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LIERARY

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This is to certify that the

thesis entitled

« A STUDY OF THE INDIAN CAPTIVITY NARRATIVE
As A POPULAR LITERARY GENRE, CA. 11.673-1875

presented by

Larry Lee Carey

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

Ph. D. degree in English

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@ Copyright by
LARRY LEE CAREY

1978

A STUDY OF THE INDIAN CAPTIVITY NARRATIVE AS
A POPULAR LITERARY GENRE, CA. 1675-1875

By

Larry Lee Carey

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to -
Michigan State University
in partial fuifillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Department of English

1978

ABSTRACT

A STUDY OF THE INDIAN CAPTIVITY NARRATIVE AS
A POPULAR LITERARY GENRE, CA. 1675-1875

By

Larry Lee Carey

Despite the recognition of the Indian captivity narrative as
an abundant resource for the social historian and the cultural anthro-
pologist, it remains a largely unexplored, popular literary genre
paralleling crucial periods in America's growth. Like all popular
arts, the captivity tale reflects and reaffirms social values, thus
providing insights into the genre and the society that shaped and
altered it for over 200 years.

Method is an obvious problem facing any investigator of the
Indian captivity tale. One useful approach is the concept of formula
as refined by John G. Cawelti. A formula might best be defined as a
basis for organizing plots, settings, and characterizations accord-
ing to conventions shared by the author and his culture. Moreover,
these formulas contribute to what Cawelti calls collective (or cul-
tural) ritual, dream, and game, ritual here signifying that formula
stories express and reaffirm the dominant cultural values, thereby
resolving tensions while contributing to group solidarity.

Although the game and dream dimensions largely apply to

fiction per se, the crucial dimensions of collective ritual,

Larry Lee Carey

characterization, and setting are valuable for analyzing Indian cap-
tivities written between about l675 and l875. Because formula stories
are excellent indicators of predominant social values, changing story

dimensions (or their valuations) reflect changing social values. In

 

 

terms of the Indian captivity tale, these predominant shifts may be “a,
f K “E “:7

categorized as religious didacticism, political propaganda, and ,{:*g

literary sensationalism. “1,7

Puritan tales of captivity reveal a homogeneous society that
regarded captivity as God's test of the elect and reaffirm the soli-
darity of a cultural belief in the Indian and Jesuit as Satanic
agents threatening the Puritan's new Eden in the wilderness. Like
later captivities, Puritan accounts reinforce the popular belief that
Indians are too far removed from civilization and Christianity to be
redeemed. This attitude further justified killing Indians and seiz-
ing their land, often with the same violent methods associated with
"savagery."

In later, less homogeneous societies, political propaganda QJK
frequently takes precedence over religious didacticism as a vital I
part of collective ritual. Inciting colonists against French-
Canadians and Indians, or later against Tories and Indians, was more
important to captives than Puritan resignation to God's sovereignty
or Special Providences.

Captives from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries fre- a,/°-t
quently display great interest in the natural setting, as well as 1"3.
new emphasis on science, technology, agriculture, and their import 3(a/

for white settlers. Although many captives also examine the “>

Larry Lee Carey

sociological and anthropological details of Indian life, they do not
forget their own cultural heritage, nor do they reject the inexorable
advance of a "superior" white race. In fact, captives invariably <::”§£
attack whites who refuse to be redeemed, or white renegades who {'ra’
voluntarily espouse the Indian life.

Finally, captives of the late eighteenth as well as the nine-

f\

ml
5: :4 Us
incorporating the melodramatic heroine or the Western hero into their oC49sgg

teenth century reflect America's growing literary nationalism by /

‘1'
(I K. N.
' A

narratives, with the latter often depicted as a questing hero who ; ‘ 7“, m
' If, ”a .
A)? A- (x
to the hero's vision of establishing a civilization in the wilder-[A171,~ «z‘ >

/\_ 0"

ness. Here, as in other historical periods, the narrators reveal "*»s

L'r’

seeks to overcome the threats of villainous Indian and renegade alike

their belief in a hierarchy wherein the established village or city ‘1
is superior to the rural fanm, the rural farm is superior to the ,g
frontier, and the frontier, with all its violence, is nevertheless ‘“-.’<:.

superior to savagery. I,

To my parents, and to Andy and Bob

They never lost confidence in me

11'

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to quote from
the following material: The University of Tennessee Press, for per-
mission to quote from Held Captive by Indians: Selected Narratives,
l642-l836, edited by Richard VanDerBeets, c0pyright l973 by the Uni-
versity of Tennessee Press, Knoxville 37916; The Johns Hopkins Uni-
versity Press, for permission to quote from The Savages of America by
Roy Harvey Pearce, copyright 1953 by the Johns Hopkins University
Press, Baltimore 2l2l8.

I also wish to acknowledge the many hours of proofreading and
editorial comments by Professors Marilyn Culpepper and Arnella Turner
of the Department of American Thought and Language. Because their
suggestions and encouragement have been invaluable in the prepara-
tion of this final draft, I shall forever be in their debt.

Nor could I ever forget the assistance of my friend and teach-
ing assistant, Andrew Deveau. His careful attention to class prepara-
tion, his devotion to student problems, and his long hours reviewing
drafts and grading essays provided me much additional time to pursue
this study. Moreover, Andy's dedication to his work demonstrates
that he is well on his way to becoming an outstanding scholar and
educator in his own right.

Finally, I wish to thank Professor James H. Pickering (com-

mittee chairman) for his many hours of patient, arduous attention to

iii

the drafts of this study, and for his insightful, valuable criticism.
In addition, I am indebted to the other members of my committee,
Professors Howard Anderson, C. David Mead, and Russel B. Nye, of the
Department of English. Nor can I forget Professor Loren Jones,
Department of Music, who contributed his time and comnents as reader

of the final draft.

iv

Chapter

II.

III.

IV.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

Notes, Introduction

NARRATIVES OF RELIGIOUS DIDACTICISM
Notes, Chapter I

NARRATIVES OF THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WARS

‘ Notes, Chapter II

NARRATIVES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
Notes, Chapter III

NARRATIVES OF THE "WESTERN WARS"
Notes, Chapter IV

NARRATIVES OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
Notes, Chapter V

CONCLUSION

Notes, Conclusion

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Page

21
24
53
59
93
98
119
122
155
159
183
187
205
206

INTRODUCTION

History

The literary significance of the Indian captivity narrative
has long been recognized. George Parker Winship, writing in the

Cambridge Historygof American Literature in l9l7, for example,

 

observes that
There is nothing in English, or in any other language, that
surpasses these narratives of Indian captivities in vivid-
ness or in the bare statement of physical suffering and of
mental torment. They held the attention of readers who

knew the writers, and the stream of successive reprintings
is still going on, to supply an unabated demand.

‘a

w

Similarly, Richard VanDerBeets (l973) refers to the narratives asTX PRC.
"our first literature of catharsis in an era when native American \
fiction scarcely existed." Like Winship and others, VanDerBeets I)
observes that the great popularity of the narratives is reflected by
their numerous reprintings; "first editions are rare today because
they were quite literally read to pieces. . . ."1
These writers have also commented upon the similarities
between the captivity narrative and the novel. For example, Derek
6. Smith, writing in an introduction to the l974 reprint of The
Adventures and Sufferings of John R. Jewitt, Captive Among the Nootka,
1803-l805 (l824), says that both captivity narrative and novel are
characterized by "adventure, suffering, privation, quest, initia-
tion," with the resultant effect being "gripping immediacy, a fasci-

nation sometimes horrific, sometimes morbid, an atmosphere of utter

1

authenticity." Finally, Smith suggests the human experiences
depicted in the captivity narrative overcome the literary excesses
or deficiencies of these accounts.2
In addition to its literary value, the Indian captivity nar-
rative is an abundant source of information for the social historian
and the cultural anthropologist. For example, in a 1950 article
published in the Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society
entitled "Indian Captivities," Marius Barbeau lists over eighty
examples of ethnological materials present in captivity narratives.
A. Irving Hallowell, writing in Current Anthropology, December,
1963, presents a valuable discussion(yfTransculturalization and its
effects upon white captives, while a book-length study by J. Norman
Heard, entitled White Into Red: A Studyiof the Assimilation of
White Persons Captured by Indians (1973), presents a detailed
anthropological-sociological study of acculturation, using Indian
captivity narratives as source material.3
Despite the recognition of the captivity narrative for its 752%
literary, social, and cultural values, it remains a largely unex- _f‘~h
plored, popular literary form. Thirty years ago, Roy Harvey Pearce (It, In
called the captivity narrative a valuable tool for understanding ,Qffit2, 2-gf1
popular American culture, issues, and tastes. Nevertheless, an ( ”a; i
in-depth study of the captivity narrative as a popular cultural ,,
form has yet to be published.4 13 f1-
The present study maintains that the Indian captivity nar- 8L

rative is a valuable, but neglected, body of popular literature (3::Hkax,

paralleling crucial periods in America's growth from the seventeenthét<JxF

4V

F”. . - '3
\ 55-0 "( [2’ ()4 H K LL- ' , ;
>\ L. N" 06/ < 1,, v 7 i ,
,1) \ j ‘5/ cf 3‘. ‘21.
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p

, through the nineteenth centuries.5 Like all popular arts, the cap-”"yzfiit

tivity narrative reflects and reaffirms the thoughts, feelings, and 1' firl'K‘
values of the society which produces it, from Puritan New Englanders \\ :77, ‘

to American Revolutionists, and from post-Revolutionary frontiersmen ¢/\_ 4.

 

to late nineteenth-century Westerners. A study of the captivity nar- T flz;f“

rative as a popular literary form can do what Russel B. Nye has said I';

of popular culture in general, i.e., "provide an unusually sensitive ’hn x

and accurate image of the attitudes and concerns_ of the.soc1ety_f9r ;:; if: “151‘

whichfliti swq qeated"--in _this_ case, attitudes towards_ the Indian and ‘\ N ’

hi_s wilderness home, attitudes towards the ongoing conflict between ‘:.:'”~-

. _.-..-.- m-

H HA - 3“ \ C 1
white man and red man, or civilization and savagery. as most Indiana? *< p "s

"MT-Th“ r

s , ( L
captives came to depict this conflict. Professor Nye also observes “\ at, ‘9‘,

—- -_..._..._._.

((8
that "the world of popular culture is our own, and if we do not study A ;\“
°&,.: '

1:“ \

it, we can never understand it or control it; knowing it is a way of 3',

knowing ourselves."6

Surely, the Indian captivity narrative provides
insights into both the genre itself and the society that shaped and

altered the-narrative for over 200 years. To study the captivity

<3
narrative is, indeed, a way to study the Massachusetts Puritan, the ‘Ss,
~__________.,,LL.____»_—w— egg ‘3

Tidewater Anglican, the Revolutionary propagandist, and the advocate “x, :1

.
. a ‘
k 1

of Western expansion, for these and many other individuals were \j
Indian captives, and what they reveal in their narratives of their
captivity experiences provides valuable keys to understanding atti-

tudes and practices of Americans today.

Scholarship
Little substantive work on the Indian captivity narrative
has been published. Phillips D. Carleton's 1943 article in

American Literature discusses the captivity narrative's form of

 

attack, capture, escape or return. He refers to its sociological
and historical value, as well as its great popularity. He also
cites its honesty and simplicity in contrast to other genres and
later "refined" narratives that emerged as editors and fiction
writers exploited the narrative for potential profits. Carleton's
article concludes with observations about the narrative's literary
and historical values:

Taken as a whole this body of literature tells a new story
of the United States: how the Englishman became an American
on the successive frontiers on which he faced the Indian;
the captivity explains the manner in which the American
learned from the Indian how to live in the new wilderness;
it emphasizes the fact that it was the line of fluid fron-
tiers receding into the West that changed the colonists

into a new people; they conquered the Indian, but he was

the hammer that beat out a new race on the anvil of the
continent.

Carleton does not go beyond these observations, nor does he suggest

a methodology to analyze the narratives. By and large, the purpose
of Carleton's article is to call attention to the captivity narrative
as a neglected literary genre.7

Roy Harvey Pearce is one of the first individuals to analyze /§;

K
A

the captivity narratives. In his 1947 article appearing in American fxa

. 15, A
Literature, entitled "the Significances of the Captivity Narrative," r1 ‘1
1;

Pearce regards the narrative as a "sort of popular form which shapes

and reshapes itself according to varying immediate cultural 'needs,'" )

F‘specifically, religious didacticism, political propaganda, and

literary sensibility. Thus, Puritan captivity narratives are

.__.-..—~

 

 

"simple, direct religious documents" paralleling the literary,

reIiQiQUS; and social theories of the Puritans. During the French

 

 

 

and Indian Wars, as well as the American Revolution, sensationalism 1;?»30
and propaganda become more important than content and accuracy. “,1. 12
"The writings of the hack and journalist, not the direct outpouringsi>+figih
of the pious individual, became the standard of, and the means to, 8‘.
this new end." In short, marketability replaces religious didacti-
cism. During its third period, the captivity tale is incorporated
into the novel of sensibility, such as Bleecker's History of Maria
fijttlg (1793) and Brown's Edgar Huntly_(l799), thus becoming "the
eighteenth-century equivalent of the dime novel." Finally, Pearce
notes, the captivity narrative continues in popularity during the
nineteenth century as a restatement of themes popular in the late
eighteenth-century captivity tales.

Even when they appear to be genuine productions of the

nominal narrator, they tend to be formed according to the
pattern of the captivity narrative as pulp thriller.

 

 

Pearce's conclusion stresses the value of the captivity narrative -::?*;_
. ,~ 2\
. 1 In .17
a cultural bargmgter, because c: *-
ca, ‘3
it enables. ALB.) sse-mm:e,.,deeplyeqdhmqresleaflyeintb 9013- ix \4 ,
ular American_culture, popular American issues, and popular 2%” ‘«/
American tastes. As religious confessional, as propaganda, 5;

'and as pulp thriller, the captivity narrative gives us
sharp insight into various segments of popular American
culture.

Pearce does not stress the sociological or anthropological signifi-

cance of the captivity narrative, and while he recognizes its value

as an indicator of American culture, he does_not hodolo (11"

. {9-
W ana'yz'w the “”0“ PeriosléLgaPtivifcrtales. -orjggaccounting pray-«r
'--—-'—"'—‘“‘-"-‘“’ ”‘“ " " T“ t"- "“‘ n. ()7

for changes in those-tales. What led religious didacticism to give (3
W (I
Y

\

way to religious propaganda, and then to political propaganda? Why fid;

‘7’

R
\3
K. ‘
1L 1 f3
6; .
'. . "(_/-r
#3,":— , ,"~,
'1 Q
,

were the nineteenth-century narratives restatements of late- 11‘ 9.; d.;

v.
I”,

eighteenth-century captivities? Why is the setting more important
in one period than another, and what do the changes reveal about

the society producing the narratives? Questions such as these arise
whenever one studies any popular cultural artifact. The application
of a workable methodology, therefore, is essential if one is to find
a unifying theme and supply the needed answers to one's questions.8

Pearce endeavors to supply the crucial methodology as he

develops the concept of an ongoing struggle between "civilization" :égab,

k.)

6.’

and "savagery" in his 1953 book entitled The Savages of America: A
Study of the Indian and the Idea of Civlization. Herein Pearce
incorporates several ideas from his 1947 article, as well as from

a 1952 article in the Journal of the History of Ideas entitled "The .
'Ruines of Mankind': The Indian and the Puritan Mind," tracing the
evolution of the concepts of "civilization" and "savagery" in America
from its colonization to the mid-nineteenth century, while examining
many examples of the conflict engendered by these very concepts. He
cites many documents to illustrate the inevitable conflict which
arises when a highly-evolved culture encounters a primitive culture.
Because this very encounter is vital to an understanding of the
Indian captivity narrative, and because Pearce himself does include

.1

representative captivity narratives, his text proves a valuable

tool to investigate one important aspect of the captivity narra-
tive.9

Less useful to this study, and far more limited in scope,
is a 1972 article by Richard VanDerBeets published in American

Literature entitled "The Indian Captivity Narrative as Ritual,"

 

which is largely a condensation of ideas appearing in his 1973
dissertation, AThe Indian Captivity Narrative: an American Genre."
VanDerBeets begins his article by observing that the narrative is
still largely the province of "historians, anthropologists, and
collectors of Americana," a point Carleton first raised in 1943.
)In most cases, scholars have pursued the historical or cultural
aspects of the narratives, while ignoring their literary potential,
or, like Pearce, have viewed them as "sub-literary genres."
VanDerBeets also questions Pearce's suggestion that until the cap-
tivity narrative was incorporated into Brown's Edgar Huntly (1799),
it had only "incidental literary value."10 1
VanDerBeets then presents his thesis: the captivity nar:) i4:{€aéo

rative is a complete, valuable genre unto itself as a ritga1_of’// 1£5\‘;
injtjatjgn, VanDerBeets parallels the steps of "abduction,
detention/adoption, and return" to "separation, transformation, \,>
and enlightened return" in the myth of initiation. He supports
his theory by citing several narratives, and then concludes:

This ritual passage, one of the most fundamental of all

archetypal patterns, finds expression in the narratives

of Indian captivity to an extent that renders this con-

figuration an essential structuring device of the tales.
This basic pattern, when viewed in the light of such

/

ritual practices as cannibalism and scalping, demon-

strates the degree to which elements of distinctly

archetypal nature have pervaded and informed the cap-

tivity narratives throughout their development. :2,

i

I
72/

1 Thus, this author argues for the archetypal journey of initiation as 2;;jci:

_.....-_—--

M
--
..,_._’0"‘

. the unifying pattern in captivity narratives. "These acts and pat- ‘37 >:’*;

(.__..—J C" 9., '7"
terns subordinate and synthesize the historical and superficial <3,“ <;&Sé< ,
(h z. (a? .
cultural Significances of the captivity narratives and provide them ‘w¢_‘27, ‘i,
5w ‘23 .74
their essential integrity."n sis g,C¢K
'rs

Admittedly, any approach which provides a sense of unity or 1%;:€
integrity to the Indian captivity narratives is to be welcomed. But C” a.
to subordinate certain elements of the narratives, such as historical
and cultural values, or even to classify these elements as superfi-
cial, is to ignore the changing patterns of society, if not society
itself. From the point of view of popular culture, one must look
at the total product and its relationship to the society producing
it, however varied or complex that product might be over an extended
period of time, such as the 200 year history of Indian captivity
narratives.

VanDerBeets has also (1973) edited and introduced a collec- kagfio
/Q ‘49"

tion of captivity narratives entitled, Held Captive by Indians. Here o

he focuses upon the popularity of the narratives and their value to

the historian, cultural historian, and ethnologist. He follows x§jy
. ’,.l/

1' L”
' Pearce's three major divisions of narrative types--religious didac- 4mg, 4?

/ t
ticism, political propaganda, and literary sensibility--when discuss-Lfizc .51 7’

in
ing how different generations modified or "improved" narratives to /;§5\

 

 

 

W...-_-

 

, vac,
meet changing cultural demands, particularly religious or political/’¢L,45<,?7

~ ,—._— -.-#" V‘_"“_ ‘<wh- _ ._‘ _ C I.“
.;-——o-’"'"

propaganda. Another valuable portion of VanDerBeets' introduction
traces the publication history of several significant narratives,
and the rise of captivity-narrative anthologies following successful

publication of a_collectjonmgf sensational, goryficaptivities from

..—..__.._L__-‘.——-—._.____..

 

*fl“ u f“ —.—...A____k_"

the last quarter of the eighteenth century under the title of the
Manheim Anthology (1793). VanDerBeets' introduction concludes with
his rationale for chosing those narratives he presents in "the first
modern scholarly collection of uncut and unaltered narratives."
This approach, plus VanDerBeets' informative introduction and useful
textual notes, makes this anthology a valuable research source.12

More limited, but equally valuable, is David L. Mintner's /4.
"By Dens of Lions: Notes on Stylization in Early Puritan Captivity

Narratives," which appeared in American Literature in l973. Mintner

provides first a brief history of the Indian captivity narrative, 4:

summarizes the limited scholarship on the captivity narrative, and a, ‘

argues briefly for Pearce's contention that the narratives are not <;w’

part of a single genre, but are unique expressions by very different /:

O O O 0 O I «I
soc1et1es.13 His detailed examination of Mary Rowlandson's narrative “a, ‘85

6:

(1682) provides evidence for hi§:tEEEis that Puritan captivity tales 4:

\

."clearl y presenta fundamental Puritan need and habit: the turning Chi,

of private emotion and personal experience into emotion and exper-“‘\

ience approved by public code and ideology." In other words,

 

fix.“

rfi_ -_..._.__..._._._. Hm“ - "“

Puritan narratives are_stylized, in that the narrator's experiences/o)
are consciously or even sub-consciously attuned to Puritan belief
"in the providental theory of history, in the doctrine of afflic-

tions, in the literature of personal witness, in the conception of

I"

10

life as a pilgrimage through prisons to freedom, and in the notion
of salvation as continuous drama." In other words, then, Mintner C)
/I 1' ' “‘1'
argues that the Puritan narrative of Indian captivity conforms to~\ islcz
l

14 V/ ‘i/ ,1»:

a clearly-defined, socially-accepted formula.

Later Puritan captivity tales (e.g., Stockwell, 1684; Duston ‘ntrc

and Swarton, 1702; Williams, 1707) increasingly reveal both secular- /‘1§
ization and literary stylization. For Mintner, secularization means

propaganda and sensationalism, which, in turn, mean increased exploi-7%V?i#,

. ‘6.

o o o o o \r‘ 9'1
tation of the captiv1ty narrative. In daing so, however, the nar- , <afifl
m... .. _ ‘ _“ ——.-....., ( f ‘ (.
o o o . '1 {L
rator's "self" is 1 nored or subordinated. No longer is the nar- if .k

rator so completely socialized that he "feels a deep need to conform d},w.5<¥
,Q

R
. . . l <, “f.
experience to soc1ally sanctioned patterns." 5 J «r /‘;y\\
P/‘, KI \’

For 'rrl

Although one might question Mintner's contention that the .§;>a.,.
/ ".
narrator's "self" is subordinated or absent in later captivity nar-‘KHLH’ ’\g

ratives, his thesis is particularly valuable in terms of popular "znv’°:
v f (.1. f; '1
culture and formula literature. Popular literature confirms and rw ”spr“

restates the beliefs, values, and ideals of an established society’tch

by presenting conventional expressions of those values. In other 'T ,f I {

words, formula literature conforms to a clearly-defined, socially-\> i

accepted pattern readily recognized by readers of such literature \\3
as the Western, the detective story, the romance, or the adventure.

Mintner's article rounds out the limited, published scholar-
ship on the captivity narrative, but even unpublished works, namely
dissertations, fail to offer much additional information for the
student of the captivity narrative. With the exception of

VanDerBeets' l973 dissertation, only two other dissertations focus

11

upon the Indian captivity narrative. "The 'Westerns' of the East:
Narratives of Indian Captivity from Jeremiad to Gothic Novel," by
James Gordon Meade (Northwestern University, 1971) does not approach
the captivity tale as a true genre. Meade simply categorizes pre-
Revolutionary narratives as "honest accounts of experiences charged
with meaning to authors and readers alike," while he dismisses
Puritan captivities as Jeremiads, the products of individuals "who
saw captivity as a descent into hell," and thus ignores the Puritan
belief in captivity as a salutory experience. He also glosses over
the religious and political propaganda inherent in many eighteenth-
century captivity tales. Although he discusses the infusion of
sensibility into post-Revolutionary captivities, he does not explore
their cultural value or their ethnological content. In fact, he
claims "the narratives tell us little about the Indian himself."

In reality, however, the narratives frequently tell the reader a
great deal about the Indian as well as the society that shaped,
altered, read, and reread captivity tales for over two centuries.

A 1975 dissertation by James Arthur Levernier, of the 0;:

University of Pennsylvania, "Indian Captivity Narratives: Their ;:?1‘*n.
Functions and Forms," supports Pearce's thesis that different {3 ”(3 >
literary forms of the narrative evolved to meet changing social
needs. Although Levernier considers the relationship "between
literary forms and cultural needs," he focuses upon the major
authors of the nineteenth century in order to show "the effect of

popular literature on the development of more sophisticated forms

of American expression." Levernier does not examine the captivity

12

narrative solely as a valuable literary genre which reveals much
about the popular attitudes of the society producing it. Rather,
he stresses the literary form and function of the captivity narra-
tive as these relate to elite, or "sophisticated," literature.

These few dissertations, along with the articles and books
reviewed, encompass efforts to deal with the form, function, and
value of the Indian captivity narrative. Yet, VanDerBeets asserts
these neglected captivity tales "shape their materials from the very
wellsprings of human experience." If so, they deserve to be examined
with far greater attention to what they reveal of the captive's
societal values, as well as the captive's view of the wilderness
itself, including his prejudices about the Indian, or even the con-
sequences of inter-racial contact between two very different cultures.
The captivity narrative is also a valuable tool to explore the cap-
tive's innate fear of capture, and his equal repugnance towards
inter-racial marriage. Moreover, the captivity tale reveals the
captive's disdain for those captives who refuse redemption by white
society, or worse, who voluntarily leave their own society to take
up the Indian's "savage" ways. In short, these narratives tell one
much about the American experience, even about one's own American
heritage, and surely deserve far greater attention than they have

yet been accorded.16

Methodology
Method is an obvious problem facing any investigator of the

Indian captivity narrative. Yet, finding a means to analyze the

13

captivity narrative is not unlike a search for methodology per se in

17

other areas of popular culture. One particular approach lending

itself to a study of the captivity narrative is the concapt of
W" " ~~—-4‘.,__

*—

K‘u...’

N ~
formula as developed and refined John G. Cawelti?\\1n chronologi-.4Ir
. d 1'! F n) \f‘v.
cal order, Cawelti's major statemen ulas may be *t; (a:

'_
’.
A

found in: "The Concept of Formula in the Study of Popular Culture,"
Journal of Popular Culture, 3 (Winter 1969), 381-390; The Six-Gun

 

Mystigue (Bowling Green, 1971); "Notes Toward a Typology of Literary
Formulas," Indiana Social Studies Quarterly, 26 (Winter l973-74),
21-34; "Myth, Symbol, and Formula," Journal of ngular Culture, 8
(Summer 1974), 1-9; Adventure, Mystery, and Romance: Formula
Stories as Art and Popglar Culture (Chicago, 1975).

Cawelti defines a formula as "a conventional system for /x
structuring cultural products," and distinguishes a formula from ‘izgyt
farm, which is "an invented system of organization." In Cawelti's ‘€,§:

terms, conventional refers to elements familiar to the artist and

 

his audience, such as "favorite plots, stereotyped characters, :jlk/g
accepted ideas, commonly known metaphors, and other linguistic <<;?~<KB
devices.” Unique or unfamiliar elements introduced by the artist, szrlii '3
on the other hand, are called inventions. Inventions and conven- if’u:ifi;
tions are, of course, simply the poles of a continuum, but they (fiadjig“g)

serve very different cultural functions:

Conventions represent shared images and meanings and they
assert an ongoing continuity of values; inventions con-
front us with a new perception or meaning which we have
not realized before. Both these functions are important
to culture. Conventions help maintain a culture's

14

stability while inventions help it respond to changing

circumstances and provide new information about the

world.
As one might expect, all works of art contain convention and inven-
tion. A stable, homogeneous society's artistic productions tend to
be far more conventional than inventional. Consequently, one might
correctly assume that Puritan narratives of Indian captivity will
contain a high degree of religious and social convention.18

Cawelti also suggests that though formula and form should

be regarded as end points on a continuum, one must be careful in
applying these concepts to popular artistic products. The student
of popular culture must not judge a popular work solely on the basis

of its literary inventiveness. Rather, he must_a1§o focus upon "the

 

 

relationship between the wg[§,§DQmi£§,Q_lLUr§s_09t 1t§ artistic
’n—w—w-M/
quality." This warning is quite relevant to the student of the

 

.Indian captivity narratives, since the narrators often had very
different educational backgrounds. As Donald Dunlop, writing in

the JP§_for Fall, 1975, observes, "the popular artist will not have

invented the artifact; he will have produced an artifact which has
similarities to other artifacts of which he is more or less aware."19

Another important distinction Cawelti makes is that between

formula and myth. A formula is more limited than a myth, since the
former is a cultural expression, while the latter largely remains a
universal expression. The cultural emphasis here is important, for
it means that formula stories represent a synthesis of various

cultural values and functions presented through a limited number of

conventional settings, characters, and plots. Therefore, concludes

15

Cawelti, formulas might best be defined as "principles for the selec-
tion of certain plots, characters, and settings." But this is only
part of the function of dimensions in a formula story.20

In addition to their part in narrative structure, the dimen-

 

 

 

 

-,_/1 /
sions of plot, character, and setting also provide what Cawelti “(a “x“:
refers to as collective ritual, dream, and game. Ritual here means c. ;:3
- _._...__.....—. N~~-—--—--u-‘-w-—-—*““r ‘-'“ [flm‘ ____A____ L; ‘
that formula stories express and reaffirm the major cultural values rig, if
-4—.—~...,_.., Mun—”4W” ”M ” __,.--.......-_..-_-«-—o- -‘“‘”' "" \‘A

of the society producing those stories. Formula stories also

.___.._.. w-‘— .,M
,a...,_

'"resolve tensions and ambiguities resulting from conflicting inter- A;

ests." Thus, a formula story's action moves from tension to resolu- Afg:*afl

.L- ——.. -__

 

tion and harmony. In addition to dealing with frustration and fears, .)

formula stories contribute to group solidarity as the reader identi-

fies with the author, and both identify with their common society. :33

Finally, formula stories serve the important cultural function of

m»————¢——-

 

 

5\

AC:
e
assisting in changes withinwtnggsoc1ety "By their capacity to?

RR

A
assimilate new meanings, literary formulas ease the transition

“*7.
x '5'
(cc,
.f‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7 P
9' s 1
between old and new ways of expressing things and thus contribute Q; 11%" 'C, 92
~J E “*1
o cultural continuity."21 - 370 i, 1;:
. . . . '”r«.°/.' ’,
Closely related to collective ritual is the collective dream :_H , “r.
\ g- ’L... :
. . . . ‘3 ‘K
function of formula stories. Such stories allow "the audience to ,i , a_
/' .1 \ A"
explore in fantasy the boundary between the permitted and the for- A c ”
hidden,and_to experience in a carefully controlled way the possi- " iia
bility of stepping across this boundary." At another level, "col-V9 i',\ ,.
A; “.qu Mr , ,_ . 9' (x A I, -
lective dream" refers to the characteristic dreams of a art' ular ,.‘*, a
WWW—«M " [x A'.
society. In either case, Cawelti says, "collective dream" is one of Q 17a -T,
‘C 1"
a ./
the most complex and difficult dimensions to deal with because q: _ .:C*3 ~
1‘ ( 1!’ (“CK fit. I: “‘2 v {if} (23", r
LI ._ 9’ L ’ ’1‘ r, ' ., '- {-1. «5 \\ .. v-
" , ~«, ‘6’? *{r i fl. c, -. -
z r- Tr ‘5 .2, (V 2

-\AJ, ._

l 6 ("'97.

 

the danger of degenerating into pseudo-psychoanalysis. Nevertheless,

collective dream is an important dimension of formula stories and

one which certainly needs further analysis and exploration.22

Finally, Cawelti considers the game dimension of formula
\mwwfi W (a ,

7.
stories. One of Cawelti's most original and valuable contributions [Afheo

‘as
posits parallels between fbrmulas and game structures. Games have ky‘c

"clearly opposing players, a set of rules indicating which actions ‘)/””Q

are legitimate and which are not, and games take place on a certain *x. “hr
kind of board or field whose shape and markings lqgiggteflthgmsignif-11%;:‘1'11
» . . . . .- _ ”a 'i" "‘"E ASK

f M! I

icange_9f_particular actions." Cawelti illustrates these points Q 7:1 ex ,

"M. Q

M

f

with the Western. The opposing players are cowboys and Indians, ’2 {agk‘a, 9%

Q N ’ Y
, _, \/ ‘

‘$~ .
ranchers and rustlers, sheriffs and outlaws, and the like. The <§(«rgA/L\.

”K 1“

rules are provided by conventions in the plot formula: the sheriff 3\:9\

\

gets his man, the hero survives, the calvary arrives in time, etc. ’3
Moreover, the Western's action takes place on a clearly-defined

board--the frontier, that area between civilization and wilderness.

A similar game dimension exists for other formula stories, such as

the romance, adventure, and detective story.23

Given these definitions of formula stories and their dimen- [43

 
  

sions,

lar cultura s udies. His most important hypotheses are that ‘afify”‘.

commonly-used formulas may be examined as indicators "of a group's (“oz
\xa ‘6}?
imaginative concerns." "Significant changes in the valuations or (,‘ a .7

\\ x 4

relations ascribed to elements i " uld indicate altera=\_g‘a%; “<k,
w -*~ ’““- ‘x 5 tr

 

M W \J

,;Fions in attitudes and valuesuamongAdifferentwcultures or

different.;-c%.
historical periods. Finally, if one explores the evolution of «“;j “)

._—-.-

 

rm...“ .- c... .. ”up, I. m

fun-M

l7

formula literature over several years, even centuries, "shifts in
emphasis, valuation of symbolic characters, plot types, and themes"
will reveal "changes in attitude and motive on the part of the
formula's public."24
These applications lend themselves well to Indian captivity
narratives. For example, under the dimension of setting, one might
investigate how the varying narratives deal with the environment,
animals and plants, even cultivation of the soil. What of "set-
characters" among Indians, French, British? What do the narrators
say about these individuals; what changes are there from one histor-
ical period to another? In considering the dimension of characters,
one can investigate the background of the narrators; does sex influ-
ence the narrator's outlook, i.e., what differences are there in
accounts by male and female narrators? What central characters
appear, and what individuals are singled out for greater develop-
ment? How fairly and how completely are these characters developed?
Does a passage of time between the events and the publication of the
narrative influence how the characters are presented? Do certain
groups play consistent roles; what about their values? What connec-

tions are made by the narrator to his own society or to that of his

captors? Such questions as these may be asked about the various

dimensions of formula stories.25
Procedure
ThlS study applies Cawelti's concept of_fgrmula_tg*repre- ‘ifiéa

 

 

 

’1

sentative Indian captivity narratives between about l675 to 1875.

’

 

 

--—

(5/ x

,n

18

Because these narratives were frequently reprinted and widely dis-

tributed to an avid audience who actually "read them to pieces,"

their great popularity clearly suggests these.ner:a§i!§§_MEEELflEEEELd<Q
'2

 

 

 

, 22“
ing key cultural needs of the society producing and reading them. lgf;%<;’2j
As America' s cultural and literary needs shifted, so did the theme .i,q:J

 

) C
[— .
k C’ p.’

 

 

 

and style of the captivity narratives. But throughout their long :SC F-:;‘ 3
K (L.—
history, one theme prevailed--the conflict between civilization and “ fig) 1
savagery ‘l” Q7 .—
. ‘ 'LL/
It;”k;7 {

All American Indian captivity narratives support the inherent’/,7, yago‘

superiority of the narrator's society over that of his captors, €51 *%

‘1‘.-

co

’r‘
e, . 1
whether Indian, French, or British. That is, captivity narrators'fior’ q: Xéhg

 

K/ <7“ '
clearly affirm the societal values of their own society. Most fre- K\ lax}

 

 

 

 

M MW» x

quently, these affirmations evolve from the continuing struggle "Crch:\~

between white and red men, or between civilization and savagery, as}:}54¢:“?r

Pearce prefers to say in his Savages of America. aA’VKFL'e,;KL
Although the body of captivity narratives changes dramati- \:§;::Kgaj4h;1,

cally over 200 years, one_idea~remajns constant. Whether it is BE?

expressed in terms of character development, action, or collective

ritual, thernarrators_revealwthein_beliefcin_a_hi§rarchy_wherein_the

established village or city is superior to the rural farm, the rural

farm is superior to the frbntier, and the frontier, with all its

violence, is nevertheless superior to savagery. And at the bottom [I

of the hierarchy are the "squaw man" and the white renegade, indi- g [:9‘2,<

viduals who voluntarily turn from a "higher" order of civilizationLikcvg A;;4

to one invariably depicted as "lower" by the narrators.26 Clci:~

19

This ongoing conflict is dramatically revealed in different
variations of the formula story, depending upon the values and inter-
pretations held by the narrator's own society. Thus, while Puritan
captivity narratives are largely works of religious didacticism,
regarding the captivity itself as God's test of the narrator, these
narratives tacitly imply the superiority of Calvinism over both
paganism and Roman Catholicism. Similarly, narratives dealing with
the French and Indian Wars exploit propaganda elements, while arguing
for the superiority of the narrator's society over that of his cap-
tors, French or Indian. This is also the case for narratives of the
American Revolution; here, however, sensationalism increases, focus-
ing the patriot's hatred upon the British, the Tories, and their
Indian allies. Although many later eighteenth-century narratives
reveal great sociological and ethnological content, careful reading
usually reveals the narrator's conviction that his civilized life
is preferable to that of his Indian captors. Although many of these
narratives reveal a positive interest in Indian values, particularly
Indian eloquence, the inherent fear of potential barbarity produces
an obvious ambivalence in many narrators.‘ Finally, by the nineteenth
century, narratives become little more than outright attacks upon
Indians, stating simply the Indian must adopt civilized ways or
perish in order that the "superior" society represented by the nar-
rator might continue its destined expansion westward.

The study, then, ex ution dian cap-
tivity narrative through several periods of American history, tracing

”gar-d

the—changes in key dimensions of the formula. The study also

20

examines the relationships between the formula, the society producing
it, and the cultural values contained therein.

In order to map and discuss these complex values, the study
will necessarily examine the dominant cultural climate for each
period under investigation. Chapter I focuses upon narratives of
religious didacticism, between about 1670-1725. Chapter 11 deals

‘___*,,,..____.\
with narratives relative to the French and Indian Wars, 1740-1764.

M

Chapter III focuses upon the_American Revolution, l775-l783.

-————-. u...—

 

 

 

Chapter IV examines narratives of the "Westernmears," 1790-1794.

r._.——--

Chapter V considers several nineteenth-century captivity accounts.

 

..._.- n.-.._..--H
'_.__.__._.-—-~

The study tfiefi"36621udés with a compilation of the findings from
each chapter, using Cawelti's hypotheses discussed on pages sixteen
and seventeen of this Introduction. The intent, then, is to reveal,
in the words of Pearce, "what the captivity narrative was and came

to be.“27

NOTES, INTRODUCTION

1George Parker Winship, Cambridge History of American Litera-
ture (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1917): I, p. 6; Richard
VanDerBeets, Held Captive by_Indians (Knoxville: Univ. of Tennessee
Press, 1973), p. xi, hereafter referred to as Captive; for other
recognition of the Indian captivity narrative, see: Phillips D.
Carleton, "The Indian Captivity," American Literature, 15 (May 1943),
169-180; Richard M. Dorson, America Begins (New York: Pantheon Press,
1950), pp. 169-170; R. W. G. Vail, The Voice of the 01d Frontier
(Philadelphia, 1949), pp. 25-27.

2John R. Jewitt, The Adventures and Sufferings of John R.
Jewitt, Captive Among the Nootka, 1803-1805, ed. Richard Alsop
(Edinburgh, 1824), 1974 rpt. ed. and introduced by Derek G. Smith
(Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1974).

