Making war and minting Christians: masculinity, religion, and colonialism in early New England 9781613761717, 9781558498877, 9781558498884

Table of contents :
Frontmatter
List of Illustrations (page ix)
Acknowledgments (page xi)
Introduction (page 1)
PART 1: GENDER COUNTERPOINT (page 15)
1. "In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne, and Eagle" (page 21)
2. "Manly Christianity" (page 31)
3. "A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act" (page 46)
4. "If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him" (page 57)
PART II: MINTING CHRISTIANS (page 71)
5. "Man-like civilitie" (page 77)
6. "Formerly...a harmlesse man" (page 90)
7. "Endeavour...to follow the English mode" (page 107)
8. Deficient Fathers and "Saucy" Children (page 121)
PART III: MAKING WAR (page 137)
9. Manitou and Militia Days (page 141)
10. "Best to deal with Indians in their Own Way" (page 156)
11. "The God of Armies" (page 176)
Afterword (page 193)
Notes (page 199)
Index (page 249)

Citation preview

Making War and Minting Christians

A VOLUME IN THE SERIES _ Native Americans of the Northeast: Culture, History, and the Contemporary

and

Making War

Minting Christians Masculinity, Religion, and Colonialism in Early New England

R. Topp ROMERO

University of Massachusetts Press

Copyright © 2011 by University of Massachusetts Press ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Printed in the United States of America LC 2011006674 ISBN 978-1-55849-888-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-55849-887-7 (library cloth : alk. paper) Designed by Steye Dyer

Set in Arno Pro by House of Equations, Inc.

Printed and bound by Thomson-Shore, Inc. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DaTA

Romero, R. Todd, 1968| Making war and minting Christians : masculinity, religion, and colonialism in early New England / R. Todd Romero. p. cm. — (Native Americans ofthe Northeast : culture, history, and the contemporary) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-55849-888-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) —1SBN 978-1-55849-887-7 (library cloth : alk. paper) 1. New England — History — Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775. 2. Masculinity — New England— History. 3. Masculinity — Religious aspects — Christianity. 4. Sex role— New England— History. 5. Missionaries — New England —History. 6. Indians of North America — Missions — New England. 7. Indians of North America — New England— Religion. 8. Indians of North America — New England

—Wars. 9. New England — History, Military. I. Title.

974'.02 — dc22 2011006674

F7.R68 2011

British Library Cataloguing in Publication data are available.

For my father,

RALPH VALENTINE ROMERO (December 21, 1943-July 26, 2010)

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Contents

List of Illustrations ix Acknowledgments xi

Introduction 1 | Part I: Gender Counterpoint 15 1. “In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle” 21

2. “Manly Christianity” 31 3. “A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” 46

4. “If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him” $7

Part II: Minting Christians 71 5. “Man-like civilitie” 77

6. “Formerly... a harmlesse man” 90

7. “Endeavour ... to follow the English mode” 107

8. Deficient Fathers and “Saucy” Children 121

Part III: Making War 137 9. Manitou and Militia Days 141 10. “Best to deal with Indians in their Own Way” 156

11. “The God of Armies” 176

Afterword 193 Notes 199

Index 24.9 @t vii

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Illustrations

1. Native American Sachem, ca. 1700 2.4. 2. Title page from Cotton Mather, Manly Christianity, 1711 32

3. Mi’kmag dice and bowl, nineteenth century 51 4. Map of New England from William Wood's

New England's Prospect, 1634 66

5. A string of wampum, seventeenth century 109 6. Turtle buttonmold from Natick, seventeenth century 110

7. Massachusetts Bay Colony Seal, 1629 128

8. King Philip’s war club, seventeenth century 147 9. “The figure of the Indians’ fort or Palizado,’ from John Underhill’s recounting of the Pequot War in

News From America, 1638 169

10. Praying-Indian musket adorned with Indian wampum,

seventeenth century 171 i. Indian gorget or peace medal, 1676 181

at ix

Acknowledgments

I HAVE BENEFITED from the generosity of numerous institutions. Boston College supported my research through several years of fellowships My research and writing was also supported by a Short-Term Residential Fellowship from the Newberry Library; a Research Fellowship from The

John Nicholas Brown Center for the Study of American Civilization at Brown University; and a W. M. Keck Foundation Fellowship from the Huntington Library. The expert staffs at all of these institutions made my work all the easier and enjoyable. A Phillips Fund Grant for Native American Research from the American Philosophical Society generously funded a research trip to the Guildhall Library in London, where the staff was welcom-

ing and helpful. The University of Houston supported my work through a New Faculty Research Grant and two Small Grants for Research as well as through a junior faculty leave. Many hardworking librarians and archivists made my work possible. I am grateful to the staffs of the following institutions for their expertise: the O’Neill Library at Boston College; the American Antiquarian Society in Worcester, Massachusetts; the John Carter Brown and John Hay Libraries at Brown University; the Rhode Island Historical Society; the Morse Institute Library and the Bacon Free Library in Natick, Massachusetts; the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center at Boston University; and the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University. I owe special thanks to the staff of the Massachusetts Historical Society, especially Peter Drummey, Conrad Wright, and my longtime friend Nancy Heywood. MHS

at xi

xii St ACKNOWLEDGMENTS became a home for me while I was in graduate school and has continued to welcome me back as I begin to work on new projects. At the University of Houston, the M. D. Anderson Library staff — especially Alex Simons and the professionals in the Interlibrary Loan office — made the revision process much easier.

Portions of chapters 1, 3, 4, and io appeared in a different form in “Ranging Foresters’ and “Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Masculinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,” Ethnohistory 53:2 (2006): 281-329, and are reprinted with the journal's permission. Parts of chapters 1, 3, and 6 were published earlier in “Colonizing Childhood: Religion, Gender, and Indian Children in Southern New England, 1600-1720,’ in Children in Colonial America, ed. James Alan

Marten (New York: New York University Press, 2007), and are reprinted in altered form with the permission of New York University Press. A section of chapter 8 originally appeared in “Totherswamp’s Lament: Christian Indian Fathers and Sons in Early Massachusetts,’ Journal of Family History 33:1 (2008 ): 5-12, as part of the “Forum on Race and the Family in the United

States: The Other(s),” and is reprinted with the permission of the Journal of Family History.

At Boston College I was fortunate to have the support and guidance of gifted mentors: Alan Rogers, Cynthia Lyerly, David Quigley, Virginia Reinburg, Stephen Schloesser, Crystal Feimster, Robin Fleming, and James O'Toole. Edward Rugemer has long been a steady friend and critical reader of my work. My fellow graduate students Brandy Parris, Kelly Ryan, Libby MacDonald Bishof, Stephanie Kermes, Dolly Smith-Wilson, Ken Shelton,

Andrew Finstuen, Jason Cavallari, Jennifer Cote, Doreen Drury, Chris Hannan, and Michael Mezzano offered useful advice along the way. [have benefited greatly from the critical feedback of numerous colleagues.

I thank Rebecca Ann Bach, Emerson Baker, Brian Carroll, Joan Cashin, Andrea Robertson Cremer, Cornelia Dayton, Linford Fisher, Evan Haefeli, Desiree Martinez, Alice Nash, Michael Nassaney, Jon Parmenter, Ann Plane, Carolyn Podruchny, Jenny Hale Pulsipher, Neal Salisbury, Erik Seeman, Karen Spalding, Jennifer Spear, Laura Stevens, Wendy St. Jean, John Wood Sweet, Samuel Truett, Kyle Volk, and Michael Volmar. Both Nancy Shoemaker and Ann Little have been extremely generous in offering critiques and encouragement for many years now. I am especially indebted to Ann for critical readings at early stages and of the penultimate draft of the manuscript. David Silverman — who served as an anonymous reviewer but

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS wt Xiil

later revealed his identity — offered incisive comments that proved invaluable to my revisions. Heather Miyano Kopelson and Rebecca Goetz have been extraordinarily supportive colleagues and friends over the years. That Rebecca and I both landed in Houston has been a special boon. I thank her for reading, and in some cases rereading, every chapter. I am also grateful that my favorite food critic, Alison Cook, read several chapters and gave me much useful advice over dinner. The University of Houston History Department has been a welcoming and supportive place to work. For their encouragement, I am indebted to Kathleen Brosnan, Steven Deyle, Frank Holt, Philip Howard, Susan Kellogg, Kairn Klieman, James Kirby Martin, Martin Melosi, Steven Mintz, Thomas O’Brien, Joseph Pratt, Guadalupe San Miguel, Landon Storrs, Eric Walther, and Nancy Beck Young. Michael Oberg recently arrived on campus and generously read and offered useful suggestions on several chapters. Iam especially grateful for the advice, support, and good humor of Ratil Ramos, Monica Perales, Eduardo Contreras, and James Schafer. The staff at the University of Massachusetts Press has been exceptionally patient with this rookie author. My editor, Clark Dougan, has been generous with his time and encouragement. Managing editor Carol Betsch has done a wonderful job shepherding the manuscript through the publication process. Patricia Sterling’s expert copyediting improved the prose immeasurably.

Michael Taber did an outstanding job compiling the index. | My parents, Ralph and Lora Romero, fostered a love of reading and writing in their children, and I could never overstate my appreciation for their steady support and unconditional love. My father loved history and instilled in me his fascination for all that we can learn from the past; it is my great sadness that he did not live to see this book in print. My sister, LaReina Romero, offered much good-humored encouragement and advice. I am grateful to my wife, Sarah Wolff-Romero, for her unfailing support — and occasional prod to finish the book — and most of all, for her love. Our son, Alec, has appeared largely unaware that this book has sometimes taken over the house, but he has persistently reminded me of where my priorities should lie.

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Making War and Minting Christians

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Introduction

O N A MARCH 1524 DAY,a party of Carolina Indians curiously watch as a “young sailor” who stands in the surf tries to interest them in some “bells, mirrors, and other trifles.” In the distance lies a French ship, La Dauphine, while closer to the action is a small boat that has brought the would-be trader and his compatriots to shore. He is not the most careful sailor. A wave knocks him unconscious. Acting quickly, the Indians carry the sailor to safety, perhaps saving his life. The man returns to consciousness only to begin shrieking, even as his surprised rescuers try “to show him

he should not be afraid” of their assistance. The Indians also admire the sailor, “looking at the whiteness of his flesh and examining him from head to foot.” (Or at least that was the claim later made by the ship’s captain, the Florentine Giovanni da Verrazzano, who did not explain the apparent Indian fascination with the sailor’s skin color. The observation probably reflects a European obsession, as the Florentine was careful to note Native American skin tone as he traveled along the coast.) The nervous sailors watch as the Indians place their comrade near “a huge fire.” They worry: do the Indians intend to “roast” rather than simply warm the cold man? (A concern no doubt encouraged by the wide circulation of Christopher Columbus’s account of Native cannibalism on the Island of “Carib.”) The specter of cannibalism

disappears with an embrace. The sailor receives a hug and returns to the ship — a happy ending.’ Later during the same voyage, Verrazzano went ashore with twenty men along the Delaware and New Jersey coast. “A very old woman and a young

at i

2 St INTRODUCTION girl of 18 to 20 years, as well as a number of children, found the sailors’ sudden appearance worrisome. Alarmed, the women shouted and the older woman “made signs . . . that the men had fled to the woods.” The sailors hoped that a gift of food would calm the situation, but their effort had mixed results. The older woman received the food with “great pleasure,’ but her younger companion “threw [the gift] angrily to the ground.” She was right to distrust the sailors; they immediately siezed a boy from the older women.

“We wanted to take the young woman, who was very beautiful and tall,” Verrazzano later explained, “but it was impossible . . . because of the loud cries she uttered.” Deep in an unfamiliar forest, Verrazzanoss party left the woman behind and settled for the captive boy who, presumably, could be more easily silenced.” These two episodes provide an early example of how both threatened and real violence shaped cross-cultural encounters. Native peoples likely recalled these experiences when they next encountered potentially dangerous Europeans.

The expedition continued up the coast. As La Dauphine entered Newport Harbor, numerous Narragansetts greeted the ship in canoes. This was a promising welcome. The Europeans were struck by the surrounding Narragansett Bay, naming it “Refugio on account of its beauty.” Again the sailors offered the Indians “little bells and glasses, and many toys, which they took and looked at, laughing,’ before boarding the ship “without fear.’ The

gifts appear to have had the desired effect of setting friendly terms for the visit. Such exchanges continued to be essential to future European-Indian relations, providing a means for both parties to evaluate one another, offering a mode of communication (though sometimes miscommunication), and presenting an opportunity to cement a range of personal and diplomatic relations.”

Verrazzano succinctly described what later emerged as ubiquitous topics in such reports of Native life: governance, customs, bodies, dress, and, of course, the suitability of the land for cultivation and commercial enterprise. He was particularly taken with the two Narragansett sachems, or leaders: they were “as beautiful of stature and build as I can possibly describe,’ he said, and richly adorned in a fashion consistent with their high status. The Narragansett people in general were “the most beautiful and have the most civil customs that we have found on this voyage.’ They stood tall in his estimation and varied a great deal in complexion. “I shall not speak... of the other parts of the body,’ he explained, skirting prurient matters, “since they have all the proportions belonging to any well-built man.” The Florentine also lauded

INTRODUCTION wt 3 Narragansett women, “as shapely and beautiful” as the men, whose “customs and behavior follow womanly custom as far as befits human nature,’ Verrazzano explained, also commenting on their dress. Observing that certain hairstyles were reserved for married women, he compared them to the coiffures favored by Egyptians and Syrians. He also noted that Narragansett men and women wore various earrings and pendants, and valued “sheets of worked

copper... more than gold.”* Verrazzano found the goods that Indians admired particularly interesting. “They do not value gold because of its color; they think it the most worthless of all,” he explained, “and rate blue and red above all other colors.” The Indians especially prized “little bells, blue crystals, and other trinkets to put in the ear or around the neck.” (Such objects were sometimes charged with religious meaning and sacred power, and thus extremely valued.) Narragansetts did not, by contrast, “appreciate cloth of silk and gold” and disregarded “metals like steel and iron, for many times when we showed them some of our arms, they did not admire them, nor ask for them, but merely examined the workmanship.” Mirrors were no more appreciated than European metal goods. Verrazzano also observed the importance of generosity and sharing gifts in Native society and exchanges, commenting that “they are very generous and give away all they have.” Reciprocity was a key social value.°

Verrazzano enjoyed his time with the Narragansetts. “We made great friends with them,” he claimed. But the Narragansetts, for their part, remained cautious. Indian men made daily visits throughout the European's fifteen-day sojourn, but women kept a distance. They probably avoided La Dauphine because the crew's numerous “entreaties” and “offers of various gifts” appeared more menacing than friendly. The sailors’ behavior on shore likely proved troubling, for their captain explained that the sailors “stayed on a small island near the ship for two or three days for their various needs,’ according to their “custom.” Perhaps members of the crew made more direct appeals for female company and sexual contact than the shipside “entreaties” noted above.° What Verrazanno saw as the friendliest of encounters was a very different experience in Narragansett eyes. Narragansett curiosity nonetheless overcame these concerns. One of the sachems, for example, was fascinated by the “ship’s equipment .. . asking especially about its uses,’ carefully evaluating European practices and technology. Verrazzano claimed that the man also “imitated our manners, tasted our food, and then courteously took his leave of us.” The Narragansetts were

not just interested in mimicking and testing European practices but also

4 Sw INTRODUCTION illustrated their own martial and athletic skill. The sachem “would shoot his

bow and run and perform various games with his men to give us pleasure,’ Verrazzano explained.’ Whether or not such displays also demonstrated Narragansett battle readiness, they long remained a shared area of masculine accomplishment for Native and Euro-American men, offering both parties a means to evaluate one another’s physical prowess, martial skill, spiritual power, and honor — themes that resonate throughout this study. Verrazzano found the interior of the region “as pleasant as [he could] possibly describe,” assuring his patron the French king Francois I, that the land was “suitable for every type of cultivation.” He also noted in passing various Indian hunting practices, as well as canoe and wigwam manufacturing techniques. He observed that wigwams were portable dwellings well adapted to Indian mobility, which revolved around seasonal farming, hunting, and fishing among other activities. Following in Verrazzanos wake, later European observers viewed Indian mobility as a sign of both backwardness and the

drudgery that Native women were forced to endure at the hands of their lazy and abusive husbands. For his part, however, Verrazzano contended that Native mobility offered a very healthy life, as Indians were rarely sick and lived long lives. When they finally died, he explained, “their end comes with old age.” The Narragansetts were also “very compassionate and charitable toward their relatives, for they make great lamentations in times of adversity, recalling in their grief all their past happiness.”®

Stopping farther northward along the coast, Verrazzano disliked the Wabanakis residing near Casco Bay, Maine. They were, he claimed, “full of crudity and vices, and were so barbarous that we could never make any communication with them, however many signs we made to them.” Absent any visible evidence of agriculture, he correctly presumed that the Wabanakis relied predominantly on hunting for sustenance. They were clearly not fond of European visitors, demonstrating their scorn by “showing their buttocks and laughing” as La Dauphine’s crew prepared to go inland. Once on shore, the sailors faced a brief volley of arrows from the warriors, who “uttered loud cries before fleeing into the woods.” An earlier negative experience with Europeans had likely shaped the Wabanakis’ attitude toward Verrazzano's party. They may have either encountered unscrupulous traders or suffered a kidnapping at the hands of passing European explorers. Regardless, Verrazzano was not particularly impressed with the interior of the region, and he and his men, returning to the ship, sailed home after a stop for supplies

in Nova Scotia.’ |

INTRODUCTION w& 5

Unlike most European observers, who more often took an omniscient tone when describing Indians, Verrazzano frankly admitted to Francois I that the lack of a shared language hampered his efforts to understand Native culture and to survey the land. He drew on various examples of other nonEuropean peoples — Ethiopians, Syrians, Chinese, and “Carib” Indians, for instance — to help him comprehend Native life from the Carolinas to Maine. Some of these examples may have been drawn from writings such as Marco Polo’s work, Christopher Columbus’s letters, and other sources of which Verrazzano assumed the king would be aware. He further reported that it was difficult to discern Indian religious practices but drew conclusions nonetheless: “We consider that they have neither religion nor laws.” Assuming that Indians lacked religion, Verrazzano claimed that “they live in absolute freedom, and everything they do proceeds from Ignorance; for they are very easily persuaded,’ imitating “everything ... they saw us Christians do with regard to divine worship, with the same fervor and enthusiasm that we had.” By asserting earlier that the Narragansetts eagerly mimicked their religious devotions, Verrazanno had suggested to the French king that Indians would make easy Christian converts and pliant subjects. Now, having dismissed Native religion, he spent the rest of the letter relating geographic information that, among other things, explained why he never made it to China and the wealth of the East.”° Verrazzano’s account is a useful starting point for this examination of gender and colonialism. The voyage demonstrates many of the themes that proved

key to Anglo-Indian relations in southern New England. A number of his observations of Native peoples were obviously gendered: bodies, dress, adornment, sexuality, and labor, for instance. Both violence and coercion were similarly commonplace in Anglo-Indian relations and were essential to defining manhood in early New England. Generosity, hospitality, humor, and friendship were sometimes part of the equation as well. Exchanges of goods or gifts were often at the center of Anglo-Indian relations. Although Verrazzano quickly dismissed Indian religion and intimated that Native peoples would make easy converts, he missed the degree to which Natives, like Europeans, lived in a world charged with religious significance. As Verrazzano’s 1524 voyage demonstrates, New England hardly constituted a “New World” of novelty and wonder when English settlers tentatively gained a foothold at Plymouth around a century later. Coastal Native Amer-

ican communities had by then experienced varying degrees of European

6 tm INTRODUCTION influence, perhaps trading with European fishermen in northern New _England and certainly encountering novel trade goods that traveled south-

: ward along with news of the strange behavior of the newcomers. At the same time, Indian life had changed profoundly as smaller disparate communities coalesced into larger confederations or tribes. Although this development was most evident among the Haudenosaunee (the Five Nations of the Iroquois), a similar pattern appears to have been occurring among New England Algonquian communities prior to colonization. The presence of the two Narragansett sachems noted by Verrazzano, for instance, is suggestive of a larger political community. There is disagreement over the cause of these changes: some scholars see novel transformations flowing from the arrival of European traders and competition over access to goods, while others discern a continued unfolding of earlier developments in Native communities, independent of European expansion. Most important, these developments appear to be a continuation of long-standing Native exchange practices and trade networks, the rise of agriculturalist Indian communities, and earlier patterns of competition and violence.” The sixteenth century was similarly a tumultuous period for the English. England slowly and unevenly became a Protestant country, as the tentative religious reforms begun under Henry VIII (1509-47) were at first accelerated under Edward VI (1547-53), then briefly reversed with the rule of his Catholic sister Mary I (1553-58), and finally consolidated under the long reign of Elizabeth I (1558-1603 ). Concurrently with all of this religious conflict, England engaged in a process of state formation that was bound up not only in changing religious, administrative, and political practices but also in the verities of individual and national identity. During the period that Englishness became equated with various forms of Protestantism, emerging European states increasingly saw commercial and colonial expansion as essential to national security, wealth, power, and glory. For the English, this process began relatively close to home with the Elizabethan conquest of Ireland. The Irish experience proved informative; many seventeenthcentury descriptions of supposed Indian savagery and backwardness use Irish examples as reference points.” When Elizabethan and early Stuart-era explorers turned to consider New England as a possible area for commercial and colonial adventures in the early seventeenth century, they sought Verrazzanos “Refugio. Just as Verrazzanoss views had been influenced by other travelers and writers — from

Marco Polo to Christopher Columbus —so too English explorers like

INTRODUCTION wt 7 Bartholomew Gosnold turned to the Florentine’s account in the early seventeenth century, which made the region seem ideal for trading and possibly even colonization. Like so many other travel narratives, Verrazzanos

letter was included with other voyages in the younger Richard Hakluyt’s influential compendium of explorers’ accounts, The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation (1599). As was almost always the case with such ventures, though, explorers who consulted Hakluyt and then later searched for Verrazzanos “Refugio” along the north Atlantic coast did not find exactly what they sought.

Having arrived during the 1620 winter, Plymouth’s Governor William Bradford certainly lacked Giovanni da Verrazzano’s enthusiasm for the region — surrounding “Refugio.” No refuge; instead, Bradford saw what he termed

“a hideous and desolate wilderness” populated by “wild beasts and wild men.’* Bradford and subsequent colonists believed that such a situation needed a remedy. To this end, New England colonization put great faith in manly labor, evangelism, and martial skill to forward a colonial agenda intended to remake the region and its Native peoples. A particular vision of Christian manliness was central to Anglo-American conceptions of civility, religion, and colonialism. (Native Americans had their own ideas, of course, about what ideally constituted manhood and womanhood, as well as how best to conduct work, worship, and warfare. ) Drawing on extensive research in English print sources, while also integrating the analysis of a number of material objects from the period and the examination of Indian oral traditions recorded from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century, the chapters that follow examine gender crossculturally as a product of distinct religious cultures and focus on the role of masculinity in missionary efforts and Anglo-Indian warfare in early New England. I argue that Native and Anglo-American conceptions of masculinity unfolded in counterpoint over the course of the seventeenth century and were central to the development of colonialism. As an exercise in comparative religion, the approach offered here focuses on areas of Native and

Anglo-American religious practice and views of the divine that were important to gender identities and colonialism. Religion filled gender identities with meaning, however differently they were understood and figured in Indian and English communities. For both Indians and settlers, everyday life unfolded within enchanted worlds charged with spiritual power, sacred meaning, and some mystery.”

8 Sm INTRODUCTION Native Americans were more open to incorporating or refashioning aspects of Christianity than their English neighbors were to experimenting with Indian religious practices in the region. For Puritan colonists, like other Christians during the period, there was ideally only one path to salvation and one true Christianity. Given this exclusive claim on religious truth, it is not surprising that many English observers denied that Indians practiced religion at all and instead maintained that they served the Devil through rituals that colonists associated with paganism or witchcraft. A late seventeenthcentury example from Martha's Vineyard is particularly illustrative of the distinction that scholars sometimes make between inclusive and exclusive religious cultures, while also suggesting the limits of such categories. The __ minister Matthew Mayhew related the story of a local colonist who turned to an Indian religious expert, or powwow, who specialized in stolen goods recovery. The powwow explained that to allow his supernatural skill to work, the colonist needed to “believe that my god will help you.” The colonist ultimately failed to complete this key step, and the thief remained undetected. The episode can be read as an example of religious exclusivity: an unwillingness to experiment with Native religious practice. But one should be careful not to overstate the extent of English exclusivity. The Englishman had asked

for the powwow’ assistance only after “having... been an eye witness of his ability.” Ministers were more invested in policing the bounds of popular

religion than ordinary colonists were, and given his local reputation with both Native and Anglo-Americans, the powwow was probably a busy man." Interestingly, this powwow was married to a Christian Indian woman. The way in which the couple reconciled their seemingly divergent religions demonstrates how Native Americans sometimes inclusively blended sacred traditions. Mayhew reported that the powwow encouraged rather than discouraged his wife in her Christianity. Not all traditionalists shared the powwow S$ flexibility regarding conversion — resistance to the new religion was often fierce and even violent — but he was apparently proud that his wife was celebrated locally as a “Godly Woman,’ well known for her commitment to family prayer and regular attendance at religious services. According to the minister, the powwow plainly “declared that he could not blame her, for

that she Served a God that was above his; but that as to himself, his gods continued kindness, obliged him not to forsake his Service.” In Mayhew’s telling, the Christian god came out on top, and the powwow’s gods were relegated to some lesser jurisdiction. Perhaps the minister accurately conveyed the powwow's point, but the Native man’s explanation also suggests

INTRODUCTION ws 9 a pragmatic view of the sacred. That his wife was successful at Christian religious practice made her an exemplary and spiritually powerful woman. For the powwow and his wife, religious traditions coexisted and perhaps blended without issue, defining their gender identities and status locally as well as across cultural bounds.” Exchange also lies at the center of this study. Exchanges of goods, gifts, hospitality, and insults, among other things, offered a means of evaluation for Indians and Anglo-Americans alike. As scholars have noted, Indians often sought out European goods for specifically religious purposes. Glass beads and other shiny objects, often thought worthless by Europeans, were highly

valued as supernatural objects in Indian cosmology and were central to a spiritual economy of exchange.”* Gifting and exchange sometimes enabled Native men to contact and accumulate spiritual power while also offering a method of discerning friend from foe, just as exchange provided a means to accord respect or deliver an insult. Exchange was thus central to both shaping and comprehending the colonial world. Accounts of Anglo-Indian exchange attest to the fact that differing standards of manly comportment, hospitality, and reciprocity often led to violence. Missions and warfare are familiar topics in colonial history, and masculinity has garnered increasing interest from scholars. I approach these topics in a novel way by treating gender and religion cross-culturally, which provides a fuller and ethnographically richer accounting of the formation of colonial New England. In addition to surveying the changing realities of the meaning

of manhood in the seventeenth century, this book joins a number of recent works that illuminate the connection between colonialism and gender identities.” By bringing together these concerns and focusing on the first century of colonization, the book emphasizes a formative period that was especially decisive because it witnessed the development of colonial social, cultural, and religious institutions and, importantly for my concerns, attitudes and policies toward Indians. At the same time, Indian communities, facing the realities of colonial life, were drawing on older practices to deal with new and often painful changes brought about by the expansion of European settlement, trade, and warfare. The history of gender and colonialism over the course of the century is intertwined with that of religion, exchange, and violence.

This book is divided into three parts. Part I, “Gender Counterpoint,’ puts Anglo-American and Native gender ideals and practices into interpretive

10 JS’ INTRODUCTION

counterpoint by considering both commonalities and differences in the ways members of the two cultural groups defined manhood at the beginning of the colonial period. Although physical accomplishment, age, status, and spiritual potency were essential to the definition of manhood in both communities, this common ground often went unnoted. More frequently, discussions of Anglo-American and Indian gender practices highlighted differences rather than similarities. In turn, gender differences were centralto the way in which the colonists dealt with Native peoples: they shaped missionary efforts, English attitudes toward warfare with Indians, and the course of colonialism. Part II, “Minting Christians,’ applies these themes to the New England missionary efforts that began in the 1640s. Historians have examined the link between civilization and salvation in missionary efforts but rarely in

light of the importance of masculinity, what Cotton Mather called John , Eliot’s “double work” of transforming Indian manhood and thereby civilizing Native society. Only then, Mather argued, would Indian society be prepared for Christianity.” Surveying the region’s missionary efforts, this section addresses changing conceptions and practices of masculinity in

the Christian Indian communities called praying towns. The experience | of living in Christian Indian villages varied widely. It mattered a great deal whether one resided in Natick, at the center of Massachusetts Bay Colony missionary activity and surrounded by growing English villages, or, to cite one prominent example, on Martha's Vineyard, where a handful of English

settlers and missionaries lived near a much larger Native population. In Natick and, to lesser degree, other Massachusetts Bay, Martha’s Vineyard, and Plymouth Colony Christian Indian towns, the missionaries John Eliot, Daniel Gookin, and Thomas Mayhew Jr., among others, argued to varying degrees that transforming Christian Indian men into steady English-style patriarchs was essential to the spread of the gospel among New England Natives. In particular, they contended that only truly Christian Indian men would be capable of raising Indian women to the status of English women

and ensuring that pious Native children would enjoy a place — but not ) equality — within a hierarchical colonial society. Interestingly, this obsession with transforming Native masculinity and keeping proselytes secluded from the influence of the worst elements of English society imagined a Christian Indian future, especially in Massachusetts Bay Colony, that was in some ways more patriarchal than Anglo-American practices. Not surprisingly, praying

towns were no more prepared to meet patriarchal ideals than were Anglo-

INTRODUCTION wW 11 American villages, where local ministers often lamented signs of patriarchal decline in family and community. Despite the best efforts of missionaries to bring to life their perceptions of what constituted civility and Christian manhood, most praying Indians mixed the old with the new, forming a new and dynamic Indian Christianity. In praying towns, manhood subtly changed as a different means of defining masculinity complemented and, in some cases, superseded older practices. This was especially true on Martha’s Vineyard, where an Indian majority and the more flexible missionary efforts of the Mayhew family assured that Christian Indian life was determined by Native concerns more directly than was possible on the mainland. Native Americans on Martha's Vineyard also

had the advantage of living on an island removed from conflicts that tore apart mainland Indian communities. Plymouth Colony praying Indians, by contrast, suffered war's destructiveness but also proved less subject to missionary control than their Native coreligionists in Massachusetts Bay

| Colony.

King Philip’s War (1675-76, to 1678 in Maine), a conflict that ripped the region apart, changed life for all praying Indians, especially those residing on the mainland, where it was impossible to avoid the deprivations of war

and numerous hostile settlers. The importance of the missionary efforts faded after the conflict, in large part because English settlers became much less concerned with converting Indians than with assuring security, exacting revenge, and obtaining labor. Settlers became less willing to distinguish between friendly and enemy, or Christian and traditionalist, Indians when all Native Americans were increasingly defined as racially different. Native life became ever more precarious as a result. The missionary program, even though it persisted into the next century, faded from prominence with the 1690 death of John Eliot, the program's most tireless promoter. For all these reasons, the decades after King Philip’s War witnessed a lessening of missionary zeal. In some cases, Indian men returned to older ways of defining masculinity and adjusted to the exigencies of a changing colonial world— one increasingly defined by warfare.

Part III, “Making War,’ examines the differing Native and AngloAmerican conceptions of manhood, religion, and warfare. Divergent Indian and English notions of the ethics of war were similarly linked to specific conceptions of masculinity. In Indian modes of warfare, boyhood training focused on cultivating the strength, skill, and spiritual acumen necessary to success as a warrior. Though these things would remain important to Indian

12 Sw INTRODUCTION conceptions of warfare over the course of the seventeenth century, the nature of fighting would change with adoption of European weaponry. At the beginning of that century Indian men fought in a highly ritualized fashion imbued with supernatural significance, one that maximized opportunities for masculine displays of athleticism and martial skill while minimizing casualties. But Native Americans quickly adapted their long-standing tactics to the growing ferocity of colonial warfare and increased use of European weapons. Indian warriors continued to call on spiritual power through a range of religious practices with which they sought to supplement their manmade weaponry. If English weapons and tactics changed the nature of fighting, Indian understandings of what made a warrior — physical and spiritual excellence — remained remarkably constant over the course of the century. Warfare was also central to the Anglo-American conception of manhood. Like their Indian counterparts, English men valued physical accomplishment as essential to manhood. Occasions like “training days” offered opportunities for masculine displays of martial skill. Religion similarly contributed to Anglo-American conceptions of warfare. In the Native religious world, men might cultivate relationships with and directly call upon various spiritual entities associated with success in war, whereas the Christian God remained more remote for English soldiers. But King Philip's War ushered in a period when many Anglo-American New Englanders saw war as God's instrument for punishing a degenerate people who had fallen away from the precedent set by an earlier generation of more pious and effective patriarchs. This view had important implications for masculinity, as it suggested that Puritan men were failing to successfully exercise their proper authority. War thus offered an avenue to both religious and masculine renewal. In addition, warfare provided an especially pivotal way of evaluating Indian manhood and honor.” Casting Indian warfare as dishonorable and unmanly, colonial observers increasingly described Indian warriors as wolves and snakes — predators without honor and humanity. The importance of masculinity to missionary efforts and to warfare came together in the closing decades of the century. Although missionary efforts persisted into the future and Indians continued to create their own forms of Protestantism, Indian conversion became less important to colonialism as the Indians living within southern New England lost most of their autonomy and land. Ultimately, the mission did not turn Indian men into Christian agriculturalists, transform their families into patriarchal “little commonwealths,’ or promise Natives a new role in colonial society. Instead of emerging as a

INTRODUCTION & 13 significant body of independent farmers more fully embracing interrelated

Anglo-American conceptions of manhood and civility, praying Indian men — like their more traditionalist neighbors — assumed an increasingly precarious role in colonial society as wage laborers, indentured servants, sailors, and mercenaries. If King Philip’s War marked a turning point in colonial attitudes toward Indians, then the violence that repeatedly exploded along the New England frontier, especially during King William’s War (1688-97) and Queen Anne’s War (1702-13), further assured that Indians moved further toward the margins of colonial society.

Note on Terminology | While recognizing that none of the following terms are entirely satisfactory,

I apply these words interchangeably to the original inhabitants of North America: Indians, Natives, Native peoples, and Native Americans. In addition,

Algonquian is sometimes used to denote Native Americans who speak languages and dialects belonging to the Algonquian language family and who share many cultural similarities. When appropriate, proper names such as Nauset, Pokanoket, or Wampanoag are employed to distinguish smaller political and cultural entities. Although the region’s Native peoples were certainly diverse, what follows is written with the understanding that its Algonquian-speaking Natives shared much cultural and religious ground. To distinguish broadly between non-Christian and Christian Indians, I use the term “traditionalist” to refer to the former, and “Christian” or “praying” to distinguish the latter. By traditionalist, 1 do not mean to suggest that non-Christian Indian groups were static or somehow less dynamic than their praying-Indian neighbors; they simply maintained aspects of older lifeways without drawing on Christianity as they adapted to the rapidly changing colonial world. I make no attempt to gauge whether or not praying Indians were really Christian by either Puritan or modern standards. Instead, the study is written with the understanding that Christianity was an important source of spiritual power and succor that Christian Indians drew on to varying degrees over the course of the colonial period. I use English and Anglo-American interchangeably to denote settlers or colonists. Defining Puritanism has proved an increasingly difficult endeavor, leaving some scholars to avoid the term “Puritan” altogether. I retain Puritan throughout the book with the recognition that even the most orthodox believers — not to mention the numerous heterodox and irreligious in their

14. St INTRODUCTION midst — often disagreed over their faith. “Puritanism” is also useful in describing the common culture and social values that shaped settler gender ideals, colonialism, missionary efforts, and attitudes toward warfare. Readers should be aware of the broad distinction between Separatist and nonSeparatist Puritans. The former group, which constituted the majority of Plymouth Colony settlers, believed that the task of reforming the English church was impossible and thus formed congregations separate from it. By contrast, the latter group sought to reform the Anglican Church from within, believing that it could become a true church.”

PART 1 St Gender Counterpoint

As SUMMER turned to fall in 1622, the Plymouth colonists, who had arrived aboard the Mayflower two years earlier, once again began worrying about the coming winter. Although they were rarely on friendly terms with the unruly settlers at Wessagussett, necessity forced the Plymouth colonists to join with their troublesome English neighbors to trade for corn with Indian communities living to the south and on Cape Cod. Initially, bad weather kept the expedition in Plymouth. But in November, Plymouth Governor William Bradford and a small party of Englishmen departed with their Patuxet Indian ally and guide Squanto (also known as Tisquantum) to seek food. The Indians at Manamoycke, the first village they visited, distrusted the newcomers. Nevertheless, the English ultimately enjoyed the hospitality of local Indians, in what Edward Winslow called “their Savage manner,’ including a feast of venison and other foods. Gifting and exchange proved key to the occasion. The Indians explained that the feast had to precede the trading, presumably setting the terms for future dealings. The Englishmen success-

fully departed with eight hogsheads of corn and beans. As they prepared to seek more provisions, Squanto was “struck... with sickness, in so much as hee there died.” Despite the loss of their guide and translator, the party resolved to head to Massachusett country.’

@t 15

16 Sw PARTI They discovered an epidemic ravaging nearby Massachusett villages. Despite the problems posed by this development — the spread of disease might make local Indians less willing to part with corn — the trading party returned to Cape Cod to seek foodstuffs at Nauset and Mattachiest. They successfully procured corn at both villages but faced yet another setback when severe weather forced their shallop aground. With little choice but to leave the corn and return to Plymouth, Bradford extracted promises from the sachems of both villages to protect the grain. Distrusting the Indians, the governor threatened that if they broke their promise “they should certainly smart for their unjust and dishonest dealing, and further make good whatsoever they had so taken.” He then departed for Plymouth traveling overland, arriving with good fortune three days after the undamaged ship had returned.’ Still concerned about their provisions for the winter, the English resolved “that they should returne with all convenient speed, and bring their Carpenter, that they might fetch the rest of the corne, and save the shallop.” Upon

arrival, Miles Standish discovered that some “beads, Cissers, and other trifles” had been stolen from their shallop. Responding to the situation, Standish collected some men and reported the matter to the Nauset sachem Aspinet. The Indian leader returned the next day with a large group of men “in a stately manner” to meet with Standish to resolve the issue. Possibly seeking to emulate English modes of masculine comportment, the sachem “thrust out his tongue ... and therewith licked [Standish’s] hand from the wrist to the fingers end,” while also bowing. His men followed suit, which left the Englishmen fighting back laughter. The misunderstanding may have been the product of a joke, as Edward Winslow explained that Aspinet’s

: attempt at emulating English manners came from “being instructed” by Squanto. Regardless, the contrite sachem proceeded with aplomb and “delivered the Beads, & other things, to the Captaine,’ explaining that that the thief had been severely beaten for his transgression. Satisfied with the results of the meeting, the English party returned to Plymouth.° With food stores still inadequate, Governor William Bradford headed to two other Cape Cod villages, Nemasket and Manomet, to seek more corn. , That disease decimated the former village did not keep the English from successfully trading for more foodstuffs before proceeding to the latter. There, Bradford met with the sachem Canacum, who was well versed in dealing

with Europeans, having traded furs with both the Dutch and the French

Gender Counterpoint «#t 17

on Buzzard’s Bay. Facing “bitter weather” during the visit, the English party stayed the night in Manomet as guests of Canacum’s people.* During the Englishmen’s unplanned sojourn, “two men from Manamoick” arrived in Manomet on serious business. They immediately “set aside their bowes and quivers, according to their manners, sate downe by the fire, and tooke a pipe of Tobacco” in silence. Exchange was important to what followed. “At length they looked toward Canacum,” explained Edward Winslow. Eventually, “one of them made a short speech, and delivered a present to him from his Sachim, which was a basket of Tobacco, and many Beads, which the other received thankfully.” The man then “made a long speech,’ which

detailed the seriousness of their visit: they had come to seek satisfaction for a recent murder that occurred during an earlier match of either hubbub or puim, Native games, which the English disapprovingly equated with European gambling. The dispute apparently arose while a group of men were gaming and turned deadly when a powwow from Manomet “growing to great heat,” killed an unnamed man from Manamoick.°

A spiritually powerful man, that powwow was “one of special note amongst them, and such an one as they could not well misse, yet another people greater than themselves threatened them with warre, if they would not put him to death.” While the powwow was in custody, Canacum carefully sought the opinion of everyone present. After a short period of silence, deliberating “at length men gave their judgement what they thought best.” Canacum also asked Hobbomock, an adviser to the powerful Pokanoket sachem Massasoit, who often served the English as a guide, for his opinion. Admitting “he was but a stranger to them,’ Hobbomock observed “it was better that one should die than many, since he had deserved it, and the rest were innocent; whereupon [the sachem Canacum] passed the sentence of death upon [the powwow].”° The series of events that unfolded during the Plymouth trading expeditions do not seem particularly gendered at first glance. They could be read, for example, as an early instance of cross-cultural diplomacy or of the precariousness of life in early Plymouth Colony. Nevertheless, incidents such as Nauset men licking the Englishmen’s hands in a mistaken attempt to emulate European modes of according respect and denoting rank were bound up in differing understandings of masculinity and exchange. Although the occasion may well have been amusing to the English involved, the episode illustrates

18 Sw PARTI one manner in which divergent conceptions of manly comportment led to misunderstandings; what was thought to constitute an appropriate form of masculine address in this instance sometimes turned into laughter, frustration, or even violence on other occasions. Similarly, the series of speeches, ritual tobacco-smoking, gift-giving, and deliberative justice that were involved in resolving the murder at Manomet demonstrate the importance of exchange, comportment, hospitality, violence, and speech to Indian masculinity. At same time, tobacco, the only crop then raised by Indian men, was religiously important and smoked on ritual occasions. Moreover, games like puim and hubbub were also cosmologically significant and formed an arena for masculine accomplishment. In these ways, religion was also central to the meaning of manhood for Native Americans.’ English observers like Edward Winslow equated Indian games with European gambling — sinful vanity, Puritan critics argued, that threatened the basis of Christian manhood. Favoring sin over godly pursuits, gamblers _ wasted time better spent praying or working. It could only lead to ruin, unmaking men as they gambled away their independence, threatened the livelihood of their families, and affronted God. Gaming, like so much else in Anglo-Indian relations, represented the gulf between settler and Native conceptions of gender and religion. Across cultures, skill in gaming was either an important way of defining and displaying spiritual power and masculine accomplishment, or it represented the very mockery of Christian living and manhood. In large part, English colonial writers, who were almost always men, com-

pared Native society against their understandings of religion, civilization, and gender. While not making a wholesale departure from English gender practices, New Englanders were especially concerned with the link between the patriarchal “little commonwealth” — ideally ruled by a pious father who used stern resolve when necessary but applied Christian love whenever possible — and the greater commonwealth, headed by a leader whose rule was intended to mirror the actions of the ideal father. New England settlers saw the patriarchal family as an engine for societal and religious reform.® Anglo-American manhood was thus shaped by a religiously derived desire to reform individuals, families, colonies, England, and ultimately, they hoped,

not only Christendom but the unconverted peoples of the world. Anglo-American understandings of patriarchalism and manhood fundamentally shaped the ways in which Indian society was understood and colo-

Gender Counterpoint st 19 nialism developed.’ Anglo-Americans observers often derided Indian men for failing to act as men should and offering a potentially dangerous example to the disorderly elements of Anglo-American society. Indian men, such critics explained, gamed, hunted, or fought when they should instead have been praying or farming. In a typical seventeenth-century colonial assessment of Indian gender roles, for instance, William Wood claimed that Indian wives were ‘more loving, pitiful, and modest, mild, provident, and laborious than their lazy husbands.” Such views may tell us more about Anglo-American gender ideals than they reveal about the structure of Indian society. With these views in mind, Part I puts Native and Anglo-American manhood in interpretive counterpoint. For Native Americans, heredity and age distinctions, in part, structured community and gender relations. Manhood was very much something to be accomplished through exemplary deeds, physical distinction, and spiritual preeminence. At the same time, status was becoming more important to defining manhood in the seventeenth century. In the transition from boyhood to manhood, the accumulation of spiritual

power proved particularly vital, filling events and actions with supernatural significance as well as marking a man’s identity and status within Indian society. Through rituals and daily activities, Indian men strove to achieve the physical and spiritual excellence found in Native masculine ideals, as embodied by both exemplary living men and the supernatural entities represented in oral traditions. It is crucial to recognize that just as masculinity was defined in relation to actions of other men, all men were judged against the prevailing manly ideals.” At the same time, manhood was determined through relations with women and juxtaposed with femininity more broadly. Indian masculinity was neither monolithic nor static. Men’s lives generally revolved around trade, diplomacy, fishing, hunting, and warfare, whereas women primarily gathered foodstuffs, cultivated land, manufactured numerous woven goods, and handled child rearing. This division of labor was not absolute, however. Roger Williams, for example, noted that though women did most of the agricultural labor, “sometimes the man himselfe, (either out of love to his Wife, or care for his Children, or being an old man) will help the Woman which... they are not bound to.”” Although mobility marked much

of male life, other imperatives defined manhood in the course of everyday activities. Boys prepared for manhood through a combination of rituals and deeds that determined, along with hereditary considerations, their status and power in society.

20 Sm PARTI Anglo-American manhood was also something to be accomplished. Like

Indian manhood, the transition from boyhood unfolded within a rich religious tradition. Anglo-American men particularly strove for competence and independence through a calling. Along with marriage and a reputation for piety, independence defined manhood. The actions of deviant sinful men occupied many a sermon in early New England, offering a counterexample that reinforced manly ideals. If one missed the lesson, the law, especially in the Puritan colonies, reinforced patriarchalism as a fundamental governing principle. Deviant men, those who failed to recognize the dominant concep-

tion of manhood, faced the power of the government. Laws dealing with adultery, rebellious children, recalcitrant servants, single people, and the poor all served to reinforce the importance, power, and interests of inde- pendent married men and underscored the centrality of patriarchalism to colonial life.»

Native and Anglo-American understandings of masculinity constituted a sort of gender counterpoint in the seventeenth century. Thus while both parties shared some cultural ground — the importance of religion to gender identities, to cite one important example — they rarely recognized such commonalities, often focusing instead on differences. Nevertheless, gender served as a primary means of understanding the developing colonial world and its various peoples. This gender counterpoint was one of many similar dynamics. Throughout early New England a series of counterpoints emerged in the development of colonial society: the old and the new world, religious traditions and Christian novelties, Indian and English marriages, Native and Anglo-American warrior cultures, and the familial nature of New England colonialism versus the development of colonialism elsewhere in British North America. Consistent with the word’s other meanings, counterpoint in each of these instances can also imply opposition or juxtaposition, dissonance or harmony.” This section begins examining some of these colonial counterpoints by comparing and contrasting settler and Indian understandings of masculinity. Because colonialism, power, and manliness were intertwined in early New England this was no idle debate about husbands and wives, hunting and farming, or honor and violence.

CHAPTER l "In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle”

S TATUS AND SPIRITUAL power played an important role in defining Indian manhood and womanhood. Edward Winslow, for example, commented that “the younger fore reverence for the elder... do all meane offices whilst they are together, although they bee strangers,’ and noted that Indian children could not wear their hair in the style reserved for adult men and women. He also explained that boys were barred from smoking tobacco until they were men. William Wood confirmed the importance of hair, noting its significance in marking not only age but also ethnicity, political affiliation, and status. Additionally, Roger Williams reported that ordinary and elite Natives comported themselves differently when delivering salutations. Some Indians, he claimed, were “Rude and Clownish,’ while higher-status Narragansetts acted more “sober and grave.” Christopher Levett witnessed a similar dynamic among Indians living north of the groups primarily under

consideration here, noting that Native leaders “will scarce speake to an ordinary man,’ and that social distance was encouraged through speech practices.’

As was true of common and elite men, age and status similarly distinguished women from one another. John Gyles reported that older widows, (along with captive men) could sit at the entrance of wigwams used for all-male speaking sessions after feasts, whereas younger women apparently

gt 21

22 St CHAPTER 1 could not gain even peripheral access to such events. Roger Williams claimed that high-status women enjoyed the services of “a Nurse to tend the childe.”

Noting distinctions between the sexes, both Gyles and Wood claimed that Indian men enjoyed the privilege of eating first, while the women waited and then ate whatever remained. These accounts suggest that age, gender, and heredity shaped identity and everyday life powerfully. While English notions of hierarchy often distorted such accounts of Indian life, this evidence remains suggestive of the degree to which a range of status distinctions marked seventeenth-century Indian gender identities and relations.” Archaeological work on mortuary practices in the region illuminates some of the changes occurring in the colonial period. One study demonstrates that precontact burials generally contained few grave goods and showed little variation in the distribution of goods from grave to grave. Precontact burials also occurred in isolated or small groupings. As the seventeenth century progressed, however, mortuary practices became increasingly more ornate, with larger numbers of burials in cemeteries and some graves exhibiting numerous grave goods, especially European imports. The growing incidence of European objects serving as grave goods possibly marked political rank over time. This interpretation is underscored by research suggesting that individuals buried with wampum appear to have enjoyed better health and nutrition than their less ornately interred neighbors. With colonization, aspects of elite adornment like wampum and furs may have increasingly assumed an economic importance that mingled with the circulation of such items in both the spiritual and political economies of Native life. Other studies caution against viewing grave goods as merely an index of status and power. One especially complex and sensitive analysis by Patricia E. Rubertone stresses

the sacred nature of Narragansett mortuary practices that bound together the living and the dead as kin and community. Grave goods illustrated the transmission of sacred knowledge, the importance of maturity and accomplishment, the specialized skills of the deceased woman or man; and the complexities of gender identities in an Indian community.’ Remaining dependent upon reciprocity and consensus, Indian governance relied on a certain degree of hierarchical distinction. By the seventeenth century, men frequently held the most visible positions of power within southern New England Indian societies. Female sachems, called sunksquaws, appear to have been comparatively rare in the seventeenth century. According to William Wood, it was customary “for their kings to inherit, the son always taking the kingdom after his father’s death. Ifthere be no son, then

| “In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle” wt 23 the queen rules; if no queen, the next in the blood-royal.” English opinions on structure and conduct of Indian governance varied. Matthew Mayhew, at one extreme, claimed that “their Government was purely Monarchical.” Daniel Gookin, among others, offered a more balanced view of Indian governance: while echoing Mayhew in some regards, he observed that sachems relied on consensus rather than coercion. Native leaders thus often acted “obligingly and lovingly unto their people,” because otherwise their villages would shrink. Alienating his or her people would be catastrophic for any leader, as Gookin noted, because “thereby their strength, power and tribute would be diminished.”* It appears that while valuing consensus and effective leadership as the measures of a sachemship, Natives in the region also understood heredity and status to be important.

Clothing, bodily adornment, comportment, and housing variously served to symbolize rank for Indians. Wood, for instance, noted that “many of the better sort” wore tattoos distinct from the emblems decorating the bodies of lower-rank Indians. William Bradford and Edward Winslow found similar characteristics in Pokanoket clothing, observing that although all Indian men wore deerskins, “the principal of them had a wild cat’s skin, or such like on the one arm.” Thomas Morton confirmed the symbolic importance of such adornment, noting that the “skin of the black wolf... is esteemed a present for a prince” and also served as an important exchange item for resolving diplomatic disputes. John Josselyn similarly noted the high value of these skins, adding that wolf skin was “highly esteemed for helping old Aches in old people” and was “worn as a Coat.” William Bradford reported that early in the seventeenth century, “sachems and some special persons” used wampum as a special component of their adornment (figure 1). Another observer noted that the Pokanoket sachem Massasoit favored both a black wolf skin and wampum. Sunksquaws, like male leaders, also appear to have employed specialized adornment reflective of their spiritual power and high rank. Some accounts relate that sachems enjoyed distinct wigwams and used a specialized “State-house” for diplomacy. Additional evidence suggests that the consumption of specialized foods was reserved for high-status individuals. Morton claimed that Indians considered beaver “a dish for... Sachems,’ in the belief that it enhanced sexual desire. Similarly, Josselyn explained that sagamores enjoyed smoked moose tongue as a special part of their diet.° Many of the elite men who typically advised Indian leaders shared in similar symbols of power. Roger Williams, for example, noted the existence of both a Narragansett elite and a specific group of advisers to the sachem

24 Se CHAPTER 1

FIGURE 1. Anonymous, Native American Sachem, ca. 1700. The only known contemporary painting of a seventeenth-century New England Indian, the image illustrates the incorporation of European materials like trade cloth and the persistence of older ways of denoting status and spiritual power like wampum. Trade goods and diplomatic gifts used as adornment were also symbolic of high status and a leader's ability to procure European goods and political support. Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design, Gift of Mr. Robert Winthrop. Photo by Del Bogart.

when he translated two Narragansett terms, one for “Lord” and another for “Wise man or Counsellour.”° The English translations Williams provided, however, miss the degree to which leadership roles in Indian society were defined through an individual's spiritual excellence. For instance, both powwows and pnieses enjoyed a status based on their perceived access to spiritual power: as religious specialists, powwows directed rituals, performed cures, prophesied, and advised their band’s leaders; as elite military advisers, pnieses projected a fearsome reputation in battle directly from their ability to cultivate sacred power.’

