NEWBURY, MASSACHUSETTS, 1635-1685:
THE SOCIAL FOUNDATEONS 0F
HARMONY AND CONFLICT.

Dussertation for the Degree of Ph.. D.
MICHSGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
3.68153? LORD GOODMAN
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Newbury, Massachusetts, 1635- 1685: The Social

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ABSTRACT

NEWBURY, MASSACHUSETTS, 1635-1685:
THE SOCIAL FOUNDATIONS OF
HARMONY AND CONFLICT

By

Robert Lord Goodman

This study endeavors to explore the interaction of specific
social relationships and the social goals of harmony, peace, and
cohesion in seventeenth-century Massachusetts. Using Newbury,
Massachusetts as their base, these essays examine the influence of
kinship and friendship differentiation upon the development of the
social structure and the emergence of contention in the town between
1635 and 1685. The spirit of this inquiry is inter-disciplinary,
employing themes and perspectives developed by both historians and
other social scientists. The methodology is simultaneously historical
and sociological. In particular, the kinship and friendship structure
of the town is determined according to network techniques hitherto
employed largely in the social sciences, and the sociometric network,
in turn, is used to analyze the interpersonal patterns of alignment
which lay behind both harmony and contention in the town.

When Newbury was founded in 1635, and for some years there-
after, the townsmen had every reason to expect success in their

attempt to create and maintain a utOpian, cooperative community. They

 

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comprised a moderately homogeneous group, having come to the new world
largely from the same area in southern and southwestern England. Many,
moreover, were already friends and kinsmen, arriving in groups on the
same ships or forming new groups upon settling prior to the creation
of Newbury. With the departure from the town of others from different
areas of England, Newbury remained a fairly tight-knit society of kin
and friends with the potential for both harmony and extensive social
interaction.

But their hopes proved loftier than their abilities. Contro-
versy began to affect the town as early as the 16405 and reached its
epitome during the church split of the 16605 and 16705. Ostensibly
a confrontation between the organicism of the Presbyterian minister,
Thomas Parker, and the majoritarianism of Edward Woodman, this dispute
became cataclysmic because the lines of kinship and friendship dif-
ferentiation, which were only implicit during the earliest years of
the town, hardened and cut across the lines of intellectual disagree-
ment. As a result, personal allegiances reinforced ideological
positions, the assumptions and perspectives brought to the controversy
by each faction became unintelligible to the other, and the dispute
intensified beyond the possibility of compromise.

The same lines of social distinction continued to influence
the pattern of social relationships even after the church split. As
the unified network of the town during its earliest years became
increasingly disintegrated over time, the townsmen who formed the
new groups detached from the rest of the population tended to be the

same townsmen who had opposed the minister during the church quarrel.

Robert Lord Goodman

But there were exceptions. Other forms of vertical and horizontal
differentiation also began to dissect the town, blurring the lines
of kinship and friendship alignments and making a restoration of the
unified social network an impossibility. In effect, these broader
social complications pointed toward the maturation of Newbury into a
society of multi-stranded factions and interest-groups. From this

perspective, Newbury entered the eighteenth century three decades

early.

NEWBURY, MASSACHUSETTS, 1635-1685:
THE SOCIAL FOUNDATIONS OF

HARMONY AND CONFLICT

BY

Robert Lord Goodman

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
fer the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of History

1974

© 1974

ROBERT LORD GOODMAN

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A number of kin and friends, associates and colleagues, were
most patient with this dry and obtuse manuscript, offering many
helpful and valuable criticisms. It is impossible for me to acknowl-
edge all who offered their kind advice. To those I have neglected to
credit, I offer my ap010gies and the assurance that their contribu-
tions are none the less appreciated. My own stubbornness at times
blinded me to a number of their valuable comments, so all errors and
misinterpretations in this study must be attributed entirely to me.

Part of the expenses of this study were defrayed by the
National Science Foundation. The New Jersey Archives, Rutgers Univer-
sity Library, and the Essex Institute all kindly granted permission
to microfilm various of their holdings. John H. Lindenbusch, of the
Long Island Historical Society, allowed me to photograph the trans-
cript of the Newbury Town Book, for which I am particularly grateful.
Mr. and Mrs. Leo Flaherty, of the Massachusetts Archives, proved to
me that research could also be a pleasant social experience as well.
The Congregational Library in Boston was most courteous and helpful,
as were the Boston Public Library, the Michigan State University
Library, the William Clements Library of The University of Michigan,
and the Computer Institute for Social Science Research of Michigan

State University.

ii

1;.

Edward O. Laumann, of The University of Michigan, offered
kind advice in the early stages of this research. Janet Eyster and
Tom Cook, both of the Department of Statistics, Michigan State
University, each extended much assistance to me in my attempts to
deal with several quantitative problems, and Tom Cook wrote a Special
program to calculate two particularly thorny statistical measures.
Peter Levine, of Michigan State University, continually encouraged my
efforts and assisted me in obtaining various ferms of support from
the university.

I should like to thank the Newberry Library for enabling me
to attend its Summer Seminar on The Family in Historical PerSpective
in 1972. Richard J. Jensen and Daniel Scott Smith supervised the
program with illumination and extended many helpful methodological
suggestions.

The assistance of Richard V. Farace, James Danowski, and
William Richards, of the Department of Communications, Michigan
State University, was invaluable to my research. The expertise of
each in the field of communimetrics was offered without hesitation.
I am particularly obliged to Professor Farace, who gave me access to
the network program used to transform the data for this study.

My friends, Larry and Judy Finfer and David Bailey, all of
Michigan State University, and Charles Sorensen, of Grand Valley
State College, all read parts of this study and helped sustain my
spirits when the pressures of a graduate student's life periodically

took their toll. Stuart 0. Stumpf, of Tennessee Technological

iii

'1

'1

University, read the entire manuscript, offering both comments and
encouragement.

Marjorie Gesner and Douglas Miller of Michigan State Univer—
sity read every word of this manuscript and commented on every other
word. Their critical supervision of my efforts, extended patiently
(and possibly painfully), is thoroughly appreciated.

Two friends deserve special acknowledgment, even if my
gratitude cannot be fully expressed. Kenneth A. Lockridge, of The
University of Michigan, has been a constant source of encouragement.
His critical eye, offered freely since the inception of my research,
undoubtedly made this a better study, and his uncanny ability to see
through the ambiguities of historical data has been an inspiration.

My appreciation of the efforts of Robert E. Wall, Jr., of
Sir George Williams University, must inevitably be understated.
Professor Wall was the first to introduce me to the fascination of
colonial America, and he has remained a wise and tolerant mentor
since that time. His comprehensive familiarity with seventeenth-
century America has been shared Openly and Willingly from both near
and far. Throughout the course of my research, his direction has
been as subtle as it has been inspiring, and his approval has been
its own reward.

Finally, without the constant encouragement and support of
my parents and of Kathy, these acknowledgments would not have been

written.

iv

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES .
LIST OF FIGURES
INTRODUCTION
Chapter
I. "Hereafter to be Called Newbury" . .
II. THE KNITTING OF A COMMUNITY
III. "What Unquietness is Amongst Us Already"
IV. "Our Poor Distracted Condition"
V. THE CONSISTENCY OF CHANGE . . .
VI. EPILOGUE: "A Greater Variety of Parties"
APPENDICES

I. ENGLISH ORIGINS OF NEWBURY SETTLERS,
1635’1650 e e e e e e 0

II. INFORMATION ON NETWORK INPUT .

BIBLIOGRAPHY.

Page
vi

viii

10
57
91
116
173

237

247
256

265

Table

I-l.

I-Z.

I-3.

II-le

III-l.

IV-1.

IV-2.
v-1.
(A)
v-1.
(8)
v-2.

V-3.

V-4.

LIST OF TABLES

Page
English Origins of Newbury Settlers,
1635-1650 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Newbury Office Holding, By County of
Prior Residence .' . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Newbury Freeholders, 1635-1650 By County
of Prior Residence . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Bequests to Kin, Newbury Wills, 1635-1681 . . . . . 65

Distribution of Selectman and Commissioner
Positions, 1665-1675 . . . . . . . . . . . 108

Age of Church Members, 1671 . . . . . . . . . 150

Ages of Church Members, 1671 (Parker and
WOodman Groups) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151

Comparative Mean Ages at First Marriage,
Four Towns. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189

Mean Ages at First Marriage, Newbury,
1645-1685 e e e e e e e e e e e o e e e 189

Age at Marriage: Newbury (1645-1685) and
Andover (1650— 1699) . . . . . . . . . . 190

Births Per Marriage. Newbury (1635-1685)
and Dedham (1636-1703) . . . . . . . . . 192

Petition Subscriptions of Church Split
Participants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203

Proportions of Church Split Participants
Signing Petitions, 1654-1677 . . . . . . . . 204

vi

Table Page

V-6. Expected Overlap, Actual Overlap, and Error
Between Petitions, 1654-1677 . . . . . . . . . 206

V-7. Direction of Error . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
V-8. Preportions of Church Split Participants

Signing Petitions, 1654-1677 (Controlling

for Church Split) . . . . . . . . . . . . 208

V-9. Expected and Actual Overlap, 1654-1677
(Controlling fer Church Split) . . . . . . . . 210

V-lO. Error Matrices, 1654-1677 (Controlling for
ChurCh Split) 0 O O O O O O O O O O O O O 212

V-ll. Intensity of Petition Association,
1654-1677 e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e 213

VI-l. Mean Rank-Order of Distance to Parker and
Woodman Groups, Town Leaders, 1635-1685 . . . . . 243

A-II,1. Link and Node Distribution by Time Period . . . . . 257

vii

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure Page

1. Radial and Interlocking Networks and Integratedness
Measures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

2. Map 1: England, ca. 1600-1650 (With Original
Residences of Newbury Settlers Emphasized) . . . . 255

viii

'..r

INTRODUCTION

In recent years, early American historians have recognized
the New England town as a fruitful medium for the study of colonial
American society. The intensive study of individuals and collective
life at the nearly anonymous, everyday level offers to provide a con-
crete foundation on which broader generalizations about social change
and social development can rest. Accordingly, students of colonial
American society have increasingly undertaken examinations of early
towns and villages in a collective attempt to understand social life
in the seventeenth century.

Although these studies have often raised two questions for
every one answered, certain generalizations can be inferred from
the threads already woven. Specifically, a common subject in these
essays is the unity or cohesion of society in the early days of
American settlement. Each study proposes a slightly different ex-
planation of this social phenomenon, but all agree that the New
England town was created with certain organic norms firmly emplanted

in the minds of its founders.1

 

1Likewise, most of these studies agree that these norms
proved impossible to translate into sustained, long-term behavior.

 

 

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These norms were well articulated in the social thought of
the early settlers. Called "WinthrOpian Ideals" by one historian,
they envisioned a harmonious, cooperative, voluntary, and Godly society
which existed by the grace and for the glory of God. Social hierarchy
was explicit in this scheme. Each man had his place and his calling.
If men acted according to the dictates of their ranks, society would
function smoothly and the good of the whole would be served. Mortal
responsibility did not end here, for society was to be a covenanted
institution and, hence, a volitional and consensual organization of
men under contract with God and with one another to c00perate in the
pursuit of the proper social ends. If men lived in peace with each
other and in due respect of God's appointed authorities--in short,
if men obeyed the terms of their covenants-~the entire society would
continue to seek the common welfare and all would prOSper.2

Complementing these articulated goals were tradition and
custom. The Puritan who settled New England was still an Englishman,
and much of the normative baggage he transported across the Atlantic

had been packed in England.3

The "Christian Utopian Closed Corporate
Communalism" that describes Dedham and other New England villages was

only in part an offshoot of Puritan perfectionism. It was also a

 

2Virtually all recent studies of early New England social
life touch on these values. See the discussion of these ideas in
Chapter I, 13-20, and the accompanying notes.

3Perry Miller and Thomas H. Johnson, eds., The Puritans:
A Sourcebook of Their Writin 3, Revised ed., Torchbodk ed. (2 vols.;
new York: Harper and—Row, P lishers, 1963), I, 7; Summer C. Powell,
Puritan Village: The Formation of a New England Town, Anchor Books
(New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 19 5), xv-xix; and Darrett B.
Rutman, American Puritanism: Faith and Practice (Philadelphia: J. B.
LippincottFCompany, 1975):_7:Bandipassim.

 

 

 

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nostalgic evocation of the ideals of a peasant existence not so far
distant as to be forgotten.4 To the extent that tradition was handed
down from generation to generation, moreover, the culture of the
early migrants was postfigurative. In Stuart England and in the city
or colony upon the hill, social education, occupational training, and
even the rights to recognized adulthood were vested in the hands of
parents who reared their children as they, themselves, had been
raised.5
Together, these articulated norms and customs constituted part

of the cultural milieu of the seventeenth-century New England settler,

 

4Kenneth A. Lockridge, A New En land Town: The First Hundred
Years (New York: W. W. Norton and Co., Inc., 1970), 16-22. See
also his "Social Change and the Meaning of the American Revolution,"
Journal of Social Histo , VI (1973), 421-22.

For a different understanding of Lockridge's argument, see
James A. Henretta, "The Morphology of New England Society in the
Colonial Period," Journal of Interdisciplinary History, II (1971-72),
380-82. I am not so sure as Henretta seems to be that Lockridge
intended to portray the New England town as a peasant village re-
incarnated. Rather, I understand Lockridge's use of the term to be
partly metaphorical and partly descriptive of the characteristics of
local society. In the light of the disruptions in early seventeenth-
century England-~which was not a peasant society--the peasant life
of the past may well have been remembered as "the good old days." To
this extent, then, Puritanism was a traditionalist movement and part
of what seems to be a never-ending "quest for community" as a
solution fer contemporary problems.

5See, fer example, Peter Laslett, The Werld We Have Lost:
England befbre the Industrial Agg_(New York: *Charles Scribner's
Sons, 1965); Philip J. Greven, Jr., Four Generations: Population,
Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, MassaChusetts, paperbound ed.
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970); Bernard Bailyn, Education
in the Forming of American Society: Needs and Opportunities or
Study, paperbound ed. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1960); John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family Life 31
P1 uth Colon , paperbound ed. (New York: Oxfbrd University Press,
19;0); Edmund S. Morgan, The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic
Relations in Seventeenth-Century New En land, Revised, Torchbook ed.
(New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1 6); and Margaret Mead,
Culture and Commitment: A Study of the Generation Gap_(New York:
Dodbleday and Company, Inc., 1970), all passim.

and they combined to foster a social outlook which encouraged a har-
monious, interrelated, and peaceful community. They were complemented
by the environment of life in colonial times. On the one hand, the
absence of any serious divisive agent spared the settlers from the
need to Oppose the general consensus almost until the next century.6
In the peasant-style villages of both England and the New World,
moreover, a pervasive population homogeneity helped to make life har-
monious and relatively peaceful.7 The concern for peace and consensus
continued on in many towns well into the eighteenth century, when the
central government's inability to coerce the population made towns all
the more concerned to maintain the harmony they had always sought.8
But at the same time, disharmony was also present, implicitly,
from the first settlement. The overriding similarities of the popula-
tion could not entirely obscure differences among persons. The kernel
of differentiation, in fact, had been imported with the first voyages
across the Atlantic. Once in Massachusetts, former habits and ways of
life were not forgotten. Compromise Spared neither Sudbury nor Hingham

nor Salem dissention befbre 1650.9 As new towns matured, moreover,

 

6Timothy H. Breen and Stephen Foster, "The Puritans' Greatest
Achievement: A Study of Social Cohesion in Seventeenth-Century
Massachusetts," Journal of American History, XL (1973), 5-22.

7Lockridge, A New England Town, 16-22.
a

 

 

 

Michael Zuckerman, Peaceable Kin doms: New En land Towns
in the Eighteenth Century_(New York: Ridden HEuse, , 10-45.
9

Powell, Puritan Village; John J. Waters, "Hingham, Massa-
chusetts, 1631-1661: An East Anglian Oligarchy in the New World,"
Journal of Social History, I (1968), 351-70; Richard Peter Gildrie,
"SaIem, I326-l668: History of a Covenanted Community" (unpublished
Ph.D. dissertation, University of Virginia, 1971).

 

divergent needs and interests began to create identifiable subgroups
within the society.10 Throughout the Bay Colony, the results were
similar--the forces for social coherence had constantly to wage,
almost in Manichean terms, an endless and futile struggle against the
forces of social division.

Differentiation was a powerful influence in the "unknitting"
of Massachusetts society. By the heyday of the "Peaceable Kingdoms"
of'Michael Zuckerman, the entire fabric of New England life had changed
in subtle ways. Harmony remained the goal of the settlers, to be sure,
yet the context and methods of their quest were no longer the same.
The cooperation and compromise that had characterized the seventeenth-
century town was gone. They were replaced by the quest fer accommoda-
tion of divergent interests in a fashion that would be more familiar
to the writers of the Constitution than to the spokesmen for the city
upon a hill.

But differentiation is a dangerous term and even more dangerous
a concept. As employed by most students of early American society, it
is used with reference to class, interest, occupation, or neighborhood.
This is not to say that these are misappropriations of the word, for
differentiation does extend its meaning in these directions. But the
danger is that it will become confined to vertical discrimination
alone, narrowing its meaning more than academic license will allow.

Like "deference," differentiation acquires its significance

only when it is recognized explicitly or implicitly. It is a

 

10For example, Darrett B. Rutman, Winthropfs Boston: A

Portrait of a New En land Town, paperbound ed. (New York} W. W.
Norton and Company, Inc., I972), 135-63.

 

subjective attribute of society, only becoming an effective discrimin-
ator of persons when the society acknowledges in some way that social
dissimilarities actually make a difference. It does not, however,
need to be socio-economic distinctions that define the limits of
social differentiation. It may well be an implicit, psychological
dimension that defines the perceived social differences.

This study attempts to explore some of these potential,
psychological discriminators. Specifically, it focuses on the in-
fluence kinship and friendship exerted in the process of social
differentiation occurring in Newbury, Massachusetts between 1635 and
1685. The dates are artifacts of the time when this study was pointed
in a different direction, but they are not so arbitrary as they might
seem. These essays span the period from the fbunding of the town--
when differentiation was implicit along kinship and friendship lines--
to the time when the second generation of townsmen was beginning to
define the town's pepulation and initiate a new series of kinship and
friendship relations which would rearrange the configuration of a
differentiated society. Accordingly, this study provides a glimpse of
the process of social discrimination among one generation, and suggests,
though only implicitly, that differentiation may well become more ex-
plicit over time, even among the same group of peeple.

Conflict plays an important role in this discussion, for
lines of differentiation by association are nowhere more explicitly
drawn than in situations where interpersonal relationships are ex-
ploited. This is not to deny the subjective realities of the intel-
lectual principles espoused by disputants in these moments of con-

tention. Rather, the focus is on disharmony because, by calling on

 

 

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peeple to identify and seek out their friends and to Spurn their foes,
conflict places in relief various relationships which may not become
revealed otherwise. Cause and effect, however, are impossible to
evaluate. Whether people agreed with one another because they were
friends or whether they were friends because they agreed are questions
as yet unsolved. The important point to remember is simply that there
is a relationship between association and agreement.

Much of this study, furthermore, is based on circumstantial
and probabilistic data. I admit, therefbre, that a certain specula-
tive quality pervades the conclusions presented here. But the fact
that speculation about some of the relationships discussed involves
an ingredient of chance does not make this study any more arbitrary
than a more conventional historiographical exploration. The confine-
ment of conclusions to precise statements for which unambiguous
documentation exists is no less an act of faith, for the student who
sends imagination to the rear and remains firmly bound to "the
sources" alone can reproduce only what the ravages of time and the
whims of the recorder permit him to see. I am convinced that his-
torical research can lead to understanding only when the historian
takes the liberty to deve10p those perceptions which frequently are
rooted in his impressions and his innate understanding of his subject.

Accordingly, this inquiry proceeds from a number of assump-
tions about the applicability of modern social science to pre-modern
society. The justification for my use of inter-disciplinary scholar-
ship is scattered throughout the text and notes of this study. For

the present, I am satisfied that, within limits, the results presented

 

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here will stand on their own in conformation of the assumptions I have
made en route.

Finally, the subject of these essays is not overly difficult
to understand. But this is by no means an easy study to read. Al-
though the terms are readily comprehendible, the methodology is not
so self-explanatory. To some, my use of unfamiliar data to support
the generalizations of this study may seem strange, for both the data
and the generalizations are based on social science concepts seldom
used fer historiographical purposes. Admittedly, this combination
makes for occasional dull and pedantic reading. I have chosen this
organization for several reasons, not the least important of which
is my desire to employ the methodology in a fashion that makes its
logic readily apparent and its replication by others directly possible.
Hopefully, the advantages to be gained from this approach will balance
the more obvious disadvantages. Whatever the case, however, this
study is not designed for casual reading.

Dates in the text of this dissertation have been left in Old
Style, except the year has been treated as beginning on January 1.
Reference to the Town Records has been recorded by the date of entry
because of the availability of transcripts. A list of frequently
used abbreviations follows:

Coffin . . . . . Joshua Coffin, A Sketch of the HiStory of

Newbury, Newbu rt, and West Newbu
rein to

    

 

 

Mass. Archs. . . . Massachusetts Archives.

NEHGR . . . . . New England Historical and Genealogical
Register.

 

Prop. Recs. . . . Preprietors Records.

99R . . . . . . George F. Dow, ed., The Records and Files
of the Quarterl Courts of Essex County,
Missachusetts (Saiem: The Essex Insfitute,
1 ll- 1 .

 

 

 

Shurtleff . . . . Nathaniel B. Shurtleff, ed., Records of the
Governor and Company of the Massachusetts Bay

in New En land, 5 vols. in 6 (Boston: William
Wh1te, 1853-53).

Town Recs. . . . Town Records (First Town book unless
otherwise noted).

 

 

WMQ . . . . . . William and Mary Quarterly.

CHAPTER I

"Hereafter to be called Newbury"

When "some of the chief of Ipswich" requested liberty "to
remove to Quascacunquen" in 1635, the General Court was quite pre-
pared to grant their petition. To be sure, the Court had already
shown an eagerness to develop the land to the northeast, but more
than a coincidence of desires prompted the grant of the Court. The
petitioners were the right types of Puritan. They included not one
minister, but two. They comprised a balanced group of callings and
stations. They had the active support of other, prominent Massachu-
setts freemen. And, best of all, they already constituted a community

of sorts.

Massachusetts had good reason to encourage settlement in the
area northeast of Boston. DeSpite the General Court's early hesitancy
to see the area developed, both English and foreign challenges con-
vinced the authorities that they would be well advised to extend their
effective jurisdiction as far to the north as possible. On the one
hand, certain influential Englishmen were appealing to the crown to
deprive Massachusetts Bay of her charter. When the Plymouth Company

collapsed, whatever rights it claimed to part of the area fell into

10

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11

the hands of the former governor of the company, Sir Ferdinando
Gorges, and his associates. In the early and middle 1630's, Gorges
and John Mason instituted at least two appeals for the rec0gnition of
their claim to the land and the introduction of royal government in
the colony. To strengthen its own claim to the disputed territory,
the General Court attempted to encourage settlers to take possession
of the good grazing land to the north.1

The Court was able to resist the legal claims of those in
England, even if it had to do so high-handedly. But a second and
potentially more dangerous threat was even more ominous. The French,
already in Canada, had established a military base and a Jesuit
mission on Nova Scotia. Hence, Massachusetts elected to expand its
physical jurisdiction northward, both to establish a claim to the
area and to create outposts against the danger of a French invasion.2
Successful efforts were successfully made to plant a settlement at
Agawam (Ipswich), and, by 1634, the General Court was actively looking

beyond Ipswich toward the Merrimack.3

 

1James Truslow Adams, The Founding of New En ,An Atlantic

Monthly Press Book (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, d921, 1949),
156-58; Thomas Hutchinson, The History of the Colony of Massachusetts-
Ba , ed. by Lawrence S. Mayo (Cambridgé: Harvard Universify Press,

36), I, 29-30; Charles E. Clark, The Eastern Frontier: The Settle-
ment of Northern New md, 1631-1763 (New YorR: Alfréd A. Rfidpf,
1970), p. 19; and John Enl§Currier, History of Newbury, Mass. ., 1635-
1902 (Boston. Damrell r. Upham, 1902),p p. 31-37

 

 

 

2Which Hutchinson (Histogy, I, 28) argues was a fear "not
ill-founded."

3Hutchinson, Histogfi, I, pp. 27-28; Joshua Coffin, A Sketch
of the History of New uryL ewburyport, and West Newbury, from I335
to IBIS (Boston: Samuel G. Drake, lB45), 10-11; and'John Winthrop,
Journal, ed. by James Kendall Hosmer, 2 vols. (New York: Charles
Scribner' 5 Sons, 1908), I, pp. 97- 98.

12

At least two fruitless attempts were made to attract settlers
to the area. At one time, the southern bank of the Merrimack had been
granted to a group of Scottish Presbyterians, whose letters of inquiry
were answered by the General Court with encouragements to settle and
assurances that they would be able to practice their religion without
interference. Hopes of a Scottish settlement were dashed, however.
When the ships tranSporting the Presbyterians were forced to turn back
in mid-Atlantic,4 the Court turned to other groups. In May, 1634,
several inhabitants of Newtown complained of a shortage of land and
sought liberty to expand or to remove. The Court responded by grant-
ing them liberty to remove to any other place within the patent, and
encouraged them to consider the Merrimack area. Newtown went so far
as to depute agents to the river before the town decided that Connec-
ticut held out greater promise.S By 1635, then, the area between
Ipswich and the Merrimack River remained an undeveloped stretch of
land, only occasionally visited by transient fishermen and ware-
keepers plying their callings.