 

3Marius Barbeau, "Indian Captivities," Proceedingsiof the
American Philosophical Society, 94 (December 1950), 522-548; A. Irving
Hallowell, “American Indians, White and Black: The Phenomenon of
Transculturalization," Current Anthropology, 4 (December 1963), 519-
531; J. Norman Heard, White Into Red: A Study of the Assimilation
of White Persons Captured by Indians (Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow
Press, 1973).

4Roy Harvey Pearce, "The Significances of the Captivity
Narrative," American Literature, 19 (March 1947), 1-20.

5As an introduction to this observation, see Russel B. Nye,
The Unembarrassed Muse (New York: The Dial Press, 1970), pp. 14-16.

6Russel B. Nye, untitled essay in The American Examiner, I
(Fall 1972), 5.
7

8Pearce, pp. 1-2, 6, 13, 16, 20; Pearce is generalizing
somewhat, for one may point to captivity narratives in all historical
periods that are both direct and truthful literary works.

Carleton, p. 180.

21

22

9Roy Harvey Pearce, The Savages of America: A Study of the
Indian and the Idea of Civilization (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press,
1953), hereafter referred to as Sava es; also, see: Roy Harvey
Pearce, "The 'Ruines of Mankind': TEe Indian and the Puritan Mind,"
Journal of the History of Ideas, 13 (January 1952), 200-217.

10Richard VanDerBeets, "The Indian Captivity Narrative as
Ritual," American Literature, 43 (January 1972), 548-562; Richard
VanDerBeets, “The Indian Captivity Narrative: An American Genre,"
Diss. University of the Pacific, 1973.

nVanDerBeets, "The Indian Captivity Narrative as Ritual,"
pp. 553, 562.

12Captive, pp. xi—xxxi.

13David L. Mintner, "By Dens of Lions: Notes on Stylization
in Early Puritan Captivity Narratives," American Literature, 45
(November 1973), 335-347; also, see: Sacvan Bercovitch, The Puritan
Origins of the American Self (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1975),
ppT—116-117, for a similarvdiscussion of the Puritans' view of Indian
captivity narratives.

14Mintner, pp. 338-346, passim.

'59. 347.
16 . .
Capt1ve, p. xxx1.

17For an excellent introduction to this problem, see:
Russel B. Nye, "Notes for an Introduction to a Discussion of Popular
Culture," Journal of Popular Culture, 4 (Spring 1971), 1031-1038;
also, see the section entitled "Theories and Methodologies in
Popular Culture," 92$, 9 (Fall 1975), 349-508.

18

19p, 386; Donald Dunlop, "Popular Culture and Methodology."
ggg_9 (Fall 1975). 376.

20Cawelti, "Concept of Formula," p. 388; Cawelti, Six-Gun
Mystique, p. 33.

2ICawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance, pp. 35-36.
22

Cawelti, "Concept of Formula," pp. 385-386.

Pp. 35-36; Cawelti, "Concept of Formula," p. 390.
23Cawelti, Six-Gun Mystique, p. 71.

23

24Cawelti, "Myth, Symbol, and Formula," pp. 7—8.

25For an extensive illustration of this approach, see 13;,
Six-Gun Mystique.

26
27

 

Hallowell, pp. 524-526; Pearce, Savages, passim.

 

Pearce, "Significances of the Captivity Narrative," p. 20.

CHAPTER I

NARRATIVES OF RELIGIOUS DIDACTICISM

In the providential theory of history,
in the doctrine of afflications, in the
literature of personal witness, in the
concept of life as pilgrimage through
prisons to freedom, and in the notion
of salvation as continuous drama--in
the presence of these, together with
countless biblical allusions, we see
the shaping influence of the Puritan

code.
--David L. Mintner

Mintner's observation captures much of the spirit of Puritan-
ism. The literature of Puritan New England reflects and reaffirms
the central precepts of a religious philosophy that permeated all
aspects of Puritan life. This relationship did not come about sud-
denly, but evolved, just as Puritanism itself evolved from the
Renaissance spirit, albeit an English Renaissance tempered by an
English Reformation.1

Kenneth Murdock observes that for the Puritan writer in
England or the colonies, the Protestant Reformation was still very
active and incomplete in the seventeenth century. Although the
Puritans were divided into several sects, they were united by a
burning hatred of Rome and by their trust in the Bible's all-
sufficiency in issues both civil and religious. Critical of Rome

and Canterbury, animated by their role in religious reform, Puritans

24

25

came to regard themselves as participants in an epic struggle between
good and evil, soul and body, even God and Satan. In its lower form,
this epic struggle was expressed by vandalism of "papist" churches
or by violent propaganda directed at the Jesuits and their Indian
converts. In its higher form, this struggle was revealed through
Puritan histories.2
To the Puritans, histories indicated how they were carrying
the Protestant Reformation to its logical and glorious conclusion.
In order to keep their fervor alive and to attract English Puritans
to America, Massachusetts Bay Puritans stressed good histories
"directed as much to scholars as to workmen or merchants."3
Equally important is their belief in God's direct interven-
tion in men's lives, rewarding or punishing, saving or condemning.
History, then, could reveal how God has favored individuals, groups,
or even nations. If so, the Puritans would have strong proof of
their righteousness. "Given the right facts, a history could be made
in effect a polemic for a creed." And given this belief, the God-
centered, God-directed life becomes an epic experience for every
Puritan. In short, history for a Winthrop or a Bradford partakes of
all the elements of high drama.4
As generations passed, some individuals thought the spiritual
fervor that once animated pioneer generations was declining. Some
ministers feared for their colonies' future, and so endeavored to
reawaken their congregations. Funds from the public treasury were
occasionally used to encourage historians to write suitably inspiring

texts.5

26

With the onset of Indian hostilities, especially King
Philip's War, 1675-1676, abundant materials to stimulate piety
appeared. From the Puritan's viewpoint, the wars warned of Puritan
sinfulness and backsliding. If mere recollections of previous gen-
erations' piety did not move a young Puritan's heart, surely the
tragedies of the Indian Wars would. So historians proceeded to
describe the Indian Wars as paralleling Old Testament accounts of
how God "chastened his chosen people," the Israelites. An important
part of Puritan dogma is their conviction that they inherited the
blessings and the calling originally reserved for the Jews. There-
fore, backsliding could lead only to far greater calamities than
those of the Jews if Puritans failed to mend their sinful ways.

The Puritans were being tested, chastened, and, like their Old
Testament counterparts, were undergoing such experiences in a "howl-
ing desart," the American Wilderness.6

Although the ancient Hebrews first equated the wilderness
with cursed land and then with demons' homes, the wilderness
acquired a positive dimension following the Exodus. During their
forty years of wandering in the wilderness, the Jews came to see it
as both Va sanctuary from a sinful and persecuting society" and as
an "environment in which to find and draw close to God." Thus, the
wilderness became a "testing ground" wherein God's chosen could be
"purged, humbled, and made ready for the land of promise" somewhere
beyond their immediate vision.7

Bradford and Winthrop needed no prophetic vision to convince

them the New World was hardly the promised land. Admittedly, earth

27

might become the paradise associated with the millennium, but not
before the wilderness was altered. And here was the colonists'
problem. Survival depended upon their ability to wrest food and
shelter from a wilderness as potentially dangerous as any European
forest of the Middle Ages. The wilderness was always present,
immediate, threatening. If civilized man should fail to conquer
the wilderness, he might revert to the savage state brought upon
man by Adam's sin.8

Like their Old Testament counterparts, the colonists
regarded the wilderness as “a moral vacuum, a cursed and chaotic
wasteland." As soldiers of God, they were duty-bound to engage in
an epic struggle to overcome and subdue this wasteland. They were
all too aware of the consequences of failure. Success would be its
own reward, for victory would bring order, light, and good to the
vast North American forest. The wilderness would become civilized;
God's plan would be vindicated.9

The Bible offered sufficient motivation for transforming
the wilderness. To a people whose literature was rife with biblical
citations and allusions, their cause was noble and glorious. Genesis
gave mankind authority over the earth and its bounty. Man was to
"subdue . . . and have dominion . . . over every living thing that
moveth upon the Earth." (Genesis 1:28) Failure would justify divine
punishment gng_the loss of such dominion. And therein lay the fate
of the American Indian, for if the colonists were to turn the
wilderness into a garden in the true pastoral sense, they would also

have to overcome the Indian and all he came to represent.10

28

Colonial writers frequently commented upon the Indians'
fallen state. Roger Williams called them "greedie and furious men."
"Hellish fiends and brutish men / That Devils worshiped," said
Michael Wigglesworth. Heathens and Satanic agents, said Cotton
Mather of those who lived in the wilds of the Devil's stronghold,
and added that the Indians' "chief Sagamores are well known unto
some of our Captives to have been horrid Sorcerers, and hellish
Conjurers and such as Conversed with Daemons.“ No European forest
ever held more dangerous a troll, vampire, or Wild Man than did the
New England wilderness. No wonder the Puritans envisioned an epic
struggle between "the cleare sunshine of the Gospell" and "thick
anti-christian darkness."H

The Puritans' encounters with the Indians reveal the cul-
tural values so much a part of colonial histories, biographies,
sermons, and even captivity narratives. The wilderness becomes a
great battlefield for the agents of good and evil. Frequently,
these opposing agents or forces are identified as Civilization and
Savagery. At other times, Puritan and Indian, or, now and again,
Puritan and Jesuit become the protagonist and antagonist in a divine
drama. Equally significant is the concept of testing and purifica-
tion which the Puritan must undergo in the wilderness. There, his
convictions, strengths, and weaknesses are examined. Not only is he
cleansed and prepared for greater glory, he also accepts anew God's
sovereignty, and concedes once more the all-important function of

"special (or divine) providences" in his daily life.

29

Cotton Mather frequently cites instances of "special provi-
dences" in Magnalia Christi Americana (1702), including evidence of
God's intervention on the Puritans' behalf during war time. In one
example of many, Mather recalls that the once-powerful Narragansetts
refused to accept Christianity, only to be warned by a Puritan
divine that they faced certain disaster. Shortly thereafter, many
braves supposedly ignored their chiefs, attacked the Puritans, and
were all killed. Not only were the Puritans thus blessed, notes
Mather, but the Indians were destroyed to show "thy speedy vengeance,
0 blessed JESUS, on the heathen that would not know thee, nor call
upon thy name.“]2

As revealing of faith in the intervention of Providence as
this account is, the great struggle between Civilization and Savagery
often presents even more dramatic accounts of Puritan beliefs. The
biblical admonition to "multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue
it" has already been established as a basis for Puritan action. It
is no surprise then, that Winthrop clearly presents the Puritan posi-
tion in 1629 by observing that

the whole earth is the Lord's garden, and he hath given it
to the sons of Adam to be tilled and improved by them. Why
then should we stand starving here for the places of habi-
tation, . . . and in the meantime suffer whole countries,
as profitable for the use of man, to lie waste without any
improvement.
Several important directives are present here. The earth is des-
cribed as a gagggg, not a wilderness. Adam's descendents are to

till and improve the earth; hence, cultivation of a cleared woodland

by civilized man, not preservation of a woodland for savage hunters,

30

is the proper order of the day for Christians. Moreover, since
Winthrop speaks of "whole countries . . . profitable for the use of
man," he apparently assumes that the entire continent is available
for cultivation, but more important, he suggests the land is not
being used in accordance with God's directive if it is not being
improved, i.e., cultivated. In short, Winthrop is convinced that
God wills New England to be civilized and improved by His chosen
people. This concept moves a Puritan writer to say of the 1638
massacre of the Pequot Indians, "the Lord was pleased to smite our
Enemies in the hinder Parts, and to give us their land for an
Inheritance." But "inheriting" and preserving that "inheritance"
often prove challenging.13
Although Puritans regarded themselves as God's instruments
to conquer and civilize the wilderness, the Indians quickly saw the
Puritans as thieves who violated both their human rights and their
property rights. Hunting and fishing grounds were seized or despoiled
by the colonists; other settlers ventured beyond established borders,
ignoring Indian land claims. Frequently, Indians were sold into
slavery, a treacherous act that earned the British "the eternal hatred
of the Abenakis." Although some tribes (notably the Mohawks) had a
predilection for warfare, most Indians did not become hostile except
when seeking redress for blatant injustices, increasingly those com-
mitted by the British. Indian retribution fills many pages of Puritan
captivities as terrified narrators recall systematically-performed
atrocities, but the causes<yfsuch Indian actions are apparently

ignored or forgotten.14

31

It is not surprising, then, that negative views of the Indian
become a vital part of Puritan literature, reflecting and reaffirming
vital religious ritual which permeate racial, social, and cultural
values within their theocracy. Whether one considers a personal
diary containing signs of salvation or damnation, a Jeremiad such as

Wigglesworth's Day of Doom, or an essay by a non-cleric, such as

 

Winthrop's "Modell of Christian Charity," theocracy with all its
connotations was the collective (or cultural) ritual for the
seventeenth-century American Puritan. And as one might expect,
Indian captivity narratives from this period are heavily weighted
with collective (or cultural) ritual.

Although collective ritual influences the way a narrator
views setting, characters, and actions, these dimensions are a poor
second to the main function of collective ritual in the narrator's
depiction of the struggle between civilization and savagery, Puritan
and Jesuit, or Puritan and Indian. Collective ritual also determines
the way in which the narrator views the wilderness as a testing and
purifying experience as he relearns the importance of God's sover-
eignty and "special providences.“ Investigation of representative
captivity narratives provides abundant evidence for the paramount
significance of collective ritual in the life of the American Puritan.

The conflict between civilization and savagery, which grows
in captivity narratives of later periods, is already prominent in
Puritan captivity tales. Pearce suggests that Puritans believe
the Indian authorized his own destruction by breaking Nature's Laws

in attacking the colonists “without justification." As this idea

32

gained popularity among the colonists, the Indian simply became a
stumbling block in the white man's path, the path of civilization.
A. Irving Hallowell, an anthropologist, states that the Puritan logi-
cally concluded "that the Indian should become civilized and Chris-
tianized or perish." "The savage," says Cawelti, "symbolizes the
violence, brutality, and ignorance which civilized society seeks to
control and eliminate." Captivity narratives of this period graphi-
cally portray all these ideas.15
Mary Rowlandson (The Sovereignty and Goodness of God, . . .
1682), reveals typical Puritan aversion to everything the Indians
represent in her references to "wilderness" or "woods" with connota-
tions of disgust and disdain. Furthermore, her many negative epithets
for the Indians, such as "wild beasts of the forrest," “hell-hounds,"
and "barbarous heathens," all indicate her belief that the Indians
lack both civilization and Christianity, cultural values vital to any
Puritan.16
Like many Puritan skeptics, Rowlandson challenges the value
of converting Indians as she recites various attacks by “Christian-
ized" Indians. Rowlandson's daughter was initially seized by an
Indian convert, and she also knows of a man who was slain and muti-
lated by "Praying" Indians. One such Indian tells the narrator about
his converted brother "whose conscience was so tender and scrupulous
[he] would not eat Horse." Rowlandson retorts that his conscience
was “as large as Hell, for the destruction of poor Christians."
Still another Indian convert is denounced for wearing a necklace

of British fingers.17

33

Rowlandson also describes a powwow and suggests that Satanic
elements are involved. John Gyles (Memoirs . . . 1736) gives similar
encounters of conjuring which indicate to him "how much [Indians are]
deluded, or under the influence of Satan." Elizabeth Hanson (An
Account of the Captivity, . . . 1728) recalls how her Indian master
threatens to roast her child when it becomes fat enough. Mather
provides several examples of Indian atrocities, including those
inflicted upon one James Key, a young boy who is tortured, blinded,
and finally killed. Other examples of savagery are present in
Mather's account of cruelties to Mehitabel Goodwin, Mary Plaisted,
and a friend of one Mary Ferguson. Such accounts no doubt influenced
the editor of the 1908 reprint of the Williams narrative to state
that "No thinking person can read this book without a feeling of
thankfulness that he is living in an age when the barbarian no
longer terrorizes the land." Dld beliefs die slowly; even in the
twentieth century, the Indian is often depicted as a savage who must
yet be civilized to secure his place in the white man's society.18

The struggle between civilization and savagery is, of course,
based upon the whites' belief in a hierarchy of societal values.
Hallowell remarks that:

The values inherent in 'white'culture were necessarily
'higher' than those which prevailed in any aboriginal
culture because they embodied the consequences of a pro-
gressive improvement in the life of mankind which 'led
up to' the contemporary 'civilization' of the European
peoples.

Given this crucial assumption, one can understand why a Puritan

would prefer the "order and security" of his community to the

34

"chaos and danger" associated with Indian society. For example, by
departing from an established community, complete with church and
civil authority, Hannah Swarton (Narrative, 1702) removes her child-
ren from a civilized environment and places them in a wilderness "to
be bred ignorantly like Indians, and ourselves to forget what we had
been formerly instructed in." In similar fashion, Hanson reveals
her awareness of civilization's "superiority" to savagery when she
observes that Indians are poor managers of food, in contrast to the
prudent Puritans. In short, these examples reveal a marked contrast
between white and red society, distinguished by higher and lower
social orders, spirituality versus paganism, or racial superiority
versus racial inferiority.19
Such ideas encouraged the popular belief in the justification
of seizing Indian land. If Indians cannot "improve" their land, they
have no right to it. As early as 1633, The Great and General Court
of Massachusetts decreed that "what lands any of the Indians have
possessed and improved, by subduing the same they have a just right
unto according to that in Genesis." If, however, the Indians have
not "improved" or cultivated their land, then they have no legal
claim to it. A corollary to this belief is the idea that the Indian
must be a farmer, not a hunter, if he is to avoid being obliterated
by spreading white civilization.20
A final facet of this hierarchical theory appears in Daniel
Belding's Narrative (1696), in which he observes Indians often show

no more mercy to another tribe than they do to the British. A race

without honor in dealing with its own kind is obviously uncivilized

35

and hence deserving of whatever contempt a "superior" society might
bestow. Similarly, Belding's contemptuous remarks about "pretended,
Friendly Indians" recall Rowlandson's statement that Eliot's Praying
Indians "were the worst of the lot." Both narrators are suggesting
that Indians are immune to civilization or Christianization.21
As Indian Wars continued, the captivity narratives began to

reveal increasing justification for using Indian tactics against the
Indians themselves. By the time of the Pequot War in 1637, John
Mason's raid on a Pequot village was widely accepted as divine retri-
bution upon all Indians, women and children included. The prevailing
attitude so favored the massacre that John Underhill, another Puritan
officer, could write

When a people is grown to such a height of blood, and sin

against God and man . . . sometimes the scriptures declareth

Women and Children must perish with their parents . . . we

had sufficient light from the word of God for our proceed-

1ngs.
The greatest conflict, King Philip's War in 1675-1676, intensified
Puritan hatred of Indians, manifested frequently by increased attacks
upon Christianized Indians. All these wars contributed to the Puritan
beliefs that Indians are beyond the reach of Christianity and that
anyone fighting an Indian was justified in using the Indian's fight-
ing techniques for his own protection.22

The captivity narratives of King William's War, 1689-1697,

reveal the open hostility against the Indian. For example, in Hannah
Dustan's Narrative (1697), the captives seek revenge as they hatchet
ten sleeping Indians to death and then take their scalps in victory.

Mather recalls the joyous congratulations by the captives' friends,

36

and lists the generous rewards bestowed on the heroic women by the
provincial assembly and by others from as far away as Maryland.
Mather's observations, like the narrative itself, approve using
bloody methods against Indians, thereby supporting Cawelti's con-
tention that violence is an accepted part of frontier life.23
In the formula Western, the hero uses violence against what-
ever threatens the community's harmony. In other words, the hero
accepts the necessity for temporary violence to provide greater
tranquility in the future. Hallowell reflects this thinking when he
recalls Frederick Jackson Turner's view of the frontier as a "meeting
point between savagery and civilization." The frontier "strips off
the garments of civilization and arrays [the frontiersman] in the
hunting shirt and the moccasin." But, continues Hallowell, the
symbolic change of clothing must not become permanent. Rather, it
is an intermediate step so all benefits of civilization may someday
come to fruition on former Indian land. Understandably, a Puritan
would react with horror when a captive cannot be ransomed. More
shocking, however, is an incident in which an Indian captive
actually refuses to be ransomed or commits the penultimate sin of
voluntarily leaving white society to become a renegade--a friend to
the Indian, an enemy to the white society he rejects.24
The presence of these concepts in Puritan captivity nar-
ratives supports Cawelti's position and reaffirms the Puritan's
position in the conflict between civilization and savagery. Further-

more, these formula narratives contribute to group solidarity;

surely, any Puritan reader could identify with the narrator's

37

plight. Mather shows that many colonists eagerly praise a narrator's
spirit of revenge upon his captors. Perhaps Dustan shows how future
captives should retaliate if they can possibly do so.

Narratives depicting revenge upon the Indians fulfill an
additional cultural function by assisting in changes within the
society. In this case, the captives suggest that since the Indian
will not accept civilization, he must die. Thus, the Puritans become
God's agents for retribution. In similar fashion, captivity nar-
ratives dealing with the Jesuits alert the Puritan reader to yet
another threat to his values, the presence of the French and their
Jesuit priests in the New World. King William's War, 1689-1697,
and Queen Anne's War, 1702-1713, augmented this threat, the French
and their Indian allies now becoming a significant part of many
Puritan captivity narratives in the late seventeenth and early
eighteenth centuries.25

The Puritans' near-pathological hatred of Roman Catholicism
was, of course, part of their inheritance from the Protestant Refor-
mation. Frequently, Puritan fear and hatred would confuse prejudice
with patriotism. As a result, European countries with Roman Catholic
allegiance were suspect in the Puritan view and in the New World as
Puritans faced French-Canadians, Jesuits, and their Indian converts.
The captivity narratives were a suitable vehicle to convey all the
fears, superstitions, and hatred of the "Papist Menace" threatening
the Puritans in the wilderness.26

Rowlandson recalls how her son's captors were surprised by

Mohawks and thus prevented from seeking French gunpowder. Rowlandson

38

is happy at this change of fate, for she fears her son would have
been sold to the French and thus subjected to Jesuit conversion.
Similarly Gyles' mother tells him she would rather see him dead than
under Jesuit influence. When a Jesuit later offers the young Gyles
a biscuit, he buries it, "fearing he had put something into it to
make me love him." Even when Gyles is released from six years of
Indian bondage by the de Chauffours' purchase, he reacts with horror
to the change.

'Sold!’ -- to a Frenchman!’ I could say no more, went

into the woods alone, and wept till I could scarce see

or stand! The word sold, and that to a people of that

persuasion which my dear mother so much detested, and

in her last words manifested so great fears of my fall-

ing into! These thoughts almost broke my heart.
Despite the trying encounters Gyles has known during his six years
among the Indians, he shows a greater fear of being sold to French-
Canadian Roman Catholics. Here, the Puritan conditioning has
obviously persisted despite his years of captivity away from his
native religion.27

Hannah Swarton acknowledges French succor to her physical

welfare, but, like Gyles, believes their religious values are a
direct threat to her spiritual welfare. Mehuman Hinsdale (Narrative,
1712) plans to escape Canada with several other English captives, but
fails when a sick Indian ally, fearing death, disburdens his con-
science by confessing the escape plan to the local Jesuit. Here,
Hinsdale reinforces Puritan beliefs that the Jesuits hold magical

control over their Indian converts. When a converted English cap-

tive tells Joseph Bartlett (Narrative, 1712) he'll not be killed,

39

he ignores her statement, "she being a papist." Here, Bartlett
expresses a basic Puritan belief that any Catholic will lie to a
Protestant. A later conversation between Bartlett and the Jesuit,
Fr. Meriel, examines such controversial topics as purgatory, inter-
mediaries, and the all-sufficiency of the Bible. Although each
cites numerous biblical passages to convert his adversary to his
own view, neither is swayed. Bartlett flatly rejects Meriel's
claim that "we hold to nothing but what we can prove by your own
bible."28
The Williams narrative (1707) provides the most detailed

view of the conflict between Puritanism and Catholicism. When
Williams objects to forced attendance at mass, the priest says the
Indians and the French would willingly attend church in New England.
Williams' retort clearly reveals his Puritan bias.

I answered, the case was far different, for there was

nothing (themselves being judges) as to matter or manner

of worship, but what was according to the word of God,

in our churches; and therefore it could not be an offence

to any man's conscience. But among them, there were
idolatrous superstitions in worship.

In Williams' view, the mass is both disorderly and unholy.29
0n various occasions, Williams encounters the Jesuits' Indian
converts. When Williams refuses to make the sign of the cross or
kiss a crucifix, his Indian master threatens to tomahawk him, but
Williams is adamant. The Indian then says he'll tear out his finger-
nails. Again, Williams is unmoved and calmly presents his hand to

the Indian, who only feigns biting Williams' nails and then says,

"No good minister, no love God, as bad as the devil." Nevertheless,

40

Williams recalls that he is never again confronted by that Indian,
and so sees his victory as a triumph for Puritan religious truths.30
Williams' abhorrance of Catholicism colors his entire nar-
rative. At one point, he writes a poem attacking Catholicism and
then recalls several incidents which "prove" Satan's hold on Indian
and Jesuit alike. Inanother incident, a large grey cat interrupts
the mass, puts out several candles on the altar, and disappears sud-
denly. This is seen as hard evidence for Satan's presence. Williams
also recalls that two reliable English captives tell of an Indian
they have known for some time, who, after his demise, sits up at his
own burial service, and says he's been to hell, and that all Indians
who've accepted Catholicism are there. Further, he warns this will
be the fate of any English captive who converts. Williams also
recalls the fate of Rachel Storer of Wells, who is violated, con-
verted, and married within a day and adds that such incidents are
common among young English women held by Jesuits and French-Canadians.
Such accounts are all part of an extensive attack upon all the evil
that Roman Catholicism signifies to Williams and all Puritans a1ike.3'
In many ways, however, these confrontations are seen as part
of the testing experience which any one of God's elect may be called
upon to face. Hence, an important duty of the narrative as collective
ritual is to show how the captivity experience increases the narrator's
awareness of his sins, of God's sovereignty, and of His special prov-
idences, and is, in short, a salutory experience. Through the Indians

or the Jesuits, God is able to chastize the narrator, reminding him a

devoted Christian willingly accepts all challenges. The captivity

41

narrative becomes an excellent framework to reveal those tests and
the narrator's responses, but also to allow the Puritan reader to
decide vicariously how he, himself, might fare under similar condi-
tions.

Almost immediately after her capture, Rowlandson recalls
squandered sabbaths and misspent days, which seem to increase in
rememberance as her fatigue mounts during the various "removes" (or
travels) with her captors. Repeatedly, Rowlandson thinks of suitable
biblical passages to apply to her sad situation; during her seven-
teenth remove, she laments with David (Psalm 119:22-24), "I am poor
and needy, and my heart is wounded within me. I am gone like the
shadow when it declineth: I am tossed up_and down like the locust;
my knees are weak through fasting, and my flesh faileth of fatness.”
Eventually, she realizes that most problems arise from human sins.32

Even after returning safely to her family, she is prone to
night-musings on God's protection, human vanity, and the tests all
true Christians must endure. Despite many adversities, she believes
she has always enjoyed God's protection, and is so strengthened that
daily problems simply become petty trifles. Like David, she con-
cludes, "It is_good for me that I have been afflicted."33

Swarton faces different afflictions, including a challenge
by Catholicism. Even when the French cease their efforts at conver-
sion, she still doubts her worthiness and so recalls her sinful acts.
Here, she includes her move from a Puritan community into the Maine

wilderness. By taking her children from a.civilized, religious

setting, she confesses she has failed one of her duties as a Puritan

42

parent; she then adds that even the adults have forgotten much of
their religious upbringing. It is little wonder to Swarton that her
Indian captor should tell her, "God delivered us into their hands to
punish us for our sins." Swarton also finds herself caught in the
dilemma of neither believing a "false" religion nor having sufficient
strength to live up to her own faith. Fortunately, Swarton, like
Rowlandson, has access to a Bible. She cites applicable passages
justifying her present trials and assuring herself she will be
strengthened in consequence. She finds comfort in Jonah's words, "I
am cast out of thy sight, yet will I look again towards thy holy
temple."34
Swarton, like Dustan, does not stop with her own sins, but
hints at common failings of many Englishmen. A Catholic Indian tells
Swarton "that had the English been as careful to instruct her in our
religion as the Epgggh_were in theirs, she might have been of our
religion." Similarly, Dustan tells the English they should be
ashamed of their backsliding; Catholic Indians pray three times daily
and make their children do the same.35
Williams' narrative follows a similar pattern. He warns that
fasting and prayer alone will not forestall God's wrath unless the
Christian refbrms his life. Moreover, the elect should rejoice at
the prospect of facing God's testing, however challenging it may be.
Williams welcomes all opportunities to help others commit themselves
completely to God's will and notes how God directs the captives'

prayers, strengthening the poor unfortunates for what is to come.36

43

Williams, like Hanson and many other Puritan captives,
obviously sees captivity as a testing experience, a way of becoming
more obedient to God's will by learning He, alone, is sovereign, the
ultimate preserver of all mankind. Until a Puritan fully grasps this
idea, he must face the disappointments and sorrows frequently des-
cribed by Puritan captives.37

Rowlandson recalls their dogs' silence as the Indians first
approached, even though the dogs normally barked at strangers. Their
treacherous silence instructs the villagers henceforth to trust only
in God. Similarly, when English forces find Rowlandson and her cap-
tors, the army does not cross over the river to them because "we
were not ready for so great a mercy as victory and deliverance."
God's chosen time was yet to come. Later, she realizes God allows
the Indians only temporary victories until the captives realize fully
that God alone is their ultimate deliverance. Then, and only then,
does God's favor return to the British, as His wrath turns on the
Indians.38

Other captives follow Rowlandson's pattern. Gyles believes
that despite the sufferings and hardships of nine years' captivity,
he sees sufficient evidence of God's goodness to encourage others
to trust completely in Him. An Indian once asks Dustan why she is
concerned about her fate, telling her if it is God's will she be
saved, she will be, despite any Indian threats. Likewise, Williams
recalls that when the Indians plan to burn several captives, he

tells them they'll do only what God permits; he is convinced God

will not allow the burnings, and they do not take place. Thus, one

44

sees the testing experience renewing the narrators' trust in God's
sovereignty, a trust best stated by Rowlandson's reference to Moses
(Exod. 14:13): "Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord." The
Puritan who achieves this total acceptance of God's sovereignty
might well expect to witness examples of God's "special providences"
in his daily life. Such witnesses became another facet of collective
ritual in the captivities.39
To the devout Puritan, the Bible provides reassuring strength
and divine protection for captives, their children, and their friends.
The captivities reveal "special providences" as an important part of
Puritanism, for such acts of God reveal His concern for the Elect.
Just as Puritan historians catalogue many examples of God's inter-
vention, so do captives. Both exhibit the significant aspects of
collective ritual for the edification of their Puritan readers.
Rowlandson, Williams, Stockwell (1683), Hanson, and Swarton tell how
the Scriptures reassure and refresh them at critical moments. Many
narrators also recall how providential assistance encourages and
protects them. Stockwell specifically states that God removes his
pain, thus strengthening him. Conversely, Gyles recalls that God
punishes several Indians for torturing and killing Englishmen, while
Hanson credits her Indian master's sickness to God's wrath, an atti-
tude shared by the Indian and his squaw, for the Indian master
becomes kinder after his illness. Williams detects God's influence
on his captors as their hearts soften, permitting Williams to bury
his wife properly. Subsequently, God's providence also refreshes

his body and spirit, permitting him to travel great distances at a

45

rapid pace. Sarah Gerish (1689) believes God provides a strategically-
situated bush for her to seize to save herself from otherwise certain
destruction when a young Indian pushes her over a cliff. Later, God
sends fresh snow so she can track the Indians who attempt to abandon
her in the wilderness by breaking camp early one morning while she is
sleeping. Bartlett recalls being tied to a tree while his captors
debate killing him, but they change their minds after God softens
their hearts. Earlier, God's mercy moves an unknown French-Canadian
to ward off an Indian who tries to kill Bartlett. It is little
wonder that Bartlett tells a younger English captive that God can be
trusted for their ultimate deliverance. In all these narratives, as
well as in many others from this period, God's assistance is joyfully
acknowledged--a duty of all good Christians, especially those who
have been rescued from the wilderness.40
Perhaps no captive fulfills his obligation more quickly than
Williams. In a Boston sermon (December 5, 1706) just a few days
after his return, Williams uses Luke 8:39 for his text: "Return to
thine own house, and shew how great things God hath done unto thee."
God may permit dreadful perils in order to reveal His power to rescue
man in His own time, and man is therefore duty-bound to praise God
for His beneficence. Sometimes, God moves even the Indian, "whose
tender mercies are cruelties," to compassion. Hence, Williams fer-
vently praises God and urges others to do the same, lest God find
them ungrateful--a common belief expressed in Puritan sermons and

literature, as these representative narratives reveal. Thus, the

46

concept of grateful praise was also very much a part of collective,
or cultural, ritual.41

Although Cawelti describes several dimensions in formula
literature, collective ritual has been shown to be most significant
in Puritan captivity accounts. The narrative dimension of character-
ization is, at best, a poor second. By and large, characters in
Puritan narratives are one-dimensional stereotypes. Cawelti classi-
fies these types as "set-characters" and places them under the
formulaic heading of setting. Since captivity narratives are non-
fictional, all characters may be examined under the one heading of
characterization, including the narrator, his children or other rela-
tives, the kindly individual (here French or Indian), the villain
(here Jesuit or Indian,), plus historical personalities. Puritan
narratives simply do not reveal much character development. Even
the most villainous Indian is simply stereotyped along preconceived
lines derived from the narrator's social views and thus represents
but another manifestation of collective ritual.

In addition to meager autobiographical information occasion-
ally volunteered by the narrator, parent-child scenes provide some
information about the characters. Even there, however, the scenes
rarely reveal more than normal parental concern for a dying child
or for a child left behind in captivity, or fears for a child's
well-being, whether physical or spiritual. Even when one examines
a well-written captivity narrative such as the Rowlandson account,
the characters' personalities are very conventional, and what the

narrator reveals lends credence to Mintner's hypothesis that private

47

emotion and personal experience are attuned to public values and
ideology--that is, to collective ritual. Consider, for example,
Rowlandson's account of her sister's reaction upon learning of the
death of a son during the raid.

My eldest sister being yet in the House, and seeing those

wofull sights, the Infidels haling Mothers one way, and

Children another, and some wallowing in their blood: and

her elder Son telling her that her Son William was dead,

and my self was wounded, she said, Lord, let me dy with

them; which was no sooner said, but she was struck with

a Bullet, and fell down dead over the threshold. I hope

she is reaping the fruit of her good labours, being faith-

ful to the service of God in her place.
This may be the stuff from which great Puritan captivity narratives
are made, but it is too controlled, too emotionally balanced, to pro-
vide much information about the narrator's sister or the narrator
herself beyond the fact that deeply-rooted beliefs prevail even in
the extremity of death.42

When the narrator receives a kindness, the deed itself is

frequently magnified more than is the benevolence of the individual
responsible. Hannah Swarton, for example, recalls how Chief-Judge
le Tonant arranged for her to be hospitalized and then adopted by a
French-Canadian couple who ransom her from the Indians. Although
she tries to praise their kindness, she does so solely in terms of
their physical assistance, for she is fearful they will assault her
religious convictions. Although Elizabeth Hanson's narrative is
later altered to criticize the French for their assistance to the
Indians, she rejoices when she and her baby are ransomed by a French
family. In the process, however, she reveals traces of Puritan

doubts and prejudices about the French. She recalls "we exchanged

48

our lodging and diet much for the better, the French being kind and
civil to me beyond what I could expect or desire." Hanson recognizes
better conditions easily enough, but something tells her she should
not expect or desire acts of compassion from the "enemy."43
Kindly deeds by Indians are rare in the captivities, but nar-
rators do occasionally recognize assistance, although here, as in the
case of the French, the benefactor is second in significance to the
act itself. Rowlandson recalls her Indian master brings her water
to wash with and orders his squaw to feed Rowlandson following her
return from Philip's camp. More often, however, Rowlandson regards
any gift of food as a great kindness, and mentions several examples.
Gerish recalls a kindly Indian, Sebundowit, but forgets the name of
a cruel Indian who takes her to Canada in the dead of winter. Hanson
remembers an Indian leader who carries her baby, along with a great
pack, and she praises her master's mother-in-law, an old squaw, for
comforting her and for appeasing her master's outbursts of anger.
In all these situations, however, the characters do not emerge with
anything like a three-dimensional personality. Only in later nar-
ratives, usually involving accounts by individuals already at home
in the wilderness, such as trappers, traders, or scouts, do Indians--
and narrators--acquire anything akin to identifiable personalities.44
When one examines the historical personalities of the cap-
tivity narratives, little actual character development is to be found
in them either. Rowlandson does meet King Philip, but their conver-

sation isn't reported. Instead, she comments upon her reactions to

being offered tobacco, "a Bait, the Devil layes to make men loose

49

their precious time." Gyles recalls Indian vengeance against Major
Waldron for his role in King Philip's War many years previous.
Williams, Bartlett, and Hinsdale all meet with Governor de Vaudreuil,
but their accounts provide little insight into the personality of
this historical figure. Even though Williams and Bartlett engage the
famous Jesuit, Fr. Meriel, in long conversations, their accounts are
so colored by their own religious prejudice, the reader gains little
in the way of historical insight.45

The action dimension of the Indian captivity narrative has
even less value than the characterizations, largely because the action
is controlled by the actual pattern of Indian attack, capture, journey,
sojourn, and resolution by escape, rescue, or ransom. The only dif-
ference in action among the captivities is in their emphasis. Most
male narrators stress their reaction to initial capture, especially
if they are familiar with Indian torture, as well as their interro-
gation by the French, and their plans for escape. Female narrators
tend to stress concern for their family, their terror and fatigue,
and their hopes for release. With the exception of the Rowlandson
account, which relates even the journey and sojourn to biblical ante-
cedents, the action dimension of Puritan captivities provides little
information for the popular culture researcher.