“In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle” st 25

Indians defined their gender identities within a rich religious tradition. Native Americans in southern New England lived in a world teeming with religious significance. Throughout the region, the spiritual force manitou imbued activities, beings, and natural objects with supernatural significance. Spiritual power was also represented in the powerful deities Keihtan and Hobbomock, as well as in numerous other spiritual entities key to determining one’s status and identity within Indian society.* Manitou was pervasive, marking sacred space as well as an individual’s deeds and spiritual associations in numerous ways. Exemplary men and women could embody such spiritual power, as could animals. When Indians “see one man excell others in Wisdome, Valour, strength, Activity &c.,” one account explained, “they cry out Manittdo A God.” Manitou thus was a force “filling all things, ... places, and... Excellencies” with supernatural significance. Everyday life unfolded within this rich religious world. In Narragansett country, for example, Indians reported frequent encounters with “black Foxes” that could not be hunted because they were “Manittdoes,” and thus outside the reach of a hunter’s bow.’

Given the importance of sacred power, Indian kin spent tremendous energy religiously instructing children. Religious instruction also reveals a great deal about Indian gender ideals and social values. Edward Winslow related long-standing Wampanoag beliefs about Keihtan, who like the analogous Narragansett figure Cautantowwit was responsible for creation and particularly important to religious life. “Old men tell them of him, and bid them tell their children,” Winslow explained, “yea, to charge them to teach their posterities the same, and lay the like charge upon them.’ Traditions of Keihtan’s origins and the special attention of relatives in assisting boys and girls to cultivate relations with a range of supernatural entities, like the especially powerful Hobbomock, reflected this call to instruct children in religion. Hobbomock appeared variously “in the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle &c” but emerged most commonly as “a Snake.” Even though Hobbomock materialized only for “the chiefest and most judicious amongst them,” all Indians, regardless of gender, attempted to contact this important deity. Spiritually potent warriors might carry a snakelike zoomorphic war club; women who enjoyed an association with Hobbomock sometimes ground corn with effigy pestles evocative of the powerful otherthan-human being.” A poignant example recorded by Roger Williams reveals the depth and intimacy of individual spiritual affinities. As an Indian lay dying from a wound

26 Sw CHAPTER 1 suffered at the hands of “some murtherous English,” Williams reported, he “call’d much upon Muckquachuckquand [the children’s God], who .. . had appeared to the dying young man, many yeares before, and bid him when ever he was in destresse call upon him.” In addition to the “Childrens God”

whom the young man summoned, Indians sought out a diverse range of spiritual entities, from deities representing directions or elements to spiritual associations focusing on aspects of individual identity, like the “Womans Gods” mentioned by Williams and confirmed by other evidence.”

Childhood religious instruction was extremely important for girls and boys. The missionary Matthew Mayhew noted that “[Indian] Parents often out of certain Zeal dedicated their Children to the gods, and Educated them accordingly, observing certain Diet, debarring Sleep ec. yet of the many thus designed, but few obtained their desire.” Although both boys and girls __ sought to connect with powerful other-than-human beings through religious practice, not all who tried succeeded. Given the importance of these rituals in becoming a woman or a man, parents approached religious instruction as a serious and pragmatic consideration. The passage from childhood to adulthood was as much bound up with the social and cultural renewal of the community as it was about coming of age.”

Children likely approached such ritualized occasions with an understandable mix of trepidation and excitement. For boys, vision quest rituals followed the same general pattern suggested by Mayhew. For example, particularly vigorous Wampanoag boys engaged in rituals that tested their potential to become pnieses; a special group of fearsome warriors and advisers to Indian leaders, who embodied masculine ideals and mustered tremendous spiritual power. Pnieses were “men of great courage and wisedome, whose familiarity with spiritual entities like Hobbomock protected them “from death, by wounds, with arrowes, knives, hatchets, &c.” Witnessing

| one battle, Edward Winslow marveled at the wounds bravely sustained by two pnieses, “not making any fearful noyse, but catching at their weapons and striving to the last.’ Not surprisingly, pnieses were among the most important advisers to the sachem. They earned high regard by being “more discreet, courteous, and humane in their carryages than any amongst them, scorning theft, lying and the like base dealings, and stand|[ing | as much upon

their reputation as any man.”* Although no doubt individual pnieses may have failed to live up to such standards, Winslow’s description provides insight into Indian manly ideals.

“In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle” st 27

Pniese training proved extremely arduous. Initiates endured physical trials, suffered sleep deprivation, and ingested special herbs, all aimed at contacting Hobbomock. Similar rituals were involved in identifying powwows.

The rituals tied to becoming a pniese or a powwow appear to have been variations on a general practice that determined the passage from childhood to adulthood. In some ways, these rituals fit with the early physical training

that boys and girls underwent to prepare them for the rigors of everyday life. As was the case with the sachemship, hereditary concerns also played a role in determining whether a boy was a good candidate for pniese training. Most likely, his physique, character, and perceived potential for contacting the supernatural formed the paramount considerations in the choice of an apprentice.”* Kin profoundly shaped children’s religious instruction. According to a Dutch account, when a Pokanoket boy began “to approach manhood he is taken by his father, uncle, or nearest friend, and is conducted blindfolded into a wilderness, in order that he may not know the way, and is left there by night or otherwise, with a bow and arrows, and a hatchet and a knife.” Although an adult tutor was no doubt a necessity for a boy to learn the skills essential to manhood, the guide’s role also affirms the Indian reverence for age and the degree to which adult masculinity was defined in opposition to what it meant to be a boy. Moreover, the adult male guide was emblematic of the importance of kinship to raising children. Indian childhood unfolded within kinship and community, which instilled cultural values and offered examples for boys and girls to emulate or, in some cases, eschew. We might see the practice of Anglo-American parents placing their children in apprenticeships that took them away from home as an analogous practice. But the desire to place children in apprenticeships largely flowed from concern that

parents not spoil their sons and daughters, as well as a desire to prepare them , for a calling. The masters of apprenticed English children were unlikely to be overindulgent as they taught boys a trade or girls the skills necessary for effective housewifery. Masters, like fathers, were independent patriarchs who controlled dependents, a role that sons were ideally supposed to replicate. Given this cultural background, little wonder that English writers found Native fatherhood so disorderly and indulgent.”

The evidence for the ritualized passage from girlhood to womanhood in southern New England remains scant in comparison with the sources on boys. Like the boyhood vision quest, a girl’s first admission into the

28 St CHAPTER 1 Wetuomémese — a wigwam reserved for women’s menstrual seclusion — may have marked her emergence as a woman religiously. Scholars have noted this parallel and have seen women’s seclusion as symbolic of female spiritual and reproductive power. Little evidence exists, however, of the rituals associated with this important transition. In the absence of such accounts, the practices

of other Eastern Woodland Indian cultures remain suggestive. Among the

| Illinois in the seventeenth century, for example, girls were secluded during their first menses and, like Wampanoag boys on vision quest, abstained from food and sought to contact a spiritual entity like Hobbomock. The French trader and official Pierre de Liette observed that if a girl succeeded in her

quest, as a woman she would be “everlastingly fortunate and achieve the gift of great power for the future.” Echoing Matthew Mayhew’s observation of Wampanoags, Liette also noted that cultivating relationships with supernatural entities was not an easy feat. Some would fail in the effort, leaving

much at stake in such ritual passages. In Mi’kmaq country, menstruating women were also secluded. According to the French Recollect missionary Chrestien Le Clercq, girls menstruating for the first time eschewed certain foods and used separate cooking vessels. The surgeon Seieur de Diéreville added that contact with menstruating women was considered extremely detrimental to males, causing paralysis and “bewitch|[ing |” muskets so that they were useless for hunting or battle."° Menstruating women embodied sacred power and potentially threatened to unmake a Mi’ kmaq man, leaving his body useless and causing a form of martial impotence. And if his musket failed, what Mi kmag man could fulfill the masculine ideals embodied by successful hunters and warriors?

The Wetuomémese served as a site for girls to cultivate relations within a powerful spiritual world, while remaining secluded from their relatives during this moment of heightened supernatural power. Indians associated childhood and womanhood with special spiritual entities, indicating how profoundly their religious practice shaped certain stages of life and gender identities. Sacred symbols associated with women are similarly suggestive. That women sometimes used material objects that announced an association with Hobbomock was also indicative of their success in encountering the elusive but especially powerful entity. From an early age, children learned oral traditions that presented a rich religious world populated with numerous powerful other-than-human beings and charged with spiritual power. Narragansett children, for example, heard “many strange Relations of one Wétucks, a man that wrought great

, “In the shape of a Man, a Deare, a Fawne and Eagle” «st 29 Miracles amongst them, and walking upon the waters, &c. with some kind of broken resemblance to the Sonne of God.”"” Wampanoag children were similarly regaled with oral traditions of the supernatural giants Maushop and Squant. Along with their children, this husband-and-wife duo was credited with many supernatural feats. Maushop, for example, “pulled up the largest trees by the roots” and used them as fuel for cooking “the whale, and the great fish of the sea,’ which he in turn shared with neighboring Indians. “To facilitate the catching [of | these fish,” the account reported, Maushop “threw many large stones, at proper distances, into the sea, on which he might walk with greater ease to himself.” In another instance, Maushop received and smoked an “offering .. . of all the tobacco on Martha's Vineyard, and “later knocked the snuff out of his pipe, which formed Nantucket.” By sharing food and offering tobacco, his actions demonstrated the high value put on reciprocity and hospitality, providing important lessons to girls and boys coming of age. Maushop’s actions also suggested manly ideals. For instance, the idea of Nantucket’s creation arriving from a communal offering of tobacco gives a common male activity a supernatural gloss.’* His deeds similarly echoed the manly ideals: as a master fisherman, Maushop was not only physically impressive and generous but also drew on tremendous supernatural resources.

The awesome potential of spiritual power and physical mastery was not solely the province of mythical characters; stories about living exemplars also circulated throughout the New England woods. The Pennacook sachem-powwow Passaconaway cut an impressive figure in seventeenthcentury New England. Indians reported to William Wood that “Passaconaway ... can make the water burn, the rocks move, the trees dance, [and] metamorphise himself into a flaming man.” Thomas Morton similarly claimed that the powerful sachem-powwow “hath advanced his honor in his feats or juggling tricks” and noted that among other exploits he impressed

Indians by swimming underwater across the Merrimack River. Dazzling __ English observers, his summer repertoire included making “Ice appear in a bowl of fair water.” Passaconaway’s reputation as a powwow was emblematic of the degree to which Indians believed that one could draw on the supernatural. Spiritual power, according to this logic, could reveal the miraculous, making ice appear on asummer day, and could also extend physical abilities, allowing a man to swim a great distance without taking a breath. Apparently, most Indians and a number of Englishmen respected Passaconaway’s supernatural renown. Significantly, Wood also suggested that this sort of story

30 Se CHAPTERI circulated freely among Indian groups, pointing out that Indians “constantly affirm stranger things.”” Gender ideals as well sometimes emerged in discussions of the natural

world. Roger Williams, for example, described a small bird called the “Sachim” that was so named “because of its Sachim or Princelike courage and Command over greater Birds, that a man shall often see this small Bird pursue and vanquish and put to flight the Crow, and other Birds farre bigger then it selfe.”*° Williams was probably referring to the hummingbird, which appears in other Indian oral traditions. Through a bird possessing bravery and sway that belied its diminutive size, the animal world could also illustrate the physical vigor and spirit expected of Indian men. Perhaps reflecting this view, William Wood reported encountering a sachem “with a humbird in his ear for a pendant” that complemented other aspects of the elite man’s adornment and was symbolic of his spiritual, physical, and political accomplishment. Masculine ideals could be embodied in the actions of the smallest bird, comprehended in the abilities of a supernatural being like Maushop, or drawn from the actions of a powerful living example like Passaconaway. All of these manly ideals illustrate the importance of both drawing on supernatural power and perfecting physical skills.

CHAPTER 2 “Manly Christianity”

Mas LINESS WAS at once essential to Christian living in colonial New England and a frequent source of anxiety. Colonists did not create new gender identities or a new gender system when they moved to the region. Rather, they adapted English patterns to new social and demographic conditions, implementing a brand of patriarchalism that reflected not only Old World practices but also a commitment to reforming human behavior as a means of creating godly communities on the American coast. Within this context even Christian history was sometimes understood in gendered terms. In Manly Christianity (1711; figure 2), Cotton Mather divided the Christian past into four eras. The church, he wrote, went from being like a “LION” during the “Persecutions of the Roman and Pagan Emperors” to becoming akin to an “OXE” when it was under “the heavey Impositions of the Antichrist.’ Manliness and Christianity became one with the Reformation, when “the Church became like a MAN, and would no longer submit to the Yoke, nor take any thing but what it sees Reason for.’ Closer to his own time, Mather explained, the church was like “an EAGLE,” naturally soaring but not without concern. Hoping to return to a manly church, the minister demanded, “whereabouts are we?” He then went on to argue that despite the existence of “serious Christians” in New England, they were but a “Feeble Folk” compared with the biblical Israelites. Much of the rest of the sermon details the steps necessary to restore “Manly Christianity.” As Mather’s view

@t 31

32 Sm CHAPTER 2

. | doe FIGURE 2. Title page from Cotton Mather, Manly Christianity (London, 1711). 3 AC7.M4208.711m Lobby VI1.4.5, Houghton Library, Harvard University.

“Manly Christianity” st 33 suggests, manhood was important to the colonial order. If manliness assured order, then what did it mean if the “serious” Christians were unable to outstrip the “feeble?”’ Anglo-American manhood ideally flowed from a rich religious tradition. At the same time, religion blended with (and was used to justify) English

notions of rank and hierarchy that determined what made a man in early New England. Akin to Indian understandings of manliness, Anglo-American manhood was defined against boyhood and juxtaposed with the actions of other men. Despite this commonality, Native and Anglo-American masculinity also differed on a number of counts. For colonists, the transition from boyhood to manhood necessarily included gaining a competence, excelling at a calling (most often farming), and becoming an independent, monoga-

mous householder. This last concern was less a function of age than of a mans ability to enjoy financial independence and set up his own household. Unmarried and other dependent males were not fully men, no matter their age. In practice, the ideal proved difficult for many men to meet, and other: tantalizing, if sinful and deviant, means of defining manhood coexisted uneasily with Christian manliness.’

Because throughout the transition from boyhood to manhood, AngloAmericans were concerned with an individual's spiritual state, religion framed what it meant to be a man. Puritan New Englanders treated deviance from social and religious norms as sin.’ A similar dynamic was at work , in determining gender identities in colonial society. Heterodox colonists and “heathen” Indians defined manhood in a number of ways that troubled colonists, who most often characterized masculine ideals in religious terms. Thus, what Cotton Mather called “manly Christianity” in 1711 had long been defined in opposition to deviant masculinities that were given meaning by reference to a host of sins of omission and commission. Religion then sought to limit the deviant possibilities of numerous masculinities in a society that put a high value on orthodoxy. Even Puritan schoolbooks offered occasion to instill the values of Christian manliness. For instance, the entry for “A” in “An Alphabet of Lessons for Youth’ read, “A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.” Should a boy forget to respect his patriarchs, the lesson attached to the letter “F” explained, “Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.” The maxim for the letter “Q” encouraged boys to embody Christian manliness through their faith, “Quit you like men, be strong, stand fast in the faith.”* The appearance

34 Se CHAPTER 2 of faith could prove an unsteady foundation for manhood. As the English Puritan poet John Milton mused in one poem: Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near, And Inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th [endows]°

The inward journey from sinner to saint, and to full manhood, is well represented in the conversion experience of the future New England minister and missionary Thomas Shepard. Recounting his years as a student at Cambridge University, Shepard noted that he had prayed only as a last resort. When he entered his third year at the university, he “began to be foolish and proud,” willing to engage in debates about subjects of which he was ignorant.

Struggling with his faith at the same time that his father was sick, Shepard began to “pray in secret.” Yet even after being “much affected” by various sermons, he still failed to embrace God.° Blinded by sin and unable to progress in his faith, Shepard embraced the currents of deviant manhood and “fell from God to loose and lewd company, to lust and pride and gaming and bowling and drinking.” Yet despite his appearing the antithesis of Christian manhood, God never abandoned him. He continued in the same pattern, sometimes being moved closer to the Lord by some “godly scholar,” only to later join “loose company” and thus descend back into sin. And so he persisted in eschewing God until he drank himself into a remarkable and ultimately life-changing stupor. One Saturday night he was so “dead drunk” that Shepard’s fellows had to carry him to another boy's room. The future missionary remained asleep until, as he put it, “I awakened late on that Sabbath... sick with my beastly carriage.” It was a transformative moment. He left his friend's quarters “in shame and confusion, and went out into the fields and there spent that Sabbath lying hid in the cornfields where the Lord, who might justly have cut me off in the midst of my sin, did meet me with much sadness of heart and troubled my soul for this and other my sins which then I had cause and leisure to think of” Thereafter, God began to work on Shepard’s heart.’ His spiritual growth continued slowly until the famous Puritan divine John Preston began preaching at Shepard’s college. Moved by the minister's sermons, Shepard approached his devotions more seriously, at the same

, time reforming the aspects of his character that lay outside the bounds of Christian manhood. His daily meditations focused on “the evil of sin, the

“Manly Christianity” st 35 terror of God’s wrath, day of death, beauty of Christ, the deceitfulness of the heart.” These mediations may have proved a useful prophylactic against returning to a dissolute life of gaming and drinking, but Shepard still lacked the gift of God’s grace. After more vigorous self-examination, he slowly grew to see “atheism” in his inability to discern the true from the false path to salvation. He continued to struggle with his faith, even becoming suicidal. Later, Shepard recalled, “I did see God like a consuming fire and an everlasting burning, and myselflike a poor prisoner leading to that fire.’ Such images, he noted, “did amaze my spirits,” but he remained unsure what course of action to take. Finally, an answer struck him: “do as Christ: when he was in agony he prayed earnestly. And so I fell down into prayer, and being in prayer I saw myself so unholy and God so holy that my spirits began to sink.’ But in this, unlike his earlier spiritual struggles, God buoyed the poor sinner, “and the terrors of the Lord began to assuage sweetly.”® Shortly after this experience, Shepard returned to the fields and further meditated on his spiritual state. Eventually, he accepted that God wanted

him to put his sinful self to good use. Rather than simply fear God and lament his sinfulness, Shepard needed to “(1) loathe thyself all the more; (2) feel the greater need and put a greater price upon Jesus Christ who only can redeem thee from all sin.” And thus he “was kept from [further] sinkings of heart and did beat Satan, as it were with his own weapons.’ Once he had experienced conversion, his internal transformation was matched by external changes. “Thus God kept my heart exercised,” he explained. Shortly thereafter, Shepard “began to forsake... loose company” and instead sought “to work upon the hearts of other scholars” with an eye to moving such friends toward “holy walking” in everyday life.” While Shepard continued to struggle from time to time, by submitting to God he found spiritual freedom and reformed his sinful ways, beginning on the path to Christian manhood. To nurture souls like Shepard’s, Anglo-American New Englanders ap-

pealed to God-given hierarchy as essential to the health and progress of a Christian society. John Winthrop expressed this logic in the lay sermon “A Model of Christian Charity,’ which he may have delivered to a group of colonists immediately before they departed aboard Arbella to settle Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630. He opened by declaring, “God Almighty in his most holy and wise providence hath so disposed of the condition of mankind, as in all times some must be rich, some poor, some high and eminent in power and dignity, others mean in subjection.””° Like other early modern Europeans, English colonists viewed hierarchy as the key to an orderly,

36 Sm CHAPTER 2 productive, and godly society. Patriarchal theorists like the Puritan William Gouge put a finer point on the importance of hierarchy, going into great detail about the ideal workings of the family, explaining the dynamics of marriage, the extent of patriarchal powers and duties, and the duties of both inferiors (wives, children, and servants) and superiors (husbands, mothers, masters, and elders). God, Gouge explained, called individuals to two types of vocation. Whereas everyone was required to perform “common duties” such as “knowledge, faith, obedience, repentence, love, mercie, justice, truth, &c,’ more “peculiar duties” varied from person to person “according to those distinct places wherein the Divine Providence hath set them in Commonwealth, Church, or family” and, like “common duties,’ demanded the careful instruction of ministers to assure that individuals followed a godly path dictated by gender and rank.” Mirroring Old World patterns, men in colonial New England were ideally the primary authorities in families and society. But far from absolute, patriarchal power was curbed by hierarchies like age and status and, in theory, Christian love. The work of English patriarchal thinkers such as Gouge did not always jibe with the realities of everyday life in English society and was thus often fraught with contradictions.” Patriarchalism nevertheless served as the ideological expression of Christian manhood and the system by which men enjoyed primary authority in both family and society. Framing manhood for settlers, patriarchalism determined relations between men of differing status, shaping interactions between older and younger men, informing father-son dynamics, and, of course, structuring relationships between men and women.

New Englanders understood a patriarchal and hierarchical structure to their world as expedient to an orderly society, even as they sometimes chafed against the system. Settlers also embraced communitarian values that ideally

bound people of different statuses together. This spirit was also contained in Winthrop’s “A Model of Christian Charity.” While explaining the logic behind the notion that God-given hierarchy was indeed essential to a healthy society, Winthrop argued that true religion and the bonds of community would curb potential abuses of power and serve to bind men of all statuses together. A hierarchical but organic society, he explained, afforded God a greater opportunity “to manifest the work of his spirit” in a number of ways: keeping the “wicked” in check, assuring that “the rich and mighty should not eat up the poor,” and restraining the poor from rebelling against the rule of their “superiors.” God also exhorted superiors to cultivate the virtues

“Manly Christianity’ st 37 of “love, mercy, gentleness, temperance, etc.” and instructed “the poor and inferior sort” to exercise “faith, patience, obedience, etc.” At the same time, Winthrop explained, “every man might have need of others and from hence they might be all knit more nearly together in the bonds of brotherly affection.” Ideally, this reciprocity would bind rich and poor together on earth. Underscoring this point, he reminded his listeners of the Christian commonplace that all men are equal in God’s eyes.*” One often cited incident in the early history of Plymouth Colony illustrates the limits of Christian communalism and the importance of work — in this case farming or, as it was known during the period, husbandry — to gender, rank, and power in colonial New England. Not surprisingly, husbandry was key to English colonialism. More immediately, however, Plymouth Colony needed to find ways to maximize the corn crop. To this end, Governor William Bradford and the “chiefest” men in the colony decided to raise crops in common, adopting a form of Christian communalism. The plan assigned plots according to family size “only for present use,’ making no provisions for “inheritance.” Bradford asserted that this arrangement worked remarkably well for a time — “it made all hands very industrious, especially women, who would have formerly seen such labor as “great tyranny and oppression.” Despite early success, however, the plan ultimately faltered because it did not jibe with most colonists’ conceptions of appropriate gender roles, which ultimately ran counter to godly communalism. Bradford lamented that farming in common “was found to breed much confusion and discontent and retard much employment that would have been to their benefit and comfort.’ The plan was particularly resented by young men, who grumbled about spending their “time and strength to work for other men’s wives and children without any recompense.’ Similarly, “the strong, or man of parts,” resented receiving the same amount of foodstuffs as weaker or poorer men. Older men, for their part, found being lumped with poorer and younger men offensive, thinking it “some indignity and disrespect unto them.’ The communal arrangement was no more pleasing to married women, who disliked working for men other than their husbands. “They deemed it a kind of slavery,’ remarked Bradford, also noting that husbands resented losing control of their wives. Poor men were the only group that did not register complaint enough to deserve mention by Bradford. In the end, the frustrated governor saw the failure of the plan as a sign of “men’s corruption” and concluded, “God in His wisdom saw another course fitter

for them.”

38 Se CHAPTER 2 The attempt to instill Christian communalism in Plymouth is striking on a number of counts. As both an emergency measure to stave off famine and an idealistic, if failed, religious experiment, the episode is revealing of the logic of patriarchalism. It also illustrates one of the limits of social and religious experimentation in New England's colonization. The lack of provisions for inheritance interfered with both patriarchal and familial strategies

for controlling the labor of sons and using patrimony to smooth the path from boyhood to manhood and independence.” Perhaps this problem also explains part of the reaction of young men. If male labor were not tied to inheritance, as it was when a son worked for his father and family, then what drove a young man to work? There was no future in his labor. When and how would he ever become a man? There may have been more to young men’s hostility to the communal arrangement, as well. Young men were already used to according respect to mothers and other higher-status women. Like

most women, young unmarried men were dependents. Yet their situation was different: male dependency was primarily a stage in the life cycle. For this reason, being indiscriminately placed under the control of other men’s wives threatened young mens sense of patriarchal prerogative. They were willing to accept their dependent status under normal conditions, but being put under the control of women who normally would not have enjoyed such power was too much for them to bear. Bradford's noting that married men disliked ceding control of their wives to other men highlights one of the aspects of manhood that remained constant on both sides of the Atlantic. Achieving full manhood turned on setting

up an independent household, controlling dependent children, servants, and, not the least, a wife. Marriage was also the only condition in which adults could legitimately have sex. Thus, a measure of financial independence, control of dependents, and sexual access all distinguished accomplished men from their dependent and unmanly peers.” Communal farming

therefore threatened one of the important aspects of adult manhood: the ability to control the labor of dependents, especially a wife. Little wonder, given these assumptions, that English observers reacted so violently to Indian womens role as farmers. Women as husbandmen ran counter to English cultural and economic logic, and colonists cast as drudgery the productive female labor that Indians found deeply meaningful and natural. The Indian mode of agriculture also proved odious to colonists because it was a communal endeavor akin to the abortive Plymouth experiment.”

“Manly Christianity” «#t 39

The reaction of Plymouth’s wives further reveals how gender and labor fit with colonialism. Women chafed against being controlled by men other

than their husbands, but an unintended consequence of the adoption of Christian communalism was an expansion of men’s power over a wider range of women, and wives considered being ordered about by other women’s hus-

bands “slavery.” (Anglo-American commentators similarly referred to the gendered division of labor in Native society as a form of slavery that Indian women suffered. The connection between gender roles and labor was so rigid that to transgress natural work routines was to plunge into slavery.) Much like the young men, wives resented the communal arrangement because it multiplied their masters. For Plymouth's wives, one husband was quite enough. Finally, one might suppose that wealthier and aged men would enjoy an expansion of their patriarchal powers, but Bradford was clear that they too disliked the communal arrangement. Patriarchalism afforded such men a means of defining their manhood against the status and masculinity of lesser men, whether saints or sinners, wealthy or poor, old or young. Brad_ ford does not mention the reactions of poorer men to communal farming. Perhaps they were silent, or they may have shared a dislike of having their wives work for other men, but it is also possible that poor men enjoyed a labor arrangement that momentarily erased the status distinctions key to defining manliness.

It should not be surprising that the communal farming arrangement caused so much resentment, especially among men. Echoing this concern with manhood and the dangers of deviant men to the colonial project, colonial planners expressed concern over what kinds of men might end up in the region. This was an important consideration for Puritans, who viewed strong patriarchs — whether husbands, fathers, masters, or magistrates — as _

essential to the success of the colonial project and key to God's great plan. For example, detailing the importance of Christian manhood to the colonial project, Edward Winslow was careful to decry the “overthrow and bane... of Plantations,” stressing that an emphasis on quick profit estranged men from God. He also suggested that leaders who craved “onely to make themselves great, and slaves of all that are under them, . . . maintained a transitory base honour in themselves, which God oft punisheth with contempt.’ Stressing the importance of leaders’ behaving appropriately, Winslow carefully described the men necessary to create a godly society in Plymouth.

40 Sm CHAPTER 2 He explained that colonial planners often exhibited a worrisome “carelessness” in choosing “supplies of men” for colonies, “not caring how they bee qualified; so that oft times they are rather the Image of men endued with bestiall, yea, diabolicall affections, than the Image of God, endued with reason, understanding, and holiness.” Godly men, he argued, were the key to success in New England, not only serving the “common good” but also “giving good example to the Savage Heathens amongst whom they live.” Christian manhood ideally served both as an agent of social reform within Anglo-American communities and as a means of converting Indians. Despite the best efforts of the orthodox in New England, Christian manhood was not the only form of manliness that the region's men embraced; discussions of sinfulness were sometimes implicitly gendered. Anxiety over masculinity remained acute because although Puritans held that an orderly

and godly society turned on Christian manhood, in practice it proved a rather difficult manly ideal to embody and encourage. Acknowledging this fact, of course, is not to reduce all discussions of sin to a gendered meaning but rather to suggest that by talking about sin, Puritans were sometimes also revealing a great deal about gender ideals and anxieties. In colonial New England, godly men and women embodied gender ideals. Sin, something all individuals had in their hearts, was one of a number of things that could unmake a man or a woman. Following the distinction made by Saint Au-

gustine, Puritans assumed that they could never truly know who among their number belonged to the “invisible church” composed of “every person living, dead, or yet to be born, whom God had predestined for salvation.”

Nevertheless, they recognized that it was their duty to make the “visible church” within which they worshiped as pure as possible, regardless of human frailties and sinfulness. Recognizing the inevitability of human sinfulness after the Fall of Man, Puritans strove to reform those aspects of individual behavior that threatened the visible church. Religiously heterodox or chronically sinful men served as symbols of deviant manhood, people who were bound to fail as fathers, householders, Christians, and men. Deviance was gendered, in part, because it threatened orthodox conceptions of manhood, while also offering alternative means of defining masculinity outside the currents of Christian manliness. While Puritan communities sought to exclude such men from the visible church, deviant men offered one example against which the more orthodox defined their masculinity. Lest congregations should forget the dangers of following such a path, sermons in New England were often rife with examples of where the journey led.”

“Manly Christianity” wt 41 Take the example of execution sermons, which enjoyed large audiences when delivered at the gallows and often acquired a second life if later reprinted. Generally, this important genre examined the criminal’s life in order to illustrate the path that had led to individual ruin and damnation, one that could lead even to society’s ruin. Like other sermons delivered on public occasions such as election and fast days, execution sermons were intended to use a specific event — in this case a crime — to maintain the social order.” In Cotton Mather’s Pillars of Salt, a1699 compendium of earlier New England execution and “dying speeches,’ he noted a number of examples from New England’s history that illustrated this dynamic. The subtitle of his work was unambiguous about how the book was supposed to be used: the examples he provided were “Collected and Published, For the WARNING of such as LIVE in Destructive Courses, of Ungodliness.”” Pillars of Salt thus illustrates the types of deviant masculinity that New England patriarchs hoped to contain. Although everyone gathered at the gallows could take away important lessons about the dangers of disobedience, execution sermons spent an inordinate amount of time describing the personal and social cost of eschewing Christian standards of behavior. With reference to masculinity, gallows literature suggested that sin could unmake men and lead to both personal and social breakdown. To be sure, women were sometimes the focus of gallows literature — indeed,

five women shared space with the eleven doomed men that Mather discussed in his account — but male deviance more often provided the occasion for execution day. Interestingly, when women did stand on the gallows, concern for respecting patriarchal authority often echoed forth from the pulpit

to the crowd. Mather, for example, recounted the story of the adulterous, thieving, and ultimately child-killing Sarah Smith, whose path to damnation had begun with “Despising the continual Counsils and Warnings of her Godly Father-in-law,’ which, he explained, “laid the Foundation of her Destruction.” Other female sinners similarly traced their doom back to offenses against the patriarchal authority embodied in the “little commonwealth’ of the Christian family. For a nineteen-year-old woman, whom Mather reviled as “a Young Woman but an Old Sinner” the progress from promiscuity to infanticide had its source in a long-standing affront to God and community: “Her Undutiful Carriage towards her Parents.””° Mather amply illustrated the danger of male sinfulness. Sometimes deviant men’s sinful behavior was plain for all to see. An unnamed adulterer from Weymouth, unable to contain either his sexual appetite or his sinful behavior,

42 St CHAPTER 2 “would particularly Signalize his ungodliness, by flouting at those Fools (as he call’d em) who would ever Confess any Sins, laid unto their Charge.” Even before the authorities could charge him for the capital crime of adultery, God leveled his judgment, Mather explained, striking the man “with a Palsey.” Recognizing the source of the malady, the man developed “a Quick Conscience, which compelled him to Confess his Crimes” to local people, who in turn assured that the confession “reach’‘d the Ears of the Authority” before

ending with his execution.”

Other men hid their sinful natures behind a godly facade. “A most Unparalleled Wretch, One Potter” of New Haven had been a church member for two decades and maintained “a Reputation, for Serious Christianity.’ Appearing the very embodiment of Christian manhood, Potter seemed to be “Devout in Worship, Gifted in Prayer, Forward in Edifying Discourse among the Religious, and Zealous in Reproving of Sins of the other People.’ In New Haven, “every one counted him A Saint.” Yet despite appearances, Mather

explained, Potter was in fact a vessel of “the Unclean Devil” and the very “Channel of Wickedness,” having committed bestiality with numerous animals over the years. Potter’s secret was kept within the family for some time. His wife caught him “Confounding himself with a Bitch,” and his son later discovered his father “conversing with a Sow.” God, Mather claimed, could not countenance such an affront to nature and family, sending “Warnings... [to] this Hell-Hound?” via the dreams of Potter’s daughter. Some time before Potter’s execution, his daughter “cr|ied] out, most Bitterly,” while dreaming. Explaining the dream to her father, “she told him, she Dream't, that she was among a great Multitude of People, to see an Execution, and it prov'd her own Father that was to be hang’d.”*° In addition to the obvious sins of sexual excess, adultery, and bestiality, execution sermons illustrate the subtler ways in which men’s failings to re-

spect their superiors — whether fathers or magistrates — led to personal ruin, death on the gallows, and God's great displeasure. Like many Puritan | writings, execution sermons were especially careful to link individual behavior to the health of the larger society. In The Wicked Man’s Portion (1675), which considered the providential meaning of the murder of a master by his two servants, Increase Mather explained this dynamic unambiguously: “If men be generally wicked overmuch, the Lord sends Publick destroying Judgements, whereby thousands dy before their time.” Although any murder

made for an ominous portent, Mather was especially concerned that the servants Nicholas Feavour and Robert Driver had killed their master, an act

“Manly Christianity” st 43 symbolic of the dangers of rebellious spirits: “When Servants shall rise up in Rebellion against their Masters, it is a wicked thing.” Rebellious servants were problem enough, but rebellious children proved a particularly grave breach of the fifth commandment. And to his list of the overly “wicked,” Mather added “incorrigible” sinners and pretended Christians “who under pretence of Religion neglect their particular Callings,” failing to serve God, family, or community.”° In Increase Mather’s view, the “Awful Providence” presented by two murderous servants was likely “some prevailing evill, that the Lord doth hereby rebuke and seek to humble” the colonists. “I fear there is such an evill,” he underscored a key point of the sermon, “I mean with respect to those wofull breaches of the fifth Commandment which are to be found amongst us.’ The com-

mandment’s charge to honor one’s mother and father was defined broadly by the settlers. “How do Inferiors rise up against Superiors?,” Mather asked. While the “Commonwealth” was threatened by the fact that “Magistrates [were] not honoured and acknowledged in their places as [they] ought to be, there were similar problems in the churches where “some” acted “asif.. . Scripture were Apocrypha.” Students were disorderly in colonial schools and

no better when they returned home from their studies. Servants routinely flouted the fifth commandment. If the threat to the family posed by disobedient children and servants were not enough, one needed only to “look into the streets... [to] observe... the child behaving himself proudly against the Antient, and the base against the Honourable: so that in this respect NewEngland is in great measure become degenerate from the good manners of the Christian world.” Remarking on the murder’s significance, Mather noted, “There hath been no such deed done or seen in our Israel before now. And mark what I say, If ever New-England be destroyed, this very sin of disobedience to the fifth Commandment will be the ruine of this Land.’”’ Later in the sermon Mather examined the lives of Nicholas Feavour and

Robert Driver more closely to illustrate how disobedience could doom an individual just as surely as it could destroy a degenerate people. Mather reported that when he visited the men in prison, one of them explained that the sin of pride led to his demise. Unable to accept his God-given role as a servant, he had claimed, “I am flesh and blood as well as my Master and therefore I know no reason why my Master should not obey me as well as I obey him.” Drawing on his father’s sermon, Increase Mather’s son, Cotton, summed up

the murderers’ other failures to respect patriarchal authority and live up to manly ideals. One of the two servants claimed that the fact that “he would

44 S@ CHAPTER 2 not Industriously follow his Calling, but Live an Idle, Slothful, Vagrant Life... had undone him.” Failing to excel at a calling, work steadily, and establish a household, the servant remained a dependent and never fully became a man before he made his way to the gallows. The other murderer's life illuminated the themes that Increase Mather had repeatedly stressed to the crowd gathered for the execution. The servant confessed that “his Father... gave him Good Instructions... but he Regarded them not.” Continuing this pattern of behavior, he refused to go to school and to learn a trade. When his father died, he ran away from his new guardian. By refusing to accept the duties demanded of a boy, he failed to become a man. After running away from a number of masters, his rebelliousness increased until he became a murderer. “Thus, he Ran into the Jaws of Death,” Cotton Mather remarked, agreeing with the logic of his father’s view of events.” As they made their way from the prison to the church and finally to the gallows, Nicholas Feavour and Robert Driver were living examples of the wages of sin and the price of deviant masculinity in a society that valued conformity and obedience. They had failed as men and excelled as sinners. On the gallows, the two servants appeared distinctly unmanly: unruly de-

pendents who had neglected to heed parents, teachers, or ministers and ultimately chose idleness over work, murder over obedience, dependence over independence, and sin over godly living. Embodying the antithesis of Anglo-American masculine ideals, men like Feavour and Driver refused to follow a calling and live settled lives. Sin and deviance threatened to undo men or, as was the case with Feavour and Driver, bar adult males from fully embracing the prerogatives and responsibilities of Christian manhood.

Lest anyone miss the roots of remaining a dependent in a society that heralded independent patriarchs, Increase Mather ran through other types of deviance that might similarly undo a man. Disobedience, especially to ones parents, was a root cause of individual ruin, from which idleness, drunkenness, and covetness, among other things, sprang. Recent examples from England and the colonies also suggested that disobedience led aman to lose his reason, which was a most unmanly quality. “Also take heed,’ Mather reminded his audience, “of giving way to passions, revenge, anger and the like.” After all, these emotions had turned the two condemned servants into murderers after their master “corrected” them.”

Early in the history of colonization, many settlers saw patriarchalism as essential to remaking individual lives and creating godly societies in New England. Edward Winslow, for example, went so far as to suggest that ifmen

“Manly Christianity” st 45 lived up to Christian ideals, each might “adorne his profession with an upright life and conversation,’ and thereby provide an example to the regions Indians. A “great offence” to Indians was “given by many profane [AngloAmerican] men, who being but seeming Christians, have made Christ and Christianitie stinke in the nostrils of the poore Infidels, and so laid a stumbling blocke before them: but woe be to them by whom such offenses come.”*"

Sadly for those who shared Winslow’s vision, masculine ideals proved difficult to match in practice because Anglo-American manhood was fraught with contradiction and tension. Little wonder that ministers anxiously sermonized over breeches of the fifth commandment when manly independence proved elusive and many men found their dependence vexing. “Manly Christianity” nonethelss continued to be evoked as a colonial ideal to counter the destructiveness seemingly wrought by sinful and deviant men in a society where it often appeared that the profane outnumbered the godly.

CHAPTER 3 ‘A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act”

Naz IVES AND Anglo-Americans shared the view that manhood needed to be accomplished. They often came to different conclusions, however, about which activities were worthy or important. An examination of masculine accomplishment in four arenas — physical prowess, gaming, hunting, and speechways — illuminates areas of overlap and divergence. Colonists

considered Native practices that departed from their understandings of manliness as markers of savagery and difference. Colonial officials and missionaries endeavored to transform these areas of Indian life and used their

perceptions of Indian savagery to justify colonization. At the same time, colonists lauded those areas of Indian manliness that approximated English ideals. Indian gaming and hunting, for example, were cast as unmanly and anti-Christian practices that flouted orderly colonial society, whereas colonists sometimes complimented areas of Native life that they deemed appropriate arenas for masculine accomplishment, such as oratory and, especially, physical skills.

Indian life demanded physical vigor, and training for manhood began early. A number of activities provided for practice and display of masculinity. William Wood, for example, noted that Indian children learned to swim at an

early age. And Roger Williams, amazed by the endurance of Indian runners, | reported that they sometimes held races and could cover vast distances in a

46 Se

“A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” at 47

day. Skills like running and swimming remained essential for both boys and girls, but other childhood activities socialized boys into the roles they would assume as adult hunters and warriors. For example, Wood found boyhood marksmanship impressive: “Little boys with bows made of little sticks and arrows of great bents will smite down a piece of tobacco pipe every shoot a good way off.” He also suggested that activities like archery, running, and swimming relied on competition, offering an arena where boys learned important skills while also distinguishing themselves from one another according to their abilities.’ Masculine accomplishment was displayed through myriad physical and spiritual trials. “A man is not accounted a man,’ Edward Winslow observed

| of the Wampanoags, “till he doe some notable act or, shew forth such courage and resolution as becometh his place.” The importance of individual accomplishment was reflected in Indian naming practices. Winslow observed: “All their names are significant and variable, for when they come to the state

of men and women, they alter them according to their deeds or dispositions.” Roger Williams further elaborated on this link, noting that “obscure and meane persons amongst” the Narragansetts went nameless.” Reflecting these realities, there were a number of ways in which an Indian boy or girl might fully become a man or woman and earn a name reflecting his or her

deeds and disposition. | Descriptions of Indian sports and games also illustrate the importance

of cultivating physical proficiency and spiritual facility. Like running, swimming, or marksmanship, Indian-style football afforded men an opportunity to display physical skill. Football clearly presented numerous physical challenges. “Their goals,” William Wood explained, “be a mile long, placed on the sands, which are as even as a board. Their ball is no bigger than a hand-

ball, which sometimes they mount in the air with their naked feet; sometimes it is swayed by the multitude; sometimes also it is two days before they get a goal. Then they mark the ground they win and begin there the next day.” Descriptions of the matches also illustrate that individual, family, and village honor were at stake. Williams claimed that Narragansett football games occasioned “great meetings” that pitted “towne against towne” and thus offered opportunities for both individuals and kin groups to gain

prestige. Entering into the spirit of competition, English observers compared Native sports and feats of endurance directly with English games and competitions among men. Contrasting English and Indian masculine

48 Sm CHAPTER 3 accomplishment, Wood dismissed the “lubberlike wrestling” of Indian footballers, claiming that “one English [was] ... able to beat ten Indians at football” The Indian practice of such activities as football initially appeared familiar but proved perplexing to observers like Wood. On its surface, football appeared as serious as it was arduous: the players applied war paint and the games could last for days. Despite the martial aspects of Indian football, the absence of overt violence led Wood to conclude that it was not warfare

_ writ small. With violent and bloody English football matches no doubt in mind, Wood marveled that “(though they play never so fiercely to outward appearance, yet angrier-boiling blood never streams in their cooler veins) if any man be thrown, he laughs out his foil.” One scholar has succinctly described English football as a “more or less ritualized combat between communities, often represented by virtually the entire young male population of whole parishes” and thus “an appropriate expression of parochial loyalty against outsiders, in which the identity of the individual was submerged in that of the group.”* In terms of violence, Indian football was a very different matter. After detailing a number of injuries that were absent from Indian football, Wood noted that the contest also lacked the “the lamentable effects of rage.” In fact, there appeared to be no hard feelings involved in the game: “The goal being won, the goods on the one side lost, friends they were at the football and friends they must meet at the kettle.’ Other contests occurred as the football match unfolded. Wood reported that during the game, “the boys pipe and the women dance and sing trophies of their husbands’ conquests.’° While the game allowed men to display their physical vigor, the involvement of women and children formed an important element of the contest. By dancing and performing songs dedicated to their kin’s excellence, the women did not simply reinforce manly ideals but also illustrated their own expertise in boasting and singing — perhaps seeking

to best the kin of other competitors with their wit and skill. One should also note that while these activities certainly provided a means for women to display their feminine skill, singing was often a sacred activity and thus particularly significant here.

A similar dynamic was probably at work with the boys’ activities. Seventeenth-century English usage suggests that by “piping,’ Wood probably meant that the boys yelled or sang. On one level, the boys competed with their fellows by displaying their skill in singing and their loyalty to kin, while also celebrating the manhood of the players. Complementing singing’s importance in ritual, it was also employed in battle. Perhaps the boys

“A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” st 49

used “their tongues in stead of drummes and trumpets,’ a wartime practice Roger Williams noted among adult warriors.’ The boys also witnessed and celebrated the physical skill and spiritual power in the football match that would parallel their singing abilities in battle. The play of the game reinforced manly ideals and discouraged unmanly practices. Although Wood does not mention the participation of girls, they may have joined either the women or the boys, as singing was one of many skills at which both Indian men and women strove to excel. In any case, the football match offered any number of examples for boys or girls to follow. During the contest, children might both witness the sharp wit and skillful singing of a notable woman and observe the nimble and vigorous play of a remarkable man.° The men’s play resonated with religious significance. Football was imbued with supernatural significance and turned on the redistribution of sacred objects. “When they play country against country there are rich goals,’ Wood observed, “all behung with wampompeag [white wampum], mowhacheis | purple wampum], beaver skins, and black otter skins. It would exceed the belief of many to relate the worth of one goal, wherefore it shall be name-

less.” The Indians at these contests valued the goal deeply but not in the way Wood claimed. He neither understood all that was at stake nor comprehended the sacred economy of exchange in the contest. Wampum religious and symbolic significance both predated and coexisted with the European understanding of wampum as currency.” Though Wood may well have marveled at the treasure involved in these contests, the skins he listed likewise had a sacred significance transcending European notions of economic value. Animals were extremely important in Indian cosmology, from the mythic black foxes inhabiting Narragansett forests to the numerous manifestations of Hobbomock and other powerful other-than-human beings.” While evidence detailing ritual preparation for football is lacking, parallels from other male activities are revealing. As with football, colonial observers noted the absence of cursing and violence in Indian gaming, activities that Wood felt his English readers would link with such proceedings. Puim and

hubbub, games Wood described, required a striking amount of time and patience: “these milder spirits . . . sit down, staking their treasures, where they... played four and twenty hours, neither eating, drinking, or sleeping in the interim; nay which is most to be wondered at, not quarreling, but as they came thither in peace so they depart in peace.’" While less physically arduous than either football or the preparation that pniese initiates undertook, the role of sleep- and food-deprivation in hubbub probably similarly

50.06 Sm —SC CHAPTER 3

aided participants in contacting the supernatural. Roger Williams noted, “The chiefe Gamesters amongst them much desire to make their Gods side with them in their Games” and employed special crystals dug from under a “Thunder-smitten” tree for that purpose.” Scholars contend that crystals, etymologically connected to the words for “soul” and “dream,” were seen as conduits for spiritual power, offering players a powerful aid in the game.” Other examples illustrate the importance of negotiating spiritual power and a sacred economy of exchange in gaming. In hubbub, players used flat

pieces in a dicelike fashion. The game pieces were two-sided, one black and the other white. The latter color had associations similar to those of the crystal, representing life and harmony; black was symbolic of “asocial states of being” such as mourning or death. In addition, the game involved physical gestures and invocations to draw on the supernatural. Hubbub involved a great deal of action — like the physical ordeals integral to pniese training — with the players “smiting themselves on the breast and thighs, crying out ‘hub, hub, hub, hub.’” William Wood translated this refrain into English as “come come come” and claimed that hubbub could be heard “a quarter mile off* Through the combination of verbal invocations and bodily actions, players sought to contact and channel spiritual power in the course of the game. It is unlikely that every player successfully called upon his spiritual associations, and thus a man’s relative ability to evoke super-

natural power to his advantage in the game distinguished him among his | fellows (figure 3).

Games and sports allowed men a means to test and display their masculinity in a fashion less deadly than warfare. Moreover, these contests not only offered an opportunity for men to distinguish themselves individually but were also occasions where status distinctions, reciprocity, and exchange were simultaneously at work. For example, the relation between these activities and individual identity is illustrated by the practice of particularly good puim players wearing game pieces in their ears.’° On a communal level,

lower-ranking men might illustrate the fluidity of Indian status systems by attaining rank through their deeds in activities like football, while sachems could display their power through the egalitarian act of redistributing wampum and pelts during the play of the game. Like football and gaming, hunting involved tests of physical endurance and constant encounters with the supernatural, skills that also proved essential to successful warriors. Hunting teemed with spiritual significance. In Indian cosmology, certain animals and activities occasioned special con-

“A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” st 51

if | |e

a - | Oe

FiGuRE 3. Hubbub was probably played with pieces like those of this nineteenthcentury example of a Mi’ kmagq dice-and-bowl game from New Brunswick, Canada. President and Fellows of Harvard College. Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, 94-15-10/50792. Photo by the author.

sideration. Crows, hummingbirds, black foxes, conies, deer, wolves, and snakes, among others, were singled out for their supernatural prominence. Manitou could appear in many forms. Yet though the sacred was pervasive in Indian life, spiritual power could prove elusive for hunters. In northern New England, for example, John Gyles reported that one “Indian powwowed the greatest part of the night,” but despite his best efforts, the hunters failed to locate the moose they were tracking."® Just as spiritual power proved essential to the pursuit of game, prey tested

the physical capacities of the hunters. In describing a moose hunt, John Josselyn suggested that measuring one’s physical stamina and skill lay at the heart of the activity. Having encountered a moose, Indian men attempted to “run him down,’ an event that could last as long as a day. As a contest, the hunt pitted the hunter’s masculine skill against the endurance of the prey. Josselyn reported that Indians “never give him over till they have tyred” the animal. The point of the hunt was not simply to kill the moose but to best

the animal in strength, endurance, and skill. Sometimes the moose won, illustrating the limits of a hunter’s physical and spiritual potency. In these contests, the hunters showed great respect for their prey, not only in pursuing and dispatching the moose but also through ritualized butchering of the

52 Sw CHAPTER 3 carcass: they would take “out the heart, and from that the bone, cut off the left foot behind, draw out the sinews, and cut out his tongue, &c.’"” Although detailed evidence of similar southern New England hunting practices is lacking, both Gyles’s and Josselyn’s observations are suggestive of the links between hunting, spiritual power, and masculine accomplishment. Hunting in Narragansett country — in parties as small as 20 and as large as 300 in number — undoubtedly involved numerous opportunities for men to distinguish themselves through physical excellence, which, in turn, was a sign of spiritual potency. Animals sometimes embodied sacred power. Hunting was one of many activities associated with supernatural entities and was often followed with a celebratory feast. Trapping, an important form of hunting, was also imbued with supernatural meaning. “They are very tender of their Traps where they lie,’ Roger Williams observed of the Narragansetts, “and what comes at them; for they say, the Deere (whom they conceive have a Divine power in them) will soone smell and be gone.” Thus, trapping involved encountering and besting the spiritual power and supernatural faculties of prey. Archaeological work shows that — akin to the ritualized butchering mentioned above — southern New England Indians continued to accord respect to game by ritually burning bones from animals taken by hunters.’* Hunting thus unfolded at once temporally and supernaturally. A skilled hunter embodied physical excellence, spiritual potency,

and manly ideals.

Settlers generally eschewed sports, gaming, and hunting. These activities were not as central to Anglo-American manhood as they were to defining Indian masculinity, in part because of religious scruples. Despite the enthusiasm for sports shared by King James I and King Charles I, New Englanders did not embrace blood and ball sports. Even in the absence of legal prohibitions in New England against such sports, religious and social opinion ran against such practices. Puritan New Englanders generally disliked sports for

a number of interrelated reasons. Puritans thought both sports and gaming were base and dishonorable practices that led men to abandon labor in favor of idleness and threatened the financial underpinnings of the “little commonwealth” of the family. Moreover, critics of sports and gambling claimed that the two practices reinforced one another and threatened the health of both the family and the community. Sports, reform-minded Puritans also claimed, often had pagan origins and were played on the Sabbath.”