When, therefore, a new group expressed its interest in set-
tling along the Merrimack in 1635, the Court was eager to grant the
request. But, to whom? Although the magistrates wanted to deve10p
the area, the simple request of a collection of families to dwell
there was not a sufficient reason for the Court to accede to their

wishes. The quality of these families was equally important. As

 

4Coffin, History of Newbury, pp. 12-13.

 

Swinthrop, Journal, I, pp. 124, 126, 133.

13

early as 1630, the General Court had asserted its right to pass judg-
ment on those who desired admission to its jurisdiction. Three years
later, when concern had already been expressed about the safety of the
northern boundaries of the colony, the General Court had reaffirmed
this right. In April, 1633, after several families had already settled
at Agawam, the Court fbrbade all subsequent habitation there without
its expressed approval.6 Its concern was not that settlement had
occurred, for among those who had removed to Agawam was John Winthrop,
Jr. Rather, the Court was determined that if Agawam were to be a town,
it would be inhabited only by the right kind of family.

The restriction of settlement to approved candidates repre-
sented, in part, an attempt to ensure that Massachusetts would be, as
towns and as a colony, a pure society. The General Court sought to
make certain that the local settlements would be run by godly men.
Because Federal Theology, traditional ways of life, and medieval social
theory all combined to make inevitable settlement on a town basis,
practically dictated that the Court, at least in these early years,
maintain some form of control over those who would develop new areas.
As a matter of course, the process of developing the land would become
a process of supervised town planting, dependent upon the availability
of godly people to constitute thoSe towns.

But it was not exclusively a question of finding good people
willing to commit their energies to a new settlement. The community

was to be more than a collection of faithful souls gathered fer the

 

6Nathaniel B. Shurtleff, ed., Records of the Governor and
Co any of the Massachusetts Bay in New En Iand, 5 vols. in 6
Boston: William White, 1853-54), I, pp. , 03.

 

 

l4

glory of God. It was also to be a home, an agency of local administra-
tion, and, indeed, a geographic organization of people into a coherent
and productive unit. When the Court asserted its right to supervise
the character of the settlers of new towns, it took partially unto
itself the responsibility to ensure that the towns would prove to be
capable of performing their expected, secular functions as well.7 In
providing for the settlement of Newbury, as it did at so many other
times, the General Court reserved for itself the right "to take order
that the said plantation shall receive a sufficient company of people
to make a competent town."8
The Court never defined these terms. "Sufficient company," and
"competent town," are vague phrases, perhaps intentionally employed to
preserve the options at the disposal of the Court. At times the in-
tention was clear: the standard was set with reference to numbers. A
town needed an adequate population size if it were to function in the
ancitipated manner. But the Court recognized that numbers alone did
not ensure that the town would perform successfu11y. Consciously, the
Court recognized that insufficient size was not the only cause of
communal failure. Fundamental to the survival of any community was

the harmony and unity of its inhabitants, recognized by the

 

7George Lee Haskins, Law and Authorit in Early Massachusetts:
A Study in Tradition and Desig2_(New Yoik: e MacMillan_Company,
1960), pp. 66-75; Melville Egleston, The Land System of the New
En land Colonies, Vol. IV of Studies in Historical and Political
Sc1ence (Baltimore: John Hopkins University, 1856), pp. 27-35; and
Edward Channing, Town and County Government in the En lish Colonies
of North America, Vol. II of Studies in Historical an Political
Science (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UniverSity, lBBd), p. 11.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8Shurtleff, I, 146.

:r'

a ...

15

seventeenth century to be the necessary component of human organiza-

tion. "To do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God,"

John Winthrop argued,
we must be knit together in this work as one man, we must
entertain each other in brotherly affection, we must be
willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the
supply of others necessities, we must uphold a familiar
commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, patience and
liberality, we must delight in each other, make others
conditions our own [,] rejoice together, mourn together, labor,
and suffer together, always having before our eyes our
commission and community in the work . . . [810 shall we keep
the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace .

In a word, Winthrop recognized that cooperation among all the
inhabitants would be necessary if his hopes of harmony and unity were
to be realized. If Massachusetts were thus constructed, she would
continue to earn God's approbation, and His children would thrive
together in single-minded dedication. But cooperation was an act of
personal commitment, and continuing cooperation required a continual
reaffirmation of consent. As an act of volition, the agreement to
cooperate was beyond the competence of a Specific legislative act.
Political or social theorists may have assumed consent to be the
basis of the Commonwealth,10 but no amount of theory could have

guaranteed the subordination of the individual to the common good in

fact.

 

9"A Model of Christian Charity," in The Puritans: A Sourcehood

of Their Writin 5, Harper Torchbooks, ed. by_Perry Miller and Thomas H.
Johnson (2Fvols.; New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1963), p. 198.
An example of the normative application of these precepts can be found
in Kenneth Lockridge's discussion of the Dedham covenant, A New

En land Town: The First Hundred Years (New York: W. W. Norton 8

ompany, Inc.,11970), pp. 4-B, passim.

10See, for example, Winthrop's "Defense of An Order of Court
Made in the Year 1637," in The Puritans, ed. by Miller and Johnson,
pp. 199-202, esp. 200.

 

 

 

 

l”

 

16

A secular adaptation of Federal Theology, it was thought,
would provide fer this cooperation. If society were founded on the
same voluntary basis as the church--and the Puritan never doubted
this--then the covenant which established the church could be converted
to civil purposes.11 80 it seemed in Dedham, at any rate. Embodying,
as Kenneth Lockridge notes, a "coherent social vision," the Dedham
covenant illustrates how this federalism was applied to social organ-
ization in order to inculcate personnel and perpetual cooperation.
Signatories agreed to live by the rule of brotherly love; to weed out
of the community all who threatened the harmony of the group; to re-
solve interpersonal difficulties as peacefully as possible; and to
share equally in the expenses and responsibilities of the town. "And
for the better manifestation of our true resolution herein," the
agreement concluded, every new inhabitant of the town was required to
own the covenant as well, "thereby obliging both himself and his
successors after him for ever, as we have done."12 Newbury had its
covenant, although the original document has not survived. Like

Dedham, the town expected new admissions also to own the substance

 

11See the extended discussions in Perry Miller, The New

En land Mind: The Seventeenth Century (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961
II539, I953I5, pp. 391- 331; Miller and Johnson, The Puritans, 181- 94;
Perry Miller, "The Marrow of Puritan Divinity," in idem. , Errand
into the Wilderness (Cambridge, Mass. Harvard University Press,
193445, 48-95, eSp. 90; Perry Miller, Orthodo in Massachusetts,
1630-1650 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1959 I 193 iii, 169-70; and assim;
Edam dS .Morgan, The Puritan Family: Relagion 5 Domestic Relations

in Seventeenth-Century New England (rev 6 New York: Harper and
Row, PuBIishers, 1966 [1944]), 6:12.

 

 

12Lockridge, New England Town, 4-7.

 

17

of the agreement.13 So long as the social perfectionism which motivated
the early settlers was shared by the newcomers, the covenant would hope-
fully provide the basis for continuing, voluntary, social collaboration.
But if zeal faded, the written covenant was more than a piece
of paper undergirded only by moral obligation. Because it was a con-
tractual promise, whether implicit or explicit, obedience to its terms
became legally enfOrceable. If idealism waned and failed to secure
on-going commitments, if the individual "forgot" his duties to man and
to God, the civil and religious authorities had a responsibility to
remind him, gently if his dereliction were the result of man's natural
imperfections, or otherwise if he compounded his transgression with
contumacy. Established practices and the National Covenant between
God and MassaChusetts invested the magistrates and the clergy with an

obligation to act when any covenant was neglected.14

The magistrate's
responsibility to enforce Winthrop's "civil liberty" demanded no
less.15 From this perspective, the extent to which this duty was per-
formed is not important. What must be emphasized, however, is the

intensity with which the Puritan expected that the covenant could be

used as the physical bond of society.

 

135cc, for example, the 1637 individual statements of Abraham

Toppan, Richard Singletary et al., certifying their agreement to abide
by all decisions and orders of the town as a condition of their
admissions, Town Recs. Book 1.

14Cf., note 11. See also, Haskins, Law and Authority, 43-52,
and assim. Specific instances where the local covenant was enforced
will e ound below in the context of individual events.

 

15WinthrOp, "Speech to the General Court, July 3, 1645,"
in Miller and Johnson, The Puritans, 206-7.

 

q
u

r .

0'1

18

The intervention of the authorities would have been an extreme
measure, for the Puritan was well aware that man's moral condition
made him virtually unable to keep the terms of his agreement. Accord-
ingly, he recognized the necessity to allow his neighbor a degree of
latitude. The optimism which accompanied his idealism was tempered
by the realism of his worldly existence. To the Puritan, the universe
was an ordered and rational construction, divine in origin. But he
also recognized that objective and subjective realities did not always
correspond one to another. Admitting the weaknesses of human reason,
and its tendencies to succumb to human passion,16 the Puritan, along
with many of his contemporaries, implicitly realized that it would
take more than a covenant to bind a community together harmoniously.
The genius of Puritan communal thought lay, at least in part, in its
frank acknowledgment that a successful community required more than a
man's word that he would support the common good, even if that man
were Christian in appearance.

Other things being equal, then, the Puritan could ill-afford
to be overconfident. Adam had proved incapable of keeping his agree-
ment with God. How could his post—lapsarian descendant do otherwise
in his relations with other men? Neither his memories of life in

England nor the news he heard from abroad gave the Puritan any

 

16Miller, New En land Mind: The Seventeenth Centu , 111-235,
esp. chs. VIII and Ti; Morgan, Puritan Family, 12-1 , ; arrett B.
Rutman, American Puritanism: Faith and Practice, Pilotbooks
(Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 1970), 52-57; Stephen
Foster, Their Solitary Way: The Puritan Social Ethic in the First
Century 3?:Settlement in New England (New Haven: YaIe University
Press, 1971), 11-40, and assim. For a broader context, see E. M. W.
Tillyard, The Elizabethan Worl Picture, Vintage Books (New York:
Random House, n.d.), passim.

 

r-

 

 

19

assurances that men, as men, could cooPerate for the sake of coopera-
tion. Reflecting for a moment on New England, he could see that even
the City upon a Hill contained its share of the reprobate. So long
as the magistracy was pure and continued to enforce God's ways,
threats to local unity could be eliminated by official sanction.17
But this would have been a poor alternative. Society might be held
together by dint of authority, but it could be knit together only
through voluntary c00peration.

The covenant, therefbre, embodied only ideal standards. It
was not necessarily a working model of the good society. Submission
of the individual to it did not guarantee that the ideal and the real
would even coincide. Nevertheless, covenants continued to be signed
or renewed, even when they had become perfunctory, formal exercises.
Their repeated use testified to the Puritan's expectation that the
covenant could work. He anticipated success because he could imagine

no other basis of social organization, because voluntary consent was

part of the only Weltanschauung he had ever known, because he could

 

not imagine the covenant not working.

He could be optimistic, for his application of the covenant
was grounded in the social potential of the godly society. Buried
beneath the language of the agreement was the unwritten but normative
standard of compatibility, now finally applicable in social organiza-
tion. The desire to preserve a unified and peaceful community rested

on the assumption that settlers and newcomers alike would be able to

 

17Cf., fer example, Miller and Johnson, The Puritans, 191-92.

 

20

show their compatibility with the covenant and with each other before
they could join the mutual fellowship of the town. Like the
seventeenth-century church, which sought evidence that the pr05pec-
tive member was judged favorably by God, the Puritan town sought to
determine that the individual would be judged favorably with reference
to his agreement with his fellow inhabitants. It is no coincidence
that many a town, within one or two years of its settlement, asserted
the right to regulate the admission of new members into its frater—
nity.18 When Newbury, in 1637, voted that its freemen would have the
sole power to admit new inhabitants,19 the town was acting to provide

that those whom it accepted would be both pure and compatible.20

 

18See David Flaherty, Privacy in Colonial New En land (Char-
lottesville: University Press of Virginia, 19 , pp. - 5.
Restriction was begun almost immediately at Dedham. See Lockridge,

New England Town, 8.

19Town Recs., Book I. See, also, the letter written by

Edward Rawson to John Winthrop, February 7, 1939, in Massachusetts
Historical Society, The Winthro Pa ers (5 vols.; Boston: Massachu-
setts Historical Society, 1929-5947;, IV (1944), 97-98.

20In the established towns, the admission of new members became
a procedural matter. The responsible agency, whether freemen, town
meeting, or selectmen, evaluated the individual merits of each new
applicant in terms only of the probability that he would prove com-
patible. What is important to emphasize is the insufficiency of the
newcomer's expression of desire to join the community as the exclusive
criterion of admission.

How long this conscious process continued to regulate ad-
missions to the town is unknown. The extant evidence, indeed, pro-
vides only few clues. As noted above (p. 16, and note 13), candidates
were required to affirm their willingness to abide by town orders.
Virtually all of the remaining statements are dated prior to 1640.
Moreover, none of the pertinent deeds of sale which I have seen are
at all conditional upon admission into the town. Nor did the town at
any subsequent time reassert its right to evaluate new members.

Beyond the logical questions posed by the above assertions,
however, other, indirect indications suggest that the town's claim
to judge admissions was not abandoned. Edward Rawson's letter to

(‘1

 

 

 

 

21

But how could the settlers of a new town be so careful? How
were they able to apply such a formalized procedure to the application
of potential colleagues? Dedham might have been able to take whatever
time was necessary to find the best combination of pillars and members

for its new church,21

but no group of settlers could permit the
development of their town to extend over such a lengthy period. Insti-
tutions and relationships had to be created at the outset, and settlers
had but a few months in which to erect their houses and harvest the
crOp that would feed their families the next winter. Practical con-

cerns meant that necessary activities could not be postponed while the

community carefully chose its members.

 

John Winthrop (note 19) is quite explicit that individuals did purchase
land befbre they were admitted to the town. Moreover, as late as the
16605, 16705, and 16805, the town took care to ensure that certain
"undesirables" either did not remain in the town or else were placed
in the custody of specific inhabitants, some of whom were bonded to
guarantee that the individual would be no burden upon the town. Even
more suggestive is the practice of WOodbridge, East Jersey, a town
settled largely by Newbury families, where, from the 16605 to the
16805, the town continued to vote on the admission of individuals, many
of whom had already purchased land within the town. These deeds, also,
contained no terms making the completion of the sale contingent upon
admission.

There is no reason to believe that the town abandoned the right
to control its membership. Indeed, evidence from New England towns in
the eighteenth century suggests that the practice was continued with-
out interruption. In Kent, Connecticut, for example, the town in-
sisted, even up to the Revolution, that "undesirables" would be warned
out. (Charles S. Grant, Democracy in the Connecticut Frontier wan
of Kent [New York: Columbia University Press, 1961], 93.) In a more
generaIized fashion, Michael Zuckerman has chronicled the almost
universal application of the right of control in eighteenth-century
Massachusetts towns. (Peaceable Kin doms: New En land Towns in the

Hi teenth Centur , Vintage 0 s ew York: *Ran om House, 1972
l , l - , and passim.)

2101a Elizabeth Winslow, Meetin house Hill, 1630-1783, The
Nerton Library (New York: W. W. Norton 8 Company, Inc., 1972 [1952]),
37-49; Lockridge, New En land Town, 24-30; and Kenneth A. Lockridge,
"The History of a Pur1tan urc ,' N29, XL (1967), 401-408.

 

22

Many towns, however, did not face this source of potential dis-
organization. Unity was inculcated within the group, and the inhabi-
tants were able successfully to implement the utOpian communitarianism
sought by both General Court and settler alike. The Puritan theorist
would have attributed this success to the covenant which bound everyone
willingly to the well-being of the town. But, in practical terms, it
was the result of a c00perative spirit which antedated the settlement.
Post-incorporation attempts to ensure the quality and compatibility of
newcomers to the town make clear that the town was a c00perative
organism at the outset, for post-settlement controls would otherwise
have been vain exercises of exclusivism. The covenant only served to
highlight the desired agreement of theory and reality. Communities
proved competent units, not because strangers agreed among themselves
to join hands, but, in fact, because the settlers were probably not
strangers to one another and because the agreements to cooperate were
implicit well before the decision was made to found a new town.

Indeed, towns were successfully planted precisely because the
gathering of families into a cooperative body was not a random process.
Even to the spatially mobile population of the seventeenth century,
absolute freedom of association was unthinkable. Those who settled
Newbury, and in all likelihood those who settled other towns as well,
were able to ferm a coherent organism because they did not have to rely
on the covenant alone as the foundation of their cooperation and com-
patibility. Events preliminary to the creation of the town suggest
very strongly that they formed a community of sorts before they formed

a settlement.

 

.r.

 

 

23

The origins of this fellowship may not be found in New England.
To discover the "glue" that gave coherence to individual families, it
is necessary to inquire into the experiences of these settlers even
before they decided, either individually or as groups, to participate
in the feunding of a new society. With the exception of Sumner C.

22 and a handful of general essays

Powell's excellent study of Sudbury
on migration,23 most treatments of early Massachusetts towns have
ignored this aspect of the settlement process or else given it only
casual attention. Yet, if Newbury is at all "representative," the
early settlements cannot fully be understood without at least a partial
examination of the English backgrounds of these settlers.

Although extensive work in English sources has not been
attempted, it is clear that the migration to Newbury was strongly in-
fluenced by the English origins of the earliest settlers of the town.
Admittedly, many questions remain unanswered, for the kinds of in-
formation needed are not the kinds of infermation which find their way
into very many of the documents used by historians. Many of the con-
clusions of this and the next section, therefore, are probabilistic
and conjectural, pending further research which still may not supply

irrefutable evidence.

 

 

22Puritan Vill e: The Formation of a New En land Town,
Anchor Books (New York: oubleday E Company,’lnc., ).
23

For example, see Norman C. P. Tyack, "Migration from East
Anglia to New England before 1660" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation,
University of London, 1951); Carl Bridenbaugh, Vexed and Troubled
En lishmen (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968); and T. H.
Breen and Stephen Foster, "Moving to the New World: The Character of
Early Massachusetts Immigration," Egg, 3d Ser., XXX (1973), 189-222.

 

——--——~

"l

L:

If

24

What fellows, accordingly, is largely a study of likelihoods.
Many of the settlers undoubtedly knew one another. But even if no
mutual knowledge existed among the immigrants, there is every reason to
believe they formed a community of Spirit which bound them tOgether in
like-mindedness and helped lessen the hardships of transplantation. And
if they were not consciously organized when separately they left their
homes in England, they had sufficient opportunity to form mutual affil-
iations prior to the settlement of Newbury. These associations, in
turn, helped to make the town an ordered, coherent, and "competent"

plantation.

John Winthrop may well have viewed the question of migration to
the new world in a completely rational manner. He was able to draw up
a balance sheet pro and con, to evaluate it in a calculated fashion,
and to decide upon his course only after debits and credits had been
tallied. His collected "Arguments fer the Plantation of New England"24
suggest that the educated Englishman of the seventeenth century, or at
least the educated Puritan, had a gifted ability to apply perfectly
logical and methodical mental processes to the thorny social problems
of his times. But neither Winthrop nor his balance sheet were very
honest. If rational considerations were all that mattered, then Puri-
tanism should be accounted an insignificant force indeed, for only a
relative handful of families were actually convinced to undertake the

transatlantic passage.

 

24Winthrop Papers, II (1931), 106-49.

 

III

I

J-t

l-l

Id

25

Quite clearly, rational considerations alone were not reSponsible
for an individual's decision to start life over as a settler. Emo-
tional concerns weighed equally as heavy. The village in which the
emigrant lived was not simply a residence. It was a social organism,
embodying the same common concerns and re5ponsibilities that turned
transplanted villages in Massachusetts into unified entities, at least
at the outset. "The more important the common responsibilities of any
community, presumably, the stronger the association between its members,
because each one's interest is engaged,"25 and the greater the diffi-
culty to break the bonds of interpersonal relations. Propaganda
emanating from proponents of settlement in North America may have
described an idyllic new world in contrast to a corrupt and sinful

old,26

but such good news did not help the individual make the very
personal decision to leave behind all that was familiar.

Some segments of society, of course, had less emotional attach-
ment to place. Recent research has, in fact, shown that a sizable
portion of English society was already highly mobile, at least at the
local level. Peter Laslett and John Harrison, for example, found that

the very high rates of population turnover in Clayworth, Notts. between

1676 and 1688 (61.8% of those living in the village in 1688 had arrived

 

25Peter Laslett, The Werld We Have Lost (New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons, 1965), 60. See a150 Alan Everitt's discussion of
"The County Community," in The En lish Revolution, 1600-1660, ed. by
E. W. Ives, Harper Torchbooks (New York:**Harper and Row, Pfiblishers,
1971 [1968]), 48-63.

 

 

26

 

See, for example, Howard Mumford Jones, 0 Stran e New World,
American Culture: The Formative Years (New York: The Viking Press,

 

T968[second printing date]), 162-93?_and Bridenbaugh, Vexed and
Troubled Englishmen, 441-52.

«la

.. k. \ aux \

26

since 1676) and in Cogenhoe, Northampton between 1616 and 1628 (52%
of the population had changed between the two dates) were no more the
result of natural change than of in- and out-migration.27 Even more
to the point, B. E. Rich used.Muster Rolls to determine that the turn-
over rate of pOpulation in certain areas of Surrey was as high as 50
percent over a ten-year period. Data from Visitation Records and Lay
Subsidy Rolls confirmed his conclusion that a significant proportion
of the population had established almost constant migratory patterns
as early as the Sixteenth century.28 Similarly, Julian Cornwall dis-
covered even more detailed evidence of geographic mobility in the
seventeenth century. Using depositions in Archdeacon Court Records
from 1580 to 1640 in an attempt to study actual movements as opposed
to gross turnover, he determined that only 37.5 percent of men over
the age of 20 had lived all or even most of their lives in one parish.29
The use of numbers alone, however, does not permit a true
evaluation of localism. A critical gauge of local attachment is the
distance over which migration occurred. The Laslett and Harrison
study, because it is based on village totals, could only point to
changes in the populations of the towns. Whether migrants came from

or left fer parts near or far, or whether they left and returned, was

 

27"Clayworth and Cogenhoe," in Historical Essays 1600-1750
Presented to David 0 , ed. by H. E. BeIT and R. L. Ollard (London:
Adam and Charles 8 ac , 1963), 157-84, passim.

 

28"The Population of England," Econ. Hist. Rev., 2d Ser., II
(1949-50), 247-65, passim.

 

29"Evidence of Population Mobility in the Seventeenth Century,"
Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research, XL (1967), 143-52,

passim.

27

impossible to establish. 30

Rich, by concentrating on a wider geo-
graphical region, suggested that many moved over large distances,"51
but at the same time he observed that variations in the size of the
hundred, which was the base region of the Muster Rolls, was often
paralleled by a relatively constant shire size.32 This finding at
least implies that migration in general was more characterized by
movements over short distances. Only Cornwall attempted to analyze

the length of migration, and his study supports the conclusion that ii

the average migrant did not move very far. Fully 83 percent of his

“_‘ omVL- ’

mobile group lived in no more than two parishes,” and almost half of
the moves involved distances of less than five miles. Of those
migrating more than once, furthermore, most made only one long move,
and many of these ultimately returned to their areas of origin.
Probably nine out of ten men died within ten miles of their places of
birth. In short, aggregate figures tend to obscure the deep local

° . . 35
1Ol'alues that were felt even within the trans1ent populat1on.

E

soLaslett and Harrison admit this limitation.

31Rich, "P0pulation of England," 260.

321bid., 255.

33Cornwall, "Evidence of Population Mobility," 149 and Table I.

341b1d., 151.

35We do not know the relationship between these local migfants
and the early settlers of New England. Without documentat1on, Rich
argues that the groups which made up the internally trans1ent sector
0f English society were the same groups who migrated to New England
(p. 254). At the same time, he suggests that the transient element
of ”‘9 Population was the laboring class (p. 262). It would follow

28

The presence of wide5pread mobility, then, did not mean that
localism was on the wane. Indeed, if anything, the examination of
papulation movements only supports the assertion that the seventeenth-
century Englishman was tied strongly to the area in which he lived, if
not to the village in which he resided. The region constituted the
arena in which the average Englishman lived most of his life and the
geographic reference point of most of his vital experiences. It was
here that he grew up, feund his mate, and in turn contracted the

marriages of his children. His kin lived nearby, for the most part, as

 

that the migration to New England drew its largest numbers from the
poorer, laboring class. Subsequent research, however, has indicated
that this is a false syllogism. Cornwall's research challenges the
second premise. Despite his admittedly biased source material, Corn-
wall found that the greatest movement occurred, not among the laboring
class, but among the gentry and yeomen (144-45). A recent essay by
Timothy Breen and Stephen Foster (see note 23) questions Rich's con-
clusion. Their intensive examination of 300 names drawn from the
ships lists of vessels departing Yarmouth and Sandwich in 1637 re-
vealed that most of the emigrants to New England were the families of
"urban tradesmen somewhere in mid-career who apparently chose to
exchange their settled English vocations for life in a pioneer agri-
cultural community of uncertain prospects" (199). Only Rich's first
premise remains as yet unexamined.

