The Colonial and Revolutionary Periods 45is to identify the Native Americans as fit inhabitants of “the Wilderness:” these are
no noble savages, dwelling in another Eden, but “Barbarous Creatures” whose
“savageness and bruitishness” help turn the land where they dwell into “a lively
resemblance of hell.” There are pragmatic considerations at work here. The transla-
tion of the Native American into “bloody heathen” helped to justify their removal
from land the whites coveted; while the testimony to the power of Rowlandson’s
faith, and the precious support God gave to those who believed in Him, was a useful
weapon at a time when church membership was declining. The Narrative is more
than a demonstration of a divine thesis, however. It is that, certainly: Rowlandson
never misses an opportunity to attribute a fortunate event, such as meeting with her
son or the acquisition of a Bible, to the merciful intervention of God; and she rarely
finds any redeeming features in her captors. But it is also a remarkable account of
one woman’s endurance in the face of exile, opposition, and traumatic loss. Not
only that, it is thoughtful and reflective enough to present Native Americans as pos-
sible instruments of providence, designed by God as “a scourge to his People,” and
Rowlandson herself as someone indelibly changed by her encounter with them. So,
while the “Pagans” of the “Wilderness” are represented in almost entirely negative
terms, the idea of a scourge makes the depiction of the Puritans less than totally
positive. It also, eventually, complicates Rowlandson’s presentation of herself.
Returned to her husband and community, her children restored to her, Rowlandson
confesses that she remains uncomfortable, even alienated. “When all are fast about
me, and no eye open, but his who ever waketh,” she reveals, “my thoughts are upon
things past.” Sleepless, she recalls “how the other day I was in the midst of thousands
of enemies, and nothing but death before me: It is then hard work to perswade my
self, that ever I should be satisfied with bread again.” She has learned from her late
encounter with the enemy; and what she has learned has made her not quite a
member, any more, of the community from which she was abducted. Captivity has
led her into a kind of exile.
The enemy without in the captivity narrative is mainly the Native American, as in
the account of Mary Rowlandson and in those, say, of John Gyles and Elizabeth
Meader Hanson. It is, however, not always and entirely so. In 1704, for instance, John
Williams (1664–1729) was captured after a raid on his village by French Canadians
and Abnakis and Caughnawaga Mohawks during the French and Indian wars. Along
with his wife and five of his children, he was then marched to Canada. He was,
however, a captive of the Indians for only eight weeks. Most of the time, until his
release in 1706, he was held by the French. And, according to his account of his expe-
riences, The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion published in 1707, French Jesuits
tried earnestly and continually to convert him to “Romish superstition.” Williams’s
book is consequently a description of a desperate struggle against two enemies to
truth, the “heathenish cruelty” of one and the “popish rage” of the other. At the time
when Williams was suffering capture and then putting down on paper an account of
his sufferings, the Puritan community was feeling more threatened than it ever had
previously: among other things, by an influx of new immigrants, most of whom had
no interest in Puritanism. In 1650 the European population of America was 52,000,GGray_c01.indd 45ray_c 01 .indd 45 8 8/1/2011 7:54:55 AM/ 1 / 2011 7 : 54 : 55 AM