mess of broth, which was thickened with meal made of the bark of a tree, and to make it the better, she had put into it about a handful of peas, and a few roasted ground nuts. I had not seen my son a pretty while, and here was an Indian of whom I made inquiry after him, and asked him when he saw him. He answered me that such a time his master roasted him, and that himself did eat a piece of him, as big as his two fingers, and that he was very good meat. But the Lord upheld my Spirit, under this discouragement; and I considered their horrible addictedness to lying, and that there is not one of them that makes the least conscience of speaking of truth. In this place, on a cold night, as I lay by the fire, I removed a stick that kept the heat from me. A squaw moved it down again, at which I looked up, and she threw a handful of ashes in mine eyes. I thought I should have been quite blinded, and have never seen more, but lying down, the water run out of my eyes, and carried the dirt with it, that by the morning I recovered my sight again. Yet upon this, and the like occasions, I hope it is not too much to say with Job, "Have pity upon me, O ye my Friends, for the Hand of the Lord has touched me." And here I cannot but remember how many times sitting in their wigwams, and musing on things past, I should suddenly leap up and run out, as if I had been at home, forgetting where I was, and what my condition was; but when I was without, and saw nothing but wilderness, and woods, and a company of barbarous heathens, my mind quickly returned to me, which made me think of that, spoken concerning Sampson, who said, "I will go out and shake myself as at other times, but he wist not that the Lord was departed from him." About this time I began to think that all my hopes of restoration would come to nothing. I thought of the English army, and hoped for their coming, and being taken by them, but that failed. I hoped to be carried to Albany, as the Indians had discoursed before, but that failed also. I thought of being sold to my husband, as my master spake, but instead of that, my master himself was gone, and I left behind, so that my spirit was now quite ready to sink. I asked them to let me go out and pick up some sticks, that I might get alone, and pour out my heart unto the Lord. Then also I took my Bible to read, but I found no comfort here neither, which many times I was wont to find. So easy a thing it is with God to dry up the streams of Scripture comfort from us. Yet I can say, that in all my sorrows and afflictions, God did not leave me to have my impatience work towards Himself, as if His ways were unrighteous. But I knew that He laid upon me less than I deserved. Afterward, before this doleful time ended with me, I was turning the leaves of my Bible, and the Lord brought to me some Scriptures, which did a little revive me, as that [in] Isaiah 55.8: "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord." And also that [in] Psalm 37.5: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass." About this time they came yelping from Hadley, where they had killed three Englishmen, and brought one captive with them, viz. Thomas Read. They all gathered about the poor man, asking him many questions. I desired also to go and see him; and when I came, he was crying bitterly, supposing they would quickly kill him. Whereupon I asked one of them, whether they intended to kill him; he answered me, they would not. He being a little cheered with that, I asked him about the welfare of my husband. He told me he saw him such a time in the Bay, and he was well, but very melancholy. By which I certainly understood (though I suspected it before) that whatsoever the Indians told me respecting him was vanity and lies. Some of them told me he was dead, and they had killed him; some said he was married again, and that the Governor wished him to marry; and told him he should have his choice, and that all persuaded I was dead. So like were these barbarous creatures to him who was a liar from the beginning.