Unfortunately, none of the English studies enables us fully to
come to terms with the nature of the migration process. Both Rich
and Laslett and Harrison deal in absolute numbers without looking at
the behavior of the migrants themselves. Each takes for granted that
movement occurred among individuals. By implication, the absence of
entire families from Clayworth and Cogenhoe at the times of the second
tabulations evinces the movement of families. But the extent to which
these families moved together is impossible to answer. The limited
sources available to these scholars do not permit them to inquire into
any inner dynamic that might characterize the migration patterns.
Until the internal movement is subjected to even greater, detailed
and methodical examination, certain fundamental questions about
sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English society will remain un-
answered. Of primary interest to the student of colonial America is
the degree to which this intranational population movement resembled
the transatlantic migration. We will not know the validity of Rich's
assertion that very little difference existed between migration and
emigration (264) until we know much more about both of these
phenomena.

29

did his friends. The region provided him with the market for his crops
or his services and the source of his supply. Mobility did not detract
significantly from his sense of community.

It was, in short, his village and his region that comprised most
of what was familiar to the seventeenth-century Englishman. The two
combined to form a geographic unit, an interlinkage of villages into
a community which could command the loyalties of all within it. "The
whole pattern must therefore be thought of as a reticulation rather
than as a particulation, a web spread over the whole geography," com-
posed of independent, settled villages, sparsely populated areas, and
larger "centres of exchange as well as of communication."36

It is hardly surprising that this generalized form of social
organization was transplanted to New England by the early settlers.

It embodied the only experiences with which they were familiar. More-
over, contemporary social thought recognized the practical utility of
such arrangements. Organicism dictated that the social and political
hierarchy be maintained with single-minded cooperation. The common
goals and reSponsibilities shared by members of the community worked
to create strong attachments between men. These bonds produced co-
operation which, in turn, augmented and internalized the feelings of

37

community. Even the daily, incidental Opportunities for contact and

communication led to friendships, marriages, and acquaintances, and

 

36Laslett, Werld We Have Lost, 57-58.

 

37For a general treatment of the effects of cooperation on

interpersonal allegiances and group identities, see Ellen Berscheid
and Elaine Hatfield Walster, Interpersonal Attraction, Topics in
Social Psychology Series (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Publishing
Company, 1969), 92-97.

30

engendered reciprocal bonds of personal obligation and alliance
mug individuals.”

Strengthened in many areas by the anxieties of the early and
middle seventeenth century,39 these local attachments exerted profound

demands on the allegiances of the inhabitants.40

Those contemplating
settlement in the new world must have found them difficult to ignore.
In the 16205 and 16305, when the new world was known as little more
than a desolate and barbaric wilderness, the decision to turn his

back on the familiar and to relocate in an unknown and potentially

 

38The supportive and influential effects of both friendship
and kinship are so common as to be taken for granted in social
science literature. An excellent but dated bibliography of friendship
in general is George V. Coelho, "A Guide to Literature on Friendship:
A Selectively Annotated Bibliography," Psychological Newsletter, X
(1959), 365-94. See also the pertinent sections in Berscheid and
Walster, Interpersonal Attraction; Leon Festinger, A Theory of Col-
nitive Dissonance (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1957);
o ert . ert and Thomas R. Brigante, "The Psychology of Friend-
shiP Relations: Social Factors," Journal of Social Psycholo , LVI
(1952). 33-47; Paul F. Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton, "Friendship
as a Social Process: A Substantive Inquiry," in Freedom and Control
in Modern Societ , ed. by Morroe Berger, Theodore Abel, and Charles H.
P380 (New York: Octagon Books, Inc., 1964), 18-66; and, indeed,
almost any discussion of friendship and acquaintance in general.

”For the relationship between anxiety and association, see
Leon Festinger, Theory of Co itive Dissonance, esp. chs. VIII and
Ix; FOStinger, "Informal Social Commications," Psychological
Review, LVII (1950), 271-82, passim; Theodore M. Newcomb, Ralph H.
Turner, and Philip E. Converse, Social Psycholo (New York: Holt.
Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1965fi passim; and erscheid and Walster,
I“firpersonal Attraction, 31-36.

40For historical discussions of the local community dur1ng
the Civil War period, see Laslett, World We Have Lost, Ch. III; and
E- W. Ives, The En lish Revolution, particularly the essays by
Burnt. "The ounty Community," 48-63, Ivan Roots, "The Central
9°V€mment and the Local Community," 33-47. and D. H. Pennington.
The County Community at War," 64-75.

 

31

hostile environment must have been most difficult for the individual
Englishman to make.

Of course, people did choose to emigrate, to bid farewell to
the locale that commanded their loyalties and to risk life and estate
in the untested American environment. Their motives cannot be estab-

lished with certainty.41

Certainly, most, if not all, of those who
consciously chose to settle Massachusetts were predisposed to do so.
But this was not enough. Predisposition, even supported by Winthropian
logic, may have made the new world seem attractive, but something more
was needed to make emigration a realistic option. For many an emigrant,
the determining factor was the coincidence of his disposition with the
inclinations of others in his community.

Indeed, the de facto collusion of local, like-minded folk--
acquaintances, friends, and kin--acted as a catalyst of migration
because it ferged the bonds of group identity. Friendship, as a
social phenomenon (and including the affiliative aspects of kinship),
is more than a positive, volitional and emotional relationship between
individuals. Once the relationship is established, it serves a number
of other, more identifiable purposes. In particular, friendship has,
as one of its attributes, a generative and supportive dimension. On
the one hand, the attitudes and Opinions of an individual are in-

fluenced by the attitudes and opinions of his friends. Accordingly,

an individual may find his cognitions shaped or changed by the

 

41See the cautious discussion of motives for migration in
Breen and Foster, "Moving to the New World," 199-205, and passim.

 

Ki

Id

32

pressures brought upon him by his close acquaintances.42 Once con-
sonant Opinions are fOrmed, friendship relationships operate to re-
infOrce and confirm those cognitions. Indeed,

friends help to verify and objectify an individual's

personal cognition of the world. . . . The structure, form

and significance of friendships becomes the structure, form

and source of significance for many of our perceptions,

Opinions, attitudes, thoughts and feelings about oneself

[sic] and our world.43
For the individual contemplating migration, the similar considerations
of his acquaintances presumably justified his own disposition, and
his Opinions reinforced theirs.

These associated acquaintances lent more than mutual support
to the group. Their common origins meant also that the emigrants
would not leave the familiar entirely behind. To the extent that
seventeenth-century England remained a traditional society,44 con-
tinuity, not change, was taken for granted, and the "postfigurative"

4S

implications could not be ignored. Familiar faces and shared

 

42Festinger, Theory of Co itive Dissonance, eSp. Chs. VIII
and IX. Lazarsfeld and Merton, ' riend5hip as a Social Process,"
discusses the relationship between friendship fOrmation and mainten-
ance through the perspective of shared values ("value homOphily").

 

43Albert and Brigante, "PsycholOgy of Friendship Relations,"
33-34.

44Laslett, WOrld We Have Lost, passim, for example.

45

Margaret Mead, in Culture and Commitment: A Study of the
Generation Gap, Natural History Press (New YOrk: Doubleday 8
Company, Inc., 1970) defines a "postfigurative culture" as "one
in which change is so slow and imperceptible that grandparents,
holding newborn grandchildren in their arms, cannot conceive of
any other future for the children than their own past lives. The
past of the adults is the future of each new generation . . . [For
the children,] what has come after childhood for their forebears
is what they, too, will experience after they are grown [p. 1]."

E ‘IN

r

.IN

MI.-

\b.u\une

N

33

backgrounds promised that the bonds associated with localism would
be carried with the travelers. As far as new world conditions would
allow, the accustomed patterns of life would be recreated when the
settlers were able to form their own communities.46
It follows, therefore, that a major characteristic of the
early migration was its group nature. The confluence of individuals
from the same areas gave to the separate local groups a common goal

and the confidence that the goal could be attained.47

In turn, this
commonality within the groups lent shape not only to the ideology and
cognition of the migration, but to its physical characteristics as
well. Those who sailed in the 16305 did so as distinct companies,
not as chance collections of otherwise unassociated individuals.

Even if they were not mutually acquainted, similarity within the

group enabled the members to overcome whatever unfamiliarities

 

46Not entirely, of course, for improvisation was necessary
and change practically inevitable. But a distinction must be made
between institutional change and cultural development. Peter Gay,
in his provocative study of Puritan historians, concluded that the
historiographical developments of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries were ignored by the Puritans of New England (A Loss of
Mastery: Puritan Historians in Colonial America, Vintage BOOKS
[New YOrk: Random House, 1968 (I9665I, 25, and assim). Even more
to the point, Kenneth Lockridge's examination of e an led him to
argue that before Americanization could occur, New England had to
return even more completely to an English-style society, or, in his

words, a "resumed normalcy" (A New En land Town, 178 and passim). See
also Laslett, WOrld We Have Lost, Ob-gl.

 

 

47Studies on goal attainment in groups are legion. For a
recent synthetic approach to group behavior, see Theodore M. Mills,
The Sociolo of Small Groups, Foundations of Modern Sociology Series
(Englewood f5: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1967). The behavioralist
tendencies of this study (as well as of much of the other literature
on group behavior) may, with good reason, offend the sensibilities
of the historian, but it is not necessary to accept the models pro-
posed by Mills to sense the nature of groups and their goal-attainment
"processes." See, in particular, Ch. V, esp. 80-85.

 

 

3‘1 1 .‘ ‘.

34

existed, and generated the feelings of brotherhood that would carry
over to the new world.

(Ironically, it has largely been historians, not sociologists,
who have perceived the significance of this group migration. As early
as 1918, Charles Edwards Park wrote that the distinctive group nature
of the settlement offered "a hint of some real bond of friendship and
mutual support." He went on to suggest that

it means something surely that in many instances these
companies were amalgamated by more than a common Puritanism.
They were composed of persons who had lived in the same town
or shire, had perhaps worshipped in the same parish church,
had become accustomed to the ministrations of the same non-
conforming Puritan divine, and had found encouragement and
moral support fer the unknown hardships of their migration

in the comfortable prospect of making the journey together.48)

These bonds of friendship and prior acquaintance did not end
with arrival in Massachusetts. Frequently, the groups remained at
least partially intact, moving as a unit to a chosen, group destination.
Between 1633 and 1637, for example, groups of settlers from East Anglia
came to New England and settled in both Salem and Hingham, where groups

49

from the West Country had established dominance. The resultant

clashes of interest in each of these towns resulted from the unity that

 

48"Friendship as a Factor in the Settlement of Massachusetts,"
American Antiquarian Society, Proceedings, XXVIII (1918), 57.

49Richard Peter Gildrie, "Salem, 1626-1668: History of a
Covenanted Community" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of
Virginia, 1971), esp. Ch. II; John J. Waters, "Hingham, Massachusetts,
1631-1661: An East Anglian Oligarchy in the New WOrld," Journal of
Social History, I (1968), 351-70. I have used the version of this
article reprinted in Stanley N. Katz, ed., Colonial America: Essays
in Politics and Social Development (Boston: *ittle, Brown and
Company, 1971), 50-69. All further citations of this essay will
refer to the reprinted edition.

 

 

 

 

I?

”J
an

3S

existed within the groups and the seriousness with which they intended
to replicate their past ways of life. Likewise, between 1639 and 1641,
the Wiltshire-Hampshire area supplied the largest single group to the
new town of Sudbury, where the presence of large numbers of East
Anglians also led to conflict.50 When Thomas Parker and his traveling
companions disembarked in 1634, John Winthrop recorded that "Mr. Parker,
a minister, and a company with him, being about one hundred, went to sit
down at Agawam."51 A year later, many of this group left Ipswich in

order to join Parker in the creation of Newbury.

When Mary and John sailed from London in 1634, she carried a
total of thirty-three passengers, of whom at least twenty-five even-

52 The original

tually settled in Newbury for some length of time.
residences of twelve of these twenty-five have been determined without
ambiguity. NO town supplied more than three families to this group,
but at least ten hailed from one or possibly two separate but proximate
areas of Wiltshire and Hampshire. With the possible exception of
Nicholas Easton, from Lymington, Hants. adjacent to the Isle of Wight,

the entire group seems to have been spiritually bound together around

 

soPowell, Puritan Village, 206-12.

 

51Winthrop, Journal, 1, 125-26. Presumably, Winthrop's
addition included wives and children.

52The ships list for Mary and John, which does not record
the residences of the passengers, can be fbund in NEHGR, IX (1855),
267; and in Samuel G. Drake, The Founders of New En land, reprint ed.
(Baltimore: Genealogical PubliShing COmpany, 1969), 75-71.

 

36

Thomas Parker, who was then at Newbury, Berks. but who had been born
in Wiltshire, and around Parker's cousin, James Noyes, who was also
residing in Newbury but who had Spent most of his life in Choulderton,
Wilts., nine miles northeast of Salisbury.53
How many of these shipmates were among the first settlers of
Newbury cannot be determined. Presumably many of them were aboard the
small vessels that sailed up the Quascacunquen in late spring or early
summer, 1635. Of the twenty surviving names of the original planters,

at least twelve had arrived in New England with Thomas Parker.

Whether they had traveled on Mary and John or not, most of this company

 

had come out Of the same Wiltshire-Hampshire area. From the Romsey-
Andover area of Hampshire came William Moody, and the two Kent brothers,
Richard Sr. and Stephen. They were joined by their neighbor, James
Browne from Southampton, and by Nicholas Easton from Lymington. James
and Nicholas Noyes came from Choulderton, Wilts., near the Wiltshire-
Hampshire border, Parker from Newbury, Berks., and John WOodbridge

from Stanton, Wilts., about fifteen miles north-northwest of Choulder-
ton. From Malford Christian, to the west of Stanton, came Thomas
Browne and Thomas Coleman. John Spencer, from London, and Henry
Sewall, from Coventry, Warwickshire, were the only settlers not identi-
fiably associated with the regional group. (Their relationship to the
Wiltshire-Hampshire contingent will be noted shortly.) The prior

residences of Henry and Anthony Short, Richard Kent, Jr. and his

 

' 53For brief biographies of Parker and NOyes, see Cotton
Mather, Ma alia Christi Americana . . ., 2 vols. (Harthrd:

Silas An rus and Son,_1§55i, 1, 489-39. The origins of other Newbury
settlers can be found in Appendix I.

 

37

brother James, George and Richard Browne, and Francis Plummer are not
known. The coincidence of four of these names with others above,
however, may not have been purely the result of chance.54
At least in its early years, Newbury may have been slightly
more homogeneous than many of her sister towns. Before 1635, a
number of prominent Massachusetts gentry had drawn up plans to create
a speculative, stock-raising enterprise. Apparently formalizing these
plans while still in London, Richard Saltonstall, John Clarke, Henry
Sewall, and Richard and Stephen Dummer approached Thomas Parker and

55

others who were to travel with him on Mary and John, offering them

 

partnerships in the enterprise. Evidently, some solicitations were
Offered in advance to others in England, for when nggs arrived in
June, 1635, fourteen passengers from the Wiltshire-Hampshire area dis-
embarked fOr Newbury, including Thomas Coleman, who had already con-

tracted with the company to tend their herd.56

On the same day, two
Dutch ships arrived with holds full of Flemish cattle purchased by

the company. In July or August, 1635, under orders from the General

 

54The list of the names of the earliest settlers of Newbury
can be found in Coffin, History of Newbury, 15.

 

SSIncluding John Spencer, Henry Short, and one of the
Richard Kents, as well as others who have not been identified.

56Including Archelaus Woodman of Cowsham and Malford;
Thomas Browne; Anthony and William Morse of Marlborough; Nicholas
Batt of Devizes; John Pike and John Musselwhite from Landford or
Langford; all in Wiltshire; and John and Richard Knight, John and
Anthony Emery, Thomas Smith, and Nicholas Holt, all from Romsey,
Hants.

38

Court, more than 1,200 acres was laid out at the falls of the Quas-
cacunquen, renamed Newbury, River for the use of the company.57
As an organized venture, however, the stock-raising company
was an utter failure. By November, 1635, it was apparent that Thomas
Coleman had not been a good choice as herdsman, so the General Court
ordered that the provisions of the company be divided and that each
proprietor provide for his own stock. Shortly thereafter, John
Clarke, fer himself and for his brother-in-law, Richard Saltonstall,
along with Henry Sewall, Sr. and Jr., decided to abandon the pastures
of Newbury fer greener fields in Plymouth Colony, putting an end to
the organized, corporate breeding venture in Newbury.58
The failure of this corporate economic enterprise, however,
did not deter the on-going migration to Newbury. Partly, new arrivals
were attracted to the town because of the presence there of people
they had known in England, or people they had known of. The attrac-
tion was also one of style, as men sought out those settlements which
reproduced the social or cultural arrangements of the areas they had
left. In Newbury, and presumably in most other towns as well, settlers
continued to arrive from the same areas the fOunders of the town had

left.59

 

57Shurtleff, I, 149, and assim; John J. Currier, "Ould
Newbury”: Historical and Biograp 1cal Sketches (Boston: Damrell and
Upham, 1896), 9, 245; Coffin, History of’Newbury, 18-19; Drake,
Founders of New England, 55-56; NEHGR, XIV (1860), 333. John Coffin
Jones Brown, "Newbury and the Bartlet Family," NEHGR, XL (1886), 192-
93, is quite emphatic, fer reasons that lack documentation, that the
settlers were solicited in England.

58Coffin, History of Newbury, 18; Brown, "Newbury and the
Bartlet Family," 194.

59

 

See below, Table 1-1 and Appendix I.

39

It is apparent, also, that settlers from other counties tended
to avoid this Wiltshire-Hampshire dominated area. Information has been
obtained for the English residences of 113 settlers of Newbury between
1635 and 1650 (Table I-1 and Appendix I, map 1). Although families
came from a total of 22 English counties (including London), migration
can be accounted significant for only 4, Gloucestershire, Hampshire,
Wiltshire, and, oddly, Norfolk. With the exception of East Anglia, the
area which produced heavy settlement in Newbury was generally located
along an axis connecting the West Country port of Bristol and the
Hampshire port Of Southampton, and following the paths of the Rivers
Avon and Test. Together, these three southern counties supplied a
total of 61 families (54%) out of the 113 for whom information exists.
Adding to these the contiguous area of Berkshire (justified by the
prior residence there of both Parker and Noyes), the number becomes
65 families, or 58 percent of the total. The Sprawling London area,
encompassing the city itself and parts of Kent, Essex, and Herthrd-
shire, sent 10 families to Newbury, or 9 percent of the total. Norfolk
in East Anglia had been the home of 14 individuals, of whom 7 members

of 2 families alone came from Great Ormsby. All of these 7, and

TABLE I-l

ENGLISH ORIGINS OF NEWBURY SETTLERS, 1635-1650

 

 

 

County
. . . Gloucester- . 18
Wlltshlre Hampsh1re shire Berksh1re Others Total
Immigrants 29 22 10 4 48 113

Persisters 19 10 7 2 20 58

 

40

4 other Norfolk immigrants as well, departed Newbury immediately, most
for the "Old" Norfolk County towns Of Hampton and Exeter.60 A full
79 percent of these Norfolk immigrants, then, did not stay in Newburyfn'
The exodus of these Norfolk families underlines a more general
pattern of social arrangement. Though the southern counties provided
the town with a bare majority of immigrants, they supplied a slightly
larger proportion of the permanent population. Many of those who had
not lived in the Bristol-Southampton area found that they either could
not, or did not wish to, penetrate into its membership. Perhaps their
own groups envisioned a slightly different form of social arrangement,
perhaps they had arrived in Massachusetts with different expectations
of land usage, perhaps they were simply awaiting better opportunities.
Whatever the reason, Newbury remained dominated by families from the
fOur southern counties up to 1650, if not beyond. Those who could not
blend into the patterns established by the original settlers left the

town for other parts.

 

60The departure of the NorfOlk group presents interesting
grounds for speculation. Perhaps the reason Newbury did not exper-
ience the same types of conflict that disrupted Sudbury, Salem, and
Hingham was the absence of large groups, such as East Anglians, with
markedly different experiences behind them. The proximity of Old
Norfolk County and other East Anglian areas in Essex County (Breen
and Foster, "Moving to the New World," 209) may have enabled this
group to recreate their closed-field experiences by transplantation
rather than confrontation. Similarly, the possibility must not be
dismissed that Newbury refused to tolerate these East Anglians
within her bounds.

61In this section, it is assumed that genealogical gaps are
distributed at random.

 

..v

.
r
I

 

41

Table I-l also examines persistence among the 113 immigrants,62

and reveals that those who came from the same areas as the original
settlers tended, to an approximately similar degree, to remain in the
town. Of the 58 immigrants who were disposed to stay in 36, or 62
percent, came originally from one of the four southern counties. The
largest alternate group originated in Suffolk, but this comprised only

4 families, or 7 percent of the persisters.63

 

62Because the original dates of admission of most of these
families cannot be determined accurately, no time criterion can be
applied in the evaluation of persistence. Moreover, events which
occurred in the town prior to 1650 stimulated the out-migration of
several families fOr reasons other than discomfort with the social
arrangements. Therefore, I have been forced to attribute persistence
arbitrarily. In the process of judging each settler individually, I
have attempted to estimate his willin ess to remain in the town,
other things being equal. Most settiggs did remain in the town, so
ambiguity does not affect an overly large number of judgments.

With this in mind, Henry Sewall, Sr., who removed to Rowley in
reaction to the movement Of the meeting house some distance from his
farm, is included as a persister, as is his son, Henry, Jr., who
returned to England with his in-laws but later came back to Newbury.
On the other hand, Thomas Macy, who made three or four removes before
settling permanently on Nantucket (to be eulogized for posterity by
John Greenleaf Whittier), is not. Some of my judgments may be in
error, but the overall results are so markedly consistent that even
the allowance for considerable error would not affect their general
validity.

 

63I can Offer no concrete explanation for the internal dif-
ferences within the Bristol-Southampton area. Only 50 percent of the
Berkshire group remained, and 45 percent of the Hampshire group. In
contrast, 65 percent of the Wiltshire families persisted, and 70
percent of the Gloucester group. The individual destinations of
out-movers may supply some clues. Some, like Henry Monday and
Nicholas Holt, traveled only across the Merrimack to help fOund
Salisbury or Andover. But others, such as Nicholas Easton, departed
fOr Rhode Island and other distant parts. Still others, like John
Spencer, returned to England. Both Easton and Spencer were dis-
enfranchised and disarmed as a result of their sympathies during the
Antinomian controversy. Presumably, many others simply saw migration
as an opportunity for social advancement, or as a chance to remain
with kin or close friends. Their reasons may be approximated cir-
cumstantially, but ultimately they are in the realm of private con-
siderations and, accordingly, will remain largely unknown.

42

The relative permanence of the Bristol-Southampton group pro-
duced a homogeneity that influenced more than residency. Indeed, it
continued at least to 1650 to affect the shape of the central core of
the town's leadership. The outflow of non-southern county inhabitants
is symptomatic of the basic unwillingness or inability of the original
group to Open its doors to new members. Whether because of a pre-
disposition within the group to favor familiar and proven leaders, or
because of an intention to preserve accustomed patterns, or because
of outright hostility toward "interlOpers," the town continued to
elect to the important Offices men who had come from the same counties
of southern England. DiSparate elements in the town, both individuals
and groups, found that their position in the leadership structure was
almost completely subservient. Their small numbers, furthermore, gave
them little hope of entering the decision-making process through the
town meeting. Unless these inhabitants were willing to accept their
second-class status, they had little recourse but to leave.

The dominance of the southern county group over the "power
structure" of the town to 1650 is displayed in Table I-2. The most
influential and important Offices at the town level were Selectman
and Commissioner for Small Causes, and, in the case of Newbury,
Commissioner for the Affairs Of the New Town, a standing position
necessitated by the town's decision to remove from the Newbury to the
Merrimack River in 1642. Although infOrmation does not exist fOr all
the years between 1635 and 1650, twenty-six holders of sixty positions

have been identified. For three individuals, all of whom were early

43

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44

settlers,64 the places of origin cannot be established. Of the re-
maining fifty positions, thirty-seven, or a full 74 percent, were held
by fifteen men from the southern counties. Eight Wiltshire men alone,
in fact, held down twenty-one of these thirty-seven positions. The
thirteen positions held by those from other counties were divided
among eight men from six different areas.

When persistence is introduced into this analysis, the domi-
nance of the southern county group becomes even more striking. Thir-
teen Of the fifteen leaders from this area remained in Newbury and
accounted for thirty-four positions. 0f the other eight officers,
four men, who had held six of the positions, removed from the town,
leaving only fOur office holders to divide seven positions.65 In
short, of the forty-one positions held by the seventeen "permanent"
office holders between 1635 and 1650, 83 percent were filled by men
originally from the Bristol-Southampton counties. Alternately, 77
percent of these office holders, or thirteen out of seventeen, came
originally from one of the fOur southern counties which supplied 58
percent of the permanent population.

This dominance did not end at the political level. It seems
also to have pervaded the patterns of land usage. Unfortunately, land

holding arrangements cannot be reconstructed from extant records. The

original land grants were recorded in the Town Book which is no longer

 

64Richard Browne, Henry Lunt, and Henry Short.

