The Unredeemed Captive: A Family Story from Early America

Chapter 1 details the events surrounding the Deerfield massacre on February 29, 1704: the months leading up to it, the massacre itself, and the immediate aftermath.

Demos opens with a scene months before the attack, in October 1703 in Deerfield, just when the harvest has ended and winter is about to descend on this small, Massachusetts community. The townspeople have gotten word that “French and Indian enemies along the Maine frontier” have been attacking Puritan villages at random, and so Deerfield braces itself for a potential attack. As is custom for small exposed towns at the time, Deerfield has “maintained a protective ‘fort’ […]. Within this central area of roughly ten acres, enclosed by a tall picket fence, the entire populace can be gathered in case of attack” (11). A small ambush by Native Americans on two young men tending cows on the evening of October 8 foretells of future, more substantial war on the horizon for Deerfield. John Williams, a Puritan minister, is introduced as a highly esteemed resident of Deerfield. He is “in effect, [the] town leader” (12).

The people of Deerfield are waiting for a raid by surrounding Native Americans, as there is a smattering of attacks on the towns surrounding Deerfield. When Deerfield itself is not attacked, the townspeople wonder if they will be spared: “Has the danger truly passed? Some remain apprehensive—for example, the minister, described (in one later account) as ‘strongly possest that the Town would in a little time be destroyed’” (13). Months of relative peace and calm go by, but early in the year, the people of Deerfield brace themselves, once again, for an imminent attack: “In mid-February, the mood swings sharply toward vigilance. Hard news, again, from the east: Parties of Indians have attacked Berwick, Haverhill, and Exeter, and there are casualties (‘some killed & some taken captive’)” (13).

Demos then pauses the Deerfield narrative and describes what was happening in Montreal, Canada, simultaneously: “Montreal, Canada (New France). October 1703. Same autumn, same look. But different people, and an entirely different mood” (15). In Montreal, Governor Vaudreuil is displeased that one of his best Captains—Captain Jean Baptiste Guyon (16)—has been taken prisoner by the English. As revenge, Vaudreuil devises a scheme to take John Williams, an Englishman of similar ranking, and hold him in exchange for Baptiste: “Three trusted warriors are designated to take the minister, and return him to Montreal; for this Vaudreuil will pay them well (in effect, a ransom). Then: Williams for Baptiste. Another important raison” (17).

On Vaudreuil’s orders, a group of Native Americans in the employ of the French gather in Montreal to make their way down to Massachusetts: “Some things we have to image. The gathering of the ‘expedition’ members, presumably at Montreal in early February” (17). It takes the Native Americans weeks to make the nearly 250-mile journey to Deerfield, but finally they arrive: “Midnight. Across the river to the west the expedition members are making final preparations for their assault” (17).

From the perspective of the attackers, Demos describes how they might have descended upon the town:

Over the river, on the ice. Across a mile of meadowland, ghostly and white. Past the darkened houses at the north end of the street. Right up to the fort. The show has piled hugely here; the drifts make walkways to the top of the fence. A vanguard of some forty men climbs quickly over, and drops down on the inside. A gate is opened to admit the rest. The watch awakens, fires a warning shot, cries “Arm!”: too little, surely, and far too late (18).

Taking the Deerfield residents by surprise, the French and Native American attackers inflict a great deal of damage on Deerfield. Certain Deerfield members escape, particularly those on the southern border of the town. In just a few hours, the fight is over: “It is now about 9 a.m. The ‘massacre’ is ended” (20). Demos describes the scene in Deerfield immediately after the carnage: “A numbness settles over the village. The fires are burning down. There is blood on the snow along the street. The survivors of the ‘meadow fight’ crouch warily behind the palisades” (21). Englishmen make plans to report the attack to government officials in Boston:

Before they go, Colonel Partridge gathers information for a report to his superiors in Boston. Completed and sent a few days later, this “Account of Ye Destruction at Deerfd Febr 29, 1703-4” has remained in a public archive ever since—the only such artifact of the massacre to have come straight down from that day to this (22).

