settlements to found a new home in
the wilderness. The narrative, as written by Mrs. Rowlandson herself,
tells of the attack by the Indians, the massacre of her relations, and
the capture of herself and her babe:

"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.... But now (the next morning) I
must turn my back upon the town, and travel with them into the
vast and desolate wilderness, I knew not whither. It is not my
tongue or pen can express the sorrows of my heart, and bitterness
of my spirit, that I had at this departure; but God was with me
in a wonderful manner, carrying me along and bearing up my spirit
that it did not quite fail."

"One of the Indians carried my poor wounded babe upon a horse, it
went moaning all along: 'I shall die, I shall die.' I went on
foot after it, with sorrow that cannot be expressed. At length I
took it off the horse and carried it in my arms, till my strength
failed and I fell down with it. Then they set me upon a horse
with my wounded child in my lap, and there being no furniture on
the horse's back, as we were going down a steep hill we both fell
over the horse's head, at which they, like inhuman creatures,
laughed and rejoiced to see it, though I thought we should there
have ended our days, overcome with so many difficulties."

They went farther and farther into the wilderness, and a few days after
leaving her home, her son Joseph joined her, having been captured by
another band of Indians. She tells how, having her Bible with her, she
and her son found it a continual help, reading it and praying.

"After this it quickly began to snow, and when night came on they
stopped: and now down I must sit in the snow by a little fire,
and a few boughs behind me, with my sick child in my lap and
calling much for water, (being now) through the wound fallen into
a violent fever. My own wound also growing so stiff that I could
scarce sit down or rise up, yet so it must be, that I must sit
all this cold winter night, upon the cold snowy ground, with my
sick child in my arms, looking that every hour would be the last
of its life; and having no Christian friend near me, either