6SThose remaining were Abraham TOppan (Norfolk), who was
twice a Selectman; Edward Rawson (Dorsetshire, adjacent to Wiltshire),
the town clerk and later colony secretary who was a Selectman two
times and a New Town Commissioner; and Anthony Somerby (Lincolnshire),
who was a Selectman once. William Moody, from either Suffolk or
Wales, was also a Selectman twice.

4S

perfectly intact. Although land records were transcribed into a
separate volume of Proprietors' Records, the dates of the grants

were not. Even if it could be established that these records were
complete, it would be necessary to know when land was laid out in
order to differentiate between land granted as accommodations and
land granted as payment fOr service, reward, compensation, or en-
couragement. However, in preparation for the removal of the town

to the Merrimack, an official list of freeholders was tabulated. This
list can be used to examine the original allocations of freehold
rights. The freehold itself was no idle embellishment, for it pro-
vided the owner with a claim on all subsequent land divisions and
land dividents. Accordingly, possession of freeholds can be used to
evaluate the distribution of preferred positions among the inhabi-
tants. Because freeholds continued to be granted as late as 1640,

if not later, the list of freeholders will not reflect only the names
of those who arrived first. It will partially summarize patterns
over time as well.

Table 1-3 summarizes the distribution of freeholds among the
early settlers. Once again, the influence of the localism of prior
residence patterns is immediately apparent. Ninety-one freeholders
were included on the original list. Of these, information has been
found for sixty-six. Forty-four of these sixty-six, or 67 percent,
came out of one of the southern counties. Most of the other county
groups are too small for meaningful comparison, but the small pro-
portion of NorfOlk immigrants who became freeholders stands out as a

significant exception. Of the Sixteen immigrants from Norfolk, only

46

three obtained freehold rights.66 Curiously, one of these was

Abraham Toppan, the only Norfolk man to attain political office prior

67

to 1650. Toppan, who may have been an East Anglian only by coinci-

dence, was one of the few immigrants from Norfolk who was accepted to

any degree into participation in town affairs.68

TABLE I-3

NEWBURY FREEHOLDERS, 1635-1650 BY COUNTY
OF PRIOR RESIDEMIE

 

 

 

“um" 132333: 9:33;:
WiltShire 19 15
Hants . 15 9
Gloucester 8 S
Berkshire 2 2
Subtotal 41 §_1_
18 Others 22 12
Total ' 92 fl
\
\
66

Whether these East Anglians departed the town because they
°°uld not obtain freehold rights, or whether they left before they
were offered freeholds, cannot be determined from the available infor-
mation. What must be emphasized, however, is the homogeneity of
Ne"'hury's population.

. 67To a large degree, of course, the exclusion of Norfolk
“migrants can be attributed to the 75 percent rate of emigration among
this group. But, in the light of the broader patterns, it is also pos-
51b1e that Newbury would not accept most of these East Anglians.

68Toppan, a cooper by trade, may well have been less East
Anglian in spirit than in origin. One geneaIOgist of the Toppan family
says he grew up in Yorkshire, an assertion seconded (indirectly) by

47

Toppan was an exception to a more general rule. The social
development of Newbury left little room for the inclusion of anyone
Who had not come from the West Country county of Gloucestershire or
the southern counties of Wiltshire, Hampshire, or Berkshire. The
settlers of the town could have been certain that they would not wit-
ness the dissolution of their competent community because of a diversi-
fied papulation.69 Whether the town maintained its homogeneity inten-
tionally, or whether the coherence was produced when dissonant elements
selected themselves out of the picture, the conflicts which emerged in
Newbury were not attributable to factions centered around different
concepts of social relationships or land usage. Potential compatibility
was generated not by the negative majoritarianism of group pitted

agai-I'lst group, but by the positive interaction of like-minded families

with shared traditions and common goals.

\

Banks. Moreover, his commercial ventures launched from Newbury suggest
”fat his residence in Yarmouth, Norfolk may have been the result of
ms mercantile interests, not a fondness for closed-field farming. He
m“"rtl‘ied one of the Yarmouth Goodales, a family with clearly established
me’ll‘cantile connections. Toppan's three brothers-in-law, all Newbury
ressiclents by 1640, were also involved in commercial endeavors, and at
19381; two of them were prominent in Newbury affairs. Although one of
1‘15 brothers-in-law, Thomas Milward, had come from Yarmouth, the other
"'9. John Oliver and John Lowle, had come from Bristol, Gloucester-
3hll‘e, as had the prominent Essex County gentry, William Gerrish, who
marl‘ied Joanna, the widow of John Oliver.

69Contrast Newbury's experience to the develOpments in Salem,
Hingham, and Sudbury during the same period. See notes 51 and 62.
Cf. also, the discussion of population diversification in Darrett B.
m”Juan, Winthrop's Boston: A Portrait of a Puritan Town, 1630-1649,
The Norton Library (New York: W. W.16rfon E Company, Inc., 19

[1965]), passim, but e5p. Ch. VII.

48

Like-mindedness, however, could exist in a social vacuum. The
common origins and traditions of these settlers did not necessarily
bring them together into an organized group. Moreover, although
shared characteristics might have emphasized their similarities to
these immigrants, perceived similarity alone was not inevitably a
Producer of groups. Indeed, many who came from the same areas of
southern and western England did not choose to settle in Newbury,
and, as Table I-l indicates, many of those who did settle ultimately
chose to seek their welfare elsewhere. To explain the association of
separate families and groups in a coherent and planned enterprise, it
is necessary to look beyond the simple cross-tabulation of perhaps

coincidental names and origins.

Because standards of compatibility were applied to the member

70

ship of the group at the outset of settlement, and because there is

“0 evidence that the individual families from the key counties had
“’1 lective and inclusive mutual knowledge of one another prior to the
“Station, some centripetal influences must have Operated to bring
t1'tese settlers together. Hard documentary evidence of these unifying
fOl‘ces is lacking, but circumstantial evidence is not. Indeed,
Characteristics of the migration process itself offer imaginative
hit11:5 as to the process by which individual immigrants and immigrant
Sroups gathered themselves into coherent social bodies. Those who

Were not mutually acquainted when they left Old England had ample

70See above, pp. 19-20.

49

Opportunity to become familiar with one another both before and after
the town was created.

Particularly during the great migration, ships departed
England for the new world with seasonal regularity. How many were
these vessels and how bookings were arranged cannot be answered, but
it is fairly clear that nearly everyone in England had reasonably close
access to a port from which emigrants could depart. Consistently,
though not without exception, individual ships bound for Boston and
New England tended to transport passengers with moderate geographic
hmIIOgeneity. It is entirely possible, therefore, that many of the

Passengers on any given ship had some non-incidental relationships

alllong themselves . 71

Even if they had none, the long voyage from England to
Massachusetts provided these immigrants with the opportunity, if not
the necessity, to become acquainted. On the four to six week journey,
te(Lions even in fair weather, individuals must have found companion-
ship welcomed. In their cramped quarters, few settlers could have
°°nlp1eted the transoceanic voyage without becoming familiar with
neearly everyone on board. Deprived of entertainment, these travelers

“131: have taken extra delight in extended contacts, comparing

“Breen and Foster, "Moving to the New World," 195-96.
These authors also suggest the possibility that certain ships may
have been chartered by Specific groups (196). If this was the case,
then the possibility of mutual acquaintance is considerably
increased.

 

 

 

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50

6Xperiences and expectations, and perhaps even creating new friend-
ships to continue in New England.72
But it is hardly likely that the typical immigrant recognized
no one on board. Indeed, many future Newbury-area settlers on indi-
vidual ships listed their residences as the same towns. For example,
when _B_e_\_r_1_§. sailed from Southampton in 1638, she carried Christopher
Batt and his family from Salisbury, Wilts., as well as Henry, Mary,
and John Byley, also of Salisbury, to the Newbury-Salisbury area of
Massachusetts. Likewise, aboard @292. in 1635 were John and Richard
Knight, Thomas Smith, Nicholas Holt, and the Emery brothers, John and
AI‘lt'J'lony, all from Romsey, Hants., and all bound for Newbury. And on
confidence traveled John and William Stevens, from Gowsham, Oxon.,
and their fellow townsman, Thomas Jones.73
At the same time, individuals from proximate towns often
bchked passages on the same vessels. Whatever the source of their
mutZual affiliations, if any, families from Specific local regions
within counties frequently became fellow travelers. Joining the
Rmusey, Hants. group on 19.922. in the migration to Newbury, for
example, were Anthony and William Morse, from Marlborough, Wilts. ,
and their neighbor, Thomas Coleman; Nicholas Batt, from Devizes,

about eight miles to the southwest; and Archelaus Woodman (and possi-

bly his brother Edward) and Thomas Browne, from nearby Malford

\

72See the absorbing discussion of this and other aspects
0f the town-planting process in Philip J. Greven, Jr., "Four
Generations: A Study of Family Structure, Inheritance, and
Mobility in Andover, Massachusetts, 1630-1750" (unpublished Ph.D.
dissertation, Harvard University, 1964), Ch. I.

73%. II. 109, XIV, 333, 336; Drake, Founders, 55-61.

51

Christian. Aboard Confidence, which sailed from London in 1638, were:
Stephen Kent, from either Tytherly or neighboring Nether Wallop,
Hants., and his servants, Nicholas Wallington from Nether Wallop, and
Hugh March and Anthony Sadler, both from Tytherly; William and John

Ilsley, from Nether Wallop; and John Sanders, from Langford, Wilts. ,

ten miles to the south.74

Even after the first boatloads of immigrants arrived in New
England, migration continued from the same towns and regions. The
influence of friendship and localism, in other words, did not stop
at the shoreline. From the Stanton-Marlborough-Devizes-Pewsey area
of Wiltshire came Thomas Coleman, the Morse brothers, Thomas Davis,
Nit‘Jlolas Batt, John and Benjamin Woodbridge, Henry and Hugh Monday,
”1d Henry Jaques. John Bailey, Sr. and Jr. , Edward and Archelaus
WOOdman, and Thomas Browne all had resided in the Corsham-Chippenham-
Mal ford Christian neighborhood of Wiltshire. The Whiteparish-
I--li-!'1gford area of southeastern Wiltshire sent John Pike, Sr. and Jr.,
JOhn Musselwhite, John Sanders, and both Henry and John Rolfe to
Newbury and Essex County. Similarly the Bishop Stoke-Romsey-
Iwitttleton-King's Somborne area of Hampshire had been the homes of
Richard, Stephen, and Thomas Dummer, Thomas Nelson (who settled in
ROWIO)’ and married Joane Dummer), William Moody, William Fifield,
Nicholas Holt, Thomas Smith, the Knight brothers, and the Emery
brothers. Only a few miles away, the Andover-Wallop-Tytherly

triangle had been the residences of Stephen and Richard Kent, Hugh

74%, 11, 108-110, x1v, 330-33; Drake, Founders, 55-59.

52

March, Anthony Sadler, Nicholas Wallington, John and William Ilsley,
and John OSgOOd. And William Gerrish, John Oliver, Richard Dole,
Joan Poore, Daniel Thurston, the Lowle family, and the three Badger
brothers all had come from Bristol, Gloucester, or from Thornbury,
about ten miles to the northeast.75
Perhaps these men had been planning their trip for some
time prior to departure. Perhaps they had received communications
from: former friends now in New England. Perhaps they were recruited,
as the Newbury settlers may have been. Or, perhaps they were follow-
ing a minister. In some areas, dissenting preachers were hard to
find, so they often attracted flocks from the surrounding areas.
Some congregations were quite loyal. John Cotton, Thomas Shepherd,
Petier Hobart, and Ezekiel Rogers all had been accompanied to New
England by their English congregations. Thomas Hooker's followers
Plkaved particularly dedicated to their pastor. After migrating
m'lemselves, many wrote back to Hooker, still in England, urging him

76 Once in Massachusetts, when Hooker found that he and

to follow.
CO‘tzton could not fit into the same colony, many of the same families
followed him to Connecticut. Thomas Parker had done little or no

Public preaching in Newbury, Berks., but it is quite clear that many

bI‘ethren aboard Mary and John had already forged Spiritual bonds
77

 

With Parker and James Noyes.

75See Appendix II and Map l.

76Bridenbaugh, Vexed and Troubled En lishmen, 462; Larzer
iiff, The Career of John Cotton: Puritafifsm and the Amrican Ex er-
lence (Princeton: Princeton Universityfii'ess, 1962), 69, 116-I7.

77

 

See below, pp. 119-20.

53

Still others migrated as family groups. A recent study has
noted the predominance of nuclear families among the early immigrant
groups.78 The patriarchal nature of the seventeenth-century family
meaurt that entire families would frequently be counted among the
migrants to New England. In most cases, these families were composed
of'tnen "in mid-career," with their wives and, normally, young or
adolescent children.79 Some of the families which sailed to New
England, however, contained children who had already reached their
majority. Percival Lowle, for example, went from Bristol to Newbury
With his two married sons, John and Richard. Likewise, when Richard
Bartlet came out of Wiltshire, he brought with him his three adult
auldnear-adult sons, Richard, John, and Christopher, of whom John
was probably already married.

At other times, more extended family relationships charac-
terized the migration. When Thomas Parker sailed for New England in
1(534, he was accompanied by his two cousins, James and Nicholas
NOyes, and his nephew, John Woodbridge, as well as Richard Kent, Sr.,
aInd Stephen Kent, brothers who were probably related to the Noyes
filmily in some way,80 and James Browne, a brother-in-law of James

Noyes. Also on board were Richard Kent, Jr. and his brother, James,

‘*

78Breen and Foster, "Moving to the New World," 194.

791bid., 194.

80The precise relationship is not clear. However, Richard
Kent was from Over or Nether Wallop, Hants, where a Thomas Kent,
probably his brother or cousin, had married a daughter of William
Noyes, of Choulderton, Wilts., the father of James and Nicholas.

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54

who may have been distantly related to the other Kent brothers. In
1640, Benjamin WOodbridge, the brother of John, joined his kinsmen in
Newbury, bringing with him from Stanton his close friend, Henry
Jaques. Four Brownes also settled in the town, at least two of whom,
Richard and George, were siblings. And when Richard Dummer returned
to New England in 1638, he brought with him his brother Stephen and
three of his brother Thomas' children from Bishop-Stoke.

These examples do not begin to exhaust the extended family
relationships among the settlers of Newbury. No less than twenty
sets of brothers alone settled in Newbury fOr some period Of time
between 1635 and 1650, and mostly in the first five years.81 Although
extensive genealogical research in English records has not been
attempted, it is clear that this may be a conservatige gauge of the
magnetism of kinship, for even in-law relationships generated settle-
ment. Abraham Toppan brought his wife, Susanna, and his mother-in-law,
Mrs. Elizabeth Goodale, to Newbury in 1637. He had been preceded to
the town by his sister-in-law and her husband, Thomas Milward. Simi-
larly Samuel Scullard (who may also have been related to the Noyes
family) married the daughter of Richard Kent, Sr. in England and
joined his parents-in-law in Newbury shortly thereafter. And John

Emery Sr. was already a Newbury freeholder when his sister and her

 

81Three Badgers, at least two Brownes, three Dummers, two
Emerys, two Ilsleys, two sets of Kents, two Knights, four Marstons,
two Merrills, two Mondays, two Morses, three Moultons, two Noyeses,
two Rolfes, two Shorts, two Somerbys, two Stevenses, two WOodbridges,
and two WOodmans. This list does not include those siblings who
came to Newbury with parents.

SS

husband, John Bailey, Sr. arrived in New England and settled in
Salisbury.82
It is not unlikely, therefore, that a good many of the settlers
of Newbury had become acquainted with those who would join them in the
creation Of the new town. Presumably, many other towns as well bene-
fited :from.a comparable degree Of familiarity. In at least one
reSpect, however, the Newbury group was better able to take advantage
of this similarity. Not only had they migrated as friends and
acquaintances, fathers and sons, brothers and sisters, but they were
also given a year's grace in which to work out the details of their
settlement and choose their members carefully. As soon as he dis-
embarked, Thomas Parker and his company, along with "diverse others

83 From that time, late in the

of the new comers," settled in Ipswich.
spring of 1634, until they were granted the land for their plantation,

they had whatever opportunity they needed to become familiar with New

 

82Shortly thereafter, John Bailey, Jr., son of John, Sr.,
married Eleanor, the daughter of John Emery, Sr.

In-law relations did not, however, guarantee admission. When
Walter Allen asked to be admitted to Newbury in 1638, the town could
not immediately come to a decision on his fate, even though Allen was
a brother-in-law of Mr. John Cutting, a trusted friend of the
WinthrOps. Allen, it seems, was not the most virtuous of men. He
admitted that the rumor charging him with fathering one bastard was
true, but he denied the second allegation that he had, in fact,
sired two. For infOrmation about Allen, Edward Rawson wrote John
Winthrop, who had admitted Allen to Massachusetts in the first place.
Apparently, Allen was finally admitted, for his name appears on the
1642 freeholders list. Around this time, however, he removed to
Salisbury (where, several years later, his son, John, was also accused
of fornication). Rawson's letter to Winthrop is in The Winthrop
Papers, IV (1944), 97-98.

83Winthrop, Journal, 1, 125-26.

56

England and with one another.84

Certainly they planned their future,
fer there was little doubt that they would one day seek their own
town. A year later, when the General Court authorized them to begin
work on their own settlement, the tempting security and stability of
consonant and familiar faces must have seemed reason enough to remove
to the new location. To Parker, as indeed to many of the others,
Newbury promised to become a new home in the comfortable image of the
old. Weighing the alternatives of removing or accepting his recent
call to the church at Ipswich, he chose "to accompany some of his
countrymen that came out of Wiltshire in England, to that new place,
than to be engaged with such as he had not been acquainted withal

before."85

 

84Compare this experience to that of the families which
joined to form Sudbury in 1639. Their common residence in Watertown
provided them with the same opportunity to become mutually acquainted.
Recognizing their common plight in the landless town, they too were
able to find a common basis on which to unite and COOperate. See
Powell, Puritan Villagg, Ch. V.

85William Hubbard, A General History of New En land . . .,
Massachusetts Historical Society, Collections, V (1815;, 193.

 

 

 

CHAPTER II

THE KNITTING OF A COMMUNITY

The founders of Newbury in 1635 were not mutual strangers.
Many of the first settlers were kinsmen, others had hailed from the
same town or area in England, still others had sailed on the same
vessels. Those not mutually acquainted before landing in Massachusetts
Bay found ample time to get to know their future neighbors while re-
siding fer a year in Ipswich. By the time they removed to the Parker
River, this group of early settlers resembled, in effect, a fraternity
of like-minded acquaintances. Those who planted the town did so know-
ing fairly well the personalities and peculiarities of their fellow
settlers.

These first inhabitants were a self-defined group before they
became a settlement. Those admitted to the group subsequently were
endowed neither with the same set of experiences nor with the same
sense of belongingness. Though the town continued to choose its new
members, many of whom probably knew ggmg_of the townsmen, new settlers
after the first wave of in-migration did not possess the same general
sense of camaraderie that had been shared by the earliest arrivals.
Success in preserving the appropriateness of the Puritan blueprint

for harmonious cooperation would, in part, be dependent upon the

57

58

ability of the town to integrate these new settlers into the
brotherhood.

This challenge, though it certainly was recognized explicitly
by very few, was more easily surmounted because of the demands imposed
by the wilderness, because of the common English backgrounds of most
of the settlers, and because of the zeal with which the goals were
pursued. To the extent that the townsmen can be called "Puritan,"
they were embued with a religiosity that gave each a common goal to
create a godly (and affluent) society.1 Reverent fear of the A1-
mighty, therefore, was one shared, cultural unifier. For a time,
awe of the Divine gave the settlement a profound single-mindedness.
In 1638, the townsmen provided a singular example of their common,
spiritual unity. While "assembled to treat and consult about the
well ordering of the affairs of the town, about one of the clock in
the afternoon, the sun shining fair," the townsmen instructed the
clerk to record that

it pleased God suddenly to raise a vehement earthquake,

coming with a shrill clap of thunder issuing as is supposed
out of the east, which Shook the earth and the foundations

of the house in a very violent manner, to our great amaze-
ment and wonder[.] Wherefore taking notice of so great and
strange a hand of God's providence, we were desirous of
leaving it on record to the view of after ages, to the intent
that all might take notice of Almighty God and fear His name.2

Although other examples of God's providence worked greater

havoc on Newbury's pOpulation, no similar entries appear anywhere

 

1I recognize here the distinction made by Darrett B. Rutman
between the preacher and his audience, a distinction that students
of early Massachusetts have only recently begun to appreciate.

See his American Puritanism, passim.

2

 

Town Recs., June 1, 1638.

59

else in the town records. Like all utOpian movements, the zeal
which these settlers brought to the new world flagged. As settled
ways replaced wilderness hardships, hbwbury discovered that the
harmony and COOperation demanded by the traditional, organic view of
society could not be Obtained by spiritual commitment alone. Like
Boston, Newbury soon learned that the preservation of unity was

ultimately a social problem.3

Before the relationship between unity and society can be
discussed, it is necessary to say a few words about methodology.
Students of human society have long noticed that patterns exist in
the ways peOple interact. For at least two decades, these patterns
have been studied with frequency and intensity, and the results of
these examinations have significantly broadened our understanding
of man's social character. Sociologists and anthropologists, as well
as students of social psychology and human communications, have in-
creasingly described these collective patterns of intercourse as the

networks of the social environment.4 Elizabeth Bott, a pioneer in

 

3Rutman, Winthropds Boston, viii and passim.

 

4Analytic bibliographies of these works can be found in:
J. A. Barnes, Social Networks, Addison-Wesley Modular Publications,
No. 26 (1972); G: Lindzey and Donn Byrne, "Measurement of Social
Choice and Interpersonal Attractivenes,," in The Handbook of Social
Ps cholo , ed. by G. Lindzey and E. Aronson, S voIs. (2d ed.;
Reading, 5355.: Addison-Wesley, 1969), 11, 452-525; B. E. Collins
and B. H. Raven, "Group Structure: Attraction, Coalitions, Communica-
tion, and Power," Ibid., IV, 102-214; J. Clyde Mitchell, ed., Social
Networks in Urban Situations: Analyses of Personal Relationships in
CentraI African Towns (Handhester: Manchester University Press,

 

 

 

 

60

the study of human networks, writing in retrospect of her book, Family

and Social Network, affirmed the generalization that lies behind most

 

of these network studies. "The internal functioning of a group," she
wrote,
is affected not only by its relationship with the people and
organizations of its environment, but alsO_Fy the relationships
gmgng_those people and organizations.

Historians as well as social scientists have discovered net-
works among the individuals they have studied. Students of seventeenth-
century Massachusetts alone, in fact, have identified networks--
particularly kinship network5--as important modes of collective
organization. Bernard Bailyn has discovered that the seventeenth-
century merchants fOrmed a distinct and partially unified "interest
group" precisely because they fOrmed a network of interlinked familiesfs
Similarly, Robert Wall has demonstrated that distinct types of politi-
cal behavior in early Massachusetts Bay were not unrelated to specific
kinship groupings. Family ties not only conferred essential social

{nestige upon political aspirants, but they also constituted one

group-defining characteristic of both the magistracy and the Lesser

‘

1969), 1-76, and passim; Elizabeth Bott, Family and Social Network:
ROles, Norms, and External Relationships in Ordinary Urban FamiIies
fiafed.; New York: The Free Press, 1971), especially 241-343; and
Richard V. Farace et al., "Analysis of Human Communications Networks
11! Large Social Systems" (unpublished, 1973), passim.

 

SBott, Family and Social Network, p. 249.

6The New England Merchants in the Seventeenth Century,
ligperbound ed. (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1964 [1955]),
ESff.

61

Gentry.7 Other studies of seventeenth-century society have likewise

implied the presence of extended kinship networks which served to
maintain the identity and unity of the family group.8

For a variety of reasons, however, these historical networks
have been described only metaphorically. These qualitative networks
are useful as conceptual frameworks, but because they lack precise
definition, they are limited in their empirical utility. The separa-
tion of qualitative and quantitative makes these networks inadequate
as foundations for the answers to those broader social questions
historians are increasingly asking.

Networks need not remain only heuristic analogies. They can

also be used to combine the qualitative and quantitative dimensions of

 

7Massachusetts Bay: The Crucial Decade, 1640-1650 (New

Haven: Yale UhiverSity Press, l972),130ff, and Chapter I, "The Rise
of the Lesser Gentry," passim.

 

8See, inter alia, John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family
Life in Plymouth Colony, paperbound ed. (New York: OxfOfd’University
Press, 1970), 118-25, and 62-81, assim; Philip J. Greven, Jr., Four
Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover,
Massachusetts, paperbound ed. (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University
Press, 1970), 72-99, and passim; Bernard Bailyn, Education in the
Forming of American Soclery, paperbound ed. (Chapel Hill: The Univer-
sity 0 North Carolina Press [for the Institute of Early American
History and Culture], 1960), 15-17; Edmund S. Morgan, The Puritan
Family: Reli ion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New
En land, TOEC ook ed. (New York: Harper andiRow, PubliShers, 1966
I1944 and 1956]), 150-60, and assim; Stephen Foster, Their Solitary
Way: The Puritan Social Ethic 1n the First Century of Settlement in
NEfi En Iand (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971), especially
187-89. Bernard Farber has discovered explicit kinship organization
in Salem around 1800. See his Guardians of Virtue: Salem Families
in 1800 (New York: Basic Books, 1972), 116-17 andpassim. On the
other hand, for the English picture, see Alan MacFarlane, The Family
Life Of Ralph Josselin: A Seventeenth-Century Cler yman (Cambridge:
cambridge university Press, 1970), assim, and his W1tchCraft in
Tudor and Stuart England, Torchbook e . New York: Harper and Row,
Puinshers, 1970), asSim, for conclusions which both support and
contradict this assertion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

62

historical research. If a set of specific relationships among the
individuals of a finite population can be identified, an empirical
network can be generated. Once described, such a network can be used
as the basis for an intensive examination of the interrelationships
among the various elements of the population.