The least significant dimension of these accounts, however,
is setting. Although the setting is a significant dimension of the
formula Western, it is inconsequential in Puritan captivities.
Obviously, in the immediate days following capture, the narrator is

often too bewildered and exhausted to pay attention to his route,

50

the terrain, or the environment. At best, the narrators refer to
known cities or forts, and may even mention something of the general
route they travel. More commonly, narrators simply mention prolonged
marching over rough terrain and lack of food or rest, and, for the
remainder supply only generalized comments about life in an Indian
village. Anthropological and sociological detail does not become
important in captivity narratives until later, eighteenth-century
accounts. Gyles' narrative hints at this development, and he later
enlarges a chapter on native animals to meet the growing interest in
such topics by the year 1736.46
But for most Americans living in the eighteenth century, the

wilderness remained a "howling desart" in need of cultivation.
Travelers in the eighteenth century frequently commented upon the
potential greatness yet unrevealed in land belonging to Indians.
Christopher Gist, a traveler in the Ohio country in mid—century,
thought the wilderness "wants Nothing but Cultivation to make it a
most delightful Country." Thomas Pownall, another traveler during
the 17505, wrote:

with what an overflowing Joy does the Heart melt, while one

views the Banks where rising farms, new Fields, or flowering

Orchards began to illuminate this Face of Nature; nothing

can be more delightful to the Eye, nothing go with more pene-

trating Sensation to the Heart.
Pownall did not react joyously to the wilderness pggpgg, but, like
the Puritans, anticipated what that wilderness would become under

the guiding hand of civilized man, who would bring order and harmony,

and thereby make a new garden in a new Eden. Later, Tocqueville

51

would observe that life in the wilderness must lead to a bias
against it, for one must fight for survival and for success.47
It was this bias that kept the wilderness and its native

Indian inhabitants from earning any significant, positive place in
Indian captivity tales by Puritans. Moreover, most individuals
clung tenaciously to their belief in the essential savagery of and,
therefore, the evil inherent in the Indian that must be resolved by
an advancing white society. The Indian would be "improved," or he
would be destroyed. Yet, at the same time, other observers, espec-
ially non-Puritans, frequently questioned the benefits of inter-
racial contact, particularly for the Indian. As early as 1705,
Robert Beverley, writing in The History and Present State of Virginia,
warned whites that they had contributed only alcoholism, increased
greed, and petty materialism to the Indian's lot, with the resultant
loss of "felicity as well as . . . Innocence." John Lawson's History
of North Carolina (1708) was even more forceful in condemning his
fellow whites' treatment of the Indian:

They met with Enemies when we came amongst them; for they

are no nearer Christianity now, than they were at the first

Discovery, to all Appearance. They have learned several

vices of the Europeans, but not one Vertue, as I know of.
Lawson's 1708 observation captured the essence of the Indian's condi-
tion, a condition destined to deteriorate as the century continued.48

For the Puritan, however, the Indian captivity narrative was

a clear indictment of the Indian for his savagery, and an equally

clear authorization for further violence and hostile behavior

against all Indians. Thus, one soon comes to realize that the

52

Indian captivity narrative of this period reflects and reaffirms the
central precepts of a religious philosophy that permeates every

aspect of Puritan life. It is a genre thoroughly infused with all

the beliefs and values of the society which both produced the cap-
tivity tale and provided the audience for that narrative. The repre-
sentative works examined in this chapter confirm many of Cawelti's
hypotheses about the role of formula literature. The Indian captivity
narrative is, indeed, a vital part of the Puritan's New World exper-
ience, retelling the dreams, the fears, and the beliefs of the settler
in a hostile environment. Success over this environment did not come
easily, and victory over hostile forces was reserved for those Puri-
tans with the faith and fortitude to establish their New Jerusalem

in the presence of their foes, namely Satan himself and his many

allies, both Indian and Jesuit.

All our way to Heaven
lies by the Dens of
Lions and the Mounts
of Leopards.

--Cotton Mather

NOTES, CHAPTER I

1Mintner, "By Dens of Lions," p. 346.

2Kenneth B. Murdock, Literature and Theolggy in Colonial
New England (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1949), pp. 3-5, 6-7,
18:19. My introduction attempts merely to sketch the main tenets
of Puritan literary and social theory in order to provide the frame-
work for an examination of the formula of the Indian captivity nar-
rative. For full exploration of Puritanism, see, for example,
Murdock, Bercovitch, or Perry Miller, The New England Mind: The
Seventeenth Century(Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1967).

3
4

 

 

 

Murdock, pp. 72-74.
Pp. 74-77.

5Pp. 91-92, 95.

6Pp. 95-97.

7Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven:
Yale Univ. Press, 1967), pp. 14-17.

8?. 24.
9Pp. 24-25.

10Pp. 31, 33-35; for a dissenting view, see Alan Heimert,
"Puritanism, The Wilderness, and the Frontier," New England Quarterly,
26 (September 1953), 361-382. Heimert argues that the Puritans' atti-
tude towards the wilderness grew out of their American experience and
was not part of their European heritage.

1'Roger Williams, A Key into the Language of America (1643),
ed. J. Hammond Trumbull, Publications of the Narragansett Club, I
(Providence, 1866), p. 130; Michael Wigglesworth, God's Controversy
with New England (1662), in Proceedings of the Massachusetts Histori-
cal Society, 12 (1871), pp. 83-84; Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi
Americana (1702), 2 vols. (Hartford, 1853),I p. 42; Mather,
Decennium Luctuosum: An History,of Remarkable Occurrences in the
Long War which New-England hath had with the Indian Salvae 5(1699),
in C. H. Lincoln, ed., Narratives of the Indian Wars, 167- S699, in
Original Narratives of EarlyyAmerican History, 19 (New York, 1913),

 

 

53

54

p. 242; Thomas Shepard, The Clear Sunshine of the Gospel Breakigg
Forth gpon the Indians in New England’(1648), in Joseph Sabin,
Sabin's Reprints, 10 volumes (New York, 1865), x, 1; all cited in
Nash, pp. 34, 36-37.

12Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana (1702), 2 volumes
(New York: Russell & Russell, 1967), II, p. 390.

13John Winthrop, "General Considerations,“ in Young, Chroni-
cles of the First Planters of the Colony of Mass. Bay (Boston, 1846),
p. 272, in Savages, p. 21; Captive, p. xiv} For further discussion
of Puritan land claims, see G. E. Thomas, "Puritans, Indians, and
the Concept of Race," New England Quarterly, 48 (March 1975), 10-11.

14Barbeau, "Indian Captivities," pp. 523, 530.

15Savages, pp. 10-11, 25-26. Pearce cites Daniel Gookin,
director of settlements of converted Indians in the colonies, and
known to be lenient in his views, as sadly admitting that with few
exceptions, Indians remain far from Puritan precepts, particularly
because of their continuing interest in paganism and conjuring.
Hallowell, p. 525; Cawelti, Six-Gun Mystique, p. 52.

16Mary Rowlandson, The Soverajgnty and Goodness of God,
Together with the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed; Being a
Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Magijowlandson
(1682), in Captive, pp. 42-45, 47, 53, 57, 64, 69, passim.

'7Pp. 46-47, 49, 63, 75-76, passim. Cotton Mather's biog-
raphy of John Eliot includes a statement attributed to Eliot who
said the Indians remain "doleful creatures, . . . the veriest
ruines of mankind," Magnalia, I, p. 504, in Savages, p. 29.

18Rowlandson, in Captive, pp. 76-77; John Gyles, Memoirs of
Odd Adventures, Strange De iverances, Etc., in the Captivity of
John Gyles, Esq., Commander of the Garrison on St. Geor e River, in
the District thMaine (1736), in Ca tTVe, pp. 112-114; izabeth
Hanson, An Account of the Captivity 0 Elizabeth Hanson, Now Late of
Kachecky, in New England: Who, with Four OfTher Children and
Servant Maid, was taken captive by_the Indians, and carried into
Cénada. Settingyforth the various remarkable Occurrences,,sore
Trials, and wonderful Deliverances which befél them after their
Departure, to the Time of their Redemption. Taken in Substance from
her own Mouth, by Samuel’Bownas (1728), ih Ca tive, p. 143; Cotton
Mather, Decennium Luctuosum (1699), in Lincoln, pp. 208-213; similar
accounts may he found throughout Mather's work. Rev. John Williams,
The Redeemed Ca tive Returnin to Zion or The Ca tivit and Deliv-
erance of Rev. John Williams of Deerfield (1707) (Springfield, Mass.:
H. R. HuntingTCo., 1908 rpt. of 6th edn. of 1795), p. xii. For a
lighter view of conjuring as seen by Indian versus Puritan, see

55

Wm. Hubbard, A Narrative of the Troubles with the Indians, in Geo. F.
Horner and Robt. A. Bain, eds., Colonial and Federalist American
Writing (New York: Odyssey Press, 1966), pp. 61-62. Hubbard con-
tgafits the position of Mohegin Sachem, Uncas, to that of Rev. Fitch
o orwich.

19Hallowell, p. 525. This idea becomes increasingly common-
place in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, finding supporters
among Paine, Jefferson, Jackson, and others. See also the singular
narrative by Capt. John Smith, detailing his three-weeks' captivity
among Pamunkey Indians in 1607-1608. Smith reveals his belief in
the innate superiority of white culture by citing examples of how
he fools the Indians, whom he depicts as ignorant, superstitious,
and gullible. John Smith, The General Historie of Virginia, New
England, and the Summer Isles (1624), in Dorson, America Begins,
pp. 172-176, assim. For a dissenting view on the PoCEhontas inci-
dent, see Henry Adams' essay on John Smith in Historical Essay§_
(New York: Scribner's, 1891), pp. 42-79. Hannah Swarton, Narrative
(1702), in Magnalia, II, pp. 357-361; Hanson, in Captive, p. 141.

 

 

 

20§§1§ggga pp. 53-75, passim; Earl Edward Muntz, Race Con-
£2££.(N9W York, 1927). p. 46, in G. E. Thomas, p. 11.

2"Daniel Belding, Narrative (ca. 1698), in George Sheldon,
ed., A History of Deerfield Massachusetts (1895-1896), 2 vols.
(Somersworth, New Hampshire: New Hampshire Publishing Co., 1972),
I, p. 255.

22Thomas, p. 11; John Underhill, "News from New England"
(1638), in Charles Orr, History of the Pequot War (Cleveland, 1897),
p. 81, in Thomas, p. 15.

23

 

Hannah Dustan, Narrative (1697), in Magnalia, II, pp. 634-
635.

24Cawelti, Adventure,_Mystery, and Romance, Ch. 8, assim.
See also The Six-Gun Mystique for an extensive discussion 0 t 15
topic. Frederick Jackson Turner, The Frontier in American History
(New York: Holt, 1920), pp. 2-3, in Hallowell, p. 526. Two nar-
ratives dealing with captives who refuse redemption are Williams'
account of his daughter, Eunice, and Hanson's recollection of her
eldest daughter who, fortunately, is ransomed by a young French-
Canadian in order that they may be married. Perhaps the most
infamous renegades of all are the Girty brothers who will be dis-
cussed in later chapters.

25Thomas notes that after 1694, the Massachusetts General
Court offered bounties on Indian scalps, a practice continuing well
into the eighteenth century. Rates were based on a sliding scale,

 

56

ranging from 10 pounds for women and small boys up to 100 pounds for
adult males and youths. Thomas also notes that scalping--even
skinning--was reserved for Indians and animals, since the British
did not scalp the French during any of their wars (Thomas. PP. 21-
22). For a recent, popular study of Indian Wars, particularly King
Philip's, see: Henry LaChance, "The Most Dangerous War in New
England's History," Yankee, 40 (September 1976), 84-91.

26Murdock cites an amusing example of Puritan patriotism
mixed with prejudice in Crashaw's apology for St. Theresa's Spanish
Origins:

What soule soever in any Language can

Speak heaven like hers, is my soules country-man.

O 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis heaven she speakes.
Murdock, p. 18.

27Rowlandson, in Captive, p. 66; Gyles, in Captive, pp. 98,
123.

28Swarton, in Magnalia, II, p. 359; Mehuman Hinsdale, Nar-
rative (1712), in Sheldon, I, p. 368. Sheldon notes that in addition
to being the first white man born in Deerfield, Hinsdale was twice
captured, and was also sent to France during his second captivity
where he was kindly received. Joseph Bartlett, Narrative (1712),
in Joshua Coffin, A Sketch of the History of Newbury, Newburyport,
and West Newbury, from 1635-1845 (Boston: Samuel G. Drake, 1845),
pp. 331-334. Bartlett, a soldier, was held captive from 1707-1711.
Taken with several others at Haverhill, he was forced to travel at
a fast pace to Chamblee. Eventually, he was taken to Montreal to be
adopted by an Indian squaw as a replacement for her son whom the
British had killed. Later, Bartlett was adopted by a French family
where he remained for the duration of his captivity.

29Williams, pp. 38-43. Rarely does a narrator touch upon
the causes of the war, even when he is part of the military.
Barbeau discusses Indian Wars and suggests the Deerfield Raid (in
which Williams was captured) was to recover a bell cast in France
for the Catholic Mohawk mission near Montreal. The bell had been
seized by the British on the high seas and was eventually sold to the
Deerfield church. The raid was ordered by De Vaudreuil himself
(Barbeau, p. 523).

30

 

 

Williams, PP. 44-45.

3'Pp. 72-74, 80-81, 88-89.
32

33

Rowlandson, in Captive, pp. 47-48, 58, 70-72.
Pp. 89-90.

57

34
35

Swarton, in Magnalia, II, pp. 356-358, 360.

P. 357: Dustan, in Magnalia, II, p. 635.
36

37
38

Williams. pp. 7-8, 17.
Pp. 48, 88-89; Hanson, in Captive, p. 148.
Rowlandson, in Captive, pp. 43-44, 83-84.

39Gyles, in Ca tive, p. 129; Dustan, in Magnalia, II, p. 636;
Williams. pp. 22, 26; Rowlandson, in Captive, p. 90.

40Quentin Stockwell, Narrative (1683), in Increase Mather,
Remagkable Providences (London: Reeves & Turner, 1890 rpt. of 1683
edn. , p. 30; Gyles, in Ca tive, pp. 111-112; Hanson, in Captive,
p. 144; Williams, pp. 19-20, 32-34, 47-48; Sarah Gerish, Narrative
(1688), in Magnalia, II, pp. 592-593; Bartlett, in Coffin, pp. 331-
333. Rowlan son also raises the idea of reverse providences, i.e.,
God's assistance to the Indians to show Puritans how angry He is at
their sins. Among these reverse providences, Rowlandson includes
various Indian victories, preservation of the Indians so they might
continue to harrass the English, and allowing the Indians to tolerate
terrible fgod after the English had destroyed the Indians' crops
pp. 81-82 .

41

42Mintner, p. 346; Rowlandson, in Captive. pp. 44, 46-47,
49-50, 57, passim.

43 . . .
Swarton, 1n Magnalia, II, pp. 358-359; Hanson, 1n Ca t1ve,
p. 146. For a discussion 0 narratives altered for propaganda pur-
poses, see VanDerBeets' notes, Captive, pp. 133-134.

44Rowlandson, in Captive, pp. 58, 60-61, 73-74; Gerish, in
Magnalia, II, p. 593; Hanson, in Captive, pp. 134, 141.

45Rowiandson, in Captive, p. 58; Gyles, in Captive, pp. 99-
100; Williams. Pp. 48-76, assim; Bartlett, in Coffin, pp. 333-334;
Hinsdale, in Sheldon, I, pp. -368. Hinsdale hints at promises of
good treatment for information on British plans for the French. plus
threats of ill-treatment if Hinsdale doesn't comply. Williams.
on. 89ff; Bartlett, in Coffin, pp. 333-334. In all fairness to
Bartlett, however, Fr. Meriel comes off as more humane than Williams
depicts him, but considering Williams' role as a Puritan minister,
one is not surprised by his view of the Jesuit.

46

 

Williams, pp. 145-162, passim.

Gyles, in Captive, p. 93.

58

47Wm. M. Darlington, ed., Christopher Gist's Journals
(Pittsburgh, 1893), p. 47; Thomas Pownall, A Topographical Descrip-
tion of . . . Parts of North America (1776), rpt. as A Tppographical
Deschption Othhe Dominihhs of the United States of AmerTCa, ea;
Lois Mulkearn (Pittsburgh, 1949), p. 31, in Nash, pp. 32- 3, 43.

48Robert Beverley, The History and Present State of Vir inia
(1705), p. 189; John Lawson, The History of North Carolina (170 ,

pp. 251-252, in Savages. PP. 43-45.

CHAPTER II

NARRATIVES OF THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WARS

By 1750, changes in cultural values that marked the European
Enlightenment were also being experienced in the American colonies.
New attitudes and interests co-existed with the traditional. Social,
political, scientific, and economic issues vied with religion for the
attention of the American reader in the 17505. Meanwhile, American
society became increasingly mobile. New highways were constructed,
while guide books, travel narratives, and "natural histories"
reflected the growing secularization of the eighteenth-century
mind.1

One of the great new interests of the eighteenth-century
colonists was the American interior. At the start of the century,
few British colonists had any ideas about the nature of America's
interior; fewer still had even seen it. Furthermore, British author-
ities saw little reason for settling the interior. Parliament
thought about settlement only in terms of protecting the seaboard
or safeguarding the fur trade. Even when the French were defeated
in 1763, many British officials wanted the interior to remain off-
limits to all would-be settlers.2

For Franklin and other visionaries, however, the West was

invaluable. As early as 1751, Franklin pointed out that colonial

59

60

population would double every twenty years. The west would become
a great safety-valve to vent such a rapidly-growing population. More
importantly, however, Franklin saw the promise of "agricultural
expansion . . . without breaking the economic and political inte-
gration centered in London."3
Franklin also contributed much to the myth of Western great-
ness. This motif was repeated in Freneau and Brackenridge's "The
Rising Glory of America" (1771), in Thomas Hutchins' Historical Nar-
rative and Topographical Description of Louisiana, and West Florida
(1784), in Dwight's Greenfield Hill (1794), and eventually in
Whitman's Passage to India (1871). But as early as 1720, Bishop
Berkeley had written "Westward the course of empire takes its way."
Travel was natural to the colonists whose ancestors had made the
hazardous journey to America some years earlier. As the spirit of
adventure again caught Americans' attention, they began to wonder
about America's wilderness interior.4
Both the Enlightenment and Romanticism challenged traditional
beliefs about the evil lurking in the wilderness by insisting instead
on God's presence in His creation. If people came to associate God
with the wilderness, then it could not be as cursed or godless as
the Puritans believed. Thomas Burnet's The Sacred Theory of the
Eappp (1684) and John Ray's The Wisdom of God Manifested in the Works
of the Creation (1691) argued that mountainous, natural settings were

all part of God's handiwork and perhaps might even be His ideal

creations. "From the feeling that uncivilized regions bespoke God's

61

influence rather than Satan's, it was just a step to perceiving a
beauty and grandeur in wild scenery comparable to that of God."5
One of the first Americans to develop this changing attitude
about nature was William Byrd, whose History of the Dividing Line
(1728) is "the first extensive American commentary on wilderness
that reveals a feeling other than hostility." Byrd generally depicts
nature in a positive way. For example, at one stop, Byrd's surveying
party declines beds in a planter's house and sleeps outdoors, because
"mankind are the great Losers by the Luxury of Feather-Beds and warm
apartments." When the survey party reaches the Appalachian Mountains,
Byrd's Romantic awareness becomes obvious as he speaks of a "Charming
Situation" and its spectacular view. Leaving the area later, he
repeatedly glances back for one more look, "as if unwilling to part
with a Prospect, which at the same time, like some Rake's, was very
wild and very Agreeable."6
After Byrd's wilderness adventure, colonial scientists explor-
ing nature began to express similar views. By the 1750s, such indi-
viduals as John Bartram, Mark Catesby, John Clayton, Peter Kalm, and
Andrew Michoux were writing "natural histories" gleaned from the vast
laboratory of the American wilderness, revealing favorable opinions
of the "Glorious Works of the Creator."7
While some individuals wrote of nature, others wrote accounts
which simultaneously enjoyed a widespread popularity, namely, the
genre of the exaggerated, even fictional histories of colonies or

regions. Two popular works are Robert Beverley's History and Present

State of Virginia (1705), and John Lawson's History of North Carolina

62

(1708). Although Lawson is prone to exaggeration, his history, like
Beverley's,reveals a growing interest in the eighteenth-century
equivalents of botany, biology, and zoology. Many other writers
espoused these new interests, and many popularized accounts aroused
their readers' avid interest in the wilderness and its inhabitants,
both animal and human.8
By the 17505, interest in sources of human behavior had
become popular, as writers examined the sociological and ethnologi-
cal customs of whites and Indians alike. As early as 1704, Sarah
Kemble Knight commented upon the pecularities of people she saw dur-
ing a journey from Boston to New York. Alexander Hamilton's Itjpep-
apipm_(l744) examines the fashions and customs of several cities he
visits in the colonies. Accounts such as these reflect the growing
interest in a variety of cities, regions, even cultures.9
As the century continued, many writers directed their interest
to the Indian himself, interest rekindled by the Enlightenment des-
pite the preponderance of anti-Indian sentiment. Investigators fre-
quently discovered a complex culture worthy of their attention, even
when many did not necessarily believe it equal to civilization. The
writer, as much as the reader, finds it difficult to accept an alien
culture whose members "achieve their ends in ways which seem to deny
the fundamental moral, social, and political hypotheses of [one's own]
society." Yet, despite their cultural prejudices, many eighteenth-
century writers examined Indian culture to the delight of interested

readers.10

63

In addition to chapters in histories devoted to the Indians,
as well as journals by individuals who had first-hand knowledge of
the Indians, some works were devoted entirely to a study of the Indian.
For example, Cadwallader Colden's History of the Five Nations (1727),
provides a wealth of detail concerning the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga,
Cayuga, and Seneca Indian cultures. Colden examines each nation's
government and describes wars and alliances between the French and
Indians. In addition to the many details popular in such histories,
Colden attempts also to define the Indian character, as in the two
extensive accounts of the unusual bravery and cunning of one

Piskaret.]]

Some writers, Colden among them, even stress the literary
eloquence of Indian speakers. Both Colden and Conrad Weiser (Journal,
1748) cite examples of the Indian's picturesque language, filled with
metaphor and symbolism. Such speeches became increasingly popular
during the last quarter of the eighteenth century, when Indians fre-
quently appear in literature as the critics of white civilization.
For example, during the French and Indian Wars, the Gentleman's Maga-
gjpe_published various Indian speeches, including those attributed to
representatives of the Five Nations who met with colonists at Albany
in 1754.‘2

Thus, the Indian was on his way to a position of importance
in Colonial American literature. Romanticism, Primitivism, and the
Enlightenment, combined with the rise of a secular audience having

access to increased publications, encouraged new attitudes towards

the Indian--even if only in literature. Such individuals as Colden,

64

Beverley, Lawson, and Byrd, among others, talked of inter-racial
problems and urged better treatment for the Indian. Nevertheless,
the conflict between civilization and savagery intensified as popular
views polarized. Even those who supported the concept of the Noble
Savage foresaw his inevitable demise. The Indian's speeches might

be eloquent, but that eloquence also conveyed increasing awareness

of his fate as vanishing American.13

Meanwhile, the variety of attitudes and the complex interests
present in the eighteenth century are reflected in the Indian cap-
tivity narratives from the French and Indian Wars. By 1750, society
was far less homogeneous than it had been in 1650, so cultural ritual
was less clearly defined. The struggle between civilization and
savagery becomes complex. Although many captivities reveal the domi-
nant theme of the struggle between White and Indian, few accounts
depict that captivity as a salutory, testing experience. Instead,
the captivity is often developed for its sensational value, revealing
terrors in great detail to shock the reader and to encourage sales
of the narrative as an early pulp-thriller. In some accounts, sensa-
tional elements were heightened for propaganda value to incite the
public against Indian and French-Canadian alike.

At the same time, the struggle between civilization and
savagery is compounded as some narrators discuss acculturation, while
others find positive values and adnirable individuals in Indian
society. Several accounts reveal a growing concern for the Indian's
future. Narrator and Indian often realize a way of life is passing

with the advance of civilization. In such narratives, genuine

65

friendship between captive and Indian is frequently described by the
narrator or depicted in eloquent statements by the friendly Indian,
thereby contributing to his image as the Noble Savage.

As cultural ritual becomes more complex, so do the dimensions
of the narrative formula. No longer is characterization minimal,
particularly in those narratives which challenge the traditional
view of the Indian. Many narrators and Indians alike are developed
beyond the one-dimensional stereotypes of Puritan narratives. The
action likewise receives more attention, if only for sensational
effect. Setting also reveals increased development. In addition to
examining life in an Indian village, many narrators describe geography,
climate, vegetation, and animals in the locale, thereby contributing
to the reader's awareness of, and curiosity about, his environment
in the eighteenth century.

In all these areas, the captivity narrative reveals that a
formerly homogeneous, predictable, even rigid society was changing,
accommodating new views. The captivity tales no longer lend them-
selves to specific cataloguing because the narrators no longer fit
predetermined molds. Perusal of representative narratives from the
French and Indian Wars (about 1744-1764) documents these observations.

Few captivity narratives characteristically explore the con-
flict between Protestant and Catholic. Jemima Howe (Captivityyand
Sufferings, . . . 1755) simply regrets her daughter is to be educated
in a convent school "of superstition and bigotry." Robert Eastburn
(Faithful Narrative . . . 1758), a Presbyterian deacon, actually

warns his English peers of their own weaknesses by contrasting their

66

backsliding to the religious fervor of French and Indians. He also
credits the French for showing better care in dealing with the Indians
than the British have, particularly in banning liquor and in encourag-
ing trust between the races. Eastburn's Jeremiad concludes with the
warning that his captivity was meant as a punishment for ignoring
God apg_one's fellow man. The colonists must repent, reform, and
ppjte_for the preservation of their religion and community alike.14
Just as attacks on Catholics decline in many eighteenth-
century captivities, so do instances of "special providences." When
this motif is present, it is little more than a literary convention,
lacking the conviction and importance formerly present in Puritan
captivity tales. Howe simply credits "divine assistance" with pre-
serving her during a long march to Canada. Later, "ever-present and
all-powerful Providence" comforts her during a bad storm and guides
her to St. Johns. Finally, "Providence" reveals her young children
are alive. Col. James Smith (Remarkable Occurrences . . . 1755-1759
[1799]) approaches his captivity "resigned to the will of Providence,"
and later credits "Providence" with his preservation during a bliz-
zard. Thomas Brown (Narrative, 1760), near starvation, shoots a
partridge and two pigeons sent him "by Providence,” and John
M'Cullough (Narrative, 1764) recalls various rescues, Indian kind-
nesses, and general preservation of his life throughout his captivity,
and sees in them "the hand of Providence, remarkably conspicuous,
throughout the whole." In these and other accounts, "special provi-

dences" are minimized or simply reduced to a literary device by

67

narrators who do not belong to a homogeneous society, as do early
Puritans.15

Although certain elements common to Puritan captivity nar-
ratives diminish in the eighteenth century, dominant fear and hatred
of the Indian do not. Torture, atrocities, and all the horrors com-
monly believed to be part of Indian captivity are paraded before the
reader to remind him of the dangers of frontier life, and to arouse
his antipathy to the Indian, to his French ally, or even to foot-
dragging British officials who fail to launch all-out attacks upon
the enemy after more than fifty years of continuing conflicts. Sensa-
tionalism for propagandistic purposes fills many narratives, among
them accounts by Peter Williamson (1757), Captain John Carver (1757),
and Robert Eastburn.

At age seventeen, Peter Williamson married a wealthy woman,
whose relatives gave the couple land in Eastern Pennsylvania.
Williamson's wife is away visiting relatives when he is captured.

As the Indians move on, they continue to plunder, kill, and take
Captives to torture. Williamson endures excruciating torture, but
lives to record the fate of several others, including a family that
is burned, but not before their entrails are slowly removed while they
are yet alive. After recalling many such events in gory detail,
Williamson then adds a moral coda, so that the reader caught up in
the sensationalism will not forget the pr0paganda.
From these few instances of savage cruelty, the deplorable
situation of the defenceless inhabitants, and what they

hourly suffered in that part of the globe, must strike the
utmost horror, and cause in every breast the utmost

68

detestation, not only against the authors, but against
those who, through inattention, or pusillanimous or erron-
eous principles, suffered these savages at first, unrepel-
led, or even unmolested, to commit such outrages, depreda-
tion, and murders.
Williamson's indictment of Indian savagery, lax officials, and even
Quaker pacifism is an archetype for later narratives directed at
Indians and their allies, including the British in the American Revo-
lution, while his rhetoric is but a mild forerunner of the overblown
invective so common in later narratives, Gothic tales, and pulp
thrillers. In many ways, Williamson's narrative is a microcosm of
the literary productions then finding audiences in America.16
The Carver narrative provides fuel for anti-French, anti-
Indian sentiments during the peak of hostilities between the British
and the French with their Indian allies. Carver, a British captain,
describes the massacre of numerous British soldiers and civilians
following the surrender of Fort William Henry in 1757. Although
General Montcalm promises honorable terms and full protection, the
French troops stand by idly while Indians take everyone's Clothes
and weapons, kill the sick and wounded, and then begin to kill all
British troops and civilians. To further damn the French, Carver
adds that many tr00ps heap verbal abuse upon British citizens seeking
French protection. Although Carver is seized by the Indians and
expects to die shortly, he escapes to the safety of a nearby woods,
and, on a hill overlooking the area, observes a massacre that con-
tinues for hours until 1,500 individuals are killed or captured.17

Despite Carver's restraint, he clearly condemns the French

leadership for tacitly allowing the Indian attack and for ignoring

69

the articles of capitulation. At the same time, by citing examples
of Indian atrocities to British civilians, including a twelve-year-
old boy, Carver subtly evokes the reader's disdain for the enemy.
Finally, by recalling the horrified reaction of French-Canadian
civilians, Carver implies the massacre is yet more blatantly
dastardly, not having the backing of even enemy civilians.18
Although Carver largely uses innuendo for his propaganda,
Eastburn's attack on Governor de Vaudreuil is far more blatantly
vicious. One of the few British captives to show outright hostility
to the French governor, Eastburn says he actually bestows gifts on
the Indians to encourage them to kill and capture colonists even
during peacetime. The writer depicts the governor as an inhuman
monster, who criticizes the Indians for capturing a lame old man who
eats their food but does nothing in return. "You should, said he,
have brought his Scalp!" Finally, Eastburn claims that many English
captives have been forced to become the governor's personal slaves.19
Actually, the practice of adopting captives existed among
the Indians long before the advent of French or English influence.
Captives were taken to replace members of the tribe who had been
killed in battle or died by other means. As for Eastburn's claim
that the French-Canadian authorities encouraged the Indians to take
captives, several anthropologists, among them Barbeau, reply that
the French "always found the captivities repugnant, and they were
kindly to the captives." Perhaps Eastburn's assertion that the

governor keeps captives for his slaves is merely propagandistic,

or perhaps even an example of projection, for the English frequently

7O

sold Indians into slavery, a practice that garnered "the eternal

hatred of the Abenakis." Thus, many of Eastburn's assertions are as
specious as the fictional narratives that began to appear during the
French and Indian Wars.20

To meet a growing public interest in the Indian captivity

 

narrative, would-be writers and some editors began to contribute

fictionalized narratives to their eager audiences. Such narratives

became increasingly sensational in the final quarter of the eighteenth

«4. ,___.,______... w---_-—.___...—-.r.—_——-———-——-

century, and often included a dashing hero, a beauteous Noble Savage
maiden responsible for the hero's rescue from certain death, and
sufficient adventures to satisfy any enthusiast.

The Narrative of the Adventures of Captain Isaac Stewart
(1782) professes to give an account of Stewart's captivity during
Pontiac's Conspiracy (1763-64). The meager details of the captivity,
the great distances purportedly covered, and the bizarre accounts of
Stewart's adventures generally discredit the validity of this nar-
rative. Stewart's exaggerated claims, plus the fact that the
account was published many years after the supposed events, throw
suspicion on Stewart's account. Nevertheless, the kind of material
that Stewart introduces says something of the captivity narrative's
popularity, as well as of the popularity of details about the
country and its inhabitants. Thus, the narrative formula was chang-
ing, reflecting the growing interests of eighteenth-century colonists.
At the same time, it was also alerting the readers to new interests

and attitudes, thereby supporting Cawelti's hypothesis that formula

71

stories assist in society's adjustment to changing attitudes and
values.21
Much interest centers upon those captives who found Indian
life "better" than the civilization they had previously known. And
so acculturation becomes another significant theme in many captivity
tales. Hallowell favors the term transculturalization, since Indian
captives are part of a "process whereby individuals under a variety
of circumstances are temporarily or permanently detached from one
group, enter the web of social relations that constitute another
society, and come under the influence of its customs, ideas, and
values to a greater or lesser degree." The degree of influence
varies, the determining factor seeming to be the captive's age at
the onset of captivity. Heard has shown that transculturalization
is nearly total for captured children under twelve.22
Many examples support the findings of Hallowell and Heard.
For example, Frances Noble's Narrative (1768) presents the interest-
ing case of two children taken at infancy. Joseph remains with the
St. Francis Indians, becoming totally acculturated in appearance
and actions. When he again meets his young sister, Frances, who is
being raised by a French family, his appearance terrifies the girl.
When Fanny's real parents ransom her thirteen years after her cap-
tivity, she cries desperately for her French parents and must be
forced to return to the colonies. This situation occurs many times
in similar captivities. John M'Cullough, age eight, and his brother,

age five, captured in Pennsylvania, remain with Indians for over

eight years, becoming totally acculturated. John's Narrative (1765)

72

frequently describes raids upon the whites from an Indian's perspec-
tive. Like Frances Noble, John must be bound when he is returned to
his own family, but he escapes back to the Indians, where he remains
for more than a year before again being ransomed. By then, he has
completely forgotten both family and native language--a common factor
in many captivity accounts of children.23
Perhaps the most well-known child captive of the French and
Indian Wars is Mary Jemison, captured in 1755 at age twelve. She
remained with the Indians all her life, quickly adopting their
language and ways; she married twice, and had several children.
Before 1763, she fought the British, yet assisted them during the
Revolution. Her friends included Colonel Butler and the famous
half-breed, Joseph Brandt. Throughout her life, she resisted all
efforts to force her return to white society.24
The refusal to return to civilization bothered Puritan and
Enlightenment thinker alike. The Puritan had a calling from God to
"improve" the Indian's lot by bringing him to civilization and
Christianity. Therefore, any Puritan who voluntarily stayed with
the Indians, freely adopting an "inferior" culture, was either
guilty of a heinous crime or had been mesmerized by Satan and his
Jesuit agents. The Enlightenment thinker, meanwhile, saw voluntary
adoption of Indian society as both contrary to reason and to the
normal order of progress from chaos to order, from savagery to

civilization. Even captives who found genuine friendship among

their Indian captors and who were at home in the wilderness as

73

traders, surveyors, or trappers, could not forget their origins or
their duties to civilization.25
Although Smith admires the Indians' mutual trust, general
harmony, and reliance upon the deity as their provider, he stresses
"the absolute necessity of the civil law in order to govern mankind."
Smith forms a deep friendship with an old Indian chief, a younger
chief, and the latter's youthful son, but does not forget who he is
nor where his loyalties lie. After he's freed, Smith leads a band
of disguised "warriors" against traders supplying war goods to
hostile Indians. In 1778, he leads his fellow whites against
Indians attacking Patriot settlers. Both times, Smith uses knowl-
edge gained from his captivity to benefit his own race.26
Alexander Henry, trader and traveler in the Northwest ter-
ritory, describes his adventures and captivity (Travels and Adven-
ppreg, . . . 1760-1766 [1809]) with Wawatam, his Indian captor, who
saves his life more than once. Henry's recollection of his exper-
ience and the sad farewells on both sides lend credence to his claim
that "I did not quit the lodge without the most grateful sense of
the many acts of goodness which I had experienced in it, nor without
the sincerest respect for the virtues which I had witnessed among
its members." But Henry never forgets his identity as a civilized
white man, nor does he abandon his cultural prejudices. He admires
a natural nobility in the Indian, but realizes it is a nobility
based on emotion and instinct. The Indian lacks the rational and

intellectual elements of civilization: "the records of history,

the pursuits of science, the disquisitions of philosophy, the

74

system of politics, the business and the amusements of the day." All
these are absent in the Indian's world, and for that, says Henry, the
Indian is so much the poorer. Even the most objective and gentle of
narrators show their civilization to be inherently superior to sav-

agery, and so the majority welcome the opportunity to return to their
own society.27

Rarely does a captivity narrative present the opposite view,
the attitude of one who refuses to return to his own society, largely
because the transculturite has no motivation to write or speak of a
captivity no longer regarded as such. Two exceptions are Eunice
Williams and Mary Jemison.

The Williams account is available only through the record of
another captive, Nehemiah How (Narrative, 1748), who frequently
encountered Eunice Williams, daughter of Puritan divine, John
Williams, during How's captivity in Quebec. Eunice's Indian husband,
Amrusus, is very hospitable to How, who admits the two seem quite
happy and contented in Canada, but he is saddened to learn of
repeated failures by Eunice's family to reclaim her.28

The Jemison narrative challenges whites' notions about Indian
life as well as about the values of white civilization itself.
Jemison remembers the happiness Indians shared during peacetime,
especially befbre the introduction of alcohol by whites. Jemison
warns that all attempts to civilize or Christianize Indians are
futile, for Indians have little reason to adopt these trappings.

Moreover, argues Jemison, inter-racial contact has only brought the

Indian white vices, particularly abuse of alcohol and all its related

75

evils, while the Indian's natural virtues are eroded by contact with
the whites. Native children taken to white schools quickly become
Indian again when they return home. Although the Indian society pro-
vides full status as functioning members to adopted white captives,
white society does not reciprocate. Throughout colonial history,
negative racial characteristics are regarded as being too much a
part of the Indian's nature to permit him to cross over. Hence,
Jemison firmly believes "Indians must and will be Indians, in spite
of all the means . . . used for their cultivation in the sciences
and arts."29
Most Englishmen failed to grasp this fact in the eighteenth
century, and most Americans would do likewise in the nineteenth.
Occasionally, an Indian captive saw hopes for a balanced relation-
ship between the races. Eastburn admits that the French are prudent
in banning sale of alcohol to Indians. French-Canadians caught
ignoring the ban lost their religious privileges of confession and
absolution. Another English captive, Thomas Morris (Journal, 1791),
repeats Eastburn's observation,and then offers additional recommenda-
tions which a Calvinist like Eastburn would find untenable. Morris
praises the French for encouraging inter-racial marriages. The
advantages are numerous; the French spouse becomes privy to Indian
councils, marriage implying full trust and acceptance among Indians.
Through such marriage, Morris points out, the French also acquire
a powerful ally against their enemies, and gain access to Indian
trade, fisheries, and fur trapping. Morris also condemns the folly

of English traders and their many deceitful dealings with the

76

Indians, which often arouse them to violent revenge against innocent
settlers.30

Many narrators obviously reveal increasing awareness of
the complexities of Indian culture, pointing to both positive values
and to admirable individuals. Other narrators suggest ways to
improve relations between the two races by following the example of
the French. Unfortunately, a vital difference between the French
and the English doomed these suggestions to failure.