Nevertheless, godly reform sometimes met with resentment and resistance from men who did not share an afhnity for the currents of Christian

“A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” «#t §3

manliness. Ever the good Puritan, Governor Bradford sent everyone in Plymouth Colony to work on Christmas Day in 1621. The recently arrived Wessagusett settlers, however, “excused themselves and said it went against their consciences to work on that day.’ Choosing diplomacy over confrontation, Bradford “told them that if they made it [a] matter of conscience, he would spare them till they were better informed” and then headed to work with the Plymouth settlers. Returning at midday, an angry Bradford discovered the not-so-puritanical Wessagusett settlers “in the street at play, openly; some pitching the bar, and some at stool-ball and such like sports.” No longer willing to tolerate the newcomers flouting of local pieties, he “took away their implements and told them that was against his conscience, that they should play and others work.” He then forbade “gaming or reveling in the streets.” Sports disappeared from Plymouth, Bradford nervously explained, “at least openly.”° Hunting did not play as important a role in defining manhood for AngloAmerican men as it did for Indian men. As a number of scholars have noted, hunting in England was largely restricted to the nobility and gentry. While this fact did not constrain prospective hunters in the colonies, settlers were not skillful at tracking and killing large game like deer with their muskets and instead focused their efforts on fowling. Nevertheless, hunting was not widespread among Anglo-American men, who tended to be very bad shots.” In listing objections to hunting in 1611, moreover, John Winthrop echoed some

of the complaints registered against ball sports by Puritan critics. In addition | to the fact that hunting “spoils more of the creatures than it gets,’ Winthrop argued that the practice “wastes [a] great store of time” and “toils a man’s body overmuch,’ among other shortcomings. He concluded that in hunting, ‘I have gotten very little but most commonly nothing at all towards my cost and labour.”’’ Guided by different religious and cultural assumptions from those of the Natives, Anglo-American men did not generally see sports, gaming, or hunting as essential to defining their masculinity. Speech offered another important arena for masculine accomplishment. Speechmaking was the province of powerful men who most closely approximated masculine ideals. Speech had significance in an oral culture that is difficult to comprehend today. James Axtell has argued that Indians existed in “a predominantly voice — and — ear world in which a word was a real happening, an event of power and personal force.” Words and speech were mani-

festations of spiritual power. For Narragansetts, Roger Williams claimed, “a Stranger that can relate newes in their owne language, they will stile him

54 St CHAPTER 3 Manittéo, a God.” William Wood claimed that Indians “love any man that can

utter his mind in their words,” and noted a special reverence for their own polyglots. Moreover, observing that Indians exhibited tremendous pride in learning to speak English, he reported that they employed their linguistic skills not only to converse with English speakers but also to use their talents in “puzzling stranger Indians... with an unheard language.” Although learning English certainly afforded a number of practical advantages in trade and diplomacy, using a foreign language to address outlying Indian groups unfamiliar with the idiom appears strange at first glance. Yet considering the role of spiritual power in speech acts, it is likely that employing novel linguistic talent in this fashion offered a means of displaying and expressing masculine ability. Men who were silent remained on the margins of their communities. Work on seventeenth-century Anglo-American speech suggests that oratory was similarly important to colonial manhood. Fluency in speech was a means both of displaying masculine skill and of evaluating other men, especially among ministers and other higher-status colonists.** That speech was a shared means of defining and displaying masculinity in Native and Anglo-American communities helps explain the generally positive tone of English assessments of Indian speech and comportment. Like the connection between oration and the supernatural, specific styles of speech were central to Indian notions of hospitality, status, and manly conduct. William Wood, for example, claimed that Indians were “of a kind

and affable disposition” and were careful in their comportment. Roger Williams similarly praised Narragansetts as “remarkably free and courteous, to invite all Strangers in; and if any come to them upon any occasion, they request them to come in, if they come not of themselves.” Listening was a way of according respect; Narragansetts became “impatient (as all men and

God himselfe is) when their speech [was] not attended and listened to.” “Words of great flattery” proved common in conversation and were especially employed in addressing sachems. Specific styles of speech displayed male honor and status. Eschewing and reviling “churlish” behavior, Wood

noted, among Indians “he that speaks seldom and opportunely, being as good as his word, is the only man they love.” In addition to valuing truthfulness in conversation, Indian speechways also reflected status distinctions important to honor. In one striking example, Thomas Mayhew Sr. ignored a sachem who had been admitted into his house. The Englishman's rudeness was essential to a larger strategy: “Being

“A man is not accounted a man till he doe some notable act” «#t 55

acquainted with their Customes, [he] took no notice of the Prince’s being there (it being with them in point of Honour incumbent on the Inferiour to Salute the Superiour: ) a considerable time being past the Prince broke Silence, and said... Mr. Mayhew, are you well?” Intending to assert sovereignty over Martha's Vineyard sachems, Mayhew keenly used his knowledge _ of Native culture to make the visiting Indian leader submit.”° As these examples suggest, speech and comportment were ways of showing allegiance, recognizing political power, and marking status among men.

Wit formed an important, if sometimes touchy, part of male oratory. Edward Winslow observed that the Nemasket sachem Corbitant was known

for his political acumen and enjoyed “merry jests & squibs, & [was] never

better pleased than when the like are returned againe upon him.” John Gyles noted that wit was highly valued among Indian men in northern New England as well. After a feast, he reported, the men removed to a wigwam, “some relating their warlike exploits, others something comical, others give a narrative of their hunting.” Women were excluded from this wigwam, and the occasion offered men an opportunity to engage in ritualized speech. Gyles reported that “the seniors give maxims of prudence and grave counsels to the young men, though every one’s speech be agreeable to the run of his own fancy, yet they confine themselves to rule and but one speaks at a time.’ Laughter, however, could sour a situation. “Laughter in them is not common,” William Wood claimed, “seldom exceeding a smile, never breaking out into such a loud laughter as do many of our English.” Laughter during trade was particularly problematic. “Ifa man be in trade with them and the bargain be almost struck,” the Englishman continued, “if they perceive you laugh they will scarce proceed, supposing you laugh because you have cheated them.” Since an English trader might find laughter at the end of such an exchange similarly disconcerting, one may question Wood's claim of an Indian antipathy to laughter. Indeed, he felt it necessary to temper his description of the Indian aversion to humor. Native Americans were “not much addicted to laughter,’ he explained, “yet are they not of a dumpish, sad nature, but rather naturally cheerful.””’ Whereas the examples cited thus far have illustrated the content and conduct of male speech, the insults that Indian men employed in battle further demonstrate how masculinity was defined in counterpoint to femininity. Insults were more than mere play. Roger Williams claimed, “mocking (between their great ones) is a great kindling of Warres amongst” Indians in southern New England.” English and Indian men agreed that a high ideal

56 Sm CHAPTER 3 in battle was to “fight like a man,’ as Captain Miles Standish once demanded of a sachem. Indians would have generally agreed with Standish’s view of

proper martial conduct. During the Pequot War (1636-37), for example, Captain John Underhill reported that Pequot warriors donned “English clothes, and came to the Fort jeering of them, and calling Come and fetch your Englishmen’s clothes againe; come out and fight, if you dare; you dare not fight, you are all one like women.” Beyond a general equation of manliness with warfare, however, there was little common ground on what constituted the manly conduct of war. Both Native and Anglo-Americans shared the conviction that being called a “woman” was a particularly sharp affront.” The changes occurring as a result of colonization were sometimes understood as feminizing Indian men. Noting one of these shifts, William Wood praised the Narragansetts for their industry in becoming the “mintmasters” of southern New England by dominating the manufacture of the wampum used as currency by Indians and Europeans alike. The shift to increased wampum production apparently caused the Narragansetts to eschew war in favor of profit through trade. Even though the Pequots also coveted the wampum trade, the manner in which they couched their understanding of Narragansett cultural change is revealing: Wood reported that the “the Pequots call them women-like men.” He contended that as the Narragansetts were unable to respond to the insult in kind, “they rest secure under the conceit of their popularity and seek rather to grow rich by industry than famous by deeds of _ chivalry-’*° Although it is uncertain whether or not Narragansett men shared

the conviction that the expansion of the wampum trade was indeed feminizing Indian men, this instance does highlight one early example of how changing work regimes in an emerging colonial society influenced gender roles. The Pequot men apparently felt that making wampum was hardly an appropriate role for a man in a world that put a high value on warriors.” Manhood was something to be accomplished. Native and Anglo-American manly ideals came closest in holding physical accomplishment and skillful oratory in high regard; other practices such as gaming and hunting demonstrate how differently manliness could be figured across the cultural divide.

CHAPTER 4 ‘Tf he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him”

C OLONIAL MARRIAGE practices suggest some of the ways in which manhood was juxtaposed with womanhood. Marriage served — along with its other emotional, familial, economic, diplomatic, and religious dimensions — as an arena for masculine accomplishment. Instead of a comprehensive treatment of the various marital practices in colonial New England, however, I focus particular attention on two elite marriages — one

English and one Native —to further consider the importance of honor, exchange, and hospitality to Indian masculinity.’ Written early in the history of the English colonization of New England, Emmanuel Althamss brief description of the celebrations in Plymouth Colony commemorating the April 14, 1623, marriage of the widower Governor William Bradford and the recently widowed Alice Southworth offers an intimate view of Anglo-Indian interaction before European settlers flooded the region.” Reflecting religious views in Plymouth, the Bradford-Southworth marriage was a civil contract rather than a religious sacrament. Though the evidence is lacking, the bride's home appears to have been the typical location for a wedding ceremony. In English practice, feasting and celebration followed the wedding, but New England wedding celebrations tended to be more restrained and, for the most part, were not common until the middle to late eighteenth century. The Bradford-Southworth wedding thus appears

wt 57

58 St CHAPTER 4 have been something of an exception.° Perhaps the scale of the celebration

had something to do with the diplomatic nature of the gathering, which included the Pokanoket sachem Massasoit and one of his wives as well as a sizable contingent of warriors.* Indian understandings of hospitality and exchange powerfully shaped the festivities. In 1623, the Plymouth colonists and Massasoit’s Pokanoket followers needed one another. Plymouth’s early existence turned on Indian

assistance in procuring food and securing trade contacts, among other things. Massasoit did not visit the settlers with such kindness because he was naive or foolish. Rather, the Pokanoket leader hoped to use his trade and diplomatic ties with the English colonists to further his own ends.° The 1623 wedding celebrations reflected this context. Neither the settlers nor the Indians could have known the eventual extent of English colonization and the impact of settlement on Indian communities. This wedding took place in an earlier time, when both the Plymouth colonists and the Pokanokets

hoped to use one another to further their respective interests; hence the wedding observance served both to celebrate the couple's union and to address diplomatic concerns. It was an occasion where divergent Native and Anglo-American understandings of hospitality, comportment, and marriage emerged. The Indian presence helped shape the course of the celebration. Responding to Bradford’s invitation, the powerful Pokanoket sachem .Massasoit, his primary wife (termed a “queen” in Altham’s account), four other sachems, and some 120 warriors arrived in Plymouth. (The Pokanokets no doubt remembered the site as Patuxet, as it had been home to an Indian village prior to the devastating 1616 epidemic.) The large size of the Pokanoket leader’s party well illustrated his power and ability to muster significant numbers of warriors, while also displaying respect for the Governor, as marriage remained an important transition for Indians and colonists alike.® When the Pokanokets arrived, the settlers “saluted them with the shooting off of many muskets and training our men.” The account is silent as to how the Indian men reacted to the greeting. The men “training” may have appeared odd to the Indian warriors, who did not use regular formations or other practices integral to English-style warfare. Maybe they found such a performance, with its focus on group rather than individual displays of martial prowess, a special form of European foolishness. Regardless, the English denied the Indians an opportunity to reciprocate with similar displays of their own, as “all the bows and arrows was brought into the Gover-

“Tf he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him” st 59

nor’s house” before the wedding, presumably for safety’s sake.’ Given the

importance to Indian manhood of hospitality and individual displays of martial excellence, the warriors may have been slighted by the insult of not being allowed to present an analogous show of military prowess. More ominous was the fact that they had been forced to surrender their arms, whereas the English presumably enjoyed having guns within easy reach, should the occasion arise. (Or, it may well have been the case that the Indians did not feel slighted but looked forward to the festivities. ) The visiting Pokanokets inscribed their cultural and religious understandings on the celebration, according respect and hospitality. They celebrated the union by dancing and singing. The cosmological significance of the proceedings was apparently lost on the colonists, as Altham remarked that “we had very good pastime in seeing them dance, which is in such manner, with such a noise that you would wonder.”® Despite Altham’s bemusement, we know that dancing and singing were religiously significant and sometimes used to cement diplomatic arrangements as well as to celebrate marriages, among other occasions. When the Dutch trading agent Isaack de Rasieres visited Plymouth Colony in 1628, for example, he witnessed an Indian marriage that was similarly accompanied and celebrated with a dance.’ Massasoit’s appearance was particularly striking to Altham. He remarked that the Pokanoket sachem was as “proper a man as ever was seen in this country, and very courageous.’ But while lauding the sachem’s bearing and reputation, Altham grudgingly complimented Massasoit’s intelligence. “He is very subtle for a savage,’ the Englishman remarked, noting that “he goes like the rest of his men, all naked but only a black wolf skin he wears upon his shoulder.’ He additionally commented that the sachem wore highly valued wampum around his waist.’° By English standards of masculinity and civilization, Massasoit’s immodest dress and adornment were the very symbols of his “savage” state. For Indians, however, such attire announced that the Wampanoag leader was a powerful man to be reckoned with, capable of mustering tremendous spiritual and martial power. Both black wolf skins and wampum were spiritually charged items most typically worn by high-status Indians. Like skillful dancing and singing, these aspects of adornment illustrated a great deal about the wearer. The wampum that hung about Massasoit’s waist, for instance, not only represented his spiritual potency but was also a measure of his ability to gather tribute and organize labor. The Indians at the marriage celebration would have been abundantly aware of the laborious nature of gathering

60 Sw CHAPTER 4 shells, manufacturing beads, and weaving wampum belts and of the overlapping supernatural economies of exchange and gifting within which they circulated. Between the manufacture and collection of the wampum lay myriad interactions. The wampum symbolized Massasoit’s ability to draw on both male and female labor in the manufacture of the beads and belts as well as to call on pnieses to assist in the collection of the tribute.” Exchange proved key to the celebration. Massasoit presented Governor Bradford with “three or four bucks and a turkey.’ Bradford no doubt appreciated Massasoit’s gift, as such an exchange was recognized as a sign of hospitality in both English and Pokanoket culture. Nevertheless, Plymouth’s governor probably did not comprehend the full meaning of the sachem’s largesse. Such gifts established and maintained friendly relations between communities, whether those of Indians or new settlers. Accordingly, one should also think of the gifts as a mode of evaluation. As Massasoit likely anticipated receiving counter-gifts from the governor, giving Bradford a number of game animals was intended to illustrate the Pokanoket sachem’s generosity and display his power. The game was either an example of Massasoit’s prowess as a hunter or, in a more likely scenario, tribute that came from villages under his sachemship.” Given the supernatural associations of various animals and the religious meanings of hunting, the gifts were also spiritually significant. Though it is impossible to know the provenance of the game that Massasoit presented to Bradford, it seems likely that the deer and turkey came from other economies of exchange which bound the various Pokanoket sachems together and to Massasoit’s leadership. We know, for example, that game sometimes served as tribute paid to sachems. As Plymouth colonist Edward Winslow noted, “Whosoever hunteth [within a given sachem’s domain], if they kill any venison, bring him his fee, which is the fore parts for the same if it be killed on the land; but if in the water, then skin therof.” By giving the colonists game at the celebration, Massasoit further integrated them into Native American understandings of governance and alliance.» For their part, the colonists offered Massasoit a counter-gift ofa “hat, coat, band and feather,’ items that bear closer inspection. They appear intended to complement the sachem’s adornment. The coat and the hat would announce Massasoit’s diplomatic and trade ties to the colonists. It is also possible that since the sachem’s rule relied on consensus and exchange, among other things, he may well have passed the items on to other members of his community. They would have been then used in a variety of ways outside of

“If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given tohim” at 61

English intentions. A coat and hat, for example, could be cut up and resewn in any number of ways amenable to community needs or individual sartorial taste. The band and the feather are particularly striking as English gifts to an Indian leader. Did the colonists intend to commemorate the wedding celebration with a syncretic gift that incorporated Native symbolism and materials? While Natives in the Northeast did not make elaborate feather headdresses like those worn by Plains Indian nations, feathers did consti-

tute an important aspect of adornment that resonated with supernatural meaning,” It is less certain, however, what the Pokanoket leader thought of Altham’s request that Massasoit give him an Indian boy, presumably as a slave. As he related the incident to his brother, Altham explained, “I craved a boy of him for you, but he would not part with him; but I will bring you one hereafter.”® Given the context of the series of exchanges examined here and the nature of Altham’s request, it seems likely that Massasoit found the demand excessive. Perhaps the boy in question was a relative or another Pokanoket. Even if he had been a war captive, it seems unlikely that such a valuable byproduct of Pokanoket martial prowess would be parted with for the gift of clothing.

Such an exchange would have been neither a good bargain nor a compelling : symbol of English hospitality or reciprocity. Altham’s account is silent on the intricacies of Massasoit’s response, aside from noting the sachem’s rejection of the request for a boy; his remarks say

more about the Englishman than about the Pokanoket leader. One wonders if Altham’s brother, Sir Edward, had requested an Indian slave. Perhaps Emmanuel Altham saw such a gift as not only a way of pleasing a sibling but also underscoring his own successes as an investor and captain of the

Company of Adventurers for New Plymouth. He no doubt knew that the arrival of an Indian slave would be talked about in the communities near the

family seat at Mark Hall, Latton, and in nearby London. As Trinculo quips in William Shakespeare’s play The Tempest (which was published the same year that Altham wrote his brother), though in England “they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.’”® A public fascination with Indians lay behind Trinculo’s macabre comment, one with which the Althams were no doubt familiar, even if they remained loath on religious grounds to attend plays. The gift of an Indian slave would remind neighbors and fellow members of the gentry of the Altham family’s power in commerce and the law, and assuage any status anxiety that they may have felt over their rank in English society, having arrived from professional

62 Sm CHAPTER 4 connections and work rather than from blood ties to the aristocracy. However speculative, these are important questions if only because Altham’ request seems so out of place at a marriage celebration with clear diplomatic overtones. Regardless of Massasoit’s reaction to Altham’s desire for an Indian boy, it does seem likely that the “great cheer” of the celebrations smoothed over any rough spots. Both the Pokanokets and the colonists came from cultures that enjoyed a good feast.”’ In this regard, the governor’s wedding did

not disappoint. “We had about twelve pasty venisons,” remarked Altham, “besides others, pieces of roasted venison and other such good cheer in such quantity that I could wish you some of our share.” The wedding celebration offers other interesting cross-cultural comparisons, allowing a closer look at aspects of Indian marriage practices. Altham noted, for example, that although the sachem Massasoit had five wives (such polygyny was restricted to elites), only the “queen” accompanied the Pokanoket leader to the wedding.” By contrast, English marriage turned — regardless of the couple's status — on a monogamous ideal. Colonial observers tended to fixate on the small number of polygynous male elites rather than noting that monogamous marriages predominated among Native Americans. Altham leaves no evidence as to why only Massasoit’s primary wife attended. Perhaps, as a savvy diplomat, Massasoit was being culturally sensitive to English marriage customs, careful to not offend local practice on such an auspicious day. It also seems likely that the involvement of Massasoit’s primary wife was a reflection of the couple's hereditary ties as well as the status of this marriage in comparison with the sachem's connection to his secondary wives. As she was probably from a prominent family, she represented powerful kin interests of her own. Whatever forms Indian conjugal relations may have taken prior to colonization, it is clear that by the early decades of the seventeenth century, marriage, in addition to being an expression of a diverse range of concerns from deep affection to kin ties, also expressed male honor and power. Generally, Indian marriage practices struck English observers because of their flexibility: the freedom to choose mates and the ease of divorce for both men and women. At the same time, marriage appears to have encouraged the formation of an elite within some Native groups. Edward Winslow pointed out that as first wife, a sachem would marry only a woman “equall to him in birth.” He additionally argued that the polygyny practiced by sachems did not threaten the leader’s hereditary line, for the secondary wives, he claimed,

“If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him” st 63

did not enjoy the same status as the primary wife. Unlike high-status men, elite women did not display their prestige by marrying multiple husbands.” These customs appear to have been true for pnieses as well as sachems. The Pokanoket pniese Hobbomok, a close adviser to Massasoit who was living among the English in Plymouth, fit many of the manly ideals described earlier. William Bradford noted that he was “a proper lusty man, and a man

of account for his valour and parts amongst the Indians,” as well as his ex- | emplary service for the English. Like Massasoit, Hobbomok’s vaunted repu-

tation and status were marked by a number of wives and a large family." Although high-status women could not gain prestige and power through marrying multiple husbands, it is important to note the degree to which the rank of both the sachem and the primary wife depended upon the lower status of the secondary wives. Primary wives indeed appear to have been accorded more power than that enjoyed by secondary wives. With these distinctions in mind, it is useful to consider further the link between marriage and male honor. Even though the English sources on Indian marriage are consistently biased, labeling Native practices immoral, there is evidence to suggest that the link between Indian marriage and male honor was not restricted to high-ranking men like sachems and pnieses. The exchanges involving bride-price illustrate this possibility. Roger Williams,

for instance, noted the importance of a potential Narragansett husband’s successful offer of “a Dowrie to the Father or Mother or guardian of the Maide. To this purpose if the man be poore, his Friends and neighbours...

contribute Money toward the Dowrie.” Such bride-price practices, as | they are termed by anthropologists, reinforced existing ties between kin networks and communities, while also remaining symbolic of a potential marriage partner's good intentions and ability to contribute meaningfully to the bride and her various relations, as well as the larger community. Moreover, Williams's observation suggests the importance of marriages to

community. Kin ties secured through the communal contributions toward | bride-price promised a number of benefits, such as offering protection from hostile neighbors, strengthening trade relations, or simply reinforcing longstanding friendships. Because women did most of the agricultural work in Indian communities, bride-price was also sometimes important to attracting particularly hardworking and productive women for the potential husband and his kin, and the larger community, especially if the parties involved were patrilocal.”” In addition to promising a reliable source of provisions for all,

64 St CHAPTER 4 increased agricultural production would improve a community's ability to trade for valuable goods — something that became more competitive in an emerging colonial world. In all of these ways, individual gifts from various villagers together formed the bride-price that was key not only to the success of the marriage but also to the fortune of any number of other community interests. For the potential husband, the existence of bride-price practices suggests another arena of masculine accomplishment that was probably every bit as important and competitive as other aspects of masculinity. A man’s success likely turned on his physical and spiritual excellence. Men needed to be persuasive and charming to convince potentially recalcitrant parents and relatives of the soundness of their characters and capacities as well as to persuade friends and neighbors of a humbler suitor to part with the foodstuffs, goods, or wampum necessary to secure the marriage. There is also evidence suggesting that male honor was bound up in other aspects of marriage. For instance, Roger Williams found Narragansett practices surrounding adultery particularly interesting. Explaining that adultery might end in divorce, Williams also noted that cuckolded husbands could seek revenge “upon the offender, before many witnesses, by many blowes and wounds, and if it be to Death, yet the guilty resists not, nor is his Death revenged.” These observations suggest that male sexual honor was sometimes restored through violence, whereas for women, divorce appears to have been the common recourse. This is noteworthy because Indians in the region otherwise avoided the sexual prohibitions and repression that were integral to European cultural ideals, such as those barring premarital sex and polygyny. In the colonies, premarital sex was the subject of community sanctions, and adultery was a capital crime in some cases.”” The importance of marriage to male honor and in reaching adult manhood is further illustrated by Isaack de Rasieres’s description of male instruction echoing the elite warrior pniese training discussed earlier. Rasieres reported that after a young man successfully endured the physical and spiritual trials presented by his adult guide, he returned “home, and is brought by the men and women, all singing and dancing, before the Sackima [sachem]; and if he has been able to stand it all well, and if he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him.’** Rasieres did not explain whether the marriage was arranged or emerged from mutual affection, but his observation is striking in that it suggests the importance of proving one’s manhood or womanhood in Indian society as a precondition to marriage and as an avenue to full adult status.

“If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him” s«# 65

Perhaps a prospective bride could reject a suitor who failed in his physical and spiritual trials. That a public celebration — in which a wife was the sachem’s and village's symbolic gift for joining the adult world — marked the

passage from boyhood to manhood demonstrates the importance of mar-

riage to accomplishing Indian manhood. A dispute recorded by Thomas Morton provides further insight into the importance of marriage to male status and honor. In particular, the incident illuminates the centrality of harmonious exchanges of hospitality and gifts to individual and communal honor, while also suggesting some of the com- plexities involved in marriages between high-status Indians. The marriage of the Pawtucket sachem Montowompate (also known as Black James) to the Pennacook sachem-powwow Passaconaway'’s daughter Wenuhus probably seemed like a prudent match to all involved.** Relations apparently began smoothly enough; Passaconaway held a great feast to celebrate the couple's union — according to Thomas Morton, a typical practice among local Indians. Following the initial feast, the couple returned to Montowompate's home in Saugus, and shortly thereafter, Passaconaway sent attendants to the pair. Wanting both to reciprocate his father-in-law’s hospitality and to display his own power, Montowompate entertained the renowned sachem's men. Morton claimed that the occasion was a success, as “the attendants were gratified.” These marriage celebrations offered occasion for reciprocal acts of respect that were probably intended, among other things, to assure good future relations.” Some background is necessary to an understanding of what transpired after the auspicious beginning of the union. The marriage of Montowompate and Wenuhus probably occurred in the 1620s, a period of decline for the Pawtuckets, whereas the Pennacooks remained relatively strong. Montowompate's father, the great Pawtucket sachem Nanepashemet, was killed in 1619 during an Abenaki raid. Such warfare, in addition to epidemics in 1616-17, 1630, and 1633, greatly reduced the power of the Pawtuckets. By 1630

the signs of decline were particularly acute: Passaconaway could muster 500 men to Montowompate’s 30 to 40. While long-standing ties clearly existed between the Pennacook people and the Pawtuckets, Passaconaway may well have viewed the marriages of two of his daughters to Montowompate and his younger brother Wenepaweekin as an opportunity to extend his power over nearby communities in decline.” If so, important demographic and political developments were also at work in the marriage between the two important families (figure 4).

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.* permission of The Huntington Librar San Mari G li rni 'Y, arino, California.

“If he is fat and sleek, a wife is givento him” #t 67

For her part, we know that Wenuhus decided to visit her girlhood home shortly after the marriage. Although Morton's account is silent on the matter, Wenuhus could have returned for a number of reasons. Perhaps she missed familiar people and places. Or she may have been dissatisfied with her new husband; Indian women, after all, enjoyed great latitude in choosing and divorcing mates. It is also possible that the trip was part of ritualized feasting that sought to bind the two villages together, just as the marriage purported to draw Wenuhus and Montowompate close. In any case, Montowompate selected a number of men to convey her to Pennacook, where they feasted yet again; then, shortly after the celebration, Montowompate’s men returned home. After some time passed, Wenuhus resolved to return to Saugus. But rather than sending her home with a convoy of Pennacook men, Passaconaway relayed word that Montowompate should retrieve his wife.”

At this point, relations between the two men soured. Insulted by Passaconaway s suggestion, Montowompate had had “his men to wait upon her to her father’s territories, as it did become him; but now she had an intent

to return, it did become her father, to send her back with a convoy of his own people; and that it stood not with his [Montowompate’s| reputation to make himself or his men so servile to fetch her again.”” The younger sachem

appears to have been operating on the assumption that he and Passaconaway were equals who should accord one another mutual respect. But Passaconaway, perhaps because of his reputation and the declining power of his son-in-law’s family, demanded what he thought was a reasonable amount of deference. Montowompate claimed that bowing to Passaconaway’s request not only put his honor at risk but also threatened the reputations of his men. As might be expected, Passaconaway “was enraged” by Montowompate's failure to “esteem him at a higher rate” and found the younger sachem’s actions an affront to Wenuhus’s kin. Not about to submit to Montowompate's

terms, Passaconaway repeated his earlier demand: if the younger sachem wanted his wife to return, then it “were best to send or come for her.’ This reply served only to escalate tensions. Montowompate retorted that he refused “to under value himself,” telling Passaconaway that he could either send his daughter to Saugus or enjoy her company at home.*” Since both men refused to negotiate, Wenuhus apparently remained with her father. This dispute illustrates both the degree to which male honor was tied to communal activities and the importance of elite marriages to group identity. Moreover, the episode also offers a glimpse at the manner in which

male honor affected a sachem’s actions. Although Montowompate was

68 Sm CHAPTER 4 | clearly angry on his own accord, the dissatisfaction of his men also deeply influenced his reaction to the situation. Perhaps he feared that his men would feel servile if they complied. Thus, communal male honor made it impossible for the younger sachem to submit to his father-in-law’s demands. This observation takes on a greater importance if one considers the significance of consensus in Indian governance. Passaconaway's comments make clear the older sachemss feeling that having Montowompate’s men convey Wenuhus to Saugus was an appropriate recognition of the renowned older leader's heredity and power. In Saugus, the gesture was read differently: Montowom_ pate and his men found Passaconaway’s refusal to accord reciprocal respect a grave insult to both kin and community. Perhaps Montowompate's people would have held another feast for the older sachem's men had they escorted the young woman. In the end, however, they could neither brook the insult of being denied the opportunity of providing hospitality to Passaconaway’s men nor endure the indignity of making the return trip up the Merrimack. Unfortunately, we do not know what Wenuhus thought of the matter. Perhaps she found the marriage dissatisfying or saw Montowompate’s behavior as an affront to her family’s honor, and encouraged her father’s attitude toward the young sachem from Saugus. In any case, it seems unlikely that she let events be dictated solely by the men involved — her family, village, and personal honor were also at stake as events unfolded.”

Other English accounts offer glimpses of the way in which Indian men sometimes viewed appropriate gender relations and marriage. In 1634, William Wood claimed that Indian men thought English gender practices wasted female labor and condemned the colonists “for their folly in spoiling good working creatures.” Thomas Lechford repeated the charge seven years later.” These instances are striking in that the Indian men’s critique of English masculinity appears to have rested on the failure of the Europeans to properly use female labor. Other Indian criticisms of English marriage practices expressed similar views. Wood noted the chagrin of a sagamore who witnessed an English woman aggressively berating her husband. With her voice “thundering in his ears,’ the unnamed sagamore headed to the safety of a neighbor’s home. Within its relative peace, the Indian man noted that the English husband “was a great fool to give her the audience and no correction for usurping his character and abusing him by her tongue.’*® This

was not the only aspect of English marriage that Indian men found odd. The Pokanoket sachem Massasoit “marvell[ed] that [King James] would

“If he is fat and sleek, a wife is given to him” st 69

live without a wife” And North of Pokanoket country, a sagamore queried Christopher Levett as to “how many wives King JAMES had”; when told that the English sovereign was a monogamous widower, he asked “who then did all the king’s work.”**

Significantly, none of these instances indicate that the Indian men in question viewed female labor as a potential source of egalitarian gender relations. Rather, their attitudes are indicative of the degree to which masculinity and femininity were juxtaposed as cultural ideals. Obviously, the . manner in which femininity was employed in insults between men tells us little about the wide range of relationships between men and women, and reveals even less about how women defined their own identities or about the

realities of gender relations in Indian villages. Nevertheless, male views of proper female comportment, understandings of the meaning of femininity, and perceptions of marriage practices remain suggestive.

Coda For both Natives and Anglo-Americans, the process of defining masculinity began in boyhood and continued throughout adulthood. Status and hereditary considerations appear to have been important to marriages and for becoming a sachem in Indian communities, yet the various ways of accruing and performing masculinity remained remarkably flexible. Men might gain a name and rank within Indian society which reflected proper comportment, physical accomplishment, and spiritual acumen. Like their Indian neighbors, Anglo-American men expressed and understood manhood religiously, while also measuring it against femininity and through marriage. Fully becoming a man in Anglo-American communities required embracing the currents of Puritanism, excelling at a calling that provided the independence essential to manhood, and controlling dependents, including a wife. At the same time that boys and men defined themselves against effeminacy, they also measured their identities against the actions of other men, whether simply men of a different status or deviant and sinful men who embodied the antithesis of Christian manhood.

PART II] St Minting Christians

R: PORTS THAT Montowompatess older brother, Wonohaquaham (also known as Sagamore John), considered converting to Christianity caused a flurry of commentary, revealing many of this section’s concerns. Friendly with colonists, Wonohaquaham’s people lived in the area that comprises present-day Malden, Everett, Revere, and Chelsea, Massachusetts. As early as 1631, Wonohaquaham was speaking English and “affecting English apparel and houses,’ while also “speaking well” of the Puritan God. An early missionary tract boldly declared that the sagamore had become “convinced” of the superiority of Anglo-American culture, claiming that he would go so far as to “resolve and promise to leave the Indians, and come live with [the colonists ].” In the end, Thomas Dudley lamented, Wonohaquaham endured “the scoffes of the Indians” but never deserted his community for a life among the settlers.’

Reports of Wonohaquaham’s ardor for English culture and religion led to still more Anglo-American theorizing about the best approach to converting Indians. Writing to John Winthrop Jr. in 1632, for example, Edward Howes echoed other reports of the “greate hopes” that the sagamore would become “civilized and a christian,’ while also offering suggestions for converting other Indian leaders. In particular, he advocated using gifting and exchange as a way of rewarding sagamores and sachems similarly friendly to

@t 71

72 St PART II the English. Anticipating the approach taken by later missionaries in New England, Howes suggested offering “respect and honor” to “petty kings” like Wonohaquaham “by giving them a scarlet coate ... or some other vestment” consistent with their status. He hoped that similar gifts would entice Indian leaders “of greater command than |Wonohaquaham] ... to love and respect the English” in the hope of receiving similar goods. In his view, gifting offered a subtle means of symbolically enhancing the status of friendly Native leaders and luring curious or hostile Indians with the promise of coats and other trade goods. This careful gifting strategy constituted only one aspect of a larger plan. With God's blessing, Howes explained, gifting would “be a greate meanes of civillizinge the meaner sorte,’ claiming that as they embraced Christ, a still greater struggle would be joined. He blended metaphors of conquest and conversion, declaring, “For it is a rule in warre, to aime to surprise and captivate greate ones, and the lesse will soone come under”; hence, the sachems would be the key to converting all Indians. “The wise man saith; guifts blinde the wise,’ Howes offered in his view of Indian capabilities, so “howe much more them that are ignorante and simple, as I thinke all the natives are.” Howes never saw his program to fruition among Wonohaquahams people. Two years after the first reports of the sagamore’s potential conversion, a smallpox outbreak killed Wonohaquaham and thirty of his people. John Winthrop reported that English settlers in the region “tooke awaye many of the | Pawtucket] Children; but most of them died soone after.” Presumably, the surviving children were taken in as servants and raised in AngloAmerican families. Perhaps not wanting his child to end up with strangers, Wonohaquaham asked the Reverend John Wilson to raise his son. At life's end, he distributed gifts of wampum to Governor Winthrop and to a number of the other colonists present, also settling various debts. As this painful scene unfolded, a number of the dying Indians followed their sagamore in promising to “serve” the Puritan god if they were returned to health.’ Their plea went unanswered. It is a woeful image rising from the page: dying villagers attempting a supernatural bargain with the English god, struggling to settle old debts, and trying to provide for children who would survive them in a colonial world. One might be tempted to read the deathbed scenes as evidence that Wonohaquaham and his people appealed to the Christian god less for love than for fear of disease. Health and the sacred remained intertwined for Native

Minting Christians «#t 73

Americans." It is a mistake, however, to recall only this aspect and to overemphasize the role of either disease or English coercion in the decision of Wonohaquaham and other Indians to approach Christianity. Before disease devastated his community, Wonohaquaham appears to have actively sought out Christianity, even if what exactly motivated his interest remains obscured. It is useful to step back from overly bold claims by colonists that he rejected traditional Indian culture in favor of supposedly superior English ways and instead look more closely at the sagamore’s religious world, which to him was charged with spiritual power, moved by numerous supernatural forces, and populated by powerful other-thanhuman beings who were constantly implicated in everyday life. Given these realities, Wonohaquahamss religious experimentation appears a pragmatic adjustment to the changes emerging from English colonialism. Not everyone accepted Wonohaquaham’s approach to the English and Christianity. The intensity of the mockery and threats he endured suggests that his enemies shared the conviction that religion shaped everyday events,

personal identity, and community. But their hostility departed from the sagamore'’s conclusions. Rather than plumbing Christianity for meaningful equivalent religious practices or novel sources of spiritual power, Indians who criticized and resisted English religion arrived at a different view: it is better to renew traditional ways and avoid the manifest dangers of English spiritual power. Wonohaquaham put much at stake when he decided to ex-

periment with Christianity. Although Indian communities proved much more willing and creative in blending new and old religious practices than their English neighbors, the adoption of Christianity was not taken lightly,

and those Natives who experimented with English religion were surely questioned and sometimes found themselves insulted, threatened, or even poisoned.° Wonohaquaham and similarly minded Pawtuckets may have endured the mocking of traditionalists, but they never rejected the currents of Indian life. For instance, the Pawtuckets’ manner of appealing to the English god appears analogous to older ways of dealing with illness and the prospect of death. Death’s approach called for familiar, if desperate, measures. Similar religious practices had long been part of the villagers’ life as they came of age. Deathbed prayers did not depart as radically from traditional Indian religion

as English observers may have thought. On those potential converts who lingered on Christianity’s possibilities, missionaries made steep demands, rooted in a series of cultural assumptions that seemed logical, natural, and

74. Sw PART II God-ordained to colonists who were struggling to match similar ideals in their own lives and communities. Echoing the logic of Edward Howe’ gifting program, later missionary writings formed something of a chorus in insisting

that English civilization and Christianity were naturally paired; enjoying the | fruits of the latter was impossible without accomplishing the challenges of the former. The goal of cultural and religious transformation became daunting, in large part, because English civilization turned on different ways of defining the roles Indian men and women traditionally exercised in their communities. Indian men failed to engage in agricultural work, or husbandry, as it was commonly held in the English view that men should. Among other things,

Indian men’s lives revolved around hunting and warfare, whereas women cultivated land, gathered and processed foodstuffs, and engaged in child rearing. In this arrangement, many English observers saw what they considered a troubling deficit of manliness in traditional Indian life.®

Manliness remained an important measure of the success of missionary efforts and colonization. Hence Thomas Shepard’s contention in the early days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony mission that it was necessary for the English to “make men’ of the Indians before they could “make them Christians.’ Shepard saw cultivating proper Indian manliness as an essential mis- | sionary goal in 1648; masculinity became one measure of missionary success over the course of the century. In the 1650s, for example, Thomas Mayhew observed of a particularly pious group of praying Indians who “prayed, not

with any set Form like Children, but like Men indued with a good measure of the knowedg of God.” Samuel Treat reflected a similar view in 1693, commenting that on Martha's Vineyard, Christian Indian “Deportment and Converse, and Garb, [were] more Manly and Laudable than [those of | any other Indians ...in the Province.’ Treat’s observations also suggested the degree to which masculinity could be both made and unmade through, among other things, performance (“Deportment and Converse”) as well as outward signs (“Garb”), which were central to constituting manliness. How Indian men carried themselves, spoke, and dressed symbolized the progress of the gospel and English civilization. For colonists like Treat, manliness embodied all these qualities and distinguished Christian from traditionalist Indians.’ Similar concerns over manhood, patrimony, and civilization ran throughout the conceptualization and execution of New England missionary efforts. The contested meanings of manhood for missionaries and potential converts were very much about power. For their part, missionaries endeavored

to reconstitute Native masculinity according to English patriarchal ideals

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that colonists themselves rarely matched. This is not to argue that Indian women were unimportant to the history of missionary efforts. Rather, missionaries assumed that reforming Indian manhood could only benefit Native American women, who would then rise from what colonists derided as “drudgery” to enjoy the status of Puritan goodwives. Never mind that Indian women traditionally held what we might see today as a greater range of sexual and marital freedoms, and sometimes occupied important political

roles as sunksquaws and influential community members. For Puritan mis- | sionaries, all these aspects of Native life appeared disorderly and uncivilized; . they necessitated thoroughgoing reform aimed at installing monogamous praying-Indian patriarchs at the head of Christian Indian families.’ Doing so would, they hoped, reform native society and serve as an example to Christians everywhere. The realities of praying-Indian life fell short of these goals. Nervertheless, the mission had a profound effect on the role of women in Indian society.” Although missionaries imagined Indians adopting orderly patriarchal families that constrained dependents in a most Christian manner, the reality on the ground was much more complex and varied. Women might lose access to the sachemship in praying towns, for example, but they also became key to facilitating the development of an Indian Protestantism by frequently, among other things, leading family devotions, a role that missionaries saw as ideally the province of husbands and fathers. In such ways, Indian women and men selectively adapted Christianity and Anglo-American conceptions of civility to their own uses and the necessities of coping with colonialism. The ability to negotiate in the emerging colonial world, however, depended a great deal on where a praying Indian lived. On Martha's Vineyard, where Indians formed a majority of the island’s population throughout the seventeenth century, Indian needs and desires powerfully shaped prayingtown life. Although they avoided much of the chaos arising from mainland conflicts, especially King Philip’s War, island Wampanoags, like mainland Indians, nevertheless suffered from repeated epidemics and were slowly drawn into the colonial economy. In Natick, the first and most prominent

praying town in Massachusetts Bay Colony, praying Indians were more. subject to missionary influence and surveillance, as well as fully experiencing the cataclysmic impact of King Philip's War. Other Bay Colony praying towns in the region developed in a manner that lay somewhere between the two extremes of the Martha's Vineyard towns and Natick. By submitting to the colonial government and living in Natick and other mainland praying

76 ‘Sm PART II towns, remnant groups from Indian villages like Neponset and Nonantum nevertheless slowly and unevenly came to accept new types of political, social, and religious organization. A similar process occurred in Plymouth Colony’s Christian Indian communities but without the establishment of formal praying towns. Eliot and other missionaries preached to Nausets as early as 1647; a combination of Native and Anglo-American missionaries spearheaded later efforts, including, most notably, Richard Bourne, John Cotton Jr., and, by the eighteenth century, Josiah Cotton.” Christian Indians had a good deal of autonomy in shaping Christianity to their needs. Unlike Catholic Franciscans and Jesuits in Spanish and French colonies, New England missionaries remained part-time evangelists to the Indians. In addition to John Eliot’s growing commitment to evangelizing Indians, for example, he was ordained as teacher to the Roxbury church for over a decade before he became interested in missionary efforts, and he maintained his commitment to the congregation until 1688. He kept a regular visitation schedule and maintained an apartment in the Natick meetinghouse, though he was not a resident there. The spread of Christianity among the Indian communities of New England cannot be simply attributed to English persuasion or coercion. The mission steadily grew during the middle of the century, as Anglo-American missionaries and a more numerous cadre of Indian proselytes attempted with some success to spread the gospel among the region’s Native communities. Immediately before the outbreak of King Philip's War in 1675, the Christian Indian communities held perhaps as much as a quarter of the Native American population of heavily colonized southeastern Massachusetts and Plymouth, while in all of southern New England about one in ten Indians was Christian. The war greatly reduced the extent of the mission: only four of the fourteen praying towns in Massachusetts Bay Colony, for example, remained once the violence ended. Nevertheless, Christian communities and missionary efforts persisted as praying Indians joined with new English missionaries to tend to old and develop new Christian communities — albeit with less publicity, as Indian conversion gradually lost prominence as a central justification for and goal of colonialism.”

CHAPTER S “Man-like civilitie”

Ma NHOOD ANDcolonization were intertwined for the early modern English settlers. Both colonial promotional literature and missionary writings reflect a belief in the transformative power of English masculinity and Protestantism to remake the New World in ways that Catholic Portuguese, Spanish, and French men could scarce approximate. Using John Smith's 1616 promotional pamphlet A Description of New England as a starting point, this

chapter contends that industry, honor, Protestant Christianity, and martial prowess largely defined colonial masculine ideals. None of these aspects of colonial manhood remained constant, but all four — labor, honor, religion, and violence — shaped colonial expectations and realities. Promotional works like Smith's illustrated the English concern for rank as a means of ordering the world along God-ordained hierarchies, while also offering English men a means to escape Old World limitations on masculine possibilities. Middling men, according to Smith, especially felt such constraints because their industry, piety, and honor often went unrewarded in England. The New World, Smith suggested, offered an arena for both temporal and spiritual redemption for Protestant Englishmen who embodied right religion and the transformative power of colonial masculinity. In charting masculine ideals in this way, he also described deviant masculinities in a colonial society: men who failed to honorably work, play, worship, or fight remained suspect. Missionaries drew deeply on similar cultural logic, comparing Indian

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78 ‘St CHAPTER 5 masculinity against colonial masculine ideals and finding native practices wanting, especially in regard to what constituted manly labor. In this way, English civility, so central to the missionary worldview, remained an exceedingly gendered concept that linked manliness and colonialism. Written before colonialism fully marked the region, John Smith’s A Description of New England suggests some of the ways in which manhood and

| colonization were intertwined in the seventeenth century. He draws on many of the themes central to promotional tracts published in the previous century and, at the same time, shares many cultural assumptions with later Puritan colonists. The pamphlet fills a good deal of space describing local Indian groups and possible commercial opportunities for would-be colonists.

| It stresses the transformative power of male labor joined with Christianity throughout, often suggesting that colonization served as an arena for masculine accomplishment. Although Smith did not anticipate the degree to which New England settlement and colonialism would be shaped by the migration of families, his work remains instructive. Highlighting social and economic problems in England, he imagined New England as a potential land of opportunity for enterprising men, declaring, “Here are no hard Landlords to racke us with high rents, or extorted fines to consume us, no tedious pleas in law to consume us with their many years disputations for Justice: no multitudes to occasion such impediments to good orders, as in popular States.” By contrast, colonists would live in a society where “every man may be master and owner of his owne labour and land; or the greatest part in a small time.’ A man possessing “nothing but his hands... may set up this trade; and by industrie quickly grow rich,’ Smith argued. Men might then quickly excel, become independent, and enjoy a measure of comfort. Despite the often rocky soil and sometimes dense forests, farmers could look forward to bountiful harvests in Smith's New England: “Here is ground also as good as any lyeth in the height of forty one, forty two, forty three [degrees latitude], etc. which is as temperate and as fruitfull as any other parallel in the world.”’ Appealing to industrious middling men who sometimes chafed against the importance of rank to English manhood and society, Smith imagined a New England that put a higher value on labor and action than on deference. In the process, he leveled a great deal of criticism at idle English gentlemen, a view that would have probably left many middling men nodding their heads in agreement. Smith did not, however, advocate social leveling. He backed away from his critique of gentlemen, for example, declaring, “I would be sory

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to offend, or that any should mistake my honest meaning: for I wish good to all, hurt to none.” Later, Smith added that he did not wish “to perswade children from their parents; men from their wives; nor servants from their masters,” but hoped only to offer the fruits of the New World to those who might profit through labor that could not be similarly rewarded in England.’ Smith stressed the potential of the region in the hands of industrious English farmers and laborers. Comparing New England with the various other lands that he had visited in his wide travels, he remarked, “I conclude, if the heart and intralls of those Regions were sought; if their Land were cultured, planted and manured by men of industrie, judgement, and experience; what hope is there, or what neede they doubt having those advantages of the Sea, but it might equalize any of those famous Kingdomes, in all commodities, pleasures, and conditions?” Imagining that New England would develop into a land with few equals, Smith also claimed that colonization had important

economic and social implications for England. English shipping and sailors would benefit from the increased overseas economic activity and thus “employ and encourage a great part of our idlers and others that want imployments” appropriate to their status. Labor, he again argued, would be transformative at home and in the colonies: “Could they but once taste the sweet fruites of their owne labours, doubtlesse many thousands would be advised by good discipline, to take more pleasure in honest industrie, then in their humours of dissolute idlenesse.” The work arising from colonization would thus serve as an engine for social reform and cultural renewal, raising men from lives of idleness and dissolution. By the time Smith wrote, this was

already an old but still effective argument.” | Calling English men to action in a fashion that would have pleased earlier colonial advocates; Smith framed colonization as a question of male honor: “If he have but the taste of virtue, and magnanimitie what to such a minde can bee more pleasant, than planting and building a foundation for his Posteritie, gotte from the rude earth, by Gods blessing and his owne industrie,

without prejudice to any?” Moreover, in addition to individual honor and labor, men might accomplish other honorable acts for the good of the commonwealth and the progress of the gospel. “Ifhee have any graine of faith or zeale in Religion,” asked Smith in a manner that would have surely pleased later missionaries, “what can hee doe lesse hurtfull to any; or more agreeable to God, then to seeke to convert those poore Salvages to know Christ, and humanitie, whose labors with discretion will triple requite thy charge and paines?” Elsewhere in the pamphlet, Smith suggested that coercion and

80 Se CHAPTER 5 violence might be needed to bring New England Indians into “subjection.” This effort, he commented, in a remark boasting English martial prowess, would take only a relatively small number of English men. Once brought under English rule, Smith imagined that Indians could serve as a ready labor force for English ventures such as fishing. A combination of converting and conquering Indians, however, would be one way that colonization offered a means of accruing masculine honor. Smith demanded that his readers con-

sider “what so truely sutes with honour and honestie, as the discovering things unknowne?” Becoming more specific about the link between colonization and honor, he added that “erecting Townes, peopling Countries, informing the ignorant, reforming things unjust, teaching virtue; and gaine to our Native mother-countrie a kingdom to attend her; [and to] finde imployment for... [the] idle” were among the other honorable enterprises a man of action might entertain.* Smith later presented colonization as a matter of patriarchal responsibility and honor. Denouncing irresponsible fathers and failed patriarchs with vigor, he disparaged “you fathers that are either so foolishly fond, or so miserably covetous, or so willfully ignorant, or so negligently carelesse .. . that you will rather maintaine your children in idle wantonness, till they growe your masters; or become so basely unkinde, as they wish nothing but your deaths.” Such patriarchal failings also threatened to make both father and son ‘dissolute.’ Even though any father would surely “wish” his sons “any where to escape the gallowes,’ Smith found English patriarchs much more grudging when it came time to assist their progeny in an “adventure ... to obtaine an estate which in a small time but with a little assistance of your providence, might be better then your owne.’ A more responsible father, he implied, would surely assist his son (and by extension his family) in the honorable ventures that lay ahead in New England.° Patriarchal concerns also dominated Smith's discussion of colonization as a panacea for much of what ailed English society. After examining the “beginnings and endings’ of anumber of ancient peoples, he concluded that the fall of great nations and empires could be traced to various patriarchal failings: “idlenesse, the fondnesse of Parents, the want of experience in Magistrates, the admiration of their undeserved honours, [and] the contempt of true merit,” among other things. Clearly drawing a connection between the patriarchal failures of ancient men and those of the English gentlemen he singled out for criticism, Smith observed that idle gentlemen “toyle[d] out their heart, soule, and time, basely by shifts, tricks, cards and dice” and lived

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dishonorable lives that relied on deception and other men’s labor. He asked his readers whether it was not true that this sort of idleness did “offend the

lawes, surfeit with excesse, burden thy Country, abuse thy selfe, despaire in want, and then couzen thy kindred, yea even thine owne brother, and wish thy parents death (I will not say damnation) to have their estates?” For Smith, gentlemen were defining their manhood in a manner no longer useful: “Rich men for the most part are growne to that dotage, through their pride in their wealth, as though there were no accident could end it, or their life.” Addled by wealth and delusion, he argued, wealthy men lost the vigor and utility that ideally defined manhood. Men who embraced labor and colonization with masculine vigor not only remained emblematic of manly ideals but also served as a tonic against the kind of patriarchal and social decline Smith discerned in the histories of failed ancient societies. Despite his critical view of elite men, Smith listed the various inducements that might attract Englishmen of differing statuses to New England. Gentlemen, he explained, could look forward to New England as something of a playground rife with activities usually reserved for only the most elite men in English society: “What exercise should more delight them, then ranging dayly those unknowne parts, using fowling and fishing, for hunting and hauking?” For men of lower and middling rank, Smith returned to the bountiful nature of the land, given which, he explained, “it seemes strange to me, any such should there grow poore.” Smith thus illustrated that the New World might offer both labor and leisure to different ranks of English men,

while also implicitly arguing that English manhood should be modeled on the values — such as industry and independence — of middling men, rather than on the dissolute lives of elite men. His disdain for the work habits and morals of gentlemen, as it turned out, would not be a pressing issue for colonists, since New England ultimately proved an unattractive destination for the English nobility and gentry. Instead, middling families had the greatest impact on the colonization of New England.’ Just as John Smith cast colonization as an arena for masculine accom-

plishment and honor, missionaries at midcentury similarly depicted their , colonial enterprise as a manly affair by portraying themselves alternately as warriors serving as “soldiers of Christ” or as husbandmen tending a “Spirituall Garden.”* Appealing to the former understanding of missionary efforts

and manhood, John Eliot recalled scripture (2 Timothy 2:3) at a moment when he was dispirited about the progress of the mission. “Endure thou hardnesse as a good Souldier of Jesus Christ,’ he reminded himself,’

82 St CHAPTER 5 Commenting on Native American resistance to the mission, another missionary extravagantly mixed the martial with the spiritual. Because opponents might join their “rage” with “Sathans malice” to threaten the mission, vigilance was needed, he concluded, suggesting that missionaries “fortifie” themselves against the enemies of God's progress: “We purpose (ifthe Lord will) to make a strong Palizado (wanting means of doing better) and if we cannot get any Guns, Powder, Shot, Swords, &c. we will make us Slings, Bowes, and other Engines, the best the Lord will please to direct us for our

safety; and when we have used the best meanes we can, I hope the Lord will help us to trust in his great name, to make that our strong Tower to flie unto.”’? Whether Christ’s soldiers took up metaphoric muskets or slings, | missions demanded a martial spirit for the religious combat to come. Labor, especially agricultural labor, was another matter. That Indian women did the farming became a special concern for missionaries who hoped to remedy what they saw as an unnatural arrangement. In addition to husbandry’s various cultural resonances, it bears remembering that the connection between agriculture and manhood became all the more important in New England because farming emerged as the most common occupation in the region. Agriculture also symbolized a great deal in English civilization: for the English — Puritan or not — male agricultural labor served as the bedrock of an orderly and civilized society.” To eschew such labor — as Indian men did — was to reject Puritan conceptions of what made a man. John Eliot, for example, expressed his disdain for traditional Indian masculinity to a group of potential converts in Massachusetts during the earliest days of the mission by critiquing Mohegans visiting from Connecticut. “Foxun the Mohegan Counseller, who is counted the wisest Indian in the Country,” Eliot explained, “ .. was a foole in comparison of you, for you could speak of God and Christ, and heaven and repentance and faith, but he sate and had not one word to say, unlesse you talked of such poor things as hunting, wars, &c.” In the missionary’s view, hunting and Indian warfare were not worthy of Christian men. He went on to argue that if praying Indians embraced Christianity and engaged in what the English saw as manly labor, they “should have cloths, houses, cattle, [and] riches” like the colonists. Eliot's comments evoked a seventeenth-century Anglo-American

commonplace which held that Indian men were “addicted to idleness,” a condition that flowed from their focus on activities like fishing and hunting, which necessitated movement from place to place as the season demanded.”