Meanwhile, the French/Native Americans have taken 112 residents of Deerfield captive, and they begin their trek back to Montreal: “In the meantime, the journey of captives and captors has begun: north, toward Canada, through the vast, uncharted borderland that separates New England and New France” (25). The journey is long and grueling, and, in the dead of winter, many Deerfield residents die along the way. Demos describes the route:

The route runs west, then north again, rising steadily with the White River and its upper branches. There are days out for hunting—on one particular Sabbath “my master…killed five moose”—and days also for roasting and drying the fresh meat (34).

The treatment of the captives varies wildly: Some (particularly infants) are slain, while others receive proper food and shelter along the way.

John Williams’s family is torn apart on the journey to Canada. His wife, Eunice, dies, while his son Samuel (age 15) and daughter Esther (age 13) are taken directly to Montreal. Samuel and Esther are returned to Deerfield after a few months, but John Williams’s son Stephen (age nine) and daughter Eunice (age seven) remain “at large” (35). Stephen, it turns out, is deposited with a tribe along the way to Montreal: “Eventually, the group will head to Canada and Fort St. Francois. There Stephen will be transferred to his master’s kinsman, a Pennacook ‘sagamore’ (chief) named George” (36). Eunice, who will be the focus of later chapters, is taken by Mohawk residents who live in a mission fort called St. Francois Xavier du Sault St. Louis by the French and Kahnawake by the residents themselves. Eunice is well-liked by her captors almost immediately: “And then: Eunice. […] Her father will write later, with evident gratitude, that she ‘was carried all the journey and looked after with a great deal of tenderness’” (36). Her Mohawk captors are reluctant to part with her, and despite a couple of attempts made by John Williams, they are steadfast in their refusal to return Eunice to her father. 

The chapter concludes with the entire community in disarray. Certain members of the community fled the area during the initial attack, many perished during the massacre, others died on the way to Montreal, and many others still are being held captive by Native American tribes in connection with the French. For the captors, it is unclear if they will be able to return to their Deerfield home, and Demos pushes this question to the fore at the conclusion of Chapter 1: “And now, if you have indeed survived, there are other chances to think about. Above all else: your chances of returning home” (39).

Chapter 2 examines how news of the massacre spread, and how it was received by the general public, throughout the surrounding region in New England and beyond.

Given that the massacre occurred before the advent of mass media, news first spread by way of witnesses to the event and its aftermath:

The first “notice” of the attack on Deerfield was conveyed by the light of burning buildings, to Hatfield and other Valley towns immediately below. From there news traveled more slowly—by letter and by word of mouth—on foot, horseback, and shipboard (40).

The massacre inspired a wide range of emotions in people: “But the massacre evoked a broader spectrum of response than shame and religious soul-searching. There was grief” (41). Across New England, though the reaction was mixed, most colonists were filled with sympathy for the residents of Deerfield.

Beyond the Americas, news of the massacre likewise spread, making its way back to the colonial overlords in Europe: “It is probable that by year’s end the widening circle of knowledge about the massacre had reached both the king of France and the queen of England” (42). English government officials were quick to ask the French to see that Deerfield captives were returned to their homes:

Increasingly, the focus shifted from satisfaction (on the French side) and recriminations (on the English one) to countermeasures. […] Dudley wrote to Vaudreuil demanding “considerate” treatment of all English captives. At the same time he raised the possibility of a one-for-one exchange (42).

The British offered up celebrated French captain Jean-Baptiste Guyon in exchange for Reverend John Williams. Outside of Reverend Williams and Captain Baptiste, a sub-industry of captive negotiation between the French and the British existed during this time:

From this point forward—until the summer of 1707—the process of negotiation was virtually continuous, encompassing no less than six face-to-face meetings between French and British officials. […] By this means some 200 to 300 were eventually repatriated, including virtually all the French held in New England (45).

Demos charts the public’s reaction to this sub-industry through an examination of letters, diaries, and other primary source material. He finds that most British colonists in New England at the time followed the captive negotiations with “keen interest” and took every bit of new information about the release of captives as uplifting, heartening news:

In Deerfield, in Boston, and in the surrounding communities, the negotiations were followed with the keenest interest. […] This “unexpected News”—as one contemporary described it—was “very reviving to the dejected Spirits of their mournful Friends, considering the many Deaths they escaped in their Captivity” (46).