By and large, the French were traders, trappers, or fisher-
man, but they were not primarily settlers as were the British. The
French did not seek to cultivate the soil nor to domesticate the
wilderness extensively; consequently, they did not disturb the hunt-
ing territory of the Indian. Equally important, the Jesuits came
to America to convert the Indians to Christianity, whereas the
Puritans were not a proselytizing sect of the Church of England,
itself quite lax in its missionary outreach until well into the
eighteenth century. When the French are finally defeated and a vast
American interior looms as potential homeland for seaboard colonists,
the Indian's fate is all but sealed. His lands will be seized and
his forests destroyed for farms. Agriculture is the American hope
of the future, not trapping or even trading. The Indian who once
shared the land with the French would learn that the demands of
British civilization were far greater than those of the French or
the Jesuits. Like his seaboard counterpart, the Indian of America's
interior reaches would be given the choice of adopting civilization

and the agrarian life or dying. This dilemma becomes increasingly

77

evident in later narratives, as narrator and Indian alike ponder the

future of America.31
In the narratives under study, one can see that important

changes appear in many dimensions of the formula captivity tale. No

longer does cultural or collective ritual hold the central position

it held in Puritan captivities. The eventual decline of Puritanism

and Puritan typology, coupled with the increased production of

diverse literary genres by a growing, secular press, combined to

offer the public an abundance of popular literature. The interesting

human beings encountered by colonial travelers soon found their

Indian counterparts in the longer captivity tales. As writers and

readers become more sophisticated, characterization reveals a grow-

ing literary awareness through the development of more life-like

personalities. As narrators begin to grasp the complexities of

Indian culture, they can also see the Indian as more than a one-

dimensional stereotype. Increased skill with dialogue and descrip-

tion help captor and captive alike to emerge as believable human

beings. No longer is the Indian simply God's tool created to test

the narrator; no longer is the narrator an unwilling pawn in the

divine struggle between good and evil. Fallible human beings of

both races emerge in some narratives; they share human relation-

ships of mutual trust and friendship. When the narrator returns

to his civilized world, he parts from Indian friends with sadness.
Smith's narrative does much to delineate both the Indian's

character and that of the narrator. Himself a remarkable individual--

soldier, Patriot, Indian fighter, Kentucky legislator, author of an

78

important text on Indian warfare. and eventually, Indian missionary--
Smith's narrative reveals a courageous, devout young man, who came
to understand much about the Indian character during his five-year
captivity among the Caughnawagas in Ohio. With first-hand knowledge
of the Braddock debacle, he bases much of his initial hostility
towards Indians on what he witnesses during his first days as pri-
soner at Fort Duquesne. Yet,his level-headed action and integrity
are evident from the start of his capture when he cleverly lies
about the arms of 300 nearby men, hoping to save their lives.32
Smith's conversations with the Indians are the source of
many valuable insights into the Indian character and also serve as
the focal point for his narrative. Since the account was not pub-
lished until 1799, Smith's greater maturity and retrospective view-
point contribute to his control of tone. Whether Smith is describ-
ing an adoption ceremony, discussing animal behavior with an Indian,
or recalling Chief Tecaughretanego's joy over Smith's safe return
from a blizzard, the narrative reveals a wide range of human emotion
and intellect in captive and captor alike. The chief's sensitive
concern for the fate of the Indian appears in the chief's comments
upon the negative aspects of Civilization, particularly those of
alcohol and the wars among whites. However, he frequently shows
his patience and good nature, despite old-age and arthritis, when
he comments upon whites' fashions and fads. His long Speech on
trusting providence encourages Smith to find food for the old chief,
an Indian boy, and himself, despite biting cold weather and their

near-starvation.33

79

Mutual instruction and friendship between members of two
different races and cultures are apparent also in Henry's narrative.
Henry's captivity reveals an intelligent, observant individual at
home in the wilderness as a competent Indian trader. Henry's per-
ceptive reactions mirror his increasing stature throughout the nar-
rative, particularly in the account of his friendship with Wawatam,
whose adoption of Henry saves the latter's life after the massacre
at Fort Michilimackinac in 1763. Wawatam's speech to Henry's cap-
tors on the fate of his adopted brother shows the Indian's genuine
concern, and Henry's gratitude is equally heartfelt. Wawatam's
whole family cordially accepts Henry and fully adopts him into their
midst. When Henry prepares to lead a delegation of Indians to Sir
William Johnson (British Superintendent of Indian Affairs in the
Northern Department), Wawatam's family congratulates Henry on this
opportunity. Their conservation, as well as Henry's grateful
responses to his adopted family, reveal genuine affection and kin-
ship. Thus, the Indian's culture is shown in the Henry account to
be more admirable, and the Indian character to be more worthy than
depicted in Puritan captivity accounts.34 *

Jemison's account also develops its characters by means of
dialogue descriptions of activities. She recalls first her capture,
along with members of her family. Her narrative gives a convincing
account of her anxiety as she recalls her emotions years after the
events. Yet, she also recalls with pleasure her adoption and joyful
welcome into the tribe, and thus presents a wide-range of emotional

responses often absent in earlier narratives. Mary is aware of how

80

whites reading her narrative may react to her full acculturation,
for in describing her first husband, Shehinjee, she says "strange

as it may seem, I loved him, . . . he was an agreeable husband, and
a comfortable companion." Likewise, she attempts to show that
Indians are also capable of genuine affection. Jemison's adoptive
Indian mother's humane personality emerges clearly as she counsels
Mary not to think of war or of torture, despite other Indians'
interest in these activities. Like Smith and Henry, Jemison reveals
a wider range of human emotions and interests, both in the Indians
and in herself, than did Puritan captives. Thus, these representa-
tive narrators all portray substantially more realistic and believ-
able participants in their captivities than did previous narrators.35

Other changes in characterization are evident in accounts of
the historical personalities, which now frequently appear as bio—
graphical sketches. Even stereotypes of the kindly individual and
the villain show more depth and development than previously revealed
in Puritan accounts, although one must not forget that the more tra-
ditional narratives follow earlier patterns of limited characteri-
zation.

The Morris narrative allows the reader some insight into the
natures of leading historical personalities. In addition to detail-
ing the views of a young British officer just arrived in America,
the well-educated narrator gives first-hand accounts of Shawnee and
Delaware treachery, showing the continuing influence of Pontiac
himself. Morris also develops the character of Godefroi (Godfry),

a French spy sentenced to death for treason, but pardoned to Morris

81

as his translator. St. Vincent, a key figure in French and Indian
relations, is also under Morris' protection, with the promise of a
pardon if he accompanies Morris to Detroit, thereby contributing to
their mutual well-being. Pontiac also appears, depicted as a smug,
arrogant, and powerful leader of eighteen nations, who has more power
than any other Indian ever held. Pontiac is a complex personality,
and Morris captures some of this Indian's complexity, along with
revealing glimpses into his own personality. Morris is quite con-
vinced of the utter futility of his mission as Bradstreet's liaison
to secure the Indian's surrender, for many Indians hope to lull the
British forces into a sense of security, in order to ambush those
forces near Sandusky. Fortunately, Morris escapes death to apprise
his superiors of the extent and nature of Indian cunning and hostil-
ities.36

Many other captivity narratives reveal historical personal-
ities among French, British, and Indian figures. Antoine Bonnefoy's
Journal (1742) presents his encounter with Christian Priber, or
"Pierre Albert," a German Jesuit hired by the French in 1736 to sway
the Cherokees from the British to the French. Priber, however, is
caught up in a wild scheme to turn the area into a perfect commun-
istic society, and Bonnefoy's Journal recalls several peculiar
encounters with the Jesuit whose scheme has already led to his ouster
from Germany, England, and the Carolinas. Nehemiah How describes
Eunice Williams and her Indian husband, Amruses, and relates meeting
two other authors of captivities, Rev. John Norton and Captain

William Pote, Jr. How also accounts for several British captives

82

held in Canada and frequently mentions their fate. The Stark Narra-
tjye_(l749) is famous for its young narrator, who became General John
Stark, hero of Bennington. Howe and Eastburn both discuss Governor
de Vaudreuil, and Howe mentions in addition the negotiations by
Col. Peter Schuyler for redeeming captives. Smith comments on
General Braddock's fate and describes the Indian chiefs, Tecaughre-
tanego and Tontileaugo, his adopted brothers. Carver, in his account,
attacks General Montcalm for his part in the massacre at the sur-
render of Fort William Henry.37
Author Henry includes a variety of historical figures, French,
Indian, and British. Among the Indians is Minavavana, Chippewa
Grand Sauteur, "six feet in height [who] had in his countenance an
indescribable mixture of good and evil," and Wawatam,another promi-
nent Chippewa, who attempts to warn Henry of the impending massacre
and who later ransoms him from the raiding party. The British com-
mandant, Major Etherington, is shown to be naive about Indian hostil-
ities, and so ignores warnings of impending doom. An important
French figure included is Farley, a translator and close colleague
of the French commandant at Fort Michilimackinac prior to British
takeover. Henry questions Farley's loyalty to the British in light
of his former associates and his close ties to the Indians through
his Chippewa wife. Henry also praises the control exerted by Fr.
du Jaunay, key Jesuit missionary, and by M. Cadotte of Sault Ste
Marie, who convinces Lake Superior Chippewas not to support Pontiac.38

Many narratives of this period, however, continue to follow

the limited characterization of the Puritan narratives, such as the

83

accounts by Fowler (1749), M'Coy (1747), Stark, Brown (1759),
Stewart, and Marrant (1785). Occasionally, narrators call atten-
tion to the benevolence of individuals who play an incidental role
in the captivities, as in the case of Fowler, who presents the
unusual story of the kind French physician who slips her medicine
to induce illness in order to persuade the Indians to ransom her
while she's still alive. The Indians do so, accepting far less
ransom than originally demanded, thereby expediting her return to
her family. For the most part, however, benevolent characters do
not receive more attention than in earlier captivities, in which the
dominant attitude is hatred of the Indian and disdain for his French
comrades.39
Thus, characterization in these narratives reflects the
co-existence of both traditional and more enlightened attitudes in
the 17505. While narratives are still quite limited in character-
ization, so that both narrator and Indian remain one-dimensional,
longer captivity tales by mature narrators show greater development
of characters, including themselves. In such accounts, usually pub-
lished years subsequent to the events of the captivity, captors are
treated rather fairly. The narrator usually establishes a deep
friendship with one or more captors, and they learn something of
each other's cultural values and prejudices. Often, the narrator
returns to civilization better equipped to understand the Indian
and to survive in the wilderness. The narrator is generally sad-
dened to depart from his Indian friend, but he does not forget his

place in civilization. In captivities of this type, narrators

84

frequently reflect the interest in Indian culture of their popular
audience and, in consequence, provide far more detailed information
than earlier accounts of Indian life they observe during prolonged
contact with the Indian in his home village. Such details might
readily be labeled as sociological and anthropological factors--
factors which examine the setting dimension and thus become signif-
icant additions to the captivity narrative formula.

Many captives encounter Indian culture before close contact
with civilization contaminates it. The detailed observations by
Smith and Henry are particularly informative, as these narrators
are already at home in the wilderness at the time of their capture,
Smith as an experienced road-cutter, Henry as a trader and traveler.
Both men publish their accounts some years after their captivities
and reflect upon events with dispassionate minds, rather than with
the religious didacticism of the Puritan or the political propaganda
of the earlier French and Indian War accounts.

Smith appends detailed sections to his narrative which
explore a wide range of topics, such as "Manners and Customs of the
Indians," "Police or Civil Government," and "Discipline and Method
of War." These observations are in addition to the main narrative,
which deals with Smith's captivity and adoption ceremony, along with
various details of camplife. Hunting and war-preparations are cited
as the eminent domain of the braves, with the women responsible for
sugar-making and food preparation. Smith quickly discovers these

role distinctions, and uses them to his advantage.40

85

Although Henry's narrative does not include detailed appen-
dices, his narrative contains similar sociological and anthropolog-
ical details. Besides being an experienced trader and frontiersman,
Henry is the adopted son of a prominent chief, Wawatam, and so is
accorded the traditional respect and freedom of a Chippewa. During
his stay with the Indians and in his travels throughout northern
Michigan and Canada, Henry is privy to the daily lives of his Indian
family and comes to learn the importance of the wilderness to the
Indian's philosophy and his way of life, a wilderness in which the
Indian neither kills nor destroys wantonly. Henry also learns some-
thing about the spiritual views of the Indian, including his belief
in premonitions and dreams. Equally important, as Henry compares
White and Indian affections and emotions, he discovers similarities
between the two cultures, especially with respect to intuitive
behavior. Although the Indian lacks such benefits of Civilization as
a written language, he is at one with the universe and can, in turn,
teach Henry valuable lessons.41

Morris also learns about Indian behavior during his cap-
tivity, such as the extent of Indian devotion and loyalty to Pontiac.
Later, he has opportunities to observe the daily lives of several
Indian tribes, before being forced to admit he cannot fulfill his
assignment and must return to Detroit. Morris is one of the few
narrators who has an opportunity to comment upon tribal differ-

ences. He contrasts the stern Mohawk to the happy Chippewa and

Ottawa, observing

86

As all men love those who resemble themselves, the sprightly
manners of the French cannot fail to recommend them to the
Chippewas and Ottawas, among our Indian neighbours; for it
is certain that a reserved Englishman differs not more from
a lively Frenchman than does a stern Mohawk from a laughing
Chippewa.
Although Morris does not offer many details about various tribes, he
includes generalized observations on camp life, comments upon the
variety and amount of food Indians consume at a feast, and shows his
awareness of the long-established ties between French and Indian.
In addition, Morris examines the Miami Indians, whose language, like
their behavior and beliefs, is "singular."42

Observations of this kind reveal the Indian nature and help
alert the reader to an understanding of the hazards of wilderness
life. At the same time, however, these comments demonstrate the
narrators' powers of observation. Individuals familiar with the
wilderness and interested in other cultures might be expected to
record such details in their captivities and to pass them along to
an audience whose interests had already been aroused by accounts of
the wilderness and its inhabitants in literature other than that of
the captivity narratives.

Similar parallels may be drawn between the "natural his-
tories" and comments upon geography, climatology, and natural science
by those captivity narrators whose accounts are labeled as less-
traditional than the dominant captivity tales. Even Gyles' narra-
tive, published in 1736, endeavors to meet changing public attitudes

on the wilderness. Gyles himself reports expanding a chapter on

native animals at the request of others, since this topic would

87

originally hold less significance to a Puritan than such important
issues as Calvinism versus Catholicism, and civilization versus
savagery. Eastburn's narrative likewise comments upon the climate,
animals, and fish, but Eastburn is too involved with the propaganda
value of his captivity to divert attention unduly to the setting.

On the other hand, Smith's narrative includes details of the geog-
raphy of Ohio, including the rivers and waterfalls he encounters
during his captivity experiences. In his elaboration upon the great
varieties of timber, wildfowl, and game animals, Smith obviously
reveals his storehouse of knowledge of the area's "natural history,"
but more important, he delineates topics of possible interest to
settlers in the area. Smith's descriptions of vegetation, particu-
larly edible fruits and berries, are potentially valuable to
frontiersman and trader alike, while his details of northern Michigan
waterways, particularly of portages, falls, and channels, provide
important information for anyone involved with navigation in the
vicinity. His comments on local crops, the fishing industries, the
weather, and even problem insects suggest a parallel to Puritan and
Pilgrim histories that frequently served to entice Englishmen to
America by touting the positive elements of the colony. Factors in
the narratives that detail aspects of the setting dimension, then,
are basic, practical information that could satisfy the cursory
reader's curiosity, yet could also communicate important information
to would-be settlers. Only in the Morris narrative does one
encounter anything akin to speculative science for its own sake.

Morris contemplates the strange swells that frequently destroy boats

88

on the Great Lakes, and then considers the hypothesis that those
lakes rise and fall every seven years. He even wonders how the
Caspian Sea might behave during changes in the Great Lakes, since
that body of water is on the opposite side of the earth. Here,
Morris' scientific observations are in keeping with the scientific
awareness of the European and American members of the Enlighten-
ment.43

Such speculation, of course, is uncommon in most captivity
accounts, for the majority of eighteenth-century captives did not
examine the setting with the curiosity of Smith, Henry, or Morris.
But even the most conventional of captivities reveals an important
factor in the setting. One has but to peruse the areas associated
With the narrator's capture to detect vast colonial incursions into
the Indian's homeland. Bonnefoy's mission takes him deep into
Cherokee territory in the south. Nehemiah How describes the forti-
fied settlements in the Connecticut River valley, near present-day
Putney, Vermont, and Westmoreland, New Hampshire. Other accounts
are set in the surrounding areas of Hopkington, New Hampshire
(Mary Fowler), Epsom, New Hampshire (Isabella M'Coy), and Vernon,
Vermont (Jemima Howe). Settlements in Pennsylvania are part Of the
narratives by Peter Williamson, James Smith, John M'Cullough, and
Mary Jemison. Recently-settled areas of New York are represented
in narratives by Robert Eastburn, Thomas Brown, and Captain Jonathan
Carver, while the Great Lakes and 01d Northwest Territory figure in
accounts by Alexander Henry and Captain Thomas Morris. Whereas

the setting, quite obviously, receives additional attention and

89

development in some eighteenth-century captivities, in others it at
least serves the function of indicating the extent of new coloniza-
tion, trade, or military commitment to defend newly-acquired, remote
areas of the American wilderness.

The action dimension of the captivity narrative, however,
remains secondary to both setting and characterization, since action
is always controlled by the actual events of captivity. With the
exception of sensational accounts of Indian cruelty or horror, such
as those appearing in Williamson's narrative, male and female nar-
rators continue to emphasize the same elements of action found in
earlier captivities. .

Finally, a newly-emerging dimension of the formula captivity
tale provides further evidence of its importance to understanding
the society producing it. Cawelti says that fbrmula stories may be
compared to game structures because of the opposing players, the
board or area where action occurs, and the rules which players
follow. Although the first two criteria are naturally present in
all captivities, the concept of rules may be examined in light of
captivities from the French and Indian Wars, which begin to affix
. affidavits, character references, or even affirmations by the nar-
rator, to the introduction or the conclusion of the text. These
statements "authenticate" the substance of the narrative and "assure"
the reader that the narrator is a responsible member of his commun-
ity, neither given to exaggeration nor to questionable behavior.
These supporting documents strongly suggest many narratives were

subject to public disbelief. With the advent of fictionalized

9O

captivities, supporting documents become more commonplace to legiti-
mize the narrator's claim of his account's authenticity. Ironically,
two narrators who affix such affidavits are Eastburn and Marrant,
individuals directly connected with the clergy. Affirmations are
also attached to narratives by How, M'Cullough, and Morris. Well
aware that his report will be suspected, M'Cullough states he delib-
erately omits many dangerous adventures. According to M'Cullough,
those who have never been captives will call him a liar if he
includes all,that happened to him. Morris does not overlook an
opportunity to interject wit into his own affirmation, for he says:

This is a plain and simple tale, accounting for my pre-

sumption in offering to the public an old story relating

to one whose wish used to be, to lie concealed in domestic

life; a wish, in which he has been amply gratified by the

very obliging silence of some of his nearest connexions.
Morris might have desired anonymity, but many other writers did not.
If one had not experienced captivity, one could nevertheless write
a narrative, add some "official" affidavits, and play the game with
the best of captives. Eventually, the captivity experience would
simply be incorporated into novels of sensibility, such as Bleecker's
History of Maria Kittle (1793) and Brown's Edgar Huntly (1799).44

Meanwhile, plenty of genuine captivities provided sufficient

material for legitimate narratives. As the eighteenth century con-
tinued, the narrators focused increasingly on the Indian's fate.
Even as early as 1742, Bonnefoy reveals the struggle between Indians
and French traders hoping to win Indian allegiance and secure vast

profits before civilization intrudes, destroying the Indian or

pushing him Westward before an ever-expanding white population.

91

No wonder Bonnefoy fears "Pierre Albert's" collectivism, for the
French traders wish to encourage Indian greed for the white man's
trappings.45
As capitalist virtues associated with "rugged individualism,"
"the pioneer spirit," and "manifest destiny" grew, a frightening
paradox became more evident. If the Indian remained a hunter who
lived off the wilderness rather than cultivating it, he was on a
collision course with colonists in search of new land for farms,
homes, and settlements. But if he tried to renounce his "savagism,"
he would exchange his virtues for greater vices. White society could
never accept or integrate the Indian into its world the way white
captives were integrated into the Indian's world. By the final
quarter of the eighteenth century, the red man's future was pain-
fully clear to white and Indian alike.46
The resolution of the conflict would be based on the conven-
tional idea of a hierarchy of human progress. Man's destiny can be
fulfilled only by progressive growth. Savagery represents a lower
degree of growth, civilization a higher one. The wilderness is
good; cultivated, domesticated land is better. The frontier is
preferable to the wilderness; the established, urban area is prefer-
able to the frontier. The implications are all too clear. The
Indian belongs to a past life, to a lower level of the hierarchy.
Unfortunately, the Indian could not make the transition from past

to future, from lower to higher order. He would, regretfully,

become expendable. Thus, "Americans after 1775, trying to know

92

their unique destiny, would come to know it in terms of savages who

could have no share in it."47

No matter how completely . . .
the Indian conformed, the cause
was ultimately hopeless because
the Indian could never become

white.
--G. E. Thomas

NOTES, CHAPTER II

'Horner and Bain, pp. 253-257; Nash, p. 55.

2Thomas P. Abernethy, Western Lands and the American Revolu-
tion (New York, 1937), pp. 20-21, in Henry Nash Smith, Virgin Land
(New York: Vintage Books, 1949), pp. 5-6.

 

 

3Benjamin Franklin, "Observations Concerning the Increase of
Mankind, Peopling of Countries, etc.," The Writin s of Ben'amin
Franklin, ed. Albert H. Smyth, lO vols, (New York, 1905-1907), III,
pp. 63, 71, in H. N. Smith. pp. 7-8.

4H. N. Smith, pp. 8-11. "Verses on the Prospect of Planting
Arts and Learning in America," The Works of George Berkeley,D. D.,
ed. Alexander C. Fraser, 4 vols. (Oxford, 1901), IV, p. 364, in
H. N. Smith, p. 9.

5Nash, pp. 44-45.
6The Writings of 'Colonel William Byrd of Westover in Vir-

gjpingggr,,' ed. John Spencer Bassett (New York, 1901), pp. 48-49,
35, 46, 163, 172, 186, 192, in Nash, pp. 51-52.

 

7Nash, pp. 53-54; John Josselyn, New England's Rarities
(1672), ed., Edward Tuckerman (Boston, 1865), in Nash, p. 53; Mark
Catesby, The Natural Historyyof Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama
Islands, 2 vols. (London,_l754), I, p. iii, in NaEh, p. 54.

8Horner 8 Bain, pp. 253-255; Robert Beverley, from Ipe_
History of Present State of Virginia (1705), in Horner & Bain, pp.
258, 265-266; John Lawson, from ThehHistor of North Carolina (1708),
in Horner & Bain, pp. 268, 270, 272-274. See also Savages, p. 42;
Pearce affirms Beverley's validity and veracity.

9Sarah Kemble Knight, from Her Private Journal of a Journey,
from Boston to New York (1704), in Horner & Bain, pp. 361-362;
Alexander Hamilton, from The Itinerarium (1744), in Horner & Bain,
pp. 363-367.

10Benjamin Bissell, The American Indian in English Literature
of the Ei hteenth Centur (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1925),
p. 16; Hallowell, p. 526. Hallowell notes, "Like other non-literate
peoples of the world, the aborigines of America lived in societies

 

 

93

94

which were as regularly patterned in terms of their own value
systems as the culture of the European intruders" (p. 526); Savages,
p. 105 (quoted).

nCadwallader Colden, from The History of the Five Indian
Nations (1727), in Horner & Bain, pp. 276-283.

‘2Conrad Weiser, from The Journal (1748), in Larzer Ziff,
ed., The Literature of America: Colonial Period (New York: McGraw
Hill, 1970), pp. 345-346; Bisse11, p. 24.

13

14The Captivity and Sufferings of Mrs. Jemima Howe, taken
prisoner by the Indians at Bridgman‘s Fort, in the_present town
of Vernon, Vermont (Communicated to Dr. Belknap by the Rev. Bunker
Gay, 1755), in Francis Chase, ed., Gathered Sketches from the Early_
History of New Hampshire and Vermont (Claremont, New Hampshire:
Tracy, Kenney & Co., 1856), p. 87; Robert Eastburn, A Faithful Nar-
rative, of the many Dangers and Sufferings,_as well as wonderful
Deliverances of Robert Eastburn, during_his—Tate Captivity among the
Indians: Together with some Remarks upon the Country of Canada, and
the Religion, and Poliquof its Inhabitants: the whole intermixed’
with devout Reflections—(1758), in Captive, pp. 156, 158, 167-168,

6.

Bissell, pp. 23-25, 31-35, passim.

'5Howe, in Chase. pp. 77, 79, 82; C01. James Smith, An
Account of the Remarkable Occurrences in the Life and Travels of
coi. James Smith duFingnhis Captivity with the Indians, in thETYears
1755-1759 (17991'TCincinnati: Robert A. Clarke Company, 1907),
pp. 50-51, 64-65; Thomas Brown, A Plain Narrative of the Uncommon
Sufferings of Thomas Brown (1760), ih Frederick Drimmer, ed., Scalps
and Tomahawks (New York: Coward-McCann, 1961), p. 72; John
M'Cullough, Narrative of the Captivity_of John M'Cullough, Esq.
(1764), in Archibald Loudon, ed., A Selection, of Some of the Most
Interesting Narratives of Outrages Committedhby the Indians, in
their Wars, with the W ite People, 2 VBls. (Carlisle, Pennsylvania:
By the Editor, 1808-111. Pp. 311, 336-337.

16Peter Williamson, Sufferings of Peter Williamson, One of
the Settlers in the back parts of Pennsylvania. Writen by Himself

(1757), in Captive, pp. 217-223, passim.

17Captain Jonathan Carver, Narrative of his Capture, and
subsequent escape from the Indians, at the bloody_massacre com-
mitted py_them, whEh Fort William Henry fell into the hands of the
French under Gen. Montcalm, in the Year 1757. Written by Himself
(1757), in Samuel‘G. Drake, ed., Tragedies of’the Wildérness
(Boston, 1841), pp. 172-178, passim.

 

 

'8Pp. 177-178.

95

19
20

2ICapt. Isaac Stewart, Narrative of the Adventures of
Captain Isaac Stewart,,Taken from his own Moutn,_in March, 1782, in

Captive, pp. 210-212.
22Hallowell, p. 523; Heard, p. 131.

23Frances Noble, Narrative of the Captivity of Frances
Noble,_Compiled berohn Kelty’from the Minutes and Memoranda of
Phinehas Merrill (1768), in Drake, pp. 168-171; M'Cullough, in
Loudon, pp. 298, 326-327, 331-333,passim.

24
25
26

27Alexander Henry, Travels and Adventures in Canada and the
Indian Territories Between the Years 1760 and 1776 (1809) (Mackinac
Island, Michigan: Mackinac Island State Park Comm., 1966), pp. 81,
92'939 96o

28Nehemiah How, A Narrative of the Captivity of Nehemiah
How in 1747-1748 (1748), noted and introduced by Victor Paltsits
(Clevelahdi Burrows Bros., 1904), pp. 28-29.

29

Eastburn, in Captive, p. 173.
VanDerBeets, Captive, p. xi; Barbeau, pp. 523, 530.

Jemison, Ch. II-VI, passim.
Hallowell, p. 525.
Col. James Smith, pp. 107-112, passim.

Jemison, p. 48; Hallowell, p. 527.

30Eastburn, in Captive, pp. 165-166. John R. Spears,
writing in the introduction to the 1904 reprinting of the 1758
edition of Eastburn's Narrative, states that with the exception of
Quakers and Moravians, most individuals who traded with the Indians
regarded fairness as a sign of weakness, and so were known to boast
of their unfair deailings with Indians (pp. 8-9). Capt. Thomas
Morris, Journal of Capt. Thomas Morris, in his Miscellanies in Prose
and Verse (1791) (Ann Arbor, Michigan: University Microfilms, 1966),
pp. 26-27.

311 am largely indebted to the works of Nash, Pearce,
Hallowell, Barbeau, and Thomas for the basis of arguments in this
paragraph.

32Co1. James Smith, pp. vi, 5-13, 40, passim.

33Pp. 16, 58-59, 65-67, 74-75, 77-78, 81, 89-90, 92-93,
94-95, 98-99, passim.

34Henry, pp. 45, 65-66, 67, 71, 100, passim.

96

35Jemison, pp. 25-29, 36-37, 44, 56-67.

35Morris, pp. i, 2, 6-7, 9-10, 18-19, passim.

37Antoine Bonnefoy, Journal of Antoine Bonnefoy,,Containing
the Circumstances of his Captivity Among the Cherokee Indians (1742),
in Newton D. Mereness, ed., Travels in the American Colonies (New
York: Antiquarian Press, 1961), pp. 239-240, 248; How, pp. 28-29,
39-40; Stark, Narrative (1749), in Chase, p. 158; Howe, in Chase,
pp. 86-89, passim; Col. James Smith, pp. 11, 24, 52; Carver, in
Drake, pp. 172-178, passim.

38Henry, pp. 22-23, 45, 49, 58-60, 65-66, 100-101, 111,

 

 

passim.

39Mary Fowler, Narrative (1749), in Drake, p. 147; Isabella
M'Coy, Narrative (1747), in Chase, pp. 140-147; Stark, in Chase,
pp. 158-164; Brown, in Drimmer, pp. 61-73; Stewart, in Captive,
pp. 210-212; John Marrant, A Narrative of the Lord's wonderful
Dealings with John Narrant, A Black_(Now Gone to Preach the Go§pel
ih Nova-Scotia) Born in New York, in North-America, Taken down from
his own Relation, arranged;;corrected, and pubiished by the Rev.
Mr. Aldridge (1785), in Ca tive, pp.’178-201. This sihgular tale
recalls the adventures oi a Diack religious fanatic, converted by
visiting Methodist evangelist, George Whitefield. From 1770-1772,
Marrant wandered in the southern wilderness, living among the
Cherokees, many of whom he converted. The Marrant narrative is
unique unto itself, fitting into no division of captivity narratives
from this period.

40Col. James Smith. PP. 20-67, l40-l42, 146-148, 149-151,
152-153, passim. The controversy surrounding Indian fighting
methods which Smith deals with in his appendix was discussed by
many individuals in the eighteenth century. See, for example,
Benjamin Franklin's critique of Braddock's smugness and under-
estimation of Indian ability in The Autobio ra h , ed. Nathan G.
Goodman (New York: Crowell, 1971), pp. 173-177. George Washington
also discusses this topic in a letter originally written to C01.

David Humphreys of his staff; see: "The Braddock Campaign,"
American History Illustrated, V (November 1970), 14-21.

4lHenry, pp. 23-25, 37-38, 41, 47, 67, 74-77, 79-88, 91-93,
95, 101-102, 107, 109, passim. The views of the afterlife dis-
cussed by Henry and Smith parallel those offered by Wm. Byrd's
guide in Virginia.

42

 

 

Morris, pp. 5, 8-9, 13.

97

43Cy1es, in Captive, p. 93; Eastburn, in Captive, pp. 159-
160, passim; Col. James Smith, pp. 20-65, passim; Henry, pp. 7-36,

passim; MorriS. pp. 37-38.

44Cawelti, Six-Gun M sti ue, p. 71; VanDerBeets' comments in
Captive. DP. 152-153, 178-180, 201; M'Cullough, in Loudon, p. 338;
Morris, p. vi.

45Bonnefoy, in Mereness, pp. 248-254, passim.

46Horner & Bain, p. 254; Savages, p. 43.

47Savages, pp. 48-49.

CHAPTER III

NARRATIVES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

Men who would scorn to tell a lie in everyday
life will become unscrupulous cheats and liars
when they have given themselves up to propagan-

dist work.
--Wells

With the conclusion of the French and Indian Wars in 1763,
Britain emerged as the leading power of the Western world. The
unabashed joy of many Englishmen was evident throughout the empire,
including the American colonies. Benjamin Franklin proudly wrote,
"No one can more sincerely rejoice than I do, on the reduction of
Canada, and this is not merely as I am a colonist, but as I am a
Briton." Yet in the twenty years which followed, Franklin and many
other colonists would denounce both their King and Parliament,
declare themselves in open rebellion, and successfully win a revolu-
tion whose outcome was anything but certain during its seven-year
duration.1

The American Revolution was not only waged on the battle-
fields, but in the hearts and minds of Americans and British alike.
To the rebel propagandist, denunciation of Tory and Indian perfidy
was occasionally paramount to military attacks upon the enemy per_§e.
As James Pickering observes in his introduction to The World Turned
Upside Down (1975):

98

99

Before there could be independence, basic attitudes had to

be changed, long-standing opinions altered, and a whole

traditional way of thinking discredited and destroyed. In

the final analysis, it was the writer's ability to accom-

plish precisely these ends that made American independence

possible.
Facing grave uncertainties on the battlefield, and initially unsure
of French assistance, the patriots exploited any avenue to aide them.
With perhaps one-third of the colonists uncommitted to either side,
rebel propagandists sought to convince potential supporters that
their cause was just and that victory was indeed possible if the
uncommitted colonists joined the rebellion. And so the writer's task

became one of buoying up morale, of winning new converts by

holding forth the advantages and glorious prospect of final

victory, of neutralizing the counterarguments of enemy

writers, and of attempting to sow seeds of dissension and

despair among the ranks of the British army and their sup-

porters and sympathizers.
Thus, emotional accounts, including captivity narratives, depicted
the Tories as monsters engaged in genocide directed at helpless
patriot civilians and their families. At the same time, the Tories'
Indian allies were portrayed at their savage worse, a condition more
disgusting to patriots because the Tories had provoked the Indians
against those patriots.2

With force and violence a very real part of frontier life,

with women required to put their own lives in peril to protect their
children, themselves, and sometimes even their husbands from savage
attacks, the American frontier before, during, and after the Revo-
lution was no place to discover evidence to support the myth of the
Noble Savage. The fanciful, even picturesque Indians who appear in

eighteenth-century English literature did not conform to what

100

frontier settlers knew first hand. The Indian behavior depicted
semi-humorously in Humphrey Clinker (1771) was closer to what most
Indian captives experienced. John P. Pritchard (Criticism in
America, 1956) notes that prior to 1820, most Americans were simply
too conscious of Indian raids, wars, and the Revolution itself to
view the Indian with anything approaching Romantic ideals. Rather
than glorifying the Indian, some intellectuals were casting about
for a means to explain the Indian's "inferiority" and to justify
the encroachment of civilization upon Indian land.3

A possible solution was the concept of social hierarchy
developed by the Scottish common-sense philosophers, who argued that
man, along with his customs and institutions, became increasingly
"social" as he became increasingly "civilized." Inevitably, these
philosophers came to argue that man is social by nature, even in
the most primitive of tribes. Man, they noted, is always concerned
with the welfare of his group; therefore, limitations upon human
progress stem from the society in which man lives, and not from man
himself.4

On the basis of this premise, Americans could be assured
that civilization would give the Indian far more than it took away.
Primitive virtues would be replaced with "higher" virtues. Thus,
civilization's advocates saw their destiny as agents of progress to
conquer the stagnating effects of isolation and uncultivated envir-
onment upon the Indian. The Indian remained static because his
inferior lifestyle required both time and energy for mere survival,

whereas the adoption of white civilization, particularly the

101

agrarian way of life, would greatly enhance the Indian's chances for
survival. The idea initially appealed to many thinkers, for it pro-
vided additional incentive for making the "agrarian myth" a reality.5

Thus, the eighteenth-century American came to think of the
Indian as a kind of living artifact, a reminder of what the white
man had once been, and without deliberate caution, might again
become on the frontier. Moreover, the hierarchical concept of human
progress did not merely go from lower to higher order, but from past
to present, as the living examples of hunting Indian, agrarian
Indian, frontier settler, and urbane city dweller revealed. Finally,
progress went from east to west; man's historical movement had always
been in that direction and would continue in the nineteenth century,
as the Indian painfully discovered.6

As part of his westward movement, man faced many dangers,
among them the possibility of Indian captivity, torture, adoption,
and, perhaps most frightening of all, a fall from a higher order of
civilization to a lower one. The hierarchical theory reinforced the
belief that negative movement must be avoided at all costs; there-
fore, any civilized white man who adopted an Indian way of life fell
from a superior to an inferior position on the social and evolu-
tionary scales.7

From this brief overview of attitudes engendered by the
Revolution, several key ideas emerge. First, the Tories, or Loyal-
ists, were a powerful minority not to be ignored, especially in

light of the rebels' many problems, not least of which was conduct-

ing a revolution against the world's mightiest empire. In

102

consequence, rebel propagandists launched attacks upon the Tories

to depict them as hideous monsters and to stress the noble causes
for which the rebels fought, with both motives designed to sway the
uncommitted colonists to the rebels' cause. Furthermore, many rebel
attacks on the Tories stressed their ties to hostile Indians. Thus,
neutral settlers in recently-opened regions, familiar with the con-
stant threat of Indian attacks, might be persuaded to support the
Revolution if convinced that the British and Tories were inciting
the Indians against them and their struggling settlements.

Given the importance of political pr0paganda to the Revolu-
tionary writer, one could expect the Indian captivity narrative to
be pressed into service by the patriots, as indeed, it was. The
formula narrative was altered dramatically, greatly shortened to
emphasize the horror of the captivity or of the initial attack upon
the settlers. Often, just one illustrative incident is presented
of Indian atrocities, British treachery, or Tory perfidy. Since
many narratives were published less than a year after the events
described, they are filled with the sensationalism and vivid des-
criptions associated with such forms of propaganda. As one might
expect, characterization is minimal, in contrast to that in the
longer narratives from the French and Indian Wars. Here, too, the
one-dimensional characters are often exploited for their sensational
effects or for their value as propaganda, in revealing the Indians
as sub-human beasts who torture patriot men, women, and children.
Generally, little effort is made to balance or develop characters

in these narratives. By and large, these captivity tales are

103

published only for their propaganda value, thereby reinforcing all
the beliefs and values of the embattled rebels, and so serving the
function of collective, or cultural ritual in the words of Cawelti.

At the same time, many emotional, sensational accounts of
captivity examine the continuing struggle between civilization and
savagery from two perspectives. First, is a growing tendency to
justify counter-violence by settlers in order to protect civilization
from its Indian opponents. Second, is a growing belief that the
Indian will perish as civilization advances, despite the efforts
by those who supported agrarianism in the hope that the Indian might
adapt to white society if he learned to domesticate both himself and
the wilderness. Many captivities suggest the contrary, that civili-
zation is advancing too rapidly to permit the Indian to undergo
such drastic changes. Furthermore, the gulf between the two cul-
tures is too great to be bridged. In short, the Indian belonged to
a "lower," inferior society and could never adapt to the "higher,"
superior society of post-Revolutionary America. In varying combi-
nations and in varying degrees, these concepts so much a part of the
eighteenth century are present in the Indian captivity tales.

When one considers the extent of verbal attacks upon the
British in many captivities, it is not surprising to find that the
narrator's animosities persist long after his captivity experience
has ended. For example, John Leeth (Narrative, 1831), a hunter and
trader in the Pennsylvania and Ohio territories, was captured and
adopted by Delaware Indians when he was eighteen. Although he

remains with the Indians the greater part of the time between 1773

104

and 1790, he does not accept British ties to the Indians. Although
Leeth's narrative was not published until 1831, when he was in his
seventies, it is a damning attack on the British for mistreating
American prisoners, an attack preceded by an emotional recollection
of the condition of American prisoners at Fort Detroit.

The Indians brought forward a parcel of American prison-

ers, as a trophy of their victories; among whom, were

eighteen women and children, poor creatures, dreadfully

manacled and emaciated; in such a manner as not to hide

their nakedness; their legs bare and streaming with

blood; the effects of being torn with thorns, briars,

and brush.
The writer intentionally singles out the condition of captive women
and children to arouse the reader's sense of outrage. Leeth then
recalls his own deepening anger over the callous behavior of the
commandant, Lt. Governor Henry Hamilton, whom the narrator accuses
of arousing the Indians against the patriots. His verbal attack on
Hamilton concludes with his recollection that

if ever I committed murder in my heart, it was then, for

if I had had an opportunity, and been supported with

strength, I should certainly have killed the Governor,

who seemed to take great delight in the exhibition.
If these emotions persist years after the captivity, one can readily
imagine how much more intense were feelings among individuals whose
accounts were quickly rushed into print during the Revolution, often
embellished to heighten their propaganda value.8

The archetype of the Revolutionary propaganda captivity, the

Wyoming Valleprassacre (July 1778), depicts a raid on settlements
in Pennsylvania by 1,600 British, Tories, and Iroquois Indians.