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Colonial observers often contrasted the laziness of Indian men with the industry of Indian women to highlight the distance between supposed Native savagery and English civility. Cotton Mather summarized this view of the gender division of labor in Indian society: “Their way of living is infinitely barbarous: the men are most abominably slothful; making their poor squaws or wives, to plant and dress, barn and beat their corn, and build their wigwams for them.” Because missionaries viewed civility as a product of the proper patriarchal ordering of society, they primarily focused on reforming disorderly Indian men. Indian women gave them less concern because missionaries felt that the excesses of Indian manhood remained the gravest problem faced by Indian women. Indian men, according to many English observers, subjugated women by their idleness, domestic violence, sexual _ excess, and, in some cases, polygyny. Missionaries hoped that reforming Indian manhood would liberate Native women from the tyranny of such failed patriarchs, who embodied the antithesis of Christian manhood.” Liberation, in this view, meant that once Indian men embraced both civility and Christianity, they would come naturally to dominate Indian women. The combination of female-based agriculture and male mobility struck English observers as a perverse and potentially dangerous example to English

men. “Many Lazy boys that have run away from their masters,’ William Wood commented, “have been brought home by these ranging foresters” whose mobility gave them perfect knowledge of the region. Although Wood lauded the Indians’ extensive knowledge of what he considered a wilderness,

missionaries lamented the mobile lifestyle that “lazy boys” apparently found : so tantalizing. That Indian men hunted so freely without concern for rank or privilege was yet another concern for colonists. In England, after all, hunting was a right accorded only to gentlemen and only by the king or queen.*

Despite frequent English claims to the contrary, Indian life turned on using established agricultural, hunting, and fishing grounds that were clearly demarcated. These lands were communal rather than private property. “The

Natives,” Roger Williams explained, “are very exact and punctuall in the bounds of their Lands, belonging to this or that Prince or People, (even to a River, Brooke &c.).’ Even though Indian agriculture was both highly visible and productive, Anglo-American observers remained critical of Indian land-use patterns. Rev. Francis Higgenson, for example, presented a typical Anglo-American view in a 1629 letter to England: “The Indians are not able to make use of the one-fourth part of the land, neither have they any settled

84 St CHAPTER § places, as towns to dwell in, nor any ground as they challenge for their own possession but change habitation from place to place.’* Unable to discern the bounded homelands that Roger Williams noted, observers like Higgenson assumed that Indian life lacked order and civility, a condition born of male idleness and emblematic of the suffering of Indian wives.

Arguments for colonization and the expropriation of Indian lands reflected a similar view of Native gender roles and labor. For example, John Winthrop argued that God bestowed “a double right to the earth; theire is a naturall right, and a Civill Right.” The “naturall right” was a product of the period “when men held the earth in common every man sowing and feeding where he pleased.” Sanctioned by biblical precedent, the “civill right” to land was premised on forms of male labor like the introduction of animal husbandry, more sophisticated farming techniques, and bounding the land, which together marked English landholding as civilized and legitimate in most Anglo-American eyes. Building on this argument, Winthrop further contended that “the natives who finde benifight allreaddy by our Neighbourhood, and learne from us to improve a parte to more use then before they could doe the whole: and by this meanes we come in by valuable purchase, for they have of us that, which will yeeld them more benifight, then all that Land which we have from them.” Winthrop also pointed out that “God hath consumed the Natives with a great Plauge | sic| in those partes, soe as there be few Inhabitantes lefte.” Epidemics signaled God's will, in this view, a development that left supposedly vacant lands open to manly agricultural claims and improvement. As agricultural work was the province of men in English society, it marked the distance between supposed Indian savagery and Anglo-American civility. Neither Indian women’s farming nor their construction of housing qualified as a means to gaining a “civill right” to land. Winthrop, like John Smith, put manly husbandry at the center of colonization, where it served as a manly pursuit, an index of civilization, and a means of claiming the land.” Sexuality and procreation were also sometimes bound up in discussions about claiming the land. The missionary Daniel Gookin, for instance, connected land use to the sexual potency and fecundity of the colonists. After dismissing critics of the English expropriation of Indian lands, Gookin argued that colonial land claims rested on a land patent from King Charles I and the “purchase or donation |of land] from the Indian sachems and sagamores, which were actually in possession, when the English came first over.” Flowing from this right, he explained, it was thus “necessary for the | pray-

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ing| Indians, as the case stands, for their present and future security and . tranquility, to receive the lands by grant from the English, who are a growing and potent people, comparatively to the Indians.” As this example suggests, the meaning of labor and civility for Anglo-Americans was intertwined with their understandings of gender and sexuality. The missionary obsession with male-centered agriculture obviously had deep religious and cultural roots. In addition to its agricultural connotations, husbandry was tied to household management and was the masculine analogue to housewifery, suggesting that a man’s labor in the fields was analogous to his patriarchal role in the family, ideally assuring order and propagation. Writing early in the century, for example, the Englishman William Heale

linked labor and gender in English culture. Contrasting men and women, Heale spoke of “the one valiant and laborious in the fields, the other mild and diligent within the doors: that what the one had painfully gotten abroad the other might carefully conserve at home.” In addition to being a “valiant” occupation, husbandry was key to English understandings of civility. Roger Williams illustrated, for example, the link between husbandry and civility in a dispute over the title to Conanicut Island (the future site of Jamestown, Rhode Island). Wanting the conflict with the litigious John Easton to end, Williams explained his motives: “to further & advance yt great end of plant-

ing & subduing this barbarous Country to English industre & civilitye I have longed for and rejoice in ye purchase of this Island.” English husbandry marked the landscape, Williams was suggesting, announcing the march of manly labor and civilization.” Missionaries drew on the language of husbandry and civility to cast their calling too as a manly affair. Thomas Shepard observed of the slow start to missionary efforts in the region that the English were “discouraged to put plow to such dry and rocky ground,’ but he concluded that the Indians might prove “better soile for the Gospel then wee can thinke.” Making a similar analogy, the missionary Thomas Mayhew Jr. remarked that “the Indians in this small beginning, being Gods husbandry, and Gods building, may be a fruitful glorious spreading Vine” dedicated to the Lord. Elsewhere, Mayhew was praised by his supporters because by engaging in missionary efforts, he

“putteth his hand unto this Plough at Martins Vineyard.” One missionary tract moved from a similar evocation of husbandry to suggest another gendered dimension of how sucha “harvest” might shape the progress of Christianity on both sides of the Atlantic: “Oh that England would be quickned by [the Christian Indians’ risings, and weep over her own declinings! What a

86 Sam CHAPTER 5 wonder is it that they should doe so much, and we so little, that they should be men in their infancy, and we such children in our manhood, that they so active we so dead?” The missionary patron and eminent Puritan divine Joseph

Caryl lauded missionary efforts as a form of religious husbandry by men who “laboured night and day with prayers and tears and Exhortations to Plant the Indians as a Spirituall Garden, into which Christ might come and eat his pleasant fruits.” He also explained conversion in terms of exchange. To this end, Caryl argued that Indian souls were “more pretious in our eyes then greatest gaine or return of Gold and Silver.” Missionary efforts were thus productive and presumably manly labor, a form of holy husbandry, capable of producing “Merchandize worth the glorying in upon all the Exchanges, or rather in all the Churches throughout the world.” Equating conversion with

exchange, he asked English readers to turn their attention to the “spiritual Factory in New England” and urged them to support such “heavenly Trade.” Lest readers be concerned about the returns that such an investment promised, Caryl added: “Whosoever shall thus Adventer for Christ, shall have Christ

for his Insurer.” Husbandry thus defined what it meant to be a man, offered a metaphor for God's work, served as a precondition for civility, and exemplified Christian labor. The path to civility and ultimately redemption advocated by missionaries was arduous. Evoking many of civility’s meanings, for example, John Eliot

struck at the heart of the matter when he argued that it was necessary to _ “convince, bridle, restrain and civilize,’ as well as “humble” potential converts. This understanding of civility and subjection continued to resonate in the region long after the initial excitement over missionary efforts faded. In a sermon preached to Plymouth Colony’s Christian Indians repeatedly from 1729 to 1745, Josiah Cotton urged his congregants to remember that words

and actions reflected deeper truths about the play of good and evil in an individual's heart. “Keep your mouth as with bit & bridle,” he declared, “that no evil Communication proceed thence.’ From within or without, potential

converts might be bridled like an animal or restrained like a child, metaphorically bringing together two other important Anglo-American masculine pursuits: animal husbandry and fatherhood. A bridle also had other gendered meanings. Scolds — women who boldly refused to respect patriarchal authority either at home or in the larger society — were sometimes punished by being forced to wear a “scold’s bridle.””® And just as English patriarchs sought to control disorderly women, New England missionaries

“Man-like civilitie” # 87 remained concerned with the need to bridle Indians as civility sought purchase in Christian villages. That the meaning of civility was central to Puritan approaches to conversion and understandings of masculinity bears further examination. James Axtell dwelt on this issue in his now classic discussion of the English missionary focus on “reducing” supposedly savage Indians to civility. He argued that colonists assumed Native Americans were not men, while also illustrating that the missionaries’ attitudes derived from their perception that Indians were prisoners of their passions, lacked reason, and had been deprived of a classical education. He thus maintained that the English typically viewed Indians as childlike, animal-like, and utterly outside of civilized patterns of

living and the liberal arts.“ What has not been fully explored by scholars following in Axtell’s considerable wake is the degree to which English under-

standings of civility were gendered and the missionary attempt to reduce Indians to civility depended on transforming the main currents of Indian masculinity. The Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of civility suggests both the word's gendered meaning and the degree to which the Protestant Reformation and English colonization shaped its meaning. John Calvin, for example,

is represented among usage examples by a striking quotation from a 1634 English edition of The Institutes of Christian Religion: “That among Christians may be a common shew of religion, among men may be man-like civilitie.”

Calvin's view illustrates one way that religion, manhood, and civility were intertwined. Well representing English Puritan thought, in a tract published in England during the early years of the colonization of Massachusetts Bay,

the Puritan minister William Fenner echoed the logic of the missionary program when he described one path to Christianity: “They come out of _ prophanenesse and enter into Civility, and a formall kind of profession.” Civility also connotes “conformity to the principles of social order, behaviour befitting a citizen; good citizenship.’ Given this definition of the word, it is striking that the historical examples provided by the dictionary are

drawn from the Elizabethan Conquest of Ireland. Edmund Spenser's contention that the Irish “should have been reduced to perpetuall civilitie and contained in continuall duty” (from his 1596 A View of the State of Ireland) and John Dymmok’s opinion that “the Cheefe thinge wanting in that countrye is cyvillitye, and dutyfull obedience of the people to their soveraigne”

(from his 1600 A Treatise of Ireland) are both illustrative of this meaning of |

88 Sm CHAPTER 5 the word. As historians have noted, Ireland served as something of a testing ground for English colonialism which influenced later attitudes and practices in the North American colonies.’ Within this transatlantic dialogue, the word civility increasingly suggested a union of manliness, religion, and political submission, underscoring the necessity of obedience and also the possible resort to violence to ensure order. A complementary passage cited in the OED from John Milton’s 1641 The Reason of Church Government clarifies some of the gendered meanings of civility. Like the authors of the examples above, Milton stressed obedience but _ also added a moral quality to be inculcated by properly composed literature that would “inbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds of vertu, and publick civility.” Such virtuous compositions would ideally, Milton declared on the eve of the English Civil War (1642-51), “sing the victorious agonies

of Martyrs and Saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and pious Nations doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ, to deplore the general relapses of Kings and States from justice and Gods true worship.’ Interestingly, “vertu, according to one seventeenth-century dictionary, was "a faculty of acting, which is in all natural bodies, according to their Qualities and Properties. Morally taken, it is Disposition and Aptness of the Soul to do good, and follow that which the Law and Reason teaches him.” Seventeenthcentury usage thus suggests that civility — which could turn on inculcating “vertu” — was also bound up in the performance of masculinity as well as obedience to both social norms and civil laws.” Bringing together religion and colonization, the OED also cites a passage from Nathanial Ward’s A Simple Cobbler of Aggawam in America (1646):

“When States are so reformed, they conforme such as are profligate, into good civility.’ A New Englander, Ward wrote in the midst of the English Civil War and at the moment that Martha's Vineyard and Massachusetts Bay Colony missionary efforts began. In particular, he argued that English people needed to undergo “a personal Reformation” as well as a political one.” Illustrating another meaning of civility, Ward contended that religion and good governance together reformed individuals with low morals and moved them toward the orderly living essential to the progress of a godly English nation. As its etymology suggests, civility’s meaning as it unfolded over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries connected piety, obedience, morality, and manhood with the progress of Reformed Christianity and European colonization. The missionary approach to converting Indians in New England was grounded in similar logic. In New England — as

“Man-like civilitie” «t 89

in Calvin’s Geneva or sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Ireland and England — civility’s meaning was intertwined with submission, gender, religion, and violence.

Within this transatlantic context, civility assumed specific gendered meanings, as missionaries increasingly held Indian men to be problematic converts. According to Anglo-Americans, Indian men failed to recognize the appropriate gendered boundaries in numerous aspects of life, such as work, dress, hairstyle, sexual practices, and parenting. Nevertheless, Indian men became key to missionary efforts, which envisioned a praying-Indian future that would radically alter the men’s traditional work, familial, and religious practices. Looking back at over a half-century of missionary work in 1702, Cotton Mather memorialized John Eliot’s efforts at converting Indians by arguing that it had involved “a double work[:] ... he was to make men of them; eer he could hope to see them saints; they must be civilized e’er they could christianized.” Mather thus laid bare several decades of New England missionary logic, pointing out the importance of Christian manhood to missionary efforts. A decade later, his correspondence reflected a different and much less triumphant reality. Exasperated with a leading missionary supporter, Mather argued that the “project of anglicizing our Indians is much more easy to be talked of than to be accomplished. It will take more time than the commissioners | back in England] who talk of it can imagine.” He concluded that what New England missionaries had accomplished to that date was “more than you have done to this day for your Welsh neighbors and captives.””° Mather’s frustration reflected the reality that the pragmatic adjustments Native Americans made to English colonialism did not include a wholesale embrace of English conceptions of civility. Nonetheless, civility, like manliness, persisted as a flexible marker of difference that remained an elusive thing on both sides of the Atlantic. Despite the fact that civility proved something of a moving target, Indians sometimes not only found Christianity appealing but also made it into something very useful and distinctly Native American.

CHAPTER 6 “Formerly ...aharmlesse man’

As THEY COPED with the destructiveness of colonialism, Native men and women found much in Christianity that proved appealing or at least amenable to long-standing ways of defining gender and religion. Although their persistence and adaptation are testament to their resourcefulness, it

is the case that Indian communities considered becoming Christian at moments when they faced fewer palatable options for autonomy. They regularly dealt with disease, violence, dislocation, and the undoubtedly sad knowledge that English villages appeared to grow steadily at the same time as shrinking Native communities sought to reconstitute and form strategies for future vitality. Becoming Christian offered one such strategy, but like most choices available to Indians living in heavily colonized areas, it was fraught.’ _ For their part, missionaries hoped to lead their proselytes down the path to civility. They were particularly eager to convert Native men whom they imagined as future leaders of patriarchal Christian Indian communities, leaders who would curtail women’s public roles in both religion and governance,

while also reinforcing the authority of fathers in praying-town families. The role of praying Indian men in religion, politics, and family never quite matched what the missionaries had hoped for in the 1640s; nonetheless, the advent of missionary activity offered much to Indian men who either hoped to rise in prominence or to reaffirm leadership positions in their communities. Male converts very early became key to facilitating the spread of

90 Sw

“Formerly...aharmlesse man” #t 91 Christianity in southern New England. Even though missionaries imagined the path to civility and Christianization as a stark series of trade-offs, their religious message offered much that was analogous to traditional Indian ways of defining masculinity and understanding the sacred. This goes far in explaining the willingness of some Indians to experiment with and then seek

_ to spread Christianity among the Native communities of the region. The experiences of two prominent early converts — Hiacoomes on Nope (called Martha's Vineyard by the English) in the early 1640s, and Waban in Massachusetts Bay Colony later in the same decade — well illustrate this dynamic.

As the first Christian convert on Martha's Vineyard in the 1640s, Hiacoomes suggests an interesting reconfiguration of Indian manhood. Before becoming Christian, he embodied the antithesis of Indian manly ideals. Experience Mayhew later summed up his qualities: “His Descent was but mean, his Speech but slow, and his Countenance not very promising.’ Perhaps because of his failure to excel as a man along more traditional lines, Hiacoomes

showed an openness to English culture and Christianity. In becoming the first Christian convert on the island, he developed a novel way of defining Indian masculinity. Prior to this transformation he appeared “a harmlesse man, best known for his silence at Indian meetings — occasions dominated by the oratory of high-status men and similarly prominent women. Yet this formerly low-status man, using a new source of spiritual power, challenged

the island sachems and powwows, demonstrated what it meant to be a pray- : ing Indian, and eventually enjoyed a new status and novel role as a teacher among his people.’ In 1643, several years before serious missionary efforts began in Massachusetts Bay Colony, Thomas Mayhew Jr. noticed Hiacoomes's frequent visits to settlers’ homes and began inviting him to religious instruction every Sunday.

As a fixture at the Mayhew house on the Sabbath, Hiacoomes provoked traditionalist sachems and powwows, but ignoring the hostility of many in his community, he became eager to receive English instruction. He spurned the sachem Pahkehpunnasso’s censure for seeking out the colonists, responding that “he was gladly obedient to the English, neither was it for the Indians hurt that he did so.” A furious Pahkehpunnasso reacted by hitting Hiacoomes in the face. For a time, Christianity progressed no further on the island. Disease arrived the next year, devastating local Wampanoag communities and leading to chaos. Reminiscent of rituals used to contact Hobbomock, island Indians “did run up and down till they could run no longer, they made their faces as black as a coale, snatched up any weapon, spake great words, but

92 St CHAPTER 6 did no hurt.’ ° Just as these rituals failed to avert the spread of disease, island powwows proved unable to stop the contagion. Since Indians in the region made a strong connection between disease and spiritual power, epidemics sometimes served as a catalyst for conversion, leading Indians to seek potent new sources of spiritual power that might complement older supernatural associations in protecting their families and communities against disease.’ A year after disease first struck the island, Hiacoomes was still at odds with traditionalists and a target of gendered insults. When he joined a large gathering of Indians, “they scoffed at him with great laughter, saying, Here comes the English man.” Given Hiacoomes’s low status in his community, he appeared the antithesis of Native masculine ideals. He eschewed traditional religion and failed to respect the currents of Indian manhood. A subject of scorn, he was seen as no better than a mere Englishman, which at this date was not considered much to behold or emulate. On this occasion, awakened by the din, the sachem Pahkehpunnasso rose from his wigwam and joined

the fray. Turning to Hiacoomes, the sachem asked why he would put his family’s health at risk. “If I were in your Case,’ he explained, “there should [be] nothing [that would] draw me from our Gods and Pawwawes.”® For Pahkehpunnasso, Hiacoomes was foolishly rejecting religious practices that

formed an individual's identity as a man or woman and shaped everyday life. Perhaps hoping to avoid yet another physical confrontation with the sachem, Hiacoomes remained mute in the face of Pahkehpannasso’s pointed questions, though he later confided to a friend that the Christian God knew of his suffering at the hands of the sachem. If Hiacoomes’s silence convinced Pahkehpunnasso and the other Indians of the foolishness of embracing English ways, subsequent events suggested that the Indian-turned-“English man” had become imbued with sacred power perhaps not drawn from the Indian religious world but nonetheless recognizable to many on the island. A short time after admonishing Hiacoomes, Pahkehpunnasso was struck by lightning and fell into a fire, leaving him severely burned. Yet he proved lucky; the man who had ventured into the rain

to help the sachem cover the wigwam’s smoke vent died in the lightning strike. In this case, a providential bolt of lightning emerged as a powerful missionary tool: Pahkehpunnasso joined a growing community of Christian Wampanoags. Reflecting on these events, Hiacoomes saw the Christian God's hand in the violent weather and the sachem’s change of heart. Happy that “God did answer him . . . he was brought more to rejoyce in God, and rest more upon him.”°

“Formerly...aharmlesseman” «#t 93 Continuing as the leading Christian Indian on the island, Hiacoomes became “a Teacher of others” in the mid—1640s, even as epidemics continued to bring death to Wampanoag villages on the island. Just as the lightning strike appeared an awesome symbol of Christianity’s power, a number of island Indians began to notice that although disease devastated many families, Hiacoomes's kin remained untouched by the contagion. Soon, news spread of Hiacoomesss growing spiritual potency and knowledge. In a nearby village, for example, stories circulated of the “reproaches and troubles” he had endured with his embrace of Christianity, and of the emerging reality that Hiacoomes “receive|[d] more blessings then themselves.” When other villagers called him join them in prayer and serve them as a teacher, Hiacoomes traveled the six-mile distance between the communities to meet with a large additional group of curious Wampanoags.’ As his status grew with his perceived spiritual power, Hiacoomes, who

had once remained silent when important men met to speak, became a “publick Preacher” with a “considerable” Indian following. Reflecting on his profound personal, religious, and social transformation, “the Indians then

said of him, that tho formerly he had been a harmless Man among them, yet he had not been at all accounted of, and therefore they wonder’d that he that had nothing to say in all their Meetings formerly, was now become the Teacher of them all” No longer easily dismissed as an “English man,” Hiacoomes’s increased status in his community blended the old and new.’ As he called on the new sources of spiritual power that emerged in a range of signs — from serendipitous lightning strikes to his family’s health in the face of a raging epidemic — Hiacoomes's expertise as a preacher exhibited his new status; he displayed oratorical skill long valued in Wampanoag villages on the island and seen as exemplary of manly ideals. In all these ways, he became key to defining what Christian Indian manhood might embody on the island.

Soon, important local leaders such as the sachem Towanquatick joined Hiacoomes and a growing number of Indian Christians. Interestingly, the manner in which some Indian men symbolized their interest in the new faith illustrated as much continuity with longtime understandings of gender and order as their actions marked a departure culturally. At a 1648 meeting that appears analogous to other male-dominated speaking sessions, a number of young Indian men “brought with them the ancient men of their kindred and acquaintance to speak for them.” During this highly ritualized gathering, a dozen of the young men approached Sacohanimo (the sachem

94 Sm CHAPTER 6 Towanquatick’s son), took his “hand one by one and told him that they did

love him, and would go with him in Gods way, and some of them made

a long speech to him to this purpose, and the old men encouraged them in their way, & desired them never to forget those promises they had now made.’ Becoming Christian was clearly a communal affair. A meal followed these ritualized exchanges of gestures and words, as did psalm-singing — in Wampanoag rather than in English. Finally, all, those present — including the missionary Thomas Mayhew Jr., who recorded the day’s events — joined in prayer. (Although the account of these events stresses exchanges between men, women were very much part of the decision to experiment with Christianity: in addition to engaging in prayer and psalm-singing, they had pro-

duced the food that everyone consumed. )? , . It appears that public contests between men, pitting the spiritual power of Christians against traditionalists, had a particularly important role in spreading the new religion. As religious devotions gave way to conversation later in the day, the missionary also reported, the anger of traditionalists and powwows ability to “kill men,” in particular, became of great concern. The threat was taken very seriously. “There is not any man which is not afraid of [the island powwows],” some Wampanoag men explained, perhaps favoring

the traditionalists, and they warned Hiacoomes that he could be killed by the powwows — a claim he rejected. Responding in a fashion reminiscent of Indian approaches to individualized combat (something this book’s final section addresses in detail), Hiacoomes issued a challenge of his own, declaring that his belief and trust in God protected him from the powwows’ spiritual power. His boast led to wonder among the others as Hiacoomes “spake . . . so openly.” Apparently his response renewed the spirits of the other praying Indians, who then claimed, “I do not fear [the powwows], but beleeve in God too.” As the linchpin of the nascent Christian community, however, Hiacoomes was increasingly the focus of animosity from traditionalists. His actions were

followed very closely — perhaps one measure of the potential of Christianity for Wampanoag communities. Hostility toward the praying Indians peaked at one religious service, when two traditionalists accompanied by a powwow “came in very angry, saying, I know the meeting Indians are lyars,’

and proceeded to call out new Christians. One young man stood up and declared that he remained unmoved by the powwow’s threats, demanding of the trio, “Pray kill me if you can.” Hiacoomes made a still greater boast: that he could stand “in the midst of all the Pawawes of the Island” and remain

“Formerly...aharmlesseman” at 95 unharmed. Revealing the source of his confidence, Hiacoomes declared that “he would without fear set himself against them, by remembering Jehovah,” underscoring his point by pointing at his heel to indicate the location where he would put the powwows. In this instance, his oratory silenced the angry powwow, who grumbled “that none but Hiacoomes” could remain fearless, a grudging recognition of his growing supernatural potency.” Drawing on. Christian spiritual power and exhibiting expert oratorical skills, Hiacoomes,

along with his compatriot, silenced the traditionalists who had long embodied the masculine ideals he had formerly been unable to achieve. The moment must have resonated with meaning for all present, illustrating some of the possibilities of Christian spiritual power and the limits of the powWOWS Sway.

Years after this face-off, a sachem-powwow who opposed the growing praying-Indian community provided more detail about the supernatural dynamics involved in the clash. A spiritually potent man, the sachem-powwow long “employed his God,’ whose snakelike appearance evoked Hobbomock, “to kill, wound, or lame” his enemies. The sachem-powwow’s attempts to use spiritual power “to wound or lame Hiacoomes, the first Indian Convert on the Island: all... proved ineffectual.’ Upon viewing the potency of Hiacoomes’ spiritual associations, the sachem-powwow joined the praying Indians. This transition proved difficult because, as he explained, “for seven Years, the said Snake |[Hobbomock] gave him great Disturbance.” But after his “praying to God in Christ ... employed that said Snake ceased to appear to him.”” Similar struggles could be found a few years later on the mainland. Like

Hiacoomes's role on Nope, Waban became central to the spread of Christianity in his village, Nonantum, and to the founding of Natick, the first of fourteen Massachusetts Bay Colony praying towns. Although he came from a prominent family, Waban failed to achieve his desire for greater authority and renown prior to converting to Christianity. Over time, however, praying-town life afforded him the opportunity for greater prestige in his community; early meetings with John Eliot and other missionaries occurred at his wigman. Not surprisingly, Waban often appears in English accounts as an exemplary and sometimes even overzealous convert. Looking back

over the two decades following Waban’ rise to prominence in the mission, : Daniel Gookin praised the important convert: “He is a person of great pru- , dence and piety,’ the missionary continued. “I do not know any Indian who exceeds him.” John Eliot too celebrated Waban’s role as “a Zealous, faithfull and stedfast Ruler to his death.”*

96 St CHAPTER 6 Despite Waban’s renown as a Christian, conversion proved a difficult process that did not always jibe with his older understandings of manhood. Welcoming two Indian strangers who arrived at his wigwam one Sunday, for example, Waban listened with interest as the men explained how they had chased a raccoon up a nearby tree. All might have a hearty meal, the men suggested, if only they would cut down the tree and kill the cornered animal. Further underscoring his hospitality, Waban “sent his two servants with” the men to finish the task. Such actions were in accordance with social values (hospitality was an important matter in Indian country) and gender roles — though killing a raccoon was a rather ordinary affirmation of male roles in a culture where expert hunters and trappers were highly valued. But the two strangers had arrived at Waban’s wigwam at the very moment his community was experimenting with Christianity and in some measure questioning traditional values and practices. One indication of this shift was that fellow converts from Nonantum apparently felt that aiding men who hunted on Sunday was a violation of the Sabbath. Consequently, Waban found him-

self hauled before the community along with a number of other Sabbath breakers and fined 10 shillings.” Waban's own two conversion narratives from 1652 and 16s9 further illustrate his struggles as a convert and underscore the difficulty of reconciling traditional masculine roles with Christian living. It is also worth noting that when men like Waban publicly presented their conversion narratives — or

later served as preachers, teachers, and in other offices in praying-town life — they affirmed the long-standing importance of such oratory to masculinity. In 1652, five years after his admonishment for hunting on the Sabbath, Waban stressed his struggles as a convert to the Indian and English audience that gathered to hear the conversion narratives. Above all, he emphasized the “evil” in his heart and his abiding ambition. Waban had long desired greater “riches” and to become a powwow or sachem, and such yearnings did not abate with the arrival of the English and his growing knowledge of Christianity. After a “great sickness” swept through the region, Waban “considered what the English do,’ wondering, in particular, “how the English come so

strong to labor,’ and he expressed concern over whether the English God would understand prayers uttered in the Massachusett language. He also despaired of his utter unworthiness before God: “I have nothing to say for my self that is good; I judg that Iam a sinner, and cannot repent, but Christ hath deserved pardon for us.’*

“Formerly...aharmlesse man” s#t 97

Waban repeated many of these same themes in his second confession while elaborating on the path to becoming Christian. He stressed his youthful sinfulness and lack of self-knowledge. Moving from being a boy to a man, he had struggled with the state of his soul and turned to prayer but still resisted Christianity. “I hated the knowledg of God, nor did I regard any word

of God,’ he explained. Waban also noted that during this period he continued to engage in “the other kinde of praying (which we used) I did love to pray to the Devil” — retrospectively accepting the English view of traditionalist Native religion as demonic. He nevertheless remained curious and expressed continued interest in Christianity, again repeating concerns over the English God’s ability to comprehend Indian prayers. Reflecting on his view of Christianity to that point, he remarked, “A little I believed in it, but I did more doubt.’ At this juncture in the confession, he elaborated on his fear of English spiritual power and its role in pushing him toward conversion. “Sometime I thought if we did not pray,’ Waban put it bluntly, “the English might kill us; but if I prayed, I thought I did not pray right.” Yet with the prospect of his body’s mortality and soul’s potential immortality in mind, Waban worried: “I knew not how I might come to live for ever, how my soul might live, and therefore I desired I might pray to God aright.”®

The missionary stress on pairing civility and Christianity remained in

counterpoint to the traditional understandings of gender and religion that Indian converts — especially early proselytes like Hiacoomes and Waban — had grown up with. Among the clearest guides to the tensions between traditionalist masculinity and the new currents of Christian manhood advocated by missionaries are the conversion narratives of Native men. These narratives offer eloquent if sometimes pained testimony to the problems of navigating a new religion and identity. A brief comparison illuminates this point: English men sometimes described the path from boyish vanities to manly Christianity in a similar fashion as they struggled with the transition from sinner to saint and full manhood. For example, the future

missionary Thomas Shepard had wrestled with his ignorance and pride, all the while praying and listening to sermons — to little effect. Still unable

to escape the grip of sin, his love of lust, pride, drinking, and gaming, he lived a double life as both a regular at godly lectures and a keeper of “lewd company. After a particularly hard night, he woke up in a friend's room, his body still reeling from the previous night’s drink, and faced his sinful self, fleeing to a field where he hid during the entire Sabbath. Shepard thereafter

98 Sm CHAPTER 6 continued to struggle with faith and sin, like many Christians, but slowly reformed a life that he invigorated and sustained through religious practice.” Waban and other converts shared some of Shepard's concerns as they charted a path to Christian manhood. But moving from sinner to saint put different demands on a would-be Native convert in a colonial society. Traditional gender practices and lifeways made conversion particularly difficult. “I did in my heart love wandering about,’ Waban summed up, “and our wilde

courses alwaies.” Other converts struggled with the end of male mobility, which missionaries advocated. John Speen echoed a number of other converts when he declared, “I did greatly love hunting and hated labor.” Eventually, though, he came to accept English-style labor as part of Christ's mercy: ’ “God doth make my body strong to labor.” Natick converts such as these men may have been particularly concerned about changing gendered patterns of labor because they were most under pressure to adhere to English ideals. Conversion narratives from Mashpee on Cape Cod, for example, echoed many of the same sentiments as those found in the Natick confessions but did not express the same anxiety over work.” Missionaries hoped to curb the mobility that defined traditional Indian life and led, in their view, to male indolence and female drudgery. In the earliest days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony mission, for example, codes adopted by Indians at Nonantum and Musketaquid stressed the importance of male labor. The Nonantum code fined men who were “idle a weeke, at most a fortnight ... five shillings.” Women were not mentioned. In Musketaquid, male games like hubbub and puim were also subject to fines. Equating Indian games with gambling, an un-Christian and unmanly leisure activity, John Eliot remarked, “For they have been great gamesters, but have moved questions about it, and are informed of the unlawfulnesse of” the practice. Two decades later, Eliot declared that powwowing (engaging in traditional religious rituals) and gaming had been “abandon‘d, exploded, and abolished”

among praying Indians.” Nonetheless, the praying-Indian place in the New England economy developed in a fashion that allowed Indian men and women to fit older labor practices, albeit in an imperfect and sometimes painful fashion, to mission-

ary demands. In Nonantum — Waban’s community —a more complex picture emerges of the counterpoint between missionary wishes and realities on the ground. In one letter, John Eliot expressed frustration with the village's “young men, who of all the rest, live most idlely and dissolutely,” sometimes becoming reluctant servants. He noted with greater pleasure that _

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Mohegans, the account complements English print sources in stressing the importance of spiritual power to defining masculine accomplishment for warriors. Moreover, it deals with an ongoing conflict between Mohegans and Narragansetts which has been well documented, hostilities that at midcentury occasioned a great deal of effort to employ the supernatural, such as the Long Island powwow’ attempt to kill the Mohegan sachem Uncas. The importance of spiritual power continued to resonate in Mohegan accounts of the same events.”° According to the tradition,) after an initial Narragansett attack the Mohegans quickly retreated into a palisaded fort (figure 9). Early in the siege, a spiritually potent Narragansett warrior “had climbed a certain tree” and now used his view of enemy positions to direct fire into the fort. From his

170 Sm CHAPTER 10 secure vantage, he also insulted the Mohegans, asking the besieged Indians, “Are you hungry?” After repeatedly failing to kill the Narragansett warrior, _ the Mohegans concluded that their enemy was drawing on powerful supernatural forces that made him resistant to their bullets. To counter Narragansett success, the Mohegans called on their own spiritually powerful warrior. Like the duels described earlier, this battle became an individual contest, as the Mohegan warrior “ordered the others to desist” Where ordinary musket balls had failed, supernatural assistance was required, so the Mohegan prepared a special projectile: “Taking a bullet from his pouch he swallowed it.” The musket ball reappeared at the man’s navel, and he swallowed it again. The projectile appeared in the warrior’s navel anew, presumably having accumulated more supernatural potency. After repeating the cycle once more, the potent warrior “loaded his rifle with the charmed ball and... fired at the man in the tree.” The Narragansett warrior, bested by the accuracy and spiritual potency of the Mohegan warrior’s shot, “dropped out of the branches

dead.””’ |

Both seventeenth-century English examples and Indian oral traditions illustrate the various ways spiritual power served in battle and emerged as an important measure of manliness: extending a warrior’s physical abilities, protecting a man from enemy weapons, enhancing the capabilities of one’s weaponry, and injuring or killing a foe. At the same time that religion continued to be important to warfare, the evolution of hybrid martial cultures in the region accelerated in the final three decades of the seventeenth century. A musket butt recovered from the wreck of the Elizabeth and Mary, which sank during an abortive attack on Quebec City in 1690, is illustrative of both changes and continuities in Indian masculinity in southern New England over the course of the seventeenth century. Adorned with wampum arranged in two crosses, the musket butt (figure 10) blended religious symbolism in a fashion suggesting that the weapon held sacred meaning, much like King Philip’s war club (described in chapter 9). The musket it came from likely found its way aboard the ship as the weapon of one of the numerous praying-Indian soldiers from Natick and Punkapoag

who served during that expedition.” The musket’s religiously evocative beadwork suggests continuities in the way that Indian men understood the importance of spiritual power to warfare and identity. Yet by the time the praying-Indian soldiers boarded the Elizabeth and Mary, unaware that disaster lay ahead in New France, a

“Best to deal with Indians in their Own Way” ts 171

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i UO Ke lg cg “_ FIGURE 10. A praying-Indian musket adorned with Indian wampum. Photograph courtesy of the Quebec Conservation Center.

great deal had changed. No doubt, Indian men serving in colonial armies continued to find great religious meaning in warfare, with praying-Indian warriors even donning war paint evocative of Hobbomock and marking similar supernatural connections in other subtle ways, as suggested by the musket. The musket butt is also a reminder that praying-Indian Christianity blended easily with a variety of the mobile activities of many Indian men during the period. In an indicative 1724 letter, for example, the judge, militia captain, and New England Company missionary Samuel Sewall recounted

the distribution of devotional books to a number of Indian men throughout the region. Prior to going on a fishing trip, the Martha's Vineyard Indian Thomas Umpas received “one Primer English and Indian” along with a Psalter. For the Indians remaining on the island, Sewall gave Experience Mayhew seventy-two of the primers. Involved “in Military Service” on the Maine frontier at York, the praying-Indian Wamson enjoyed the receipt of “one Psalter with the Gospel according to John, English and Indian.”” Nevertheless, though the continued importance of religion to prayingIndian warriors as symbolized by the wampum-adorned musket is indeed striking, some of the more highly ritualized aspects of combat were gone with King Philip's War and King William's War. By the end of the century, English

observers no longer commented on the type of Indian warfare that Roger Williams reported at the beginning of the century: the ritualized “leaping and dancing” with the few casualties involved deriving from “great Valour and Courage” and trophy-taking. Trophy-taking continued to be important, but testing one’s ability and manhood by the highly stylized practice of

172 Sm CHAPTER 10 dodging arrows and dancing, among other athletic displays appears to have faded with the widespread adoption of European weaponry and the modification of Indian tactics to meet colonial realities. (So profound were the changes in Indian martial culture by 1675 Armstrong Starkey has argued, that Native Americans underwent a military revolution of their own, increasing the ferocity of their brand of irregular warfare and often stymieing European opponents who failed to adopt similar tactics.) Through their ongoing connections with Hobbomock and other spiritual entities, many Indians might have claimed special protection against English weapons, but few appeared willing to approach fighting with guns as their fathers and grandfathers had faced less deadly weaponry, like bows and arrows, fired at a distance — it was

simply too dangerous. Instead, as a number of scholars have noted, Indian tactics changed to optimize the ferocity of European weaponry.”° By the century's end, it was highly unlikely that Indian warriors would criticize the ferocity of English warfare, as did Mohegan and Narragansett witnesses ofa slaughter during the Pequot War in 1637. Watching the destruction of the Pequot village at Mystic, the colonists’ Native allies “greatly admired the manner of English mens fight” but also expressed doubts whether such warfare was honorable and necessary. The warriors “cried mach it, mach

it, that is, it is naught, it is naught, ... it is too furious, and slaies too many men. By the time of King Philip’s War, this critique was no longer prevalent.

Instead, Indians came to know European tactics well. Take the example of one particularly disastrous battle for the English: once the men of Captain Lathrup’s company “were slaughtered,” Increase Mather recounted, the Indian warriors were “wonderfully animated, some of them triumphing and saying, that so great a slaughter was never known: and indeed in their Warrs one with another, the like hath rarely been heard of’ William Hubbard recalled Lathrop’s defeat in a different light, illustrating how changing modes of war affected Anglo-American conceptions of honor. While suggesting that Lathrop’s company may have been “marching along... (it may be too securely)” for safety’s sake, his defeat came from other sources. Lacking “neither Courage nor Skill, to lead his Souldiers,’ Hubbard explained, Lathrup had in the past “taken up a wrong Notion about the best

Way and Manner of fighting with the Indians (which he was always wont to argue for).’ Like the more famous Captain Benjamin Church, Lathrup contended “that it were best to deal with the Indians in their own Way... by skulking behind Trees, and taking their Aim at single Persons, which is the usual Manner of the Indians fighting one with another.” Hubbard saw

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Lathrup’s advocacy of the Indian mode of war as the brave captains “great Mistake,” which in turn led to the “Ruine of a choice Company of young men, the very Flower of... Essex [county ].’* Like many Anglo-Americans, Hubbard considered the Indian approach to warfare, which Lathrup had adopted, not only a tactically weak but also a dishonorable manner of fighting. “For the Indians,” he explained, detailing how Lathrup’s failure to live up to English standards of warfare and manly honor led to the demise of his troops, “notwithstanding their Subtilty and Cruelty, durst not look an Englishman in the Face in the open Field, nor

ever yet were known to kill any Man with their Guns, unless when they could lie in wait for him in an Ambush, or behind some Shelter, taking Aim undiscovered.” Yet though Lathrup’s death may have convinced Hubbard of the superiority of the English practice of battle, by the end of the war it was hard for pragmatic observers to argue with the success of employing Native American soldiers or blending European and Indian tactics. This was especially true of Captain Benjamin Church’s company of mixed English and Indian Rangers. It was, after all, one of Church's troops, the Indian soldier Alderman, who killed King Philip.»

That Indian soldiers were necessary to bring the conflict to an end did not sit well with English observers who were frustrated with the war effort. King Philip's warriors had plainly enjoyed more success than many English observers expected. Benjamin Batten was frank in his assessment that the “Waye of Thaire skulking doeth give ym an advantage of us.’ A frustrated Samuel Symonds protested, “For such as the manner of our Enemies Fighting, Flying, Retreating & Incursions with many other advantages, that we Judge it much easier For the people of this Country to defend themselves against many thousands of a Forraign Nation, than against two or three thousand of these Barbarous Heathen.” But even in victory, the act of changing colonial tactics to meet the challenge of fighting such a formidable enemy caused trepidation. Indeed, Thomas Whalley noted that since wherever Indian soldiers were used during the war, there “hath been the greatest if not the only success which is a humbling providence of god that we have soe much need of them and cannot doe our work with out them, it should touch us to be wise in our carriage towards them.” Reflecting on the conflict’s lessons in a letter written as warfare persisted on the Maine frontier in 1677, the missionary John Eliot explained, “In our first war with the Indians, God pleased to shew us the vanity of our military skill, in managing our arms, after the European mode. Now we are glad to learn the skulking way of war. And

174 Sm CHAPTER 10 what God’s end is in teaching us such a way of discipline, I know not.’ The tension between honorable and dishonorable-but-successful war-making was not just the product of anxious ministers’ pens. On New England militia days, officers continued to drill men for European-style open field battles that they would likely never see; even as the frequent renewal of ferocious irregular warfare surely taught the wisdom of a different approach.” Nevertheless, as the demands of New England battlefields evolved, the question of whether the most successful mode of combat was also honorable remained open. If one considered warfare a way to “play the man,’ then what was an honorable practice? Colonial warfare continued to force English colonists to question their own practices. In the face of renewed warfare in 1703, for instance, Rev. Solomon Stoddard urged Massachusetts Governor Joseph Dudley to employ dogs against Indians: “If dogs were trained up to hunt Indians as they do bears, we should be sensible of a great advantage thereby.’ Even though this practice was not always considered honorable, Stoddard justified using war dogs by claiming that Indians failed to fight

as men should: “If the Indians were as other people are and did manage their war fairly, it might be looked upon as inhumane to pursue them in such a manner.’ Stoddard argued that Indians should instead be treated like “thieves and murderers” because they would not fight according to European standards of manhood and honor: they did not formally declare war, refused to engage in open field battles, and tortured captives. He concluded that Indians “act like wolves and are to be dealt withal as wolves.” Stoddard’s letter was one of the many examples of how Anglo-American curiosity over Native American warfare turned to criticism of dishonorable “skulking,” hiding in “nests,” and acting like “wolves” — of predators without honor or humanity.*> Developed over the first six decades of settlement and warfare, such views would continue to echo as Anglo and Indian New Englanders headed off to fight the colonial wars of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. The decades after King Philip’s War ushered in an era when warfare and violence would become increasingly important to defining Indian manhood. This was true for either the Indian men who fled or those who remained in the region. Those decades witnessed an “Algonquian diaspora’ in which numerous Indians fled their traditional homelands in southern New England but did not forget long-standing grievances. Both King William’s War and Queen Anne's War offered ample opportunity for revenge, as warriors — some traditionalists, some former praying Indians — sometimes fought alongside

“Best to deal with Indians in their Own Way" ts 175

the French against the English and their Native allies. While participating in these imperial conflicts, they were pursuing political agendas that might overlap, conflict with, or depart from French aims.*°

Warfare became increasingly important for Indian men who remained in southern New England after King Philip’s War. With English dominance

firmly established, these Indians increasingly lent their martial expertise to the colonial forces. For praying Indians and long-standing allies like the Mohegans, this was a continuation of several decades of service with the colonists. But some of King Philip’s former allies also stayed in the region and fought alongside English commanders like Benjamin Church, who had been promoted to major by the time of King William's War. Over time, Indians soldiers from southern New England became an essential component of the English campaigns in later conflicts.”’ Military service against the French and their Native allies allowed New

England Indian men to define their masculinity in familiar ways that offered a means of avoiding indentured servitude and the agricultural labor long advocated by missionaries. Whatever manly independence came from war-making, however, remained in tension with the ugly reality of debt peonage and the social cost of military service. Indian captains and soldiers were paid lower rates than the Englishmen they fought alongside, and yet, as Richard Johnson has demonstrated, proportionally more Native than Anglo-American men defended their region in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century colonial conflicts. To be sure, the money that came from serving in colonial armies bolstered fragile family and community economies. But soldiering was not an ideal long-term occupation for Native Americans. Fighting alongside colonists, however skillfully and bravely, did not ensure real independence in the colonial societies that many Indians continued to call home. Military service could not provide enough capital to secure land in a region that heralded independent male householders. Martial manliness also proved a very dangerous thing. During the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, increasing numbers of Indian families received news of the death of beloved family members, or suffered through epidemic

disease that was likely brought home by returning warriors, or sought to reintegrate men who must have been profoundly marked by the experience of the ever increasing violence of frontier warfare.** Although undoubtedly many Indian men headed off to battle eagerly, the decision to serve with the English was indicative of an ever narrower range of choices facing southern New England’s remaining Native communities after

176 St CHAPTER 10 King Philip's War. Some Indian soldiers were clearly desperate men. Major Benjamin Church, for example, complained that some of his Indian soldiers from Cape Cod were poorly provisioned for battle because they “were very bare, lying so long at Boston before they imbark’d that they had Sold every thing they could make Peny of; some tying Shot & Powder in the corners of their Blankets.” Church also reported some Indian soldiers “begging for Money to get drink” while waiting to depart on an expedition during King William's War. The missionary Experience Mayhew described a telling exchange with the praying Indian Samuel James, who, when “pressed to go as a Soldier” to fight in Queen Anne’s War, was so “grievously distressed” that he begged the English minister to see about getting him “released” from service. Ironically, Indian soldiers’ service tended to confirm colonists’ increasingly negative attitudes about Indians, allied or not. Ifmissionary efforts promised but ultimately failed to reduce Indians to civility by recasting native communities along more patriarchal lines that ideally would integrate them into a hierarchical colonial order, military service provided no similar promise. It offered a means of survival but not an avenue to independence, or a larger stake in colonial society, or better treatment from colonists.”

CHAPTER l l “The God of Armies”

F OR ANGLO AMERICANS, war was imbued with religious and gendered significance: God's hand shaped events big and small in ways, Puritans assumed, that sinful, imperfect humans could not fully discern, however mightily they tried. Writing in the 1650s, for example, Edward Johnson reported that New England military preparedness was part of a larger struggle that demanded Christian manliness. “Thus are these people with great diligence provided for these daies of war,” he explained, “hoping the day is at hand wherein the Lord will give [the] Antichrist the double of all her doings,’ by employing soldiers “nursed up in their Artillery garden’ for this special work. Johnson thus cast pagan Indian warriors as a manifestation of the Antichrist, at once demonic and unmanly in opposing Christ’s presumably manly soldiers. Like the cosmic battle between a manly Church Militant and a feminized Antichrist, temporal warfare was also full of gendered and religious significance. Johnson boasted, “Let all people know that desire the downfal of New-England, they are not to war against a people only exercised in feats of war, but men who are also experienced in the deliverances of the

Lord. ... [T]he same God that directed the stone to the forehead of the Philistine, guides every bullet that is shot at you, it matters not for the whole rabble of Antichrist on your side, the God of Armies is for us a refuge high.” * Reminiscent of the importance of manitou, or spiritual power, to Native

Americans in battle, English warriors saw God's influence in the unfold-

at 177

178 Ste CHAPTER 11 ing of the minutest of battlefield details. Having watched a nearby soldier take an arrow in the neck during a Pequot War skirmish, for example, John Underhill “received an arrow through [the] coate sleeve,” which was followed by another that hit his helmet. He explained his good fortune: “[If] God in his providence had not moved the heart of my wife to perswade mee to carrie [the helmet] along with me which I was unwilling to doe, I had beene slaine.” In another battle during the same conflict, “God preserved” Captain John Mason “from any wounds’ after his helmet was hit by a number of arrows. While we might think it more appropriate to thank Goodwife Underhill for her sound advice or to commend the design of Mason's helmet, wise wives and well-designed armor were mere instruments in a divine plan. God guided every bullet and determined the outcome of every battle for reasons that might remain obscure but nonetheless underscored his omnipotence.” Reminding soldiers of God’s favor could prove a powerful incentive in combat. At one point during King Philip’s War, a rumor quickly spread that a thousand warriors were about to descend on a body of troops already skirmishing with Indians. Making the situation all the more dire was the fact that “Captain Turner and several of his Souldiers were slain and other to the number of two and thirty.” Appreciating the gravity of the situation, “Captain Holyoake exhorted” his soldiers “not to be terrifyed,’ and encouraged them by remarking that “God hath wrought hitherto for us wonderfully, let us trust in him still” Reinvigorated by Holyoake’s reminder of God's past favor, the rest of the company “made a safe and valiant retreat,’ suffering only a few casualties.” During another engagement, the praying-Indian soldier William Nahawton watched as an English soldier, “making haste to Fire, had forgot to pull

out a wadd of Tow which was in the pan of his gun,’ and asked “him to take it out and Fire” at the enemy. Probably embarrassed by his ineptitude, “the Englishman told him he judged” their enemy to be out of range. Unimpressed with the Englishmen’s resolve, “try said Nahawton, and God shall direct the bullet, which he immediately did, and he saw the Indian who was running from them, tumble down; who prov d to be one of their great Captains above mentioned: afterwards the Indian, Nahawton; made a very serious Prayer in acknowledgement to God for the successe.”"* Perhaps both men shared the view that God directed every bullet. Nahawton’s prayer is particularly intriguing. Did he pray to the Englishmen's God, as the account suggests, or was he appealing to older associations with Hobbomock and

| “The God of Armies” #t 179 other spiritual entities? Perhaps he thanked and praised an admixture of the old and the new in his religious practice.