Demos also examines a letter the prolific Puritan Cotton Mathersent to John Williams, in the summer of 1705, as a means of showing how the captives, and their allies and friends, would deal with their “painful” situation (46). In the letter, Mather takes a typically Puritan approach to Williams’s plight as a captive, reframing his pain and sorrow as a trial that God is putting Williams through to test his faith.

As negotiations for the return of captives continue on during 1705 and 1706, returned captives—called “landings”—begin trickling back into Massachusetts from Canada, and their arrival elicits great public interest. John Williams returns to Boston in one such landing, on November 21, 1706, along with 60 other captives. He does not immediately return to Deerfield; instead, as a “celebrated public figure,” he is welcomed in by the community in Boston where the locals vie to keep him there (50). He is given food, clothing, shelter, and some help with expenses to ease the transition back into his former life. Still, John Williams turns his attention to Deerfield and continues to negotiate the terms of his resettlement there. During the negotiations, he begins work on a writing project called The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion; this narrative, published in 1707, offers his personal account of the massacre, his experience as a captive in Canada, and the details of his return to Boston. Toward the end of 1707, John Williams takes a new wife (Abigail Bissell) as he continues to focus on his return to Deerfield. Though there is relative peace in the area, Deerfield remains a “leading target of French and Indian enemies” (54). When John Williams returns to Deerfield, there is still work to be done: Houses must be rebuilt, fields must be re-tended, and he must work to have his remaining children—including Eunice—returned from captivity. 

Chapter 3 examines various writings authored by John Williams in the latter part of his time as a captive in Quebec, from 1705 until his release in Boston in 1707. Demos examines this body of writing in an attempt to better understand the experience of captivity; since John Williams is a celebrated figure, his writings live on into the present day, but Demos acknowledges that the average experience of a captive is lost to the annals of history: “Most of the Deerfield captives are beyond the reach of historians” (55). In this chapter, Demos uses Williams’s experience to represent a more general one, though he acknowledges the limitations of his approach: “Again, one man only. But where experience was shared—the facts of captivity and ‘deliverance’—perhaps responses were also shared, at least in part. For now, John Williams may stand before his captive brothers and sisters at large” (55).

Demos explains exactly what writings by John Williams he will examine in this chapter:

“The writings have four parts—plus one. The four are, in chronological order: (1) the “pastoral letter” he wrote to those captives who returned home in August 1706; (2) a “lecture” he gave, days after his own return, in December; (3) his famous “narrative,” written during the winter of 1706-7 (and published in April or May); and (4) his sermon God in the Camp, delivered before the governor and General Assembly, in early March. The order is important, as are the time and setting in which each one was composed. Individually and together, these products of Williams’s experience reveal much of what captivity meant to him (56).

The chapter starts with the “plus one” document, which serves as a “prologue to the rest” of the writings (56). It is a petition that John Williams wrote to Massachusetts authorities in October 1705, when he was still a prisoner in Quebec. In the petition, Williams asks for compensation—monetary, mostly—for the losses he and his children suffered as a result of having been taken captive. Demos senses “anger and frustration” on the part of John Williams over the fact that he has become an “object of charity” (57).

Demos goes on to analyze the first piece of writing, a letter John Williams wrote in May 1706:

He is now “out of hopes of being returned before winter.” He prays to God for a spirt of “holy submission” and “passive obedience” to His will. But to submit, to remain passive, is difficult. And so he decides to write to, and for, his “much Respected Friends that are in their Voyage from Quebeck for New England.” The result is no ordinary “letter.” Surely, Williams imagines that it may be published—as, indeed, it subsequently is, in Cotton Mather’s little compendium Good Fetch’d Out of Evil (58).

