Captivity narratives of any kind may at times lead readers to prematurely pity the subject; to listen intently to the atrocities committed against them and simply revel in their sensationalism. The narrative penned by Mary Rowlandson, however, challenges its readers to consider their prejudice against their enemy more carefully, as well as their own personal values in a world operated by morality. Although Rowlandson’s initial classification of “savage” and “civilized” is rather binary, through her raw narrative she discovers that there is a nuanced blur between the two states in which humans individually oscillate through, as shown by the nature of war and God’s providence.
Although Rowlandson eventually grows more understanding of the Wampanoag, she initially can only see them as extensions of the wilderness they are living amongst. The act of foraging, hunting, and surviving in nature lies strictly in the sphere of savagery for Rowlandson, so much so that she even unwittingly associating the tribe with nature itself, stating that “The Indians were as thick as the trees” (278) in reference to the sixth remove. This perspective finally begins to shift, however, when she is able to see connections between scriptures and nature. One such example occurs when she is asked to cross the river, and recalls Isaiah 43.2; although she “was not before acquainted with such kind of doings or dangers” (277), her faith provides her the courage to do the same thing as the Wampanoag. This faith in nature continues throughout the text, with Rowlandson remarking upon “the wonderful power of God in providing for such a vast number of our enemies in the wilderness, where there was nothing to be seen, but from hand to mouth” (296). She is able to see how God’s providence extends through nature in supplying life-giving provisions for humans. As King Philip’s War rages on, Rowlandson witnesses more easily observable intermixings of the two supposedly opposing sides.
As time progresses through her captivity, Rowlandson notices several occurrences of which exemplify how war constitutes an overlap of both civility and savagery. The contradictory natures of both “sides” converges physically when she witnesses another company of Native Americans approaching their camp, giving her pause as she “[thought] they had been Englishmen at the first sight of them, for they were dressed in English apparel” (288). This clearly visible crossover between her binary ideas of civil and savage blurs the previously strong line between them in a way that cannot be denied. Contributing to the authoress’ increasingly more nuanced perspective is her description of Weetamoo: “A severe and proud dame…bestowing every day in dressing herself neat as much time as any of the gentry of the land” (290). The traits she associates with the English (concern with one’s image and physical appearance) she sees present in the wife of Quinnapin. The striking imagery of Weetamoo and the preceding Native American cavalry provides Rowlandson with an obvious example of the slippery borders between civil and savage – borders that she continues to push through as she grows more comfortable with the Wampanoag
Rowlandson herself enters the gray area between civility and savagery by becoming a willing participant in their community. She most notably uses their language multiple times throughout the narrative, in one instance describing how “[Quinnapin] answered me ‘Nux’ which did much rejoice my spirit” (282). In learning their native tongue, she is able to take solace in that which would previously be placed in the space of savagery, knowing that she has been affirmed by a Wampanoag leader. Her use of the language additionally allows her to take part in their economic system, at one point explaining how one Wampanoag woman asked her “to make a shirt for her sannup, for which she gave me a piece of bear” (280). Her capacity to trade and negotiate with the Native Americans convolutes any clear-cut boundaries between what is “savage” or “civil”, simply as a byproduct of war. Rowlandson’s ability to barter then works in tandem with her relationship with God, keeping her alive and muddling the relationship between the once separate spaces.
Further complicating Rowlandson’s initial view of savagery and civility is her devout faith, which provides her with ample evidence that God’s providence falls over all humans. This is most notably seen in her observations of the Wampanoag’s daily life, with her stating that she “cannot but take notice of the strange providence of God in preserving the heathen” (277). Although the idea is confounding to her as a Christian, she cannot accept their survival as anything but God’s work. She knows that they are not exempt from God’s protection or conversely, his punishment. On the other hand, the author has no choice but to acknowledge that the same applies to the English, in that they are not entitled to His assistance or mercy: “God seemed to leave his people to themselves, and order all things for His own only ends” (295). Rowlandson states to the reader that God’s influence is present regardless of civility or savagery, as the entirety of the human population is already a part of His larger plan. The war itself shows her that it is in fact the character of the individual that determines their level of savagery or civility.
Although the barriers between the civil and savage worlds are muddied, Rowlandson describes in multiple ways how the actions of an individual’s character is a truer mark of what can be labeled as either the former or the latter. It is not simply a matter of converting those who do not follow Christianity, and the author expresses this by way of discussing the Praying Indians. “There was little more trust to them than to the master they served” (290), she explains after detailing the treacherous acts of several Praying Indians. This is not to demonize all Native Americans, however. Rather it serves to support her budding realization that humans individually have the capacity for levels of civility and savagery; in her eyes, the Praying Indians are closer to savagery not due to their roots, but their lack of loyalty to a leader or shame in betrayal. Their personal readiness for deception is what separates them from the more civil: those that show relative kindness to others.
In a war with unbridled violence and tragedy on both ends, it is small acts of benevolence that separate the civil from the corrupted. Rowlandson grows relatively fond of her Master, not just out of fear, but more explicitly because he treats her with more humanity than others around her, given his position of power. In another example, she is taken aback by a group of kind Wampanoag who speak of buying her for her own benefit – “yet these were strangers to me that I never saw before” (281). Benevolence and gratefulness emerge as respectable and therefore civil traits for Rowlandson; she herself concludes how through her experience, she reaches a newfound appreciation for life as a whole. In eating the food provided to her by the Wampanoag, she expresses how “the Lord made that pleasant refreshing, which another time would have been an abomination” (289). As she ventures into the sphere of what was once exclusively savage or wild, she simultaneously reaches a greater sense of thankfulness and thus a more nuanced relationship with both civility and savagery, which can at this point more broadly be described as that which is simply unfamiliar.
The word “savage” in a 17th century captivity narrative conjures images of Native Americans, in both their exaggerated caricaturization as well as their very real acts of violence. In regarding savagery and civility as two different spheres, however, Rowlandson through her honest narrative is able to explore the muddied area in between. The obfuscated nature of what one considers separately savage or civil is shown in the union of English and Native American physical appearances and commerce, as well as the objective and unassuming influence of God. Extracted from this is the idea that both states of civility and savagery exist in all humans individually, with varying degrees of each.
Works Cited:
Rowlandson, Mary White. A Narrative of the Captivity, Sufferings, and Removes of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. Printed for Chapman Whitcomb, 1800.