Whereas Indian powwows divined their warrior’s prospects in battle through applying ritual and interpreting manitou, Anglo-Americans awaited

the arrival of supernatural signs like prodigies and portents. As Increase Mather explained, “It is a common observation, verified by the experience of many Ages, that great and publick Calamityes seldome come upon any place without Prodigious Warnings to forerun and signify what is to be expected.” War, his contemporaries no doubt recognized, was one instance where such

warnings might proliferate. But as Mather stressed, God’s design was hard to discern. With this in mind, he related only what he considered the most reliable portents that signaled the coming of King Philip’s War. Some portents appeared to the English before battle and were akin to the arrival of bear, deer, or other manitou that so profoundly influenced the actions taken by Native warriors. In Plymouth, Mather reported “the perfect form of an Indian Bow appearing in the aire,’ while noting that a similar shape had appeared “a little before the Fort Fight in the Narragansett Countrey.’ Careful to observe that it was extremely hard to comprehend the meaning of such signs, he suggested the favorable view “that it maybe an Omen of. ruine to the enemy, and that the Lord will break the bow and spear asunder, and make warrs to cease unto the ends of the earth” Also noting the prodigy of an Indian bow, William Hubbard reported that later another company, peering at the “Centre of the Moon,’ ominously “discerned an unusual black Spot... resembling the Scalp of an Indian.”° Other signs came well before the outbreak of war, Mather related, such as the “report of a great piece of Ordinance [and] a shaking of the earth” on a day when no cannon were fired in either Hadley or Northhampton. Looking even further back to the late 1660s, when rumors circulated that King

Philip was ready to attack English settlements, Mather noted that another ) mysterious cannon shot had been heard near Malden, again on a day when such guns were silent. This time, however, the first blast was followed by “the report of small Guns like musket shott discharging ... as ifit had been at a general Training | day],” leaving the villagers “most... amaze[{d]” as “the flying of the Bullets ... came singing over their heads..., [and] after this they heard drums passing by them & going Westward.’ In other towns, there were reports of the sound of “the running of troops of horses.”’ Mather similarly felt obliged to relate “monstrous births,’ which, he explained, were “speaking, solemn providences” in such a time of war. While

180 J CHAPTER 11 , looking back to the “monstrous birth” brought forth by the notorious (at least in Puritan circles) Quaker Mary Dyer in 1637 as proof that such events did indeed signal God's displeasure with the supposedly heterodox and wicked, Mather found special significance in a deformed child born in Woburn in 1671. Unlike the other prodigies he noted, this instance implicitly addressed God's displeasure with the state of patriarchy in New England. “When the wife of Joseph Wright was delivered of a Creature,’ Mather explained, it appeared in the “Form and shape of a child,’ but was marked by a number of deformities. Providing great detail, Mather reported that among numerous other abnormalities “the Membrum virile | penis] was a meer bone, it had no passage for nature in any part below.” Claiming that “judicious persons” viewed this incident as a sign “that God did thereby bear witness against the Disorders of some in that place,’ Mather noted a parallel from “the dayes of our Fathers,’ when “God did testifie” against Dyer. Like Dyer, Joseph Wright had refused to respect Puritan orthodoxy, which in his case meant embracing Baptist beliefs along with other similarly minded people in Woburn.*

Mather was otherwise silent on how his audience might understand the cosmic significance to prospects of a godly society of a deformed and effectively penis-less child from Woburn. Such was the patrimony of a Baptist father and his disorderly community. Was this the generation, Mather seemed to be asking, that would assume the mantle of our fathers? Like other many

other signs that signaled the coming of war, Mather was suggesting that the Wrights’ deformed child was another sign of God's displeasure with the heterodox within New England.

The arrival of war heightened concern for the state of religion and Christian | manliness. This was especially true as Indian boasts that God had forsaken the unmanly English and their allies in favor of King Philip's cause faded, and the war slowly turned to the colonists’ advantage with summer's arrival in 1676. For the triumphant colonists it was a time for devotion and renewal. The Massachusetts Bay Colony, for instance, in a council at Charlestown on June 20, issued an evocative Indian peace medal, or gorget, and approved the publication of a broadside declaring a day of thanksgiving to be held nine days later. The medal and the broadside were emblematic of how concerns over colonial manhood persisted in a New England that the orthodox found increasingly hard to control, and the fact that the Indians remaining in southern New England found themselves living in a vastly changed world.

“The God of Armies” @t 181

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Together these two trajectories suggest the changing counterpoint between Native and Anglo-American gender practices and ideals. The Indian peace medal issued along with the thanksgiving declaration is something of a mystery (figure 11). Examining the events of spring 1676, scholars reason that either the praying Indians involved in redeeming the famous captive Mary Rowlandson or Native Americans serving alongside colonial forces may have received medals. Additionally, the Pennacook sachem Wannalancet — the son of the great sachem-powwow Passaconaway and an Indian leader whom the colonists desperately hoped to keep out of the conflict — may have been given a gorget. However many medals may have been made, though, only a single bronze gorget still exists. Regardless

182 Sw CHAPTER 11 of who received medals, the gorget remains a highly symbolic object suggestive of the changing meanings of manhood and realities of Indian life. A colonial symbol, the medal echoed the design of the Massachusetts Bay Colony seal (see figure 7).? Designed by an English silversmith, the original : 1629 seal presented a male Indian warrior emerging from a stand of trees with a bow in hand, mouthing the words of the Macedonian Plea: “Come over and help us.’ This basic design was repeated in two 1675 seals. But a 1672 seal,

commissioned by the Cambridge printer Samuel Green and manufactured in England, appears to have served as the model for the 1676 Indian peace medal. In Green’s seal, like the peace medal, the Indian warrior’s gender shifted with the addition of breasts.” Perhaps evocative of a pagan Amazon, the seal did have another New England antecedent in the frontispiece to Roger Williams’s pamphlet Christenings Make Not Christians (1643), which

featured a bare-breasted female warrior emerging from the forest with a

sheep on her right side.” |

That the gender of the Indian depicted on colonial seals and medals shifted from male to female in the 1670s is striking. English people on both sides of the Atlantic well knew that Indian men served as hunters and warriors, so by evoking a feminized Indian warrior, the 1672 Samuel Green seal was highly symbolic of changing views of Indians. It is significant that at the same time that colonial observers — especially missionaries — were criticizing the supposed sexual abandon in Indian society and the impropriety of Native clothing, government documents were issued bearing an official seal with a bare-breasted Indian warrior calling for English “help.” The seal would be frequently seen at the top of broadsides posted throughout the colony in the years leading up to and through the war, such as the June 1676 thanksgiving proclamation cited above.”

Evoking similar symbolism, the 1676 peace medal took on additional meanings, given the wartime context of the gift. Interestingly, the medal fit with long-standing Indian practices of adornment. Gorgets made of stone and metal had long been worn by Indians. Moreover, the three patterned bands that replaced the Latin text of the colonial seal echoed the patterns on basketry and other objects made by Native Americans. The Anglo-American or Englishman who made the medal may not have been aware of these associations, but it is likely that the recipient of the gift would have understood the object within Indian conceptions of adornment and beauty. The existing medal’s owner apparently enjoyed using the object, as it shows a good deal of wear.”

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Departing from one consistent element in all of the Massachusetts Bay Colony seals, the feminized warrior on the peace medal dispensed with the Macedonian Plea —the gorget’s Indian figure is silent. Thus untethered from the colonial desire to convert the region's Indians, the medal can be read as a symbol of the ongoing war. It seems unlikely that its recipient was intended to identify himself with the feminized warrior, since Native and Anglo-American men shared the conviction that warfare was a manly affair and sometimes associated weakness in battle with femininity. A more likely interpretation of the medal’s symbolism is that the Indian figure represents defeated and thus feminized enemy Indian groups. Among other meanings, the medal was emblematic of manly martial dominance. The gift of a peace medal reflected the counterpoint between Natives and Anglo-Americans over the meaning of manhood and warfare. The broadside that was approved the same day the gorget was issued announced the upcoming day of thanksgiving and suggested one interpretation of the meanings of the ongoing war. Historian David D. Hall argues that in rituals like thanksgivings, a “crucial task was ... to erase the taint of sin, to cleanse the self or the body social and renew covenantal obligation. Ritual structure recapitulated the great cycle of sinning and repentance that men and women passed through as pilgrims on the way to grace — passed through not once but many times in lifelong warfare against sin.” Rituals like thanksgivings were thus believed to link personal behavior and sin with the progress of the larger society in God’s eyes." The thanksgiving broadside explained that God had used his “afflictive dispensations in & by the present Warr with the Heathen Natives of this Land, written and brought to pass bitter things against his own Covenant people in this wilderness” with a larger design in mind. Although the settlements had suffered mightily, “we evidently discern that in the midst of |God’s| judgements he hath remembered mercy, having remembered his Footstool in the day of his sore displeasure against us for our sins,’ and preserved the settlements from complete destruction. Passersby who stopped to read the broadsides would have recognized language borrowed from the Old Testament book of Lamentations, which was full of themes that must have resonated in a war-torn New England. Lamentations recalled the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple in the sixth century B.C. Glossing Lamentations 2:1, the “footstool” noted in the thanksgiving proclamation referred to the Temple in Jerusalem, which was the center of religious life for the biblical Israelites. Puritans often identified with the Israelites as God’s

184 Se CHAPTER 11 | chosen people and sometimes considered their New England experiment akin to a New Jerusalem. Within this understanding of the region's place in God's plan, Lamentations focused on a number of themes that certainly would have struck Anglo-American New Englanders that summer. Pointing to sin as the source of Jerusalem’s woes and God's wrath, Lamentations stressed the community's growing isolation among enemies who sought its destruction. Wracked by guilt over their myriad sins, the Israelites — not unlike the colonists who occupied the pews of New England’s meetinghouses as war raged on — held out hope for salvation and deliverance from their worldly woes.” Echoing Lamentations 3:22—26, 31-33, the thanksgiving declaration held out the possibility of salvation amid destruction. The broadside claimed, for example, that there were surely signs of God’s “sore displeasure against us for our sins, yet “with many singular Intimations of his Fatherly Compassion, and regard,” which were symbolized by his preservation of a number

of recently attacked towns. Individual and corporate sin, the progress of the gospel and biblical history were thus implicated in the events of 1676. Although men and women could equally embrace a dangerous life of sin, the perceived decline of Christian manhood was especially worrisome in a society that framed its mission and approach to colonialism with a particular brand of patriarchalism and familial thinking. Presumably, the sins in question were akin to the ones listed by New England ministers who had been busily interpreting the meaning of King Philip’s War. As they continually reminded Anglo-Americans, idleness, intemperance, sexual excess, vanity in clothing and hair, and the utter failure of the region's men to rule their houses like Christian patriarchs symbolized the “Heathenisme of the English people” and provoked God’s wrath.” During the final decades of the seventeenth century, war caused AngloAmericans a great deal of anxiety about manliness and religion. This was a somewhat novel development, for with most of the casualties falling on

the Indian side, the earlier Pequot War (1636-37) had not caused much introspection about the relationship of the hostilities to the state of New England society but more often offered an occasion of triumphalism. “Thus the LORD was pleased to smite our Enemies in the hinder Parts,’ Captain John Mason explained of the earlier war, “and to give us their Land for an Inheri-

tance. Like a stern father spanking a rebellious child, Mason cast God in the role of a patriarch angry with his Pequot children. God rewarded, in the Englishman's view, his more obedient progeny with Indian land that would

“The God of Armies” #t 185

be remade through manly husbandry. Such self-satisfied pronouncements were not as frequently heard during late seventeenth-century colonial wars, when the English often found their own “hinder parts” stinging and wondered exactly who hung over the heavenly patriarch’s knee. More generally, in the decades following the Restoration of Charles II (1660) the need for castigation and renewal was born of a specific historical moment and was also tied to a wider sense of declension. Many orthodox New Englanders saw their society in decline, falling short of the ideals of the founding generation. The decades after King Philip’s War, in particular, occasioned the emergence of deep-seated fears over the course of the Puritan errand, as jeremiad after jeremiad echoed from New England pulpits.”

The language of generations permeated jeremiads and stressed patriarchal decline. One of the great proponents of this view during King Philip’s War, Increase Mather, explained this logic: “Nor were our sins ripe for so dreadfull a judgment, until the Body of the first Generation was removed, and

another Generation risen up which hath not so pursued, as ought to have been, the blessed design of their Fathers, in following the Lord into this Wilderness, whilst it was a land not sown.” If reform were honestly sought, this view held, then the region might again enjoy divine favor. “If we be indeed bettered thereby,” Mather encouraged New Englanders, “we are like to see happy dayes again in New-England, but if otherwise, New-England hath not yet seen its worst dayes.’”* In such words, ministers often called for the renewal of a type of Christian

manhood that appeared to be in eclipse. In large part, they cast the problem as a failure to respect the high patriarchal standards of the first generation of New England fathers. Looking at New England Christians and families, Mather argued that the war was, in part, punishment for a failure of Christian manliness. Taking the example of the “little commonwealth” of the family, Mather pointedly asked: “How many Families [are there] that live like profane Indians without any Family prayer?” By failing to lead their family’s religious practice, he said, English husbands and fathers came to mirror their Indian enemies — hardly a ringing endorsement of the state of Christian manhood in a time of war. The root of the problem, Mather explained, was the dangerous habit of “taking up a form of godliness without the power of it,” a practice that had become habitual. Instead, New Englanders should look to the example of “the first Generation which was in this Land,’ as these founding patriarchs “had much of the power of Godliness” that the colonies so direly needed. Clothed

186 Sw CHAPTER 11 only in appearances, Mather continued, religion in the region had lost its vigor: “Alas in our Churches, we have a form of Discipline, but little of the power of it, and how it is in Families, and in Closets God knows, yea and as to our publick and most solemn approaches before the Lord, how slight and formal are the most of men? Little or no preparation for them, no brokenness of heart in them, in which respect we have no cause to wonder that the sad tydings hath come to us so often on dayes of Fasting and Prayer.” Ifmen adopted the appearance of religion without a shred of godliness, then who could be surprised that they failed to control discipline outside the church's walls and within the intimate recesses of the family? New England suffered from manifold sins. Surveying his society, Mather found “Pride in respect of Apparel” an important source of disorder. As with the plan to clothe the praying Indians, garments and hair were highly sym-

bolic and heavily freighted with gendered meaning. Though singling out as the greatest sinners in this regard, the “poorer sort of people... who... go in their Silks and Bravery as if they were the best in the Land,” Mather also reserved ire for “the rich and honourable” who had “greatly offended by strange Apparel, especially here in Boston.” In the latter case, he exlaimed _ with disgust, “men are seen in the Streets with monstrous and horrid Perriwigs, and Women with their Borders and False Locks and such like whorish Fashions, whereby the anger of the Lord is kindled against this sinful land!”

Mather connected vanity with God’s punishment, asking his audience, “Hath not the Lord fulfilled this threatning, when the Indians have taken so many and stripped them naked as the day that they were born.” He held that such abominations arose largely from the failure of New England husbands and fathers to exercise proper patriarchal control in their households. Later in the same sermon, he posed this question: “Have we ruled our own houses aright?” He continued with an uncomfortable proposition: “Have not people seen our Relations, our Wives, our Children flaunting of it, and gaudy and Fashionable, whereby others have been scandalized[?]” Colonial men, in his estimation, had roundly failed to serve as steady patriarchs in their homes and in public at large.” Among further transgressions, Increase Mather stressed that time properly spent on prayer was being wasted in taverns, whereas “our Fathers were Patterns of Sobriety” who “would not drink a cup of wine nor strong drink, more then should suffice nature, and conduce to their health,” an approach that enabled them to go about their business adeptly. Viewing his contemporaries, Mather saw a generation not only reduced by sinful drunkenness

“The God of Armies” st 187

but also wrecked by a brand of pride offensive to God. The signs of masculine degeneration were widespread. “Intemperance, Luxury, filthiness, and uncleaness in the world doth so debauch men,’ the military chaplain Samuel Nowell lamented. Evoking an ideal model of Puritan manhood, he suggested that “to do service for Christ, he that striveth for Mastery must be temperate in all things.” While he was discussing the qualities necessary for “Souldiers of Christ,’ his contentions had a wider application for New England men. Noting that even though there were fewer drunkards in New England than in England, Nowell claimed that tippling in the region nevertheless “makes Youth effeminate and wanton’ and was a moral affront to society.’” Men lacking the self-control necessary to live a temperate life could no more “play the man” at home than they could on New England’s battlefields. Such effeminized men, this logic ran, could serve the needs of neither family nor society. To fall from the high standards set by an earlier and better brand of patriarchs was to become no better than a profane Indian. Historians have demonstrated that King Philip’s War ushered in a new, more militarized ethos in many of the era's sermons. Emerging in the late 16508, the artillery sermon was integrated into militia training days in Massachusetts and had become especially militant by the 1670s, combining, Harry S. Stout explains, “some of the most radical and violent sentiments in all Puritan preaching, and some of the most self-assured statements about New England as a superior people who need fear no mortal enemy.” The godly militarism of such sermons was of a piece with the concerns considered here in Part III: the war supplied a very real recapitulation of the society's corporate mission, a development further illustrating the degree to which the conflict offered jeremiadic renewal for both colonial manhood and the society at large. Everywhere one looked, civility and manhood were thus sorely lacking, declared the preachers — echoing the concerns missionaries had had for Indians in the decades preceding the war. By destroying the enemies

| outside of the commonwealth and renewing the spirit within, violence thus promised to return religion and manhood to a purer and more pious state. The June 1676 thanksgiving discussed above was but one ritual means of waging an ongoing war against sin and the degeneration of Christian manhood —a conflict that proved at once individual and corporate. Rituals such as thanksgiving not only brought the community together but also served to reaffirm long-standing values in the face of outside threats like the violence of the preceding year and a half. Despite these aims, it is doubtful that the celebrants would have assumed that the ritual assured future godly

188 St CHAPTER 11 behavior for either the individual or the larger society; the battle with sinfulness was an ongoing concern. Indeed, just a few years after the wartime thanksgiving, the 1679 General Synod returned to the link between sinfulness and God's “Controversy with his People.” This meeting of the colony's ministers and elders was called on by the General Court to address the potential of sinfulness to undo and threaten the larger society. Stressing “THE NECESSITY OF REFORMATION,’ the Synod listed a number of sins provoking God. The pamphlet recounting its findings followed familiar jeremiadic logic, linking biblical history with the community's covenant with God and explaining the possible wages of sin, while also offering a plan for potential reform. Drawing a parallel between the Puritan experiment and the “Israel of old,” the Synod contrasted the “great and high undertaking of [our]

Fathers” with the recent degeneration of manhood and society. A return to sinfulness not only marked personal and social failure but also threatened future woe: “We may not wonder that God hath changed the tenour of his Dispensations towards us, turning to doe us hurt, and consuming us after that he hath done us good.”* If further provoked, God’s wrath would be born of a familiar list of sins. As had been the case earlier, the ministers attending the General Synod were especially concerned with Anglo-Americans’ proclivity for pride, resistance to God's order, taste for clothing that was either inappropriate to a persons status or too sexually revealing, flair for contentious behavior, tendency toward untruthfulness, and love of intemperance. In addition, the colonists were increasingly worldly and greedy —a sore affront to God. Choosing their individual desires and wealth over God and commonwealth, AngloAmericans lived more and more “like Heathen, only so that they might have Elbow-room enough in the world. Farms and merchandising have been preferred before the things of God.” At the same time that greed resulted in “Heathen” living, it also led some traders to treat Indians “deceitfully and oppressively ... whereby they have been scandalized and prejudiced against

the Name of Christ.”* :

The Synod’s list of concerns was extensive. For example, it pointed to the slow achievement of full church membership, increased Sabbath breaking, and the continued presence of “false Worshipers” such as Quakers and Baptists as further illustrating the persistence of sinfulness in the colony. The colonists were also increasingly profane, as men could be found during “prayer time, ... some with their heads almost covered, [ giving | way to their own sloth and sleepiness,’ and families failed to pray or read the scriptures

“The God of Armies” st 189 regularly. This failure of the patriarchal family to ensure religious instruction

meant that “children & Servants ... are not kept in due subjection; their Masters, and Parents especially, being sinfully indulgent towards them.’ The last complaint frequently echoed midcentury English criticisms of overly indulgent Indian fathers and mothers, a parallel made explicit in a summary of Anglo-American failures: “Christians in this Land, have become like unto the Indians, and then we need not wonder if the Lord afflicted us by them.””® Public occasions like militia days — which were ideally supposed to prepare pious soldiers to defend the godly commonwealth — were in no better shape than the other aspects of colonial life singled out by the Synod. Within

a general atmosphere of “Intemperance, the “heathenish and Idolatrous practice of Health-drinking is too frequent.’ Such exchanges of hospitality had been key to masculine sociability on public occasions like militia training days, but by 1679, sociability had apparently given way to intemperance, which might unman a Christian. “Dayes of Training, and other publick Solemnityes” were especially debased by this practice: “Not only English but Indians have been debauched, by those who call themselves Christians, who

have put their bottles to them, and made them drunk also.’ Interestingly, Indian drunkenness was understood in this instance as a failure of English paternalism rather than a symbol of Native sinfulness. And the influence of English intemperance was all “the more aggravated in that the first Planters of this Colony did (as is in the Patent expressed) come into this Land with a design to Convert the Heathen unto Christ, but if instead of that, they be taught Wickedness, which they were never guilty of, the Lord may well punish us by them.” In this failure of patriarchalism and paternalism, the Synod lamented the ongoing neglect of the founding generation's promise to convert the Indians. The rising generation had neither respected their fathers’ wishes nor served as kind patriarchs — as so-called nursing fathers — to the unconverted Natives of the region. In the end, the Synod suggested that a solution to the colony’s woes could be found in an increased respect for authority and subjection to church discipline. In particular, the ministers and elders pointed out that “Magistrates ... are said to be the Churches nursing Fathers. Isa 49 23. For that it concerns them to take care that the Churches be fed with bread and water of Life.”

Charged with such patriarchal authority, the Synod recommended that the civil authorities respond to the atmosphere of sinfulness and apostasy with “the establishment and execution of wholesome Laws” formulated in accordance with scripture and aimed at a thoroughgoing reform of the

190 St CHAPTER 11 commonwealth. To complement legal and religious reform, the Synod also advocated a “Solemn and explicit Renewal of [the] Covenant” not only as a means of reformation but also “to avert impending wrath and Judgment,” which, the colonists well knew, could come in a number of manifestations, from crop-destroying rains to devastating warfare.”* Interestingly, the 1679 Synod suggested some of the ways in which con-

cerns over colonial manhood linked Native and Anglo-American communities. (It is revealing that much of this discussion echoed midcentury missionary concerns with transforming praying Indians into Christian agri-

culturalists.) The persistence of sin—no surprise to Puritans who were well versed in the frailties of human morality and piety — fostered anxiety over whether or not Christian men would be able to reach the patriarchal standards of the founding generation. Colonial men, this logic held, were increasingly eschewing Christian manhood in favor of the sinful and deviant behavior ministers feared, to the great detriment of society at large. AngloAmerican men’s woeful sottishness was only one symptom of patriarchalisms failure in the region. Colonial patriarchs were no more successfully ruling in their homes than they were providing Christian counsel to Indians. The progress of a godly society demanded a return to an earlier standard of patriarchy and manhood — only reformation could prevent future woes. Those attending the General Synod would be disappointed but perhaps not surprised by the years that followed: sin remained a constant. Though the orthodox continued to pursue deviance with vigor, meeting masculine ideals proved as elusive in colonial villages as in praying towns. This situation was only exacerbated by late seventeenth-century wars that proved unsatisfying affairs even in victory, leaving many observers questioning the effectiveness of colonial manliness in war even as it often appeared to be

failing at home. : Coda

The relationship between manliness, religion, and the region's martial cultures changed over time. The Pequot War (1636-37) set the terms of future combat and the evolution of martial cultures in the region. During that brief conflict, Native American groups on both sides took stock of the comparatively terrifying English approach to war. At the same time, the English puzzled over and derided Indian warfare, even as they wrestled with the demands of colonial battlefields where European-style open field battles would

“The God of Armies” st 191 not be the norm. By midcentury, the manner of Indian combat changed with the widespread adoption of European weapons and the blending of English

and Native American tactics in a fashion that maximized casualties. The evolution of Anglo-American martial culture after the 1670s was especially ironic, given that successful colonial warriors often adapted the very Indian tactics they had formerly dismissed as dishonorable and unmanly. Nonetheless, in King Philip's War and subsequent conflicts the English adapted the so-called “skulking way of war” with success but not without anxiety. Concern over whether the most successful was also the most honorable mode of fighting remained an issue in a region that frequently saw ferocious warfare in the closing decades of the century.” The English victory in King Philip's War (1675-76) marked a key turning point in this history. Native Americans remaining in southern New England no longer enjoyed enough autonomy to offer sustained military resistance to the colonists. Many of King Philip’s allies headed toward the frontier with New France. In this “Algonquian diaspora’ they hoped for greater autonomy,

while avoiding the retribution of the victorious colonists and looking for future opportunities to exact revenge against the New England communities that dominated their former homelands. Indian men remaining in southern New England who wanted to engage in combat did so in the service of the colonial forces in conflicts like King William’s War (1688-97) and Queen Anne’s War (1702-13). But service in Anglo-American forces offered Indian soldiers few long-lasting rewards. The pay remained poor and service dangerous. And although some Anglo-American commanders valued Indian soldiers, their service as allies ironically served only to encourage settlers’ negative view of Native men as inherently violent and dishonorable.°®

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Afterword

Even AS DISASTER TURNED to victory at the end of King Philip's War, colonial officials worried that many English observers, especially at _ Whitehall, the seat of government in London, were blaming the conflict on local mismanagement of Indian affairs and colonial defense. Responding to such criticism, the Plymouth Colony secretary Nathanial Morton wrote to King Charles II in July 1677 with the hope of establishing an.interpretation more amenable to colonial understandings of recent events. Responding to a number of the criticisms leveled at the colonial governments, he insisted that the naysayers were wrong: colonial government, land transactions, and legal institutions showed instead a pattern of just dealing with Indians. Explaining to the king that religion and manliness were at the conflict’s heart, Morton interpreted the war in striking terms. He argued that King Philip was “a proude and Ambitious Sachem . . . [who] began the mischife” in Plymouth. Three things, in Morton's estimation, had come together to assure the “Enemies Success” early in the war: God's “Divine permission,’ the colonists’ “Great Sufferings,’ and the “unmanly Treacheries” of the hostile Indians.’ During the same period, missionaries and a shrinking group of AngloAmericans who remained friendly to praying Indians found it increasingly difficult to convince their fellow colonists — who had lived through an incredibly violent war — that they should distinguish between friendly praying Indians and the “unmanly and treasonous” King Philip, who led a “united conspiracy of the Heathens.” Many colonists had become unwilling to see @t 193

194. tS AFTERWORD religion as a means of distinguishing between friend and foe; instead, all Indians were cast as worthy targets of distrust and hostility. In this environment, praying Indians who remained loyal to the Anglo-Americans frequently found themselves subjected to harassment, violence, and even internment on Deer Island in Boston Harbor.” The war was thus a catastrophe for praying Indians, and missionaries despaired as they watched two decades of work unravel. As the situation deteriorated in Plymouth Colony, Thomas Walley “lament[ed] the rash cruelty of our English towards Indians.’ Even former, albeit somewhat tentative, supporters of missionary activities like the Sudbury, Massachusetts, minister

Edmund Browne argued that the experience of war and the treachery of some Christian Indians called for a radical revision of the old assumptions about Native allies and enemies. “Some of those few I judged honest have in these times,” Browne explained, “turned Runagadoes, bin active assistants of our common enemy, and some imbrued their hands in English blood.’ The minister therefore considered Indians inherently untrustworthy as Christian friends and dishonorable in battle. Later in the same letter, Browne argued that “neither favours from [the] English can alay their cruelty, nor any teares or noble service performed which with manly Nations is oft prevalent.’ As unmanly and treacherous pretend Christians, he argued, all Indians needed to be reduced to a tightly controlled dependent underclass, for civility and religion could not remake them. Browne was hardly alone among colonists in his hostility toward Indians — traditionalists and Christians alike — during and after the war, especially in frontier communities hard hit by the conflict.’

Having long worked to counteract such views, a depressed Daniel Gookin — who was threatened and harassed throughout the war for his support of Christian Natives — wrote An Historical Account of the Doings and Sufferings of the Christian or Praying Indians (1677). He observed that “a spirit of enmity and hatred conceived by many against those poor Christian Indians” had grown over the course of the war. Part of the problem lay with the indisputable fact that some praying Indians had joined King Philip's cause. Gookin pointed out, however, that most of the Christian Indians who fought with the enemies’ forces were from new praying towns and therefore “but raw and lately initiated into the Christian profession.” He also offered a biblical defense: although the “defection” of some formerly friendly Christian Nipmucks, for example, “had a tendency to exasperate the English against

all Indians, that they would admit no distinction between one Indian and another,’ they were “forgetting that the Scriptures do record that sundry of

| AFTERWORD & 195 the heathen in Israel’s time, being proselyted to the Church, proved very faithful and worthy men and women; as Uriah proved the Hittite, Zeleg the Ammonite, Ithmah the Moabite 1 Chronicles xi. 39, 41, 46.” Some New England Company officials in London or other New England missionaries may well have found that the scripture did make a meaningful distinction, but Gookin’s explanation was unlikely to persuade colonists who were living through the worst of the violence.*

To counter the argument that praying Indians were as treacherous and unmanly as Philip's warriors, however, Gookin went on to provide examples of Christian Indians “who . .. behaved themselves valiantly and faithfully.” Elsewhere he assigned religious meaning to the war. God intended the conflict “to teach war to the young generation of New England” and to instruct both “old and young how little confidence is to be put in an arm of flesh; and to let them see if God give commission to a few (comparatively) of naked men to execute any work of God, how insignificant nothings are numbers of men well armed and provided and endowed, until God turn the balance.” His interpretation of the war thus explained that just as God taught a new generation of New Englanders a punishing lesson in the manly art of war,

friendly praying Indians remained central to the unfolding of providence and the English victory in the conflict. The war, he said, was also inaugurated

for “purging and trying the faith and patience of the Godly English and Christian Indians.” God was similarly invested, in the missionary’s view, in

the “punishment and destruction of many of the wicked heathen, whose iniquities were now full; the last period whereof was their malignant opposition to the offers of the Gospel.” Rather than mistreating loyal Christian Indians, Gookin argued, the colonists should follow God in focusing their ire on enemy Wampanaogs, Narragansetts, and Nipmucks.° John Eliot’s brief introductory letter to Gookin’s account of the suffering of “their foster children” struck a familiar paternalistic note that must have sounded a bit hollow in the aftermath of the war. Although English and New English missionary fathers like Gookin and Eliot persisted in trying to reestablish the distinction between Christian and heathen, praying-Indian realities were increasingly distant from former ideals. More than three decades earlier, missionaries had imagined a future in which praying Indians would play a pacific if subservient role in colonial society. Manliness and civility were to be intertwined as praying towns adopted settled agriculture. This ideal, however, proved rather empty in practice; independently owned Christian Indian farms— which might well have resonated with gendered

196 Sm AFTERWORD and religious meaning — were rarely found in New England. Just as manliness and civility became flexible, and thus illusive, measures of difference, the missionary vision was scuttled by a complex array of developments. Praying-Indian communities adapted Christianity to their own needs and understandings of the divine and, in doing so, defined gender and religious identities in ways that departed from colonial ideals. Moreover, the roles that Indians came to fill in the colonial economy sometimes offered a new kind of mobility — on colonial battlefields and ships — or echoed older practices, which might well reinforce long-standing ways of defining gender but rarely offered the marrow of Anglo-American manhood: the promise of a competency and independence. Finally, the very real experience of warfare made colonists unwilling to make fine-grained distinctions between Christian and traditionalist Indians, friend and enemy. Both traditionalist and Christian Natives in New England found themselves living in an increasingly hostile colonial society as the region fell into cycles of violence during the final three decades of the century. Traditionalists like the Niantic sachem Ninigret II remained skeptical of AngloAmerican ways and religion. When Experience Mayhew approached him in 1713 about the potential of Christianity to remake Native life, the sachem, remaining unimpressed, asked the missionary “why [he] did not make the English good in the first place.” He explained that he had seen some Martha’s Vineyard praying Indians “steal” and suggested that the missionary “should first reform” the Christian Indians before bothering his people. After express-

ing some confusion over Christian practice, Ninigret II further explained that the very nature of colonial life made evangelization difficult: “his people

were ... indebted to the English, & lived much among them,’ yet even if they wanted to visit the missionary, “their English masters would send Constables for them, and take them away.”° The realities of indentured servitude trumped Mayhew's desire to spread the gospel in the region; such were the vicissitudes of evangelization in a colonial society. As Ninigret II's remarks suggest, the missionary ideals of the mid-seventeenth century had dissolved in the face of recurring warfare and the realities of the colonial economy. Although some Indian men may well of have found

work as soldiers or whalemen amenable to their understandings of manhood, many others worked as indentured servants, agricultural laborers, or in other occupations that illustrated the power of colonialism — especially the colonial economy — to determine the shape of Indian life in the region. Instead of emerging as a significant body of independent farmers more fully

AFTERWORD & 197 embracing interrelated Anglo-American conceptions of manhood and civility, praying Indians, like their more traditionalist neighbors, assumed an increasingly precarious role in colonial society. Thus old and new, Native agency and colonial hegemony, manly and unmanly labor, traditionalism and Christianity, honorable and dishonorable warfare remained in tension as Indian communities moved into the future within an increasingly narrow range of choices — choices shaped profoundly by a particular vision of colonial and Christian manliness.

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Notes

ABBREVIATIONS AAS American Antiquarian Society, Worcester, Massachusetts CSMP — Colonial Society of Massachusetts Proceedings CSMT — Colonial Society of Massachusetts Transactions

EEBO _ Early English Books Online, http://eebo.chadwyck.com/home

EH Ethnohistory EvD Evans Digital Editions: Early American Imprints, Series I: Evans, 1639-1800, available at http: //www.readex.com/readex/

HL Huntington Library, San Marino, California JAH Journal of American History

KJV King James Bible MHS Massachusetts Historical Society, Boston, Massachusetts , MHSC Massachusetts Historical Society, Collections MHSP = Massachusetts Historical Society, Proceedings

MP Mayhew Papers, Mark and Llora Bortman Collection, Boston University Special Collections

NEC New England Company Records, Guildhall Library, Corporation of London NEHGR_ New England Historical and Genealogical Register

NEQ New England Quarterly OED Oxford English Dictionary Online, available at http://www.oed.com/ : RCA John FE. Cronin, ed., Records of the Court of Assistants, 3 vols. (Boston: Suffolk County, 1928)

RCP Nathaniel B. Shurtleff and David C. Pulsifer, eds., Records of the Colony of New Plymouth (1855-1861)

RMB Nathaniel B. Shurtleff, ed., Records of the Governor and Company of the Massachusetts Bay in New England (Boston: W. White, Printer to the Commonwealth, 1853-1854)

at 199

200 St NOTES TO PAGES 1-4 . WwW] John Winthrop, The Journal of John Winthrop, 1630, ed. Richard Dunn, James Savage, and Laetitia Yeandle (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996) WMQ__ William and Mary Quarterly WP Allyn B. Forbes, et al., eds., Winthrop Papers, 1498-1649 (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 1929-1947)

INTRODUCTION 1. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Francois I, July 8, 1524 (The Céllere Codex), trans. Susan Tarrow, in The Voyages of Giovanni da Verrazzano, 1524-1528, ed. Lawrence C. Wroth (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1970), 135-36. For discussions of Verrazzano’s literary and historical influences, see Samuel Eliot Morison, The European Discovery of America: The Northern Voyages, A.D. 500-1600 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1971), 289 (hereafter Northern Voyages); Richard D’Abate, “On the Meaning of a Name,” in American Beginnings: Exploration, Culture, and Cartography in the Land of Norumbega, ed. Emerson W. Baker et al. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 69-76. On early Indian perceptions of Europeans, see James Axtell, “Through Another Glass Darkly: Early Indian Views of Europeans,’ in After Columbus: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University

Press, 1988), 125-43. For discussions of early European views of Native Americans, see Robert F. Berkhofer Jr., The White Man's Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the Present (1978; reprint, New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 6-7; Wilcomb E. Washburn, “The Clash of Morality in the American Forest,” in First Images of America: The Impact of the New World on the Old, ed. Fredi Chiappelli (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), 1:340—41. Also see Calvin Luther Martin, The Way of the Human Being (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1999), 1-31. 2. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Francois I, 136. Indians were often kidnapped by European explorers as trophies and sometimes to be trained as translators for later expeditions; see James Axtell, “At the Water’s Edge: Trading in the Sixteenth Century,” in After Columbus, 148-52; Alden T. Vaughan, Transatlantic Encounters: American Indians in Britain, 1500-1776 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 3. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Francois I, 137-38, 140. On gifting and exchange, see Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies (1950; New York: Norton, 1990); Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2000); David Murray, Indian Giving: Economies of Power in Indian-White Exchanges (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2000); Seth Mallios, The Deadly Politics of Giving: Exchange and Violence at Ajacan, Roanoke,

and Jamestown (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2006). ! 4. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Francois I, 138. Also see Bruce G. Trigger and William R. Swagerty, “Entertaining Strangers: North America in the Sixteenth Century,’ in North America, vol. 1, pt.1 of The Cambridge History of the Native Peoples of the Americas, ed. Bruce G. Trigger and Wilcomb E. Washburn (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 335.

5. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Frangois I, 138. On trade goods and sacred power, see Christopher L. Miller and George R. Hamell, “A New Perspective on Indian-White Contact: Cultural and Colonial Trade,” JAH 73:2 (1986): 311-28. 6. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Francois I, 138-39.

7. Ibid.

NOTES TO PAGES 4-8 w& 201 8. Ibid., 139-40. 9. Ibid., 140-41. For an overview of Wabanaki history and culture, see Harald E. L. Prins,

“Children of Gluskap: Wabanaki Indians on the Eve of the European Invasion,” in Baker et al. American Beginnings, 95-117. Also see Morison, Northern Voyages, 308-9; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England, 1500-1643 (1982; reprint, New York: Oxford University Press, 1984.), 52-53. 10. Giovanni da Verrazzano to Fran¢ois I, 135-36, 138, 141-43; Morison, Northern Voyages, 289; Berkhofer, White Man’s Indian, 6-7. 11. Salisbury, Manitou and Providence, 50-53; Axtell, “At the Water's Edge,’ 146-47; Trigger

and Swagerty, “Entertaining Strangers, 339-40; Daniel K. Richter, Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press: 2001), 11, 33-36; Neal Salisbury, “The Indians’ Old World: Native Americans and the Coming of Europeans,” WMQ 53:3 (1996): 435-58.

12. For an overview of the Tudor period and the English Reformation, see the various essays in Patrick Collinson, ed., The Sixteenth Century, 1485-1603 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). On Ireland and colonization, see Nicholas P. Canny, “The Ideology of English Colonization: From Ireland to America,” WMQ 30:4 (1973): 575-98; Jane H. Ohlmeyer, “Civilizinge of those rude partes’: Colonization within Britain and Ireland, 1580s—1640s,” in The Origins of Empire: British Overseas Enterprise to the Close of the Seventeenth Century, ed. Nicholas P. Canny, vol. 1 of The Oxford History of the British Empire, ed. William Roger Louis (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 124-47. State formation, colonization, class, and gender are discussed in Michael J. Braddick, State Formation in Early Modern England, c. 1550-1700 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Braddick, “Civility and Authority” in British Atlantic World, 1500-1800, ed. David Armitage and Michael J. Braddick (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 93-112. On the slow English and then British pursuit of an empire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see Nicholas P. Canny, “England’s New World and the Old, 1480s—1630s,” in Canny, Origins of Empire, 148-69; Elizabeth Mancke, “Empire and State” in Armitage and Braddick, British Atlantic World, 175-95.

13. Bartholomew Gosnold mentions Verrazzanoss voyage in a 1602 letter to his father about his recent trip to New England: “Bartholomew Gosnold to Anthony Gosnold, September 7, 1602,’ in The English New England Voyages, 1602-1608, ed. David B. Quinn

and Alison M. Quinn (London: Hakluyt Society, 1983), 210. 14. William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morison (1952; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1999), 62. 15. In this book I am interested in aspects of what has sometimes been called “lived religion” where it intersects with gender, missionary efforts, and warfare. For a useful overview and several excellent examples of the study of “lived religion,’ see David D. Hall, ed., Lived Religion in America: Towards a History of Practice (Princeton, N,].: Princeton University Press, 1997). On the importance of analyzing European colonists with the same tools employed by ethnohistorians, Allan Greer has observed, “If historians need, in some measure, to make themselves into anthropologists to study the Indians of an earlier age, they must do something similar in examining the Europeans who contacted them.’ See Greer, Mohawk Saint: Catherine Tekakwitha and the Jesuits (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), x—xi. 16. Fortwo examples of the distinction between inclusive and exclusive religious cultures being used with great success, see Richter, Facing East from Indian Country, 80-90; Emma Anderson, The Betrayal of Faith: The Tragic Journey of a Colonial Native Convert

202 St NOTES TO PAGES 8-9 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007), 1-10. The quoted passages are from Matthew Mayhew, A Brief Narrative Of The Success which the Gospel hath had among the Indians (Boston, 1694), 12—13, EvD. For an instructive discussion of Native American popular religion and the cross-cultural exchange of religious beliefs, see Douglas L. Winiarski, “Native American Popular Religion in New England's Old Colony, 1670-1770, Religion and American Culture 15:2 (2005): 147-86. On popular religion in New England, see David D. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989); Richard P. Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, & the Godly: The Reformation of Manners in New England, 1679-1749 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press,

1994). ,

17. M. Mayhew, Brief Narrative, 12-13. Resistance to the missionary efforts is more fully addressed in Part III, below, “Minting Christians.” 18. Miller and Hamell, “New Perspective,’ 311-28. 19. While there is much more work on Anglo-American than on Indian men, there has been growing interest among historians in studying masculinity. See Lisa Wilson, Ye Heart of Man: The Domestic Life of Men in Colonial New England (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1999), 6-7; Anne S. Lombard, Making Manhood: Growing Up Male in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003), 6, 17, 116; E. Anthony Rotundo, American Manhood: Transformations in Masculinity from the Revolution to the Modern Era (New York: Basic Books, 1993), 10-18; Jane Kamensky, “Talk like a Man: Speech, Power, and Masculinity in Early New England,’ Gender and History 8:1 (1996): 22-47; Kenneth A. Lockridge, On the Sources of Patriarchal Rage: The Commonplace Books of William Byrd and Thomas Jefferson and the Gendering of Power in the Eighteenth Century (New York: New York University Press, 1994.); Toby L. Ditz, “Shipwrecked; or, Masculinity Imperiled: Mercantile Representations of Failure and the Gendered Self in Eighteenth-Century Philadelphia,’ JAH 81:1 (1994): 51-80; Janet Moore Lindeman, “Acting the Manly Christian: White Evangelical Masculinity in Revolutionary Virginia,” WMQ 57:2 (2000): 393-416; Thomas A. Foster, “Deficient Husbands: Manhood, Sexual Incapacity, and Male Marital Sexuality in SeventeenthCentury New England,” WMQ 56:4 (1999): 723-44; Foster, Sex and the EighteenthCentury Man: Massachusetts and the History of Sexuality in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 2007). For cross-cultural treatments of masculinity, see Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996); Brown, “Brave New Worlds: Women’s and Gender History,” WMQ 50:2 (1993): 311-28; Brown, “The Anglo-Algonquian Gender Frontier,’ Negotiators of Change: Historical Perspectives on Native American Women, ed. Nancy Shoemaker (New York: Routledge, 1995), 26-48; Joyce E. Chaplain, Subject Matter: Technology, the Body, and Science on the AngloAmerican Frontier, 1500-1676 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); R. Todd Romero “Ranging Foresters’ and “Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Masculinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,” EH 53:2 (2006): 281-329; Ann M. Little, Abraham in Arms: Gender and Power on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006). For discussions of gender important to this study, see Joan W. Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,’ American Historical Review 91:5 (1986): 1053-75; Natalie Zemon Davis, “Iroquois Women, European Women” (1994),

NOTES TO PAGES 9-12 #& 203 reprinted in American Encounters: Natives and Newcomers from European Contact to Indian Removal, 1500-1850, ed. Peter C. Mancall and James H. Merrell (New York: Routledge, 2000), 98; Natalie Zemon Davis, Women on the Margins: Three SeventeenthCentury Lives (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995); Mary Beth Nor-

: ton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York: Knopf, 1996). Also see Ann Laura Stoler, “Tense and Tender Ties: The Politics of Comparison in North American History and (Post) Colonial Studies,” JAH 88: 3 (2001): 829-65. Work on Asia remains pioneering in examining the connection between gender and colonialism: see Stoler, “Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Gender, Race, and Morality in Colonial Asia,” in Feminism & History, ed. Joan Wallach

Scott (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 209-66; Mrinalini Sinha, Colonial : Masculinity: The “Manly Englishman” and the “Effeminate Bengali” in the Late Nineteenth

Century (New York: Manchester University Press, 1995). For an excellent theoretical discussion, see R. W. Connell, Masculinities (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995). On the idea of gender performance, see Judith Butler, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,’ in Performing Feminisms: Feminist Critical Theory and the Subversion of Identity, ed. Sue-

Ellen Case (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 270-82; Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 1990).

On the egalitarianism of Indian gender roles, see Mona Etienne and Eleanor Leacock, “Introduction, and Leacock, “Montagnais Women and the Jesuit Program for Colonization,’ in Women and Colonization: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Etienne and Leacock (New York: Praeger, 1980), 1-24, 25-42. Important recent works include Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Gender as a Social Category in Native Southern New England,” EH 43:4 (1996): 574-91; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 44-52, 102-29, 169-83; Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000); Alice N. Nash, “The Abiding Frontier: Family, Gender, and Religion in Wabanaki History, 1600-1763” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1997); Susan Sleeper-Smith, Indian Women and French Men: Rethinking Cultural Encounter in the Western Great Lakes (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2001); Nancy Shoemaker, “Kateri Tekakwitha’s Tortuous Path to Sainthood,’ in Shoemaker, Negotiators of Change, 49-71; Greer, Mohawk Saint; Juliana Barr, Peace Came in the Form of a Woman: Indians and Spaniards in the Texas Borderlands (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Anderson, Betrayal of Faith. For a review of the literature on Indian women’s history, see Nancy Shoemaker, introduction to Negotiators of Change, 1-26. For a call to look more closely at masculinity in mission history; see Jennifer S. H. Brown, “Reading beyond the Missionaries, Dissecting Responses,’ EH 43:4 (1996): 713-14.

20. Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, 2 vols., ed. Samuel G. Drake (1702; reprint, Hartford, Conn.: Silas Andrus, 1855), 1:559. Also see James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford

University Press, 1985), 133-35.

21. King Philip’s War has often served as a key turning point in accounts of colonial history. See Richard Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American

Frontier, 1600-1860 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973); Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom, eds., So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King

204 Sw NOTES TO PAGES 12-19 , Philip's War (1978; reprint, Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1999), 1-78; Jill Lepore, The Name of War: King Philip’s War and the Origins of American Identity (New York: Knopf, 1998). 22. On Puritanism as acommon culture and motivating force for coming to New England, see Virginia DeJohn Anderson, New England’s Generation: The Great Migration and the Formation of Society and Culture in the Seventeenth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992). For a discussion of the problems of defining Puritanism, see Peter Lake, “Defining Puritanism — Again?” in Puritanism: Transatlantic Perspectives on a Seventeenth-Century Anglo-American Faith, ed. Francis J. Bremer (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 1993), 3-29. For an outstanding survey of New England Puritanism, see Francis Bremer, The Puritan Experiment: New England Society from Bradford to Edwards (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1995).

PaRT 1. GENDER COUNTERPOINT 1. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England (London, 1624.), 17-18, EEBO. 2. Ibid., 18-19. 3. Ibid., 19-20. 4. Ibid., 19-21. 5. Ibid., 21-22.

6. Ibid. 7. On the cultivation of tobacco, see Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1973), 103. 8. Echoing an earlier body of scholarship on New England families and towns, Lombard stressed that New England settlers deviated from traditional English gender practices, especially stressing the role of family patriarchs as agents for godly behavior of the “little commonwealth” of his family. She convincingly argues that this development was important to the evolution of Anglo-American manhood. See Anne S. Lombard, Making Manhood: Growing Up Male in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003 ), 7-13, 147-53. Also see Edmund S. Morgan’s discussion of Puritanism, colonial families, and governance, in The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New England (194.4; reprint, New York: Harper and Row, 1966); John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family Life in Plymouth Colony (New York: Oxford University Press, 1966); Gloria L. Main, Peoples of a Spacious Land (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); Philip J. Grevan, Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, Massachusetts (Ithaca, N.Y:: Cornell University Press, 1970); Kenneth A. Lockridge, A New England Town: The First Hundred Years (New York: Norton, 1970); Daniel Vickers, Farmers and Fishermen: Two Centuries of Work in Essex County, Massachusetts, 1630-1830 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), 72-77.

9. Luse the term “patriarchalism” to denote the interrelated gender and class systems that were essential to English conceptions of patriarchy, whether in England or in the colonies. The discussion that follows relies on the important work of a number of

, scholars. See Susan D. Amussen, An Ordered Society: Gender and Class in Early Modern England (London: Basil Blackwell, 1988); Anthony Fletcher, Gender, Sex, and Subordination in England, 1500-1800 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1995); Keith Wrightson, English Society, 1580-1680 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press,

NOTES TO PAGES 19-20 st 205 1982); Wrightson, “Class” in The British Atlantic World, 1500-1800, ed. David Armitage and Michael J. Braddick (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 133-53; Greg Nobles, “Class” in A Companion to Colonial America, ed. Daniel Vickers (Malden, Mass.: Black-

well, 2002), 259-87; Ronald Schultz, “A Class Society?: The Nature of Inequality in Early America,’ in Inequality in Early America, ed. Carla Gardina Pestana and Sharon V. Salinger (Hanover, N.H.: University of New England, 1999), 203-21; Lombard, Making Manhood; Mary Beth Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York: Knopf, 1996). 10. William Wood, New England's Prospect (1624), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 90-91, 112. For similar views, see

Rev. Francis Higginson to His Friends at Leicester, September 1629, in Letters from New England: The Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1629-1638, ed. Everett H. Emerson (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976), 37; Winslow, Good Newes, 58; Daniel Gookin, “The Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674.), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 149. On how Anglo-Americans’ negative depictions of Indian labor practices were central to justifications of conquest and colonialism, see Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indian Work: Language and Livelihood (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2009). 11. For a cross-cultural study of making or achieving manhood, see David D. Gilmore, Manhood in the Making: Cultural Concepts of Masculinity (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1990). Also see R. W. Connell’s discussion of what he terms “the social organization of masculinity,” in Masculinities (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995).

12. Williams, Key, 170. For more on the gender division of labor, see David D. Stits, “The ‘Squaw Drudge’: A Prime Index of Savagism,” EH 29:4 (1982): 281-306; Ellice B. Gonzalez, “An Ethnohistorical Analysis of Micmac Male and Female Economic Roles,” EH 29:2 (1982): 117-29; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 39-41; William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), 44-48; Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Gender as a Social Category in Native Southern New England,” EH 43:4 (1996): 74-91; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 174-83. 13. The Laws and Liberties of Massachusetts: Reprinted from the Unique Copy of the 1648 Edition in the Henry E. Huntington Library, ed. Richard S. Dunn (San Marino, Calif: Huntington Library, 1998), 5—6,11.

14. The idea of a gender counterpoint is indebted to the work of a number of scholars; see Natalie Zemon Davis, “Iroquois Women, European Women” (1994), reprinted in American Encounters: Natives and Newcomers from European Contact to Indian Removal, 1500-1850, ed. Peter C. Mancall and James H. Merrell (New York: Routledge, 2000), 98; Davis, Women on the Margins: Three Seventeenth-Century Lives (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995); Philip D. Morgan, Slave Counterpoint: Black Culture in the Eighteenth-Century Chesapeake and Lowcountry (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998); Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill: Uni-

versity of North Carolina Press, 1996); Brown, “Brave New Worlds: Women’s and Gender History,’ WMQ 50:2 (1993): 311-28; Brown, “The Anglo-Algonquian Gender Frontier,” in Negotiators of Change: Historical Perspectives on Native American Women,

206 St NOTES TO PAGES 20-22 ed. Nancy Shoemaker (New York: Routledge, 1995), 26-48; Shoemaker, A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteen-Century North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.); Marshall Sahlins, Historical Metaphors and Mythical Realities: Structure in the History of the Sandwich Island Kingdom (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997).

