Captivity Waite was an exception to the rule governing her sex. In all
candor I must say that she approached closely to a realization of the
ideals of a book--a sixteenmo, if you please, fair to look upon, of
clear, clean type, well ordered and well edited, amply margined, neatly
bound; a human book whose text, as represented by her disposition and
her mind, corresponded felicitously with the comeliness of her
exterior. This child was the great-great-granddaughter of Benjamin
Waite, whose family was carried off by Indians in 1677. Benjamin
followed the party to Canada, and after many months of search found and
ransomed the captives.
The historian has properly said that the names of Benjamin Waite and
his companion in their perilous journey through the wilderness to
Canada should "be memorable in all the sad or happy homes of this
Connecticut valley forever." The child who was my friend in youth, and
to whom I may allude occasionally hereafter in my narrative, bore the
name of one of the survivors of this Indian outrage, a name to be
revered as a remembrancer of sacrifice and heroism.
II
THE BIRTH OF A NEW PASSION
When I was thirteen years old I went to visit my Uncle Cephas. My
grandmother would not have parted with me even for that fortnight had
she not actually been compelled to. It happened that she was called to
a meeting of the American Tract Society, and it was her intention to
pay a visit to her cousin, Royall Eastman, after she had discharged the
first and imperative duty she owed the society. Mrs. Deacon Ranney was
to have taken me and provided for my temporal and spiritual wants
during grandmother's absence, but at the last moment the deacon came
down with one of his spells of quinsy, and no other alternative
remained but to pack me off to Nashua, where my Uncle Cephas lived.
This involved considerable expense, for the stage fare was three
shillings each way: it came particularly hard on grandmother, inasmuch
as she had just paid her road tax and had not yet received her
semi-annual dividends on her Fitchburg Railway stock. Indifferent,
however, to every sense of extravagance and to all other considerations
except those of personal pride, I rode away atop of the stage-coach,
full of exultation. As we rattled past the Waite house I waved my cap
to Captivity and indulged in the pleasing hope that she would be
lonesome without me. Much of the satisfaction of going away arises
from the thought that those you leave behind are likely to be
wretchedly miserable during your absence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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