This embellished narrative portrays British Colonel John Butler as

105

a monster who refuses to accept surrender. When asked, "What terms?"
Butler purportedly replies, "the hatchet!" In fact; notes
VanDerBeets, specific terms for surrender were agreed upon, and the
Indians generally were restrained during the surrender, as noted by
patriot commander, Colonel Nathan Dennison.9
At this point, the narrator's invective falls upon the enemy

forces; British regulars and Tories are depicted as less than human.
One former Tory resident of the valley is denounced for killing his
own mother, sisters, and their children. Women and children fortu-
nate to escape the first attack purportedly wander in a nearby
forest, where they perish. In short, the narrator spares no effort
to depict an unholy alliance among British, Tory, and Indian in
order to perpetrate inhuman atrocities upon the patriot residents
and defenders of the settlements. Thus, a battle and surrender
became powerful vehicles to convey enemy perfidy. VanDerBeets
notes that

It was never referred to as the Wyoming campaign, or

battle, or attack, but always as the Wyoming massacre.

Instead of gaining credit for a significant military

victory, John Butler became the object of abuse even in

his own country, from which personal aspersions his rep-

utation never recovered.
Here, VanDerBeets hints at the power of pr0pagandistic literature
during the Revolution, a power that transcended an ocean to tarnish
10

a British officer's reputation in his homeland.

The Narratives of Dr. John Knight and John Slover (1782)

 

exploit the captivity tale's full potential to arouse patriot hatred

against the British, the Indians, and the renegade Girty brothers,

106

who first served the Continental forces but who then sided with the
British. Both Knight and Slover were attached to Colonel William
Crawford's regiment sent against the Ohio Indians by Virginia and
Pennsylvania after repeated Indian attacks upon frontier settle-
ments. Although Slover merely touched upon the fate of Colonel
Crawford, Crawford's son, and son-in-law, he reports that the
Indians remove the victims' charred bodies to the outskirts of the
village, where their heads and limbs are placed on poles and their
bodies thrown to the dogs. Slover's intent is clear; he wishes the
reader to see that the Indians' inhuman treatment of captives
extends even to mutilation and desecration of their bodies. Knight,
however, reports all the gruesome details surrounding Crawford's
fate, and the reader is further titillated by the reminder that
Knight had already been promised a similar fate on the day after
Crawford's death, thereby making Knight's escape more miraculous
to narrator and reader alike.n
As shocking as these accounts are, they are intensified by

Slover's claim that he heard a message to his Indian captors from
the British Commandant of Fort Detroit, advising against taking
additional prisoners.

Provisions are scarce; when prisoners are brought in we

are obliged to maintain them, and still some of them are

running away and carrying tidings of our affairs. . . .

Take no more prisoners, my children, of any sort; man,

woman, or child.

Shortly thereafter, notes Slover, several captives from

Kentucky are distributed among various Indian villages to be burned,

107

in compliance with the British command. Here, the narrator suggests
that the British encourage the Indians even further in savage acts
against the patriots. Obviously, the narrator hopes to arouse the
reader's contempt for the British. Yet, the reader might reserve
greater disdain for the Girty brothers, for both Knight and Slover
depict these individuals in the poorest possible light.12
During the Revolution, whites' inherent fear of "going
native" was often intensified to hatred for the renegade who accepted
an Indian lifestyle, while using his knowledge and understanding of
both cultures against his former comrades. As one might expect,
patriot attacks upon the Girtys were filled with scorn and invective.
If Benedict Arnold's name was associated with Satan, then the Girtys
were thought of as preeminent demons in their own right. When Knight
attempts to talk to Simon Girty, the renegade calls the narrator a
"damned rascal." Later, as the Indians torture Crawford, he begs
Girty mercifully to kill him. Girty pretends not to hear; when
Crawford cries out in greater anguish, Girty laughs and says he has
no gun. Throughout Knight's narrative, Girty is cited for his lies,
his contempt for the captives, and his treason to his own people.
Knight's presentation of Simon Girty may not be overly embellished,
for an acculturated captive like Mary Jemison stated that Girty
could readily have saved Crawford, but instead told him "that he had
no pity for his sufferings; but that he was then satisfying that
spirit of revenge, which for a long time he had hoped to have an
opportunity to wreak upon him." Moreover, Slover accuses James Girty

of spreading lies and of sending spies to Slover to trap him into an

108

escape attempt. Later, when Slover has been stripped and painted
black, the traditional sign of death by burning, George Girty ridi-
cules him, observing he "now should get what [he] had deserved many
years." Obviously, the narrators wish the reader to see how low a
human being can sink when he betrays his political affiliations as
well as his own people. The narrators thus attempt to convince
their readers how dangerous and utterly depraved such enemies are--
a rather common propaganda tool to discredit an opponent by depict-
ing him as less than human. In the case of Indian captivities, the
effect is more pronounced, for readers were painfully aware of the
sc0pe of Indian treachery. If a narrator could show that renegade
influence made the Indian still more savage, then the propaganda
value of the narrative would be increased proportionally.13
Other narrators during the Revolution examine the behavior
of Tory and Indian alike. Frontiersman and officer, Major Moses
Van Campen, twice an Indian captive and later adopted by Colonel
Butler (to replace his son, Walter), recalls the Tories tell the
Indians of his great reputation as an Indian killer to incite them
to take Van Campen from his English captors. Even more grisly evi-
dence of Indian behavior is provided in the Manheim Narrative (1779),
by a lurid account of the torture-killing of Frederick Manheim's
twin daughters, aged sixteen. The Indians place several hundred
pitch-pine splinters in the girls' bodies and then ignite those

splinters.

109

It was not until near three hours had elapsed from the com-

mencement of their torments, and that they had lost almost

every resemblance of the human form, that these helpless

virgins sunk down in the arms of their deliverer, Death.
Such frightening encounters are repeated in Rev. Corbly's Narrative
(1782), as the minister and his family are attacked one morning
while walking to church. Although Corbly's wife and five children
are scalped, two girls survive, but they must undergo painful and
expensive operations. Even Corbly's account has propaganda value,
for the Rev. William Rogers was moved to write in his 1782 preface
to the Corbly account that Britain is

so lost to every human affection that rather than not sub-

due and make us slaves, they basely choose to encourage,

patronize, and reward, as their most faithful and beloved

allies, the savages. . . .
As accounts like this increased during the Revolution, the propaganda
value of Jefferson's catalogue of George III's failings in the
Declaration of Independence acquired even greater value than it had
in 1776 when Jefferson wrote:

He has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of the fron-

tiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of

warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages,

sexes, and conditions.
Thus, the horror of colonial warfare was compounded by Indian attacks
and battles throughout much of the Revolution.14

While some narrators recall Indian atrocities in detail or

call the reader's attention to British and Tory manipulation of the
Indian against the patriots, still others reveal a growing convic-
tion that violence must be directed against the savages in order to

assure the frontiersman's survival. Nowhere is the need for

110

retaliatory violence more clearly indicated than in the Bozarth
Narrative (1779). With only two men present to protect several
whites from attacking Indians, Experience Bozarth immediately enters
into the fray, killing or injuring several Indians with an axe.
Another captive who turns upon his Indian captors is David Morgan
(Narrative, 1779), age sixty, who kills one attacking Indian and
then wins a prolonged hand-to-hand struggle with a knife-wielding
brave. When help arrives, Morgan and his allies tomahawk, scalp,
and skin both Indians to make drum heads. Here is Indian violence
repaid several times over. The message is clear. Even women set-
tlers and elderly men must be prepared to exert whatever violence
is needed to lead the way for civilization's triumph over the
wilderness and its aboriginal inhabitants.15
Such accounts as these represent the mainstream of Indian
captivity narratives during the Revolution. Owing to their abbrev-
iated length and their emphasis upon sensational accounts of enemy
action, all details not directly useful for either their shock value
or as political propaganda are simply not developed. This situation
is true with respect to other dimensions of these formula captivi-
ties as well, including characterization. Only the longer Jemison
narrative approaches realistic character development. As Jemison
recalls the tragic deaths of several sons, her humanity begins to
emerge in her profound grief, common to people in any time or place
under such tragic circumstances. Yet, most narratives merely hint

at the narrator's character, as in the case of Bozarth, Morgan, and

Scott (1785). In each of these accounts, merely the narrator's

111

courage and strength in trying times are revealed. For Frances
Scott, a married woman with children, courage is important as she
escapes from the Indians in unknown territory, many miles from her
home, and successfully negotiates her way back to civilization, sur-
viving on her wits alone. Other accounts simply show the deep
sorrows of the narrator and hint at the narrator's inner strength
in overcoming them, as in the Manheim, Corbly, and Heckewelder (ca.
1781) narratives. The latter account, by the daughter of Moravian
Missionary, John Heckewelder, describes the great sorrows shared
by her family and their Indian converts whom the British remove from
the Moravian Indian town of Salem, Ohio. Here, again, the narrative
does not develop characters, but only hints at one or two of their
traits. Thus, one can conclude that unless the nature of particular
individuals is useful for propaganda purposes, as in the case of the
abominable Girtys or various Tories and British officers, character-
ization receives little attention in these brief captivity accounts.16
One of the few narrators who attempts to develop characters
is Van Campen, but he reduces key personalities to types: the bold
Indian, the compassionate chief, the cowardly civilian, the treach-
erous Tory, the devoted British officer, the sympathetic guard, and
the dependable, patriotic narrator. Even here, however, Van Campen's
characterizations reveal ulterior motives. For example, the writer
contrasts his bravery and that of another captive, with the snivel-
ing cowardice of a captive named Pike. Whenever a crisis arises,
Pike's cowardly nature surfaces and, more than once, nearly costs

the others their freedom and their lives. Although Pike may appear

112

merely for comic relief, he is more likely developed as a coward to
show the reader that the frontier cannot lend itself to such behavior.
Conversely, the narrator's sense of honor appears to be exalted.
Several times Van Campen recalls his refusals to turn traitor. When
some Tories try to turn him over to the Indians so they may vent
their wrath upon this noted frontier scout and Indian killer, Van
Campen flatly refuses a British commission as a requisite for saving
his life, saying, "Give me the stake, the tomahawk, or the knife
before a British commission." Later, while imprisoned in Montreal
with several other American officers, he again reaffirms his deep
loyalty to the patriot cause, and with the help of a sympathetic
British guard, joins the other prisoners in celebrating the Fourth
of Juiy.'7

Even in the rare accounts in which benevolent individuals
appear among the British, these characters are as one-dimensional
as.their evil counterparts. In the Gilbert Family Narrative (ca.
1782), several British officers are cited for their assistance to
the captives, but there is no development of Colonel Guy Johnson
or the others. Even the Indian leader, Joseph Brandt, is credited
with assisting several younger captives. Interestingly enough, the
only real "villains" in this account are four escaped black slaves
who have been accepted by the Indians as "Tories." These individuals
are frequently condemned for their excessive cruelties to the cap-
tives. Nevertheless, throughout the entire narrative, all char-
acters are little more than set-pieces, and the reader is left with

very little information about them.18

113

Information about the setting is equally scarce. Any
interests about the geography and natural resources of an area are
displaced in order to develop the narrative's emotional appeal.

Many narratives were published immediately after the events des-
cribed, while memories of recent raids were still fresh in patriots'
minds, thereby enhancing their propaganda value. Consequently, the
anthropological, sociological, and ethnological details present in
earlier French and Indian War captivity accounts simply do not
appear. Even longer accounts, such as those by Leeth or Gilbert,
do not contain the detail found in earlier narratives of James Smith,
Alexander Henry, or even Robert Eastburn. Many Revolutionary nar-
ratives are so stripped of non-essentials that only the date or
location of events appear, as in accounts by Bozarth, Manheim,
Morgan, and Corbly; even then, this information is often provided
by editors of the accounts, rather than the narrators themselves.

As one might also expect, the action dimension of the formula
captivity tale is minimal, being controlled by the events themselves.
As previously noted, however, the increase in shocking details
served a purpose other than producing an adventure story per_§e,

Both literary sensationalism and psychological warfare received an
impetus from such details. One's enemy was dehumanized, and the
readers' wrath was directed to both Indian and Tory alike. Further-
more, the significance of violence as a necessary adjunct to frontier
survival has likewise been examined. Yet, one additional theme does

need to be considered.

114

A theme which first appears in these narratives, and which
becomes increasingly common in narratives from the Western Wars
(1790-1794), and which continues well into the nineteenth century
grows out of the violence directed at the Indian and out of a reexam-
ination of the hierarchical concept of human progress. With the end
of the Revolution, the dream of new settlements in America's interior
was becoming a reality. Conquered land was American land, and the
Indian soon learned that British colonial views became American
colonial views. Although British agents often encouraged the Indians
to demand outright American purchases of Indian lands during the
1780s, little came of those demands. Admittedly, treaties were made
and boundaries established, but treaties and boundaries were quickly
ignored or disregarded when conditions required, and conditions
increasingly "required."19

The major contributor to the change in attitudes about
Indians of America's interior was the growth of population, the
eagerness for westward migration, combined with the popularity of
agrarianism and physiocracy, which produced a vision of America as
a fertile, exquisite panorama of cultivated land, domesticated ani-
mals, and cleared forests. The migration quickened--far more rapidly
than most individuals could envision. Americans could not afford
to civilize the Indian, so they arbitrarily decided that the Indian
could never become part of the white man's future vision. Americans
rationalized that the Indian belonged to another time, another
place, and these were so remote in human antiquity that the Indian

could not bridge the chasm between the two cultures. Leeth's

115

narrative hints at this gulf between civilization and savagery when

he ponders his future as an Indian captive,
destined to remain in an uncultivated wilderness, where no
voice was heard but the yells of savages, the howling of
wolves, and the dread screams of the panther, no cultivated
fields or lowing herds, nor any prospect for the support of
life, but what the dreary regions of a wide and boundless
wilderness presented, was appalling and discouraging.

Although one might wonder if those who were traders and wilderness

residents by choice would really miss civilization, Leeth's obser-

vation was widely accepted. Captivity narrators and other writers

began to stress the gulf between white and red men, but it took an

a

editor like Hugh Henry Brackenridge to clarify those sentiments in 3
1782.20

Commenting upon the publication of the Knight and Slover
narratives, Brackenridge hopes such accounts will encourage the
government to take measures against the Indians, "as from hence they
will see that the nature of an Indian is fierce and cruel, and that
an extirpation of them would be useful to the world, and honorable
to those who can effect it." Since white and red men cannot coexist,
argues Brackenridge, exterminating all Indians becomes a logical
expedient to the advancement of civilization.21

Brackenridge then propounds his thesis that "the animals
vulgarly called Indians" have no claim upon their land. He chal-
lenges the theory of prior occupancy, the belief that "the whole of

this earth was given to man, and all descendents of Adam have a

right to share it equally." Recalling the Biblical admonition that

116

"thou shalt till the ground," he says the Indian does not till,
i.e., improve the land; therefore, the Indian has no claim to it.

I am so far from thinking the Indians have a right to the

soil, that not having made a better use of it for many

hundred years, I conceive they have forfeited all pretence

to claim, and ought to be driven from it.
In the event that anyone remains unconvinced of this argument,
Brackenridge cites Warburton's thesis that one cannot Christianize
an Indian until one first civilizes that Indian. But this is impos-
sible, argues Brackenridge; otherwise, the Indians would have become
farmers. Therefore, he concludes, the Indian is impervious to the
''benefits" of civilization or Christianity. In fact, says the
writer, an Indian is closer to a devil than a man. As a consequence,
one cannot have faith in an Indian's word or in his acknowledgement
of a treaty. Ironically, this is the very argument Indians would
use in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries when they saw repeated
white violations of treaties. Finally, Brackenridge concludes that
given an opportunity, an Indian always seeks captives to torture and
kill, but torture alone justifies exterminating the Indian to permit
a higher order of humanity to progress in America as God intended.22

Even a poet with primitivist leanings could not overlook the

growing conflict between white and red cultures as Americans entered
into westward expansion in force following the end of the Revolution.
Freneau's 1784 poem, "On the Emigration to America and Peopling the
Western Country," catalogues the duties of advancing civilization--

"to tame the soil and plant the arts," and to enjoy the fruits of

nature which previously wasted as "ages past have rolled away./ And

117

forests bloomed but to decay." Even the Mississippi River will no
longer flow idly.
No longer shall your princely flood
From distant lakes be swelled in vain,
No longer through a darksome wood
Advance, unnoticed, to the main,
Far other ends, the heavens decree--
And commerce plans new freights for thee.
And while civilization is making these changes, "the unsocial Indian"
will move to distant, ”less pleasing" lands. Unsocial implies
Freneau's acceptance of the social hierarchy, including the belief
that the Indian will be pushed westward by an advancing white civili-
zation. Although Freneau suggests that "Reason and Virtue" will one
day lead to slavery's demise, he fails to indicate whether the Indian
'will ever be free from oppression.23
As the eighteenth century drew to a close, many Indians bade
farewell to their homeland, even to life itself, to journey like
Freneau's "King Tammany," to "where all our far-famed sachems rest."
Frontiersmen and many other Americans had already decided the Indians'
fate. Civilization appeared destined to overcome all obstacles to
its forward movement. That was part of the white American's Manifest
Destiny, but it could never be part of the First American's destiny.
It turned out, as it had to, that what Indians signified was
not what they were, but what Americans should not be. Ameri-
cans were only talking to themselves about themselves. But
they had succeeded in convincing themselves that they were
right, divinely right. Only with such conviction--cruel,
illogical, and self-indulgent as it was--could they move on.
Most whites had rationalized that Indians were never meant to partake
of a higher order of civilization, just as they had decided that

whites were never meant to be "squaw men" or renegades and still

118

remain human, let alone white. Not surprisingly, Freneau's "Indian
Student" finds nothing among the white man's trappings to replace

his own lifestyle and so departs sadly "to die among my native
shades." Whites had clearly defined the Indian's future by the

start of the nineteenth century; all that remained was for the Indian
to fulfill that prophecy. On July 4, 1779, soldiers in Sullivan's
regiment drank a toast expressing a profound and universal truth
about the meeting of two cultures, a truth that "superior" cultures
reaffirm whenever "inferior" cultures impede the advance of "civi-
lization." That toast, that reaffirmation, promised "Civilization

or Death to all American Savages."24

NOTES, CHAPTER III

1R. B. Nye and N. S. Grabo, eds., American Thought and Writ-
iflfl.)Vol. II, The Revolution and Early RepubliC (New York: Houghton,
1965 , p. xv.

2James H. Pickering, ed., The World Turned Upside Down (Port
Washington, New York: Kennikat Press, 1975), pp. 7,19} As is the
case in all other chapters, my introduction attempts merely to
sketch the framework of each period in order to focus upon the formula
captivity tale itself. For a fuller treatment of the Revolution, and
particularly the role of Revolutionary literature, see in addition to
Pickering: Philip Davidson, Erppegandaand the American Revolution,
1763-1783 (Chapel Hill, North Carblina: The Univ. of North Caroiina
Press, 1941); Bruce Granger, Political Satire in the American Revo-
lution, 1763-1783 (Ithaca, New’Ybrkzg—Cbrnell Univ. Press, 1960);
Moses Coit Tyler, The Literature of the American Revolution, 1763-
1783, 2 volumes (New YbrkiiiPUtnam, 1897)}

3John P. Pritchard, Criticism in America (Norman, Oklahoma:
Univ. of Oklahoma Press, 1956), cited ih Ruth Rushton Stokes, "The
Study of Literature in American Academies and High Schools, 1820-
1880," diss. Michigan State University, 1975, pp. 156-157; Bissell,
pp. 98-106. Nash observes that many fur traders not only understood
the concept of the noble savage but even stressed Indian virtues over
the white man's failings. Nash adds, however, "they did not accept
the idea as literal truth" (p. 65).

 

4Savages, pp. 82-84, and 92, passim.
5Pp. 85-86.

6P. 49. Jefferson supported the doctrine of social hierarchy
throughout his life, and one of his most significant statements
appears in a letter from his later years.
Let a philosophic observer commence a journey from the
savages of the Rocky Mountains, eastwardly towards our sea-
coast. These he would observe in the earliest stage of
association living under no law but that of nature, sub-
sisting and covering themselves with the flesh and skin of
wild beasts. He would next find those on our frontiers in
the pastoral state, raising domestic animals to supply the
defects of hunting. Then succeed our own semi-barbarous

119

120

citizens, the pioneers of the advance of civilization, and
so in his progress he would meet the gradual shades of
improving man until he would reach his, as yet, most
improved state in our seacoast towns. This, in fact, is
equivalent to a survey, in time, of the progress of man
from the infancy of creation to the present day.
Thomas Jefferson, Notes on the State of Virginia, in Horner & Bain,
pp. 341-345, passim; Hallowell, p. 525 (quoté).

7

8Ewel Jeffries, ed., A Short Biograpny of John Leeth, With
An Account of his Life Among the Indians (1831), wifh an introduc-
tion by Reuben Gold Thwaites (Cleveland, Ohio: Burrows Bros., 1904),
pp. 9, 12, 33-34, hereafter referred to as Leeth.

 

Hallowell, p. 525.

 

 

9[Anonymous], The Wypming Valley Massacre (July 1778), in
Captive. PP. 239-240.

'OPp. 241-242.

nHugh Henry Brackenridge, ed., Narratives of the Perils and
Sufferings of Dr. Knight and John Slover . . . (1783) (Cindihnati,
Ohio: U. P. James, 1967 rpt. of 1843 edn.), hereafter referred to
as Knight pr Slover; Slover, pp. 44-46; Knight, pp. 22-26, passim;
Drimmer, pp. 119, 374.

12Slover, pp. 49-51.

'3Ty1er, II, p. 165; Knight, pp. 22-24; Slover, pp. 47-51,
53; Jemison, pp. 112-113.

14Drimmer, p. 374; Major Moses Van Campen, The Memoirs of
Major Moses Van Campen (1778), in Drimmer, p. 117; Matthew Carey, ed.,
The Affectinngistory of the Dreadful Distresses of Frederic Manheim's

 

 

 

 

Family (1779), in Ca tive, pT4205; Carey, ed., Sufferings of the Rev.
John Corbly and Famiiy from the Indians, .-. . (1782), in Captive,
pp. 205-206; Thos. Jefferson, The DedlEration of Independence, 1n
Nye and Grabo, II, p. 56. Granger states that the BritiSh and the
Americans regularly employed Indians in the Revolution; Granger

also cites Andrew M. Davis, English Hist. Rev., II (1887), p. 728,
who observes that the British particularly tried to use their Indian
allies in those battles "where the opportunity was afforded them of
displaying in full force the most revolting features of their bar-
barous methods of warfare" (Granger, p. 195). For examples of
attacks on the British by propagandists responding to the use of
Indians, see Davidson, pp. 371-372.

 

121

15Carey, ed., Signal Prowess of a Woman, in a Combat with
Some Indians, . . . (1779), in Captive, pp. 209-210; Carey, ea),
The Remarkable Encounter of a White Man with Two Indians . . . (ca.
1779), in Captive. pp. 207-209. Van CEmpen also recalls that
several In ians were scalped as retribution for white deaths (Van
Campen, in Drimmer, p. 112).

16Frances Scott, Narrative (1785), in Loudon, pp. 43-48;
Miss Heckewelder, Narrative (ca. 1781), in John Frost, ed., Pioneer
Mothers of the West (Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1869), pp. 68-72.

17

18William Walton, ed., A Narrative of the Captivity and
Sufferings of Benjamin Gilbert and his Family (ca. 1782) (Lancaster,
Pennsylvania: n. p., 1890), pp.3, 11,413-15, assim; VanDerBeets,
in Captive, n. 31, p. 237, offers comments on Brandt s lineage.

 

 

Van Campen, in Drimner, pp. 110-113, 117-118.

19Savages, p. 54.

20Smith, p. 12; Leeth, p. 28.
21

22Pp. 65-71, passim. Brackenridge's reference to extermi-

nating the Indians is reminiscent of Franklin's remark in his
Autobiography (pp. 155-156):

And, indeed, if it be the design of Providence to extirpate

these savages in order to make room for the cultivators of

the earth, it seems not improbable that rum may be the

appointed means. It has already annihilated all the tribes

who formerly inhabited the seacoast.

23Freneau, in Nye a Grabo, II, pp. 397-398. Contrast
Freneau's optimistic vision to Goldsmith's description in Ine_
Deserted Villa e, where those journeying to America face "torrid
tracts," "blazing suns," "matted woods where birds forget to sing, /
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling." Goldsmith also warns
would-be travelers of scorpions, tigers, snakes, “And savage men,
more mud'rous still than they; / While oft in whirls the mad tornado
flies, / Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies" (Bissell,
pp. 203-204).

24Freneau's poems, p. 327; Freneau, in Bissell, pp. 206-207;
Savages, pp. 55, 178, 232, 244.

Brackenridge, pp. 5-6.

CHAPTER IV

NARRATIVES OF THE “WESTERN WARS"

There is nothing more conmon than to
confound the terms of the American
Revolution with those of the late
American war. The American war is
over; but this is far from being the
case with the American Revolution.
On the contrary, nothing but the
first act of the great drama is
closed.

--Benjamin Rush

Benjamin Rush's observation shortly after the Revolution
reflects the changes occurring in American manufacturing, commerce,
and even the social structure itself. Yet nowhere is the Philadelphia
physician's observation more fully substantiated than in the growth
of agrarian interests combined with westward expansion after 1783.1

In 1784, Jefferson wrote in Query XIX of his Notes on the
State of Virginia that "those who labor in the earth are the chosen
people of God, if ever He had a chosen people. Whose breasts He has
made His peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue." Here,
observes Pearce, is agrarianism at its penultimate, revealing the
Lockean concept that "man achieve[s] his highest humanity by taking
something out of nature and converting it with his labor into part

of himself.“ Although Jefferson recognized the Federalist challenge

of mercantilism, agricultural interests remained foremost in his mind

122

123

and in the minds of those Americans who looked westward across the
Appalachians to the fertile lands available to them. Moved by the
conviction that those who successfully cultivate the land acquire
the dignity and status of freeholding farmers, many Americans saw
agriculture as the only true indicator of human civilization. Thus,
ownership of farm property contributed the security, stability, and
self-respect so important to civilized beings. So certain was
Jefferson of the benefits derived from cultivating one's own land
that he continued in his 1784 Query, "Corruption of morals in the
mass of cultivators is a phenomenon of which no age nor nation has
furnished an example.“ If Jefferson's belief was based on the
narrowly circumscribed European examples, then how much greater
might the glory of American farmers be?2

Jefferson, like Crevecoeur, Franklin, and Freneau, was
simply restating popular beliefs common to many late eighteenth-
century individuals. Equally familiar and popular was the belief
that the American West would provide ample room for America's
expanding agricultural society for many years to come, thereby
assuring the continuation of republican institutions. Jefferson,
however, did not rely upon myth alone to assure Americans' felicity.
He took definite steps both to secure the needed land and to pro-
vide the necessary safeguards for those who would domesticate that
land. Jefferson was responsible for framing the Northwest Ordinance
of 1787, thereby opening the Trans-Allegheny region while establish-
ing territorial government, and providing the necessary framework

for admitting new states from this area, as well as forever banning

124

slavery in those states. Equally important, Jefferson devised a
system to convey public land to private ownership, and later,
secured more than double the land previously available to western
settlers through the Louisiana Purchase. Thus, the Revolution had
given substance to the dream of a new nation, but settlement of
land west of the Alleghenies took agrarian ideals far beyond any-
thing previously considered, and, in so doing, inspired still
greater hopes for the glorious transformation of man and his
society.3
Both Britain and Spain, however, presented serious chal-
1enges to the agrarian dream, for representatives of these nations,
and even France, sought to woo frontier leaders and their valuable
lands away from the Union. So precarious was the situation by 1786
that George Washington observed, "The western states . . . stand as
it were upon a pivot. A touch of a feather would turn them either
way." Relations between America and Britain were especially strained
due to post-war emotionalism and Britain's refusal to surrender forts
and valuable trading posts they held on American soil under the pre-
tense that Americans had not repaid debts owed at the start of the
Revolution, nor had Americans settled the issue of restoring Tory
prOperty. Jay's treaty with Great Britain eventually secured the
posts, but British civilians were permitted to conduct their import-
ant fur trade with the same Indians whose lands American settlers
were rapidly domesticating with no concern for the Indians' fate.4

Both the Northwest Ordinance and the Constitution stipu-

lated that Indian land, whether purchased or conquered, was “to be

125

extinguished formally before Americans might move onto it. . . ."
Moreover, the Indians were to be civilized, instructed in farming,
and relocated on farms. But like so many other American treaties
with the Indians, these formal agreements were ignored--in this
instance by frontiersmen eager to acquire new lands. Simply stated,
America's westward expansion did not permit the "luxury" of civiliz-
ing Indians.5
Angered by American lies and encouraged by British agents,
the Indians rose up against the settlers. VanDerBeets estimates
that 1,500 settlers along the Ohio River alone were injured, killed,
or captured between 1782 and 1790. These Indians successfully
defeated punitive expeditions led by Harmar (1790) and St. Clair
(1791) before falling to Wayne (1794). Utterly routed by the
Americans and deserted by the British, the Indians signed the Treaty
of Greenville (1795) at a cost to themselves of 50,000,000 acres--
nearly the entire Ohio territory.6
The Indians' fate was nearly sealed. In 1789, Secretary of

, War Henry Knox wrote that

all the Indian tribes, once existing in those States now

the best cultivated and most populous, have become extinct.

If the same causes continue, the same effects will happen;

and in a short period, the idea of an Indian on this side

of the Mississippi will only be found in the pages of the

historian.
Ironically, he who was once the_American was being destroyed by
another American. Moreover, Knox's reference to studies by his-
torians is also ironic, for few were as revealing or as objective

as Jedidiah Morse's 1790 text, The History of America. Morse

126

argues that the Indian's character is determined by his environment
and his needs as a member of a hunting society. Responding to
charges by Buffon and others of the Indians' innate inferiority,
Morse contends that Indians are "not cowardly, perfidious, stupid,
vain, effeminate, or in any way degenerate." According to Morse,
both good and bad qualities of the Indians, how they live, and what
they believe in, "ought to be considered in connection, and in
regard to their mutual influences." This attitude, however, was
largely limited to a few scholars, just as the concept of the noble
savage was limited to literary circles.7
Most historians were willing to accept the popular view of

the Indian's inadequacy for survival in civilized life. Historians
like Jeremy Belknap (History of New Hampshire, 1784-1792 [1813]),
Samuel Williams (Natural and Civil History of Vermont, 1794), and
Robert Proud (History of Pennsylvania, 1797-1798), insisted that the
inferiority and undesirability of the savage life to which Indians
appeared "inseparably connected [threatened] the improvement, pro-
gress, or increase of society." Convinced that the disadvantages of
Indian life always outweighed its advantages, historians such as
Williams concluded that

the independence of which the savage was so fond, was never

designed for man: And it is only in the improvement of

civil society, that the human race can find the greatest

increase of their numbers, knowledge, safety, and happi-

ness.
If the Indian's life had any glorious moments, they were lost in

antiquity. If the Indian himself had any innate nobility, it

remained for the budding American poet, dramatist, or novelist to

127

discover and relate, but not for the historian, the frontier settler,
or the average American in the final years of the eighteenth century
to extol.8
Not by accident did the Indian become part of American liter-
ature, for post-Revolutionary writers were deliberately searching
for native topics. At the same time, many writers and editors were
engaged in lively debates on why the arts had yet to come of age in
America. Significant to this study is the growing realization that
American literature should focus upon America's future greatness,
rejecting also the rigid conventions of form and subject matter
imposed by outside influences. Equally important is the argument
that America's recent past provides suitable material for a truly
American form of writing.9
An ardent supporter of the last argument is Charles Brockden
Brown. Citing native contributions by naturalist and politician
alike, Brown regrets that "moral painter[s] have failed to follow
suit." America offers adequate subject matter and inspiration
quite different from European counterparts, as Brown demonstrates
in his 1799 novel, Edgar Huntly, or Memoirs of a Sleep Walker.
Brown says that "puerile superstition and exploded manners, Gothic
castles and chimeras are the materials usually employed [to arouse
the reader's passions and sympathy]." But in America, "the inci-
dents of Indian hostility, and the perils of the western wilderness,

are far more suitable; and for a native of America to overlook these

would admit of no apology." Brown, indeed, does not overlook these

128

materials, for he combines the violence and uncertainty of a cap-
tivity narrative with the Gothic horror tale.10

His hero, Huntly, is the son of parents murdered by Indians,
so his encounter with them has special meaning. Despite the sensa-
tional adventures and sentimental dialogue, Huntly manages to provide
terrifying accounts of Indian cruelty. His frequent struggles with
his conscience over his violent, but necessary acts of self-
preservation recall the psychological despair of many captives,
while Huntly's return to civilization reveals the confusion and
uncertainty produced by the encounter of alien cultures frequently
recorded in many of the longer captivity narratives. Yet Brown was
not the only American to incorporate the traditional captivity nar-
rative into the format of a novel.

In 1793, Ann Eliza Bleecker effectively combined the exper-
ience of Indian captivity with the emotionalism of a novel of sensi-
bility to produce The History of Maria Kittle. .Horrid scenes per-
meate every page as atrocities are piled high in this fictional
account set in the time of the French and Indian Wars. A lurid
account of the initial raid focuses upon the ghastly murder of
Maria's pregnant sister, followed by mutilation of her body and
removal of her unborn infant, itself then "dashed to pieces against
the stone wall. . . ." Sentimental pathos prevails throughout;
even nature is depicted as depraved:

The horrid gloom of the place, the scowling looks of her

murderous companions, the shrill shrieks of owls, the loud
cries of the wolf, and mournful screams of panthers, which

129
were redoubled by distant echoes as the terrible sounds
seemed dying away, shook her frame with cold tremors.

Maria is eventually reunited with her husband after a stay in
Montreal, but not before the author has opened "the sluice gates of
her reader's eyes" and allowed herself "the luxury of horror"--a
common practice among novelists from the sentimental school in the
late eighteenth century.11

Admittedly, not all writers used the sentimental or the
Gothic to depict Indian actions, but many writers did,however, con-
sider Indian customs, wilderness dangers, and frontier hardships.
Still others discussed mistreatment of the Indian or documented his
passing, as evidenced by Dwight's Greenfield Hill (1794) and
Freneau's Propnepypof King Tammany(l782). Some writers even sought
to idealize the Indian, perhaps none more ambitiously than Mrs.
Morton in Qpapi (1790). According to Bissell, such efforts merely
represent "the transformation of the sinister and forbidding savage
into the idealized embodiment of picturesqueness, pathos, fortitude,
and heroic statement." But the true condition of the Indian was
closer to that shown in the captivity narrative. Visitors to the
frontier who saw "drunken, diseased, and degraded" Indians were also
"told that Indians beyond the frontier would sooner or later be in
no better condition." Getting Indians drunk, then encouraging them
to fight among themselves, became a popular frontier pastime, as
more than one traveler learned.12

Given the acceptability of such treatment of the Indian, it

is not surprising that the captivity narrative formula should reflect

 

130

such contemporary societal interests and values extant in the late
eighteenth century. With the end of the Revolution, political
propaganda directed at the British no longer dominates these accounts,
although some captives do criticize the government for allowing the
continued presence of British agents on American soil, since many
captives had first-hand evidence of British influence over the
Indians. Stronger attacks, however, are usually reserved for the
renegades who also inflame the Indians.

Since many accounts were published several years after
events described, the ameliorative effects of time are evident as
a dispassionate narrator recalls his captivity. In such instances,
the sociological and anthropological details found in longer nar-
ratives from the French and Indian Wars are again present. Closely
allied to these details, however, is increasing stress on the cul-
tural advantages of white society. Both technological progress and
agricultural improvements--so important also in the next century--
are mentioned frequently in longer narratives as the narrators
comment upon the steady, inevitable advance of civilization. Some
narrators even reveal concern for the future of the Indians resultant
from these rapid changes in society.

Far more significant, however, than any of these aspects of
the Indian captivity narrative are the addition of sensibility,
melodrama, and stylistic embellishment. Such literary alterations
by the narrator, or more frequently, by an editor or publisher,
become the key to marketing the "latest" type of captivity narrative.

These alterations are really not surprising considering the growing

131

popularity following the Revolution of the Gothic tale and the novel
of sensibility. Furthermore, the change from propaganda to thriller
is neither drastic nor difficult. VanDerBeets notes "It was but a
short and almost inevitable step from narrative excesses for the pur-
pose of propaganda to excesses in the interest of sensation and
titillation, from promoting hatred to eliciting horror, from chauvin-
ism to commercialism." Melodrama and stylistic embellishment were
specifically designed to arouse the reader's sensibilities, i.e.,
"keen sensitiveness to moral and aesthetic beauty,“ while lurid
descriptive details were calculated to arouse the reader's sense of
horror.13

These literary devices are thoroughly developed in such rep-

resentative accounts as the Narratives of Mary Kinnan (1795) and Rev.

 

Oliver Spencer (first published in book form in 1835), and to some

extent in the Narratives of Jackson Johonnot (1791) and Thomas

 

Barry (1802), the veracity of which is highly suspect. All four
captivities occur during the 17805, and except for Barry's captivity,
are all set near the Ohio River. Although Spencer relies upon his
clerical title to lend credence to his captivity narrative, the other
accounts are prefaced by disclaimers stressing the accounts' accuracy
despite the bizarre, unlikely incidents presented. Barry tells the
reader that unless he has experienced similar misfortunes, "a few of
the incidents may appear improbable. . . ." Johonnat ponders the
difficulty of writing an autobiography whose content "borders on the
marvelous," while "the veracity of the relater . . . is still less

frequently vouched for." Kinnan hopes to elicit "the tear of

132

sensibility" for "the unaffected and unvarnished tale of a female,
who has surmounted difficulties and dangers, which on a review appear
romantic, even to herself." Although captivity narrators have never
been known to regard their captivity as "romantic," Kinnan's claim
lends credence to VanDerBeets' observation that the motivations
behind her true account are "the development of melodramatic possi-
bilities of the narrative, the workings of sensibility, and the
opportunities for rhetorical refinement. . . ."14
One melodramatic device common to these narratives (and later
ones) is the juxtaposition of peaceful scenes depicting the comfort
and security of civilized life and the sudden upheaval of the nar-
rator's world by an Indian raid resulting in terrifying capture.
The youthful Spencer, for example, is seized after enjoying a Fourth
of July celebration, complete with "a brilliant exhibition of fire-
works." Barry is contemplating with joyous rapture the natural
beauty of rural Carolina when Indians spring from out the flower-
laden bushes. "Alas! how fluctuating are the scenes of life! how
singularly precarious the fortune of a soldier," bewails Johonnot,
as Indians seize him without warning. Kinnan, likewise, is taken on
a spring evening that found her caught up in reverie over the change
of seasons, which she compares to "the buds of virtue and of genius,
sprouting in the bosoms of my children."15
All four narrators record the gruesome details of the deaths
and mutilations of friends or relatives in the attacks that led to

their captivity, and provide ample accounts of subsequent suffering

and uncertainty. Barry, about to be burned at the stake, is

133

rescued by the lovely Oneida in a manner all too reminiscent of the
archetypal Pocohontas incident. Spencer envisions his bereaved
mother filled with "distressing apprehensions" and held in a "pain-
ful state of suspense" over his well-being. Johonnot records a
forced march of eight days, so painful an experience that "no pen
can describe our sufferings from hunger, thirst, and toil." Kinnan,
distraught by the death and destruction around her, pleads “Spare
me the pain of describing my feelings at this scene, which racked my
agonizing heart, and precipitated me to the verge of madness."
Nevertheless, Kinnan and the others persist in describing even
greater horrors throughout their narratives in hope, as Johonnot
suggests, "the tender hearted will drop the tear of sympathy, when
they realize the sufferings of . . . our unfortunate country folks
as fall into the hands of the western Indians, whose tender mercies
are cruelties."16
Johonnot's final phrase belongs to a stock repertoire that
continues well into the nineteenth century, along with a growing
fondness for literary allusions. Kinnan, for example, draws upon
King Lear, Hamlet, and Macbeth. This practice becomes increasingly
commonplace among later narratives by female captives, as evidenced
by the Oatman and Kelly captivities (Chapter V). But even a
restrained male narrator occasionally adds some literary allusions.
Attorney Charles Johnston, whose captivity experiences of 1790 were
not published until 1827, adds a long citation from Irish romantic
poet Thomas Moore, plus a shorter quotation from Goldsmith. These

and other literary devices were, as Pearce notes, part of an attempt

134

to rejuvenate a popular genre that "was quite old and quite tired"
after more than 125 years of service in American annals alone. As
a consequence, many published narratives increasingly became little
more than “an exercise in blood and thunder and sensibility."17
Unfortunately, literary affectation increased the reader's

skepticism rather than assuaged it. With one tear-provoking page
following on the heels of another and yet another, the intended
effect of the moral coda is frequently diminished or at least
severely curtailed by the authors' overzealousness. The critical
reader will notice an obvious parallel between Kinnan's closing
paragraphs and Rowlandson's, but Kinnan's overblown rhetoric fails
to hit its mark.