1. “IN THE SHAPE OF A Man... 1. On these issues see R. Todd Romero “‘Ranging Foresters’ and “Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Masculinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,” EH 53:2 (2006): 281-329. For a discussion of social stratification among northeastern Indians, see Daniel K. Richter, “Stratification and Class in Eastern Native America,’ in Class Matters: Early North America and the Atlantic World, ed. Simon Middleton and Billy G. Smith (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 35-48. On the Indian respect for age, see Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England (London, 1624), 58, EEBO; Thomas Morton, New English Canaan or New Canaan (1637), ed. Jack Dempsey (Scituate, Mass.: Digital Scanning, 2000), 28. For examples of the symbolic importance of Indian hairstyles, see Winslow, Good Newes, 58-59; William Wood, New England’s Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 83; Thomas Lechford, Plain Dealing; or, News from New England (1642), ed. J. Hammond Trumbull (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and W. M. Parsons Lunt, 1867), 116. On comportment, see Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J.

; Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1973), 93, 134-46; Christopher Levett, “A Voyage into New England, Begun in 1623, and Ended in 1624” (1628), in Forerunners and Competitors of the Pilgrims and Puritans, ed. Charles Herbert Levermore (Brooklyn, N-Y.: New England Society of Brooklyn, 1912), 2:627. For a pathbreaking categorization and analysis of Indian speech acts, see Kathleen J. Bragdon, “‘Emphaticall Speech and Great Action’: An Analysis of Seventeenth-

: Century Native Speech Events Described in Early Sources,’ Man in the Northeast 33 (1987): 106-7; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 173-74. Christopher Levett’s account concerns

Indians from northern New England. Throughout this study, evidence taken from other Eastern Woodland Indian peoples (such as Levett’s account) is used in support of material from southern New England. Such evidence suggests some of the cultural consistencies existing among various Indian groups in the Northeast. In a recent reconsideration of ethnic identity and tribal boundaries in southern Maine, for example, Emerson W. Baker argues that coastal Indians living between the Androscoggin River and the North Shore of Massachusetts were culturally and politically tied agriculturists with some matrifocal tendencies. See Baker, “Finding the Almouchiquois: Native American Families, Territories, and Land Sales in Southern Maine,’ EH 51:1 (2004): 73-100. David Stewart-Smith examines the same group of Algonquian-speaking Indians and proposes designating them the Central Abenaki. Within this designation, he also finds some cultural ties to the Indians under consideration here. See Stewart-

Smith, “The Pennacook Indians and the New England Frontier, circa 1604-1733" (Ph.D. diss., Union Institute, 1998), 29-30. 2. John Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures, Strange Deliverances, Etc.” (1736), in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T.

NOTES TO PAGES 22-23 #t 207 Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 123; Wood, New England's Prospect, 113-16; Williams, Key, 123. On rank and status in New England Indian cultures, see Bragdon, Native People, 44-52, 102-29, 169-83. On the problem of colonial observers’ biases in print sources, see William S. Simmons, “Cultural Bias in the New England Puritans’ Perception of Indians,’ WMQ 38:1 (1981): 56—72; Patricia E. Rubertone, Grave Undertakings: An Archaeology of Roger

Williams and the Narragansett Indians (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian, 2001). Colonial notions of hierarchy are discussed more fully in chapter 2. 3. Elise M. Brenner, “Sociopolitical Implications of Mortuary Remains in 17th-Century Native Southern New England,’ in The Recovery of Meaning in Historical Archaeology, ed. Mark P. Leone and Parker B. Potter Jr. (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988), 174; Paul Robinson, “The Struggle Within: The Indian Debate in Seventeenth-Century Narragansett country” (Ph.D. diss., State University of New York at Binghamton, 1990), 176-79; Paul Robinson, Marc A. Kelley, and Patricia E.

Rubertone, “Preliminary Biocultural Interpretations from a Seventeenth-Century Narragansett Indian Cemetery in Rhode Island,” in Cultures in Contact: The Impact of European Contacts on Native American Cultural Institutions, A.D. 1000-1800, ed. William W. Fitzhugh (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1985), 122-23; Rubertone, Grave Undertakings, 117-64.

4. The degree to which female sachemships opened traditionally male activities to women is unclear. Sunksquaws enjoyed a similar measure of power as that held by their male counterparts. For example, Benjamin Church described the Sakonnet sachem Awashunkes’s expert leadership of her warriors during King Philip’s War: see Church, “Entertaining passages Relating to Philip’s War,” in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (1978; reprint, Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1999), 399, 432—33On these issues, see Robert S. Grumet, “Sunksquaws, Shamans, and Tradeswomen: Middle Atlantic Coastal Algonkian Women during the 17th and 18th Centuries,’ in Women and Colonization: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Mona Etienne and Eleanor Leacock (New York: Praeger, 1980), 43-62; Ann Marie Plane, “Putting a Face on Colonization: Factionalism and Gender Politics in the Life History of Awashunkes, the ‘Squaw Sachem’ of Saconet,” in Northeastern Indian Lives, 1636-1816, ed. Robert S. Grumet (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), 140-65; Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000), 20-26; Alice N. Nash, “The Abiding Frontier: Family, Gender, and Religion in Wabanaki History, 1600-1763” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1997), 174 80. Emerson W. Baker has suggested that female sachemships may have become more

common in the seventeenth century as deaths arising from epidemics and warfare left leadership positions traditionally held by men open to women: see Baker, “Indian

Land Sales on the New England Frontier” (paper presented at the “Reinterpreting New England Indians and the Colonial Experience” conference held by the Colonial Society of Massachusetts and Old Sturbridge Village, April 21, 2001), 56. For the quoted passages, see Wood, New England's Prospect, 97; Matthew Mayhew, A Brief Narrative of the Success Which the Gospel hath had, among the Indians of Martha’s-Vineyard

(Boston, 1694), 7-9, EvD; Daniel Gookin, “The Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674.), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 154. Also see, Williams, Key, 201-2. 5. Wood, New England’s Prospect, 85; | William Bradford and Edward Winslow], Mourt’s Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth (1622), ed. Dwight B. Heath (Bedford,

208 St NOTES TO PAGES 23-25 Mass.: Applewood Books, 1963), 53; Morton, New English Canaan, 73, 74-75; John Josselyn, New-Englands Rarities Discovered (London, 1672), 16, 20, EEBO; William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morison (1952; reprint New York: Knopf, 1999), 203; Emmanuel Altham, “Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September, 1623,” in Three Visitors to Early Plymouth, ed. Sydney James Jr. (1963; Bedford, Mass.: Applewood Books, 1997), 30; Edward Johnson, WonderWorking Providence, 1628-1651 (1654), ed. J. Franklin Jameson (1910; reprint, New York,

Scribner, 1967), 162; Mary Rowlandson, “The Sovereignty and Goodness of God,” in Puritans among the Indians, 61. For discussions of these issues, see Bragdon, Native People, 170-75; Karen O. Kupperman, Indians and English: Facing Off in Early America (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000), 69—75, 92-97. 6. Williams, Key, 201. 7. Though it may have been possible for women to become powwows, in practice, only men usually had access to this important position in Indian society. There is debate on this issue, however, see William S. Simmons, “Southern New England Shamanism: An Ethnographic Reconstruction,” in Papers of the Seventh Algonquian Conference, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1976), 21756; Grumet, “Sunksquaws, Shamans, and Tradeswomen,’ 53-54. For examples of Indian women acting as healers and shamans, see Winslow, Good Newes, 28; Experience Mayhew, Indian Converts; or, Some Account of the Lives and Dying Speeches of a Considerable Number of the Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard in New-England (London, 1727), 165-66. There appears to have been a similar class of elite warriors in a number of southern New England Indian groups. Kathleen Bragdon, for example, has suggested that the “valiant men” Williams observed among the Narragansetts may have been analogous to Pokanoket and Massachusett pnieses; see Bragdon, Native People, 143; Williams, Key, 234. 8. For discussions of traditionalist Native religion, see Simmons, “Southern New England Shamanism,” 217-56; William S. Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984 (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1986), 37-64; Constance A. Crosby, “From Myth to History; or, Why King Philip’s Ghost Walks Abroad,” in Leone and Potter, Recovery of Meaning, 183-209; Bragdon, Native Peoples, 184-99; David J. Silverman, “Indians, Missionaries, and Religious

Translation: Creating Wampanoag Christianity in Seventeenth-Century Martha's Vineyard,’ WMQ 62:2 (2005): 141-74; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 37-39; Nash, “The Abiding Frontier,’ 69—75; Kupperman, Indians and English, 110-35, 177-92. For clarity, I use the deities’ names employed by the Pokanokets. Other Indian groups used different terms for deities analogous to Keihtan and Hobbomock. For example, Narragansetts referred to Cautantowwitt and Abbomocho. 9. Williams, Key, 173, 189-94. 10. Winslow, Good Newes, 53. See R. Todd Romero, “Colonizing Childhood: Religion, Gender, and Indian Children in Southern New-England, 1620-1720,” in Children in Colonial America, ed. James Marten (New York: New York University Press, 2007), 33-47. On gender and material culture, see Michael S. Nassaney, “Archaeology and

Oral Tradition in Tandem: Interpreting Native American Ritual, Ideology, and Gender Relations in Contact-Period Southeastern New England,’ in Interpretations of Native North American Life: Material Contributions to Ethnohistory, ed. Michael S. Nassaney and Eric S. Johnson (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2000), 412-31; Michael S. Nassaney and Michael A. Volmar, “Lithic Artifacts in Seventeenth-Century

NOTES TO PAGES 25-33 #t 209 Native New England,” in Stone Tool Traditions in the Contact Era, ed. Charles R. Cobb (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2003), 78-93; Nassaney, “Native American Gender Politics and Material Culture in Seventeenth-Century Southeastern New England,” Journal of Social Archaeology 4:3 (2004): 334-67. For an example of a zoomorphic war club, see figure 8. 11. Williams, Key, 190. Thomas Mayhew]r. to the New England Company, October 22, 1652, in John Eliot and Thomas Mayhew Jr., Tears of Repentance; or, a Further Narrative of the Progress of the Gospel amongst the Indians in New-England (London, 1653), unpaginated. 12. M. Mayhew, Brief Narrative, 11-12; Romero, “Colonizing Childhoood,” 33-47. 13. Winslow, Good Newes, 42~43, 55-56. 14. Ibid., 53-56; Isaack De Rasieres to Samuel Bloomaert, c. 1628,” in James, Three Visitors, 78-79. On similar rituals for prospective powwows, see “Rev. Samuel Lee to Nehemiah Grew, M.D., 1690,’ in Letters of Samuel Lee and Samuel Sewall Relating to New England and the Indians, ed. George Lyman Kittredge (Publications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, vol. 14; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: John Wilson and Son, 1912), 151; Wood, New England's Prospect, 100-102; Williams, Key, 192. On such liminal rituals, see Arnold Van Gennap, Rites of Passage (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960); Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (1969; reprint, Chicago: Aldine de Gruyter, 1997), 94-130.

15. Isaack de Rasieres to Samuel Bloomaert, c. 1628, in James, Three Visitors, 78-79; Romero, “Colonizing Childhood,” 33-47. On apprenticeships and childhood, see Edmund S. Morgan, The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-

Century New England (1944; reprint, New York: Harper and Row, 1966), 75-85. On supposedly overindulgent Indian fathers, see Williams, Key, 116.

16. The accounts of Pierre Liette, Chrestien Le Clercq, and Seieur de Diéreville are all excerpted in James Axtell, ed., The Indian Peoples of Eastern America: A Documentary History of the Sexes (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 57-58, 61, 62—63. 17. Williams, Key, 86. Citing Ezra Stiles’s 1761 account of Long Island Indian oral tradi-

tions, William Simmons argues that Wétucks and Maushop were analogous figures. He also notes that although Maushop stories ceased circulating among most Indian groups in New England after the seventeenth century, such legends continued to enjoy popularity among Christian Wampanoags into the nineteenth century. See Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes, 172-73.

18. William Baylies’s 1786 account of Maushop is quoted in Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes, 175.

19. Wood, New Englands Prospect, 101; Morton, New English Canaan, 29-33. For an early nineteenth-century example of shamanistic feats similar to Passaconaway's actions, see Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes, 61. On Passaconaway’s resistance to missionary efforts, see Thomas Shepard, ed., The Clear Sun-shine of Gospel Breaking Forth Upon the Indians in New-England (London, 1648), 32; Edward Winslow, ed., The Glorious Progress of the Gospel, Amongst the Indians in New England (London, 1649), 9-10. 20. Williams, Key, 165; Wood, New England's Prospect, 85; Robert E. Nichols Jr., Birds of Algonquin Legend (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995), 83-85.

2. “MANLY CHRISTIANITY’ 1. Cotton Mather, Manly Christianity: A Brief Essay on the Signs of Good Growth and Strength (London, 1711), 3-4.

210 St NOTES TO PAGES 33-37 2. Anne Lombard argues that manhood in late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century New England was defined over the course of the life cycle. She contends that “claims to manhood in early New England were based less on having a male body than on having attained rationality, self-control, and mastery over whatever was passionate, sensual,

and natural in the male self. Thus, ministers in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Massachusetts often exhorted their male listeners to ‘play the man, which meant to act responsibly and virtuously instead of being selfish or childish. Manhood was a role, not a physical essence, achieved by an act of will.” See Anne S. Lombard, Making Manhood: Growing Up Male in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003); Mary Beth Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York: Knopf, 1996), 4-5. See the discussion of “hegemonic masculinity” and “multiple masculinities” in R. W. Connell, Masculinities (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 77-81. 3. Larzer Ziff, Puritanism in America: New Culture in a New World (New York: The Viking Press, 1953), 78-99; Kai T. Erikson, Wayward Puritans: A Study in the Sociology of Deviance (New York: Macmillan, 1966); Philip F. Gura, Glimpse of Sion’s Glory: Puritan Radicalism in New England, 1620-1660 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1984), 7. 4. “An Alphabet of Lessons for Youth,” in The Puritan Tradition in America, 1620-1730, ed.

Alden T. Vaughan (1972; reprint, Hanover, N.H.: University of New England Press, 1997), 243-44. 5. John Milton, “On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three” (1631), in Selected Poems (New York: Dover Books, 1993), 14-15. 6. Thomas Shepard, “The Autobiography,” in God's Plot: Puritan Spirituality in Thomas Shepard’s Cambridge, ed. Michael McGiffert (1972; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1994), 42—-43.

7. Ibid., 43. 8. Ibid., 43-46. 9. Ibid., 46-47. 10. John Winthrop, “A Model of Christian Charity” (1630), in The Puritans in America: A Narrative Anthology, ed. Alan Heimert and Andrew Delbanco (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985), 82. Evidence of when and where Winthrop delivered his sermon is inconclusive; see Francis Bremer, John Winthrop: America’s Forgotten Founding Father (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 173-74. 11. William Gouge, Of Domesticall Duties: Eight Treatises (London, 1622), 1-2, EEBO. 12. Susan D. Amussen, An Ordered Society: Gender and Class in Early Modern England (London: Basil Blackwell, 1988); Anthony Fletcher, Gender, Sex, and Subordination in England, 1500-1800 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1995). Historians stress the various ways in which women exercised agency and power in the patriarchal colonial societies along the Atlantic coast; recent work on Anglo-American manhood and family history emphasizes the importance of domestic life and real bonds of love between Anglo-American men and their wives and children. For example, see Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Good Wives: Image and Reality in the Lives of Women in Northern New England, 1650-1750 (1982; reprint, New York: Vintage Books, 1991); Lisa Wilson, Ye Heart of a Man: The Domestic Life of Men in Colonial New England (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1999); Judith S. Graham, Puritan Family Life: The Diary of Samuel Sewall (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2000). 13. Winthrop, “Model of Christian Charity,” 83.

NOTES TO PAGES 37-42 # 211 14. William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morison (1952; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1999), 120-21.

is. On the familial strategies Anglo-Americans adopted to assure the passage from boyhood to manly independence, see Philip J. Greven, Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, Massachusetts (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970); Kenneth A. Lockridge, A New England Town: The First Hundred Years (New York: Norton, 1970); Daniel Vickers, Farmers and Fishermen: Two Centuries of Work in Essex County, Massachusetts, 1630-1830 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), 72-77. My reading of this incident draws on Ziff, Puritanism in America, 37-38; Lombard, Making Manhood, 7-13, 147-53.

16. This appears to have been the situation in both England and New England. See Fletcher, Gender, Sex, and Subordination, 89; Lombard, Making Manhood, 57-59. Also

see Richard Godbeer, Sexual Revolution in Early America (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), 52-61. 17. Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 121. Chapter 5 addresses these issues more fully. 18. On Indian women’s work as a form of “slavery,’ see Thomas Lechford, Plain Dealing; or, News from New England (1642), ed. J. Hammond Trumbull (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and W. M. Parsons Lunt, 1867), 116; William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughn (1977; Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 112-14. 19. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England (London, 1624), unpaginated introduction, EEBO. For the debate over whether or not there was a “gender crisis” in seventeenth-century England, see David Underdown, “The Taming of the Scold: The Enforcement of Patriarchal Authority in Early Modern England,’ in Order and Disorder in Early Modern England, ed. Anthony Fletcher and John Stevenson (New York: University of Cambridge Press, 1985), 117; Martin Ingram, “‘Scolding Women Cucked or Washed?’ A Crisis in Gender Relations in Early Modern England,” in Women, Crime, and the Courts in Early Modern England, ed. Jenny Kermode and Garthine Walker (Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina Press), 50—s1. 20. Connell’s discussion of “hegemonic masculinity” and “multiple masculinities” offers a useful theoretical model for this discussion of deviance and masculinity: see Connell, Masculinities, 77-81. For a sociological study of deviance in seventeenth-century

New England stressing its importance in maintaining the social order, see Erikson, Wayward Puritans. The quoted passages are taken from Edmund S. Morgan, Visible Saints: The History of a Puritan Idea (New York: New York University Press, 1963), 2-4, 33.

21. On execution sermons, see Ronald A. Bosco, “Lectures at the Pillory: The Early American Execution Sermon,’ WMQ 30:2 (1978): 160-61; David D. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989 ), 178-85; Daniel A. Cohen, Pillars of Salt, Monuments of Grace: New England Crime Literature and the Origins of American Popular Culture, 1674-1860 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993).

22. Cotton Mather, Pillars of Salt: An History of Some Criminals Executed in this Land For Capital Crimes, With some of their Dying Speeches, Collected and Published, for the WARNING of such as LIVE in Destructive Courses, of Ungodliness” (1699), in Pillars of Salt: An Anthology of Early American Criminal Narratives, ed. Daniel E. Williams (Madison, Wis.: Madison House, 1993), 64.

23. Ibid., 88-89. 24. Ibid., 67.

212 Sm NOTES TO PAGES 42-49 25. Ibid., 67-68. 26. Increase Mather, The Wicked Man’s Portion (Boston, 1675), 4—5, 9-11, EvD. 27. Ibid., 16—17.

28. Ibid., 17. 29. C. Mather, Pillars of Salt, 70. 30. Mather, Wicked Man's Portion, 20. 31. Winslow, Good Newes, Bu1v.

3. “A MAN IS NOT ACCOUNTED A MAN... 1. William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634.), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 105-6; Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 149, 164. For a discussion of accomplishing manhood across a number of cultures, see David D. Gilmore, Manhood in the Making: Cultural Concepts of Masculinity (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1990). See also R. Todd Romero “‘Ranging Foresters’ and “Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Masculinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,’ EH 53:2 (2006): 281-329. 2. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England (London, 1634), 58—s9, EEBO; Williams, Key, 96. 3. Wood, New England's Prospect, 104. Roger Williams described two types of Narragansett football. The first variety appears analogous to the game Wood described;

the second type was played at harvest time along a special “long house called [a] Qunnékamuck,” and was the occasion of a mass redistribution of goods. Williams, Key, 230-31.

4. Wood, New England's Prospect, 92,104—5; David Underdown, Revel, Riot, and Rebellion: Popular Politics and Culture in England 1603-1660 (1985; reprint, New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 75. 5. Wood, New England's Prospect, 92. Also see Williams, Key, 230. 6. Wood, New England's Prospect, 104.

7. “To pipe” had a number of meanings in seventeenth-century English. Considering the context of Wood’s comments, it is most likely that he used it to denote the boy’s singing in a contemptuous manner. In addition to this meaning, the OED cites a 1632 Milton passage that is significant here: “His bigge manly voice, Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes, And whistles in his sound.” Williams, Key, 234. 8. The women’s activities and the boy’s piping probably also had a sacred element; singing and dancing were often part of religious rituals. For examples of the religious significance of dancing and singing, see Williams, Key, 191-93; Daniel Gookin, “The Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 153; Mary Rowlandson, “The Sovereignty and Goodness of God” (1682), and John Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures, Strange Deliverances, Etc.” (1736), in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 63, 120.

9. Wood, New England's Prospect, 104 (Wood defined Wampompeage or white wampum as “Indian money” and Mowhackies or purple wampum as “Indian gold,’ the purple apparently more esteemed than the white); Williams, Key, 212; William S. Simmons,

NOTES TO PAGES 49-52 wt 213 Cautantowwit's House: An Indian Burial Ground on the Island of Conanictut in Narragansett Bay (Providence, R.I.: Brown University Press, 1970), 55, 74. On the sacred significance of wampum, see Christopher L. Miller and George R. Hamell, “A New Perspective on Indian-White Contact: Cultural Symbols and Colonial Trade,” JAH 73:2 (1986): 311-28; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 147-52; Kathleen J. Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 97-98; Lynn Ceci, “Native Wampum as a Peripheral Resource in the Seventeenth-Century World-System,’ in The Pequots in Southern New England: The Fall and Rise of an American Indian Nation, ed. Laurence M. Hauptman and James D. Wherry (1990; reprint, Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1993), 48-63. 10. On the spiritual efficacy of furs, see Christopher Levett, “A Voyage into New England, Begun in 1623, and Ended in 1624” (1628), in Forerunners and Competitors of the Pilgrims and Puritans, ed. Charles Herbert Levermore (Brooklyn, N-Y.: New England Society of Brooklyn, 1912), 2:627; John Josselyn, New-Englands Rarities Discovered (London, 1672), 16, EEBO; Matthew Mayhew, A Brief Narrative of the Success Which the Gospel hath had, among the Indians of Martha’s-Vineyard (Boston, 1694), 15, EvD; Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,’ 63. 11. Wood, New England's Prospect, 92. 12. Williams, Key, 229-30. 13. Miller and Hamell, “New Perspective,’ 316-20. 14. Ibid.; Wood, New England's Prospect, 103-4, 118. 15. Wood, New England's Prospects, 104. 16. Williams, Key, 164-66, 173-75, 225-27; Levett, “Voyage,” 627; Josselyn, New-Englands Rarities, 16; M. Mayhew, Brief Narrative, 15; Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,” 63; Winslow, Good Newes, 52-53; Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures,” 114-15. 17. John Josselyn, John Josselyn, Colonial Traveler: A Critical Edition of Two Voyages in New England (1674), ed. Paul J. Lindholdt (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1988), 97-98. Alice N. Nash argues that hunting was an affirmation of Wabanaki gender roles and an important component of male prestige. Additionally, she charts

the influence of expanding European settlement and trade relations on the cultural meanings of hunting for Indian men and women. See Nash, “The Abiding Frontier: Family, Gender, and Religion in Wabanaki History, 1600-1763” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia

University, 1997), 92-95, 164-65. For a discussion of the specialized butchering Josselyn described and on the relationship between Indian hunting and cosmology, see Bragdon, Native People, 133, 195-96. 18. Williams, Key, 189, 191, 224-28; Wood, New England's Prospect, 106-7. On hunting techniques, see William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), 63-65; Bragdon, Native People, 117-18. On the ritual burning of animal bones, see Kevin A. McBride, “‘Ancient and Crazie’: Pequot Lifeways during the Historic Period,” in Algonkians of New England: Past and Present, ed. Peter Benes (Boston: Boston University, 1993), 72-73. 19. King James published the Book of Sports two years before Plymouth was settled, and

his son, Charles I, repeated the gesture in 1633. Among other things, the Stuart kings wanted to promote traditional sports in reaction to Puritan reforms that attacked such practices, especially on the Sabbath. On sports and gambling in New England, see Bruce D. Daniels, Puritans at Play: Leisure and Recreation in Colonial New England (New York: St. Martin’s, 1995), 166-67.

214. Sw NOTES TO PAGES 53-56 20. William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morison (1952; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1999), 96-97. 21. In contrast to hunting, fishing was extremely popular among men in the region, offering both recreation and food for scores of Anglo-Americans. On hunting and fishing in early New England, see Daniels, Puritans at Play, 169-72. On English perceptions of hunting and status, see James Axtell, The Invasion of Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 157-59; Patrick M. Malone, The Skulking Way of War: Technology and Tactics among the New England Indians (1991; reprint, Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), 67-69. Training days are discussed more fully in Part III. 22. John Winthrop, quoted in Malone, The Skulking Way of War, 68. 23. Colonial sources offer only imperfect glimpses of Indian speech. Nonetheless, Kathleen J. Bragdon has pointed out that speech acts offer an important avenue to understanding seventeenth-century Indian culture. See Bragdon, “‘Emphaticall Speech and Great Action’: An Analysis of Seventeenth-Century Native Speech Events Described in Early Sources,’ Man in the Northeast 33 (1987): 106-7; Bragdon, Native People, 173-74. On colonial Anglo-American speech, see Jane Kamensky, “Talk like a Man: Speech, Power, and Masculinity in Early New England,” Gender and History 8:1 (1996): 22-47; Kamensky, Governing the Tongue: The Politics of Speech in Early New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997); Sandra M. Gustafson, Eloquence Is Power: Oratory and Performance in Early America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000). For the quoted passages, see James Axtell, “The Power of Print in the Eastern Woodlands,’ in Axtell, After Columbus: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford, 1988), 92; Williams, Key, 134; Wood, New Englands Prospect, 110.

24. Kamensky, “Talk like a Man,” 22—47. 25. Wood, New England's Prospect, 91, 10. Also see Williams, Key, 93, 97, 132, 135. 26. M. Mayhew, Brief Narrative, 10. There is evidence that highly ritualized Native speech-

ways persisted well into the eighteenth century: see MS 7957:14, “The Speech of the Moheags reported by John Mason,’ 1725, in Papers Relating to Indians, 1669-1727, NEC. 27. Winslow, Good Newes, 32-33; Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures,” 123; Wood, New Englands Prospect, 93. 28. Williams, Key, 236. William Wood similarly observed the significance of insults, see Wood, New England's Prospect, 93. Kathleen Bragdon has categorized and examined the relationship between Indian speech patterns and status: see Bragdon, “‘Emphaticall Speech,” 106-7; Bragdon, Native People, 173-74.

29. Winslow, Good Newes, 44. Underhill noted a number of boasts and insults during the Pequot War; see John Underhill, Newes From America; Or, A New Experimentall Discoverie of New England; Containing, A True Relation of Their War-like proceeding these two yeares last past, with a Figure of the Indian Fort or Palizado (London, 1638), 7, 9, 15-16 (the quoted passage), EEBO. Gardener related similar instances: see Leift Lion Gardener, “His Relation of the Pequot War” (1660), MHSC 3:3 (1853): 145-46.

For a discussion of eighteenth-century Indian gender metaphors, including insults, see Nancy Shoemaker, “An Alliance between Men: Gender Metaphors in EighteenthCentury American Indian Diplomacy East of the Mississippi,” EH 46 (1999): 239-63. On these issues, see Joyce E. Chaplin, Subject Matter: Technology, the Body, and Science

on the Anglo-American Frontier, 1500-1676 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 243~79; Nancy Shoemaker, Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in

NOTES TO PAGES 56-58 ws 215 Eighteenth-Century North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004); Ann M. Little, Abraham in Arms: Gender and Power on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 12-55. 30. Wood, New England's Prospect, 81. On the “wampum revolution” and the Pequot War, see Salisbury, Manitou and Providence, 147-52; Alfred A. Cave, The Pequot War (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), 49-68. 31. According to Edward Johnson, the Narragansett sachem Miantonimi noted that although his people “were more numerous, yet were they withall more effeminate, and lesse able to defend themselves from the sudden incursions of the Peaquods, should they fall out with them.” The account is unclear, however, as to whether Johnson or Miantonimi viewed the Narragansetts as effeminate. A letter from Richard Davenport to John Winthrop is similarly ambiguous but offers an interesting view into the way Indian men may have understood the relationship between the victors and the vanquished in battle. With Pequot strength destroyed by the combined English, Mohegan,

and Narragansett forces, Davenport noted “I perseaue the Indians would bee glad to make women [he wrote “slaves” in the margin] of all the Pecotts now, except the sachems and capt. and murtherers: but them they would kill” See Johnson, Johnson's Wonder-Working Providence, 1628-1651 (London, 1653), ed. J. Franklin Jameson (1910;

reprint, New York: Barnes and Noble, 1967), 163; Richard Davenport to John Winthrop, August 23, 1637, in WP, 3:491.

4. IF HE IS FAT AND SLEEK...” 1. The discussion that follows is particularly indebted to two recent studies, Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000); Gloria L. Main, Peoples of a Spacious Land: Families and Cultures in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001). 2. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, in Three Visitors to Early Plymouth: Letters about the Pilgrim Settlement in New England during Its First Seven Years, ed. Sydney V. James Jr. (1963; reprint, Bedford, Mass.: Applewood Books, 1997), 29-30. 3. Later evidence illustrates the rise in popularity of such celebrations in the eighteenth century. Edmund S. Morgan argues that Puritan marriage feasts were a standard practice though supposed to be restrained celebrations. In contrast, both John Demos and

Gloria Main offer the lack of descriptions of these celebrations as evidence of their suppression in seventeenth-century New England. See Morgan, The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New England (Boston: Harper Torchbook, 1966), 33; John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family Life in Plymouth Colony (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970), 163-64; Main, Peoples of a Spacious

Land, 79-80. By contrast, these feasts were essential to English marriages. See David Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion, and the Life-Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 350-76. 4. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29-30. 5. For more on Anglo-Indian relations in Plymouth, see Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England, 1500-1643 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 113-65. For discussions of Squanto, see Neal Salisbury, “Squanto: Last of the Patuxets,” in Struggle and Survival in Colonial America, ed. David G. Sweet and Gary B. Nash (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 228—46;.

216 St NOTES TO PAGES 58-63 John H. Humins, “Squanto and Massasoit: A Struggle for Power,’ NEQ 60:1 (1987): 54-70. 6. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29-30. Also see Salisbury, Manitou and Providence, 101-9, 121-25; Salisbury, “Squanto,’ 228-46. Roger Williams noted that sachems and their families traveled through dangerous areas in convoys protected by “a special guard.” See Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643),

ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 235; Williams, “To Governor Henry Vane or Deputy Governor John Winthrop, 13 May 1637, in The Correspondence of Roger Williams, ed. Glenn W. LaFantasie (Hanover, N.H.: Brown University / University Press of New England, 1988), 1:78. For more on Indian marriage, see Plane, Colonial Intimacies. 7. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29. 8. Ibid. 9. Isaack de Rasieres to Samuel Blommaert, c. 1628, in James, Three Visitors, 79. For examples of singing and dancing as religious practice, see Williams, Key, 193, 231; Benjamin Church, “Entertaining Passages Relating to Philip’s War” (Boston, 1716), in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (1978; reprint, Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1999), 398, 433.

10. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 30. 11. On the manufacture of wampum, see Kathleen J. Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 97-98, 2.42, 245.

12. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29. On gifts as a mode of evaluation, see Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2000), 5. Although it may be coincidence, it is striking that there were possibly four deer presented to Bradford, as the Pokanoket sachem was accompanied by four unnamed sachems to the wedding. Perhaps the deer and turkey were intended to be a collective gift. 13. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England (London, 1634), 57, EEBO. 14. For examples of Plains Indian headdresses, see Liane Gugel, “Prairies and Plains,” in The Cultures of Native North Americans, ed. Christian Feest (Cologne: Konemann Verlagsgesellschaft mbH, 2000), 192—93, 200, 211. On the adaptation of trade goods to suit Indian needs and tastes, see Calvin Martin, “The Four Lives of a Micmac Pot,’ EH 22:2 (1975): 111-33; Christopher L. Miller and George R. Hamell, “A New Perspective on Indian-White Contact: Cultural Symbols and Colonial Trade,” JAH 73:2 (1986): 311-28.

15. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29. 16. William Shakespeare, The Tempest (1623), ed. David Lindley (New York: Cambridge

University Press, 2002), 2.2.29—30. |

17. On the background of Emmanuel Altham and his family, see James, Three Visitors, 21-22. For a description of Native feasts tied to seasonal religious ceremonies, see Williams, Key, 192—93.

18. Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, September 1623, 29. | 19. Ibid., 29-30. 20. Winslow, Good Newes, 56-57; William Wood, New England’s Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 99; Christopher Levett, “A Voyage into New England, Begun in 1623, and ended in

NOTES TO PAGES 63-65 w& 217 1624” (1628), in Forerunners and Competitors of the Pilgrims and Puritans, ed. Charles Herbert Levermore (Brooklyn, N-Y.: New England Society of Brooklyn, 1912), 2:628; Williams, Key, 168-69. On these issues, see Bragdon, Native People, 154, 175-83; Plane, Colonial Intimacies, 21-32; Patricia E. Rubertone, Grave Undertaking: An Archaeology of Roger Williams and the Narragansett Indians (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian, 2001), 105-8, 1§2—55; Alice N. Nash, “The Abiding Frontier: Family, Gender, and Religion in Wabanaki History, 1600-1763” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1997), 158-69;

Robert S. Grumet, “Sunksquaws, Shamans, and Tradeswomen: Middle Atlantic Coastal Algonkian Women during the 17th and 18th Centuries,” in Women and Colonization: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Mona Etienne and Eleanor Leacock (New York: Praeger, 1980), 41, 43-62; Ann Marie Plane, “Putting a Face on Colonization:

Factionalism and Gender Politics in the Life History of Awashunkes, the ‘Squaw Sachem’ of Saconet,’ in Northeastern Indian Lives, 1632-1816, ed. Robert S. Grumet (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), 140-65. 21. William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morison (1952; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1999), 88; Emmanuel Altham to Sir Edward Altham, Sep-

tember 1623, 29. ,

22. Williams, Key, 206. On bride-price and kinship, see Bragdon, Native Peoples, 165, 179; Rubertone, Grave Undertaking, 105-8, 152-55. 23. Williams, Key, 205. John Murrin found that even though adultery was a capital crime, juries were reluctant to send their neighbors to the gallows for the offense. See Murrin, “Magistrates, Sinners, and a Precarious Liberty: Trial by Jury in Seventeenth-Century New England,” in Saints and Revolutionaries: Essays on Early American History, ed. David D. Hall, John M. Murrin, and Thad W. Tate (New York: Norton, 1984), 190-92. 24. Unfortunately, Rasieres did not detail how the marriage was arranged; see Isaack de Rasieres to Samuel Bloomaert, c. 1628, 79.

25. Thomas Morton, New English Canaan or New Canaan (1637), ed. Jack Dempsey (Scituate, Mass.: Digital Scanning, 2000), 32-34. Thomas Morton does not mention Wenuhus's name in his account of this dispute. Examining Indian deeds in Essex County Massachusetts, David Stewart-Smith has established her identity and has illuminated the kinship connections among Indians in the area. See Stewart-Smith, “The Pennacook: Lands and Relations, An Ethnography,’ New Hampshire Archeologist, 33-341 (1994): 66-80; Stewart-Smith, “Pennacook-Pawtucket Relations: The Cycles of Family Alliance on the Merrimack River in the 17th century,” in Actes Du VingtCinquiéme Congrés des Algonquinistes, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1995), 447-48; Stewart-Smith, “The Pennacook Indians and the New England Frontier, circa 1604-1733” (Ph.D. diss., Union Institute, 1998), 23-40, 68-102. 26. Morton, New English Canaan, 32-34. 27. The total for Montowompate’s relative strength includes warriors subject to his older brother Wonohaquaham, also known as Sagamore John. Their villages endured a 1631

retaliatory Abenaki raid that killed seven men. An epidemic in 1633 killed both sachems and most of their followers. See Thomas Dudley to the Lady Bridget, Countess of Lincoln, March 12 and 28, 1630/1, and John Pond to William Pond, March 1s, 1630/1, in Letters from New England: The Massachusetts Bay Colony, ed. Everett H. Emerson

(Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976), 64, 68-69; Winthrop, WJ, 55, 105. Interestingly, these Indian communities appear to have had both matrilocal and patrilocal tendencies. Considering the epidemics, warfare, and loss of leadership that Pawtucket bands endured, the question of post-marital residency probably turned on

218 Sm NOTES TO PAGES 65-72 _ pragmatic considerations; Montowompate’s and Wenepaweekin’s severely weakened villages probably could not afford to lose a sachem to matrilocal residency. On the patterns of patrilocal and matrilocal residency among the Pawtucket and Pennacook, see Bragdon, Native People, 179; Emerson W. Baker, “Indian Land Sales on the New England Frontier” (paper presented at the “Reinterpreting New England Indians and the Colonial Experience” conference held by the Colonial Society of Massachusetts and Old Sturbridge Village, 21 April 2001), 5-6; David Stewart-Smith, “The Pennacook Indians and the New England Frontier,’ 24, 30, 74-75, 84, 87. Patricia E. Rubertone argues that English sources overemphasize the degree to which New England Indian peoples were patrilineal: see Rubertone, Grave Undertakings, 107. 28. Morton, New English Canaan, 32-34. Roger Williams reported similar convoys in Narragansett country, with warriors accompanying sachems and their families. Such arrangements not only guaranteed the safety of a high-status family but also served to display the power of a given sachem. See Williams, Key, 235; Roger Williams to Governor Henry Vane or Deputy Governor John Winthrop, May 13, 1637, in Correspondence of Roger Williams, 1:78. Morton does not record a disagreement between Wenuhus and Montowompate, but he did not even to bother to record Wenuhus’s name in his account of the marriage dispute, he may have ignored evidence that she was the impetus behind Passaconaway’s recalcitrance. Without other evidence it is difficult to determine all that was at play in the incident. Regardless, the reactions of both sachems to the dispute tell us a great deal about the importance to male honor of the rituals surrounding marriages and such kin-alliances. 29. Morton, New English Canaan, 33. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid., 32-34. 32. Wood, New Englands Prospect, 115; Thomas Lechford, Plain Dealing; or, News from New

England (1642), ed. J. Hammond Trumbull (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and W. M. Parsons Lunt, 1867), 116.

33. Wood, New England's Prospect, 92. In fact, the woman's conduct was also problematic according to English gender ideals: see David E. Underdown, “The Taming of the Scold: the Enforcement of Patriarchal Authority in Early Modern England,’ in Order and Disorder in Early Modern England, ed. Anthony Fletcher and John Stevenson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 116-36; Jane Kamensky, Governing the Tongue: The Politics of Speech in Early New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 71-98.

| 34. Mourt’s Relation: A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth (London, 1622), ed. Dwight B. Heath (reprint, Bedford, Mass.: Applewood Books, 1963), 66; Levett, “Voyage,” 628.

Il. MINTING CHRISTIANS 1. On the bounds of Wonohaquahams control, see Letters from New England: The Massachusetts Bay Colony, ed. Everett H. Emerson (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976), 69 n. The quotations are from “Thomas Dudley to the Lady Bridget, Countess of Lincoln, March 12 and 28, 1630/1, in Letters from New England, 68-69; [Anonymous], New England's First Fruits (London, 1643), 2-3, EEBO. 2. “Edward Howes to John Winthrop Jr., March 26, 1632,” in WP, 3:74. On exchange and gifting, see Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2000); Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for

NOTES TO PAGES 72-74 s#& 219 Exchange in Archaic Societies (1950; reprint, New York: Norton, 1990); David Murray, Indian Giving: Economies of Power in Indian-White Exchanges (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2000). 3. WJ, 105; [Anonymous], New England's First Fruits, 2-3. On the growing importance of servitude to Indian cultural change in New England, see David J. Silverman, “The Impact of Indentured Servitude on the Society and Culture of Southern New England Indians, 1680-1810,” NEQ 74:4 (1991): 622-66. 4. William S. Simmons, “Southern New England Shamanism: An Ethnographic Reconstruction,” in Papers of the Seventh Algonquian Conference, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1976), 217-56; James P. Ronda, “Generations of Faith: The Christian Indians of Martha's Vineyard,’ WMQ 3:38 (1981): 269-94; Dane Morrison, A Praying People: Massachusetts Acculturation and the Failure of the Puritan Mission, 1600-1690 (New York: Peter Lang, 1995). 5. For examples ofa wide range of acts of resistance and violence, see [Thomas Shepard], The Day-Breaking If Not the Sun-Rising of the Gospell With the Indians in New-England (London, 1647), 25; [Anonymous], New Englands First Fruits, 7; John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in The Clear Sun-shine of the Gospel Breaking Forth upon the Indians in New-England, ed. Thomas Shepard (London, 1648), 34; Thomas Mayhew Jr. to Henry Whitfield, September 7, 1650, and John Eliot to John Whitfield, April 18, 1650, in The Light Appearing More and More towards the Perfect Day, ed. Henry Whitfield (London, 1651), 8, 31; Thomas Mayhew Jr. to the New England Company, October 22, 1652, in John Eliot and Thomas Mayhew Jr., Tears of Repentance; or, A Further Narrative of the Progress of the Gospel Amongst the Indians in New-England (London, 1652), unpaginated; WJ, 401. 6. Fora similar example of a dying Indian appealing to a spiritual entity, see Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 190. On these issues, see James Axtell “The Invasion Within,” in The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 39-86; Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 131-78; David D. Stits, “The ‘Squaw Drudge’: A Prime Index of Savagism,’” EH 29:4 (1982): 281-306; Ellice B. Gonzalez, “An Ethnohistorical Analysis of Micmac Male and Female Economic Roles,” EH 29:2 (1982): 117-29; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 39-41; William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), 44-48; Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Gender as a Social Category in Native Southern New England,” EH 43:4 (1996), 574~91; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 174-83; Jean M. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650-1790 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 18-19; O’Brien, ““Divorced’ from the Land: Resistance and Survival of Indian Women in Eighteenth-Century New England,’ in After King Philip’s War: Presence and Persistence in Indian New England, ed. Colin G. Calloway (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1997), 144-61.

7. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, aiv; Thomas Mayhew Jr. to the New England Company, October, 22, 1652, unpaginated; Samuel Treat to Increase Mather, August 23, 1693, in Matthew Mayhew, A Brief Narrative of the Success which the Gospel hath had with the Indians (Boston, 1694.), 49, EvD.

220 Sm NOTES TO PAGES 75-81 8. Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriages in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000 ), 59-63.

9. Jennifer S. H. Brown, “Reading beyond the Missionaries, Dissecting Responses,” EH 43:4 (1996): 713-14; Ann Marie Plane, ““The Examination of Sarah Ahhaton’: The Politics of ‘Adultery’ in an Indian Town of Seventeeth-Century Massachusetts,” in The Dublin Seminar for New England Folklife Annual Proceedings, 1991: Algonkians of New England: Past and Present (Boston: Boston University, 1993), 14-25; Bragdon, “Gender as a Social Category,” 573-89; O’Brien, ““Divorced’ from the Land,” 144-61.

10. Ronda, “Generations of Faith,” 369-94; David J. Silverman, Faith and Boundaries: Colonists, Christianty, and Community among the Wampanoag Indians of Martha's Vine-

yard, 1600-1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Morrison, Praying People, 1-117; Richard W. Cogley, John Eliot’s Mission to the Indians Before King Philip's

War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999). 11. Cogley, John Eliot's Mission, 45-51, 124-25. On the impact of the war, see Daniel K. Richter, Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 95-96.

5. MAN-LIKE CIVILITIE” 1. John Smith, A Description of New England (1616), in The Complete Works of Captain John Smith, 1580-1631, ed. Philip L. Barbour (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1986), 1:332. For an excellent discussion of John Smith’s vision of colonial America primarily within the context of labor history, see Stephen Innes, “Introduction: Fulfilling John Smith’s Vision: Work and Labor in Early America” in Work and Labor in Early America, ed. Innes (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1988), 3-47. For examples of earlier colonial promoters’ use of similar themes, see Richard Hakluyt the Elder, “Inducements to the lykinge of the voyage intended to that parte of America which lyethe betwene 34. and 36 degree,’ and “Inducements to the Liking of the Voyage intended towards Virginia in 40. and 42,” 62-69; Edward Hayes and Christopher Carleill, “A discourse Concerning a voyage intended for the planting of Chrystyan religion and people in the North west regions of America in places most apt for the Constitution of our boddies, and the spedy advauncement of a state,” 156-75; and Richard Hakluyt the Younger, “Discourse of the Western Planting, 1584,” 70-123, all three in New American World: A Documentary History of North America, vol. 3, English Plans for North America. The Roanoke Voyages. New England Ventures, ed. David B. Quinn (New York: Arno Press, 1979). See also Richard Hakluyt [the Younger], Divers Voyages Touching the Discovery of America and the Islands Adjacent (1582), ed. John Winter Jones (London: Printed for the Hakluyt Society, 1850). 2. Smith, Description of New England, 344-45, 348. 3. Ibid., 333, 338. For a discussion of how Anglo-Americans’ negative depictions of Indian labor practices served the ends of conquest and colonialism, see Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indian Work: Language and Livelihood (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2009). 4. Smith, Description of New England, 334, 343. 5. Ibid., 345. 6. Ibid., 34.4. 7. Ibid., 347-48.

NOTES TO PAGES 81-83 w 221 8. Henry Whitfield, ed., The Light Appearing More and More Towards the Perfect Day (London, 1651), 21; Joseph Caryl, “To the Reader,” in John Eliot, A Late and Fur, ther Manifestation of the Gospel Amongst the Indians of New England (London, 16ss), unpaginated. 9. “John Eliot to Henry Whitfield, April 28, 1651,’ in Strength out of Weaknesse; or, a Glorious Manifestation of the Further Progresse of the Gospel among the Indians in New

England, ed. Henry Whitfield (London, 1652), 3-4. For a similar evocation of the same passage, see Whitfield, Light Appearing, 21. Interestingly, 2 Timothy 2:1—7 uses both martial and agricultural metaphors in describing the passage toward salvation: “1. Thou therefore, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. 2. And the things that thou hast heard of me among many witnesses, the same commit thou to faithful men, who shall be able to teach others also. 3. Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. 4. No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier. 5. And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully. 6. The husbandman that laboureth must be first partaker of the fruits. 7. Consider what I say; and the Lord give thee understanding in all things.’ KJV. 10. John Eliot to Henry Whitfield, October 21, 1650, in Whitfield, Light Appearing, 42. For a striking example that compares New England missionary efforts to a passage from Revelation 19, see “To the Christian Reader” in Whitfield, Strength out of Weakness, unpaginated. 11. On these issues, see Daniel Vickers, Farmers and Fishermen: Two Centuries of Work in Essex County, Massachusetts, 1630-1850 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1994); Alan Kulikoff, From British Peasants to Colonial American Farmers (Chapel Hill:

University of North Carolina Press, 2000); Michael Braddick, “Civility and Authority,’ in The British Atlantic World, 1500-1800 (New York: Palgrave, 2002), 100; Usner, Indian Work, 24-25. 12. John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in The Clear Sun-shine of Gospel

Breaking Forth Upon the Indians in New-England, ed. Thomas Shepard, (London, 1648), 26-27; Daniel Gookin, “Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674.), MHSC 1:1 (1792), 149. On Native and Anglo-American ideas about the land, see William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists, and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983), especially chapters 3 and 4; Carolyn Merchant, Ecological Revolutions: Nature, Gender, Science in New England (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989), 1-146; Jean M. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650-1790 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), especially chapter 1; David J. Silverman, ““We Chuse to be Bounded’: Native American Animal Husbandry in Colonial New England,’ WMQ 60:3 (2003): 511-48. 13. Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, ed. Samuel G. Drake (1702; reprint, Hartford, Conn.: Silas Andrus, 1855), 1:559; Thomas Lechford, Plain Dealing; or, News from New England (1642), ed. J. Hammond Trumbull (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and Wm. Parsons Lunt, 1867), 116; William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press 1993), 112-14, 116. On the gender division of labor, see David D. Stits, “The ‘Squaw Drudge’: A Prime Index of Savagism,” EH 29:4 (1982): 281-306; Ellice B. Gonzalez, “An Ethnohistorical Analysis of Micmac Male and Female Economic Roles,” EH 29:2 (1982):

222 St NOTES TO PAGES 83-85 117-29; Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 39-41; Cronon, Changes in the Land, 44-48; Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Gender as a Social Category in Native Southern New England,” EH 43:4 (1996), §74-91; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New _ England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 174-83; O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees, 18-19; O’Brien, ““Divorced’ from the Land: Resistance and Survival of Indian Women in Eighteenth-Century New England,” in After King Philip's War: Presence and Persistence in Indian New England, ed. Colin G. Calloway (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1997), 144-61. On the colonial critique of Indian household governance, see Carole Shammas, “Anglo-American Household Government in Comparative Perspective,” and Richard White, “What Chigabe Knew: Indians, Household Government, and the State,” WMQ 52:1 (1995): 104-44, 151-56; Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies; Indian Marriages in Early New England (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000); Gloria L. Main, Families and Cultures in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001). 14. Wood, New England's Prospect, 89, 90. On English views of Indian hunting, see James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 157-60. 15. Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 167. On the productivity of Indian agriculture, see Bragdon, Native People, 90-91; the Rev. Francis Higginson to His Friends at Leicester, September 1629, in Letters from New England: The Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1629-1638, ed. Everett H. Emerson (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976), 37. Also see Nancy Shoemaker’s insightful comparison of Indian and English understandings of the land, in A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-Century North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 13-34.

16. John Winthrop, “Reasons to Be Considered, and Objections with Answers,’ WP, 2:140-41. Historians have long stressed that colonists used the claim that Indians failed to utilize the land appropriately as a pretext for appropriating Indian lands. See Chester E. Eisinger, “The Puritan's Justification for Taking the Land,” Essex Institute Historical Collections 84:2 (1948): 131-43; Wilcomb E: Washburn, “The Moral and Legal Justification for Dispossesing the Indians,” in Seventeenth-Century America: Essays in Colonial History, ed. James Morton Smith (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1959), 15-32; Usner, Indian Work, 20-27. For discussions of Indian and English understandings of the land, see Cronon, Changes in the Land, chapters 3 and 4; O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees, especially chapter 1. In a compelling article, David J. Silverman argues that praying Indians adopted English land-use patterns as a resistance strategy to protect land reserves against colonial encroachment. See Silverman, ““We Chuse to be Bounded,” 511-48. 17. Gookin, “Historical Collections,’ 179. 18. William Heale, “An Apology for Women” (1609), quoted in Anthony Fletcher, Gender, Sex, & Subordination in England 1500-1800 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1995), 62; Roger Williams, “Statement of Roger Williams, September 26, 1658,’ Newport History: Bulletin of the Newport Historical Society 59 (1926): 17. On the environmental transformation of New England and the cultural meanings of land usage, see Cronon, Changes in the Land, 54~81. For a gender analysis of many of the same issues, see Merchant, Ecological Revolutions, especially chapter 3. Also see Silverman, “We Chuse to be Bounded,” 511-14.

NOTES TO PAGES 85-90 # 223 19. Thomas Shepard, The Day-Breaking If Not the Sun-Rising of the Gospell with the Indians in New-England (London, 1647), 16; Thomas Mayhew Jr. to Henry Whitfield, September 7, 1650, in Whitfield, Light Appearing, 13; Whitfield, Light Appearing, 24; “The Epistle to the Reader” in Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, a3v; Caryl, “To the Reader,” - unpaginated. Laura Stevens has stressed that while appearing “most vividly in Puritan writings, the rhetoric of husbandry pervaded missionary texts of all denominations”: see Stevens, The Poor Indians: British Missionaries, Native Americans, and Colonial Sensibility (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004.), 43-50. 20. John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 17; Josiah Cotton, “Sermon Notes, December 1729,” John Davis Papers, box 2, MHS. For examples of “scold’s bridles,” see Fletcher, Gender, Sex, and Subordination, plates 8 and 9.