Instead of going toward the Bay, as I wanted, I had to go with them down the river. We traveled five or six miles into a dense thicket of brush, where we stayed almost two weeks. There, a woman asked me to make a shirt for her baby. In return, she gave me a serving of broth thickened with meal made from tree bark. To improve it, she had added about a handful of peas and a few roasted groundnuts. I had not seen my son for quite a while. An Indian was there, so I asked about my son and when he had last seen him. He answered that, at a certain time, my son's master had roasted him. The man said he himself had eaten a piece as big as two of his fingers. He said my son was very good meat. But the Lord sustained my spirit through this distressing news. I considered their terrible habit of lying, and how not one of them felt the slightest duty to tell the truth. One cold night there, as I lay by the fire, I moved a stick that blocked the heat. An Indian woman moved the stick back. When I looked up at her, she threw a handful of ashes into my eyes. I thought I would be completely blinded and never see again. But as I lay down, tears ran from my eyes and washed out the dirt. By morning, I had recovered my sight. Yet after this and similar experiences, I hope it is not too much to say with Job, "Have pity on me, my friends, for the hand of the Lord has touched me." Here I cannot help remembering how often I sat in their wigwams, thinking about the past. Suddenly, I would jump up and run outside, as if I were at home. I would forget where I was and what my situation was. But outside, I saw nothing but wilderness, woods, and a group of barbarous heathens. Then I quickly came to my senses. This reminded me of what was said about Sampson: "I will go out and shake myself free as before, but he did not know that the Lord had left him." About this time, I began to think that all my hopes of freedom would come to nothing. I thought of the English army and hoped they would come and take me with them, but that hope failed. I hoped to be taken to Albany, as the Indians had discussed before, but that hope failed too. I thought of being sold to my husband, as my master had said. But instead, my master himself had gone, and I had been left behind. My spirit was now almost ready to sink completely. I asked them to let me gather sticks so I could be alone and pour out my heart to the Lord. I also took my Bible to read. But I found no comfort there either, though I had often found comfort in it before. How easily God can dry up the streams of comfort we find in Scripture. Yet I can say that, through all my sorrows and suffering, God did not let my impatience turn against him. I did not think his ways were unjust. Instead, I knew he had made me suffer less than I deserved. Later, before this sorrowful time ended, I was turning the pages of my Bible. The Lord brought some passages to my attention that revived me a little. One was Isaiah 55.8: "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord." Another was Psalm 37.5: "Commit your way to the Lord. Trust in him, and he will bring it to pass." About this time, the Indians returned from Hadley, shouting. They had killed three Englishmen there and brought back one captive, Thomas Read. They all gathered around the poor man and asked him many questions. I also wanted to go and see him. When I arrived, he was crying bitterly because he thought they would soon kill him. So I asked one of them whether they intended to kill him. He told me they did not. This cheered Thomas Read a little, and I asked him how my husband was. He told me he had seen my husband at a certain time in the Bay. My husband was well, but very sad. From this, I knew for certain what I had already suspected. Everything the Indians had told me about my husband was empty talk and lies. Some had told me he was dead and that they had killed him. Some said he had married again and that the Governor had wanted him to marry. They said the Governor had told him he could have his choice, and that everyone believed I was dead. So much did these barbarous creatures resemble the one who was a liar from the beginning.
As I was sitting once in the wigwam here, Philip's maid came in with the child in her arms, and asked me to give her a piece of my apron, to make a flap for it. I told her I would not. Then my mistress bade me give it, but still I said no. The maid told me if I would not give her a piece, she would tear a piece off it. I told her I would tear her coat then. With that my mistress rises up, and take up a stick big enough to have killed me, and struck at me with it. But I stepped out, and she struck the stick into the mat of the wigwam. But while she was pulling of it out I ran to the maid and gave her all my apron, and so that storm went over.
Once, while I was sitting in the wigwam here, Philip's maid came in with the child in her arms. She asked me for a piece of my apron to make a flap for the child. I told her I would not give her any. Then my mistress told me to give her a piece, but I still said no. The maid said that if I would not give her a piece, she would tear one off. I told her I would tear her coat then. At that, my mistress stood up and grabbed a stick big enough to have killed me. She swung the stick at me. But I stepped out of the way, and she drove the stick into the wigwam's mat. But while she was pulling the stick out, I ran to the maid and gave her my whole apron. And so the storm passed.
Hearing that my son was come to this place, I went to see him, and told him his father was well, but melancholy. He told me he was as much grieved for his father as for himself. I wondered at his speech, for I thought I had enough upon my spirit in reference to myself, to make me mindless of my husband and everyone else; they being safe among their friends. He told me also, that awhile before, his master (together with other Indians) were going to the French for powder; but by the way the Mohawks met with them, and killed four of their company, which made the rest turn back again, for it might have been worse with him, had he been sold to the French, than it proved to be in his remaining with the Indians.
When I heard my son had come to this place, I went to see him. I told him his father was well but sad. He told me he grieved as much for his father as for himself. His words surprised me. I thought my own troubles weighed so heavily on me that I had no thoughts for my husband or anyone else. After all, they were safe among their friends. My son also told me that, some time before, his master and other Indians had gone to the French for gunpowder. But along the way, the Mohawks met them and killed four of their group. This made the rest turn back. For my son, being sold to the French might have been worse than remaining with the Indians proved to be.