If my history has been marked with woe-worn incidents--if

I have been in a peculiar manner the child of misfortune;

—-if my cup of life has been deeply mixed with gall;--if

despair has brooded over my soul, with all its horrors;--

and finally, if I have been obliged to dismiss even dear

delusive hope, having so often felt 'what kind of sickness

of the heart that was, which proceeds from hope deferred;'

--yet, by these very woes, I have been led to place my

dependence on the beneficient dispenser of good and evil,

. . . [and] recline on the bosom of [my] father and [my]

God.

It would appear to the critical reader that Kinnan reclined less on
God's bosom than upon the bosom of the muse who inspired Maria
Kittle's creator to seek "the luxury of sorrow."18
Since these narrators readily converted excesses of propa-
ganda into excesses of literary affectation, it is not surprising
that some narrators detail British intrigue with the Indians in the

same heavy-handed manner. Kinnan herself alters lines from Macbeth

135

(Act I, Sc. 7, 11. 19-25) to inveigh against the British presence in
America in an overwrought appeal to heaven.

0 Britain! how heavy will be the weight of thy crimes at

the last great day! Instigated by thee, the Indian murderer

plunges his knife into the bosom of innocence, of piety,

and of virtue; and drags thousands into a captivity, worse

than death. The cries of widows, and the groans of orphans

daily ascend, like a thick cloud, before the judgment-seat

of heaven. . . .
To grasp the extent of Kinnan's stylistic embellishment, one has but
to contrast her denunciation with Johnston's firm, but restrained,
observation.

Many of the Indian tribes had continued hostilities with

the United States through the revolutionary war, and for

a long period after its conclusion. The retention of the

posts, by the British troops, gave them an extensive

influence in the surrounding territory. . . .
Massy Herbeson's Narrative (1792) also includes criticism of British
assistance to the Indians, but again without Kinnan's emotionalism,
such invective usually being reserved for white renegades.19

'The Girty brothers remain the arch-villains they were during

the Revolution, and so receive the brunt of hostile comments by
Herbeson, Matthew Bunn (Narrative, 1796), and Spencer, with the
latter depicting the malicious Simon Girty, with

his shaggy hair; his low forehead; his brows contracted,

and meeting above his short flat nose; his grey sunken eyes,

averting the ingenuous gaze; his lips thin and compressed,

and the dark and sinister expression of his countenance,

to me, seemed the very picture of a villain.
Such a description, replete with elements of phrenology and physi-
ognomy, must make Girty appear villainous to any reader. Thus, con-
tempt for renegades and disdain fbr their British cohorts continue

beyond the Revolution because of unresolved British-American

136

differences, and are so represented in the captivity narratives.
Because these views parallel Americans' societal values and beliefs,
they belong to that part of the formula story dimension that Cawelti
refers to as collective, or cultural, ritual. So, too, do the laud-
atory statements commenting on the growth of technology and agri-
culture--civilization's twin prodigies--in America's recently-
acquired territories following the Revolution.20
The advance of civilization is featured in several represen-
tative captivity tales, albeit in varying_degree5. The aging Thomas
Baldwin, fellow Indian fighter with Daniel Boone, comments in his
1836 Narrative upon the hardships of frontier life after the Revolu-
tion. The Indians have taken the lives of his two sons, wife, and
brother, and have even destroyed many farm animals. Once isolated
on the outposts¢rfcivilization and subject to the associated dangers
and uncertainties, Baldwin calls himself "an instrument ordained to
settle the wilderness." The singular Narrative of William Smalley
(first published publicly in 1966) reveals the acute awareness of
a captive equally at home among white and red cultures. A friend of
Presidents Washington and Jefferson, this adopted son and heir-
apparent of an Iroquois chief, is all too aware of the advance of
civilization and subjugation of Indian territory after the Revolu-
tion. Despite the great gulf between the two cultures, Smalley (or
Grey Eagle) endeavors to negotiate a peace between Indian and white,
leading a delegation from President Washington to the Iroquois. More

important, he strives to convince his Indian family of the advantages

137

of a farming society over a hunting society, for he is all too well
aware of the implications of "civilization" for the Indian.21
Both Spencer and Johnston, however, reveal great awareness

of the progress of civilization in savage lands. Spencer cites
improvements in roads and public accommodations and praises the
invention of the steamboat for its contributions to transportation
of people and of commerce alike. Far more significant to a former
Indian captive is the domesticationirfsavage territory, now converted
into peaceful farms throughout the Mississippi valley.

Our rivers teem with commerce; their banks are covered with

farms, with houses, villages, towns, and cities; the wilder-

ness has been converted into fruitful fields; temples to

God are erected, where once stood the Indian wigwam, and the

praises of the Most High resound, where formerly the screams

of the panther, or the yell of the savage only were heard.
Likewise, Johnston comments upon the growth of population in Ohio,
which, by the time he published his captivity narrative, had become
a state. He also comments upon the appearance of farms and towns
where "savages and wild beasts" once lived. Reflecting upon the
advent of the steamboat and the growth of commerce, he predicts a
glowing future for the region; canals are under construction, which
when connected with others, will permit navigation "from the northern
to the southern extreme of the United States." Johnston's pride in
progress is obvious as he concludes,

What a subject of reflection to the statesman and political

economist! What a source of triumph, on the part of the

free and thrifty institutions of the western hemisphere,
over the strong systems of the eastern!

138

Johnston might have added "What a triumph over the Indian," for that
was what civilization's inroads really meant to the native inhabi-
tants, who depended upon the wilderness for their food as members of
a hunting society. But some narrators were aware of the Indian's
fate.22
Throughout much of his narrative, Smalley recalls his efforts
to bridge the gulf between red and white cultures, believing the
Indian can survive only by adopting agrarian ways. But despite
years of efforts to help his red brothers achieve this goal, his
limited success and repeated frustration eventually led him to con-
clude, "There could be no common ground for the fusion of thought
and action; they were to each other like people from different
planets." Spencer, too, is aware of the Indian's dark future, and
recalls his Indian mother's comments on the sad history of relations
between red and white. After reflecting upon the rapid spread of
civilization, accompanied by the continual deception of French,
British, and eventually Americans, the Indian knowingly predicts
that Americans will "never be satisfied until they have crowded the
Indians to the extreme north, to perish on the great Ice Lake, or
to the far west, until pushing those who should escape from their
rifles, into the great waters, all would at length be exterminated."
This prediction became reality all too often, since the concern
shown for the Indian's welfare by some captives remains the excep-
tion. The common opinion would prevail--the Indian was too savage,
too stubborn, and too much the child of another age to adapt to

civilization's demands. Furthermore, whites doubted that time would

139

permit the success of any real attempts to civilize the Indian.
Thus, most Indian captives, like their peers in American society,
were primarily concerned with protecting their countrymen on the
frontier "from the depredations of savages, whose horrid mode of
war is a scene to be deprecated by civilized nature. . . ."
Johonnot's closing lines were all too frequently believed, as was
his admonition against trusting any Indian treaty. Still other
captives re-echoed Brackenridge's earlier call for the government
to exterminate Indians. For example, Jane Brown's Narrative (ca.
1795) laments the lack of governmental assistance against the Creeks
and Cherokees, who were aided and encouraged in their opposition to
the settlers by the Spanish. Brown's experiences were far from
unique; as settlers poured into the American interior in increasing
numbers, white and Indian hostilities were destined to result in
one critical encounter after another. Nevertheless, the popular
interest in Indian behavior did not diminish. As the reader sought
further information about the Indian, more than one narrator of
Indian captivity endeavored to provide details about the Indian's
lifestyle, as well as about the Indian himself.23
Four representative narrators offering a wealth of details
are Johnston, Smalley, Spencer, and John Tanner (whose 1830 Nar- .
ratiye covers his captivity from 1789-1817). These accounts provide
detailed insights into the daily life of the American Indian.
Johnston describes the Indian town of Upper Sandusky, Ohio, and,
like Smalley, details the annual negotiations between Indians and

fur traders for their respective goods. Spencer also offers

140

detailed observations on the structure of Indian homes, and lists the
utensils popular in the Indian household. Like Johnston, Spencer
also recalls the array of costumes popular among various age groups
of either sex. Tanner frequently mentions the necessary migrations
of a hunting society in search of game. Himself an accomplished
marksman, Tanner recalls frequent moves by his Indian family from
Indian villages at Saginaw to Cheboygan, St. Ignace, and Mackinac.
Smalley also comments on the importance of game and hunting skills
to the Indian, but warns against disturbing nature's balance by con-
centrating hunting in one area, or by bringing hunting lands under
cultivation. Agriculture is not alien to the Indians, however;

corn planting receives the attention of Tanner and Smalley, while
Spencer describes both Indian fisheries and maple-sugar preparation.
Several narrators comment upon the inordinate amount of labor Indian
women expend in food gathering, in addition to their many other daily
chores. Smalley adds that although the braves kill game, the squaws
must bring in the meat, prepare or preserve it, and dress the hides
useful to their own needs or to those of the fur traders. Thus,
"the real labor . . . was left to the squaw, who was the pack horse,
the beast of burden. . . ." Tanner concurs, but also examines the
important role of the Ottawas' female chief, Netnokwa, who is
accorded full acceptance by her male peers. Despite her marriage

to a younger, powerful man, she holds all family property and goods.
Loyal to the British, Netnokwa always carries a British flag when
traveling; "whenever she came to Mackinac, she was saluted by a gun

from the fort.“ In addition to discussing male and female roles,

141

these narrators comment on Indian nature lore, games, and tribal
ritual. Singling out ritual cannibalism and the war-dance for
special observation, Johnston says that a fellow captive, William
Flinn, is sent as a gift to a nearby village to be killed and eaten.
Witnessing the terrifying ceremony of a war-dance, Johnston sees
the Indians work themselves into further frenzy by recalling white
abuses. Aroused by the fury of the war-dance, one violent Indian
attempts to kill Johnston and two younger captives. Equally frighten-
ing is the Indians' drunken revelry, frequently recalled by both
Johnston and Tanner. Other customs often mentioned include the
gauntlet ceremony, and a penchant for pipe-smoking, ritualistic or
otherwise. Tanner adds a touch of the Gothic as he recites the
legend of two Indian brothers who kill each other, and whose ghosts
visit him as he camps near the site of their fratricide. Later, he
describes the supernatural hold over many Indians by the prophet,
Aiskawbawis. Tanner, however, has no faith in this prophet and, in
fact, flatly states that Aiskawbawis is a fraud. Tanner adds a bit
of the bizarre in his description of the Indian transvestite Who is
enamored of him, but who finally marries an Indian chief with two
other wives. Tanner recalls the acquisition of this latest "wife"
undoubtedly "caused some laughter and some ludicrous incidents--but
it was attended with less uneasiness and quarreling than the bring-
ing in of a new wife of the female sex."24
Many narrators do not limit their discussions exclusively
to details of Indian life par_§e. Like some of their longer counter-

parts from the French and Indian Wars, many captivities from the

142

late eighteenth century also include details of weather, geography,
and available food supplies, both plant and animal, for the informa-
tion of would-be settlers and travelers. Furthermore, many captivity
narratives published in the late eighteenth and the nineteenth cen—
turies reveal a growing predilection among narrators to contrast the
areas they knew as captives with what these locales have become by
the time their accounts are published several years later. Obviously,
a motivation for this practice is to show the "improvements" upon
nature made possible by the twin handmaidens of civilization, tech-
nology and agriculture. In addition to Johnston's comments which
have already been examined, Spencer describes changes in the Ohio
River valley, with particular attention to Cincinnati, Columbus,
and Fort Washington. In a similar vein, life at Detroit figures
in accounts by Spencer, Smalley, and Tanner.25
Both Spencer and Johnston, however, reveal a growing aware-
ness of the innate beauty of wilderness settings so popular with
nineteenth-century Romantics. Initially, only unique wilderness
objects or settings are singled out to be praised for their beauty
and for their value as national assets. Freneau, for example, calls
the Mississippi "this prince of rivers," while Jefferson praises
Virginia's Natural Bridge. For captives Johnston and Spencer, the
Niagara Falls is the subject of their adulation. In fact, writes
Johnston, if Jefferson had viewed "the celebrated cataract of
Niagara," he would never have labeled Virginia's Natural Bridge "the

most sublime of nature's works." The usually reserved, almost stoic,

143

narrator is so moved by the sight of the majestic waterfall that
he is literally at a loss for words to describe it adequately.
The tremendous roar of waters producing such a sound as had
never before fallen on my ear, the spray formed into white
clouds and rising up to heaven, the rainbow with its beauti-
ful tints, all form an assemblage of objects so sublime, as
at once to defy and mock description.
Johnston's description is certainly modest and controlled in contrast
to Spencer's rapture at the sight of Niagara. The latter's account
covers over two pages in his narrative. Even the distant roar of
the mighty falls is indelibly recorded in Spencer's memory, as is
his mounting apprehension as his boat nears the falls. Like Johnston,
Spencer laments the inadequacy of language to convey "the feelings of
the beholder when standing just in front of the awful precipice.
. . .” Nevertheless, well nigh overwhelmed by emotion, Spencer
relates how he contemplates the
vast volume of water, rushing over, far beyond the angular
summit rock, (its upper bed.) extending from its western
bank to Goat Island, and plunging down, down into the deep
abyss; then measures with his eye the giddy height of the
foot of that Island, rising perpendicular from the depths
below, and presenting a face of solid rock; then views the
beautiful unbroken sheet of water, that falls between it
and the eastern bank, facing the west, and in front of
which, in clear, warm sunshine, may be always seen a bril-
liant rainbow, with its ample arch spanning its width;
then the troubled plunge, back to the foot of the tre-
mendous cataract, there forced again into the dread abyss,
again emerging, rolls tumultously down, a mighty torrent.
His fulsome style is not limited to his description of the falls
alone, for Spencer frequently adopts the popular fashion for highly
embellished style in his descriptions. His account of an Ohio

springtime is characterized by inflated sentimentality, as, for

144

example, when he concludes by noting that such a spring is reminis-
cent of "the confines of Eden or the borders of Elysium." He also
recalls a tornado, replete with thunder and lightning, sending "vivid
bolts athwart and onward, passing the storm with the rapidity of
thought."26
Spencer's melodramatic descriptions, however, pale when com-
pared with Kinnan's or Barry's accounts of natural phenomena. Immed-
iately after her capture, Kinnan has to march over terrain that would
have been challenging in the best of times. Needless to say, being
forced along such a route inspires Kinnan to magnify her sorry
plight--"how much more so was it now, when the arrow of calamity was
rankling in my bosom; when I was faint through loss of blood, and
without refreshment, without rest." As one might anticipate under
these dire circumstances, the climate is also hostile to Kinnan, who,
like Barry, does not let a classic example of the pathetic fallacy
go unserved. "Nature too seemed to conspire against me: the rain
descended in torrents; the lightning flashed dreadfully, and almost
without intermission; whilst the thunder rolled awfully on high."
In such accounts as these, nature is never neutral, but always sub-
lime or terrifying, depending upon the narrator's plight. When even
a cruel nature conspires against the pitiful captive, it comes as no
surprise that the narrators occasionally contemplate suicide, as
does Kinnan,but she is stayed by her Christianity. Nevertheless,

she does not fail to stress her utter isolation and dejection.

145

I appeared, as it were, insulated to the civilized world--

nay, worse than insulated, for the poor lonely mariner,

who is shipwrecked on some desart coast, has far greater

cause to rejoice than I then had.
Kinnan's account of her journey and life among her captors continues
in this gloomy vein as she observes sadly that all the while, "sorrow
and fatigue still [made] increased ravages on my constitution. . . ."
Other narrators might comment positively on the abundance of game in
the areas through which they were compelled to pass, but Kinnan is
too saddened to think even of eating; yet, she does so in fear of
the Indians' threats. So dejected is this narrator that she observes
in bathetic tones, "The picture of my life was deeply, too deeply
dashed with shade, and but a few faint strokes of light were inter-
mingled with the numerous touches of the agnpre pencil." Clearly,
Kinnan sees herself as an artist with words, and throughout her nar-
rative deliberately clothes her descriptions in the most sentimental,
somber tones anyone could ever wish to see.27

Of course, not all captivity narrators are as maudlin as

Kinnan, nor do many narrators from this period exploit the setting
as extensively as she for its emotional possibilities. Shorter
accounts, such as those by Bunn, Herbeson, and Baldwin, frequently
provide little or no details of the setting. Even longer narratives,
such as Brown's, do not necessarily develop setting details if the
narrator is not especially interested in sensibility and melodrama,
or in sociology and anthropology. But as these representative nar-

ratives indicate, some writers were well aware of the public interest

in details of Indian life and of the wilderness areas in which the

146

narrator found himself. Other narrators show their awareness of
the value of literary embellishment to attract readers and to increase
the sale of their tales.

These alterations in the captivity narrative formula are not
necessarily limited to what Cawelti calls the setting dimension, for
they frequently appear in characterization as well. Anyone investi-
gating captivity narratives from the late eighteenth century immed-
iately detects the expanded characterization as narrator and com-
panions, Indians and renegades, rescuers and benevolent individuals
all receive more attention. All too frequently, however, the char-
acters who evolve are melodramatic figures or mere stereotypes. This
is Certainly the case with those representative narratives that border
on the melodramatic or parallel the novel of sensibility, among them
the accounts by Brown, Kinnan, Barry, and Johonnot.

Brown's editor suggests that because James Brown was a guide
for Lee and Washington, he naturally selects a challenging route to
the Cumberlands to fulfill "a sort of manly desire to meet and over-
come [dangers]." In a similar tone, the editor recites several mis-
fortunes befalling Jane Brown, adding that “amidst all her troubles,
Mrs. Brown bore herself as an humble Christian, devoutely grateful
to the Giver of all Good, that he had guided her footsteps aright,
in the midst of so many sorrows." Repetition of sorrows and uncer-
tainties, coupled to unswerving religious convictions, are a bench-
mark of the melodramatic female narrator as heroine found in many
captivity narratives, especially Mary Kinnan's. Kinnan herself is

the archetypal heroine "who has surmounted difficulties and dangers,

147

which on a review appear romantic, even to herself." Kinnan should
have substituted melodramatic for romantic, since literary affecta-
tion so distorts her personality that her admirable role as a wife
and mother are lost. Rather than stating simply that her life had
been routine and pleasant, she gushes, "my days passed sweetly on,
and I had scarcely one single wish ungratified. Happiness smiled on
our cottage;--content spread her influence around. . . ." Subse-
quently, instead of stating merely that time has not dinmed her
remembrance of captivity, she proclaims in orotund tones, "four
years have almost rolled their ample round, still at the recollec-
tion, my bosom heaves impetuous; the cold sweat of fear stands on
my brow; and the burning tear of anguish glistens in my eye." Having
established herself as a more melodramatic, albeit far less believ-
able, narrator than Johnston or Bunn, Kinnan proceeds to denounce
the role of women in the savage Indian culture in contrast to that
of the gentler sex in civilized society.

Here the female sex, instead of polishing and improving

the rough manners of the men, are equally ferocious, cruel,

and obdurate. Instead of that benevolent disposition and

warm sensibility to the sufferings of others, which marks

their characters in more civilized climes, they quaff with

extatic pleasure the blood of the innocent prisoner, writh-

ing with agony under the inhuman torments inflicted upon

him--whilst his convulsive groans speak music to their

souls.
Surely, the "sluices of sorrow" in a fair reader's heart would be
opened by this and similar scenes throughout Kinnan's overwrought
account.28

Such deliberate sensationalism applied to genuine captivi-

ties frequently produces characterizations which, at best, are

148

lugubrious, but when applied to suspect captivities, the resultant
characterization is both banal and ludicrous. Witness Barry's epitome
of the Noble Savage, Oneida, who supposedly rescues Barry from death
at the stake and later marries him. Barry tells his female readers
to emulate this model of womanhood from "the wildest state of nature,
[who is] not only graceful in her person, but [is] actuated by the
benign passions." Surely, Barry continues, such a compassionate
figure who leaves her homeland, risking life and security, presents
"a portrait of the superior sensibility of the female mind. . . ."
Having established Oneida's ideal characterization, Barry paints a
self-portrait of the all-sufficient hero who gains the trust of his
Indian village by teaching the warriors how to fight with spears--
after first teaching them to build a forge and work with iron.
Successfully leading the young warriors against a hostile tribe,
Barry shows his diplomatic skills as he counsels the chief to adopt
the captive tribe, thereby enlarging their own tribe, while at the
same time eliminating future hostilities. For his wisdom and his
strength, Barry is soon crowned "chief warrior“ of the tribe. All
of Barry's characters, it appears, are larger than life, and the
reader has no more insight into their personalities than he does of
the characters in Johonnot's captivity account.29
Johonnot's efforts at characterization focus upon the nar-
rator himself, “an illiterate soldier" of humble but honest, agrarian
stock. Admittedly a bit naive, he succumbs to a recruiter's pitch,

enlisting to find "easy conquest, rich plunder, and fine arms. . . .

But when captured, he suddenly and miraculously becomes as resourceful

149

and vengeful as the most accomplished backwoodsman. Taking the ini-
tiative, he executes an escape for himself and another captive.
Glossing over the details of the flight, Johonnot simply repeats the
stock phrase, "hunger, thirst, and fatigue were our constant com-
panions." Personalities of fellow captives are not developed, while
the Indians are reduced to stock villains given over to "rage and
hellish barbarity." In his closing appeal to "the heroism in the
breasts of many an American youth . . . to defend the worthy inhabi-
tants on the frontiers, . . ." the narrator envisions future dramatic
encounters similar to his own as other simple countrymen rise to civ-
ilization's call in the conflict against savage, inhuman creatures
deserving only of contempt and death. Thus, Johonnot, Barry, and
many other captivity narrators of this period consciously employ the
well-used, popular literary techniques of their time to embellish
their own accounts.30
Other captivity narrators endeavor to develop their char-

acters by different means. Both Johnston and Spencer apply specific
details of physiognomy to their characterizations. Besides his
derogatory description of the despicable Simon Girty, Spencer paints
a positive picture of the stalwart Shawnee Chief, Blue Jacket,

the most noble in appearance of any Indian I ever saw. His

person, about six feet high, was finely proportioned, stout

and muscular; his eyes large, bright and piercing; his

forehead high and broad; his nose aquiline; his mouth rather

wide, and his countenance open and intelligent, expressive

of firmness and decision. . . .

In correlating the chief's physical appearance with his personality,

Spencer demonstrates the very theory of physiognomy. Johnston does

150

the same, contrasting Messhawa, his benevolent master, to a fellow
captive's harsh master.

The personalities of these two Indians were as different as

the qualities of their hearts. Messhawa was tall, straight,

muscular, and remarkably well formed, of a very dark complex-

ion, with a countenance free from the harshness and ferocity

usually exhibited by the savage face, and expressive of mild-

ness and humanity. He was distinguished as a swift runner.

The other, whose name I have forgotten, was old, below the

middle stature, lame, with a countenance on which the temper

he continually displayed was very strongly marked.
Johnston adds that Messhawa would have been an honorable figure even
in white civilization, while the cruel Indian "disgraced even the
savage." Here, Johnston follows a device common throughout his
narrative--matching benevolent with cruel characters, and good with
bad experiences, to create a harmonious, balanced account.31

Despite Johnston's efforts to balance the various dimensions

of his captivity narrative, his unquestionable allegiance to civili-
zation is nevertheless obvious. Despite the noble Messhawa's kind-
ness, Johnston stresses the uncertainty of life among Indians "to
show the character of the singular and savage people who had me in
their possession." He fears for his life after learning efforts to
ransom him have apparently failed, and records that "all the terrors
of a cruel death, inflicted by merciless savages, ingenious in the
invention and practice of torture, recurred to my imagination and
filled me with despair." When he later meets Peggy Fleming a second
time, his somber sketch of this captive's despair is reminiscent.

of one of Kinnan's passages.

151

Gloom and despondency had taken entire possession of her

breast; and nothing could be more touching than her appear-

ance. Her emaciated frame, and dejected countenance, pre-

sented a picture of sorrow and of sadness, which would have

melted the stoutest heart; and such as its effect upon me,

that I could not abstain from mingling my tears with hers.
Unlike Kinnan, however, Johnston's emotional appeals are generally
so restrained and rare that when they do occur, they seem more con-
vincing as they reveal the extent of both the captives' sorrows and
the observer's consequent distress.32

In Johnston's narrative, the emotions of the actors appear
genuine, and the personalities of both the narrator and his fellow
captives believable, in contrast to the melodramatic caricatures
which become commonplace in many accounts by the nineteenth century.
Johnston successfully takes characterization beyond the limited,
one-dimensional figures of shorter narratives by Bunn, Herbeson, and
Baldwin, or even the longer accounts by Brown and Tanner. This
change in characterization in the formula captivity tale reflects
the alterations in other period literature. Yet, many traditional
captivity accounts were still published, with little departure from
stock formula dimensions, particularly in the narratives' plot.

The plot, or action, as Cawelti calls this dimension of
formula literature, is controlled by the basic parameters of raid,
capture, trek, sojourn, and return to society. Among "traditional"
captivity narratives, action simply advances without additional
embellishment. On the other hand, narratives with stylistic embel-

lishment frequently reveal greater attention to action itself.

Barry's and Johonnot's accounts depend upon fast-moving action for

152

their existence. Johonnot moves rapidly from his introductory dis-
claimer to a thumbnail autobiography, then to his enlistment and
captivity, all in one page. The scene immediately shifts then to

the torture of a fellow captive, followed by a gauntlet ceremony

and several more instances of torture. These, in turn, give way to
Johonnot's escape and rapid flight to civilization, with brief inter-
vals to interject additional sensationalized accounts of Indian atroc-
ities. All too quickly, Johonnot returns to civilization and rejoins
his military unit, only to experience a frightening battle between
his regiment and attacking Indians, again recounted with dispatch.

In essence, Johonnot relies on fast-paced and terrifying action to
titillate and engage the reader. Barry employs a similar technique,
although he provides more background and creates stock, sentimental
women, along with savage Indian males. The events of his captivity,
however, follow in close order; action is valued for its own sake,

as one dynamic adventure follows another. In Kinnan's narrative,

the action is as melodramatic as the characterizations. Unlike
Barry or Johonnot, Kinnan pauses occasionally to build suspense or

to interject emotional observations. By first presenting tranquil
scenes, she heightens the terrors which follow. Similarly, her use
of foreshadowing hints at greater sorrows to follow, thereby indi-
cating her terrifying experience is far from finished. Thus, while
some narrators depend upon heightened action alone to hold the
reader's attention and to tell a story, sentimental captivity
stories utilize various dramatic devices to enhance the action

dimension of the fOrmula story. Although these alterations do not

153

mark all captivity narratives of the late eighteenth century, they
do appear in many cases, indicating a change in the formula that, in
fact, would continue throughout many of the nineteenth-century nar-
ratives.33

"By 1800," observes Pearce, "the narrative of Indian cap-
tivity had become a staple source for thrilling and shocking details
of frontier hardships." And it would remain so throughout the nine-
teenth century. The Noble Savage might flourish in Cooper's novels,
but for frontier Americans and most of their Eastern relatives, the
Indian was truly "the consummate villain, the beast who hatcheted
fathers, smashed the skulls of infants, and carried off mothers to
make them squaws." Nineteenth-century captivity narratives simply
depend upon established devices to reiterate all the cultural values
and prejudices already explored. Sensationalism, sensibility, Gothic
elements, sheer melodrama, and romantic views of nature appear in
various combinations and degrees in captivity tales from the midwest,
west, southwest, even Florida and the Canadian-Pacific coast. Ameri-
can expansionists shun completely the concept of the noble savage;
even accounts replete with sociological and anthropological obser-
vations nevertheless argue for the superiority of civilization over
the savage life, thereby reinforcing the hierarchical concept of
human progress.34

In the end, the Indian himself would realize his greatest
fears. Benjamin Lincoln predicted that eventually, the hunting

Indian must either "dwindle and moulder away," or be driven into

desolate areas, "where, from the rocks and the mountainous state,

154

the footsteps of the husbandman will not be seen." For Indians
forced onto desolate Western reservations in the nineteenth century,
Lincoln's words were all too painfully true.35
Whether actually living on a reservation or being observed

by captives and travelers, the Indian increasingly was regarded as
a crude artifact as the nineteenth century unfolded. As early as
1810, a visitor to Ohio was told that Indians never really bothered
many whites: "if any of them displease us, we take them out of doors
and kick them a little, for they are like dogs, and so will love you
the better for it." By 1874, the date of the final captivity nar-
rative to be considered, Indians were commonly treated little better
than dogs. Yet, even the most ardent of their white champions in
the nineteenth century would never think of restoring all Indian
lands and returning to the wilderness. In 1800, Jefferson captured
the spirit of the nineteenth century in a letter to Joseph Priestley
when he noted that

The Gothic idea that we are to look backwards instead of

forwards for the improvement of the human mind, and to

recur to the annals of our ancestors for what is most per-

fect in government, in religion, and in learning, is worthy

of those bigots in religion and government by whom it has

been recommended, and whose purpose it would answer.
In the minds of most members of the dominant society, the Indian was
clearly a relic of a bygone era, and that past must now be the focus
of his life, if, indeed, he was to be allowed to have a life at

all.36

NOTES, CHAPTER IV

1Harold U. Faulkner, American Political and Social History,
5th edn. (New York: Appleton, 1948), pp. 116-118.

2Thoma? Jefferson, Noteszgg the State of Virg;nia (1784),
Works, Memoria Edition, II, p. , in Sava es, p. 6 ; Savages,

p. 68; Rod Horton and Herbert Edwards, eds., Backgrounds of American
Literary_Thought, 3rd edn. (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1974), p.
104. See, also: Chester Eisinger, "The Freehold Concept in Eight-
eenth Century American Letters," William and Mary Quarterly, Ser. 2,
28 (1947), 42-59.

3Smith, pp. 138-145, passim; Horton & Edwards, p. 133;
Faulkner, pp. 159-162.

4Faulkner, pp. 146-148.

5Savages, p. 54.

6P. 54; Captive, p. 244; Faulkner, pp. 174-175.

7Henry Knox, American State Papers, Indian Affairs, I, no. 4,
p. 53, in Sava es, p. 56; Jedidiah Morse, The History of America
(Philadelphia, 1790), in Savages, pp. 96-97.

8Jere Belknap, The History of New Hampshire, 1784-1792
(Boston, [1813 ), I, pp. lOO-103; Samuel Williams, Naturaliand Civil
History of Vermont [1793] (Burlington, 1809), I, pp. 160-250, 493-
503; Robert Proud, History of Pennsylvania (Philadelphia, 1797-1798),
I. pp. 292-326; all in Savages, p. 161. ‘

9Robert E. Spiller, ed., The American Literary_Revolution,
1783-1837 (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1967). On the ques-
tion oi America's absence of literary success, see Spiller's detailed
observations, as well as: Philip Freneau's Advice to Authors (1788);
Fishes Ames' Essay on American Literature (1809); or George Tucker's
Essay on American Literature (1822). For a discussion of America's
future greatness, or the use of America's recent past as a source of
literature, see, for example: Joel Barlow's introduction to IDE
Visionpf Columbus (1788); Timothy Dwight's introduction to Greenfield
Hill (1794); Royall Tyler, prologue to The Contrast (1787), preface
to The Algerine Captive (1797); all in Spiller, passim.

 

155

156

10Charles Brockden Brown, Edgar Huntly, or Memoirs of a Sleep
Walker (1799) (Port Washington, New York: Kennikat Press,11963
rpt. of 1887 edn.), pp. 3-4, 166-196, passim. '

nAnn Eliza Bleecker, The History of Maria Kittle, in IDE.
Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker (Neinork,'1793), pp. 35-36,

54; Savage , p. 198.

12Bissell, pp. 117, 214; Savages, pp. 58-59.

13Captive. PP. xx-xxi; Eugene L. Huddleston, "Indians and the
Literature of the Federalist Era: The Case of James Elliott," Ipa_
New England Quarterly, 44 (June 1971), 227.

14Thomas Barry, The Singular Adventures and Captivity of
Thomas Barry among the Monsjpi Indians, in the Unexplored_Regjons of
North America (London: Sommers-Town Printing Office, 1802), p. v.
Barry was supposedly a captive from 4/4/1797 to 8/1799; Jackson
Johonnot, Remarkable Adventures of Jackson Johonnot, a Soldier under
General Harmar and General St. C1air,_Containing an_Account Ofihis
Captivity, Sufferings,aand Escape from the Kickappoo Indians (Provi-
dence,“1793), in Captive, p.1227; Mary Kinnan, A True Narrative of
the Sufferings of Mary Kinnan, who was Taken Prisoner by the Shawnee
Nation of Indians on the Thirteenth Day of May, 1791,,and Remained
with them till the Sixteenth of August, 1794 (Elizabethtown, New
Jersey, 1795), in Captive, pp. 319-320; Oliver M. Spencer, Indian
Captivity: A True Narrative of the Capture of the Ray. 0. M.
Spencer (1835) (New York: Waugh & Mason,_1966), p. 3.

lsBarry, pp. 18-19; Johonnot, in Ca tive. pp. 228-229,
Kinnan,in Captive, pp. 321-322; Spencer, pp. 6-37.

16Barry, pp. 20-21; Johonnot, in Captive, p. 229; Kinnan,
in Captive, p. 322; Spencer, p. 47.

 

 

17Charles Johnston, A Narrative of the Incidents Attending

the Capture, Detention, and Ransom of Charles Johnston,_of Botetourt
County, Virginia, Who Was Made Prisoner by the Indians, on the River
Ohio, in therear 1790; Together with an Interesting Account of the
Fate Of'his Companions, FiVe in Number, One of‘WhomiSUfferediat the
Stake (New York, 1827), in Ca tive, pp. 277, 311:312; Kinnan, in

Ca tive, pp. 323, 324, 328; earce, "The Significances of the Cap-
tivity Narrative," p. 12.

18

19Kinnan, in Captive, p. 328; Johnston, in Captive, p. 306;
Massy Herbeson, Account o the Sufferings of Massy Herbeson, and her
Family, Who were Taken Prisoners by aiParty OT’Ihdians. Given on Oath
before John Wilkins, Esq. One of’the Justices of the Peace fOr the
Commonwealth of’Pennsylvania (1792), in CaptiVe, p. 216.

Kinnan, in Captive, pp. 331-332.

157

20Herbeson, in Captive, p. 216; Matthew Bunn, A Journal of
the Adventures of Matthew Bunn (Providence, 1962 rpt. of 1796 edn.),
p. 17 (Bunn, a young soldier, was held captive from 1791-1793);
Spencer, p. 87.

21Thomas Baldwin, Narrative_of the Massacre, ayathe Savages,
of the Wife and Children of Thomas Baldwin (New York: Martin &
Perry, 1836), p. 21; Marie St. John Su11iVan and Rex Shanks, eds.,
Truthful Hatchet (San Antonio, Texas: Naylor Co., 1966). pp. 23-25,
108, 113-114,1hereafter referred to as Smalley. William Smalley was
kidnapped by the Indians in 1772; he became thoroughly acculturated,
but was chosen by his adoptive father and tribal chief, Tamina, to
serve as a liaison to the whites. Later, Smalley was selected by
Washington, and then Jefferson, as an agent to the Indians. The
narrative was preserved among Smalley's descendents for years and
was first published publicly in 1966.

 

22Spencer, pp. 8-11, passim, p. 154; Johnston, in Captive,
pp. 248-249.

23Smalley, pp. 39, 108-109, 113-115, 124, 144; Spencer,
p. 117; Johonnot, in Captive, p. 236; Jane Brown, A Narrative of
the Captivity of Jane Brown and her Family (ca. 1795), in_Frost's
Pioneer Mothers, pp. 152, 155.

24Johnston, in Ca tive, pp. 275, 278-280, 234, 290-292;
Smalley, pp. 9, 18-19, 2 - , 44-45; Spencer, pp. 77-78, 81-84, 115-

116; Edwin James, M.D., A Narrative of the Ca tivit and Adventures
of John Tanner (n.p., 1830), in Drimmer, pp. 149-15', l52-155, 157-
160, l55-170, passim, hereafter referred to as Tanner.

25Johnston, in Ca tive, pp. 263-276, 304-305; Smalley, p. 1;
Spencer, pp. 12-14, 27, - , 130-132; Tanner, in Drimmer, p. 149.

26Nash, pp. 67-69; Johnston, in Captive, pp. 307-308;
Spencer, pp. 32-33, 50-51, 144-145.

27
28

Barry, p. 47; Kinnan, in Captive, pp. 323-324, 325.

Brown, pp. 124, 128, 150; Kinnan, in Captive, pp. 320-321,
326.

29
30
31
32

Barry, pp. vi, 37-39, 53-58, paagflp.

Johonnot, in gappjye, pp. 227-236, paapjm,
Johnston, in Cappiye, pp. 273-274; Spencer, p. 86.
Johnston, in Qapgjye, pp. 275, 285, 291.

158

33Johonnot, in Captive, pp. 227-236, passim; Barry, pp. 13-
20, 36-41, 53-58, passim; Kinnan, in Captive, pp. 321-322, 324.

34Savages, p. 58.

35Lincoln, op. cit., Ser 3, 5 (1836), pp. 138-139, in
Savages, p. 69.

36Fortescue Cuming, Sketches of a Tour to the Western Countgy
[1810], in R. G. Thwaites, ed., Early Western Trave1s (Cleveland,
1904), IV, p. 263, in Savages, p. 59; Faulkner, pf1155.

 

 

CHAPTER V

NARRATIVES OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?
15 he waiting for civilization, or past it
and mastering it?

Whitman, Song of Myself

 

Humanity has often wept over the fate of the
aborigines of this country, and Philanthropy
has been long busily employed in devising
means to avert it, but its progress has never
for a moment been arrested, and one by one
have many powerful tribes disappeared from
the earth. To follow to the tomb the last
of his race and to tread on the graves of
extinct nations excite melancholy reflec-
tions. But true philanthropy reconciles
the mind to these vicissitudes as it does
to the extinction of one generation to make
room for another. . . .