An identifiable population and a clearly defined mode of
relationship were the only two components necessary to construct an
analytic network of seventeenth-century Newbury. In the interest of
continuity, I shall refer to these components as nodes and links. The
nodes of this network, or the universe of individuals to be examined,
are specific inhabitants of Newbury between 1635 and 1685. The links
of the network, or the relationships binding the nodes together, are
the kinship and friendship bonds established among these inhabitants.

The population of nodes was defined rather rigorously. For
the purposes of this analysis, it was not sufficient that an individual
have lived in Newbury at some time during the fifty years studied.
Rather, because I am seeking to explore the significance of kinship
and friendship as they affect the communalism of the town, I limited
the nodes to those individuals whose behavior could be determined for
Specific categories of transactions. An individual must either have
held an elective position in the town or have participated in the
Church quarrel of the 16605 and 16705 to be included as a node of the
network. Because women were largely excluded from legal and civic
aetivity in the seventeenth century, extant records permit only the
inclusion of males in this network.

The criteria used to determine links are somewhat more

complicated, for relationships are far more complex than identities.

63

To assign kinship linkages, I have used family reconstitution pro-
cedures based on the published and unpublished vital records of
Newbury9 and cautiously augmented by collateral material to be found

in Coffin's History of Newbury, in Currier's History of Newbury and

 

 

his "Ould Newbury," in Savage's Genealogical Dictionary, and in the

 

 

published probate records for Essex County.10 Information obtained
from these sources was consolidated on family reconstitution forms

adapted to this purpose from E. A. Wrigley, ed., An Introduction to

 

Egglish Historical DemOgraphy.11 In most cases, I considered only

 

one-step kinship relations sufficiently unambiguous for inclusion.
Links therefore were assigned only to all sets of males identified as
fathers, sons, or brothers. In addition, these links were supplemented
by the specific in-law relationships of father-in-law, son-in-law, and

brother-in-law.12

 

9Genealogical Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter
Day Saints, Film Number 886202, Vital Records of Newbury, Massa-
chusetts; Vital Records of Newbury, Massachusetts to the End of the
Year 1849 (2 vols.; Salem: *The Essex Institute, l9Il).

10Joshua Coffin, A Sketch of the History of Newbury, Newbury-

pgrt, and West Newbury, ff6m91635 to 1845 (Boston: SamuEIIGZ Drake,

45); John J. currier, History of'hbwbury, Massachusetts, 1635-1901
(Boston: Damrell and Upham, 1902); Idem., "Ould Nefihury“?* Historical
and Biographical Sketches (Boston: Damrell and Upham, 1896); James
savage, A Genealogical Dictionary of the First Settlers of NewEngland,
reprintedied. (4 vols.; Baltimore: "The Genealogical Publishing
Company, 1965); and The Probate Records of Essex County Massachusetts,
1635-1681 (3 vols.; SaIem: The Essex Institute, 1916-1920).

11An Introduction to English Historical Demo raphy from the
Sixteenth to the Nineteenth Century (LondOn: Welden old and NicOIson,
1966), especialIy Chapter IV, fiFamily Reconstitution."

12The inclusion of these in-law relations needs little justi-
fication beyond that provided by the works listed in note 5, all of
which include, as part of the extended family, those kin formed by
marriage. Matrimony was a negotiated relationship, but this does not

 

 

 

64

I have omitted other, more "extended" kinship relations for
several reasons. Too many assumptions must be made in order to include
other categorical kinship relations as links. There is little indi-
cation, for example, that meaningful kinship sentiments were shared by
relatives as close as cousins or uncles and nephews, and I have found
only ambiguous evidence that they existed between grandparents and
grandchildren.13 In addition, I have examined patterns of probate
bequests in Newbury from 1635 to 1681. Although bequest patterns are
influenced by more than kinship sentiment alone, if provision for kin
even approximates the range of significant kinship relationships, then
the results of this examination (Table II-l) lend support to the
limitation of kinship links to the Specified categories. While ex-
tended kin relations could be important at certain times for certain
families, the most consistently mentioned categories of relatives were
those linked to the testator by one-step paths, namely, Spouses and

children (with their spouses).14

 

mean that it was less "meaningful." Indeed, if anything, successful
negotiations in a patriarchal society would indicate that the
families so joined were not mutually indisposed. The paternal
dominance depicted by virtually all students of the colonial family,
moreover, would imply that the approval given by the father to a
marriage was imposed, if necessary, upon his sons. The appelations
"brother," "father," and "son" commonly given to in-laws suggests
strongly that the relationship was both recognized and reSpected by
members of both families. As Edmund Morgan has pointed out, kinships
formed by marriage were considered equal to those formed by birth, both
in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of God (The Puritan Family,
150ff).

13John Demos has come to slightly different conclusions with
regard to family priorities in Plymouth Colony. See A Little
Commonwealth, 124.

 

 

l4Presumably, most testators left no surviving parents who
might have been mentioned. I have not attempted to ascertain that

65

TABLE II-l

BEQUESTS TO KIN, NEWBURY WILLS, 1635-1681

 

 

 

Relationship Number Percent
Daughter and/or son-in-law 48 28.9
Son and/or daughter-in-law 39 23.2
Wife 39 23.2
Grandchild 14 8.3
Niece or Nephew 11 6.5
Brother 4 2.4
Sister 3 1.7
Stepchild 3 1.7
Father 1 0.6
Mother 1 0.6
Cousin 0 0.0
Other kin __31 3.0
Total 168 100.1

 

Fewer clear indications of friendship have survived, so the
identification of these links becomes more tentative. In part,

friendship has been inferred from various actions that seem likely

 

this was in fact the case, for the large number of bequests to
children establishes the presence of the relationship.

On the other hand, the few gifts to brothers and Sisters may
give cause to hesitate. However, it should be noted that this is an
area where an obligation to provide for one's own could very well
have taken precedence over any concern to reaffirm a recognition of
close kin. In addition, although entail and primogeniture were not
common in colonial New England, the strong tendency to pass estates
along to Spouses and children would suggest that keeping the estate
in the immediate family may have been a cultural norm which had been
part of an English value system. Whatever the case, the few in-
stances of bequests to siblings is not by itself evidence that kin-
ship sentiments were not shared by brothers and sisters. As John
Demos observed of Plymouth wills, "the chief beneficiaries [of
testators without direct heirs] were brothers and sisters, nephews
and nieces" (A Little Commonwealth, 123). This is strong evidence
to support the notion that kinship sentiments did indeed exist
between siblings, but that other considerations frequently influenced
patterns of probate bequests.

 

66

to have occurred only in the context of friendship.15 Much of my
information was fOund in the Essex County Quarterly Court Records,

a lucrative source on possible friendship patterns. Although little
explicit evidence can be found here, Newbury was moderately large

and moderately contentious. Hence, these records contain material

on a large number of litigations involving Newbury inhabitants. For
these cases, witnesses and deponents were listed under the principals
on the basis of the content of their testimonies. After ambiguous
deponents, such as the lotlayers, ordinary keepers, and witnesses for
the town or the Selectmen were eliminated, the list contained only
plaintiffs and defendants and their respective witnesses. On the
assumption that intimate knowledge of an individual's activities is
reserved for those in ggmg_friendly relationship with the individual,

friendship links were assigned between the principals and their

. . l
w1tnesses 1n each case. 7

15With one major exception. I have not used consistent
ideological agreement to indicate friendship, even though such
agreement would be one of the most expected manifestations of the
:relationship. Both for methodological and philOSOphical reasons,
this was an intentional omission.

16George F. Dow, ed., Records and Files of the $uarterly
Qurts of Essex County Massachusetts (8 We; Salem: e ssex
Institute, 1911-192I), hereafter cited as 93R.

17It might have been only slightly less reasonable to assign

friendship links among witnesses as well, for recent research has
1J1dicated that remaining friends with two people who hate each
Other is no easy task (Barnes, Social Networks, 12). Moreover,
students of friendship have long Keen aware that there is a strong
c=<3rre1ation between friendship and homephily." (Cf., for example,

Eiul F. Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton, "Friendship as Social

Jrocess: A Substantive Inquiry," in Freedom and Control in Modern

'taciety, ed. by Morroe Berger, Theodore Abel, and Charles’H. Page

I New York: Octagon Books, Inc., 1964], 18-66.) However, not enough

67

PrObate records supply a second and more definitive source
of friendship information.18 Newbury wills from 1635 to 1681 have
been examined for friendship indicators. While few wills contained
bequests to non-creditor, non-kin, virtually all wills named executors
and overseers. Each of these nominees was assigned a friendship link
with the testator on the assumption that an individual entrusted the
administration of his estate only to those in whom he placed great
trust and confidence.

These link categories are not mutually exclusive, for a number
of individuals were linked by both friendship and kinship bonds.
These relationships have been permitted to overlap. Not only do they
supply more nearly independent evidence that the assumptions behind
the method of link assignments are valid, but they also serve as the
only measures of link intensity used in this study.19

Once nodes were identified and links defined, six separate

networks were generated, one for kinship and one for kinship and

friendship during each of three critical periods in the development of

 

work has been directed at the issue raised by Barnes, and some recent
work has indicated that mutual friends are attitudinally homogeneous
only under certain circumstances. (For example, see Edward O.
Laumann, "Interlocking and Radial Friendship Nets: A Formal Feature
with Important Consequences," Paper Number 65, The Center for Research
on Social Organization, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1971.) I have chosen,
therefore, not to make the assumptions this act would require.

18Probate Records of Essex County Massachusetts, passim,
hereafter cited as Probate Recs.

 

19An internal analysis of link categories can be found in
Appendix II.

68

Newbury. From 1635 to 1665, the town went through a.phase of social
formation and develOpment in anticipation of the church quarrel
(1666-1672) which divided the town religiously and politically,
paralyzing town administration. This dispute had ended by 1673,
whereupon the town began a period of readjustment which extended to
at least 1685, when a new dispute over land distribution may have
begun to realign the effective link patterns in the town.

The construction of the networks was performed in August,
1973 utilizing a network program designed and written under the
auspices of Richard Farace and in the possession of the Department
of Communications, Michigan State University. Data summarizing
frequency of relationship between nodes fOr each category was read
from punched cards and transformed by the program according to

parametric specifications.20

An extended discussion of networks is beyond the scope of
this essay. Nevertheless, because many of the assumptions used in
this study have implications for the precise understanding of this
network, a few general comments are in order. Moreover, because
this method has not previously been used historiographically, a

discussion of the network in general and this network in particular

 

20I am grateful to Professor Farace for permission to use
this program, and to him, William Richards, and James Danowski for
their interest and assistance in this project. A brief discussion
of the program and its parameters will be found in Appendix 11.
Further information about the prOgram and its subsequent revisions
can be obtained from Professor Farace.

69

will also serve as an introduction to what seems to be a promising
research technique.

Theoretically, a network is limited only by the number of
nodes eligible for inclusion and by the number of different types of
links that can be determined. Hence, a "total" social network will
be "bounded" only by the number of people alive and by the number of
different relationships that exist among them.21 Human abilities and
technolOgy, however, are not able to deal with such an effectively
unbounded network. It is necessary, therefore, to draw limits around
the network in order to make the analysis manageable.

Whenever a social network is composed of a limited number of
elements (in contrast to a "total" network whose range is essentially
infinite) it becomes, by definition, a "bounded" or "partial" network.
The precise bounds are determined by the categorical limitations
imposed upon the nodes and links. Because the "total" social network
cannot be examined, the validity of the partial social network is
directly related to the accuracy with which it approximates the "total"
network. In other words, the representativeness of a partial network
depends on the significance of the interrelationships studied and on
the ability of the researcher to identify as many apprOpriate nodes
as possible. A social network is no stronger, so to Speak, than
its weakest link.

The network used in this study of Newbury is a partial net-

work. On the one hand, the universe of nodes is a bounded universe.

 

21See, for example, Barnes, Social Networks, passim; and Idem.,
"Networks and Political Processes," in SOCial Networks in Urban
Situations, ed. by Mitchell, 55-56.

 

 

 

7O

Nodes are restricted to Newbury residents despite the considerable
kinship and friendship relationships established between Newbury
inhabitants and individuals who lived elsewhere. Moreover, only a
specific part Of the population of Newbury is included. Males who
held no elected office and who were not eligible to participate in the
church split are Omitted, even though their behavior may have had some
influence on town affairs.

Nor do the links exhaust the full range of relationships which
existed in seventeenth-century Newbury. Confined to two relation-
ships, they do not recognize any of the other types of interpersonal
channels a given individual might have exploited. Moreover, links
are determined through transactions only. They are not supplemented
by links drawn on the basis of attitudes or "roles." Any evaluation
of attitudinal or "role" relationships must be made in part from the
perSpective of transactional connections.22

Furthermore, these are recorded transactions only. Hence,
they do not reveal all the kinship and friendship relationships in
Newbury. They are useful only to the extent that the assumptions
made to extract data from the surviving records are valid. It is not
even possible to assume that these links constitute a totally repre-
sentative sample of all the links, unless one is willing to make the
additional and dangerous assumption that no peculiarities in the

records distort the patterns of relationships.

 

22This link typology is borrowed from Barnes, Social
Networks, 16-18.

71

Finally, the criteria used to identify links and nodes
inject a certain bias of their own into the network. Because nodes
are included on the basis of political office holding and church
membership, the more visible members of the community--and, pre-
sumably, those of higher "station"--are favored for inclusion.
Moreover, the criteria also slant the network toward members of the
permanent and multigenerational families whose records are probably
more nearly complete, who probably established a greater number of
lengthy friendships which were more likely to appear in the records,
and whose longer residence in the town may have been manifested in
church membership. The effect of these latter biases would be par-
tially to limit the extent to which various conclusions posited here
can be generalized to colonial Massachusetts as a whole.

On the other hand, these biases also have certain advantages.
Behavior can only be evaluated through actors whose actions are at
least partly identifiable, and the level of evaluation determines the
requisite level of identification. The prominence and permanence of
the individuals favored by these criteria permit the Newbury church
split and its social ramifications to be examined with considerably
greater precision. Moreover, as used here, the network methodology
is partly exploratory. The analytic conclusions of this approach, in
many ways, are less significant than the context of the application.
Therefore, where possible, I shall use the network not as a measure
of all social relationships but as an ideal representation which can
be compared to actual, documentable behavior. If the network can
illuminate aspects of Newbury behavioral patterns, any unavoidable

biases become nagging but minor imperfections.

72

If a network is to explain a social situation, however, it
must indicate consistencies of interrelationships within the pOpula-
tion. Because all networks are constructed from superimposed and
interlinked dyadic relationships, it is the interaction of these
dyads that is of concern. These cumulative dyads must form non-
independent patterns of behavioral options, at least, if the network
is to be an appropriate medium for viewing collective interpersonal
behavior.

Many of these patterns are predictable because of concepts
implicit in the method. Fundamentally, all networks are predicated
upon one basic assumption: the events occurring in one part of a
system exert an implicit or explicit influence on the rest of the
system.23 A prOper stimulus in one part of the nervous system, for
example, causes a series of reactions throughout the rest of the
system. Or, the movement of one train in a subway system influences
the scheduling, energy supply, and possible routes of other trains.
For these reactions to occur, the nodes must be related to each other
systematically. This is no less true for social networks. Behind
any social network, states J. A. Barnes, lies the assumption

that the configuration of cross-cutting interpersonal
bonds is in some unSpecified way causally connected with

the actions of these [sicl persons and with the
institutions of their society.

 

23This assumes, of course, that nodes and links are appro-
priately defined and germane to the question asked.

24Social Networks, 2.

 

73

This notion of a "chain-reaction" within the network--which
suggests that something is flowing through the system--is based on

the assumption that the links are transitive in operation. In order

 

for an influence to have an effect throughout the network, some means
must exist for a reaction to proceed in sequence from one node to
another. This avenue is a path or paths fOrmed along the links of the
interconnected dyads. The precise links a given reaction will follow
can only be approximated under ideal situations, but the assumption of
transitivity must hold if a reaction is to spread through the network.25
Depending on the context of the inquiry, however, transitivity
may be selective. A given reaction need not affect all the nodes in
a network nor affect equally all the nodes it touches. In a social
network, the "autonomy" of the individual is not compromised by any
requirement that a given stimulus be passed on along gll_his links.
Indeed, transitivity does not affect any individual's capacity to dis-
criminate among his associates, to pass on only those stimuli he
chooses and to pass them on to whichever associate he chooses.26

Transitivity therefore is a potential characteristic only.

 

25For examples of transitivity as it has been used as a re-
search concept, see J. S. Coleman et al., Medical Innovation: A
Diffusion Study (Indianapolis: Bohhs-Merriii, 1966). See also
the "small world" phenomenon, discussed in Barnes, §ogial Networks,
10.

 

 

26This "selective transitivity" is central to Adrian Mayer's
discussion of "Quasi-Groups" ("The Significance of Quasi-Groups in
the Study of Complex Societies," in Michael Banton, ed., The Social
Anthro 010 of Complex Societies [New York: Frederick A. Praeger,
I966I, 97-Ig2), and to Barry Kapferer's study of "Norms and the
Manipulation of Relationships in a Work Context," in Social Networks
in Urban Situations, ed. by Mitchell, 181-244.

 

 

74

Transitive potential is a necessary prerequisite for the

concept Of reachability. In order for a series of nodes and links

 

to form a working network, any given individual must be able to
"reach" any other individual in the same group (and, ideally, any
individual in any other group) through the link paths available to
him. Like transitivity, reachability is not absolute. Rather it
is measured with reference to "distance," which is defined as the
minimum number of links a stimulus must traverse in order to reach
from node A to node B. The significance of reachability lies in
the theoretical quality that the "greater" the reachability (i.e.,
the shorter the distance), the "more" the relationship can be
exploited.

Collectively, the dyads within a network have other attributes
as well. UnfOrtunately, these qualities cannot be examined here, for
the records used to determine links and nodes provide only a minimum
amount of infOrmation. Accordingly a number of simplifying assump-
tions have been made.

For example, the direction of a link may be an important
characteristic of the dyadic relationship, for it permits the
initiator and the contactee of the association to be distinguished.
Unfortunately, the nature of the data does not permit direction to
be established fer the links of the networks employed here. Hence,
I have assumed that all friendship and kinship relationships are

reciprocal and symmetrical.27 For kinship links, this poses only

 

 

 

27In this discussion, these terms are used almost inter-
changeably. Technically, however, they are related but different
concepts. Symmetry is an attribute Of a relationship. It simply

75

minor problems. Primary kinship relations are, by definition,
symmetrical, and the negotiative aSpects of marriage imply further
that kinship fOrmed by marriage is likewise accepted mutually.28
Friendship reciprocation is not so easily dismissed. Although the
definition of a friendship link requires that at least some reciprocity
be implicit in the relationship, the aggregate data is not sensitive
enough to recognize different degrees of reciprocation. The extent to
which a relationship is symmetrical, however, may have important
consequences for any understanding of a social network. It is
regrettable, therefOre, that not enough infOrmation exists for these
qualities to be established.

Because directionality cannot be evaluated, it is impossible
to distinguish relationships according to intensity. There is no
evidence that the same relationship was equally important to both
participants. Likewise, nothing in one relationship says anything
about the intensity of any other relationship. Nevertheless, all links
are regarded as equipotent and equivalent. The intensity of a rela-
tionship fer one person is therefore assumed to equal the intensity

fer the other, and a relationship between one pair of individuals is

assumed to be as intense as a relationship between any other dyad.

 

means that a non-directed, shared link connects nodes A and B.
Reciprocity, on the other hand, is a procedural term. A link is
reciprocal only if both node A and node B perceive the relationship.
The friendship criteria used here, for example, can seldom comprehend
reciprocity and assume that all links are symmetrical.

28For example, see Morgan, Puritan Family, 81-83. Marriages,
Morgan notes, frequently were contracted in writing. For an extant
contract, see the unusual matrimonial contract between Thomas
Nelson of Rowley and Joane Dummer of Newbury, in Probate Recs., 1,
113-14.

 

 

76

Moreover, I have found no way to differentiate between
kinship and friendship intensities short of imposing arbitrary,
categorical standards upon the data. Accordingly, kinship and friend-
ship links are not given different weights to account for their
characteristically different intensities. Rather, they are both
accorded the same significance as relationships.

In short, the importance of any given relationship or type of
relationship cannot be examined. Except for a handful cases where,
for example, links are either "multiplex" or "multistranded," the
analysis can only deal with the presence of a relationship. It can
evaluate broader phenomena only by allowing ample room for
exceptions.29

The absence of many comparable historical studies creates
the necessity fer a final series of assumptions. All qualities which
are attributed to networks in general are the products of philOSOphical
inferences about networks and conclusions based upon empirical network
research. Because virtually all of these investigations have occurred
under modern circumstances, the use of these studies as "models" for
a network analysis of seventeenth-century social relationships re-
quires the assumption that human psychology at all times produces

limited behavioral manifestations. If the seventeenth century was a

 

29For that matter, the network analysis is also unable to
treat negative relationships, such as disliking, which can also have
profound influences on the social life of a community. See, for
example, the Woodman-Gerrish di5pute in Chapter 5, which, as part of
the church split, may have also been a preliminary skirmish in an
interpersonal war which cost Gerrish dearly in the end. It seems to
have culminated in April, 1678, when Gerrish was accused and convicted
of peculation while a Captain in the Militia (995, VI, 441-56).

77

psychological and emotional world similar to the twentieth century,
and if personal reactions and responses took their shapes within the
same general psychological and emotional contexts, then this study
should produce results which are compatible with more recent studies.
Although the extent to which human nature (as opposed to the human
environment) has remained relatively constant remains to be estab-
lished, some reason does exist to believe that men and women may not
have changed significantly in the transition to modern society. Such,
at least, is the inference to be drawn from the psycho-historical and
demographic literature as well as many of the conclusions to be found
below.30
Taken too far, however, this logic begins to border on tauto-

logy and false contemporaneousness. Although the "scientific method"

may produce results which accord with expectation, no study can

 

30See, for example, Demos, Little Commonwealth, 131-70; David

Hunt, Parents and Children in History: :The Psychology of Family Life
in Early Modern France:_TOrchbook edl (New York: Harper and Row,
PEEIishers, I972 ll970|); or Bruce Mazlish, ed., P5 choanal Sis and
History, Paperbound ed. (New York: Grosset and DunIap, 1971 I1963I),
all of which are part of a larger body of literature which examines
pre-industrial civilization from a perspective rooted in twentieth-
century psychology.

Demographically, the application of U.N. Model Life Tables,
for example, to seventeenth-century society implies a certain, basic
human consistency, modified only by environment. In a more general
sense, the Parsonian terms in which much of the demographic historio-
graphy is expressed imply that, ceteris paribus, biological functions
are related to the equilibrium of the social situation. In turn,
this suggests an environmentalism that determines demographic charac-
teristics in the same way it determines genetic manifestations.
Demographic potentials, in other words, are narrowed by the social and
physical environment. If this is true, then the specific demographic
characteristics of a society are simply reactions to the demands
imposed by the milieu of the society. In this context, see Crest and
Patricia Ranum, eds., Popular Attitudes toward Birth Control in Pre-
Industrial France and En land, Torchbook ed. (New York: Harper and
Row, Publishers, 1972); an t e even more suggestive, Anthony Allison,
ed., Population Control (Baltimore: Penguin Books, Inc., 1970).

 

 

 

 

 

78

validate the assumptions which are used to derive its conclusions.
Indeed, there is no evidence one way or another that the applicability
to this study of certain modern conceptualizations is anything more
than a coincidence. Much more work needs to be done in areas like
historical psycholOgy and historical sociology before students can
confidentally evaluate the past from a present-minded perspective.31
Until this work has been accomplished, therefore, many of the conclu-
sions that follow must be considered conditional probabilities pending
future confirmation of the assumptions from which they are derived.
Finally, one point must be re-emphasized. If the assumptions
made here and elsewhere are justifiable, and if kinship and friendship
constitute a sufficient partial network as they have been defined, the
resultant social network should represent a reasonable if incomplete
sketch of Newbury's social structure. Given the limitations of the

data, the biases in the node and link criteria, and the designedly

 

31On the other hand, this sword has a second edge. Just as
there is no proof that human nature has not changed, there is little
evidence to suggest that it has. To refute conclusions about pre-
industrial society which imply a consistent human psyche requires that
similarities between pro-industrial and post-industrial civilization
be shown to be coincidental. The objection that no support exists
for the attribution of modern characteristics to pre-modern society is
not prima facie proof that the attribution is invalid.