I went to see an English youth in this place, one John Gilbert of Springfield. I found him lying without doors, upon the ground. I asked him how he did? He told me he was very sick of a flux, with eating so much blood. They had turned him out of the wigwam, and with him an Indian papoose, almost dead (whose parents had been killed), in a bitter cold day, without fire or clothes. The young man himself had nothing on but his shirt and waistcoat. This sight was enough to melt a heart of flint. There they lay quivering in the cold, the youth round like a dog, the papoose stretched out with his eyes and nose and mouth full of dirt, and yet alive, and groaning. I advised John to go and get to some fire. He told me he could not stand, but I persuaded him still, lest he should lie there and die. And with much ado I got him to a fire, and went myself home. As soon as I was got home his master's daughter came after me, to know what I had done with the Englishman. I told her I had got him to a fire in such a place. Now had I need to pray Paul's Prayer "That we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men" (2 Thessalonians 3.2). For her satisfaction I went along with her, and brought her to him; but before I got home again it was noised about that I was running away and getting the English youth, along with me; that as soon as I came in they began to rant and domineer, asking me where I had been, and what I had been doing? and saying they would knock him on the head. I told them I had been seeing the English youth, and that I would not run away. They told me I lied, and taking up a hatchet, they came to me, and said they would knock me down if I stirred out again, and so confined me to the wigwam. Now may I say with David, "I am in a great strait" (2 Samuel 24.14). If I keep in, I must die with hunger, and if I go out, I must be knocked in head. This distressed condition held that day, and half the next. And then the Lord remembered me, whose mercies are great. Then came an Indian to me with a pair of stockings that were too big for him, and he would have me ravel them out, and knit them fit for him. I showed myself willing, and bid him ask my mistress if I might go along with him a little way; she said yes, I might, but I was not a little refreshed with that news, that I had my liberty again. Then I went along with him, and he gave me some roasted ground nuts, which did again revive my feeble stomach.
I went to see an English youth there, John Gilbert of Springfield. I found him lying outside on the ground. I asked him how he was. He told me he was very sick with diarrhea from eating so much blood. They had put him out of the wigwam, along with a Native American baby who was nearly dead. The baby’s parents had been killed. It was a bitterly cold day, and they had neither fire nor clothes. The young man wore only his shirt and waistcoat. The sight was enough to melt a heart of stone. They lay there shivering in the cold, the youth curled up like a dog. The baby lay stretched out, with his eyes, nose, and mouth full of dirt, yet still alive and groaning. I advised John to get to a fire. He told me he could not stand, but I kept urging him, fearing he would lie there and die. With great difficulty, I got him to a fire, then went home myself. As soon as I got home, his master’s daughter came after me to ask what I had done with the Englishman. I told her where I had taken him to a fire. Now I needed to pray Paul’s prayer: "That we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men" (2 Thessalonians 3.2). To satisfy her, I went with her and took her to him. But before I got home again, a rumor had spread that I was running away and taking the English youth along. As soon as I came in, my captors began shouting and ordering me about. They asked where I had been and what I had been doing, and said they would strike him on the head. I told them I had been visiting the English youth and would not run away. They told me I was lying. They picked up a hatchet, came toward me, and threatened to knock me down if I went outside again. So they confined me to the wigwam. Now I could say with David, "I am in a great strait" (2 Samuel 24.14). If I stayed inside, I must die of hunger. If I went out, I must be struck on the head. This desperate situation lasted that day and half the next. Then the Lord, whose mercies are great, remembered me. A Native American man came to me with a pair of stockings that were too big for him. He wanted me to unravel them and knit them again to fit him. I showed that I was willing. I told him to ask my mistress whether I could go a little way with him. She said yes, I could. I was greatly relieved by the news that I had my freedom again. Then I went with him, and he gave me some roasted groundnuts, which revived my weak stomach once again.
Being got out of her sight, I had time and liberty again to look into my Bible; which was my guide by day, and my pillow by night. Now that comfortable Scripture presented itself to me, "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee" (Isaiah 54.7). Thus the Lord carried me along from one time to another, and made good to me this precious promise, and many others. Then my son came to see me, and I asked his master to let him stay awhile with me, that I might comb his head, and look over him, for he was almost overcome with lice. He told me, when I had done, that he was very hungry, but I had nothing to relieve him, but bid him go into the wigwams as he went along, and see if he could get any thing among them. Which he did, and it seems tarried a little too long; for his master was angry with him, and beat him, and then sold him. Then he came running to tell me he had a new master, and that he had given him some ground nuts already. Then I went along with him to his new master who told me he loved him, and he should not want. So his master carried him away, and I never saw him afterward, till I saw him at Piscataqua in Portsmouth.