21. James Axtell, “The Invasion Within,” in The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 44-48; Axtell, The Invasion Within, 133-78. Also see Neal Salisbury, “Red Puritan: The ‘Praying Indians’ of Massachusetts Bay and John Eliot,’ WMQ 31:1 (1974.): 29, 33-34; Salisbury, “I Loved the Place of my Dwelling’: Puritan Missionaries and Native Americans in Seventeenth-Century Southern New England,” in Inequality in Early America, ed. Carla Gardina Pestana and Sharon V. Salinger (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1999), 120-22. 22. OED; Jean Calvin, The Institution of Christian Religion (London, 1634), 733, EEBO; William Fenner, “A Sermon for Spirituall Mortification” in XXIX Sermons on Severall Texts of Scripture Preached by William Fenner (London, 1657), 394-96, EEBO. 23. OED; Edmund Spenser, A View of the State of Ireland: From the First Printed Edition - (1633), ed. Andrew Hadfield and Willy Maley (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 1997), 15; John Dymmok, “A Treatice of Ireland” (1600), in Tracts Relating to Ireland, vol. 4, ed. Rev. Richard Butler (Dublin: For the Irish Archaeological Society, 1842), 6; Nicholas P. Canny, “The Ideology of English Colonization: From Ireland to America,’ WMQ 3:30 (1973): 75-98; Jane Ohlmeyer, “Civilizinge of those rude partes’: Colonization within Britain and Ireland, 1580-1640s,” in The Oxford History of the British Empire: The Origins of Empire, ed. Nicholas P. Canny (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 124-47. 24. OED; John Milton, The Reason of Church-Government Urg‘d Against Prelaty (London, 1641), 39, EEBO; Edward Phillips, New World of Words, or, A General English Dictionary (London, 1696), unpaginated. 25. The OED, of course, does not cite the entire passage, but its context further illustrates Ward's usage and the word’s meaning. See Nathanial Ward, A Simple Cobbler of Aggawam in America (London, 1646), 39—40, EEBO. 26. C. Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, 1:560; Cotton Mather to Sir William Ashurst, December 10, 1712, HM22218/Mather Collection #235, HL.

6. FORMERLY... A HARMLESSE MAN’ 1. The literature on missions, conversion, and syncretism is vast. For works especially important to this study, see Susan L. MacCulloch, “A Tripartite Political System among Christian Indians of Early Massachusetts,’ Kroeber Anthropological Society Papers 34 (1966): 63-73; Neal Salisbury, “Red Puritans: The ‘Praying Indians’ of Massachusetts Bay and John Eliot,” WMQ 31:1 (1974): 29-31; Salisbury, “‘I Loved the Place of My

224. St NOTES TO PAGES 90-91 Dwelling’: Puritan Missionaries and Native Americans in Seventeenth-Century Southern New England,” in Inequality in Early America, ed. Carla Gardina Pestana and Sharon V. Salinger (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England 1999), 111-33;

Salisbury, “Embracing Ambiguity: Native Peoples in Seventeenth-Century North America,’ EH 50:2 (2003): 247-59; William S. Simmons, “Conversion from Indian to Puritan,” NEQ 52:2 (1979): 197-218; James P. Ronda, “Generations of Faith: The Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard,” WMQ 38:3 (1981): 369-94; James Axtell, “Some Thoughts on the Ethnohistory of Missions,’ and “Were Indian Conversions Bona Fide?” in Axtell, After Columbus: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 47-57, 100-121; Harold W. Van Lonkhuyzen, “A Reappraisal of the Praying Indians: Acculturation, Conversion, and Identity at Natick, Massachusetts, 1646-1730,’ NEQ 63:3 (1990): 396-428; Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Native Christianity in 18th Century Massachusetts: Ritual as Cultural Reaffirmation,’ in New Dimensions in Ethnohistory: Papers of the Second Laurier Conference on Ethnohistory and Ethnology, ed. Barry Gough and Christie Laird (Hull, P.Q.: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 1991), 119-26; Charles Cohen, “Conversion among

Puritans and Amerindians: A Theological and Cultural Perspective,” in Puritanism: Transatlantic Perspectives on a Seventeenth-Century Faith, ed. Francis J. Bremer (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 1993), 396-428; Jean M. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650-1790 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Richard W. Cogley, John Eliot’s Mission to the Indians before King Philip's War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999); Kenneth M. Morrison, The Solidarity of Kin: Ethnohistory, Religious Studies, and the Algonkian-French Religious Encounter (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 2002); David J. Silverman, “Indians, Missionaries, and Religious Translation: Creating Wampanoag Christianity in Seventeenth-Century Martha's Vineyard,” WMQ 62:2 (2005): 141-74; Silverman, Faith and Boundaries: Colonists, Christianity, and Community among the Wampanoag Indians of Martha's Vineyard, 1600-1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Natalie Zemon Davis, Trickster Travels: A Sixteenth-Century Muslim between Worlds (New York: Norton, 2006); Davis, “Polari-

: ties, Hybridities: What Strategies for Decentering?” in Decentering the Renaissance: Canada and Europe in Multidisciplinary Perspective, 1500-1700, ed. Germaine Warkentin

and Carolyn Podruchny (Toronto, Ont.: University of Toronto Press, 2001). Particularly important recent works addressing gender include Nancy Shoemaker, “Kateri Tekakwitha’s Tortuous Path to Sainthood,” in Negotiators of Change: Historical Perspectives on Native American Women, ed. Shoemaker (New York: Routledge, 1995), 49-71; Jean M. O’Brien, ““Divorced’ from the Land: Resistance and Survival of Indian Women in Eighteenth-Century New England,” in After King Philip’s War: Presence and Persistence in Indian New England, ed. Colin G. Calloway (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1997), 144-61; Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000); Susan Sleeper-Smith, Indian Women and French Men: Rethinking Cultural Encounter in the Western Great Lakes (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2001); Allan Greer, Mohawk Saint: Catherine Tekakwitha and the Jesuit (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005); Emma Anderson, The Betrayal of Faith: The Tragic Journey of a Colonial Native Convert (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007). 2. Experience Mayhew, Indian Converts; or, Some Account of the Lives and Dying Speeches of a considerable Number of the Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard in New-England

NOTES TO PAGES 92-98 st 225 (London, 1727), 1; Thomas Mayhew Jr. to Henry Whitfield, September 7, 1650, in The Light Appearing More and More Towards the Perfect Day, ed. Henry Whitfield (London, 1651), 6. On Hiacoomes’s conversion and the mission to the Indians on Martha’s Vine-

yard, see Simmons, “Conversion from Indian to Puritan,” 197-218; Ronda, “Generations of Faith,” 269-94; Silverman, Faith and Boundaries, 16-48. 3. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 4; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 2-3. 4. 'T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 4; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 2-3. Disease has been given a prominent role in historians’ accounts of the conversion of Indians: see Ronda, “Generations of Faith,” 369-94; Dane Morrison, Praying People: Massachusett Acculturation and the Failure of the Puritan Mission, 1600-1690. (New York: Peter Lang, 1995). 5. TI. Mayhew to Whitfield, 4; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 4. 6. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 4-5; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 4-5. 7. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 5; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, s. 8. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 5; T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 5-6. 9. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 8-9; Thomas Mayhew to Governor John Winthrop, August 15,1648, MP.

10. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 9-10; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 6. 11. T. Mayhew to Whitfield, 10-11; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 4-6. 12. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 7. 13. Forthe quoted passages: Daniel Gookin, “Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674.), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 183-84; John Eliot, The Dying Speeches of Several Indians (Cambridge, Mass., 1685), 2, EvD. Also see Thomas Shepard, The Day-Breaking If Not the Sun-Rising of the Gospell with the Indians in New-England (London, 1647), 1; John Eliot and Thomas Mayhew Jr., Tears of Repentance; or, A Further Narrative of the Progress (London, 1653), 7-8. On the old elite enjoying new roles in Christian Indian communities, see MacCulloch, “Tripartite Political System.” 14. John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in The Clear Sun-shine of Gospel Breaking Forth upon the Indians in New-England, ed. Thomas Shepard (London, 1648), 20.

15. Eliot and Mayhew, Tears of Repentance, 7-8. On praying-Indian conversion narratives,

see Cohen, “Conversion among Puritans and Amerindians,’ 233-56; Daniel K. Rich- | ter, Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 110-129; Robert James Naeher, “Dialogue in the Wilderness: John Eliot and the Indian Exploration of Puritanism as a Source of Meaning, Comfort, and Ethnic Survival,” NEQ 62:3 (1989): 346-68. 16. John Eliot, A Further Account of the Progress of the Gospel Amongst the Indians In New England (London, 1660), 30-31. 17. See chapter 2 for a discussion of Thomas Shepard, “The Autobiography,’ in God's Plot: Puritan Spirituality in Thomas Shepard’s Cambridge, ed. Michael McGiffert (1972; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1994), 42-47. 18. Eliot, Further Account, 32; Eliot and Mayhew, Tears of Repentance, 28; Patrick Cesarini, “John Eliot, ‘A breif History of the Mashepog Indians, 1666,” WMQ 65:1 (2008) :12234. Also see Daniel H. Usner Jr., Indian Work: Language and Livelihood (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2009). 19. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 22; Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 4-5; John Eliot, “An Account of Indian Churches in New England, In a Letter Written A.D. 1673,” MHSC 1:10 (1809): 125-26; John Eliot quoted in Thomas Thorowgood, Jews in America, or Probabilities that those Indians are Judaical (London, 1660), 53.

226 St NOTES TO PAGES 99-104 20. John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 28-29. Eliot sought money for supplies to further encourage women to spin: see MS 7936:8, From the Commissioners to the Hon. Robert Boyle, Governor of the Company, Sep-

tember 10, 1668, Collection of Original Correspondence relating to affairs in New England, NEC. 21. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 89; RMB 4:2, 459. In contrast to the interpretation offered here, David J. Silverman argues that “the choice of a hunting symbol to mark Indian livestock suggests skepticism on the part of the English or the praying Indians themselves — or both, depending on which group chose the brand — about the extent of the natives’ reforms.’ See Silverman, ““We Chuse to Be Bounded’: Native American Animal Husbandry in Colonial New England,” WMQ 60:3 (2003): §21.

22. On labor, servitude, and serving in the colonial military, see Richard R. Johnson, “Search for a Usable Indian: An Aspect of the Defense of Colonial New England,’ JAH 64:3 (1977): 623-51; Daniel Vickers, The First Whalemen of Nantucket,” WMQ 40:4 (1983): $60-83; David J. Silverman, “The Impact of Indentured Servitude on the Society and Culture of Southern New England Indians, 1680-1810,’ NEQ 74:4 (2001): 622-66; Silverman, “We Chuse to Be Bounded,” 511-48; Ruth Wallis Herndon and Ella Wilcox Sekatau, “Colonizing the Children: Indian Youngsters in Servitude in Early Rhode Island,” in Reinterpreting New England Indians and the Colonial Experience, ed. Colin G. Calloway and Neal Salisbury (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2003), 137-76; O’Brien, ““Divorced’ from the Land,” 144-61. For discussions of how praying-Indian communities coped with dispossession and colonialism, see O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees; Silverman, Faith and Boundaries.

23. On the transition from childhood to adulthood for girls and boys, see R. Todd Romero, “Colonizing Childhood: Religion, Gender, and Indian Children in Southern New England, 1620-1720,” in Children in Colonial America, ed. James Marten (New York: New York University Press, 2007), 33-47. For the quoted passage, see E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 176. 24. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 225, 2209.

25. Ibid., 222. 26. Thomas Mayhew to the Corporation, October 22, 1652, in Eliot and Mayhew, Tears of Repentance; Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 35-36

27. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 36; John Eliot to [Henry Whitfield], in Strength out of Weaknesse; or, a Glorious Manifestation of the Further Progresse of the Gospel among the

Indians in New-England, ed. Henry Whitfield (London, 1652), 6, 7; Richard Bourne to the Commissioners, October 6, 1666, NEC, MS 7957: “Papers Relating to Indians, 1669-1727, 1-2; J. Cesarini, “History of the Mashepog Indians,’ 128. 28. Thomas Mayhew to the Corporation, October 22, 1652, in Eliot and Mayhew, Tears of Repentance, unpaginated. 29. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 7; Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 12. Indian women’s interest in Christianity has received considerable scholarly attention. What follows has been particularly influenced by scholars who stress the creative ways in which Indian women adapted Christianity to their understandings of religion and other needs; for example, see Natalie Zemon Davis, “Iroquois Women, European Women” (1994), reprinted in American Encounters: Natives and Newcomers from European Contact to Indian Removal, 1500-1850, ed. Peter C. Mancall and James H. Merrell (New York: Routledge, 2000), 96-118; Davis, Women on the Margins: Three Seventeenth-Century Lives (Cambridge,

Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995); Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Gender as a Social

NOTES TO PAGES 104-109 #t 227 Category in Native Southern New England,” EH 43:4 (1996): 574-91; Jennifer S. H. Brown, “Reading beyond the Missionaries, Dissecting Responses,” EH 43:4 (1996): 713-14; Plane, Colonial Intimacies; Sleeper-Smith, Indian Women and French Men; Shoemaker, “Kateri Tekakwitha’s Tortuous Path; 49-71; Greer, Mohawk Saint. 30. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 6. See Mary Maples Dunn, “Saints and Sisters: Congregational and Quaker Women in the Early Colonial Period,” American Quarterly 30:5 (1978): 582-601. 31. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 6-7, 13; John Eliot to Edward Winslow, November 12, 1648, in Edward Winslow, ed., The Glorious Progress of the Gospel, Amongst the Indians in New England (London, 1649), 6-7, 12. 32. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 7. Also see Plane, Colonial Intimacies, 61-62. 33. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 135. 34. Ibid., 140-41, 262. 35. Ibid., 274.

7. ENDEAVOUR... TO FOLLOW THE ENGLISH MODE’ 1. Timothy J. Shannon, “Dressing for Success on the Mohawk Frontier: Hendrick, William Johnson, and the Indian Fashion,” WMQ 3:53 (1996): 17. Also see Ann M. Little, “‘Shoot That Rogue, for He Hath an Englishman’s Coat On! Cultural CrossDressing on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760,” NEQ 74:2 (2001): 238-73. 2. Daniel Gookin, “The Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 152. Also see Experience Mayhew, “A Brief Account of the Indians on Martha's Vineyard, and the small Islands Adjacent in Duke’s-Country, from the Year 1694 to 1720,’ in A Discourse Shewing That God Dealeth with Men as with Reasonable Creatures in a Sermon (Boston, 1720), 11, EVD. The OED definition for “mantle” is insightful: “The name was applied indifferently to the outer covering of men, women,

and children, and at times acquired a specific application to one garment or another. Now its use is restricted to a cloak of silk or fine cloth worn by ladies; to the robe of state worn by kings, princes, and other persons of exalted and defined station; and to an infant’s outer robe.” Gookin appears to be using the definition. Also see Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, ““Rugges of London and the Diuell’s Band’: Irish Mantles and Yellow Starch in Hybrid London Fashion,” in Material London, ca. 1600, ed. Lena Cowen Orlin (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000 ), 128-49. 3. RMB, 3:243-44; John Eliot to Edward Winslow, November 13, 1649, in The Glorious Progress of the Gospel Amongst the Indians in New England, ed. Edward Winslow (London, 1649), 15; Experience Mayhew, Indian Converts, or Some Account of the Lives and Dying Speeches of a considerable Number of the Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard in New-England (London, 1727), 175. 4. Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and

Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 187; [Anonymous], New England's First Fruits (London, 1643), 2; Thomas Shepard, The Day-Breaking if Not the Sun-Rising of the Gospel with the Indians of New England (London, 1647), 1, 19; E. Mayhew, “Brief Account,” 11; Daniel Gookin, “An Historical Account of the Doings and Sufferings of the Christian Indians in New England in the Years 1675, 1676, 1677, Archaeologia Americana: Transactions of the American Antiquarian Society 2 (1836): $11; William Hubbard, “The Present State of New-England, Being a Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England” (1677), in The History of the Indian Wars

228 S$ NOTES TO PAGES 109-113 in New England, from the First Settlement to the Termination of the War with King Philip in 1677, 2 vols., ed. Samuel G. Drake (Roxbury, Mass., 1865 ), 1:175—76.

5. Gookin, “Historical Collections,” 152. On the buttonmold’s provenance and other examples of similar molds, see Charles Clark Willoughby, Antiquities of the New England Indians, with Notes on the Ancient Cultures of the Adjacent Territory (1935; reprint, New York: AMS Press, 1973), 243-44. 6. Michael Wigglesworth, “On the Wearing of the Hair,’ NEGHR, 1 (1847): 369. See also

Richard Godbeer, “Perversions of Anatomy, Anatomies of Perversion: The Periwig Controversy in Colonial Massachusetts,’ MHSP 109 (1997): 1-23; James Axtell, “Invasion Within,” in The European and the Indian: The Contest of Cultures in North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 58-61; Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 174-78; Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000), 50; Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill: University of South Carolina, 1996), s8. 7. William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 83; “Harvard College Records,” in CSMP 15 (1925): 37-38. 8. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 22.

9. In addition to Monequassun’s narrative, see the confession of Natadus (William of Sudbury). For both, see John Eliot and Thomas Mayhew Jr., Tears of Repentence; or, A Further Narrative of the Progress of the Gospel Amongst the Indians in New-England (London, 1653), 10-15, 18-19. On praying-Indian conversion narratives, see Charles L

Cohen, “Conversion among Puritans and Amerindians: A Theological and Cultural Perspective,” in Puritanism: Transatlantic Perspectives on a Seventeenth-Century Anglo-

American Faith, ed. Francis J. Bremer (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 1993), 233-56; Daniel K. Richter, Facing East from Indian Country: A Native History of Early America (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 110-29; Robert James Naeher, “Dialogue in the Wilderness: John Eliot and the Indian Exploration of Puritanism as a Source of Meaning, Comfort, and Ethnic Survival,’ NEQ 62:3 (1989):

346-68. 10. Gookin, “Historical Collections,” 164-66. 11. See, for example, Henrietta L. Moore, Space, Text, and Gender: An Anthropological Study of the Marakwet of Kenya (New York: Guilford Press, 1996); Jualynee E. Dodson, Sacred Spaces and Religious Traditions in Oriente Cuba (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2008), especially chapter 3. 12. Wood, New England's Prospect, 112-13; Williams, Key, 118; Gookin, “Historical Collections,’ 150. My analysis is indebted to a number of outstanding works on material culture, the built environment, and ethnogenesis. Especially see Kathleen J. Bragdon, “The Material Culture of the Christian Indians of New England, 1650-1775,’ in Documentary Archaeology in the New World, ed. Mary C. Beaudry (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 126-31; Elise M. Brenner, “Archaeological Investigations at a Massachusetts Praying Town,” Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeology Society 47:2 (1986): 69-78; William C. Sturtevant, “Two 1761 Wigwams at Niantic, Connecticut,” American Antiquity 40:4 (1975): 437-44; Harold Van Lonkhuyzen, “A Reappraisal of the Praying Indians: Acculturation, Conversion, and Identity at Natick, Massachusetts, 1646-1730,’ NEQ 63:3 (1990): 396—428.

NOTES TO PAGES 113-118 st 229 13. Wood, New England's Prospect, 113; Williams, Key, 117; Gookin, “Historical Collections,”

150; John Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures, Strange Deliverances, Etc.” (1736), in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univer-

sity Press, 1995), 123. Also see R. Todd Romero, “Colonizing Childhood: Religion, Gender, and Indian Children in Southern New-England, 1620-1720,’ in Children in Colonial America, ed. James Marten (New York: New York University Press, 2007), 38. 14. Williams, Key, 201; Edward Johnson, Johnson's Wonder-Working Providence, 1628-1651

(1654), ed. J. Franklin Jameson (1910; reprint, New York: Barnes and Noble, 1967), 162-63. On Sunksquaws and diplomacy, see Robert Steven Grumet, “Sunksquaws, Shamans, and Tradeswomen: Middle Atlantic Coastal Algonkian Women During the 17th and 18th Centuries,” in Women and Colonization: Anthropological Perspectives, ed. Mona Etienne and Eleanor Leacock (New York: Praeger, 1980), 43-62. 15. Gookin, “Historical Collection,’ 181-82. 16. Ibid., 181; Thomas Shepard, ed., The Clear Sun-shine of the Gospel Breaking Forth upon the Indians in New England (London, 1648), 32.

17. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 32; Van Lonkhuyzen, “Reappraisal,” 415; Robert Blair St. George, Conversing by Signs: The Poetics of Implication in Colonial New England Culture (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 178. 18. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 32; E. Mayhew, Indian Converts,167. 19. Josiah Cotton, “Some Inquiries &c Made among ye Indians in the Several Visitations begun Sept 4 1726,” Curwen Papers, AAS, box 2, folder 3.

20. On family devotions in early New England, see Charles E. Hambrick-Stowe, The Practice of Piety: Puritan Devotional Disciplines in Seventeenth-Century New England (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1982), 14.4. For a discussion of family devotions, gender, and praying-Indian families, see Plane, Colonial Intimacies, 59. For the relationship of these devotions to Anglo-American masculinity, see Lisa Wilson, Ye Heart of a Man (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University press, 1999), 129-30; Anne S. Lombard, Making Manhood: Growing Up Male in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003), 22. The quoted passages are from Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 14-15.

21. For examples of men leading family devotions, see E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 26-27 (the quoted passage), 32, 38-39, 61, 65, 70, 74, 97) 101, 103, 111, 122, and 133. On Indian children and labor, see David J. Silverman, “The Impact of Indentured Servitude on the Society and Culture of Southern New England Indians, 1680-1810,’ NEQ 74:4 (2001): 622-66; Ruth Wallis Herndon and Ella Wilcox Sekatau, “Colonizing the Children: Indian Youngsters in Servitude in Early Rhode Island,” in Reinterpreting New England Indians and the Colonial Experience, ed. Colin G. Calloway and Neal Salisbury (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2003), 137-76; Romero, “Colonizing Childhood,” 33—47.

22. E. Mayhew, Indian Converts, 27. 23. For examples of women taking the initiative in leading family devotions, see ibid., 145, 149, 153, 159, 168, 171 (the quoted passage), and 213.

24. John Paul Murphy, “Aspects of Attributing Human Use to Unworked Quartz: The Quartz Crystals from Magunco Praying Town, Massachusetts,’ Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaelogical Society 63:1,2 (2002): 35-43; Murphy, “An Analysis of Crystal and

Crystalline Quartz Material from Magunco: In Small Crystals Forgotten” (master’s thesis, University of Massachusetts — Boston, 2002).

230 Se NOTES TO PAGES 118-122 25. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 7; John Eliot to Henry Whitfield, n.d., in Strength out of Weaknesse; or, A Glorious Manifestation of the Further Progresse of the Gospel among the Indians in New-England, ed. Henry Whitfield (London, 1652), 11; John Eliot, A further Accompt of the Progresse of the Gospel amongst the Indians in New England (London 16s9), 16. On

the incorporation of tobacco into eighteenth-century Christian Indian services, see Kathleen J. Bragdon, “Native Christianity in Eighteenth-Century Massachusetts,’ in New Dimensions in Ethnohistory: Papers of the Second Laurier Conference on Ethnohistory

and Ethnology, ed. Barry Gough and Laird Christie (Hull, P.Q.: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 1991), 123. On the relationship between gender and smoking, see Michael Nassaney and Michael Volmar, “Lithic Artifacts in Seventeenth-Century Native New England,” in Stone Tool Traditions in the Contact Era, ed. Charles R. Cobb (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2003), 78-93; Nassaney, “Men and Women, Pipes and Power in Native New England,” in Smoking Culture: The Archaeology of Tobacco Pipes in Eastern North America, ed. Sean Rafferty and Rob Mann (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2004), 125-41. 26. Gookin, “Historical Collections,” 183; Williams, Key, 234. On psalm-singing, see Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 33; Thomas Mayhew [Sr?] to Henry Whitfield, September 7, 1650, in Henry Whitfield, The Light Appearing More and More Towards the Perfect Day (London, 1651), 9, 13; John Wilson to Henry Whitfield, October 27, 1651, in Whitfield, Strength out of Weaknesse, 16; Bragdon, “Native Christianity,’ 122. On these issues more generally, see David J. Silverman, “Indians, Missionaries, and Religious Translation: Creating Wampanoag Christianity in Seventeenth-Century Martha's Vineyard,” WMQ 62:2 (2005): 141-74; Naeher, “Dialogue in the Wilderness,’ 346-68; William S. Simmons, “Conversion from Indian to Puritan,’ NEQ 52:2 (1979): 197-218. 27. Gookin, “Historical Collections,” 183. For another example, see John Wilson to Henry Whitfield, n.d., in Whitfield, Strength out of Weakness, 15-16. Also see Robert J. Dinkin, “Seating in the Meeting House in Early Massachusetts,’ NEQ 43:3 (1970): 450-64. 28. John Wilson to Henry Whitfield, n.d., and John Endicott to Henry Whitfield, October 27, 1651, in Whitfield, Strength out of Weaknesse, 15-16, 29. See Kathleen Bragdon's discussion of the compatibility of older Native oral traditions and Christian psalmsinging and preaching in “Native Christianity,” 122; and Jane Kamensky, “Talk like a Man: Speech, Power, and Masculinity in Early New England,” Gender and History 8:1

(1996): 22-47.

8. DEFICIENT FATHERS AND “SAUCY” CHILDREN 1. James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 169-70; Richard W. Cogley, John Eliot's Mission to the Indians before King Philip’s War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1990), 53; Anne S. Lombard, Making Manhood: Growing Up Male in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003); Mary Beth Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York: Knopf, 1996), 57-72; Ann Marie Plane, Colonial Intimacies: Indian Marriage in Early New England (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2000), 50-54. 2. RMB, 2:56; The Laws and Liberties of Massachusetts: Reprinted from the Unique Copy of the 1648 Edition in the Henry E. Huntington Library, ed. Richard S. Dunn (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1998), s—6, 23, 43; Thomas Shepard, ed., The Day-Breaking If Not the Sun-Rising of the Gospell with the Indians of New England (London, 1647), 22;

NOTES TO PAGES 122-127 # 231 Thomas Shepard, ed., The Clear Sun-shine of the Gospel Breaking Forth upon the Indians in New England (London, 1648), 4-s.

3. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 20; John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 2.4.

4. Abraham Pierson, Some Helps for the Indians Shewing Them How to Improve their Natural Reason (Cambridge, Mass., 1658), 50-51, EvD. On the Quiripis, an Algonquian tribe from southern Connecticut, see Bert Salwen, “Indians of Southern New England and Long Island: Early Period,’ in Northeast, ed. Bruce Trigger, vol. 15 of Handbook of North American Indians, ed. William C. Sturtevant (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1978), 168-69. 5. Anumber of other converts mentioned lust in their confessions. For examples, see John Eliot and Thomas Mayhew Jr., Tears of Repentence; or, a Further Narrative of the Progress of the Gospel amongst the Indians in New-England (London, 1653), 9-11 (Natadus, the quoted passage), 18-19, 27-28, 29, 33, 38, 40, 44; John Eliot, A Further Account of the Progress of the Gospel (1660; reprint, Ann Arbor, Mich.: UMI Books On Demand, 2000), 4 (Nishohkou, the quoted passage), 22, 38, 48. 6. Daniel Gookin, “The Historical Collections of the Indians in New England” (1674), MHSC 1:1 (1792): 149; Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 33-34. 7. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 22; Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 4-5; Laws and Liberties, 51. On missionary reforms aimed at eliminating polygyny, see Axtell, Invasion Within, 169; Cogley, John Eliot’s Mission, 58,73-74, 241; Plane, Colonial Intimacies, 50-51, 59-63. 8. John Eliot to Henry Whitfield, October 21, 1650, in The Light Appearing More and More Towards the Perfect Day ed. Henry Whitfield, (London, 1651), 41. 9. Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and

Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit. Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973),116. On these issues, see R. Todd Romero, “Totherswamp’s Lament: Christian Indian Fathers and Sons in Early Massachusetts,” Journal of Family History 33:1 (2008): 5-12, and Romero, “Colonizing Childhood: Religion, Gender, and Indian Children in Southern New England, 1620-1720,” in Children in Colonial America, ed. James Marten (New York: New York University Press, 2007), 33-47. 10. Carole Shammas, “Anglo-American Household Government in Comparative Perspective,” WMQ 52:1 (1995): 104-44; Richard White, “What Chigabe Knew: Indians, : Household Government, and the State,” WMQ 52:1 (1995): 151-56; Plane, Colonial Intimacies; Gloria L. Main, Families and Cultures in Colonial New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); James Axtell, The School upon a Hill: Education and Society in Colonial New England (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1974),

22-44; Romero, “Colonizing Childhood”; Romero, “Totherswamp’s Lament,’ 5-12. 11. Thomas Shepard, Day-Breaking, 9-11. The man was a member of Waban’s group at Nonantum, one of the initial focal points of missionary activity before the settlement of Natick, the first Massachusetts Bay Colony praying town. In addition to Waban’s followers, Natick was settled by a mixed group of Massachuset, Pawtucket, and Nipmuck peoples. On the origins of the Natick praying Indians, see Jean M. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees: Indian Land and Identity in Natick, Massachusetts, 1650-1790 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 43. 12. Luke 15:11~32 (the parable) and 15:18—-19 (the quoted passage), KJV. 13. Shepard, Day-Breaking, 1, 19.

14. MS 7936:12, Reverend John Eliot to the Honorable Robert Boyle, Governor of the Company, April 17, 1681; MS 7936:15, Reverend John Eliot to Mr. Henry Ashhurst,

232 Sm NOTES TO PAGES 127-132 Treasurer of the Company, September 30, 1670; and MS 7936:22, Reverend John Eliot to the Honorable Robert Boyle, Governor of the Company, October 17, 1675,’ all three in Collection of Original Correspondence relating to Affairs in New England, NEC. These letters can also be found in John W. Ford, ed., Some Correspondence between the Governors and Treasurers of the New England Company in London and the Commissioners of the United Colonies in America, the Missionaries of the Company and Others between the Years 1657 and 1712. To Which are added the Journals of the Rev. Experience Mayhew in 1713 and 1714 (London: Spottiswoode, 1896), 38, 47, 53-54, 62, 65-66. Also see John Eliot to Robert Boyle, October 23, 1677, November 4, 1680, March 15, 1682-83, August 29, 1686, and July 7, 1688, in MHSC 1:3 (1794): 178-79, 179-80, 181, 187-88; John Eliot to Robert Boyle, April 4, 1681, MHSP 17 (1879-80): 253. 15. John Cotton’s influential Spiritual Milk for Babes. Drawn out of the Breasts of Both Testaments (London, 1646) EEBO, saw multiple editions, including a 1691 Algonquian translation for Christian Indians: Cotton, Nashauanittue meninnunk wutch Mukkiesog, wussesemumun wutch sogkodtunganash Naneeswe Testamentsash (Cambridge, Mass., 1691), EEBO. On the idea of nursing fathers and spiritual milk, see David Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling: An Exploration in Literature, Psychology, and Social History (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1980), 1-22, 138-61. For a discussion of colonial conceptions of gender, sexuality, and religion contained in the idea of the believer as a “bride of Christ,’ see Richard Godbeer, “Love Raptures’: Marital, Romantic, and Erotic Images of Jesus Christ in Puritan New England, 1670-1730,’ NEQ 68:3 (1955): 355-84. 16. Acts 16:9-10. KJV. For two classic opposing views, see Alden T. Vaughn, New England Frontier: Puritan and Indians, 1620-1675 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1965; revised, New York: Norton, 1980); Francis Jennings, The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism, and the Cant of Conquest (New York: Norton, 1975). 17. MS 7936:29, From 16 Indians at Natick, Massachusetts, to the Reverend John Eliot, March 19, 1683/4, Collection of Original Correspondence relating to affairs in New England, NEC. Also see MS 7955:37, William Tailer to William Ashhurst, November 1712, Correspondence from Boston, Boston Massachusetts to the Company in London, vol. 1: 1677-1723, NEC. 18. Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 34. 19. O’Brien, Dispossession by Degrees; Cogley, John Eliot's Mission. 20. Romero, “Colonizing Childhood,’ 33-47. On the incident with Cutshamekin, see John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, September 24, 1647, in Shepard, Clear Sun-shine, 21-23. 21. John Eliot to Thomas Shepard, 21-22. 22. Ibid., 22. 23. Ibid., 22-23. 24. Making rebellious sons subject to the death penalty appears unduly harsh in modern

eyes, but in fact, it was extremely difficult to prosecute such cases because capital

convictions in colonial Massachusetts required two witnesses, as stipulated by Deuteronomy 17:6. See George Lee Haskins, Law and Authority in Early Massachusetts: A Study in Tradition and Design (New York: Macmillan, 1960), 145-46, 152-53. The Gridley family woes are recounted in John F. Cronin, ed., Records of the Court of Assistants of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay, 1630~1692 (Boston: Country of Suffolk; reprint, New York: AMS Press, 1973), 3:144-45; Richard D. Pierce, ed., Records of the First Church in Boston, 1630-1868 (Boston: Colonial Society of Massachusetts, 1961), 1:61, 64.

NOTES TO PAGES 132-139 W& 233 25. Pierce, Records of the First Church in Boston, 1:61, 64. 26. John Eliot, A Late and Further Manifestation of the Progress of the Gospel amongst the Indians in New-England (London, 1655), 6—7.

27. Gookin, “Historical Collections,” 177; Yasuhide Kawashima, Puritan Justice and the Indian: White Man's Law in Massachusetts, 1630-1763 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1986), 28-35, 244-45; Eliot, Late and Further Manifestation, 6. 28. Eliot, Late and Further Manifestation, 6. Also see O’Brien, Dispossession By Degrees, 59. 29. Eliot, Late and Further Manifestation, 8-9. 30. Ibid., 8. 31. Genesis 22:1-18. KJV; Eliot, Late and Further Manifestation, 8-9. 32. Praying-town justice could be extremely severe, so much so that in 1673 Eliot explained in a letter, “They are so severe that I am put to bridle them to moderation and forbearance.’ See John Eliot, “An Account of the Indian Churches in New-England, In a Letter Written A.D. 1673,’ MHSC 1:10 (1809): 125. This also sometimes appears to have been the case in Christian Indian communities on Martha’s Vineyard; see Experience Mayhew, Indian Converts, or Some Account of the Lives and Dying Speeches of a considerable Number of the Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard in New-England (London, 1727), 26-27. 33. Gookin, “Historical Collections,’ 187.

III. MAKING WaR 1. Roger Williams to [Robert Williams?], April 1, 1676, in The Correspondence of Roger

Williams, ed. Glenn W. LaFantasie (Hanover, N.H.: Brown University/University - Press of New England, 1988), 2:722—24; Noah Newman to John Cotton, April 19, 1676, Curwen Family Papers, AAS, box 1, folder 3 (1670-1684). For similar Indian claims that God favored King Philip’s allies rather than the English, see “William Harris to Sir Joseph Williamson, 12 August, 1676,” in Collections of the Rhode Island Historical Society 10 (1902.): 163; William Hubbard, “The Present State of New-England, Being a Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England” (1677), in The History of the Indian Wars in New England, from the First Settlement to the Termination of the War with King Philip in 1677, ed. Samuel G. Drake (Roxbury, Mass., 1865), 2:203. 2. Roger Williams to [Robert Williams? ], 723. 3. Ibid., 724.

4. Ibid. 5. Adam J. Hirsch, Patrick M. Malone, and Ronald Dale Karr offer excellent discussions of Indian warfare and cultural change but not sustained analyses of the importance of gender. See Hirsch, “The Collision of Military Cultures in Seventeenth-Century New England,” JAH 74:4 (1988): 1187-1212; Malone, The Skulking Way of War: Technology , and Tactics among the New England Indians (1991; reprint, Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993); Ronald Dale Karr, ““‘Why Should You Be So Furious?’ The Violence of the Pequot War,’ JAH 85:3 (1998): 876-909. Studies that address warfare and gender include Marie L. Ahearn, The Rhetoric of War: Training Day, the Militia, and the Military Sermon (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1989); Joyce E. Chaplin, Subject Matter: Technology, the Body, and Science on the Anglo American Frontier, 1500-1676 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 243-79} Nancy Shoemaker, “An Alliance between Men: Gender Metaphors in Eighteenth-Century American Indian Diplomacy East of the Mississippi,’ EH 46:2 (1999): 239-63; Shoemaker,

234 Sw NOTES TO PAGES 139-140 A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-Century North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004); Ann M. Little, “Shoot That Rogue, for He Hath

an Englishmen’s Coat On!’: Cultural Cross-Dressing on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760,’ NEQ 74:2 (2001): 238-73; Little, Abraham in Arms: Gender and Power on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007); R. Todd Romero, “Ranging Foresters’ and ‘Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Masculinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,” EH 53:2 (2006): 281-329. For a compelling discussion of warfare’s cultural significance for the Iroquois during the colonial period, see Daniel K. Richter, “War and Culture: The Iroquois Experience,” WMQ 40:4 (1983): 528-59. Jill Lepore’s work considers the meaning and memory of King Philip's War, in Name of War: King Philip’s War and the Origins of American Identity (New York: Knopf, 1998). Also see Tom Holm’s overview of warfare and cultural change: “American Indian Warfare: The Cycles of Conflict and the Militarization of Native North America,’ in A Companion to American Indian History, ed. Philip J. Deloria and Neal Salisbury (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2002), 154~—72. For her influential work on religious violence, see Natalie Zemon Davis, “Rites of Violence,’ in Society and Culture in Early Modern France: Eight Essays (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 1975), 152-87. For a discussion of the Anglo-Indian gender frontier, see Kathleen M. Brown, Good Wives, Nasty Wenches, and Anxious Patriarchs: Gender, Race, and Power in Colonial Virginia (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1996); Brown, “Brave New Worlds: Women’s and Gender History,’ WMQ 50:2 (1993): 311-28; Brown, “The Anglo-Algonquian Gender Frontier,’ in Negotiators of Change: Historical Perspectives on Native American Women, ed. Nancy Shoemaker (New York: Routledge, 1995), 26-48. Richard Slotkin’s influential work remains an important starting point for considerations of the cultural meaning of warfare in early American history: see Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973); Slotkin and James K. Folsom, eds., So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677 (Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1978), 3-45. William S. Simmons’s treatment of Algonquian shamanism and work on Indian folklore is essential to understanding New England Indian history and culture in the colonial period: see Simmons, “Southern New England Shamanism: An Ethnographic Reconstruction,’ in Papers of the Seventh Algonquian Conference, 1975, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1976), 218-56; Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984 (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1986). Work on the anthropology of violence and warfare is also instructive: see R. Brian Ferguson and Neil L. Whitehead, eds., War in the Tribal Zone: Expanding States and Indigenous Warfare (Santa Fe, N.M.: School of American Research Press, 1995); R. Brian Ferguson, ed, Warfare, Culture, and Environment (Orlando, Fla.: Academic Press, 1984). 6. For examples of boyhood training, see William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press,

. 1993), 105-6; Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1973), 149, 165; Edward Winslow, Good Newes from New England: A True Relation of Things Very Remarkable at the Plantation of Plimouth in New England (London, 162.4.), 55-56, EEBO.

NOTES TO PAGES 140-144 St 235 7. Wood, New England's Prospect, 78, 102-3; Williams, Key, 237; John Underhill, Newes From America; or, A New Experimentall Discoverie of New England; Containing, A True , Relation of Their War-like proceeding these two yeares last past, with a Figure of the Indian Fort or Palizado (London, 1638), 40—41, EEBO. 8. David D. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgement: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989).

9. MANITOU AND MILITIA Days 1. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England: A True Relation of Things Very Remarkable at the Plantation of Plimouth in New England (London, 1624), 2-3, EEBO; William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, ed. Samuel Eliot Morision (1952; reprint, New York: Knopf, 1999), 96. On exchange and gifting, see Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies (1950; New York: Norton, 1990); Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2000); David Murray, Indian Giving: Economies of Power in

Indian-White Exchanges (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2000); Seth Mallios, The Deadly Politics of Giving: Exchange and Violence at Ajacan, Roanoke, and Jamestown (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2006). 2. Winslow, Good Newes, 2-3. On exchange as an ongoing process of evaluation, see especially Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France, s. 3. Winslow, Good Newes, 2-3. 4. Ibid., 3. For discussions of Tisquantum’s maneuvers, see Neal Salisbury, “Squanto: Last of the Patuxets,” in Struggle and Survival in Colonial America, ed. David G. Sweet and Gary B. Nash (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 228-46; John H. Humins, “Squanto and Massasoit: A Struggle for Power,’ NEQ 60:1 (1987): 54-70. 5. Winslow, Good Newes, 10. 6. Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 236. William Wood similarly observed the significance of insults: Wood, New England's Prospect (1634), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 93. Also see Kathleen J. Bragdon, “‘Emphaticall Speech and Great Action’: An Analysis of Seventeenth-Century Native Speech Events Described in Early Sources,” Man in the Northeast 33 (1987): 101-11; Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England,

100-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 173-74. 7. Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans, and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 122; Salisbury, “Squanto,” 21442; Paul Alden Robinson, “The Struggle Within: The Indian Debate in Seventeenth Century Narragansett Country” (Ph.D. diss., State University of New York at Binghamton, 1990), 89-90. 8. Cotton Mather to Richard Waller, November 27, 1712, Ms. N-2012 (Tall), Fredrick Lewis Gay Transcripts, MHS. For other examples, see William Hubbard, “The Present State of New-England, Being a Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England” (1677), in The History of the Indian Wars in New England, from the First : Settlement to the Termination of the War with King Philip, in 1677, ed. Samuel G. Drake (Roxbury, Mass.: Printed for W. Elliot Woodword, 186s), 1:24.4; Cotton Mather, “Decennium Luctuosum. An History of Remarkable Occurences In the Long War, Which

236 Sw NOTES TO PAGES 144-147 New-England hath had with the Indian Salvages” (1699), in Narratives of the Indian Wars, 1675-1699, ed. Charles H. Lincoln (New York: Scribner, 1913), 192, 263, 267.

9. Humins, “Squanto and Massasoit,’ 56; John Pynchon to John Winthrop Jr., Springfield, July 2, 1675, in The Pynchon Papers, vol. 1, Letters of John Pynchon, 1654-1700, ed.

Carl Bridenbaugh (Boston: Colonial Society of Massachusetts, 19 82,), 136-37. 10. For reproductions of some of the Xs, arrows, bows and arrows, muskets, deer, snakelike squiggles, pipes, birds, and other shapes that were used as signatures by Indians, see John Russell Bartlett, ed., Records of the Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations in New England, 10 vols. (Providence, R.I.: A. Crawford Greene, 1856), 1:18, 35-38, 46-49, 131-32, 136. 11. Hubbard, “Present State,” 1:175-76; Daniel Gookin, “An Historical Account of the Doings and Sufferings of the Christian or Praying Indians” (1677), Archaeologia Americana: Transactions of the American Antiquarian Society 2 (1836): 511. 12. Benjamin Church, “Entertaining Passages Relating to Philip’s War” (1716), in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (Hanover N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1978), 4.46. On Totson’s background, see Samuel G. Drake, The Book of the Indians of North America: Comprising the Details of the Lives of About Five Hundred Chiefs and Others (1833; reprint, Scituate, Mass.: Digital Scanning, 2001), 57-58. On the symbolic importance of Indian hairstyles, see chapter 1. 13. Two seventeenth-century Algonquian war clubs have been apocryphally associated with King Philip, one held by the Western Reserve Historical Society in Ohio and another in the collections of the Fruitlands Museum in Massachusetts. My discussion focuses on the club in the Fruitlands Museum collection, though recent research stresses that it was probably not owned by King Philip. On the history of this club, see Michael A. Volmar, “The History of “King Philip’s War Club,” Bulletin of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society 60:1 (1999): 25-29. For examples of zoomorphic objects suggestive of the wide range of spiritual associations important to New England Indians, see Jonathan L. Fairbanks and Robert Trent, eds., New England Begins: The Seventeenth Century, vol. 1, Introduction: Migration and Settlement (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1982), 76-77 (Pennacook pouch), 80-81 (Mohegan bowl), 82-83 (Wampanoag pipe), 83 (Narragansett or Wampanoag effigy), xxvii, 84 (Narragansett hairpin), and 84. (Natick buttonmold). For an image of the turtle-shaped buttonmold from Natick, see figure 6. On timber rattlesnake markings and behavior in southern New England, see Peter Alden and Brian Cassie, eds., National Audubon Society Field Guide to New England (New York: Knopf, 1998), 271-74. On manhood and the religious significance of hunting, see chapter 1. For the importance of deerskins to preparatory rituals involved in warfare, see Mary Rowlandson, “The Sovereignty and Goodness of God” (1682), in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 63. 14. Christopher L. Miller and George R. Hamell, “A New Perspective on Indian-White Contact: Cultural Symbols and Colonial Trade,” JAH 73:2 (1986): 311-28, 318 (the quoted passage); George R. Hamell, “Trading in Metaphors: The Magic of Beads, Another Perspective on Indian European Contact in Northeastern North America,’ in Proceedings of the 1982 Glass Trade Bead Conference, ed. Charles F. Hayes III et al. (Rochester, N-Y.: Rochester Museum and Science Center, 1983), 5-28; Salisbury, Manitou and Providence, 149.

NOTES TO PAGES 148-150 #& 237 15. For examples of the perceived supernatural power in animal skins, see Christopher Levett, “A Voyage into New England, Begun in 1623, and ended in 1624” (1628), in Forerunners and Competitors of the Pilgrims and Puritans, ed. Charles Herbert Levermore (Brooklyn, N-Y.: New England Society of Brooklyn, 1912), 2:627; John Josselyn, New-Englands Rarities Discovered (London, 1672), 16, 20, EEBO; Experience Mayhew,

“A Brief Account of the Indians on Martha's Vineyard, and the small Islands Adjacent in Duke’s-Country, from the Year 1694 to 1720,’ in A Discourse Shewing That God Dealeth with Men as with Reasonable Creatures in a Sermon (Boston, 1720), 45, EvD; Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,’ 63. 16. For example, a number of sources illustrate the fear that Narragansetts had when faced with Pequot spiritual potency and martial efficacy during the Pequot War. See John Mason, A Brief History of the Pequot: Especially of the Memorable Taking of their Fort at Mistick in Connecticut in 1637 (Boston, 1736), 5, 20; Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, ed. Samuel G. Drake (1702; reprint, Hartford, Conn.: Silas Andrus, 1855), 2:481. For more examples of Narragansett fear of Pequot spiritual potency, see Philip Vincent, A True Relation of the Late Battel fought in New England, between the English, and the Salvages (London, 1637), B3v-B4r, EEBO; William Hubbard, “A Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians” (1677), in History of the Indian Wars, 2:23, 29. For an analogous example from King Philip’s War, see Hubbard, “Present State,’ 1:262—63.

, 17. Sarah Kemble Knight, The Journal of Madam Knight, ed. Malcolm Freiberg (Boston: David R. Godine, 1972), 20. Military organization in all four colonies was similar enough to generalize about the role of manhood in the colonial understanding of the proper practice of warfare. On training days, see Kyle F. Zelner, A Rabble in Arms: Massachusetts Towns and Militiamen during King Philip’s War (New York: New York University Press, 2009); Richard Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly: The Reformation of Manners in Orthodox New England, 1679-1749 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994), 123-27; Marie L. Ahearn, The Rhetoric of War: Training Day, the Militia, and the Military Sermon (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood

Press, 1989); T. H. Breen, “The Covenanted Militia of Massachusetts Bay: English Background and New World Development,’ in Puritans and Adventurers: Change and Persistence in Early America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), 25-45; Douglas Edward Leach, Arms for Empire: A Military History of the British Colonies in North America, 1607-1763 (New York: Macmillan, 1973), 9-38; James Biser Whisker, The New England Militia, 1606-1785, vol. 2, The American Colonial Militia (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press, 1997). 18. John Cotton, God’s Promise to His Plantation (London, 1630), 20, EEBO; Samuel Nowell, “Abraham in Arms; or, The First Religious General with His Army Engaging in a War” (1678), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 274. 19. On the built environment, see Robert Blair St. George, Conversing by Signs: Poetics of Implication in Colonial New England Culture (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 39. 20. RCP, 2:60—63; John Dunton, “John Dunton’s Journal of Massachusetts, 1686,” in MHSC 2:2 (1814): 107; RMB, 5:49-50; WJ, 365, 4.42; “Instructions for Daniel Denison, Esq. Commander in Chief for the forces raised or to be raised for the Assistance of our neighbors and friends of Plymouth Colony,’ June 28, 1675, Massachusetts State

Archive Photostats Collection, MHS, Originals held at the Massachusetts State Archives; see Benjamin Church, The History of the Eastern Expeditions of 1689, 1690, 1692, 1696, and 1704, ed. Henry Martyn Dexter (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and Wm. Parsons

238 St NOTES TO PAGES 150-156 Lunt, 1867), 14, 46-47. For examples of unruly behavior at New England militia musters, see Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly, 126-27. 21. RMB, 2:99; 3:12 (the quoted passage). 22. Dunton, “Journal,” 107; Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly, 126-27. While varying somewhat according to local practice, the average New England trainband (militia company) comprised some sixty-four soldiers, roughly half the size of an English company at midcentury. For more on trainband size and organization, see Leach, Arms for Empire, 15-17. Barriffe’s popular work went through numerous editions, including two Boston printings in 1701 and 1706, which included a copy of the Massachusetts military laws. See William Barriffe, Militarie Discipline; or, The Young Artillery-Man (London, 1647), 1, EEBO. On Miles Standish’s ownership of Militarie Discipline, see “Capt. Miles Standish’s Inventory of Books,” NEHGR 1:1 (1847): §4. 23. Barriffe, Militarie Discipline, 139-40 24. “Directions for a General Training Exercise of the Boston Militia (1686)” in Remarkable Providences, 1600-1760, ed. John Demos (1972; reprint, Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1991), 291; RCP, 2:62; Samual Sewall, The Diary of Samuel Sewall, 1674-1729, ed. M. Halsey Thomas (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1973), 1:318. 25. Sewall, Diary, 1:138, 453; Knight, Journal, 20. For a description of the rituals of militia drill in the 1680s that includes a mock fight, see “Directions for a General Training Exercise,’ 290-93. 26. Williams, Key, 164; Wood, New England Prospect, 104-5. 27. Nathaniel Saltonstall, A Continuation of the State of New-England; Being a Farther ACCOUNT of the Indian Warr (London, 1676), 6, EEBO. For more on militia elections, see Breen, “Covenanted Militia,’ 25-45. 28. Barriffe, Military Discipline, 140; Sewall, Diary, 1:120, 255, 265, 278, 291, 453, 602. On treating Indian soldiers as a recruitment tool, see Church, History of the Eastern Expeditions, 20. For a discussion of this type of homosocial bond between soldiers and officers during the American Revolution, see Charles Royster, A Revolutionary People at War: The Continental Army and American Character, 1775-1783 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979), 221-38. 29. Sewall, Diary, 1: 453-54. On the spousal metaphor, see Richard Godbeer, “Love Raptures’: Marital, Romantic, and Erotic Images in Puritan New England, 1670-1730," NEQ 68:3 (1995): 355-85. 30. Sewall, Diary, 1:178, 291, 339, 453-54 (the quoted passage), 602. , 31. Ibid., 1:278, 318. 32. The Whole Booke of Psalmes Faithfully Translated into English Metre (Cambridge, Mass., 164.0), Psalm 122:6—7, EvD.

i0. “BEST TO DEAL WITH INDIANS...” 1. [have benefited greatly from a number of important studies that address the gendered nature of warfare in Early America, especially Marie L. Ahearn, The Rhetoric of War: Training Day, the Militia, and the Military Sermon (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1989); Joyce E. Chaplin, Subject Matter: Technology, the Body and Science on the

} Anglo-American Frontier, 1500-1676 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001, 243-79; Nancy Shoemaker, “An Alliance between Men: Gender Metaphors in Eighteenth-Century American Indian Diplomacy East of the Mississippi,” EH 46:2

NOTES TO PAGES 156-158 # 239 (1999): 239-63; Shoemaker, A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-

Century North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004); Ann M. Little, “Shoot That Rogue, for He Hath an Englishman's Coat On!’: Cultural Cross-Dressing on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760,” NEQ 74:2 (2001): 238-73; Little, Abraham in Arms: Gender and Power on the New England Frontier, 1620-1760 (Philadelphia: Uni-

versity of Pennsylvania Press, 2007). Also see R. Rodd Romero, “Ranging Foresters’ and “Women-Like Men’: Physical Accomplishment, Spiritual Power, and Indian Mas-_culinity in Early Seventeenth-Century New England,” EH 53:2 (2006): 281-329.

