The Facts Are These
What is this book about? The author is thoughtful enough to describe the central dramatic episode for the reader in illustrative metaphorical form:
“For Eunice, their Eunice—a young gentlewomen, daughter to the Reverend Mr. Williams, minister at Deerfield, and child of so many prayers—has just been married. And her husband is a `Philistine’ indeed.
An Indian.
A Catholic.
A savage.”
The Backstory
The backstory which ultimately leads to Eunice Williams marrying a “Philistine” is situated on the very first page in the traditional metaphorical imagery of evangelical Christianity as it outlines—as a kind of mission statement if you will—the intent and purpose of gathering pilgrims to settle in the New World:
“The Massachusetts Bay Colony is to be a charitable project...From the `darkness of heathenism’ they will be drawn toward the bright light of Protestant Christianity.”
Sinners in the Hands of the Great Awakening
One particularly fascinating event described in the book is an eyewitness account by Eunice’s brother Stephen Williams as older adult of Jonathan Edwards’ actual delivery of the famous sermon in American history: “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” It doesn’t take long for the evangelical flames sparked by Edwards to spread:
“Soon the conflagration enveloped Stephen’s immediately family…Surrounded as he was by a host of `enlarged’ souls, he found his own to be pathetically small.”
The Captive
The actual account of Williams being held captive is not gone into great detail. Tidbits and details dribble out occasionally as seen fit. One of these is barely mentioned except to provide a sort of headline in metaphorical form which mentions the day the captives trekked forty-five miles without break and:
“The time his prayers seemed to still a `boisterous wind’, enabling his captive-group to cross a large lake in safety.”
The Narrator
But Williams is more than just some kind of braggart; he is the author of a captive narrative that is far from being a heroic tale. Many died along the way—including his own infant son—and, of course, Eunice was lost forever. Such is the portrait that the author comprises in what is perhaps the most lingering metaphorical image in the book:
“And behind the captive, another figure: the narrator himself, brooding at his desk, in a still `broken’ town, during a `a dark and tempestuous season.”