Andrew Jackson, Second

Annual Message

 

This statement by President Jackson in 1830 not only antici-

pated figuratively Whitman's question, but also epitomized the senti-

ments of most Americans concerning the Indian's fate in the nineteenth

Even the most concerned of humanitarians would have rejected

any suggestion to return America to the primitive condition the Pil-

grims and Puritans first encountered. Jackson himself raised that

point and then asked,

159

160

What good man would prefer a country covered with forests
and ranged by a few thousand savages to our extensive
Republic, studded with cities, towns, and prosperous farms,
embellished with all the improvements which art can devise
or industry execute, occupied by more than 12,000,000
happy people, and filled with all the blessings of liberty,
civilization, and religion?
But all of these benefits were obviously reserved for the white man,
and obtained at the cost of the red man's way of life, even of life
itself.1
The "blessings" that Jackson referred to included the myriad
technological advances in transportation, agriculture, and industry,
as well as the rapid growth of population, native born or immigrant.
All these factors contributed to westward migration throughout the
nineteenth century. Such migration, further encouraged by the Home-
stead Act, land speculation, and gold fever, contributed to many
Americans' sense of Manifest Destiny and racial superiority.2
Squeezed by agricultural society from the East and miners
from the West, the Indian was increasingly subject to frustration,
despair, and desperate encounters with a white civilization bent
upon his "conversion" or destruction. Advocates of agrarianism like
John Dunn Hunter, himself a former Indian captive, believed the
Indian would become a "red yeoman," turning "Western America into a
blooming garden." Likewise, Colonel Benjamin Hawkins, former Revo-
lutionary warrior and later senator from North Carolina, made a
heroic effort as head agent of the Southern Indians to prepare the
Creek nation to enter an expanding American society.3
But these advocates of “civilizing” the Indians were to

become an ever-diminishing minority as more numerous and vocal

 

161

speakers argued for confining Indians on distant reservations or for
exterminating them outright. Although the forced march of the Creek
and Cherokee nations in 1838 is perhaps the most infamous of reloca-
tion efforts, it was hardly the last. Indians who later refused to
"come in" to reserves were hunted down like mad dogs, as was the case
for the Cheyenne at Sand Creek, 1864, and also for some of the remain-
ing survivors of the once proud Northern Cheyenne nation at Warbonnet
Creek, 1879. Even peaceful Indians were not free from harrassment
and attacks. Yet, rarely was resistance successful, although the
Seminoles in Florida fought a guerilla war that eventually cost the
government fifty-million dollars and the lives of some fifteen-hundred
soldiers.4
Problems were not over for Indian or white once a tribe had
been relocated, for continuing white encroachment required further
negotiations for additional land. For example, the Sioux were
involved in fifty years of negotiations with the United States. At
the end, their original thirty-million acres, sold at a nickle per
acre, had been reduced to a reservation ten by fifty miles.5
Oklahoma, formerly known as the Indian Territory, supposedly

had been reserved for relocated tribes.

Eventually approximately 80 tribes were forced to resettle

in Oklahoma territory. Boundaries established for one

tribe were moved to squeeze in additional tribes. 'Civil-

ization' caught up to the removal lands almost before the

tribes were resettled, but not before they had lost 300

million acres of land to the speculators of the new

'democracy.'

On 22 April 1889, the Indian territory was itself opened to white

settlers, and over 60,000 individuals invaded Oklahoma. In

162

preparation for eventual statehood, all tribal governments in
Oklahoma were banned, thereby intensifying the Indians' plight.6
Reservation Indians, notes Pearce, “could be considered only
as charity cases, victims inevitably of the law of civilized prog-
ress." But white charity was, at best, niggardly. The Indians were
granted annuities to pay for goods and food to be purchased from
rapacious traders. Without their annuities, Indians were forced to
depend upon their hunting skills for survival. But there was a
dilemma. The Indians could not buy food without their annuities,
nor could they hunt gptjl_they had paid their annuities to the
traders. Moreover, encroaching civilization greatly curtailed avail-
able game, particularly in areas in which whites encouraged bounty-
hunting.7
Yet the "vanishing American Indian" did not disappear without
one last struggle. Reservation uprisings became as commonplace as
Indian attacks outside the reservations. For example, in 1862, the
Minnesota Sioux, again late in receiving their annuities, were fac-
ing starvation when a few braves became involved with a squatter
over a chicken. The resultant shoot-out left five settlers dead and
the nearby settlers calling for vengeance. Knowing their entire
tribe would be blamed for the incident, Sioux leaders launched an
all-out attack on the Agency office before the army was mobilized.
Their raid was successful, and so were several others; yet, the
Sioux knew they would eventually be defeated by Colonel Sibley's

Minnesota Regulars.8

163

Many Indians who fled the reservation were rounded up and
tried, including those not directly involved in the incidents. Even-
tually, 306 out of 400 Indians tried were sentenced to death, while
another 1,700 Indian women and children were marched to Fort Snelling
for detention, where they were verbally and physically abused by
soldiers and civilians alike.9

Following this uprising, the Plains Indian Wars began in
earnest and continued from 1862 to 1891, involving nearly all Indian
tribes west of the Mississippi River. Throughout these bitter years
of warfare and captivity, racist propaganda stressed Indian ignor-
ance and savagery, contrasting these traits to white intelligence
and "civilization." In reality, the Indians were "fighting to pro-
tect their lives, lands, and food supplies (buffalo) from willful
destruction by . . ." advancing white civilization. Like so many
aspects of Indian life and culture, this detail was either ignored
by nineteenth-century settlers and advocates of Manifest Destiny,
or relegated to a lower rung of the human hierarchy in the name of
the great good, "progress."10

Not surprisingly, nineteenth-century literature depicted
the Indian at his savage worst. Even the writers who idealized the
Indian as "nature's nobleman" often held traditional views about the
inevitability of "progress." Nash argues that Cooper recognized
that civilization's claims must eventually prevail. "The elimina-

tion of wilderness was tragic, but it was a necessary tragedy;

civilization was the greater good." Civilized men were those

164

elite whose sense of law and beauty lifted man above the
beast. Even Natty Bumppo, for all his virtues, lacked the
social status to fraternize on such levels. To have them
. was worth the price of losing wilderness.
Unlike the Puritans, Cooper was not arguing in terms of good and
evil, but rather in terms "of two kinds of good with the greater pre-
vailing."n
For many individuals, however, Cooper's position was much
more alien than that of the Puritans. This was certainly true for
frontiersmen directly involved with Indian warfare, as in the case
of Davy Crockett. His 1834 autobiography recalls various Indian
battles, including one skirmish in which "We now shot them like dogs;
and then set the house on fire, and burned it up with the forty-six
warriors in it.“ A cache of potatoes in the house is not only baked
by the fire, but also greased by "the oil of the Indians we had
burned. . . ."12
Even among scholars, the Indian did not always receive more
humane treatment than he was accorded by Crockett. During the nine-
teenth century, many editors collected and anthologized captivity
narratives, ostensibly for scholarly purposes, although sensational-
ism and propaganda frequently shared the spotlight with academic
interests. Archibald Loudon, in his 1808-11 collection of captivity
tales, proudly states that "the historian will here find materials
to assist him in conveying to after ages, an idea of the savages
who were the primitive inhabitants of this country. . . ." Loudon

then notes that his collected narratives clearly reveal the problems

America's forefathers faced in establishing early settlements in the

 

165

presence of hostile Indians. He also criticizes promoters of the
"noble savage" concept, saying such advocates of the "primitive
innocence of mankind, may here learn, that man, uncivilized and bar-
barous, is even worse than the most ferocious wolf or panther in the
forest."13
Although later editors of captivity anthologies, like Samuel
Gardner Drake (1839) and Joseph Pritts (1839), reveal scholarly objec-
tivity, many of their contemporaries do not. John Frost (1856)
touts the heathen and savage nature of western tribes, adding a
plea for Christianizing and civilizing such Indians. Frost notes
that all men possess "the qualities which we abhor in a hostile
Indian," but which civilized men have learned to control. Moreover,
Frost cites Indian atrocities and unpredictable behavior to demon-
strate to America's youth the benefits of civilization, as opposed
to wilderness barbarism. In an 1869 collection of captivity tales
entitled Pioneer Mothers of the West, Frost deals exclusively with
female captivity narratives and battle accounts to show women's
heroism, "noble generosity, and self-devotion in their true light."
As late as 1895, historian George Sheldon's conclusion to his
History of Deerfield Massachusetts reinforces Frost's view of the
Indians as Sheldon launches an attack upon humanitarian concern over
"the Indian.Question." He suggests that those who attack their
white ancestors for abusing Indians have overlooked "the enthusiastic
and persistent efforts of our fathers to civilize and Christianize
the race" at a time when public opinion supposedly favored such

"beneficial" acts. Moreover, notes the self-righteous Sheldon,

166

those who now complain about the white man's lack of concern for the
Indian also fail "to chronicle the almost utter failure [of our
fathers] to make upon their subjects any permanent impression for
good."14

Given this attitude by many nineteenth-century historians
and editors, it is not surprising that the captivity narratives of
this period are, themselves, little more than "stylized, semi-
fictional pastiches of gore and sentimentality confected by hack
writers more concerned with reproducing the popular image of the
Indian than with authenticity," as Jules Zanger notes in his intro-
duction to the 1972 reprint of Fanny Kelly's 1872 Narrative. Indeed,
restrained captivity tales are the exception in the nineteeth cen-
tury, as sensationalism, sensibility, and melodrama remain the bench-
marks of most captivity narratives.15

At the same time, the praise for technology, agrarianism,
and advancing white civilization that appeared in late eighteenth-
century captivity accounts remains popular among many nineteenth-
century narrators. As one might also expect, the noble-savage con-
cept is rejected by these narrators in favor of their belief that
changing an Indian's cultural values or lifestyle is virtually
impossible.

Not surprisingly, one finds increasing evidence of overt
racism in representative captivity narratives. Several narrators
recall their revulsion to the idea of inter-racial marriage. Others

focus upon the difference in skin colors among the Indians them-

selves, always doing so with the implication that white skin denotes

167

racial superiority. In a similar fashion, the careful reader notices
subtle changes in the presentation of anthropological and sociologi-
cal details of Indian life. Many narrators reveal a growing tendency
to stress the inferiority or "ludicrous" aspect of these details in
contrast to their superior counterparts in white civilization.

Given this tendency of discrediting the Indian while elevat-
ing the white man, it is not surprising that characterization should
also depict the Indian as inherently depraved beyond redemption in
contrast to the white narrator. About this time, however, altera-
tions appear in the character of the narrators themselves. Because
many nineteenth-century captivity accounts involve women, Jules
Zanger suggests that the female narrator easily reveals "a greater
potential for pathetic effects because of the excitement she creates
as an object of sexual interest." In light of the period's interest
in melodrama, sensibility, and the romantic views on the female as
keeper of the home and hearth, Zanger's observation appears valid.
Additional evidence, however, indicates that both female and male
narrators increasingly are depicted as heroic individuals, not unlike
their fictional counterparts in the nineteenth-century Western. In
fact, some captivity narrators go so far as to apply Cooperesque
terms to the Indians and to nature itself, although they reject the
noble-savage concept.16

These variations, as well as the continuing emphasis on tra-
ditional cultural values dear to white society, lend further credence
to Cawelti's hypothesis regarding formula literature. That is, the

cultural heroes of formula tales, like the dimensions of the tales

 

168

themselves, provide valuable information about the beliefs and
prejudices of the society producing both the heroes and the formula
stories in which they appear. An examination of representative
nineteenth-century captivity tales provides support for Cawelti's
position.

During the nineteenth century, the most common trait of the
Indian captivity narrative is imitation of those exaggerated char-
acteristics associated with late eighteenth-century accounts. Only
the locations change; "patterns and themes," notes Pearce, "simply
define and redefine the captivity as we have seen it produced in the
1780's and 1790's." After examining authentic narratives published
between 1813 and 1873, Pearce concludes that while the events them-
selves are genuine, the narratives "have been worked up into some-
thing terrible and strange. Their language is most often that of
the hack writer gone wild." Furthermore, such narratives "tend to
be formed according to the pattern of the captivity narrative as
pulp thriller."17

Whether one assesses Elias Darnell's military braggadocio
(Narrative, 1813), the explicit atrocities detailed by the Hall Sisters
and Philip Brigdon (1832), or even the Gothic elements in Rachel
Plummer's Narrative (1839), along with the calamitous premonitions
in Sarah Ann Horn's Narrative (1839), one is well aware of the over-
blown rhetoric which permeates these and other nineteenth-century
captivity tales. Equally at home among these examples is Nelson
Lee's 1859 Narrative. His recollection of three years' captivity

among the Comanches is replete with histrionics, including the

 

169

theatrically dramatic use of a pocket alarm watch, which both mysti-
fies Lee's captors and ingratiates Lee to them. Nor would the list
of melodramatic captivity narratives be complete without the stylized
tales by adolescent female captives. Included here are the captivi-
ties of: the Oatman girls, seized by Apaches in 1851 (first pub-
lished in 1909); Abigail Gardiner, whose capture during the Spirit
Lake Massacre of 1857 led to her bathetic tale that same year; and
four sisters named German, whose overworked account of Cheyenne cap-
ture in 1874 first appeared in 1927.18
While Rachel Plummer and other captivity writers were "bleed-
ing and weltering in [their] blood," recalling terrors that "can
scarcely be comprehended in the wide field of imagination," others
such as Fanny Kelly (1872) and Frank Buckelew (whose captivity from
1866 to 1867 was not published until 1932), along with Nelson Lee,
the Oatman girls, and the German sisters, were using their captivity
tales as a format to praise technological advances and the benefits
of agrarianism made possible by advancing white civilization. To
cite but one example, the Oatman account not only stresses the
importance of agriculture to civilized people, but Olive Oatman
frequently endeavors to convince her captors of the many advantages
of a farming society over a hunting society. Despite frequent
rebukes by Indian adults, the younger Indians seem to comprehend
the import of Olive's arguments for their survival.19
Efforts like Olive's became increasingly rare as the nine-

teenth century unfolds. Far more typical is Fanny Kelly's assertion

that missionaries and the government alike have failed utterly to

 

170

redirect the Indian's energies from hunting to agriculture, in part
because "the results bear no comparison to their cost." Kelly, like
Lee, Darnell, Brigdon, and other narrators, concludes that Indians
are too fond of war, too fond of cruelty, and too fond of old men's
stories of former tribal glory to set aside their hallowed traditions
for a lifestyle they regard as inferior and which they associate with
an alien race whom they believe has brought them nothing but sorrow
for centuries.20
Along with rejecting plans to civilize Indians, Kelly also

rejects the fictional depiction of Indians as "noble savages." Recal-
ling the literary images of Logan, Philip, and Pocahontas she had once
read about, Kelly contrasts these with "the greedy, cunning, and cruel
savages who had so ruthlessly torn me from my friends!" She con-
tinues:

Truly, those pictures of the children of the forest that

adorn the pages of the novelists are delightful concepts of

the airy fancy, fitted to charm the mind. They amuse and

beguile the hours they invest with their interest; but the

true red man, as I saw him, does not exist between the pages

of many volumes. He roams his native wastes, and to once

encounter and study him there, so much must be sacrificed

that I could scarcely appreciate that knowledge I was gain-

ing at such a price.
Kelly obviously aims to correct her readers' view of Indians, a
stereotype acquired from contemporary writers of fiction-~most of
whom, it is implied, have not made the sacrifices she has made and,
therefore, are not speaking with authority.21

Other captivity narrators in accord with Kelly include Lee,

who believes no Indian is too dignified to stay sober whenever he

can be drunk. Buckelew also catalogues Indian weaknesses, along

 

171

with their cruelties and "uncivilized" behavior. Horn sadly laments
that even Indian children delight in inhumane behavior. Another
captive, a Mrs. Harris, suffers even more than Horn, having been
claimed by a family in which "not a single ray appeared to shine upon
the dark mass of depravity of which it was composed." Not surpris-
ingly, narrators or editors often call for federal assistance to
rescue Indian captives.22
At the same time, racism becomes increasingly commonplace in
nineteenth-century captivity tales. Male narrators frequently reveal
outright contempt for inter-racial marriage, or they stress the light
complexion and "civilized" virtues of the maidens they do select when
pressured into marriage by their captors. Buckelew shows little
interest in the prospect of eventual marriage to any "dusky maidens";
Darnell is even more adamant when confronted by his captors' demands
that he marry "one of these swarthy animals." Lee eventually does
marry during his captivity, but he rationalizes that inter-racial
marriage enhances his tribal position and reduces his captors' vigi-
lance over him, since Indians believe a married man has less inclina-
tion to escape. Lee selects the youngest, most attractive and agile
maiden available. At first he says, half-humorously, "she was not
quite so filthy as her companions," but he notes with obvious
approval his future wife was "much fairer than the great majority
of her race." Even though Lee plans to escape when an opportunity
arises, he feels compelled to assure his reader that his Indian

bride was nearer to his own skin color than to that of her peers.23

 

 

172

Color consciousness is equally evident among female narra-
tors, whether adult or adolescent. Olive Oatman recalls a beautiful,
light-skinned Indian maiden captured from another tribe and suggests
this fair-skinned captive is more intelligent, humane, and civilized
than her dark-skinned counterparts. Similarly, Catherine German
contrasts the kindness which she and her sister receive from the
white teachers at the mission school to the cruelties she and her
sister experience among their dark-skinned, ill-tempered captors.
Like her male counterparts, Catherine refuses even to entertain the
idea of inter-racial marriage. The captives' rejection of inter-
racial marriage, plus their deliberate association of white skin with
human intelligence and virtue, is too commonplace in nineteenth-
century captivity tales to be coincidental. Obviously, captivity
narrators, male and female-alike, reveal their own racial prejudices
by rejecting an Indian spouse, just as they do by their frequent
assertions that Indian cruelty and perfidy are so ingrained that
they cannot be nullified by the ameliorative influence of civili-
zation.24

Racial and cultural prejudices become increasingly evident
in other dimensions of the formula captivity tale during the second
half of the nineteenth century. Even earlier, however, one could
point to the narrator's own sense of superiority, as in the details
of tribal life grudgingly appendixed to the Hall and Brigdon narra-
tive, itself replete with invective and intolerance directed against
the Indian. Olive Oatman's details of Indian camp life include her

observation that "They lived in filth, degradation, and utter

 

173

abandonment." And after a detailed, objective description of the
Indians' huts, she then concludes they are totally "dismal and unin-
viting." Nor does Olive miss a chance to tout the advantages of her
own society, as she observes, "It is not easy to picture or even
imagine the extreme foulness to which unrestrained, uneducated pas-
sions can sink the human heart and life." Nelson Lee's descriptions
of Indian customs similarly reveal a hatred for a race that is
"filthy and foul," "inconceivably irksome," or simply "disgusting."
But of the narrators who view the Indian disdainfully from the
heights of white superiority, none exceeds Rachel Plummer in blatant
bigotry. Expounding on Indian customs, she promises "to be brief--
as their habits are so ridiculous that this would be of little
interest to any." Devoting only two short pages to this topic,
she abruptly concludes, "having said as much 06 this subject as is
necessary, I shall now return to my narrative." Apparently, her
inadequate discourse on Indian customs was a concession to literary
convention or to her readers' curiosity. Even in offering these
few details, her manner is supercilious as, for example, when she
states "Their manner of doctoring by faithjis'amusing."25
Just as Plummer assumes that Indian customs are but a liter-
ary adjunct to her captivity narrative, she also reveals that parts
of the setting itself may be reduced to mere literary convention.
Her visit to a vast cave becomes a Gothic nightmare, replete with
fresh recollections of personal sorrow and pain. Even her pleasant
but unexplainable encounter with a comforting “angel" borders on

the maudlin and lends further credence to Pearce's assertion that

174

experiences described in nineteenth-century captivity tales "have
been worked up into something terrible and strange."26
Romanticism and melodrama dominate the setting details of
many other captivities, too. For example, Kelly claims the Indians
select their campsite on the basis of a location's ability "to sug-
gest refreshment and repose." German illustrates the pathetic fal-
lacy by saying of an exquisite sunset, "I imagined that God had
painted the heavens purposely to cheer my depressed spirit." On
the other hand, Mary Oatman tells her sister, "these awful savages
are enough to make any place look ugly, however beautiful [it might
have been]." The genuine beauty of the setting for the Gardiner
narrative at Spirit Lake, Iowa, is lost in an outpouring of stylized
rhetoric bordering on the ludicrous. In these and other captivity
narratives, the setting is presented in such grandiose, melodramatic
terms that it no longer seems an integral part of the captivity tale,
but merely an addendum for literary effect.27
The narrators' flair for the melodramatic frequently carries
over to their characterization of the Indians as degenerate sub-
humans whose only function in life is to torment white captives,
particularly helpless women and adolescent girls. For example, a
Mrs. Jordan (1807) dwells upon the barbarity of "inhuman wretches"
who inflict repeated torments upon her husband and five children
before ending their brutal display of savage vengeance by burying
the captives up to their necks, then building fires nearby, thus

roasting Jordan's family alive. To reinforce further her argument

that all Indians are utterly depraved, she notes that "the

 

175

callous-hearted wretches" give themselves over to drunken reverie to
end a day of atrocities.28
Jordan's 1807 depiction of the Indian's cruel personality
sets the pattern for the stereotyped views which flourish throughout
nineteenth-century captivity narratives. Some narrators even apply
their racial stereotypes to other nationalities, as shown by Horn's
negative comments about the Spanish and Mexicans, along with her
consistent characterization of all Indians as merciless and untrust-
worthy. Gardiner, like many narrators before her, reveals contempt
for "half-civilized and degraded" half-breeds and frontiersmen.
Nevertheless, she sees these individuals as a necessary prelude to’
establishment of white civilization upon savage land. "The horrid
mission they perform, is to fire every beastly passion to which the
Indians are prone, so that they may consume themselves as quickly as
possible by their own vices." Furthermore, she reveals a bit of con-
cern for the future of half-civilized frontiersmen. "Well would it
be for this low race of whites, could they thus subdue the savage
by vice, without being themselves its most luckless victims."29
Nor are male captives prone to depict the Indian in a more
favorable light than do their female counterparts. Lee's consistent
anti-Indian bias apparently affects even his exuberant horse, who
reveals its hatred for Indian and Mexican alike by kicking and biting
them in battle. Buckelew, one of the last nineteenth-century Indian
captives to record his experiences, frequently depicts the Indian as

both depraved and cunning. For example, he recalls the Indians

fatally shooting his uncle, then "crush[ing] his head with stones."

 

176

Although Buckelew himself is captured from a heavily-populated white
settlement, the Indians reveal little surprise over their success.
As they make good their escape with the narrator, they risk discovery
by boldly killing cattle simply for vengeance's sake. In these and
similar incidents throughout his narrative, Buckelew follows the
pattern of fellow captives by depicting the Indian as brutal beyond
belief, depraved beyond redemption. In short, these narrators argue
that the Indian is beyond the pale of humanity.30
Even when an act of Indian kindness is noted, the captive
reports it grudgingly. For example, Oatman is shown some consider-
ation by the Chief's daughter, Topeka. Nevertheless, Oatman can
only say that Topeka was kind, "if kindness could be shown by the
barbarous habits that the Indians practice." And while the Kelly
captivity is more restrained and objective than those by her contem-
poraries, she nevertheless stresses the unpredictable and treacher-
ous nature of the Indian. Although Kelly occasionally depicts the
Indian as the "hapless victim" of advancing white civilization, she
balances that concession by stating the Indian is likewise a "savage
aggressor," thereby paralleling the assessment in John Jewitt's 1824
Narrative. Whereas Kelly totally rejects the "noble-savage" concept,
she does use-such Cooperesque terms as "hostile sons of the forest,"
"dusky maiden/warriors," "artless females of the forest," and "forest
belles" for literary effect.31
Although the literary device of the noble savage fails to

find a place in the nineteenth-century captivity tale, another lit-

erary convention becomes evident. Captivity narrators increasingly

 

177

emerge either as helpless and melodramatic, or as resourceful, daring
figures. Although the melodramatic heroine first appears in late
eighteenth-century captivity accounts and novels of sensibility,
she becomes dominant in nineteenth-century captivities. Plummer,
along with Horn, Gardiner, Oatman, and most female captives, present
one shocking incident after another, each contributing to "the scorch-
ing anguish of [their] soul[s]," and leaving their hearts "swollen to
an unnatural size." The melodramatic narrator consistently attempts
to wring tears of compassion from her readers' eyes, presenting
nearly every event befalling her as if it were the penultimate trag-
edy. By appealing to the readers' passions, the female captivity
narrator intensifies her story's pathos, but not its credibility.
Even when faced "with a living death, whose horrors are far beyond
the powers of this feeble pen fitly to describe," the melodramatic
female captive extends these "powers" in order to dramatize her
plight and further condemn the Indian. For example, Oatman elabo-
rates, "the returning Apaches were now great men at home. They had
wantonly attacked a poor, defenseless family, cruelly murdered six
of them, and carried two innocent and helpless girls into a bar-
barous captivity."32
Rarely do female captives vary this format. Even when a
female narrator is more restrained, as is Lavinia Eastlick in her
1862 Narrative, the melodramatic image of the helpless female still
emerges. Thus, it is no wonder that Fanny Kelly is a welcome
change from the stereotype. In the words of Jules Zanger, editor

of the 1962 reprint of Kelly's 1872 Narrative, her character

178

emerges as a courageous, "extra-ordinarily level-headed [woman and]
an observant and sensitive recorder [of events and personalities]."
Despite capture from a wagon train by the Sioux and uncertainty over
the fate of her husband and child, Kelly remains a controlled, self-
sufficient woman whose intellectual and emotional maturity are
astonishing in one of only nineteen years. She provides objective
insights into the daily lives of her captors, singling out prominent
Indians for descriptive comment. Moreover, despite her own unhappy
fate, she condemns the white man's injustices and his failure to
civilize the Indian. Throughout her narrative, Kelly remains a dis-
passionate, objective commentator. Her reasonableness and beauty
are obvious even to the Indians, for Jumping Bear, a Blackfoot brave,
risks his own life to deliver her warning letter to Fort Sully,
thereby saving the fort and its occupants. Kelly's bravery and
ingenuity are reflected in her skill in the cryptic wording of that
letter, a tactic common to both the Jewitt and Oatman narratives.
Even when Kelly recalls her joyful sense of deliverance or mourns
her daughter's bloody death and scalping, her report of these events
is straightforward and simple, reinforcing the reader's conviction
of the unadorned heroism and courage of the narrator.33
Although Kelly's self-characterization as a resourceful and
courageous young adult is unique among captivity heroines, the bold,
sometimes brazen, male captivity narrator as hero becomes increas-
ingly common during the nineteenth century. Ramson Clark's skill
in eluding pursuing Seminoles (1835), along with John W. B.

Thompson's daring destruction of the Key Biscayne light-house

179

(1836) and resultant trapping of attacking Indians, reveal the
bravery of male narrators and also provide fast-paced adventures.
But it remains for Buckelew and Lee to exploit fully the Indian cap-
tivity narrative's potential as a stage for the resourceful, fearless
male narrator. Although Buckelew details his adventures, he glosses
his capabilities while attributing equal devotion and daring to all
Texas pioneers whenever their homes and families are threatened.
His modesty moves him to comment, "Like all early settlers of Texas,
I have shared the hardships, trials, and dangers common to frontier
life." Nevertheless, when describing his own encounters, he invar-
iably projects the image of the strong, silent Western figure, who
stoically takes life as it comes. "Nothing of importance occurred
during the remainder of our journey, nothing more than would be
expected of such a journey in the early days of Texas." Lee, how-
ever, is less restrained; he combines his great store of Indian lore
with the deadly effectiveness of the recently-developed Colt revolver
when he and his fellow Texas Rangers attack the Comanches. His
successful manipulation of his Indian captors with his mysterious
and impressive pocket alarm watch reveals his faith in technology,
plus his conviction that white ingenuity and intelligence far exceed
those of the Indian.34
Regardless of the narrators' characterizations of themselves,
most male and female captives reveal an awareness of writing for
posterity, stressing the distinguished and danger-filled lives of
American pioneers while alerting their readers to the plight of

other Indian captives, in hope younger Americans will respond to

180

civilization's challenge. While Lee and others call attention to
the fate of female captives, Gardiner, Oatman, Buckelew, and others
insist that readers remember the frontiersmen's brave efforts "to
clear the path for the car of civilization." In many prefatory or
concluding remarks, various narrators or their editors stress the
unique experience that ga§_the American frontier. Buckelew speaks
for many nineteenth-century individuals when he states:

I have watched with unabated interest the mighty changes

wrought by industry upon our great state. I have seen the

fertile forests, once teeming with wild game, give way to

farms, and the crude log cabin with its puncheon floors

become modern homes of ease and luxury. I have watched

the savage redman of the plain give his place to the cow-

boy, whose life was scarcely less wild and free than that

of the Indians. He, in turn, became absorbed by the

gigantic waves of civilization that have covered every

nook and corner of Texas. The clumsy, old, ox wagon gave

place to the mighty 'iron horse,’ which rushes to and from

all parts of the state. All these changes form one great

achievement from the time this story took place to today,

and there shall never be another period like it.
Thus, the hierarchical view of human progress is again cited to
justify the conquest of the Indian by the white man, a conquest which
began with the arrival of the white man at Jamestown, as recorded in
Captain John Smith's archetypal captivity narrative in 1608.35

Buckelew's observation recalls Andrew Jackson's statement

used to introduce this chapter, both of which found support through-
out the nineteenth century. By the 18905, civilization, aided by
the industrial revolution and a growing population, had domesticated
the natural wilderness, if not all of its native inhabitants. By
1900, observes Nash, "cities were regarded with a hostility once

reserved for wild forests." Ironically, America's problems seemed

 

 

—,—'_"— _.__ _,_____._,, ,,,,_____, ,_ _

181

to stem from excesses of civilization, rather than excesses of wilder-
ness. As problems in urban areas increased, the wilderness increas-
ingly held a new attraction as a vacation site wherein one might
restore the human soul.36

At the same time, some individuals began to reconsider the
Indian himself. Helen Hunt Jackson's 1881 work, A Century of Dis-
ppppp, indicted "the disease, whiskey, and deception of civiliza-
tion, not [the Indian's] savageness, as the crux of his problem."
Even the government began slowly to alter its policies toward the
Indian.37

Yet this concern was too little and too late. Americans
had already placed the Indian on a lower, and therefore "inferior,"
rung of the social and racial hierarchy. In so doing, they had
determined his fate for all times. The living Indian was not des-
troyed, although he was subdued and relegated to the desolate wastes
of the reservation. But the Indian as an historical symbol was
destroyed. The reservation Indian is neither Cooper's "noble sav-
age," nor Rowlandson's "hellish fiend." As the finale to this
ironic drama, the first Americans were "legally" made American citi-
zens in 1924, becoming second-class citizens as permanent wards of
the government.38

All too often, someone must play the role of the "savage"
to be subdued by "civilization." After "settling" the Indian,
Americans turned their attention to the Cubans and Filipinos, and,

later in the twentieth century, to the Vietnamese. Pearce warns

that those who figuratively play at "Indians and Cowboys" frequently

182

forget "that there is a difference between raising men and exploiting
them and that civilization should always mean life, not death." Per-
haps Melville stated it best in his 1849 review of Francis Parkman's
The California and Oregon Trail:

We are all of us--Anglo-Saxon, Dyaks, and Indians-~sprung
from one head, and made in one image. And if we regret this
brotherhood now, we shall be forced to join hands hereafter.
A misfortune is not a fault; and good luck is not meritori-
ous. The savage is born a savage; and the civilized being
but inherits his civilization, nothing more.

As Queequeg once observed wryly, "It's a mutual, joint-stock world,

in all meridians. We cannibals must help these Christians."39

NOTES, CHAPTER V

1Andrew Jackson, "Second Annual Message," December 6, 1830,
in J. 0. Richardson, ed., A Compilation of the Messages and Papers
of the Presidents, 1789-1897, II, pp. 520-521, in Savages, p. 57.

2

3Still, pp. 189- 215, passim; Richard Drinnon,White Savage:
The Case of John Dunn Hunter (New York: Shocken Books, 1972),p
42; Maurice Melton, "War Trail of the Red Sticks," American History
Illustrated, 10(February 1976), p. 35.

4Melton, p. 34; William Meyer, Native Americans: The New
Indian Resistance (New York: International Publishers, 1971), pp.
24, 30, 31; Michael Starr, "The Battle of Warbonnet Creek," American
History Illustrated, 12 (February 1978), 4-11, 48-49, passim.

Horton and Edwards, pp. 134-141, passim.

5Meyer, p. 27.
Meyer, p. 24; Still, p. 238-239.

MNOS

Savages, p. 57; Meyer, p. 27.
Meyer, pp. 27-28.

\OCD

Meyer, p. 28.
10

1lNash, p. 77; for a recent discussion of varying views on
the Indian in German Romantic Literature, see D. L. Ashliman, “The
American Indian in German Travel Narratives and Literature," Journal
of Popular Culture, 10 (Spring 1977), 833-840.

12David Crockett, Narrative of the Life of David Crockett of
West Tennessee (1834), in Irving Howe, ed., The Literature of America:
Nineteenth Century (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1970 , pp. 13-81 .

13Archibald Loudon, A Selection, of Some of the Most Inter-
esting Narratives, of Outrages Committediby the Indians, in their
Wars,rwith the White People (Carlisle, PennsyTvania: By theTEditor,
18118-1811), 1, p. iv.

Meyer, pp. 28-30.

 

 

183

184

14Samuel Gardner Drake, Indian Captivities (Boston, 1839),
Tra edies of the Wilderness (Boston, 1841); Joseph Pritts, Incidents
of Border Life, Illustrative of the Times and Conditions of the
First Settlements in Parts of the MiddTe and Western States
(Chambersburg, Penn591vania, 1839), a117cited in PearceTs "The
Significances<yfthe Captivity Narrative," pp. 17-19; John Frost,
Thrilling Adventures Among the Indians (Boston: L. P. Crown & Co.,
1856), pp. 3, 4, 10; John Frost, Pioneer Mothers of the West (Boston:
Lee and Shepard, 1869), p. iii; Sheldon, II, p. 672.

'5Fanny Kelly, My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians (1872),
intro. by Jules Zanger (New York: Corinth Books, 1962), p. iii.

16

17
p. 16.

18Elias Darnell, Narrative (1813), in Drimmer, p. 258;
Narrative of the Hall Sisters and Philip Brigdon (n.p., 1832);
Rachel Plummer, Narrative of the Capture and Subseqpent Sufferings
of Mrs. Rachel PTUmmer (n.p., 1839), in Captive, p. 351; E. House,
ed., Sarah Ann Horn's Narrative of her Captivity Among the Comanches
(St. Louis, 1839), in Carl Coke Rister, Comanche Bondage and Sarah
Ann Horn's Narrative (Glendale, California: The Arthur H. Clark
Co., 1955), pp. 108-111, passim, hereafter referred to as Horn;
Nelson Lee, Three Years Among the Comanches (1859), introduced by
Walter Prescott webb (Norman, Oklahoma: Univ. of Oklahoma Press,
1957); R. B. Stratton, ed., The Captivity of the Oatman Girls, A
True Stgry of Early Emigration to the WestT(Salem, Oregon: Oregon
Teachers Monthly, 1909), hereéfter referred to as Oatman; Lorenzo
Porter Lee, History of the Spirit Lake Massacre! 8th March, 1857,
and of Miss Abigail Gardiner's Three Months Captivity Amppg the
Indians,Accordiggto Her Own Account (1857) (Iowa City, Iowa:
State Historical Society, 1971), hereafter referred to as Gardiner;
Grace E. Meredith, ed., Girl Captives of the Cheyennes: A True
Story of the Capture and Rescue of Four Pioneer Gir1s (1874)
(California: Gem PubTishing Co., 1927), hereafter referred to as
German.

, 19Plummer, pp. 336, 338; Fanny Kelly, M Ca tivit . . .
(Connecticut: Mutual Publishing Co., 1872); Lillie M. Ross, ed.,
Life of An Indian Captive [Frank Buckelewl (Philadelphia: Dorrance

& Co.,11965 rpt. of 1932 edn.), hereafter referred to as Buckelew;
Oatman, pp. 46-49.

20ke11y, pp. 188-190. See Lee, 73-74, who asserts that
areas occupied by Indians or Mexicans could be made into "the para-
dise and garden of the world" if the savages could either change
their indolent ways or be replaced by whites more adept at domesti-
cating the wilderness.

 

 

 

Kelly, p. vi.

Pearce, "The Significancescyfthe Captivity Narrative,"

 

 

185

21
22
23
24

25Oatman, pp. 46-65, passim; Lee, p. 109; Plummer, in Cap:
tive, pp. 355, 357.

26Plummer, in Captive, PP. 349-351; Pearce, "The Signifi-
cances of the Captivity Narrative," p. 16.

27
pp. 9-10.

Kelly, pp. 77-78.

Lee, p. 159; Buckelew, pagpjm; Horn, pp. 151, 153, 158.
Buckelew, p. 23; Darnell, in Drimmer, p. 265; Lee, p. 150.
Oatman, pp. 92-93; German, pp. 51, 89.

Kelly, p. 32; German, p. 66; Oatman, p. 64; Gardiner,

28[Mrs Jordan], Mrs. Jordan's Captivity,_Narrated by Her-
self (1807 , in Frost's Pioneer Mothers, pp. 296-297.

29Horn, passim; Gardiner, p. 13.

30

3'0atman, p. 65; Kelly, pp. 42, 72, 84, 177, 184; Alsop, ed.,
The Adventures and Sufferings of John Jewitt (1824), p. 73. Since
this captivity tale occurs outside the continental limits of the
United States (in the Canandian Northwest), it is outside the area
of captivities considered in this study. However, the narrative
is cited as a valuable study of the Nootka Indians prior to extensive
contact with whites, and for revealing conflicting contemporary atti-
tudes towards the Indian as both noble savage and hostile agent.

32

33Lavinia Eastlick, Narrative, in Drimmer, pp. 314-329,
passim; Kelly, pp. 18-35, 110-119, 175-190, 192-217, passim.

34Ransom Clark, Narrative, in Drimmer, pp. 268-271, passim;
John W. 8. Thompson, Narrative, in Drimmer, pp. 272-276, assim;
Lee, pp. 24-25, 51-52, 89, 98-99, passim; Buckelew, pp. 1-2, 73, 86.

Lee, p. 22; Buckelew, pp. 7, 17, 24.

Horn, pp. 130-131, 145; Gardiner, p. 19; Oatman, p. 46.

35Buckelew, PP. 93-94.
36Nash, p. 143.
37p. 144.

38Savages. pp. 76, 241-242.

186

39Herman Melville, Review of Francis Parkman's The California

 

and Oreggn Trail, in The Literary World, IV (1849), p. 291; Melville,
Moby-Dick_(NewYork, 1947), p. 59, both in Savages, p. 244.