Once I was out of her sight, I again had time and freedom to read my Bible. It was my guide by day and my pillow by night. Then I came upon this comforting Scripture: "For a brief moment I have abandoned you, but with great mercy I will gather you" (Isaiah 54.7). In this way, the Lord carried me through each day. He fulfilled this precious promise to me, along with many others. Then my son came to see me. I asked his master to let him stay awhile so I could comb his hair and check him for lice. He was almost overwhelmed by them. When I finished, my son told me he was very hungry, but I had nothing to give him. I could only tell him to stop at the wigwams along his way and see if anyone had food. He did, and it seems he stayed a little too long. His master grew angry with him, beat him, and then sold him. Then my son came running to tell me he had a new master, who had already given him some groundnuts. I went with him to his new master, who told me he loved my son and would meet his needs. Then his master took him away. I did not see my son again until I saw him at Piscataqua in Portsmouth.
That night they bade me go out of the wigwam again. My mistress's papoose was sick, and it died that night, and there was one benefit in it—that there was more room. I went to a wigwam, and they bade me come in, and gave me a skin to lie upon, and a mess of venison and ground nuts, which was a choice dish among them. On the morrow they buried the papoose, and afterward, both morning and evening, there came a company to mourn and howl with her; though I confess I could not much condole with them. Many sorrowful days I had in this place, often getting alone. "Like a crane, or a swallow, so did I chatter; I did mourn as a dove, mine eyes ail with looking upward. Oh, Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me" (Isaiah 38.14). I could tell the Lord, as Hezekiah, "Remember now O Lord, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth." Now had I time to examine all my ways: my conscience did not accuse me of unrighteousness toward one or other; yet I saw how in my walk with God, I had been a careless creature. As David said, "Against thee, thee only have I sinned": and I might say with the poor publican, "God be merciful unto me a sinner." On the Sabbath days, I could look upon the sun and think how people were going to the house of God, to have their souls refreshed; and then home, and their bodies also; but I was destitute of both; and might say as the poor prodigal, "He would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him" (Luke 15.16). For I must say with him, "Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight." I remembered how on the night before and after the Sabbath, when my family was about me, and relations and neighbors with us, we could pray and sing, and then refresh our bodies with the good creatures of God; and then have a comfortable bed to lie down on; but instead of all this, I had only a little swill for the body and then, like a swine, must lie down on the ground. I cannot express to man the sorrow that lay upon my spirit; the Lord knows it. Yet that comfortable Scripture would often come to mind, "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee."
That night they told me to leave the wigwam again. My mistress’s baby was sick and died that night. There was one benefit: there was more room. I went to another wigwam, where they invited me in and gave me an animal skin to lie on. They also gave me a serving of venison and groundnuts, a dish they especially valued. The next day they buried the baby. Afterward, a group came morning and evening to mourn and howl with my mistress. Though I admit I could not feel much sympathy for them. I spent many sorrowful days in this place, often going off alone. "Like a crane or a swallow, I chattered. I mourned like a dove. My eyes grew weary from looking upward. Oh, Lord, I am overwhelmed. Help me" (Isaiah 38.14). Like Hezekiah, I could tell the Lord, "Remember now, O Lord, I beg you, how I have lived faithfully before you." Now I had time to examine all my conduct. My conscience did not accuse me of wronging anyone. Yet I saw how careless I had been in my life with God. As David said, "Against you, you alone, have I sinned." And I could say with the poor tax collector, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." On Sabbath days, I could look at the sun and think of people going to God’s house to refresh their souls. Then they would go home and refresh their bodies too. But I had neither comfort. I could say, like the poor prodigal son, "He longed to fill his stomach with the husks the pigs ate. But no one gave him anything" (Luke 15.16). For I must say with him, "Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in your sight." I remembered the evenings before and after the Sabbath, when my family gathered around me, with relatives and neighbors joining us. We could pray and sing, then nourish our bodies with the good things God provided. Afterward, we had comfortable beds to lie in. But instead of all these comforts, I had only a little slop to eat. Then, like a pig, I had to lie down on the ground. I cannot express to anyone the sorrow that weighed on my spirit. The Lord knows it. Yet these comforting words from Scripture often came to mind: "For a brief moment I have abandoned you, but with great mercy I will gather you to me."