Nevertheless, an innate and cautious conservatism prevents
me from assuming too many similarities. Thus, I have not attempted
to make as many comparative inquiries as I would like in more specu-
lative moments. For example, it would be interesting to evaluate
the seventeenth-century appropriateness of Elizabeth Bott's conjugal-
role hypothesis (Family and Social Network) or to describe similarities
between the colonlal farmer and the IriSh farm family examined by
Conrad Arensberg and Solon Kimball (Famil and Communiry in Ireland
[2nd ed.; Cambridge: Harvard UniverEitygress, 1968]). Both of
these studies speak of phenomena which, impressionalistically at
least, seem to have had analogies in seventeenth-century social
life.

 

 

 

79

partial nature of the network, it can only be considered an ideal
representation to be compared to documentable aspects of reality. It
is, accordingly, only an approximation of the full range of relation-
ships which interconnected the inhabitants of Newbury. The validity
of this network turns upon its ability to reproduce patterns of inter-
personal choices which help explain events in the town. Where it
fails to elucidate the relationship between behavior and social norms,
the network will have to be refined or supplemented by alternate
methodologies. But to the extent that it provides empirical insights
into the social basis of behavior, the network may help to identify
some of the dimensions of harmony, peace, and organicism in at least

one seventeenth-century New England settlement.

Until the 16405, the corporate unity of Newbury was encouraged
by both residential patterns and civic activity. Those who settled the
town took an active role in its daily business. Although Selectmen
were chosen early, the town met frequently, choosing new "Prudentials"
at first quarterly, confirming the acts of the Selectmen, and handling
much of the business of the town. The general participation of the
townsmen was made possible by the compactness of the settlement.
Accommodations were laid out in all parts of the village, but house
lots were mainly located on either bank of the Parker River and on
"Kent's Island," at the confluence of the Parker and Little Rivers.
While pasture and planting lots were placed outside the residential
areas, most houses were built around the lower green on the north side

of the Parker. As a result, few actually lived far from the

80

32 and virtually all in the town, even those with large

meeting house,
farm grants, were able to participate in the collective activities
of the town.

This pattern of land distribution was disrupted in the 16405,
when the town voted to relocate on the south bank of the Merrimack.33
By that time, however, the townsmen had found new, social means to pre-
serve the corporate quality of their town. The "artificial" relation-
ships encouraged by compact settlement may have been terminated, but
they were replaced by more nearly permanent, personal associations
developed between individuals. Kinship and friendship had been impor-
tant influences in settling the town, and the same relationships kept
the town knit together, at least potentially, following the removal
to the Merrimack. Indeed, through kinship and friendship channels,
the town remained a potentially unified social organism to the 16605.

A total of 126 persons constituted the nodes of Newbury's

34

social network between 1635 and 1665. These inhabitants comprised

four groups,35 three of which contained a total of 18 members. The

 

”prop. Recs., passim; Coffin, 17.

 

33Lands in New Town were laid out in the same manner. But not
all residents of the town took up accommodations along the Merrimack,
and the compactness of the settlement was broken. A number of towns-
men, in fact, objected to the removal, particularly because the
meeting house was also relocated. See below pp. 92-98 and 175-77.

34One hundred and thirty-five people, in all, were in at least
one Of the networks during the full 50-year period. For this earlier
period, however, nine had no links in the town.

35At least five criteria must be satisfied before a group can
be identified. On the one hand, all groups must contain at least
three members, otherwise only an isolated dyad exists. Second, in
order for an individual to be considered a member of the group, at

81

fourth group, containing 83 townsmen,36 constituted the core of the
town and enabled the inhabitants to remain a potentially unified
social whole.

None of the three outlying groups was isolated from the
central group. Of the twelve adults in all of these three groups,
only four were not connected to the core of the town via "bridge
links." Moreover, no one in any of these three groups was separated
by more than one link from someone connected to the central group.
There was no indication that these external groups constituted a
distinct sub-stratum of the population. All extra-group links, or
relationships extending outside of the group, traveled to the central
group, leaving the fringe groups isolated from one another. In
effect, these were groups by definition but not by "function," for
they were broken off from the central group almost accidentally. Had
unmarried sons been eliminated, almost all of the remaining members
would have been placed in the core of the town.

Far more indicative of the interrelated quality of early
social life in Newbury was the core group of 83 members. These resi-

dents shared 484 links among them, or a mean of almost 6 links apiece.

 

least half of his links must connect him with other members of the
same group. Third, all group members must be able to reach all other
group members at a distance of no more than 10 links. Fourth and
fifth, there can be no link and no node in the group, the removal

of which would cause any of the other criteria to be violated. See
Farace et al., "Analysis of Human Communications Networks," 15.

36The remaining 23 townsmen were assigned to some other
category. Connected to one group member and to an "isolate," was
one "tree-node." Connected to only one group member were 16
"isolates, type 2." The rest were "isolated dyads," not connected
to any group.

82

They were fairly closely interrelated among themselves. The connected-
oooo_of a group is a measure of the extent to which all members of the
group are linked to one another. The higher the connectedness, the
greater the degree of interrelationship which exists among the popula-
tion. It ranges from 0.00 to 1.00, and is calculated by dividing the
number of possible links within the group (N[N-l], where N is the
number of people in the group) into the number of actual links. This
central group was connected at a level of .071. This figure alone
does not indicate an overly-interrelated population, but it must be
evaluated relative to other groups of a similar size. Because the
connectedness of a group tends to be inversely related to the size of
its membership, the larger the group becomes, the less likely it is
for all within it to be linked to each other, and the smaller the
connectedness. Compared to core groups of later periods, in fact,
this was a relatively high figure. From 1666 to 1672, when the core
group was only 63 persons, the connectedness was .063. Only in 1673-
1685, when the core had shrunk to 43 persons, almost half its original
size, did its connectedness exceed that of this earlier period. Even
then, the .117 connectedness was not proportionately greater.

A more sensitive measure of the closeness of this group is the
mean distance separating its members. Distance can be an important
index of the extent to which people can influence other peOple. It
is interpreted Similarly to a road map. Just as it is easier to
travel ten miles than one hundred, it is easier to communicate, in-
fluence, or cooperate with someone closer in the network than someone

more distant. As the path between two individuals becomes shorter,

83

the potential for personal contact between the two becomes greater.
And increased contact enhances the potential for cooperation and
interaction.37
The members of this central group were quite closely inter-
meshed. The mean distance separating any individual from the rest
of the group was only 2.9 links. Moreover, it was a fairly compact
group. The standard deviation of the individual mean distances, a
measure of the dispersion around the group mean, was a relatively
small .47255, less than half a link, and the individual means ranged
from 1.9 to 3.9. In sum, no member of the central group was more
distant from the rest of the group than 4 links, on the average, and
no one was separated from any other group member by more than 5 links.
The group was not only close in terms of distance. Those
who were linked directly also tended to be mutual friends or kin. In
effect, the ego-centric networks, or the personal sets of kin and
friends that each individual maintained, tended to be "interlocking"

as opposed to "radial."38

This is an important distinction, for the
two types of associations tend to be quite different characteristically.

The greater the degree of interlocking association, the greater the

 

37For an illustration, see Mayer, "The Significance of
Quasi-Groups,” in Social Anthropology of Complex Societies, ed. by
Banton, 97-122; see, also, the two essays 5y Wheeldon and Kapferer,
in Social Networks in Urban Situations, ed. by Mitchell, 128-80
and 181-244.

 

38An "interlocking" network is one where the friends of one
person tend to be friends of one another. A "radial" network, on
the other hand, is one where the friends of an individual tend not
to be mutual friends. See Edward O. Laumann, "Interlocking and Radial
Friendship Nets: A Formal Feature with Important Consequences,"
Paper #65, The Center for Research on Social Organization, Ann Arbor,
Michigan (1971).

84

homogeneity of the network and the greater the commonality among
the members. Networks of mutual friends

will be composed of peOple who are similar to one another

in important social reSpects, while radial networks will

be less likely to be socially homogeneous. . . . [I]nter-

locking networks are more likely . . . to involve greater feel-

ings of intimacy and emotional involvement, to involve greater

frequencies of contact, and to have, on the average, existed

fer a longer proportion of one's life than radial networks.39
The interlocking quality of these relationships would later prove
detrimental to the unity of the town. But, in the early period, the
mutuality of associations contributed to the preservation of
communalism by imparting to each individual a feeling of belonging-
ness and commonality.

The interlocking nature of relationships can be measured in
two ways, at least. On the one hand, it is possible to examine the
extent to which the associates of one person were mutually‘related
by examining the "integratedness" of his kin and friends, or the
number of "2-step circuits" between him and those with whom he was
associated. For example, Joseph Plummer was directly linked to 7
individuals. A fully interlocked, egocentric network, in this case,
would have 42 additional links connecting those with whom Plummer
was linked, and a fully radial network would leave Plummer's asso-
ciates totally unconnected. The integratedness of Plummer's ego-
centric network, or the number of links connecting his associates

divided by the number of possible links, measures its interlocking

quality. Because the number of 2-step circuits (which is another

 

391bid., 23, 25.

85

way of saying the number of links connecting his associates) in
Plummer's personal network was 14, the integratedness of his network
was 0.33.

But integratedness can be unwieldy, for it is not readily
calculable for more than one person at one time.40 For specific
analytic purposes, the ”integratedness ratio" seems a much more
useful measure. This ratio is the number of 2-step circuits connect-
ing an individual to his associates, divided by the total number of
links possessed by the individual. The interpretation of this measure
is slightly more ambiguous, and the ratio does not have the analytic
power of the integratedness measure. But it is both simpler and more
versatile, and it can be calculated for a group, for part of a group,
for a set of individuals, or for a single person. Moreover, the
integratedness ratio seems much more valuable where comparisons are
required. Unlike both connectedness and integratedness, it is not
affected as greatly by the number of links an individual extends.

It is, finally, a different sort of measure of central tendency,
indicating not the proportion of a person's associates who are them-
selves linked but the mean number of 2-step links connecting an
individual with those to whom he is connected. In the example above,
the integratedness ratio of Joseph Plummer's network was 2.0. Each

of his associates, on the average, was connected to two others. By

 

40The integratedness of a group would be the number of 2-step
circuits connecting all group members, divided by the number of
possible 2-Step links. (N, 2-step circuits/N [N-l][N-2]). For this
central group, the denominator of 551,286 would make the integrated-
ness incomparably small.

86

way of contrast, Abraham Toppan, with 10 links, was integrated with
his kin and friends at a level of 0.24. However, his 22, 2-step
circuits provided him with an integratedness ratio of 2.2. Though
the integratedness of his network was lower than that of Plummer's,
his associates tended to be slightly more "interlocked" at the

individual level.41

Figure 1 depicts these relationships between
radial and interlocking networks, and Shows the difference between
integratedness and the integratedness ratio.

Virtually everyone in the central group had some mutual
associates. The ratio for the core was 1.75, which means that an
individual with fOur links would have a total of seven, indirect
2-step circuits connecting him to his associates, on the average.

Even this measure, however, underestimates the degree of mutuality
among those who were in interlocking relationships, fer it includes
a number of people who were linked only directly. Integratedness
ratios, therefore, represent the minimum degree to which group
relationships tended to be interlocking.

It is apparent that the core group was a fairly dense group.
Clusters of mutual friends, all interlinked together, made up a
potentially homogeneous town network, one which ooolo work to preserve
the harmony and single-mindedness of the town through natural, social
processes. Moreover, the entire group was fairly cohesive. Virtually

everyone was moderately "close" to those with whom he was not directly

associated. And, compared even to groups significantly smaller, the

 

41Henceforth, the words integrated or integratedness will be
used to mean the integratedness ratio.

87

FIGURE I

Radial and Interlocking Networks and Integratedness Measures

"Radial" Network ”Interlocking" Network

 

Integratedness and Integratedness Ratio
Of Ego—centric network A

 

 

N Iinks=4
. N 2—5teplinks=
Max N 2—step Iinks=
N(N-11)=12
4. lntegratedness=
2‘.- 3=.33
Integratedness Ratio=
2 {- 1=1.00

1.
2
3.

9'

Figure 1.--Radial and Interlocking Networks and Integratedness
Measures.

88

core group was relatively connected. In short, the ebb of religious
zeal, when it occurred, did not necessarily disrupt the harmony of
the town. Through the bonds and obligations of kinship and friend-
ship, Newbury was able to preserve its fundamentally unified social
structure.

The importance of these relationships was not missed by the
townsmen. They chose, as leaders, those who were in the very center
of the core group. Selectmen, Commissioners for Small Causes,
Deputies, and, for Newbury, the Commissioners fer the New Town were
more than proxies for the town meeting. It was their responsibility
to manage the town smoothly, to obtain the COOperation of the towns-
men, and, where necessary, to mediate and settle disagreements within
the town before they disrupted the social network. They were
successful-~though they would not always be--for a number of reasons,
not the least important of which was their position in the network.

All but 2 of the 30 major town officers between 1635 and
1665 were filled by members of the central group.42 Maintaining
communication with the rest of the core was fairly easy for these
men. Though the mean distance separating core group members was 2.90
links, the 28 town leaders were connected to the whole group at an
average of 2.52 links. As a subgroup, all 30 were even closer in-
ternally, linked to one another at a mean distance of only 2.18 links.

They were thus not only closer to the town than the typical inhabitant,

 

42Not all of the officers for this period have been identi-
fied, for damage to the first town book has destroyed the records
of a number of elections. These figures are based, therefore, on
the partial or complete returns from 21 of the 31 years.

89

but they were also closer to one another than they were to the town.
Moreover, where the town was integrated at 1.75, they, as a group,
had a ratio of 2.81. Chosen by the townsmen perhaps for these very
reasons, they were in a favorable position to cooperate in preserving

the corporate character of the town.

In its earliest years, Newbury should have been a peaceful
and harmonious community. Even though the principle of compact
settlement had been abandoned within ten years of the founding of
the town, the inhabitants shared an interest in the peace and success
of the town that bode well for the future. Through the agencies of
kinship and friendship, each townsman was part of a closely-knit
fraternity that seemed to discourage the appearance of any general
rift in the fabric of the society. Not everyone contributed equally
to the web of social relations, to be sure, but everyone was a fellow
traveler on a utOpian voyage with a schedule seemingly conducive to
success.

If society were as simple as kinship and friendship, they
might have reached their destination. But no social organism can be
totally described by two variables, particularly when the variables
measure tendencies alone. Despite the apparent closeness and mutuality
of the population, despite the potentially mediating positions of the
leaders, deSpite the similar English experiences of the townsmen, and

despite their common interest in the success of the settlement, serious

 

90

flaws in the social structure of the town threatened to undo the
threads. Ironically, many of these flaws stemmed from the same social
relationships which made success such a reasonable expectation. Kin-
ship and friendship had their less-than-obvious implications as well.
Though they could infuse the town with the potential for on-going,
corporate agreement, they could also provide, in part, for the social
paralysis of the town. As long as the inhabitants continued to comprise
a harmonious, symmetrically-shaped network, peace and cooperation re-
mained possible. But if the shape of the network were to become
skewed, or if a single issue or series of issues were to divide the
network into several networks, cooperation and interrelatedness would
become threatened, and the unity of the town would be lost.

This is, in fact, what happened to the network of social
relationships in Newbury. Buried beneath the surface was the seed
of social differentiation. Given the proper stimulus, this seed
would grow. Hidden behind phenomena like distance and integratedness
were nascent patterns of biased association. Indeed, these patterns

had begun to crystallize shortly after the town was founded.

CHAPTER III

"What Unquietness is Amongst Us Already"

Until 1665, the structure of kinship and friendship relation-
ships in Newbury was conducive to social harmony and civil peace. But
the townsmen were not able to make use of the potential advantages.
Both before and after 1665, the town became divided over a variety
of seemingly unrelated issues. Appearances belied reality, however,
for none of these contentions was isolated or independent. Conflict
over land usage in the 16405, militia affairs in the 16505 and 16605,
and town politics in the 16605 and 16705 all were interrelated along
ideOIOgical and social dimensions as two separate groups emerged in
competition for dominance of the town.

These controversies proved to be only preludes to the cata-
clysmic church split of the 16605 and 16705, which is discussed in
greater detail in Chapters IV and V. From outward appearances, this
was a theological controversy between the Pastor, Thomas Parker, and
[paat of the congregation, led by Edward Woodman, Sr. In reality,

however, the church dispute epitomized the factionalized development

of the town. Together with the church Split, the three earlier
social and ideOIOgical divisions challenged not only the New England
way of life but also the unified social network that characterized

NeWbury in its earliest years.

91

92

Amid the church split crisis, Edward Woodman lamented to a
council called by his Opponents that twenty-five years of "Unprofit-
able contention and division" had given Newbury the reputation of "an
unquiet people and unreconcilable."1 No less ruefully, the supporters
of Thomas Parker Spoke of "sundry years" of "continual grief,"
charging that the Woodman faction had attempted "to rake up what they
could fer thirty years."2 Both statements dated the inception of
the disagreement with the decision of the townsmen to abandon their
homes along the Parker River and to move, en masse, to a new location
at the mouth of the Merrimack.

This removal was not implemented smoothly, for not everyone
in the town was equally dissatisfied with his Old Town land holdings.
Indeed, a sizable proportion of the inhabitants refused to abandon
their homes along the Parker River and, in 1644, appealed to the
General Court for assistance against the rest of the town. The Court
refused to intervene as fully as the Old Towners wanted, requiring
only that the petitioners be given satisfactory answers to their ob-
jections before a new village could be established.3 Consequently,
the town meeting made a number of concessions to the Old Towners in
exchange for their consent to the removal. But approval and com-

Lxromdse did not resolve Newbury's difficulties. The resumption of

 

1 R, IV, 363; Coffin, 86. See, also, Coffin, 78, to the
point that 1t had been Woodman, consistently, who had led the
Opposition to Parker.

zoca, IV, 353-54; Coffin, 92, 95.

3Shurtleff, III, 8.

 

 

93

relocation engendered a new problem which was not so easily settled--
where to situate the meeting house.

Though the Special commissioners to manage the business of
the New Town had begun their work in 1642, no resolution of the
Church site was forthcoming. Only in January, 1646 did the com-
nu'ssioners take the problem into their own hands.

For the settling the disturbances that yet remain about

the planting and settling the meeting house that all men

may cheerfully go on to improve their lands at the New

Town [, the eight men ordered] that the meeting house

shall be placed and set up . . . in or upon a knoll of

land by Abraham Toppan's barn . 4
Subsequent town approval, however, did not assuage the complaints of
those remaining at Old Town. Encouraged, perhaps, by their former,
limited success in obtaining General Court intervention, several
01d Towners submitted a new petition to the Court, protesting the
duPliCitous "policy" of the rest of the town ("their whole carriage
being full of it.").5

The Old Town petitioners stated explicitly that their second

appeal was founded on the same complaints that had precipitated the
first. But the church business occupied much of their attention,
for it was one of "the last passages which stir and set on the great

burden of our sorrows." Few of those who had paid for building the

first meeting house, they complained, had approved of its destruction.

\

4Town Recs., January 2, 1646.

Cu SMass. Archs., x, leaves 28-30; Coffin, 44-46. For a dis-
88ion of Puritan hostility to ”policy," see George L. Mosse,
re Holy Pretense: A Study in Christianity and Reason of State
Wfiliam Perkins to John Winthrop (Oxford: Basil Blaacwell,

), Chapter 10.

Fm.

94

Rather, the decision to move the meeting house, they claimed, was the

result of secrecy, scandal, and sacrilege.
The voices of many that were then servants and never paid
a penny to it prevailed, down it is taken without any
satisfaction given us and besides [,] the highway in part,
that served both town and country and the very places
assigned to bury the dead, and where many dead bodies lie
[,] are sold away (as we are informed, though all things
are secretly carried) . . .
They asserted that the new location was inconvenient for both sides
0f the town, and particularly for the Old Towners. But it was not
Only inconvenience they dreaded. It was their own religious welfare
and that of their children, for they had crossed the Atlantic speci-
fical 1y to enjoy the proper ordinances of God. "The town being con-
tinued and stretched out near five miles if not upwards besides the
inconveniences of a great river at the old town . . . it cannot be
imagined that we old, feeble men, women, and children of all sorts
can Possibly many of them go above three miles to meeting."6
Again, they asked the Court to ameliorate their condition
by directing that one elder live with them, that a second meeting
house be erected for the benefit of Old Town, or that Old Town be
Permitted to form its own, independent church. Their hopes were dis-
c”fitted, however, when both houses rejected their appeal in May,
1647: stating that the petitioners had "failed in not submitting to

their own covenant" and had acted irregularly "in regard of their

a . . . .
cceptance of the recompense ordered for satisfaction."7 The dec151on

\

6Mass. Archs., X, leaves 28-30; Coffin, 44-46.

7Shurtleff, II, 196.

95

of the Court was clearuthe petitioners had simply acted illegally.
The Court refused to do more than explicate right and wrong in narrow,
legal terms. But the disagreement was not one that could be resolved
in legal terms alone. The decision of the Court addressed only the
nlamifestations of a deeper problem.

Perhaps the Court had taken the petition as simple verbiage
1.11[justification of a general irritation, or perhaps it recognized
that it was incompetent to deal with the real problem, as the New

Totimers maintained.8 By its decision, it permitted a budding contro-
‘Versy' writhin the church to sprout. A more perspicuous or energetic
Court might have foreseen the storm, for events surrounding the peti-
tion litid.already made clear that the affairs of the church could not
be separated from the affairs of the town. In December, 1646, the
Commissioners had voted that all land between the Parker River and
Stephen Dummer's farm—-both in the Old Town area--was granted only
upon tflhia explicit condition that recipients neither "go to divide the
ChurC11 (Jr oppose the first order or agreement about the removal of
the t0wn."9 Only six days earlier, Thomas Parker, an original
C°“““.1SSioner for the New Town, had given notice to the town meeting

that he was "unwilling to act any longer in matters concerning the

new to“. "10

\

8Mass. Archs., X, leaf 30.

9Town Recs., December 16, 1646; Prop. Recs., Fol. 59, 152.

 

10M” December 10, 1646; Prop. Recs., Fol. 58, 151.

 

96

There is no evidence that behind Parker's actions lay his
failing eyesight.11 Indeed, the words used to record his resignation
suggest that he was reacting in frustration to criticism of his be-
havior. To the Old Towners, Parker was at least partially responsible
fbr their disappointments. The petitioners had, they claimed, looked
to Parker and bees for support which never came. At the outset of
the difficulties, they had promised to maintain Parker and Noyes at

their own expense "if they would engage themselves to abide with us."
Despite the refusal of the elders, the petitioners continued to make
known their protests, "all which . . . with dutiful expressions and
Sufficient reason we have rendered to the church in writing." Never-
theless, they claimed, no satisfaction had been given by the elders.

Yset: can we receive no answers of our desires and we

Suppose they cannot answer otherwise if they deny us these

blitz that we must live at home and turn ignorant atheists

we and ours, or attend on the ordinances be our conditions

What it will with such extraordinary inconveniences as are

1101: to be borne .

Parker had made clear that his sympathies were with the
majority of the town. As commissioner, he had voted to locate the
meeting house at a site deemed inconvenient to the Old Towners, and
as the preacher, he had refused to ameliorate their discontent. Many
Of the offended petitioners to the General Court would remember
Parker's actions when Parker himself was later assailed. John Poore,

Sr' . who signed the 1647 petition, supported Edward Woodman in the

\

11See below, p. 126.

12Mass. Archs., X, leaf 29.

97

later church di5pute. Although the names of only three other signa-
tories are known, it is not surprising that considerable opposition
to Parker came from Old Towners like Poore, John Emery, Sr., Richard
Dummer, and the Thorlas, many of whom may also have been frustrated
petitioners to the General Court.
But Parker was not the only "offender," and the impending
church dispute was not simply a battle of geOgraphical sections.
Many of the Old Towners in 1647 had left Newbury by the time of the
Church controversy. Of the four signatories whose names were not torn
from the petition, two had departed by 1650. Edmund Greenleaf, whose
Son Stephen was a future opponent of Parker, left for Boston, and
Stephen Kent, who joined others from Newbury in the migration to
Woodbridge, New Jersey in the 16605, made Haverhill his home in the
interim. Similarly, the deranged Henry Sewall, Sr., whose son Henry,
Jr. Supported Parker, moved to Rowley in reaction to the movement of
the Church.13 Other Old Towners, however, such as Richard Kent, Jr.
and Richard Dole, were leaders in the defense of Parker against Edward
“009111811. And many opponents of the minister were probably not among
the Old Town petitioners. Richard Bartlet, for example, and possibly
Other Bartlets as well, lived at Bartlet's Cove on the Merrimack. And
John Emery, Jr., as well as both Edward Woodmans, lived along Arti-

Choke River, a tributary of the Merrimack at the northwest corner of

the town

\

pet- . 13’MHs Colls., 5th Ser., v, xiv. If Sewall also signed the

1tlon, his signature was torn from the page before 1845.

'1

5“

...