2. On the failure of restraints on violence during the Pequot War, see Ronald Dale

| Karr, “‘Why Should You Be So Furious?’: The Violence of the Pequot War,’ JAH 85:3 (1998): 876-909. For a particularly convincing argument on the predominance of irregular warfare in colonial war-making, see John Grenier, The First Way of War: American War Making on the Frontier, 1607-1814. (New York: Cambridge University

Press, 2005). For a work running counter to Grenier’s contentions, see Guy Chet, Conquering the American Wilderness: The Triumph of European Warfare in the Colonial

Northeast (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2003). The hybridization of New England martial cultures is treated in Adam J. Hirsch, “The Collision of Military Cultures in Seventeenth-Century New England,” JAH 74:4 (1988): 1187-1212; Patrick M. Malone, The Skulking Way of War: Technology and Tactics among the New England Indians (1991; reprint, Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993). Anumber of military historians have noted the unrestrained violence of colonial wars: see especially John Ferling, A Wilderness of Miseries: War and Warriors in Early America (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1980), 197-201; Ian Steele, Warpaths: Invasions of North America (Oxford University Press, 1994), 131-36. On the “parallel wars” fought by Native Americans, see Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeney, Captors and Captives: The 1704 French and Indian Raid on Deerfield (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2003), 2-3, 78-92.

3. Cotton Mather, “Decennium Luctuosum. An History of Remarkable Occurrences In the Long War, Which New-England hath had with the Indian Salvages” (1699), in Narratives of the Indian Wars, 1675-1699, ed. Charles H. Lincoln, (New York: Scribner, 1913), 237. Also see Benjamin Thompson, “New England’s Crisis; or, a Brief Narrative, of New-Englands Lamentable Estate at present, compar’d with the former (but few) years of Prosperity” (1676), in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (Hanover, N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1978), 230-31. For pathbreaking analyses of gender and warfare, see Shoemaker, “Alliance between Men”; Shoemaker Strange Likeness; Little, “Shoot That Rogue’; Little Abraham in Arms. On colonial women assuming traditionally male roles during wartime, see Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Good Wives: Image and Reality in the Lives of Women in Northern New England, 1650-1750 (1982; reprint, New York: Vintage Books, 1991), 167-83; Teresa A. Toulouse, “Hannah Duston’s Bodies: Domestic Violence and Colonial Male Identity in Cotton Mather’s Decennium Luctuosum,” in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, ed. Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tarter (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 197-98; Chaplin, Subject Matter. For European practices see John A. Lynn, Women, Armies, and Warfare in Early Modern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 4. Benjamin Church, “Entertaining Passages relating to Philip’s War” (1716), in Slotkin

and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgement, 397-98, 432-33; William Harris, A Rhode ,

240 ‘Sm NOTES TO PAGES 158-163 Islander Reports on King Philip's War: The Second William Harris Letter of August, 1676, ed. Douglas Edward Leach (Providence: Rhode Island Historical Society, 1963), 66—

67. For a discussion of Awashunkes, gender, and colonialism, see Ann Marie Plane, “Putting a Face on Colonization: Factionalism and Gender Politics in the Life of History of Awashunkes, the ‘Squaw Sachem’ of Saconet,” in Northeastern Indian Lives, 1632-1816, ed. Robert S. Grumet (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), 140-65. 5. William Wood, New England's Prospect (1634.), ed. Alden T. Vaughan (1977; reprint, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993), 102—3; John Underhill, Newes from America; or, A New Experimentall Discoverie of New England; Containing, A True Relation of Their War-like proceeding these two yeares last past, with a Figure of the Indian Fort or Palizado (London, 1638), 3-4, EEBO. 6. On the previous European military experience of English commanders in the Pequot War, see Karr, “Why Should You Be So Furious?,” 891. The debate over the military revolution has produced a mountain of scholarship. For a useful overview, see Clifford J. Rogers, ed., The Military Revolution Debate: Readings on the Military Transformation of Early Modern Europe (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1995). Also see Armstrong Starkey, European and Native American Warfare, 1675-1815 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1998), 37-39. 7. Rhode Island Colony to Governor Thomas Prince, June 16, 1671, Ms. N—487, Winslow Family Papers II, 1638-1760, MHS; Wait Winthrop; Some Meditations Concerning Our Honorable Gentlemen and Fellow-Souldiers, In Pursuit of those Barbarous NATIVES in the Narragansett-Country; and Their Service there (1675; reprinted, New London, Conn., 1721). 8. Underhill, Newes from America, 14-15; Collonel William Barriffe, Militarie Discipline; or, The Young Artillery-Man (London, 1647), 4-5, EEBO; Samuel Sewall, The Diary of Samuel Sewall, 1674-1729, ed. M. Halsey Thomas (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1973), 1:169. For an example of the role of drumming during training days, see “Directions for a General Training Exercise of the Boston Militia (1686)” in Remarkable Providences, 1600-1760, ed. John Demos (1972; reprint, Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1991), 290-93. 9. Underhill, Newes from America, 40-41. On the importance of individualized contests in Indian warfare, see Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643), ed. John J. Teunissen and Evelyn J. Hinz (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University, 1973), 164, 237; Malone, Skulking Way of War, 65-87. 10. Williams, Key, 237; Wood, New England's Prospect, 103.

11. Leift Lion Gardener, “His Relation of the Pequot War” (1660), MHSC 3:3 (1853): 151; Thomas Morton, New English Canaan or New Canaan (1637), ed. Jack Dempsey (Scituate, Mass.: Digital Scanning, 2000), 31-32. 12. C. Mather, “Decennium Luctuosum,” 238. 13. Edward Winslow, Good Newes From New England: A True Relation of Things Very Remarkable at the Plantation of Plimouth in New England (London, 1624), 24, EEBO; Underhill, Newes from America, 22-23; WJ, 192-93. Also see Gardener, “Relation,” 147-48. For a discussion of the cultural significance of torture among the Iroquois, see Daniel K. Richter, “War and Culture: The Iroquois Experience,” WMQ 40:4 (1983): 533-34. 14. John Mason, A Brief History of the Pequot: Especially of the Memorable Taking of their Fort at Mistick in Connecticut in 1637 (Boston, 1736), 5, EEBO; Mary Rowlandson, “The

NOTES TO PAGES 163-167 w# 241 Sovereignty and Goodness of God” (1682), in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 63-64. For other examples of such rituals, see Martin Pring, “Plymouth Harbour” (1603), Sailor’s Narratives of Voyages along the New England Coast, ed. George Parker Winship (1909; reprint, New York: Burt Franklin, 1968), 220-21; William Hubbard, “The Present State of New-England, Being a Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England” (1677), in The History of the Indian Wars in New England, from the First Settlement to the Termination of the War with King Philip, in 1677, ed. Samuel G. Drake (Roxbury, Mass.: Printed for W. Elliot Woodword, 186s), 1:96. For an example of this type of ritual being led by the female sachem Awashunkes, see Benjamin Church, “Entertaining Passages Relating to Philip’s War” (1716), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull

a Judgment, 432-33. For examples from King William's War, see C. Mather, “Decen- | nium Luctuosum,’ 207; Benjamin Church, The History of the Eastern Expeditions of 1689, 1690, 1692, 1696, and 1704, ed. Henry Martyn Dexter (Boston: J. K. Wiggin and Wm. Parsons Lunt, 1867), 61. William S. Simmons has been foremost among scholars in stressing the centrality of shamanism to Indian warfare: see Simmons, “Southern New England Shamanism: An Ethnographic Reconstruction,” in Papers of the Seventh Algonquian Conference, 1975, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1976), 231-34; Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984 (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1986), 51-53, 58-60. 15. Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,’ 63-64. 16. Ibid., 64; Hubbard, “Present State,” 1:239—40. 17. Ezra Stiles, Extracts from the Itineraries and Other Miscellanies of Ezra Stiles, D.D.,, LL.D, 1755-1794, ed. Franklin Bowditch Dexter (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1916), 232. Drawing on evidence from Algonquian practices in New York, William Simmons has illustrated how this incident may have fit into a larger pattern whereby “the appearance of a ravenous animal... was a bad omen”: Simmons, “Shamanism,” 231-32. 18. John Callender, An Historical Discourse on the Civil and Religious Affairs of the Colony of Rhode-Island (Boston, 1749), 73-74, EvD. 19. Roger Williams to John Winthrop, September 1636 in WP, 3:298; RCP, 2:169—72; Roger Williams to John Winthrop Jr., c. April 7, 1649, and Roger Williams to John Winthrop Jr., June 13, 1649, in The Correspondence of Roger Williams, ed. Glenn W. LaFantasie (Hanover, N.H.: Brown University/University Press of New England, 1988), 1:27779, 290; Hubbard, “Present State,” 1:289-90; [Anonymous], New Englands First Fruits (London, 1643), 2, EEBO; Nathaniel Saltonstall, The Present State of New England, With Respect to the Indian War (London, 1676), 15, EEBO.

20. C. Mather, “Decennium Luctuosum,’ 242, 244-47. On the connections between the Salem witchcraft outbreak and frontier warfare, see Mary Beth Norton, In the Devils Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of 1692 (New York: Knopf, 2002). 21. Mason, Brief History, 20; Hubbard, “Present State,’ 1:283-85. Roger Williams, for ex-

ample, pointed to the significance of dreams, noting that the Narragansett words for soul and sleep were etymologically connected: see Williams, Key, 193-94; Kathleen J. Bragdon, Native People of Southern New England, 1500-1650 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996), 190-91. For other examples, see Winslow, Good Newes, 42-43; Mary Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,’ 63-64; John Gyles, “Memoirs of Odd Adventures, Strange Deliverances, Etc.” (1736), in Puritans among the Indians, 114. Also see Simmons, “Shamanism,” 231-34.

242 St NOTES TO PAGES 167-170 22. Edward Johnson, Johnson's Wonder-Working Providence, 1628-1651 (1653), ed. J. Franklin

Jameson (1910; reprint, New York: Barnes and Noble, 1967), 168; Church, “Entertaining Passages,” 461; Hubbard, “Present State,’ 1:274-75. On Tispaquin’s background, see Samuel G. Drake, The Book of the Indians of North America: Comprising the Details of the Lives of about Five Hundred Chiefs and Others (1833; reprint, Scituate, Mass.: Digital Scanning, 2001), 3-56. 23. Johnson, Johnson’s Wonder-Working Providence, 164; Underhill, Newes from America, 16. Also see Alice K. Nash, “The Abiding Frontier: Family, Gender, and Religion in Wabanaki History, 1600-1763” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1997), 99-107. 24. Richard Davenport to John Winthrop, August 23, 1637, in WP, 3:490-91. Also see Israel Stoughton to John Winthrop, c. June 18, 1637, in WP, 3:435. For other examples of trophy-taking, see Williams, Key, 132; Wood, New England's Prospect, 103; Winslow, Good Newes, 50; Rowlandson, “Sovereignty and Goodness,” 40-41; Church, “Entertaining Passages,” 450-52, 461. Despite English objections to Indian trophy-taking, colonial soldiers rarely objected to such practices when they were directed at Indians, criminals, or other enemies. See James Axtell and William C. Sturtevant, “The Unkindest Cut, or Who Invented Scalping,” WMQ 37:3 (1980): 470.

25. Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, ed. Samuel G. Drake (1702; reprint, Hartford, Conn.: Silas Andrus, 1855), 2:481. For more examples of the Narragansett fear of Pequot spiritual power, see Mason, Brief History, 5-6, 20; Philip Vincent, A True Relation of the Late Battel fought in New England, between the English, and the Salvages (London, 1637), B3v-B4r, EEBO; Hubbard, “Present State,” 2:23, 29. On Indian naming practices, see Winslow, Good Newes, 58-59; Williams, Key, 96. Frank Speck, “Penobscot Shamanism,’ Memoirs of the American Anthropological Association 6:4 (1919): 240, 253-54; Speck, “Penobscot Tales and Religious Beliefs,” Journal of American Folklore 48:187 (1935), 4; Fannie Hardy Eckstorm, Old John Neptune and Other Maine Shamans (Portland, Maine: The Southworth-Anthoensen Press, 1945), 95-110; Karen O. Kupperman, Indians and English: Facing Off in Early America (Ithaca, NY.: Cornell University Press, 2000), 184-92. 26. Unnamed Mohegan informant recorded by Frank Speck, quoted in Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes, 96. On using oral traditions along with written sources in Indian history, see Gordon M. Day, “Oral Tradition as Complement,’ in In Search of New England's Native Past: Selected Essays by Gordon M. Day, ed. Michael K. Foster and William K. Foster (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1998), 127-35. On the Mohegan-Narragansett conflict, see Eric S. Johnson, “Uncas and the Politics of Contact,’ in Northeastern Indian Lives, 29-47; Michael Leroy Oberg, Uncas: First of the Mohegans (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003), 87-109. 27. Simmons, Spirit of the New England Tribes, 96.

28. For more on the expedition and fate of the Elizabeth and Mary, see Marie Dufour and Michéle Jean, 1690: The Siege of Quebec: The Story of a Sunken Ship (Montreal: Montréal Museum of Archeology and History, 2000); R. James Ringer, “Phips’ Fleet,” National Geographic 198:2 (August 2000): 72~81; Emerson W. Baker and John G. Reid, The New England Knight: Sir William Phips, 1651-1695 (Toronto: University of Toronto, 1998), 86-109. Recent research by Brian Carroll has established that at least seventyone, if not more, praying Indians served as soldiers on the 1690 expedition, including a sixty-man entirely Native company. Brian Carroll, personal correspondence, January 14, 2009; Carroll, “War, Manhood and Debt: The Native American Soldiers of Southern New England, 1689-1763” (dissertation-in-progress, University of Connecticut).

NOTES TO PAGES 171-176 #t 243 29. MS 7955:10 Samuel Sewall to John Ashhurst, October 6, 1724, Correspondence from Boston, Massachusetts to the Company in London, vol. 2: 1723-1761, NEC. Also see Experience Mayhew, “A Brief Account of the Indians on Martha's Vineyard, and the Small Islands Adjacent in Duke’s-Country, from the Year 1694 to 1720, in A Discourse Shewing That God Dealeth with Men as With Reasonable Creatures (Boston, 1720), 10, EvD. 30. Williams, Key, 237. Hirsch, “Collision of Military Cultures” 1187-1212; Malone, Skulking Way of War; Starkey, European and Native American Warfare, viii, 169. 31. Underhill, Newes from America, 42-43; Increase Mather, “A Brief History of the Warr With the Indians in New England” (1676), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 104.

| 32. Hubbard, “The Present State,” 1:113. 33. Ibid., 114~15; Church, “Entertaining Passages,’ 450-52 34. Benjamin Batten to Sir Thomas Allin, June 29, 1675, and Samuel Symonds to Joseph

Williamson, April 6, 1676, Ms. N-2012, Frederick Lewis Gay Transcripts, MHS; Thomas Whalley to John Cotton Jr. July 18, 1676, Ms. N-1097, John Davis Papers, 1627-1846, MHS; John Eliot to Robert Boyle, October 23, 1677, MHSC 1:3 (1794): 178.

For an example of this type of militia drill in the 1680s see “Directions for a General Training Exercise,” 290-93. Armstrong Starkey has observed, “The continued colonial commitment to a military system that was socially acceptable, but militarily inadequate, offers a revealing insight into the relationship between war and society.’ See Starkey, European and Native American Warfare, 82. 35. “Letter from the Reverend Solomon Stoddard to Governor Joseph Dudley” (1703), in Remarkable Providences, 372-74. For examples of similar language used to describe Indian warriors, see Hubbard, “Present State,” 100, 114—15, 133, 177; Increase Mather, “An Earnest Exhortation to the Inhabitants of New-England” (1676), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 179; Mather, “Brief History,’ 134; Thompson, “New England's Crisis,’ 219, 221; Mather, “Decennium Luctuosum,’ 191-93, 198, 200, 202-3, 208, 213-14, 221, 233, 236, 238-39, 242, 249, 255-56, 260, 263-64, 267.

36. On the “Algonquian diaspora,” see Colin G. Calloway, The Western Abenakis of Vermont, 1600-1800 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990), 76~89; Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeny, “Wattanummon’s World: Personal and Tribal Identity in the Algonquian Diaspora, c. 1660-1712,’ in Papers of the Twenty-Fifth Algonquian Conference, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1994), 1-13. For a discussion of the Native American pursuit of “parallel wars” in the midst of larger imperial conflicts and as part of the “Algonquian diaspora,’ see Haefeli and Sweeney, Captors and Captives, 2-3, 78-92. 37. Richard R. Johnson, “The Search for a Usable Indian: An Aspect of the Defense of Colonial New England,’ JAH 64:3 (1977): 623-51. 38. The best assessment of the growing service of southern New England Indians in colonial armies remains Johnson, “Search for a Usable Indian,’ 623-51. For the impact of Indian men’s service in colonial armies on their communities, see Daniel R. Mandell, Behind the Frontier: Indians in Eighteenth-Century Eastern Massachusetts (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), 51, 69, 85-86, 88-100, 128. On Indian servitude and labor in the region, see David J. Silverman, “The Impact of Indentured Servitude on the Society and Culture of Southern New England Indians, 1680-1810,’ NEQ 74:3 (2001): 625. 39. Church, History of the Eastern Expeditions, 20-21, 42; Experience Mayhew, Indian Converts, or Some Account of the Lives and Dying Speeches of a considerable Number of the

244 ‘em NOTES TO PAGES 176-180 Christian Indians of Martha’s Vineyard in New-England (London, 1727), 107. Johnson, “Search for a Usable Indian,” 648-51; Silverman, “Impact of Indentured Servitude,”

. 625.

11. “THE GOD OF ARMIES” 1. Edward Johnson, Johnson’s Wonder-Working Providence, 1628-1651 (1653), ed. J. Franklin Jameson (New York: Scribner, 1910; reprint, New York: Barnes and Noble, 1967), 232-33. 2, John Underhill, Newes from America; or, A New Experimentall Discoverie of New England; Containing, A True Relation of Their War-like proceeding these two yeares last past, with a Figure of the Indian Fort or Palizado (London, 1638), 5, 38, EEBO. 3. [Anonymous], A True Account of the Most Considerable Occurrences that have Hapned

in the Warre Between the English and the Indians in New-England (London, 1676), 4, EEBO. 4. [Anonymous], True Account, 7. 5. Increase Mather, “A Brief History of the Warr With the Indians in New England” (1676), in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (Hanover N.H.: Wesleyan University Press, 1978), 124. 6. Ibid., 124-25. Also see Increase Mather, Diary by Increase Mather, March 1675-December, 1676. Together with Extracts from Another Diary by Him, 1674-1687, ed. Samuel A. Green (Cambridge, Mass.: John Wilson and Son, 1900), 46. William Hubbard, “The Present State of New-England, Being a Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians in New England” (1677), in The History of the Indian Wars in New England, From the First Settlement to the Termination of the War with King Philip, in 1677, ed. Samuel G. Drake (Roxbury, Mass.: Printed for W. Elliot Woodword, 1865), 1:67—68. 7. I. Mather, “Brief History,’ 124-25. 8. Ibid., 125. Mary Dyer was a supporter of Anne Hutchinson, the brilliant religious dis-

senter against the Puritan establishment in Massachusetts during the Antinomian Controvery (1637-38). When Dyer gave birth to a deformed child shortly after the theological dispute, the “monster” was read by some Puritans as a sign of God's displeasure with the views of Hutchinson and her supporters. Later returning to the Bay Colony after living in both England and Rhode Island as a Quaker, Dyer and three of her coreligionists were tried and executed in 1659 and 1660 under a new law that stipulated the death penalty if Quakers returned to Massachusetts after being twice banished. As a former Puritan turned Quaker, Dyer was indeed a notorious figure in orthodox circles. On these issues, see Mary Beth Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers: Gendered Power and the Forming of American Society (New York: Knopf, 1996), 223-24, 394-95; Jonathan M. Chu, Neighbors, Friends, or Madmen: The Puritan Adjustment to Quakerism in Seventeenth-Century Massachusetts Bay (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1985). Woburn had been something of a hotbed of religious heterodoxy since the 1650s, when particular Baptists began meeting and petitioned the General Court for religious toleration. In the 1670s, the town again came under scrutiny when former members of the First Baptist Church of Charlestown moved to Woburn and began spreading Baptist beliefs with some success. Joseph Wright was one of a number of Woburn’ residents who were hauled before the Middlesex County Court, the Court of Assistants, and, in one case, the General Court. His trip to the Middlesex County

NOTES TO PAGES 180-184 st 245 Court was all it took to convince him of the errors of his ways and reconcile him with orthodox views. On the early influence of particular Baptists in Woburn, see Philip Gura, A Glimpse of Sion’s Glory: Puritan Radicalism in New England, 1620-1660 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1984.), 207-8. For the events in the 1670s, including extracts from the Middlesex County Court records, see Charles C. Sewall, The History of Woburn, Middlesex County, Mass. (Boston: Wiggin and Lunt, 1868), 152-56. 9. My discussion of the Massachusetts Bay Colony seals relies on the following: William A. Turnbaugh and William S. Simmons, “An Indian Peace Medal From King Philip's War, 1676,’ Man in the Northeast 22 (1981): 159-63; William S. Simmons, “The Earliest Prints and Paintings of New England Indians,” Rhode Island History 41:3 (1982): 72-85; Matt B. Jones, “The Early Massachusetts—Bay Colony Seals,” Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society 44 (1934): 12-44. Mary Rowlandson’s captivity is recounted in her “The Sovereignty and Goodness of God” (1682), included in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark (1981; reprint, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 31-75. 10. Turnbaugh and Simmons, “Indian Peace Medal,” 159-63; Simmons, “Earliest Prints and Paintings,” 72-85. 11. William Simmons remarks of the frontispiece, “Tempting as it is to view the woman as a Narragansett and the sheep as symbolic of the early Rhode Island economy, a more likely interpretation is that the illustration was done by an English artist who was unacquainted with America, and that it is an Americanized image of the goddess Diana, symbol of the hunt.” See Simmons, “Earliest Prints and Paintings,’ 77. On colonial views of mythical Amazons, see Joyce E. Chaplin, Subject Matter: Technology, the Body and Science on the Anglo-American Frontier, 1500-1676 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 248-565. 12. Jones, “Early Massachusetts—Bay Colony Seals,” 36-42

13. Fora later example of an Indian leader wearing a similar medal, see the painting in figure 1. On Indian women’s basketmaking, see Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, The Age of Homespun: Objects and Stories in the Creation of an American Myth (New York: Knopf, 2001), 42-74. On the medal’s wear marks, see Turnbaugh and Simmons, “Indian Peace Medal,” 159. 14. David D. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgment: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989), 167. 15. Ata Council Held at Charlestown, June 20th, 1676 (Cambridge, 1676 ), EvD; This discussion of Lamentations relies on Paul J. Achtemeier, gen. ed., Harper's Bible Dictionary (San Francisco, Calif: Harper and Row, 1971), 544-45, 1021-32. The notes accompany-

ing the 1599 Geneva Bible explained that the “footstool” in Lamentations 2:1 was “al- , luding to the Temple, or to the Arke of the covenant, which was called the footstoole of the Lord, because they would not set their minds so low, but lift up their heart towards the heavens.” See The Geneva Bible: A Facsimile of the 1599 Edition with Undated Sternhold and Hopkins Psalms (Ozark, Mo.: L. L. Brown, 1995). On Puritan views of the Israelites, see Andrew Delbanco, The Puritan Ordeal (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989), 86-97. 16. Increase Mather, “An Earnest Exhortation to the Inhabitants of New-England” (1676)

and Samuel Nowell, “Abraham in Arms; or, The First Religious General with His Army Engaging in a War” (1678), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 167-69, 174-75 (the quoted passage) , 288.

246 Sem NOTES TO PAGES 185-191 17. John Mason, A Brief History of the Pequot: Especially of the Memorable Taking of their Fort at Mistick in Connecticut in 1637 (London, 1736), 21. Ann M. Little’s important work

on the New England manly ideal of the “householder-patriarch” who held as much sway at home as on the battlefield is especially instructive: Little, Abraham in Arms: War and Gender in Colonial New England (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2007). Such anxieties persisted. Teresa A. Toulouse, for example, argues that “the capture, torture, and murder of families ... represented in [Cotton Mather’s Decennium Luctuosum| underscore the lack of a truly ‘manly’ leadership, which Cotton

Mather and his own third-generation cohort felt they could provide”: Toulouse, “Hannah Duston’s Bodies: Domestic Violence and Colonial Male Identity in Cotton Mather’s Decennium Luctuosum,’ in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, ed. Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tarter (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 193-209. For other studies dealing with the theme of patriarchal anxiety in colonial New England, see Philip Greven, Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, Massachusetts (Ithaca, N-Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970); David Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling: An Exploration in Literature, Psychology, and Social History (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1980); Norton, Founding Mothers and Fathers; Glenn Wallach, Obedient Sons: The Discourse of Youth and Generations in American Culture, 1630-1860 (Amherst: University of Massachusetts, 1997), 10-32. On the jeremiad as a cultural form, see Sacvan Bercovitch, The American Jeremiad (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1978). On warfare and renewal, see Richard Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973); Jill Lepore, The Name of War: King Philip’s War and the Origins of American Identity (New York: Knopf, 1998). 18. I. Mather, “Brief History,’ and “Earnest Exhortation” (1676), in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 86, 169. On the language of generations and the theme of patriarchal decline, see Wallach, Obedient Sons, 10-32. 19. I. Mather, “Earnest Exhortation,’ 174-75. 20. Ibid., 179. 21. Ibid., 176-77, 184-85. 22. I. Mather, “Earnest Exhortation,’ 176; Nowell, “Abraham in Arms,’ 288. 23. Harry S. Stout, New England Soul: Preaching and Religious Culture in Colonial New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 83; Marie L. Ahearn, The Rhetoric of War: Training Day, the Militia, and the Military Sermon (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood

Press, 1989). .

24. Hall, Worlds of Wonder, 167; | Increase Mather], “The Epistle Dedicatory” in The Necessity of Reformation With the Expedients Subservient Thereunto, Asserted (Boston, 1679), unpaginated, EvD. 25. I. Mather, Necessity of Reformation, 1-9.

26. Ibid., 3-6. 27. Ibid., 5-6. Also see Increase Mather, Ichabod (Boston, 1702), 72, EvD. 28. I. Mather, Necessity of Reformation, 10-13.

29. On the hybridization of martial cultures in the region during the seventeenth century, see Adam J. Hirsch, “The Collision of Military Cultures in Seventeenth-Century New England,” JAH 74:4 (1988): 1187-1212; Patrick M. Malone, The Skulking Way of War: Technology and Tactics among the New England Indians (1991; reprint, Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993); Ronald Dale Karr, ““Why Should You Be So

NOTES TO PAGES 191-196 #t 247 Furious?’ The Violence of the Pequot War,’ JAH 85:3 (1998): 876-909; John Grenier, The First Way of War: American War Making on the Frontier, 1607-1814 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 30. On the Algonquian diaspora, see Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeny, “Wattanummon’s World: Personal and Tribal Identity in the Algonquian Diaspora, c. 1660-1712, in Papers of the Twenty-Fifth Algonquian Conference, ed. William Cowan (Ottawa, Ont.: Carleton University, 1994), 1-13. The best overview of King William’s War and Queen Anne’s War remains Howard H. Peckham, The Colonial Wars, 1689-1762 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), 1-76. On Indian servitude and military service, see

| David J. Silverman, “The Impact of Indentured Servitude on the Society and Culture of Southern New England Indians, 1680-1810,’ NEQ 74:3 (2001): 625. On the significance of the military service of Native men in colonial armies after King Philip's War, see Richard R. Johnson, “The Search for a Usable Indian: An Aspect of the Defense of Colonial New England,” JAH 64:3 (1977): 623-51.

AFTERWORD 1. Nathaniel Morton to King Charles IJ, July 13, 1677, Plymouth Papers, Colonial State Papers in Ms N-2012, Frederick Lewis Gay Transcripts, MHS. For a discussion of

metropolitan criticisms of the handling of the war by colonial governments, see Stephen Saunders Webb, 1676: The End of American Independence (New York: Knopf, 1984), 221-47. 2. Josiah Winslow to Wetamoo and Been her husband, June 15, 1675, Ms. N-1097, John Davis Papers, 1627-1846, MHS; Samuel Symonds to Joseph Williamson, April 1676, and John Leverett to Whitehall, June 1676, in Plymouth State Papers, Calendar of State Papers in Ms N-2012, Frederick Lewis Gay Transcripts, MHS. On the rising hostility toward praying Indians in Massachusetts Bay and Plymouth, see Daniel Gookin, An Historical Account of the Doings and Sufferings of the Christian or Praying Indians (1677), in Archaeologia Americana: Transactions of the American Antiquarian Society 2 (1836); Jenny Hale Pulsipher, “Massacre at Hurtleberry Hill: Christian Indians and Authority in Metacom’s War,” WMQ 3:53 (1996): 459-86. 3. Thomas Walley to John Cotton Jr., November 18, 1675, box 1, folder 3, Curwen Family

Papers, AAS; Jenny Hale Pulsipher, “‘Our Sages are Sageles’: A Letter on Massachusetts Indian Policy after King Philip's War” WMQ 58:2 (2001): 434-36, 443-44. Pulsipher’s introduction to Browne’s letter offers an invaluable discussion of the rise of racial attitudes toward Indians in New England in the wake of King Philip’s War. Also see Pulsipher, “Massacre at Hurtleberry Hill” 4. Gookin, Historical Account, 436-37, 454. On hostility toward Daniel Gookin for his defense of praying Indians, see Pulsipher, “Massacre at Hurtleberry Hill,’ 459-86; Louise A. Breen, Transgressing the Bounds: Subversive Enterprises among the Puritan Elite in Massachusetts, 1630-1692 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 145-96.

5. Gookin, Historical Account, 431. |

6. MS 7936:39, Mr. Experience Mayhew’s Journal in his Visitation of the Indians in Connecticut Colony Dated 4th November 1714, Collections of Original Correspondence Relating to Affairs in New England, 1657-1714, NEC.

Blank Page

Index

Abenakis, 65, 217n27 Boyle, Robert, 126-27 adornment, 22-23, 59-60, 107, 145-46, 182. Bradford, William, 23, 53, 63, 142—43, 148;

See also dress; hair marriage of, 57-58, 60; and Plymouth adultery, 64, 123; as capital crime, 41-42, 64, Colony, 7, 15-16, 37

217N23 Bragdon, Kathleen J., 208n7, 214n23

age, 19, 21, 27 Browne, Edmund, 194 agriculture, 74, 84, 85, 195; Anglo-America burial practices, 22 colonists and, 37, 78, 85; communal, 37-39; Native women and, 38, 63, 74, 84, 138, 158 Callender, John, 164-65

Ahhunnut, Hannah, 106 Calvin, John, 87 Algonquians, 6; diaspora of, 174, 191 Canacum, 17

Altham, Emmanuel, 57, 59, 61 Canonicus, 141-45, 148—49 animal husbandry, 99-100, 226n21 Carroll, Brian, 242n28 animal symbolism, 30, 49-52, 60, 109, 143-48, | Caryl, Joseph, 86

163-64, 241017 Charles I (king), 52

architecture, 149—50 child rearing, 27, 124-25, 130, 134-35; Ashhurst, Henry, 127 children: Anglo-American, 33; Native, 21,

Augustine, Saint, 40 25-29, 117

Awashonks, 157 Christenings Make Not Christians (Williams),

Axtell, James, 53, 87 182

Christian Indians. See praying Indians

Baker, Emerson W., 206n1, 207n4 Christianity: blending with Native

Baptists, 188, 244—45n8 traditions, 11, 76, 90, 196; as communal Barriffe, William, 151, 153-54, 160, 238n22 affair, 94; and gender identity, 31, 101,

Batten, Benjamin, 173 103; Native attraction to, 71-73, 76,

bears, 164 90; Native women and, 94, 103-5; and birds, 30 scripture, 81, 126-29, 183-84, 221n9, Bourne, Richard, 76, 102-3 245n15. See also conversion

at 249

250 Se INDEX Church, Benjamin, 175—76, 207n4 dress, 60-61; of Anglo-Americans, 108, 186, civility: coercion as tool to achieve, 79-80, 188; of Native Americans, 23, 107—9 86-87, 89; gendered understanding of, 83, drinking and drunkenness, 134, 153-54, 87-89, 195-96; missionary efforts directed 186-87, 189

toward, 10, 72, 74, 85, 88-89, 97 Driver, Robert, 42-44 colonialism: disdain for Native Americans Dudley, Thomas, 71

by, 8-9, 46, 84, 87, 89, 194; and Dunton, John, 150-51 evangelization, 11-12, 127-29, 194, 196-97; Dyer, Mary, 180, 24.4n8

and farming land, 37, 78, 84, 100; and Dymmok, John, 87

gender identity, 9, 10, 20, 37; implications | for England of, 79; Ireland as testing economy, colonial, 56, 99-100, 117, 196. See

ground for, 6, 88; justifications for, 46, also agriculture 76, 84; masculine ideal of, 7, 20, 39-40, Edward VI (king), 6 45, 77-81; Native resistance to, 73, 82, Eliot, John, 76, 86, 95, 103-4, 122, 12.4; 135; Native strategies for coping with, missionary work of, 11, 89; and patriarchal 75, 89-90, 108—9, 119-20, 129, 196; and governance, 12$~27, 129-31, 133; on praying patriarchalism, 10-11, 18-20, 31, 39, 44-45, Indians, 10, 98—99, 108, 119-20, 173-74,

80; and transformation of Native gender 195-96, 23332; on transforming Native practices, 100, 114, 121, 135; violence and manhood, 10, 81-82 coercion in, §, 9, 79-80, 86-87, 89, 156-57, elites: Anglo-American, 81; Native American,

187. See also economy, colonial 23-24, 62—63, 67. See also hierarchy

Columbus, Christopher, 5 Elizabeth and Mary, 170, 242n28

communalism, 37-38, 39 Elizabeth I (queen), 6 communal property, 83-84 Elton, Richard, 151 Compleat Body of the Art Military, The Emerson, John, 166

(Elton), 151 Endicott, John, 120

Converse, James, 162 England, 6, 53, 61-62, 83-84; Civil War in, conversion, 8, 34—35, 87; difficulties of, 96, 110; colonization impact on, 79-81; and

98, 136; praying Indian motivations for, Ireland, 6, 87-88 72-73. See also missionary efforts English language, 54. Cotton, John, 127, 149, 153-54 exchange. See gifting and exchange

Cotton, John, Jr., 76 execution sermons, 41-45

Cotton, Josiah, 76, 86, 116

Cutshamekin, 130-33 family, 126, 133, 189; missionary efforts

Cuttaqueene, 138 around, 124-25; patriarchal rank and governance in, 18, 36, 115, 125, 135, 204n8;

Davenport, Richard, 167-68, 215n31 Puritan conceptions of, 116, 132, 134-35.

deer, 146-47 See also fatherhood

Demos, John, 215n3 family devotions, 116-17, 120, 125 Description of New England, A (Smith), fatherhood, 116, 125-27; father-son

77-81 relationships, 129-35, 232n24; nursing

deviance, 33, 39-41, 44,77 | fathers” image, 127, 189-90. See also family

Diéreville, Seieur de, 28 father-son relationships, 131-35, 232n24

disease, 16, 65, 84, 91-92 Feavour, Nicholas, 42-44 divorce, 62, 64, 67, 121, 124 Fenner, William, 87

dreams, 166—67 fishing, 80, 82, 99, 214Nn21

INDEX w& 251

foods, 23, 28 language in, 54-55, 127, 129; military,

football, 47-49 151-52, 159; Native notions of, 21-23, 50, 54-55, 113-14

gambling, 18, 52, 123 Higgenson, Francis, 83-84

Gardener, Lion, 161 Historical Account of the Doings and Sufferings

gender roles and identity, 19, 33, 40, 68; of the Christian or Praying Indians, An Christianity and, 31, 101, 103; colonialism (Gookin), 194-95 and, 9, 10, 20, 37; and division of labor, Hobbomock (deity), 25, 145-48, 172 19, 39, 69, 74, 83; effeminization of men, Hobbomock (Massasoit’s adviser), 17, 63, 168 6, 122, 127, 167, 182, 187, 21§N31, 245N11; hospitality, 9, 17-18, 29, 4, 58-59, 96

masculinity-feminity juxtaposition, Howes, Edward, 71-72 55-56, 69; and Native housing, 112-13, Hubbard, William, 164, 172—73, 179 116; religion and, 7, 25, 138-39; sexual hubbub, 17-18, 49—50, 98 symbolism, 127, 183, 189-90. See also Humins, John, 14.4

masculinity; women humor, 55

gifting and exchange: by Anglo-Americans, hunting, 4, 50-52, 60, 96; Anglo-American 60, 154-55; in Native-colonist relations, 2, colonists and, 52-53; in England, 53, 83; 5) 15, 17-18, §8—61, 71-72, 142-45, 148-49} missionaries’ view of, 46, 82; and Native in Native society, 3, 9, 49~50, 60, 142 masculinity, 52, 74, 83, 96, 99, 213n17

Gods Promise to His Plantation (Cotton), Hutchinson, Anne, 244n8 153-54

gold, 3 idleness, 80—83 Gookin, Daniel, 10, 84, 95, 113, 133; on praying = Indian Converts (Mayhew), 101

Indians, 107—9, 114, 119, 136, 145, 194-95 inheritance, 38

Gosnold, Bartholomew, 6-7 Institutes of Christian Religion, The (Calvin),

Gouge, William, 36 87

governance, 23, 88; patriarchal, 125-27, Ireland, 6, 87-88

129—31, 133, 135 Isaiah 49:23, 127

Green, Samuel, 182

Greer, Allan, 201n15 James, Samuel, 176 Gridley, Belief, 132 James I (king), 52, 213n19 Gyles, John, 21-22, 51, 55 Johnson, Edward, 113, 177, 215n31 Johnson, Richard, 175

hair, 21, 110-12, 146 Josselyn, John, 23, 51 Hakluyt, Richard, 7

Hall, David D., 183 Keihtan (deity), 25

Hamell, George, 147 kidnapping, 2, 4, 133-34, 200n2 Hannit, Sarah, 115-16 King Philip’s War: Anglo-American forces Harvard College, 110-11 in, 1§3, 1$7, 191; Native American tactics

Haudenosaunee, 6 in, 173; praying Indian warriors in, 109,

Heale, William, 85 145-46, 163, 166; religious view of, 12, 137—

health, 72—73 38, 178, 193; as turning point for Native Henry VIII (king), 6 Americans, 11-13, 76, 174, 191, 193-96 Hiacoomes, 91-95 King William's War, 13, 1$7, 166, 174, 191 hierarchy: Anglo-American notions of, 33, kinship, 27 35-36, 42-43, 77-79, 108; deferential Knight, Sarah Kemble, 149, 152

252 tm INDEX labor: Anglo-American view of, 37, 78—79, 81, tions of, §6, 122, 127, 167, 182, 187, 215n31,

85, 98; and idleness, 80-83; of Natives in 24$n11; and hunting, 52, 74, 83, 96, 99, colonial economy, 80, 99-100, 117, 196; by 21317; juxtaposed to femininity, 55-56, women, 19, 69, 74, 99-100, 112, 115-16 69; missionaries’ views of, 10, 12, 74-75,

Lamentations, 183-84, 245n15 77-78, 83, 89-91, 121, 122; and Native spiriland, 222n16; bounding of, 84, 98-99; for tual power, 19, 21, 167, 169-70; and Native colonial farmers, 78; communal among view of warfare, 11-12, §5—56, 139, 156, 161—

Natives, 83-84. 62, 167, 174-75; oratory and, 46, 53-55, 96; Lathrup, Captain, 172 and physical skill, 12, 19, 46-47, 49, 139;

Lay, William, 116 praying Indians’ blending of conceptions

Lechford, Thomas, 68 of, 96, 101-2; Puritan view of, 40, 69, 121, Le Clercq, Chrestien, 28 124, 190; and sexuality, 121, 122-24; and Levett, Christopher, 21, 206n1 sports, 47, 50. See also patriarchalism

Liette, Pierre de, 28 Mason, John, 163, 184-85

Little, Ann M., 246n17 Massachusetts Bay Colony, 10-11, 95-97, 103, Lombard, Anne S., 204n8, 210n2 150; praying towns in, 75, 115; regulations and codes, 98, 108, 121-22; Seal of, 127-29,

Macedonian Plea, 128-29, 183 182; thanksgiving medal and broadside,

Magunco, 118 180-83 Main, Gloria, 215n3 Massasoit, 23, 58-62

Manamoycke, 15 Mather, Cotton, 10, 83, 89, 144, 157-58, 168; manitou, 25, $1, 14.6, 148, 162-63 Manly Christianity, 31-33; Pillars of Salt,

Manly Christianity (Mather), 31-33 41-44

Manomet, 16 Mather, Increase, 42—43, 172, 179-80, 185-86

: marriage, 68—69, 115; Anglo-American view Mattalog, 138 of, 36, $7-58, 62-63, 121, 154; bride-price Mayhew, Experience, 91, 105-6, 115, 196; on in, 63-64; and divorce, 62, 64, 67, 121, 124; praying Indians, 101, 108, 116-17, 176 feasts at, 57, 215n3; and male honor, 64-65; Mayhew, Matthew, 8, 23, 26 missionaries concern with reforming, 121, | Mayhew, Thomas, Jr., 10, 74, 85-86, 91, 94, 124; Native elite and, 62-63, 67; polygamy 102—3 in, 62—63, 83, 121-22, 124; and sex, 38, 121 Mayhew, Thomas, Sr., 54-55 Martha's Vineyard, 10, 11, 91-95; Christian menstruation, 28, 113

Indians clothed as the English, 109; Militarie Discipline (Barriffe), 151, 153-54, 160, praying towns in, 75, 115-17; religion in, 238n22

8,101 militia, colonial, 238n22; training days,

Mary I (queen), 6 149-52, 159, 174, 187, 189

masculinity, 5, 10, 33, 38, 56, 68-69; Anglo- Miller, Christopher, 147 American anxiety over, 40, 184-87, 190, Milton, John, 34, 88 246n17; Anglo-American conception missionary efforts, 81, 89, 98, 107-8, 114; of, 12, 20, 31, 33, 38, 210n2; and boyhood- civility as central to, 10, 72, 74, 85, 88-89, manhood transition, 19, 33, 38; Christian- 97; fading from prominence of, 11-12, 194, ity and, 31, 103; and civility, 83, 87-89, 196-97; Native American resistance to, 73, 195-96; as colonial ideal, 7, 20, 39-40, 45, 82; and Native masculinity, 10, 74-75, 83, 77-79; and colonists’ view of warfare, 89-91, 121; and Native women, 10, 75, 83, 11-12, §5—56, 138-39, 14.9, 153, 156—59, 174; 104-6; patriarchalism promoted by, 103,

communal nature of, 67-68; deviant, 115, 124-25, 135; and praying Indians, 76, 33-34, 39-41, 44, 77; effeminizing depic- 103; as religious husbandry, 85—86

INDEX & 253 mobility, Native, 4, 83-84, 94, 98, 117 Pennacooks, 65

Monequaassun, 111 Pequots, 56, 215n31 Mononotuk Samm, 168 Pequot War, 56, 162-63, 167, 184; battle Montowompate (Black James), 65, 67-68 tactics in, 158, 160, 190; Mystic massacre

Morgan, Edmund S., 215n3 during, 156, 166, 172 Morton, Nathanial, 193 physical skill, 12, 19, 46-47, 49, 139 Morton, Thomas, 23, 29, 65, 161, 217N25 Pierson, Abraham, 123

Murrin, John, 217n23 Pillars of Salt (Mather), 41-44 Mystic massacre, 156, 166, 172 Plane, Ann Marie, 121 Plymouth Colony, 11, 37-40, 57-62, 76

Nahawton, William, 178 pnieses, 24, 26-27, 63-64

naming practices, 47 Polo, Marco, 5

Nanepashemet, 65 polygyny, 62-63, 83, 121-22, 124 Narrangansetts, 2-4, 23-24, 28-29, 56 powwows, 8, 24, 27, 165, 168, 208n7

Nash, Alice N., 213n17 prayer, 72—73, 104, 150, 155; in Christian Nashouohkamuk (Chilmark), 116 Indian life, 96-97, 100-101, 111, 119; family

Nassaney, Michael, 118 devotions, 116-17, 120, 125. See also rituals Nataéus (William of Sudbury), 123 praying Indians, 10, 102, 107-8, 111-12, 116-17, Natick, 10, 75, 95, 114, 129-30, 23111 133; blending of old and new by, 11, 76,

Nawham, 138 89-90, 196; built environment of, 114-18; Nemasket, 16 in colonial armies, 109, 145—46, 163, 166,

Nepsonset, 76 170-71, 173-76, 191, 242n28; impact of Newman, Noah, 138 King Philip’s War on, 11, 193-97; motiva-

Ninigret, 14.4 tions for converting by, 72—73, 90; public Ninigret II, 196 justice by, 135, 233n32; role in colonial Nishohkou, 123-24 economy, 99-100, 196; scorn of traditionNonantum, 76, 95, 98, 115, 129, 231011 alists toward, 73, 91-92, 94-95, 129, 136;

Nowell, Samuel, 149, 187 size of population of, 76; strategies for relating with colonists, 108-9, 119-20, 129;

obedience, 88, 128, 154; and disobedience, term, 13

43-44, 130, 132—33 Preston, John, 34

O’Brien, Jean M., 100 Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and

Obhumuh, Elazor, 101 Discoveries of the English Nation, The

oral traditions, 28—30 (Hakluyt), 7

oratory and speech, 17-18, 91, 93, 119, 21423; Prodigal Son, parable of, 126, 128-29

importance for Anglo-Americans, 54; Protestantism, 31, 77, 87 importance for Native manhood, 46, puim, 17-18, 49, 98, 123 §3-55, 96; ritualized speech, 55, 214n26 Puritanism, 87, 110, 188; family conceptions of, 116, 132, 134-35; ON sin, 33, 40; view of

Pahkehpunnasso, 91, 92 masculinity, 40, 69, 121, 124, 190

Passaconaway, 29 Pynchon, William, 144 patriarchalism, 83, 119; as colonist governing

principle, 10-11, 18-20, 31, 39, 44-45, 80; Quakers, 188, 24.4n8 and communalism, 38; missionaries’ pro- quartz crystals, 118 motion of, 103, 115, 135; perceived decline Queen Anne’s War, 13, 157, 174, 191 of, 186, 189-90

Pawtuckets, 65 Rasieres, Isaack de, 59, 64

254 St INDEX Reason of Church Government, The (Milton), Soopasun, Hannah, 105

88 Speen, John, 98, 118

Reformation, 31, 87 Spenser, Edmund, 87 religion: colonist anxiety over decline of, Spiritual Milk for Babes. Drawn out of the 186-87; exclusivity and inclusivity in, 8; Breasts of Both Testaments (Cotton), 127 and gender identity, 7, 25, 138-39; instruc- sports and games: Anglo-American colonists tion in, 25-27, 125-26, 150, 189; Native and, 52, 53, 98; English, 48, 52, 213n19;

cosmology, 30, 49-52, 60, 109, 143-48, Native Americans and, 46-50 163-64, 241n17; Native deities, 25, 145-48, Standish, Miles, 16, 56, 141, 151 172; Native practices seen as demonic, 97, Starkey, Armstrong, 172, 243n34 159, 166—67, 177; and warfare, 12, 137—41, Stewart-Smith, David, 217n25 156, 166, 171. See also Christianity; mission- St. George, Robert Blair, 115, 149-50

ary efforts; prayer Stiles, Ezra, 164

Richards, John, 152 Stoddard, Solomon, 174 rituals, 8, 91-92, 117-18; coming-of-age, 27, Stonewall John, 138 100-101, 113; menstrual seclusion, 28, 113; Stout, Harry S., 187 in speech, 55, 214n26; thanksgiving, 183, sunksquaws, 22, 23, 207n4 187; vision quest, 26; in warfare, 12, 139- Symon, Major, 166 40, 160-61, 162-63, 171. See also prayer Symonds, Samuel, 173 Rowlandson, Mary, 163-64

Rubertone, Patricia E., 22 Tempest, The (Shakespeare), 61 Tilley, John, 162

Sabbath, 52—53, 96 2 Timothy: scripture, 81, 221n9 sachems, 23, 62-63, 67—68; female, 22, 23, Tispaquin (Black Sachem), 167

207N4 Tisquantum (Squanto), 15, 16, 141-43, 168

salvation, 8, 10, 35, 40, 184; Natives and lan- tobacco, 17, 21, 118-19

guage of, 123, 136 Tokamahamon, 141-43

Samoset, 144 Totherswamp, 104-5, 133-35

Sassacus, 168 Totson, 146

Sewall, Samuel, 152-54, 171 Toulouse, Teresa A., 246n17 sex and sexuality, 38, 84-85, 115, 121-24. Towanquatick, 93

Shakespeare, William, 61 traditionalist Natives, 97, 101, 108, 111-12, Shepard, Thomas, 74, 85, 102, 116; conversion 139; about term, 13; animosity toward

experience of, 34-35, 97-98 Christian Indians by, 73, 91-92, 94-95, 129, signs and omens, 165-66, 179, 241n16 136; distinguishing praying Indians from,

Silverman, David J., 222n16, 226n21 11, 74, 194, 196 , Simmons, William S., 241n17 trapping, 52 Simple Cobbler of Aggawam in America, A Treat, Samuel, 74 (Ward), 88

sin, 33, 40—42, 44, 184, 186, 188—90 Umpas, Thomas, 171 singing and dancing, 48-49, 59, 212nn7-8 Underhill, John, 56, 158-59, 162, 178 Sissetom, Deborah, 105

slavery, 39, 61 Verrazzano, Giovanni da, 1-5 Smith, John, 77-81 Volmar, Michael, 118 snakes, 143-44, 146-49 social order, 41, 82, 87-88, 121; hierarchy and, | Waban, 95-97, 126

36, 77; patriarchal, 33, 36, 4.0, 83, 85, 135 Wabanakis, 4

INDEX st 255 Walley, Thomas, 194 Williams, Roger, 85, 125, 153, 245n6; on Native

Wamporas, 126 adornment, 21, 108-9; on Native gender

wampum, 56, 171; as adornment, 23, 109; distinctions, 19, 84; on Native hierarchy spiritual significance of, 49, 9-60, 147 and leadership, 22-24; on Native housing,

Wannalancet, 136, 181 112-13; on Native mocking and insults, s5, Ward, Nathanial, 88 143; on Natives and warfare, 137-38, 161, warfare: Anglo-American view of, 153, 159, 165; on Native spiritual beliefs, 25-26, 30; 174, 177-78, 187; blending of Native and on Native traditions and activities, 46-47, colonist traditions of, 170-72, 191; colonial 49-50, 52-54, 63, 83 officers, 150, 153-55; and colonist mascu- Wilson, John, 131 linity, 11-12, 55-56, 138-39, 149, 153, 156-59, Winslow, Edward, 15-16, 18, 142; on Native

174; death in, 161-62, 175; development of beliefs, 25, 60; on Native cultural skills in, 11-12, 139, 150-51, 161; European practices, 21, 23, 26, 47, 55, 62-63; on

weaponry’s transformation of, 11-12, patriarchalism, 39-40, 44-45 1§8-59, 172; irregular, 157, 159, 172; military Winthrop, John, 35-37, 53, 72, 84, 150, 162

discipline and hierarchy, 151-52, 160, 175; Winthrop, Wait, 159

Native adornment in, 145-46, 161-62; Wituwamat, 162 and Native masculinity, 11-12, 55-56, women, Anglo-American, 37-39, 41, 86, 139, 156-57, 161~62, 167, 174-75, 177; and 210N12 Native supernatural beliefs, 12, 139, 145, women, Native, 27-28, 49, 55, 100, 117; age

162-65, 167-69; one-one-one combat by differences and, 21-22; and agriculture, Natives, 94, 161-62, 170; praying Indians 38, 63, 74, 84, 138, 158; and Christianity, in, 109, 145—46, 163, 166, 170—71, 173-76, 94, 103-5; in combat, 157-58; labor by, 19, 191, 242n28; religion and, 12, 137-41, 156, 69, 74, 99-100, 112, 115—16; latitude in mate 166, 171; ritualized by Natives, 12, 139-40, selection and divorce, 62, 64, 67, 121, 124; 160-61, 171; scorn for colonist method of, menstrual seclusion of, 28, 113; missionar162, 167; scorn for Native style of, 12, 82, ies and, 10, 75, 83, 104-6; and sexuality, 7s, 138-39, 158—60, 173-74, 190; tactics in, 12, 123; tobacco smoking by, 118

' 1§7, 172, 191; Women in, 157-58 Wonohaquaham (Sagamore John), 71-73

weather, 92, 165-66 Wood, William, 22-23, 29-30, 46, 54, 68, 113;

Wenuhus, 65, 67—68 on Native adornment, 3, 110; on Native Wetuomémese, 28, 113 gender roles, 19, 22, 56, 83, 158; on Native

Whalley, Thomas, 173 sports, 47-50

Wicked Man’s Portion, The (Mather), Wright, Joseph, 180, 24.4—45n8

42-43 Wuttinnaumatuk, 103

Wigglesworth, Michael, 110 Wuttontaehtunnooh, 117 wigwams, 4, 112-16, 124; and gender roles

and hierarchy, 28, 112-14 Yonohhumuh, 99

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