Summary

Portrait of Mary Rowlandson Mary Rowlandson A Narrative of the Captivity, Sufferings… (1856)

Some in our house were fighting for their lives, others wallowing in blood, the house on fire over our heads, and the bloody heathen ready to knock us on the head if we stirred out. Now might we hear mothers and children crying out for themselves and one another, “Lord, what shall we do!” Then I took my children (and one of my sisters her's) to go forth and leave the house: but as soon as we came to the door, and appeared, the Indians shot so thick, that the bullets rattled against the house, as if one had taken a handful of stones and threw them, so that we were forced to give back.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Mary Rowlandson Mary Rowlandson A Narrative of the Captivity, Sufferings… (1856)

Five or six times did he and his Squaw refresh my feeble carcase. If I went to their wigwam at any time, they would always give me something, and yet they were strangers that I never saw before. Another Squaw gave me a piece of fresh pork, and a little salt with it, and lent me her frying-pan to fry it; and I cannot but remember what a sweet, pleasant and delightful relish that bit had to me, to this day. So little do we prize common mercies, when we have them to the full.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Mary Rowlandson Mary Rowlandson A Narrative of the Captivity, Sufferings… (1856)

They had turned him out of the wigwam, and with him an Indian Papoos, almost dead, whose parents had been killed, in a bitter cold day, without fire or cloaths: 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 Papoos stretched out, with his eyes, nose, and mouth full of dirt, and yet alive, and groaning.
Source: Wikisource

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