‘ l
..‘

98

Other events and other relationships were necessary to cry-
stallize additional hostilities. The land controversy of the 16405 was
Only one of several related episodes which rent the town. Even though
it gave Woodman and his followers various accusations to "rake up," the
1and disagreement had at least one more enduring result. It was a
Precedent for the town to recall whenever conflict flared, and it

underscored a weakness in the fabric of consensual voluntarism as it
was understood in Puritan Massachusetts. For the first--but not the
1aSt--t:ime, the issue of majoritarianism was raised. The Old Towners
had no alternative but to submit to the decision of the majority if
they wished to remain in Newbury, for, as the General Court reminded
them, they had agreed to adhere to their covenant. By compelling the
dissidents to submit to the actions of the larger number, the town and
the Court declared consensus to be majoritarian rule. Submission to
the 800d of the whole became coerced, not voluntary, corporatism.14
T0 seVenteenth-century Newbury, the experiences of the 16405 would

be 1"36:11 led as lessons in the politics of reality.

Less than two years had passed before Newbury was once again
di ‘ . . .
Vlded. In 1648, the General Court received a petition from Newbury
Se ‘ . . . . .
eklng its intervention for a second time. The scant, extant eVl-

de
nee of this militia controversy reveals little about the issues

J'nvolv . .
ed. But, like the former controversy, it was not to be solved

\

See 14For a discussion of the way things were supposed to work,

Lockridge, New England Town, 49-56.

 

¥

99

by the actions of the Court. A social controversy as well, the
militia quarrel continued to reappear periodically from the 1640s to
at least 1670, and possibly to 1676.

By 1648, the town had divided into two contending factions
over "the choice of their captain." Evidentally, the prior election
of a townsman to that office had not been received with universal
approval in the town. Upon receiving a petition from some of the
town's dissatisfied, the Court seemed quite willing to intervene, for
not entirely selfless reasons. "For preventing of further debate in
court (which will occasion expense of much precious time,)" said the
Assistants, the Court authorized a new election. "To help on a recon-
ciliation between the now differing parties of the town," both houses
stipulated that the town should propose two nominees, from whom the
Court would appoint the new Captain. To prevent further disorder,
finally, the Court ordered that "Major Denison is hereby desired to
be present at the election . ."15

The new election, however, did not resolve the difficulty. A
year later, the town submitted its militia nominations to the Court,
seeking their confirmation. But the Court refused. Newbury had not
followed the Court's previous instructions regarding the election.
Hence, the Court directed the town "to proceed to a new election,
according to order of court," and to submit the new list of names to
the Quarterly Court. Upon town petition two years later, the General

Court, not the Quarterly Court, finally confirmed William Gerrish as

 

15Shurtleff, II, 240; III, 122.

100

Captain and John Pike as Lieutenant. Five months later, Benjamin
Swett was confirmed as Ensign following yet another Special election.16
The long-awaited selection of officers, however, did not end
the matter. In October, 1652, the Court again was forced to inter-
vene, instructing that Gerrish, "who Stands charged with the command
of a troop of horse and a foot company," was to supervise the horsemen
only, and to continue exercising the infantry only "until the company
Shall otherwise provide, and present another to take command thereof,
as a town company."17 Any action taken by the town, however, seems
not to have deprived Gerrish of his dual command. In May, 1658, the
Court received a new petition from John Emery, Sr. and Jr., Emery's
step-son, John Webster, Solomon Keyes, and sixty-four others, "humbly
craving that they might have the benefit of a law that no man should
have command of the horse and foot both," and requesting that Gerrish
be instructed to give up command of one or the other, "so that they
may be exercised by him, upon whom they must depend in time of need,
i.e., their leftnnt [John Pike] allowed and approved of by court."18
Voting to confirm the request, the Court reversed itself
immediately. In receipt of a counter-petition from Henry Short,
Richard Kent, Jr., Richard Knight, and Anthony Somerby alleging
irregularities in Emery's petition, the Court suspended its former

order and authorized warrants summoning Emery, Webster, and others

 

161212;. III. 229, 254; IV, part 1, 47, 67.

171222;: III. 286; IV, part 1, 107.

18Ibid-. IV, part 1, 341.

101

to appear before the October Court and "answer what is laid against
them, for abusing carriages in that petition." At the same time,
warrants were also issued to the authors of the counter-petition,
summoning them to appear Simultaneously to "make good what they
charge against the other persons."19

The counter-petition raised anew the question of competent
majority, an issue which would continue to divide the inhabitants
of Newbury. Emery's opponents Stressed that many of his co-signers
were ineligible to petition the Court on militia matters. Of the
sixty-eight who Signed the first document, they claimed, eight had
never taken the Oath of Fidelity. Others "are sons and servants
under their parents and masters." Six more paid no rates to the
colony. And at least seven others either denied having signed Emery's
petition or claimed to have been deluded into signing. "Of the Sixty-
eight petitioners," they concluded, "there is but forty two [Sig] that
pays rates, and they also to a forty pound rate pays but £15-0-9, and
we that petition contrary pays £ 19-6-8." In Short, they repudiated
more than one-third of the Signatures on the Emery petition, and
listed fifty-seven inhabitants who supported the counter-petition. Of
the signatories of this second petition, moreover, twenty-two later

supported Thomas Parker during the church Split, and only nine became

Woodmanites.20

 

19Ibid., IV, part 1, 341.

ZONEHGR, VIII (1854), 274. This petition, though not dated,

Specifically Stated that it was written to refute a petition from
Emery. Internal evidence provides fairly conclusive reason to
believe that the petition could not have been written before 1657 and

102

In October, both groups appeared in Boston to plead their
cases. In the end, the Court accepted the complaint of the counter-
petitioners, finding both Emerys, Webster, and Keyes stubbornly wrong.
They had "been so busy and forward to disturb the peace of the place
by their actings in several reSpects," that the Court ordered them to
pay all fees as well as the four pounds and eight shillings that their
opposition had spent in costs. In addition, they admonished the four
petitioners severely, warning them "to beware of the like Sinful prac-
tices for time to come."21

Whether the firm action of the Court silenced the disturbance
in the militia company even temporarily is unknown. Nevertheless, the
government had not heard the end of the dispute. William Gerrish,
John Pike, and Benjamin Swett remained the officers as a result of the
Court's action. But Swett removed to Hampton in 1663 or 1664, and
Pike departed for Woodbridge between 1667 and 1669. It is doubtful
that the town was able to choose replacements for the Lieutenant and
the Ensign, because the 16605 was a decade of conflict between the
supporters and opponents of Thomas Parker. As a result, the militia
officers once again became objects of contention in the 16605, coin-

cident to the burgeoning church controversy.

 

certainly no later than 1659. Moreover, it addressed the very issues
raised by Emery: "Lancelot Granger saith . . . he knew nothing of
it, to have the lieutenant have the full power he desires that it may
abide as it is rather." For various reasons, therefore, I am satis-

fied that this is the counter-petition submitted by Short, Kent,
Knight, and Somerby.

21Shurtleff, V, part 1, 362. Emery was none too wary. Five
years later, he was convicted for entertaining several Quakers, as
well as the insufferably haughty Henry Greenland. (QCR, III, 66-68,
74. See also Emery's behavior toward Greenland in the—latter's
"soliciting" of Mary Rolfe, Ibid., 47-55.)

103

Thus, the General Court was called upon to provide the
company with officers for a final time in May, 1669. "In considera-
tion of the distractions of the militia company at Newbury, for the
better composure and prevention of the increase thereof," the Court
instructed Major-General Leverett and Major Denison of the Essex
County militia to mediate and settle the disagreement.22 Five months
later, it became clear that the contest involved the selection of
officers. No doubt impatient with the Newbury company, the Court
referred the choice to the Major-General.23 The next Court of
Election, in May, 1670, confirmed as Lieutenant and Ensign his
choices of Archelaus Woodman and Stephen Greenleaf, both supporters
of Edward Woodman in his di5pute with the Pastor.24 It was perhaps
significant that the Court did not authorize Daniel Denison to join
with Leverett in settling the officers, for Denison was the brother-
in-law of Parker's nephew, John Woodbridge. The omission would be

fresh in Edward Woodman's mind a few months later.25

Even more obscured than the militia controversy was the
competition between the two contending factions in the church Split
to gain control of political leadership in the town. Unfortunately,

little information about this power struggle has survived.

 

 

22Shurtleff, IV, part 2, 425.
23Ibid., 440. 24Ibid., 454.
25

See below, p. 165.

104

Practically all germane entries in the town records have disappeared,
and those which remain tend to be matter-of-fact Statements lacking
explanation. Moreover, the competition for power became enmeshed
with the non-conflict related attempt by the town to limit the power
of the Selectmen generally in response to their exercise of power on
questions of land, an exercise the townsmen came to regard as exorbi-
tant.26 In the context of the majoritarian arguments propounded during
the church split, however, the perceived excesses of the Selectmen and
the Commissioners for Small Causes came to be seen as the excesses of
whichever group was in power at the time.

In September, 1667, Nicholas Noyes, William Gerrish, and
Joseph Hills, the Commissioners of Newbury, heard a complaint by John
Atkinson, alleging that the Constable, John Webster, had unfairly
molested him "about a keg of fish." The Commissioners found in favor
of Atkinson, precipitating a mild storm in the town. Webster was
incensed, claiming he had been grossly abused by the Commissioners who
had used the occasion to wage a private vendetta against him. In
March of the next year, after Webster had pledged his opposition to
the re-election of both Gerrish and Hills, three arbitrators were
appointed to settle the difference between the Commissioners and the
Constable. The results of the arbitration are not important, for the
surface issues were minor and unenduring. However, beneath the surface
lay ominous developments. While the arbitration was in progress,
Gerrish and Nills "excepted the matters before the church . . . and

referred nothing but personal matters to themselves."27

 

26See below, pp. 178-79. 27QCR, Iv, ll-l4, passim.

105

The words of the Commissioners constituted an admission that
the town was already sharply divided over the church. But they were
more. Gerrish, Hills, and Noyes were all prominent town leaders who
were committed to the defense of Thomas Parker. Noyes, in fact, was
Parker's cousin and both he and Gerrish were named executors of
Parker's will. Hills may have been less articulate in his support of
the minister but he was no less convinced that Parker's supporters
were correct. Webster, on the other hand, was the step-son and con-
sistent defender of John Emery, Sr. and a vociferous opponent of the
minister. None of the four, then, was a casual participant in the
church controversy. The complaints of Webster and the defense of the
Commissioners revealed that even the town leaders were dividing over
the church, if they were not already divided. The very perception
that their disagreement might have stemmed from the "matters before
the church" implied quite clearly that the respective factions in the
church split were already grappling for power. Once the association
between the two disputes was perceived, the antagonisms generated in -
one would inevitably be transferred to the other.

In 1668, the power struggle became public, when John Woolcott
and Peter TOppan, both kinsmen of opponents of the minister, were
presented for "disorderly going and sitting in a seat belonging to

others."28

It was not the first time the tranquility of the meeting
house had been disturbed over the arrangement of seats. Indeed, in
1662, Woolcott, along with James Ordway, Peter Godfrey, and Joshua

Woodman, all four of whom, likewise, were opponents of Parker or

 

28Ibid., 137-40.

106

kinsmen of his opponents, had protested their disapproval of the
seating order in the same way. Both episodes were similar, for in

each case the defendants had acted to protest what they regarded as
illegal assignments of seats by the Selectmen. But in 1668, the affair
was much more closely connected to the partisanship of the church
dispute.

In defense of Woolcott and Toppan, a petition to the Court
presented two objections to the actions of the pro-minister Selectmen.
0n the one hand, it was denied that the Selectmen had any power to
build the new seats in question. Implying an underlying majoritarian-
ism, the complainers argued that the instructions to the Selectmen,
which had been voted by the town, gave them no authority to do ”any-
thing of that nature in the meeting house." Indeed, the petitioners
alleged that the Selectmen "took upon themselves to build three seats
without consulting with the town as to have their approbation."
Sensitive already to the rights of the major part,29 the defenders of
Woolcott and Toppan were of no mind to tolerate arbitrary violations
of their majoritarian precepts, particularly by Selectmen who supported
Thomas Parker.

Second, the petitioners alleged that the motivation of the
Selectmen was disreputable. One of the new seats had been placed in
front of the gallery. But in their assignment of seats, the Selectmen
had not rec0gnized the status of those who had formerly been placed
in the front bench. They "have placed some behind, who were placed

in the foreseat and such as paid considerable sums to the building

 

29See below, pp, 131-32,

107

both of the meeting house and galleries and before them have placed '
such as paid nothing to either." They had violated standards out of
personal interest. "In the chief rooms, [they] have placed their

own children and relations."30

The petitioners recognized that the problem of seating-~a
problem they claimed to have been caused by the Selectmen--was not
separable from the church dispute. All the actions of the Selectmen,
in fact, "have occasioned much discontent in the town helping forward
what unquietness is amongst us already to a greater height." There-
fore, they asked the Court to "prevent great heartburning and dis-
content" in Newbury by entrusting the town with seating arrangement
responsibilities. In blaming the Selectmen, however, they revealed
the self-righteousness characteristic of both sides of the church
di5pute. The indignant petition was not representative of the town.
Indeed, of the fifty-five signatories, only five were supporters of
Parker. Twenty-eight were Woodmanites, and sixteen more were kinsmen
of the minister's opponents.

By 1668, then, the church dispute had meshed with two other
phenomena. On the one hand, the town attempt to reduce the power of
the Selectmen had become, imperceptibly, a contest between the two
contending parties to dominate the town or, to those outside public
office, to stifle the authority of the group in power. On the other
hand, both groups--and particularly the Woodmanites--strugg1ed to

control the local agency of grievances, the Commission fer Small

 

30Parker seems to have favored many of the same "children and
relations" in his admission policies. See below, pp. 149-53.

108

Causes. It is impossible to identify when these separate strands
converged, for the records are noticeably quiet until after the
political lines had been drawn. Whatever the case, however, a glance
at office holding patterns (Table 111-1) shows that the year 1670, when
the failure of a council to settle the grievances pushed the church
di5pute beyond compromise,31 witnessed the political ascendency of

the supporters of Edward Woodman.

TABLE III-1

DISTRIBUTION OF SELECTMAN AND COMMISSIONER
POSITIONS, 1665-1675

 

Year

 

S“PP°rt°rs °f‘ 65 66 67 68 69 7o 71 72 73 74 75

 

Parker 3 4 3 7 5 l 1 l S 5 6
Woodman 4 3 5 0 2 7 7 7 3 3 2
Other 1 l 0 l l 0 0 0 0 0 O

 

It is possible to read too much into these office holding
patterns, for no information is known about the method employed by the
town to choose Selectmen or Commissioners. Obviously, it makes a dif-
ference, for example, whether the townsmen voted for one person, with
those receiving the most votes being elected, or whether they cast as
many votes as there were offices to be filled. Likewise, there is no
record of the number or names of those nominated. Nevertheless, the

aggregate totals of office holders does suggest that town leadership

 

31See below, pp. 138-45.

109

see-sawed precariously as the church Split approached a crisis. Sup-
porters of Parker dominated the Commission throughout the 16605, sug-
gesting that the adjudication of small claims, despite the complaints
of John Webster, was not the subject of general discontent. In turn,
this implies that there were few complaints about the performance of
the Commissioners until 1670. Competition fer power seems to have
focused on election of the Selectmen who, entrusted with the business
of the town when town meetings were not sitting, wielded far more
authority over the operation of daily town affairs.

The record of election to Selectman positions suggests vacilla-
tion within the town. Until 1670, neither group was able to preserve
any long-term advantage in the competition. From 1665 through 1667,
the opponents of Thomas Parker held a tenuous dominance among the
Selectmen. But their advantage here was offset by the hegemony main-
tained by the supporters of Parker on the Commission. In 1668, how-
ever, a temporary resurgence of the minister's supporters gave them
four positions on the board of Selectmen, which, coupled with their
dominance of the Commission, placed them in nearly complete control of
the town. But in 1669, the Woodmanites evened the Selectman ratio,
dividing the daily authority with the Parker faction.

In 1670, however, the Woodmanites finally wrested control
from their opposites, obtaining a four—to-one majority of the Select-
men. The election of Commissioners proved much more indicative of the
turn-over, for the consistency with which Parker supporters had been
elected was finally upset. The Woodman faction had not held a commis-

sion office Since 1665, when Woodman himself held the position, and

110

they had not held a majority on the Commission since 1658. In 1670,
they elected all three Commissioners, ousting Noyes, Hills, and Gerrish
who had been elected consecutively since 1666. Woodmanites continued
to hold all three Commission offices until 1673, and maintained their
four-to-one Selectman majority in both 1671 and 1672.

Those chosen to office during this period of Woodmanite
dominance, moreover, were not simply coincidental opponents of Parker.
In 1671, the Quarterly Court found the Woodman party guilty of irregu-
larities in their dealings with Parker, assessing fines of varying

amounts on all but one of the faction.32

The Court was in a position
to evaluate the relative guilt of each Woodmanite, and the fines it
levied presumably reflected its assessment of culpability. On the
basis of these fines, it is clear that the elected Woodmanites were
among the leaders of the apposition to Parker.

WOOdman himself, elected Commissioner three times and prOpounded
by the town to have power to act as a magistrate in Newbury,33 received
a fine of twenty nobles (6:13:04), five times greater than any other
single penalty. Seven opponents of Parker were fined four nobles
(1:06:08). Of these, five were elected to office. Richard Dummer was

chosen Commissioner three times and Selectman in 1671 and 1672; and

Richard Bartlet was elected Selectman in 1672. Five supporters were

 

3239a, IV, 365-67; Coffin, 99-100. The two lists do not

agree on w 0 was fined or how much the fines were. I have combined
the lists of names from the Court records with the fines listed in
Coffin, a combination which, under the circumstances, seems most
likely to be accurate.

33Mass. Archs., XXXIX, 376. Although the Deputies agreed to
the Newbury petition, the Magistrates refused to grant their
approval.

111

penalized one mark (0:13:04). One of these, John Emery, Jr., was
chosen Selectman in 1671. The twenty-seven remaining supporters were
fined one noble each (0:06:08). Only four of these Woodmanites were
elected Selectman: John Bartlet, Sr. (1670); Edmund Moores (1670);
Caleb Moody (1670 and 1671); and John Bailey (1672).34 Of the 28:06:08
in fines assessed by the Court, these eleven men, who comprised
slightly more than a quarter of the entire faction, paid 15:06:08.

The relationship between leadership in one area and leadership
in another is, of course, not coincidental, for in a society which
placed great emphasis on order and socially-determined qualifications
for leadership, the correSpondence of leadership roles should be ex-
pected. But that is not the point. The abrupt Shift in town politics,
particularly because of its limited duration, makes clear the extent
to which the town voting patterns mirrored the church split partisan-
ship, which reached a crescendo at the same time. The fact that it
was the leaders of the Woodman faction who became Selectmen and
Commissioners, furthermore, reflects the competitiveness of the church
factions for dominance of the political offices. The case of Richard
Dummer is illustrative. Dummer may have been considered too prominent
to fill any local position. For whatever reason, however, the offices
he held from 1670 through 1672 were the only town offices he had
filled, with one early exception, during his entire residence in

Newbury.

 

34Coincidentally, Bailey was Simultaneously the brother-in-
law and first cousin of Emery, Jr., and Titcomb was the brother-in-
law of both Bartlets.

112

Even the exceptions to the pattern confirm the totality of
the Woodmanite victory, for the three supporters of Thomas Parker who
gained election were hardly his most enthusiastic defenders. Little
is known about William Chandler, chosen Selectman in 1670. However,
Chandler may have supported Parker more out of principle than out of
concurrence. At some time between 1661 and 1681, he was amanuensis for
George Little (also a Parker supporter), who at least composed a
petition intended for the General Court seeking religious toleration in
the Bay.35 In 1671, Samuel Moody was chosen Selectman. His defense
of Parker is inexplicable in terms of kinship, but his election is
less so, for both his father, William, and his brother, Caleb, were
Woodmanites. Moody's position was Similar to that of Thomas Hale,
Sr., a Selectman in 1672. Hale, a resident of Old Town, had moved to
Salem in the 16505, possibly in reaction to the movement of the town.

His son, Thomas, Jr., like Moody's kin, was a supporter of Edward

Wbodman.

The hostilities within the town were not confined to the two
groups. They could also find expression in personal terms, as the
example of William Gerrish suggests. A close friend of Parker, he
was a prominent freeholder and a leading defender of the minister in

the church split. At the same time, he was a principal in at least

 

35Coffin, 135-36. Little was an early Baptist, and a member
of the first congregation of that sect in Newbury. Joining Little
in 1681, coincidentally, were Edward Woodman and William Sawyer,
along with several kinsmen of other opponents of Parker. Cf. Coffin,
135.

113

two of the parallel controversies. On the one hand, he was a Captain
in the militia, and it was his power to train both the horse and the
foot that Emery tried to divide in 1657. On the other, he was one of
the two Commissioners against whom John Webster complained in 1668,
and one of the two whose re-election Webster protested.

In 1669, Gerrish added a more prominent enemy to his list.
Publically acknowledging his commitment to the pastorship of Thomas
Parker, he challenged Edward Woodman personally. When Woodman rose
on March 1 to rail against the practices of the minister, Gerrish
rose to Parker's defense, precipitating a vitriolic exchange of words
with his opponent. With insight into the disagreement, Gerrish
"interrupted" Woodman's complaints with words about the aging Wood-
man's "gray hairs."36 Woodman's retort indicated the extent to which
the general hostilities could be transplanted to individual personali-
ties. Calling Gerrish "no lover of the truth," he added, "Captain
Gerrish, my gray hairs will stand in any place where your bald head
will stand."37

Gerrish's words were not designed to palliate the hostilities
of the Woodmanites. But the abrupt decline of his position in the
town began, not with an assault by the opponents of Parker, but with
his own loss of support among some of the minister's friends. In
particular, his lengthy disagreement with Thomas Woodbridge, the son
of the former assistant minister whose tenure Gerrish defended, Opened

the door to his embarrassed removal to Boston.

 

36Coffin, 74. 37gga, IV, 173; Coffin, 74.

114

The diSpute between Gerrish and Woodbridge stemmed from their
participation in the town's emerging commercial enterprise in the
16705. Though both were merchants, their personal interests proved
impediments to the emergence of any mutual sense of occupational unity.
A disagreement over some cloth mushroomed into a personal war between
the two, with Woodbridge the aggressor. In the end, Woodbridge accused
Gerrish of cheating him of 180 pounds and insisted that only 5 men in
the town had not been bilked by the Captain. When both Tristram Coffin
and Daniel Lunt told Woodbridge that Gerrish had never cheated them,
WOodbridge replied that Lunt, Coffin, and Richard Dole were "three of
the five." Swearing to make Gerrish's house "a dung hill," Woodbridge
promised to prove his allegations and make Gerrish "fly the town"
within eight months.38

WOodbridge's timetable was wrong, and it was not he who drove
Gerrish to Boston. He had, however, defined the context which would
finally humiliate Gerrish. It was his capacity as Captain that brought
about Gerrish's downfall. He remained a militia officer through King
Philip's War, when he directed the allocation of Newbury's manpower and
supplies, and supervised the accounts of the militia. In 1678, he
was convicted on the charge that he "had wittingly or carelessly de—
frauded the country."39 Presented by Joseph Pike, whose father, John,
had testified in support of Edward Woodman, Gerrish's fate was sealed

by the testimony of Pike, James Ordway, Sr., John Webster, and Thomas

 

3899a, VI, 125-26, and passim. 39Ibid., 44.

llS

Hale, Jr., all Woodmanites during the church Split. The only testimony
in his support was offered by his son Moses and by Richard Dole, a

former defender of Thomas Parker.

CHAPTER IV

"Our Poor Distracted Condition"

In 1671, from his pastorate in Killingworth, Connecticut, John
Woodbridge, Jr. sent a series of letters to Richard Baxter, the English
Presbyterian. The son of the assistant minister in the Newbury church,
WOOdbridge had never met the English divine. Nevertheless, he was not
unknown to Baxter, who was a friend of John Woodbridge, Sr. and not an
infrequent correspondent of Benjamin Woodbridge. With the challenges
to his father's ministry in mind, Woodbridge offered Baxter his des-
cription of New England religion. In Massachusetts, said Woodbridge,
there were "three forms of disciplinarians [,] each one Step higher
than his fellow: rigid independents, moderate ones, and those that
are Presbyterianly addicted, though their numbers are few and their
horns kept short."1 His sense of order was outraged, but not alone by
the events in Newbury. Indeed, everywhere he looked in the Bay, he
could see arms and legs commanding heads. The result was a threat to

the continuing reformation. "The true reason why Independency has kept

 

lRaymond Phineas Stearns, ed., "The CorreSpondence of John
Woodbridge, Jr., and Richard Baxter," New England Quarterly, X (1937),
S74.

 

116

117

its own so long," he wrote, "is because the churches are such a heavy
,
stone at the ministers legs that they cannot fly their own course."“
Woodbridge's uncle, Simon Bradstreet, sent much the same

message to Baxter the next year. Lamenting the religious confusion
among the churches of Massachusetts, he wrote of the "trials and
troubles" which raged throughout the Bay. To the Andover magistrate,
the problem was one of order and rule. He bewailed the presence of
Quakers, "which neither lenity nor severity will prevail to keep in
order," and Anabaptists, who were "as hardly to be ruled as they and
in several respects more dangerous to our peace and welfare." Brad-
street, too, was well-acquainted with the afflictions suffered by his
brother-in-law, John Woodbridge, Sr. Hence, he could confirm the
younger Woodbridge's observations.