 

CONCLUSION

Never until time shall wear out the
history of their sorrows and their
sufferings, will the Indian be
brought to love the white man, and
to imitate his manners.
--William Wirt, The Letters of
The British Spy (1803)

 

The formula captivity narrative reveals a genre as significant

and as varied during its long history as the American experience A 5%
itself. Relying upon conventional settings, characterizations, and 75, :7
plots, the formula narratjyelsnglQérlygdefined,msocial1y-accepted

patterns reflect the changing cultural values and functions of Ameri- ',_

...__ __.b_ h______..__,_ w _,-____._‘_q~j‘\ I I

cans from about 1675 to 1875. These patterns were readily recognized

”k.

7 ,__r_* -- X)

by those who both produced and consumed the formula tale of Indian
captivity.

To the society producing it, as well as to the researcher KZZ
studying it, the formula captivity functions most significantly as thrlifi:
collective (or cultural) ritual, reaffirming and restating the domi-ZTp’
nant cultural values of a society. In addition, formula stories
function as cultural ritual by resolving conflicting interests as ,/ xQ;'
the action moves from tension to resolution. Thus, the reader is

_ m,\fi_‘, ' “
better able to identify with the author, and both identify with th51r\\\ 2g *3

 

{J

‘0

common society, thereby contributing to group solidarity. Formula

a “<- \z
x C\ 7’.-
stories also contribute to group solidarity by revealing new values ?§: 0 Q\\;
)1 0‘ {it’lfl \f‘ :1 ":1."
QC; C!</\ L">_L{(/1 Ht“ ‘;:‘ x: V V?»
187 L7"?f\ «we; ,. 4 f, x : '~: ,1
s (7 “g , \ ,.'

1‘_ ‘
c
h I

188

or meanings important to a society, thereby assisting in orderly

change within that society.

Equally significant are the formulas a society commonly uses; /‘

that is, the most popular formulas are the best indicators of spgje-
ta1_galpes. Likewise, changes in the dimensions or the valuation of
formulas indicate corresponding changes within a society, as well as
between cultures, or even between historical periods. These changes
may include thematic development, focus, or alterations of formula
dimensions: setting, characterization, action, collective ritual,

game, or collective dream. Commencing with Puritan accounts of

Indian captivity and continuing with those from the French and Indian

Wars, the American Revolution, the late eighteenth-century battles

)-
(commonly known as the Western Wars), and concluding with those from /Q

the nineteenth century, abundant information reveals how the captive
viewed himself, his captors, their respective cultures, and even the
environment itself.

Puritan tales of Indian captivitygclearlyreveal_a,homogene-

 

HM...—

‘ ,M .,._..

Q“
'C

I
r

\
f

/7?
ous society that regarded captivity itself as God's test of the elect. ,‘*s

K‘-

The captive was expected to welcome the opportunity to be tested,
purified, and to learn anew God's sovereignty, His all—sufficient
protection, and His Special Providences for His chosen people.
Strengthened and refreshed, the captive returns to his society,
better prepared to cope with the demands of daily life, and more

willing to acknowledge God's assistance in that daily life. Thus,

the captivity narrative as a formula story here reiterates societal £54,

beliefs, thereby contributing to group solidarity as the narrator

J \
.1 ,
fi.
’—

m

r“
a
1

y...

._/

Q '

nC‘
s

rilx’

189

clearly affirms dominant Puritan attitudes. Furthermore, these
very values and the way they are conveyed, reflect and reinforce
the "imaginative concerns" of Puritan society.

At the same time, the captivity tale reaffirms the solidar-./?

ity of cultural belief in the Indian as a Satanic agent. Occasion- fax
. cu.’

/
ally, the Indian is also used by God to test the Puritan, or by the C3.

Jesuits to chasten God's elect. Here, the formula captivity helps

3

Puritan society adjust to change at a time when the French-Canadians,

1.7K
- r

\l,‘

their Jesuit priests, and their Indian allies become a great threatxil

to the Puritans during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth
centuries. Thus, the captivity tale as formula literature alerts
readers to new dangers in a wilderness already beset with hostile

forces. ‘2r“:-

y...“

‘2 vital to the Puritan' s vision of establishing a New Eden. He, as *:234i

L.

God's elect, was to conquer the wilderness, domesticating it by

W

(O

establishing communities, planting crops, and raising farm animals.¢77i§k
s. .

In short, the Pur1tan was to assert h1s author1ty overwthemlapg,and f,

M-mfl—o—
.. .m. 4..—

 

., its 1nhab1tants according to biblical admonitions. Not surprisingly, ”V

- “unfit
‘1 .1- "'
“nu—w .u M.- ~“"'""

0
v

v
k

I
L /\ V..’-‘
'1;

,.
(j"\
F

the Puritan saw the Indian as a vital part of the wilderness exper- 52.89,

ience. If he could ciyilize-andtchrjstianizgzihfifllflgiéflg,EDQJIQrmer
savage would become alivingtestament to the righteousness of
Puritanisms, But if he refused to give up his pagan ways, then the
Puritan could justify destroying the Indian to preserve white society
and all that it represented. In either case, the Puritan saw himself

actively involved in a struggle between the forces of Good and Evil.

190

Here the Puritan account of Indian captivity contributes to

cultural continuity by dramatizing the great conflict between Puritan‘

 

\ ‘<
and Pagan, Puritan and Jesuit, or even between Civilization and <;Q/ ‘0; ‘*t
Savagery. For individual Puritans, the outcome of the struggle wasxpeukgigtéig.

uncertain. Captivity was a genuine threat to one's psychological 3t2543Q ‘1
well-being as well as to one's physical safety, despite the supposed :1:-
benefits of being tested and purified. The fear of reverting to
savagery was shared by many Puritans as a consequence of Adam's sin-
ful behavior in the first Eden. Captives who refused redemption,
who chose instead to adopt Indian ways, were invariably depicted as
deluded by Satan and as fallen from a higher social order to a lower
and, therefore, inferior social order.
50 fearful were the Puritans of a fall from civilization,
and so uncertain were many who questioned whether civilization and

Christianity could ever improve the Indian, that formula captivities

, 4...“ ”Wu“. .
M ‘ ..
H‘ a-. J

frequently reinforce the popular 991191 that Indians are too far -;.'.:
"emvec' from .591V,ationtobesreadeemed. This attitude further justi-‘Q-gf .,

.a—ud'.

fied the killing of Indians and even countenanced doing so with the af91-,,

... .....——-———-—-v- I”
.......——- 5...," _ ._

“a

violent methods associated with savagery. In fact, captives who (>1 4"}

follow this line of thought freQuently are praised by their CIEVQY /: '12

‘3
and rewarded by their community. Here again, the captivity formula é“
.7/
attempts to subdue possible qualms about killing one's enemy by K, 755‘
gr) ‘5", '
reducing the enemy to sub-human status and by assuring the reader “ii" *<\
eager ’

that both clerical and civil authorities approve of violence directed ~.-‘~

‘
'K’
:5
it)

at the Indians.

191

Not surprisingly then, cpllective ritual occupies a central

position in Puritan captivities, while all other dimensions of the

f
r'

formula tale remain nominal. Characterization, for example, rarely Ck

 

 

.___.._.—~———~

extends beyond stereotypes of saint and sinnEr. If Puritan prejudice99;

could not be reiterated through the characterization, little else

would be considered. This is also the case for the natural setting,

or for the sociological details of the Indian's camplife. In short,

the formula for Puritan captivity tales lends credence to Mintner's

assertion that all private feelings and beliefs are adjusted to suit

a public code or ideology. That is, all Puritan narratives of Indian

captivity are consciously attuned to the values of collective ritual

known intimately and shared by all Puritans.1
By the 1740s and the advent of the prolonged French and

Indian Wars,8261661a1 society was not as homogeneous as it had been (g,

in seventeenth-century Puritan New Englahd. Th§~:959213-EEEE:X:}Y ye, a

taIép—it‘eflesifimthese changing societal val-ue§_--through-11££§£1_fiqmu' 73""

/ Ef‘,

laic dimensions as well as through the valuations depicted therein. fl;
Yet, the persistence of traditional attitudes in formula captivities,
like the groups producing them, reveals the many changes colonial
society experiences during the middle decades of the eighteenth
century. No longer are all captivity experiences salutory or wel-1859

comed; manyeare.depicted_a§agruespmewapd shocking beyond belief. st

“M r-
\ 1

Political propaganda often takes precedence over religious didacti- J) xg' ‘-

cism as a vital part of collective ritual. Inciting the colonists
against the French-Canadians was more important to British military

captives than recourse to Special Providences or God's sovereignty.

 

192

Similarly, the formula captivity narrative no longer reveals 73
"2.

 

clear distinctions between all captives and t ' tors. Longer, {Pi/6*:
¢_ (3 F“

more detailed captivity narratives by individuals at home in the a: 3: \;\

WIIdEPDESS (scouts, traders, trappers) often reveal concern for the 381 "E

Indian's future. Here the formula captivity, reflecting the growing

 

 

 

 

5"-
_.

complexity of society, is_ elping the reader_adjust to the changing Kg+

___ . _. ___.__—...-.v .j
0m... ' J...

copditions,_ The eighteenth-century American, like his European {p t. 1..

counterpart, reveals new interests in science, technology, agricul-,}’%,.'E.

_e—.- -————-— m '__ '

 

ture, religion, and even the wilderness itself. As these interests,o;fi

W

.\.'I‘

 

along with the forerunners of anthropology and sociology, began to 'r
q

attract colonial attention, some captivity narrators incorporate V”; “so

these topics into their accounts. By greatly expanding the setting c2 I

dimension of the formula to accommodate observations on geography, ‘SQ

the climate, native animals and plants, as well as the many details 1 ”a:

of Indian camplife, politics, religion, family roles, and the like, °{. <.
captivity narrators again adjust the formula to meet the changing :iF-

interests of their readers. a, ‘25,

\4 ‘

Similarly, many narrators reveal changing values in charac-”;Q ; r;

terization. Increasingly complex characters emerge among Indian and'a 1:951 .

w,

narrator alike. Just as the narrator examines life in an Indian 3,

village, so he attempts to understand and to depict the Indian as a<;:5t_

o.

A,”'
If .

human being. More than one captive departs sadly from his Indian cf/Qii,

family, who have adopted him as their own--an act whites could neverfi
reciprocate for Indians. The narrator better understands another\\
culture and even has a basis to comprehend why a captive might "/)

refuse redemption by his own race.

193

Thus, the dimensions of the formula captivity tale and the
values they convey during the French and Indian Wars clearly reveal
vast changes from Puritan captivity tales. Here, as in other periods
to follow, homogeneous societies no longer exist. With the passing
of time, complex changes in society continue to produce varied cap-
tivity narratives, whose formulas in turn reflect these very complex-
ities. Expanded dimensions of the narrative formula convey many new
interests, whether didacticism, propaganda, anthropology, sociology,
geography, natural science, characterization, or even a concern for
the Indian's future as a race.

All historical periods which produce Indian captivity tales
reveal the formula narrative's ability to convey the values of a
particular group, to resolve tensions which might arise from con-
fliCting attitudes or changing beliefs, to contribute to group
solidarity, and to provide the researcher with valuable information
about the group or society producing these formula captivity tales.
Thus, during the American Revolution, when the outcome was uncertain,
when patriots and loyalists alike sought to arouse emotions and to
attract supporters, literature became a valuable weapon for either
side. Whether seeking support for the rebels or demoralizing the
enemy, the Indian captivity narrative again demonstrates its ability
to adjust to the immediate demands of those who were using it as
propaganda.

Increased propaganda means increased sensationalism, which
flourished as narratives were greatly shortened to focus upon atroci-

ties committed by Indians, British, and Tories alike. Such

194

narratives frequently reveal an "adjustment" of truth and individual
thought to match rebel opinions. The heightened action, the blatant
misrepresentation of the enemy as inhuman and repulsive, particu-
larly renegades, combine with sensationalism and shocking devices to
produce a captivity narrative formula attuned to rebel needs.

Violence begets violence, however; counter-violence becomes
an accepted, even an advocated, mode of retaliation in many shorter
captivity tales. This is particularly true for those rushed into
print shortly after the events described in order to refresh the
reader's memory of these events and to intensify his hatred for
their perpetrators. Emphasis on violence becomes common to male
and female narrators alike. No longer does the female captive regard
her experience as a religious test; rather she sees it as a struggle
to the death. In more than one account, the female captive avenges
the deaths of her husband and children swiftly, unmercifully, and
with even greater brutality than the Indians themselves were prone
to display.

When captivity formulas are used in this manner, all
“extraneous" material is eliminated. Anthropological or sociological
interests do not concern the majority of Revolutionary captives,
while the action is emphasized for its sensational or propaganda
values, but not as adventure perpae, War, particularly a revolution,
strips the veneer of civilization, reducing all events to an immed-
iacy which no person or formula story can ignore. And until the war

ends, captives are not about to direct much attention to other topics.

195

The war also served to widen the gulf between captive and
captor, between civilization and savagery, and, consequently, between
those who stressed civilizing the Indian and those who favored exterm-
inating him. Despite the pleas of agrarians, and despite the fic-
tional characterizations of Noble Savages, concern for the Indian's
welfare remained proportional to the distance between the commentator
and the Indian. Those on the frontier who experienced Indian attacks
firsthand were convinced that the racial gap was too great to bridge,
and that time was too short to bring the Indian head-long into the
Age of Enlightenment and all that age promised a New Nation.

Cut off from his past, unable to enter his future, the Indian
became little more than a drunken, disease-ridden cultural artifact
whenever and wherever he encountered civilization. True, he remained
a potent warrior on the frontier, but that frontier was rapidly
disappearing as post-Revolutionary Americans began their westward
trek. Once again, the formula captivity tale continued to reflect
the changes in American culture, reaffirming the views of those who
called for far harsher treatment of the Indian than Eastern literati
could accept--or, at least, could accept publicly, although privately
they admitted the Indian was nothing like the Noble Savage of their
imaginings.

The Revolution indeed increased awareness of agriculture,
the freeholding concept, and even industry; it also meant an unprece-
dented expansion during the last decade of the eighteenth century
into America's interior and, hence, into the homeland of many Indians.

Conflicts were as inevitable as the resultant captivities. Propaganda

196

declined, however, for the Revolution had ended. Once again, anthro-
pology and sociology held the attention of many readers. The formula
captivities changed to meet those interests, but with a different
view from that of captivities of the French and Indian Wars. This
time, the Indians' lifestyle seemed to confirm their remoteness from
civilization, a remoteness that sealed their doom. Similarly, the
geography of an area is no longer described for its own sake, but to
extol what agriculture and technology can do to bring the land to
fruition, thus establishing a new Eden in the wilderness. Again,

the formula captivity reflects these changes, with emphasis upon

the setting, to paint an idyllic vision of the Garden or to show

that commerce is to be the password to America's future greatness.

In consequence of this altered philosophy, the formula tale of Indian
captivity often reiterates the popular belief that taming the wilder-
ness meant removing the Indian. By the final decade of the eighteenth
century and throughout the nineteenth, the Indian was seen as little
more than a stumbling block in the path of white society.

Yet the Indian was a useful figure to another important
interest in America at this time. Growing literary nationalism
demanded more truly American materials, and both the wilderness and
the Indian were suitable topics for writers. Equally important is
the rise of the melodramatic heroine and the novel of sensibility.
Although all these elements might be combined into a Gothic novel

like Maria Kittle, more often these elements were incorporated into

 

the Indian captivity narrative itself. No longer was this formula

genre simply useful for religious didacticism or even for political

197

propaganda. It had become American literature in its own right, and
the narrator frequently became a melodramatic heroine. Truthful rep-
resentation of events quickly gave way to stylistic devices. Fore-
shadowing, literary allusions, stock phrases, overblown rhetoric,

and excessive sentimentality all too frequently replaced whatever
truth there might have been in the actual details of the captivity.
Fictional narratives, increasingly commonplace, did nothing to assure
the readers that the captivity tale was genuine. Even affidavits,
author character references, and the like appended to captivity tales
failed to make the narrative or its creator appear genuine. Actually,
these addenda frequently had the reverse effect, increasing suspicion
of the formula captivities by virtue of their insistence on their
validity.

But the formula narrative as fiction was as important to the
nineteenth-century writer as the formula narrative as propaganda was
to the eighteenth-century captive. Literary interests dominated
nineteenth-century America, and literary interests dominated many
captivity tales. Women narrators are frequently depicted as help-
less, pathetic heroines, paralleling their counterparts in senti-
mental novels. This heart-rending image is enhanced by woeful tales
of adolescent captives--sickly and orphaned as a result of the Indian
raid which led to their capture.

At other times, however, some female and many male narrators
are depicted as sturdy, level-headed individuals whose composure and
superior intelligence permit them to outwit their captors. Such

narrators often comment upon the struggle between civilization and

198

savagery; in so doing, they reveal a vision of America's future that
approaches the ideal. Thus, one can compare this type of narrator
to the Western hero, who confronts and overcomes many obstacles in
his quest "to reorder reality in terms of his personal vision of an
ideal world."2

If the narrator of the formula captivity may be compared to
a sentimental heroine or to a questing Western hero, then the Indian
is truly comparable to the Western villain. In both nineteenth-
century Westerns and captivity tales, the Indian, commenting upon the
white man's destructive ways, envisions his own ideal world without
whites where the wilderness again prevails. Although formula cap-
tivities do not include Cooperesque Noble Savages, many Indians do
reveal genuine concern for their future and for that of the wilder-
ness. Thus, the Indian becomes a threat to the captive as questing
hero and to the civilization the latter is establishing in the
wilderness. Consequently, the Indian frequently is depicted as
brutal and cunning, a characterization compounded by the demeaning
application of aspects of his physiognomy and phrenology. Here the
formula captivity adjusts to both the literary and the utopian
visions of nineteenth-century Americans.3

Perhaps the greatest threat to the realization of that
utopian dream is the white renegade. In Western or captivity nar-
rative, this "exact moral opposite of the hero" reveals none of the
virtues of either race, only their vices. Unlike the Indian, the
renegade has neither the ideal vision of the wilderness, nor the

desire to restore it to its pristine state. Rather, he is concerned

199

with self-gratification of his lust for revenge, or, more likely,
wealth and power.4

Thus, in these characterizations of captive, Indian, and
renegade, as well as in the frequent praise for American technology,
agriculture, and commerce, the formula captivity, like all popular
literature, reflects the dominant beliefs and values of the society
producing it, in this case, nineteenth-century Americans. At the
same time, the formula captivity reinforces and reiterates those
elements of collective ritual contributing to societal and even
racial solidarity. By rationalizing the Indian's savagery and
remoteness from white society, the formula captivity tacitly recog-
nizes racial prejudices and, in some instances, contributes to
further violence against Indians. By stressing the horrors of cap-
tivity, and by reminding the readers that many others remain in
captivity, some narrators seek to arouse their contemporaries or
even future generations to take up weapons against the Indians.

And what of the Indians themselves? With the exception of
a few captivities during the French and Indian Wars, formula nar-
ratives consistently depict the Indians as savage, pagan, and
unsuited to the white man's "superior" society. Even when the
Indians endeavor to learn the white man's ways, they are never
accorded the trust or justice which purportedly distinguishes civ-
ilized societies.

As early as 1622, valid complaints by Weymouth Indians

against white depredations of the tribe's winter food stores

200

brought only colonial contempt upon the Indians. The whites' posi-
tion was already established.

No Indian dared raise his hand or even his voice against a

white, even in defense of his life, family, or property.

No matter if his opponent were an exile or outcast from

white society, even the suspicion of opposition called for

violent . . . retribution.
By the time of the Pequot War in 1637, one Puritan describing the
conflagration which killed over 500 Indians epitomized white attitudes
when he remarked, "if God had not fitten the heart of men for the
service, it would have bred in us a commiseration towards [the
Indians]."5

Throughout the history of white and red contact, the story

remains the same. Lord Jeffrey Amherst, writing to Colonel Henry
Bouquet (1763), noted, "I need only Add, that I wish to Hear of pp_
Prisoners, should any of the Villains be met with in Arms. . . ."
Nowhere was there an advocate of civilizing the Indians apg_allowing
them to retain their property rights. And where might one find a
supporter for preserving the Indians' human rights as well? Surely
not among those who purportedly skinned Tecumseh to make "souvenir
razor straps [for use] by the representatives of the higher way of
life." Surely not in Senator Thomas Hart Benton, who justified white
expansion and land seizure as "the intentions of the CREATOR."
Surely not in the company of those who instigated the removal of
Creek, Cherokee, Seminole, Winnebago, Sioux, and countless other

Indian tribes. Surely not among those profiteers who sold contami-

nated food and shoddy goods to reservation Indians. Surely not in

201

the editor of a Topeka newspaper who reflected p0pular sentiments in
1867 when he described Indians as

a set of miserable, dirty, lousy, blanketed, thieving,

lying, sneaking, murdering, graceless, faithless, gut-

eating skunks . . . whose immediate and final extermina-

tion all men, except Indian agents and traders, should

pray for.
Surely not in the Iowan who said of nearby reservation Indians in the
18905, "They are as worthless as so many tamed wolves." 50 Indians
continued to be abused, driven from their lands, isolated on reser-
vations, or killed, and to lose vast tracts of land. One estimate
suggests that Indians lost 86,000,000 of their 138,000,000 acres of
land between 1887 and 1934.6

How ironic from a historical perspective that these Indians'

ancestors first welcomed white explorers with wonder, awe, and trust.
In a remarkably acute and atypical observation, William Wirt, author
of The Letters of the British Spy (1803), wryly remarks that

the personal descent of an army of Milton's celestial

angels . . . would excite not more astonishment in Great

Britain than did the debarkation of the English among

the aborigines of Virginia.
Wirt criticizes whites for violating this trust and seizing the
Indians' property, depriving Indians of life, freedom, dignity, and
even of their sacred ancestral burial grounds. Furthermore, notes
Wirt, whites have reduced Indians to wandering vagabounds or have
made them dependents on the government dole--and this in the Indians'
own country.7

And yet, continues Wirt, whites guilty of these heinous

crimes complain that Indians reject civilization and Christianity.

202

Nor can whites comprehend why Indians persist in torturing white cap-
tives. Recalling many wrongs from past generations, the Indians work
themselves into a frenzy of singing and dancing

as the victim shrieks and faints amid the flames, when they

imagine all the crimes of their oppressors collected on his

head, and fancy the spirits of their injured forefathers

hovering over the scene, smiling with ferocious delight at

the grateful spectacle, and feasting on the precious odour

as it arises from the burning blood of the white man.
Little wonder indeed that Indians should so respond in their rejec-
tion of white society. Perhaps Theodore Roosevelt was displaying
pangs of collective white conscience when he said of those who
butchered 96 peaceable, Moravian Indians,

It is impossible not to regret that fate failed to send

some strong war party of savages across the path of these

inhuman cowards to inflict on them the punishment they

so richly deserved.
Roosevelt's sentiments are as rare as Wirt's, for the former also
said that "the only good Indian is a dead Indian." At the dawn of
the twentieth century, white Americans were already turning from
conquering American Indians to conquering the natives of other lands,
particularly Cuba and the Phillipine Islands. Still later, Americans
would direct their attention to the Vietnamese, but not before they
had interned thousands of Japanese-Americans during World War II in
order to "preserve" American democracy.8

Americans, of course, were not alone in their encounters with

aborigines; consider, for example, the consequences of contact between
whites and natives in South America, Australia, or New Zealand. In
Waiting for the Morning Train (1972), Bruce Catton observes that

whenever and wherever an advanced, technological culture confronts

203

a primitive, hunting culture, the latter is doomed to destruction or
condemned to purgatory somewhere in the transition between the two
cultures. Catton suggests that Americans today are also caught
between cultures, "compelled to readjust ourselves to forces that
will not wait for us"; between the nineteenth and twenty-first cen-
turies looms a "gulf as vast as the one the stone-age Indians had
to cross."9
The question, then, is will we be able to adapt to these

violent and rapid changes any better than did the Indian. Perhaps
not, for we have ignored a fact vital to the Indian's cosmology.
Throughout any study of white and red contact, one detects the innate,
instinctual harmony between the Indian and his environment. Unfor-
tunately, captives and their culture did not grasp this symbiotic
relationship. Now mankind's very survival depends upon restoring
that symbiosis. John Collier, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, was
acutely aware of this fact more than thirty years ago when he wrote
that

the deep cause of our world agony is that we have lost that

passion for human personality and for the web of life and

the earth which the American Indians have tended as a cen-

tral, sacred fire since before the Stone Age. Our lppg.

hope is to renew that sacred fire in us all. It is our

only . . . hope.
Admittedly, Americans are becoming more conscious of the delicacy of
our environment, but one wonders whether those in authority compre-
hend the seriousness of environmental abuse better than they under-

stood the Indian:'0

204

Cotton likes to recall the story of a politician who was
about to deliver a campaign speech when a local party official asked
the speaker to stress the party's awareness of the Indians' problems.
Noticing several Indians in attendance at the political gathering,
the puzzled speaker asked his host, "By the way, what is their prob-
lem?" The host replied in shocked disbelief, "God damn it, they're
Indians." In this transitory century, that is also our problem. We
are Indians, all of us. But unlike Melville's fortunate Ishmael, we
may not find any Queequegs to assist us. We buried them at the Pequot
Village, along the Ohio River, at Wounded Knee, and in countless other

battlefields that--more than anything else--epitomize the consequences

of contact between white and red men in America.H

A careful review of the historical liter-
ature reveals that the dominant policy of
the Federal government toward the American
Indian has been one of forced assimilation
which has vacillated between the two extremes
of coercion and persuasion. At the root of
the assimilation policy has been a desire to
divest the Indian of his land and resources.
--Senate Report No. 91-501, 91st
Congress, lst Session (1972)

Why does not the Great Father put his red
children on wheels, so he can move them as
he will?

--Spotted Tail, a Sioux Chief (ca. 1870)

NOTES, CONCLUSION

1Mintner, "By Dens of Lions," pp. 338-346, passim.

2Daryl Emrys Jones, "The Dime Novel Western: The Evolution
of a Popular Formula," diss. Michigan State University, 1974, p. 290.

3P. 293.

4P. 294.

5Thomas, "Puritans, Indians, and the Concept of Race,"
p. 11; William T. Hagan, American Indians (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago,
1961). p. 13.

6Hagan, pp. 25, 40, 63, 69, 75-32, 104, 123, 127.

7William Wirt, The Letters of the British Spy (1803), with
an introduction by Richard Beale Davis (Chapel H111: Univ. of North
Carolina Press, 1970 rpt. of 1832 edn.), pp. 162-165.

8Pp. 163-164.

gBruce Catton, Waiting for the Morninngrain (Garden City:
Doubleday, 1972), pp. 18—19.

10John Collier, The Indiaapf the Americas (ca.l948),pp. 15-
17, in Heard, White Into Red, pp. 157-158.

11

 

Catton, pp. 18-19.

205

BIBLIOGRAPHY

206

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Indian Captivity Narratives

Early Seventeenth Century

Smith, Captain John. The Capture of Captain John Smith, in Ipe_
Generall Historie of Virginia, New England, and the Summer
Isles (1624), in Richard Dorson, ed., Ameridan Begins. New
York: Pantheon Press, 1950.

Late Seventeenth and Early
Eighteenth Century:

Chapter 1

Bartlett, Joseph. Narrative (1712), in Joshua Coffin, A Sketch of
the History of Newbury, Newburyport,and West Newbury, from
1634-1845. Boston: Samuel G. Drake, 1845.

 

 

Belding, Daniel. Narrative (ca. 1698), in George Sheldon, A History
of Deerfield Massachusetts (1895-96). 2 vols. Somersworth,
New Hampshire: New Hampshire Publishing Co., 1972.

 

Dustan, Hannah. Narrative (1697), in Cotton Mather, Magnalia
Christi Americana (1702). 2 vols. New York: Russell and
Russell,71967. Hereafter cited as Magnalia.

 

Gerish, Sarah. Narrative (1688), in Magnalia.

Gyles, John. Memoirs of Odd Adventures,_StrapgepDeliverances, Etc.,
in the Captivity_di’thn Gy1es, Esq.,,Commander of the
Garrison on St. George River, in the District 0? Maine.
Written by Himself (1736), in Richard VanDerBeets, edI, Held
Qaptive by_Indians: Selected Narratives, 1642-1836. Knox-
ville: 7Univ. of Tennessee Press, 1973. Hereafter cited

as Captive.

Hanson, Elizabeth. An Account of the Captivity of Elizabeth Hanson,
Now Late of Kaohechy, in New Ehglandi 7Who, with Four of her
Children and Servant Maid, was taken taptive by the Indians,
and'carriediinto Canada. Setting_forth the various remarhdble
Occurrences, sore7Trials, and7WOnderfu1 Deliverances which
befel them after their Departure, to the Time of their Redemp-
tion. *Taken in Sdbstance—from her own Mouth,_by,Samué1
Bownas (1728), in Captive.

207

 

208

Hinsdale, Mehuman. Narrative (1712), in Sheldon, A History of Deer-
field Massachusetts.

 

 

Mather, Cotton. "Accounts of Several Indian Captives" [James Key,
Mehitabel Goodwin, Mary Plaisted, and a friend to one Mary
Ferguson, ca. 1690], in Magnalia.

Rowlandson, Mary. The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, Together with
the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed; Being a Narrative
of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary RowTandson

(1682), in CapiiVe.

Stockwell, Quentin. Narrative (1683), in Increase Mather, Remark-
able Providences (1683). London: Reeves and Turner, 1890.

 

Swarton, Hannah. Narrative (1702), in Magnalia.

Williams, John. The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion,_pr The Cap-
tivity and Deliverance of Rev. John Williams of Deerfield
(1707). Springfield, Massachusetts: 7ThE7H. R. Hunting—Co.,
1908.

 

 

Mid-Eighteenth Century:
Chapter II

 

 

Bonnefoy, Antoine. The Journal of Antoine Bonnefoy, Containing_the
Circumstances of his Captivity among the Cherokee Indians
(1742), in Newton 0. Mereness, ed.,—Travels in the American
Colonies. New York: Antiquarian Press, 1961.

 

Brown, Thomas. A Plain Narrative of the Uncommon Sufferings and
Remarkable Deliverance of Thomas Brown of Charlestown, in
New EngTand: Who returned—to his FatherTs7house in the
beginning of January, 1760,,After having been Ahsent three
years and dbout eight months (1760), ih Fhederick Drimmer,
ed., Scalps and Tomahawks. New York: Coward-McCann, 1961.
Hereafter citedias Drimmer.

 

 

 

 

 

Carver, Captain Jonathan. Narratives of his Capture, and Subsequent
Escape from the Indians at the Bloody Massacre Committed by
them, When Fort William Henry fell into the Hands of the
French under GeneraT—Montcalm, in the Year 1757. Written by
Himself (1757), in SamuéT'GZ Drake, ed., Tragedies of the
Wilderness. Boston: Samuel G. Drake, 1841. Hereafter
oifed as Drake.

 

209

Eastburn, Robert. A Faithful Narrative,_of the many Dangers and
Sufferings, as h6117as wonderful Deliverances of Rabert
Eastburn, durihg his late Captivity amongrthe Indidhs:
Iagether with some—Remarks gpon the Country_of7Canada, and
thdiReligion,,ihe Policy di'its Inhabitants: the whale
intermixed’with7devout(Reflectibns (1758),7in7Captive.

Fowler, Mary. Narrative (1749), in Drake.
Henry, Alexander. Travels and Adventures in Canada and the Indian

Territories Between the Years 1760 and 1776 (1809). Mackinac
Is1and: Mackinac Island State Park Commission, 1966.

 

How, Nehemiah. A Narrative of the Captivit of Nehemiah How in
1747-1748 (1748). CTeveTand: Burrows Brothérs, 1904}

Howe, Jemima. The Captivity and Sufferings of Mrs. Jemima Howe,
taken_prisoner by the Indians at Bridgman's Fort,—ih the
present town of Vernon,Vermonf(1755), in Francis Chase,
ed., Gathered Sketches irom the Early History of New
Hampshire and Vermont. (Claremont, New Hampshire: Tracy,
Kenney, and Co.,71856.

M'Coy, Isabella. The Captivity of Mrs. Isabella M'Coy, of Epsom,
New Hampshire (17471, in ChaseT§"ChtherediSketdhes.

 

M'Cullough, John. A Narrative of the Captivity of John M'Cullough,
gag. (ca. 1764), in Ardhibald Louddn, ed., A Selection, 0?
Some of the Most Interesting Narratives, of Ohtrages Com-
mitted by the Indians, in their Wars, with the White PeopJe.
2“voTs. Carlisle, PennsyTVania: (Archiba1d7Loudon, 1808-
1811. Hereafter cited as Loudon.

Marrant, John. A Narrative of the Lord's wonderful Dealings with
John Marrant, a Black,r(Now Gone to Preach the Gospe17in
Nova-Scotia) Born in New York, in North—America, Taken down
from his own Relation, arran ed, correctedj'and published
by_the Revi7Mr.7A1dhidge (1 5), Th Captive.

 

Morris, Captain Thomas. The_Journal of Captain Thomas Morris, in
his Miscellanies in Prose and Verse (1791). Ann Arbor:
Univer§ity Microfilms:_1966.

Noble, Frances. Narrative of the Captivity of Frances Noble, Who was,
among others, Taken by the Indians from Swan Island, inTMaine,
About the Year—1755; CompiTéd by Johh Kélly,_Esq,_0f Concord,
New Hampshire, from the minutes and Memoranda oi Phinehas
Merrill, Esq. of Stratham, in the same state, and by the
former GeniTeman Communicated for Publication to the Editors
githehistoricalCollections of’New Hampshire (1768), in

ra e.

 

 

 

210

Seaver, James E. A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison, Who
was taken by the Indians, in the Year 1755, When only about
twelve years of age, And has continued to reside amongat
them to the present time (1824). Canandaigua, New York:
American Scenic and Historical Preservation Society, 1953.
Hereafter cited as Jemison.

 

Smith, Colonel James. An Account of the Remarkable Occurrences in the
Life and Travels of Col. James Smith during his Captivity with
the Indians, in the Yearsil755-l759 (1799). Cincinnati:
Robert Clarke Co., 1907.

 

Stark, General John. Anecdotes from the Life of General Stark (1748),
in Chase's Gathered’Sketches.

 

Stewart, Captain Isaac. The Narrative of the Adventures of Captain
Isaac Stewart; Taken from his own mouth, in MarEh, 1782, in

Captive.

Williamson, Peter. The Sufferings of Peter Williamson, One of the
Settlers in the Back Parts of Pennsylvania. Written by
Himself (1757), in Captive.

The American Revolution,,l775-
1783: Chapter III

 

[Anonymous.] An Account of the Dreadful Devastation of the Wyoming
Settlements, in July 1778, in Captive.

 

[Bozarth, Experience. .2 __gnal Prowess of a Woman, in a Combat with
Some Indians 1779), in Captive

Brackenridge, Hugh Henry, ed., Narratives of the Perils and Suffer-
ings of Dr. Knight and John Slover, Among the Indians, During
the Revolutionary War, With short Memoirs of Col. Crawford
and John Slover, and a Letter from H. Brackenridge, on the
Rights of the Indiansi(1783). Cincinnati:—_U. P. James,
Publisher, 1867.

 

 

Brice, James R. History of the Revolutionary War (1839). Pennsyl-
vania: n.p., 183977

Corbly, John. The Sufferi 1ngs of the Rev. John Corbly and Family from
the Indians. Related in a Letter to the Rev. Wm. Ro oers,
Late Pastor of the Baptist Church in Phi1ada1phia'(1
in Captive.

Heckewelder, Miss. Narrative (ca. 1781), in John Frost, ed., Pioneer
Mothers of the West. Boston: Lee and Shephard, 1869. Here-
after cited as Frost.

211

Jeffries, Ewel. A Short Biography of John Leeth, With an Account of
his Life Among the Indians (1831). Cieveland: Burrows
Brothers, 1904.

 

Jemison, Mary. Narrative (1824).

Manheim, Frederic. The Affecting Histor of the Dreadful Distresses
of Frederic Manheimfls Family (1 79), in Captive.

[Morgan, David.] The Remarkable Encounter of a White Man with Two
Indians (ca. 1779), in Captive.

Scott, Frances. A Narrative of the Captivity and Escape of Mrs.
Frances Scott, an Inhabitant 0f Washington County, Virginia
(1785), iniLohdon.

Van Campen, Major Moses. The Memoirs of Major Moses Van Campen
(1778), in Drimmer.

Walton, William, ed. A Narrative of the Captivity and Sufferings of
Benjamin Gilbert and his Family (Ea. 1782). Lancaster,
PennsyTvania: n.p., 1890.

Late Eighteenth Century:
Chapter IV

Baldwin, Thomas. The Narrative of the Massacre, by the Savages, of
the Wife andiChderen oi Thomas Baldwin. New York: Martin
and Perry,1836.

Barry, Thomas. The Singular Adventures and Captivity of Thomas Barry
among_the Mon_jpi Indians, in the Unexplored Regions of North
America. London: Somers-Town Printing Office,71802.

Brown, Jane. The Narrative of the Captivity of Jane Brown and her
Family (ca77179O), in Frost.

Bunn, Matthew. A Journal of the Adventures of Matthew Bunn (1796).
Chicago: Stinahour Press, 1962.

Herbeson, Massy. An Account of the Sufferings of Massy Herbeson and
her Family, Who were Taken Prisonersrpy a party of Indians.
Given on Oath before John Wilkins, Esq,,_0ne of the Justices
of the PeaceidiitheiCommonwealth of Pennsylvaniai(l792),

in Captive.

James, Edwin, ed. The Narratives of the Captivity and Adventures of
John Tanner7(183012 N.p., 1830.

 

212

Johonnot, Jackson. The Remarkable Adventures of Jackson Johonnot, A
Soldier Under General Harmar and General St. Ciair,_Contaih-
ing an Account of his Captivity, Sufferings, and Escape
from the Kickappoo Indians (1791), in Captive.

Johnston, Charles. A Narrative of the Incidents Attending The Cap-
ture,rDetention, and Ransom 0i Charles Johnston, of Botetourt
County,,Virginia, Who Was Made Prisoner by the Indians,_on
the River Ohio, in the Year 1790; Together with an Interesting
Account of the Fate of his Companions, Five in Number, One of
Whom Suffered at the Stake (1827),7in—Captive.

Kinnan, Mary. A True Narrative of the Sufferings of Mary Kinnan, who
was Taken Prisoner by the Shawnee Nation of Indians on the
Thirteenth Day of May, 1791,,and Remained with them till the
Sixteenth—biiAugust,j1794 (1795), in Captive.

St. John Sullivan, Marie, and Tex Shanks, eds. Truthful Hatchet:
Ine Story of William Smalley(ca. 1772-18121} San Antonio:
The Naylor Co., 1966.

Spencer, Rev. 0. M. Indian Captivity: A True Narrative of the
Capture of the Reverend O. M. Spencer by the Indians, in
the Neighbourhood of Cincinnati, WrittenpyHimsali (1835).
New York: Waugh and Mason, 1966.

Nineteenth Century:
Chapter V

Alsop, Richard, ed. The Adventures and Sufferings of John Ro ers
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Clark, Ransom. Narrative (1835), in Drimmer.
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[Hall Sisters.] The Narrative of the Hall Sisters and Philip
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House, E., ed. Sarah Ann Horn's Narrative of her Captivity_Among the
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Jordan, Mrs. Mrs. Jordan's Captivity, Narrated py Herself (1807),
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213

Kelly, Fanny. M Ca tivit Amon the Sioux Indians. Connecticut:
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Lee, Nelson. Three Years Among the Comanches (1859). Norman:
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Thompson, John W. B. Narrative (1836), in Drimmer.

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