In the letter, Williams describes his time in captivity as a “‘purging and purifying’ experience, one that leaves its victims like ‘Gold and well refined; cleansed from all…filthiness’” (59). Ultimately, the letter is an attempt by Williams to recast the tragic experience of captivity as a positive one, something that would strengthen his audience’s commitment to the Puritan faith:

Thus the letter concludes, virtually where it began. A circle of religious cogitation, around a center of pain. And what of the addressees, those for whom it was specifically intended? […] The “sheep” in John Williams’s flock could only be grateful for his faith, his prayers, his continuing guidance (60).

The second piece of writing, from December 1706, is a lecture to be delivered in Boston for “lecture day”: “December 5 […] is ‘lecture day’ in Boston. This will bring John Williams’s first public appearance—and his first public statement about these experiences in captivity. Cotton Mather arranged it carefully” (60). Williams delivers his lecture to Cotton Mather’s church, which is the largest congregation in Boston (approximately 1,500 people) at that time. Having just escaped from captivity, Williams is treated as a hero when he arrives in Boston: “When Williams rises to speak, there is a palpable feeling of—what to call it?—of restoration, of completion, and, yes, of conquest” (60). Taking on the role of “mouthpiece—loudspeakers for the Lord,” Williams delivers a lecture focusing on the glorification of God (a common theme in Puritan literature at the time), but also how captivity and redemption are intertwined. Williams tells stories from his own time in captivity and looks toward the future of the still-unreleased captives:

Riding high, as he certainly was, on the wave of local adulation, John Williams here looked backward to his own years in captivity—and, simultaneously, toward Eunice. And, too, he looked ahead to another difficult time that would soon begin for him in Deerfield. […] The Boston lecture was a peak between two valleys in the jagged profile of his experience (65).

The next piece of writing Demos examines is from the winter of 1707, around the time that Williams arrived to what was left of his home in Deerfield: “There was one more lap in the conqueror’s return: the 100 or so miles from Boston west to Deerfield. […] But home was not as he remembered it, years before” (66). Once settled, Williams began writing (what would become) his famous, full-length narrative of his time in captivity, entitled The Redeemed Captive. The intention of the narrative, and its intended readership, was unclear: “These crisscrossings of agenda and audience created some untidiness of result. The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion is an arresting book, but also an awkward one” (67). Williams sifts through his experiences as a captive and tries to imbue them with meaning that might help guide his Puritan followers. Demos explains the kinds of meaning Williams added to the narrative:

To re-experience (in the service of mastery), to organize (for the sake of coherence and comprehension), to justify (against persistent inner questioning): these, then, are the deeper currents—the motive ones—coursing through the narrative. Together they comprise the personal agenda of the “participant.” […] To read The Redeemed Captive is to see the captive far more than the one redeemed. And behind the captive, another figure: the narrator himself, brooding at his desk, in a still “broken” town, during a “dark and tempestuous season” (71).

The final piece of writing Demos analyzes in this section is from March 1707:

“Even as he put the final touches on his narrative, John Williams must have been looking ahead to another assignment: the sermon he had been invited to preach, in Boston, as the colony leaders considered a bold new attack on Canada” (71). This sermon was a departure from the usual glorification of God typical from Puritan ministers at the time:

But the resultant sermon was hardly inspirational nor was it an invocation. No fight-talk. No prayers. No goals defined or hopes raised. Instead Williams pointed his listeners toward a single question: how to get—in the words of the title—“God in the Camp” (71).

Instead, this sermon reprimands the sins of the listeners, with the goal of promoting reform within the community: “His [Williams’] aim, his public aim, is defined by the current situation: how to reverse a string of failures in New England’s war with New France” (74). The main intention of this sermon, then, was political.

Demos provides further context for the body of writing he just analyzed, explaining where Williams was in his life when he wrote these four texts: “He [Williams] had traveled a long way these past months. From Quebec to Boston, to Deerfield, and again to Boston” (75). Captivity narratives were extremely popular among the general public, and Williams’s The Redeemed Captive was no exception. In this chapter, Demos explored the lives of redeemed captives and the general public; in the following chapter, he turns to captives like Eunice who remain at large with their Mohawk captors: “And a third group, too, not yet accounted for: the captives still unredeemed. What about them?” (76).