A great part of the country inclining to Morellianism, or

rigid independency: those that profess the Congregational

way are not at all alike minded in some necessary and

essential points of church government. And those that go

under the name of Presbyterians who plead for order and that

rule and government in the church should reside in the

officers are by very many accounted no friends to the

government of Christ.3

The Newbury church Split cast a shadow over yet a third con-

currence, Urian Oakes' Election Sermon, New England Pleaded With.4

 

 

2Ibid., 574. See also Hall, Faithful Shepherd, passim;

Middlekauff, The Mathers, Book II, passim; Miller, New En land Mind:
From Colony to Province, 19-39, and assim; and Robert G. Pape, The

 

 

Half-Way Covenant: Church Membership in Puritan New England
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), passim.

3"Woodbridge-Baxter Correspondence," 582-83.

4Cambridge, 1673.

118

Oakes, the pastor at Cambridge, may have been a member of the council
sent to Newbury in 1672 by the General Court. Though he was neither
a "Morellian" nor a Presbyterian, Oakes, too, was unsettled by the
liberties claimed by the brethren of Massachusetts. His Jeremiad
agreed in part with the lamentations of his Presbyterian counterparts--
popular rule in the church threatened, through excess, to turn the
churches themselves into agencies of apostasy.5

The complaints penned by these three critics pertained to
Massachusetts as a whole. Yet they also could have been used to des-
cribe the situation arising in Newbury from the middle of the 16605 to
the early l670s, particularly because at least two of the authors stood
in some relationship to the personalities in the Newbury church quarrel.
Indeed, to a significant degree, this church split summarized the
cross-currents of controversy throughout the colony, for it laid bare
two troublesome ambiguities of New England church and state: what
constituted an organic society and by what means did the society act?

In Newbury, only a clear statement of the differences between
a majority of the church and the church itself could have resolved
these ambiguities. For Thomas Parker, John Woodbridge, Sr., and their
followers, church government was not analogous to the town meeting and
was more than the rule of the larger number. On the other hand, the
followers of Parker's antagonist, Edward Woodman, consistently asserted
that "the major part" not only decided church business but also was,

by virtue of numbers, fully competent to be the church. The issue of

 

SIbid., 47-48, for example. Oakes sermon, however, was also
more general, for he was no less offended by the ungodly anarchy he
saw cutting across all levels of society.

119

majoritarianism was clearly "artificial," but it was hardly contrived.‘5
For the participants of the Newbury controversy, it was all the issue

they needed.

In March, 1669, John Pike recalled the gathering of the
Newbury church. He remembered that Thomas Parker had delivered an
open air sermon in 1635 based on Matthew 18:17--"And if he shall neg-
lect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect to
hear the church, let him be unto thee as a heathen man and a publican."
With these words, "the brethren joined together by express covenant,
and being joined they chose their pastor, Mr. Parker," and their
teacher, James Noyes.7 The congregation had not chosen strangers, and
there was little doubt that Parker and Noyes would be called. Both
had journeyed from England with many of their new flock, and both were
among the first settlers of the town. Noyes, in fact, "being lothe to
be separated from Mr. Parker and the brethren . . ." rejected a call
from the Watertown church in order to join Parker in tending to the
Spiritual needs of Newbury.8

Nor was the congregation surprised to hear their Presbyterian

ideas preached from the pulpit. Many of the flock had listened to the

 

6Hall, Faithful Shepherd, 214.

 

799R, IV, 123-24; Coffin, l6-l7.

8Cotton Mather, Ma alia Christi Americana: Or, The Eccles-

iastical History of New EnglandCHartford,Conn.: Silas Andrus,
1855), I, 484.

 

 

120

cousins' prayers in England and aboard Mary and John. "Mr. Parker and

 

Mr. James Noyes, and others that came over with them," wrote Noyes'
nephew, "fasted and prayed together many times before they undertook
this voyage; and on the sea Mr. Parker and Mr. Noyes preached or ex-
pounded, one in the forenoon, the other in the afternoon, everyday
during the voyage . . ."9 Pike, however, had not arrived with Parker
and his flock. Although he insisted that Parker's sermon "did much
instruct and confirm us in the way of church discipline which I under-
stood he then preached for, namely, the Congregational way,"10 at
least those who "had so often fasted and prayed together, both in
England and on the Atlantic sea"11 knew fully well what to expect.
Earlier chroniclers than Pike, both sympathetic and otherwise,
noted that the practices of the church were tinged with Presbyterian
ideals. In 1642, for example, Thomas Lechford, who had departed the
Bay in disillusionment, reported that "although some churches are of
opinion, that any may be admitted to church fellowship that are not
extremely ignorant or scandalous," only the Newbury church was "very

forward to practice" this rule.12

Five years later, in his attempt to
"cast up" Bay colony indiscretions, John Child admitted that Parker

and Noyes were "somewhat different" from other New England ministers

 

9Ibid., 484.

loggR, IV, 123; Coffin, l7.

11Mather, Maggalia, I, 484.

12Plain Dealing, or Newes from New England, in M.H.S. Colls.,
3d Ser., 111, 80.

 

121

because of their "Presbyterian principles."13 And in 1652, Edward

Johnson's friendly survey of the churches of Massachusetts repeated
Child's assertion that the Newbury church was "somewhat differing from
all the former, and aftermentioned churches in the preheminence of
their Presbytery."14
Ultimately, then, it was not Presbyterianism per se that was
at issue in the church controversy, although Edward Woodman and his
supporters :insisted it was when they complained of their suspicion
that their refusal to become Presbyterians was the cause of "the
offenses against us." But the theology of the minister became a con—
venient point of attack. The original complaint against Parker charged
him with apostasy, and linked his Presbyterianism to his deviation.
Asserting that Parker had imposed his "change of opinion and practice"
regarding admission and discipline upon the congregation, W60dman
accused him of seeking to "set up a prelacy [of one], and have more
power than the Pope."15
WCOdman had overstated his case, but his fears were not
entirely groundless. Parker had long advocated that the elders of
the church were the governors of the congregation and had the power to
govern without the consent of the brethren. "Although we hold a

fundamental power of government in the people, in respect of election

of ministers, and of some acts in cases extraordinary, as in the want

 

13New Englands Jonas Cast Up at London, in Ibid., 2d. Ser.,
IV, 120.

14

 

Wonder WorkingProvidence, in Ibid., 2d. Ser., III, 144.

 

15995, IV, 124, 264; Coffin, 74, 87.

122

of ministers," he wrote to a member of the Westminster Assembly, "yet
we judge, upon mature deliberation, that the ordinary exercise of
government must be so in the Presbyters, as not to depend upon the
express votes and suffrages of the people."16

These principles were shared by Noyes and Woodbridge. The
latter, for example, wrote around 1670 that God commanded the brethren
to obey and submit to the determination of the elders, who are the
undiSputable "rulers of the church."17 But it was James Noyes who

Spelled out the powers of the elders most elaborately in both of his

major works, The Temple Measured and Moses and Aaron.18 To Noyes,

 

 

 

16The True Copy of a Letter: Written by Mr. Thomas Parker

. . Declaring His Judgment Touching the Government Practiced in
the Churches of NEW ENGLAND (London, 1644), 3— 4. IThe recipient
of this letter was unnamed.

 

 

 

l7A Declaration of the Council at Newbugy (unpublished ms.

The Congregational’Library), 3,5. This is a most curious document,
possibly written as part of the report Weadbridge hOped the council
would issue. The transcriber, Joshua Coffin, affirmed that the
original tract was penned by Woodbridge, but why Woodbridge should
write the opinion of a council called to judge a controversy in which
he was a principal remains a mystery. It is possible that Woodbridge
had merely copied an unfinished report of the council. But this
seems unlikely, for the document is incomplete as an answer to the

"5 propositions" submitted to the council by the Woodman faction.
Moreover, there is no indication in the other extant documents that
the council was anything more than a mediating body. Indeed, to
Parker's chagrin, the council repeatedly refused to propound doc-
trine. Although it did find Woodman's behavior to be irregular, it
did not address the question of church government, either in its
report of November 5, 1669 or in its actions of April, 1670. Finally,
Woodbridge's own summary of the council's mediation, written for
presentation to the Quarterly Court, fails to mention any concilliar
action to resolve this particular issue. See below, pp. 138-45.

18The Temple Measured: Or, A Brief Survey of the Temple
Mystical, Which is the InstitutediChurCh of Christ . . (London,
1647), assim; and Moses and Aaron. Or the RigEts of_CEurch and
State (Lon on, 1661): passim.

 

 

 

123

elders were empowered through their possession of the "keys of insti-
tuted power," handed down only to them in succession from the Apostles.

In The Temple Measured, he had argued that the elders received the

 

power to use these keys when ordained by the congregation, but by the
time of his death this concession to popular power was abandoned. Even
ordination devolved through "sacerdotal descent" from Christ and the
Apostles.19 Scripture, common sense, political analogy, typology,
Aristotelian and Ramean syllogisms, all were marshalled by Noyes to
support his premise that

the elders are rulers, governors, set over the church, and

have power to command, to admonish as superior in authority

judicial . . . The church is charged to obey their elders

. . . The church is to be carried, not to carry, to obey not

to command; to be subject, not to govern. . . . [The elders]

are antitypes, the eyes, heads, fathers, princes of the

congregation. . . . They are captains of the Lord's host.20

Noyes' principles left little room for lay participation in

church government, but they were applied less rigorously than they
were preached. Noyes claimed no "Lordlike power" for the elders.21
Precisionistic adherence to truth, he said, was less important than
"Peace unto edification," particularly where the truth was less than
essential. Expediency taught Noyes that concession of some principles
in the name of moderation was preferable to controversy, which could

only weaken the general authority of those who defended fundamental

truth. "It is a greater mercy," he said, "to enjoy peace, than

 

19Temple Measured, 30-33; Moses and Aaron, 38-41.

 

 

20Temple Measured, 34, 37.

 

21Ibid., 46.

 

124

circumstantial truths." Just as God did not condemn Israel for its
sinners, He would not withhold His grace from the churches of Massa-
chusetts Simply because of a few backsliders within their doors.22

Consequently, Noyes did not insist on total overlordship.
While he lived, he and Parker allowed their congregation a voice "in
a silential way," particularly on questions of admissions and dis-

cipline.23

John Pike, whose testimony in 1669 supported the complaints
of Edward Woodman, affirmed that "for a considerable number of years
until other doctrine began to be preached amongst us," the congre-
gation had been granted an explicit voice "by lifting up the hands"
when applicants were propounded for admission.24 Edward Johnson, who
was not exactly uncritical of Parker and Noyes ("Though Christs Church-
way you fully cannot reach") also recognized their moderation. New-
bury's elders, he said, permitted the congregation "to assist in
admitting of persons into church-society, and in church-censures, so
long as they act regularly, but in cases of maladministration they
assume the power wholly to themselves."25
In these dealings, the voice of compromise was that of Noyes.

Although the laity was not unanimous in their support of their elders'

Presbyterian ideas, the personal respect accorded to Noyes by the

 

22Moses and Aaron, 94-95.

 

23Mather, Magpalia, I, 485.

2499a, Iv, 124; Coffin, 17.

25Wonder-WorkingProvidence, 14S.

 

125

congregation prevented theological differences from erupting into
open contention.26 The closeness between Noyes and Parker, in turn,
helped insure that Parker, too, would moderate his principles in the
interest of peace. Noyes father, William, had married Parker's aunt,
but the cousins Shared more than a common lineage. William Noyes had
been the school master of Thomas Parker, and Parker reciprocated the
personal attention he received by joining with William Twiss to con-
vert the younger Noyes to Presbyterianism. Thereafter, Parker and
Noyes proved virtually inseparable in both thought and deed. Accord-
ing to Nicholas Noyes, the nephew of James,

there was the greatest amity, intimacy, unanimity, yea, unity

imaginable between Mr. Parker and Mr. Noyes. So unshaken

was their friendship, nothing but death was able to part

them. They taught in one school [in Newbury, Berks.]; came

over in one ship; were pastor and teacher of one church; and

Mr. Parker continuing always in celibacy, they lived in one

house, till death separated them for a time . . . [, and]
Mr. Parker continued in his house as long as he lived.27

But Noyes was not well. "That blessed light at Newbury,"28
had suffered from a lengthy illness that finally consumed his life,
at age 48, in the fall of 1656. His last six months, "a time of
continual weakness and sickness,"29 were Spent writing Moses and

Aaron, his unfinished, last testament to the Saints. Perhaps his

most important bequest, however, went unappreciated in his absence.

 

26Mather, Magpalia, I, 484.

271bid., 484-85.

28William B. Trask, comm., "Rev. Samuel Danforth's Records
of the First Church in Roxbury, Mass.," NEHGR, XXXIV (1880), 86.

29Parker, "Preface" to Moses and Aaron, 1.

 

126

The passage of Noyes removed one moderating influence on Thomas Parker
at a time when Parker might have profited from counsels of moderation.
In the year of his cousin's death, Parker observed his sixtieth
birthday. By the time his disagreement with Edward Woodman entered
adjudication, he was over seventy and quite possibly senile. Further-
more, for some time the prOgreSSive loss of his sight had weighed
heavily on the man who "enjoyed the most varied academic education" of
the early New England ministers.30 Parker was quite conscious of his
affliction as early as 1644, when he began a letter to an English
Presbyterian with the words, "my eyes do yet serve me, though with
much difficulty," and referred, almost jealously, to his friend's
"sufficiency of parts."31 A year later, Parker published a study of
the revelations of Daniel, which he prefaced with an apology for its
incompleteness, the result, he said, of "my weakness and occasions."32
Within the next three years, he had lost one eye entirely. To his
sister in 1649, he wrote that although he was "so defective and weak
in sight," he had chosen "to put my one eye unto the work, and to

write these lines unto you."33

 

30Samuel Eliot Morison, "The Education of Thomas Parker of

Newbury," in Colonial Society of Massachusetts, Publications, XXIII
(1932), 261. The less-than-sympathetic Cotton Mather dubbed Parker
with the title "Scholasticus" (Magnalia, I, 480). See, also,
Richard Edward Kelly's extended‘dTEEfiSEion of Parker's intellectual
output in "A Study of the Schoolmasters of Seventeenth Century
Newbury, Massachusetts" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Michigan
State University, 1971).

 

31True Copy, 1, 2.
32

1646), 1.
3

The Visions and Prophesies of Daniel Expounded (London,

3The Copy of a Letter . . . To His Sister (London, 1650).

127

Toward the end of his life, a second malady took from Parker
his favorite pastime. Deprived already of his books, he lost his
ability first to sing, then to Speak. Although Parker was accustomed
"to wash his mouth and rub his teeth" daily, a chronic toothache pre-
ceded the gradual loss of his teeth. Nicholas Noyes recalled that
"he had all along an impulse upon his Spirit, that he should have the
palsey in his tongpe before he died. . . . And about a year and a half
before he died, £p2£_which he had long feared befell him, viz: the
palsey in his tongue; and so he became Speechless, and thus continued
until death."34

His vision failing, his long-time companion prematurely dead,
his voice silenced in the end, Parker had reason enough for self-pity.
It comes as no surprise that he became a picture of austerity and
asceticism. He had experienced his share of frustration, and more.
Exiled to the Netherlands at the age of nineteen, his first major
work, Theses Theolotical de Traductione hominis peccatoris ad vitam
was originally credited to William Ames. Propounded to be a Presbyter
in Leyden, he was opposed and defeated by an adversary of his mentor.
After returning to England, he applied his labors to "school divinity,"
only to realize later that "all the use I now make of all my school
learning is this: I have so much to deny for the sake of my Lord
Jesus Christ." He dedicated his life to the worship and study of his
God, and even here met disappointment. DeSpite his repeated attempts
to convince the Massachusetts clergy that Presbyterianism, with its

structure and predictability, was the true form of church government,

 

34Mather, Magpalia, 486.

128

his efforts were consistently rejected by his own congregation. The
study Of revelations to which he devoted his energies proved fruitless
fOr all but a handful, for the bishops refused to license its publi-
cation. Nicholas Noyes reflected On his pathos:

his whole life, besides what was necessary for the support

of it, by food and sleep, was prayer, study, preaching, and

teaching school. I once heard him say, he felt the whole

frame of his nature giving way, which threatened his

dissolution to be at hand: but "he thanked God, he was not

amazed at it."35

Parker's frustrations and disappointments made him all the

less secure, even in his assurance, and his life became dominated, not
by hope, but by fear and excessive humility. He remained celebate,
though the prospect of marriage was evidently not withheld from him.
According to Noyes, he had at least once considered marriage, but he

was dissuaded from it by his "violent temptations to infidelity."

He refused to claim authorship of De Traductione Peccatoris, not in

 

deference to Ames, but because "he was afraid he had not so fully
aimed at the glory Of God as he ought to have done." He was a Strict
sabbatarian, not by inclination, but "because he dare not depart from
the footsteps Of the flock, for his private Opinion." Near the end
of his life, when the forces Of King Philip seemed to threaten New-
bury, he convinced himself that he would fall captive and, because he

was a minister, be tortured into repudiating Christ. Dreading the

 

35Morison, "Education Of Thomas Parker"; Mather, Ma alia, 1,
480-88; Kelly, "Schoolmasters"; Williston Walker, The Creeds and
Platforms Of Congregationalism (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons,
1893); all passim. Quotation from Mather, Magpalia, I, 487.

 

 

129

possibility that he would not be able to resist, he spent at least one
sleepless night "on the very brink of deSperation."36
Parker betrayed the "seamy" side Of Puritanism that makes it
so unfamiliar today--the stark contrast of faith and fear, the prOphetic
revelations that came to him in the fOrm of dreams, the bombastic
assurance that bordered on condescension. "Cousin," he addressed
Nicholas Noyes, "I wonder you can be so merry, unless you are sure Of
your salvation!" Parker knew pleasure, but little mirth, fOr he lived
his faith above all. He had little else. His estate bespoke few
material possessions. It was not small by comparison (611 Pounds),
but almost 75 percent (450 Pounds) was land in Old and New England
which he could not use. Another 11 percent (70 Pounds) was credit he
had extended, but a large portion of the domestic debt (60 Pounds)
was due in ministerial arrears and in rent from his cousin, Nicholas
Noyes, Sr. In his will, Parker cancelled this latter debt and con-
firmed an earlier deed-Of-gift to Noyes. The remainder was books,

clothing, and a handful Of household goods.37 In short, Parker had

his religion, his one claim to self-esteem, a claim that he would

 

36Mather, Ma alia, 1, 485-88. This is from a communication
Of James Noyes' nephew, Nicholas, the minister at Salem. With the
exception of Sewall's Diary, which says little Of Parker's life, this
is the only account I have found written by someone who knew Parker
well. If I have taken interpretive liberties with his narration, it
is not out of disreSpect for the spirit in which Noyes wrote, for
Noyes' generosity toward his fOrmer teacher was well-directed.
Rather, the inferences I have drawn seem to correspond with my overall
evaluation Of Parker. I admit the possibility, however, that Noyes'
perspective, as a minister, may have encouraged him to select his
material to conform to his conception Of proper ministerial demeanor,
and that therefore much Of Parker's personality was neglected in the
sketch.

37Probate Recs., 111, 133-35.

 

130

defend tenaciously when it was threatened. The return of John Wood-

bridge from England precipitated his defense.

Woodbridge had accompanied his uncle Parker to New England
in 1634 and to Newbury in 1635, where he was granted more than 200
acres in the first distribution of land. In 1639, while attending
Harvard, he married Mercy, the daughter of Thomas Dudley, and in
1646, he joined his brother-in-law, Simon Bradstreet, in the settle-
ment Of Andover, where he conducted his first ministry until his
return to England following the execution Of Charles I. With the
Restoration, Woodbridge was driven first from his pastorate at Bar-
ford St. Martins, Wilts. and second from his position as schoolmaster
in Newbury, Berks. His sizable farm in New England had not been sold
but only leased to Benjamin Swett and Nathaniel Weare. Woodbridge
returned to Newbury to resume possession of his land in 1663.

Newbury had but one elder when WOOdbridge returned, Thomas
Parker, whose poor health hampered his pulpit abilities. Parker was
eager to Obtain the assistance of his nephew, and Woodbridge, appar-
ently, was willing to join with Parker in the ministry. The congre-
gation was less enthusiastic. When he was proposed, the church
notified Parker by vote that it was "not ripe to call Mr. JnO.
Woodbridge to office for the present." However, "by verbal expres-

sions," the congregation agreed to permit Woodbridge to continue

131

preaching to the church, "many affirming and not one man expressing
their dissent in our hearing."38
If the congregation evinced little Opposition to Woodbridge,
the town meeting seemed less willing to match its Openness. In July,
1663, the town voted to levy a rate for the maintenance of Parker's
new associate. But it was not willing to commit itself to support
Woodbridge for an entire year. Emphasizing the provisional nature of
the appointment, the town voted him thirty pounds for six months.39
Although Woodbridge's rate was renewed and eventually placed
on an annual basis, it was clear that the town was not entirely
pleased with his continuation. Only a year later, the town meeting
was prepared to vent its hostilities on Parker, who evidently refused
to yield his support Of Woodbridge. At the same time, the actions Of
the town revealed that the townsmen were already becoming sensitive
to the fateful issue Of majoritarianism. For perhaps the first time,
the clerk signified that the convenience Of numbers, not the rule of
compromise, was to guide Newbury fOr the future. In previous years,
Parker's salary had been eighty pounds per year. But, in October,
1664, "it was voted by the major part of the town that wasppresent
that Mr. Parker should have but 60f. for a year."40 Factionalization

was all the more evident when twelve of the attending townsmen in-

sisted that their dissents be recorded.41

”$11, IV, 124. 39

40

Coffin, 68.
Town Recs., October 26, 1664. Emphasis has been added.
41Thomas Hale, Sr., James Jackman, Henry Jaques, Richard Kent,

~I¥V-, Richard Knight, Richard Lowle, Hugh March, Edmund Moores,
N1 Cholas Noyes, Daniel Pierce, Sr., Henry Short, and Thomas Smith.

132

With the reduction of Parker's salary began a long series of
town meeting actions culminating only in 1670 when payments to Wood-
bridge were finally terminated. With each year, both sides worked
increasingly harder to Obtain a majority Of the members voting. By
1667, roll-call voting had replaced hand and voice ballots. Supporters
of Parker quickly regained the majority. In March, 1665, Parker's
rate was restored to eighty pounds. At the same meeting, a rate of
sixth pounds per year was voted for Woodbridge, the biennial collection
Of which was confirmed eight months later. In April, 1666, Woodbridge's
rate was continued "till the town take further order," and the Select-
men were authorized tO collect the rate "till the town see cause re-
Specting Mr. Woodbridge." A year later, Woodbridge's rate was renewed
"man by man called over," and again in 1668, "counting man by man."42

These votes, however, were not compromises, and the declara-
tions Of the town meeting did not necessarily reflect any acknowledg-
ment that the good Of the whole was served. In theory, the minority
was expected to accept the collective voice as superior to the indi-
vidual interest. But in practice, the minority was obliged only
voluntarily to Obey the determinations of the town. If Woodbridge
thought his position was firmly established because it was voted, he
was quickly disappointed. His right to preach and his claim against
the town for his rate was voted much more readily than it was recog-
nized. As early as 1665, those who had voted against his tenure were

expressing their continued discomfort by withholding their contributions

 

42Town Recs., passim; Coffin, 68-89, passim.

 

133

toward his salary. Hence, the town meeting authorized the Selectmen
to sue those who had not paid "for the two years past" before the
Commissioners for Small Causes.43 By this time or shortly thereafter,
however, the Commissioners had shown themselves, at least as far as
Parker's Opponents were concerned, to be interested parties in the
church quarrel.44 As a result, many Of the arrears went uncollected.
After 1670, the Woodman faction dominated the Commission, and the
friends of Woodbridge were forced to seek assistance from the Ipswich
Court. Empowering Richard Kent and Daniel Pierce to distrain the
estates of those who were in arrears, the Court directed that the
Selectmen approve each distraint.45 But the Selectmen as well were
WOodmanites. Thus, even as late as 1682, Woodbridge had not collected
all of his debts from the 16605.46
Nor was the voice of the majority unambiguous. In November,

1665, immediately following the town vote to renew Woodbridge's rate,

it was voted whether Mr. Woodbridge should be chosen tO‘

preach to the town fOr one year. TO be chosen by papers--

35 votes for him; 4 of them voted, and 31 put in blanks.
31 and 4 are 35.47

 

43Town Recs., November 1, 1665.

44See, for example, the case of William Gerrish and Joseph
Hills v. John Webster, in QCR, IV, 11-14, especially the deposition
of Tristram Coffin, 12; see, also, above, pp. 104-5.

4SQER, IV, 346.

46Town Recs., Book 2, January 5, 1682.

47Iggg_§gg§3, NOvember l, 1665; Coffin, 69.

134

Although they conceded that the question might have been misunderstood,
Parker's supporters used this vote to establish the legality of Wood-
bridge's election. "Of them that did vote by papers, the record saith,
and Mr. WOOdbridge acknowledgeth, that four Of them were for Mr. WOOd-
bridge's preaching. These things considered, we humbly conceive there
will be no fOOting found for what Mr. Woodman and others labor to
cloud the matter withal."48

In retrOSpect, Woodman and his followers maintained that the
1665 vote had accomplished precisely the Opposite. During a town
meeting in March, 1669, Woodman claimed "that Mr. Jno. Woodbridge was
an intruder, brought in by craft and subtilty [gig] and so kept in."49
Indeed, Woodman insisted that the town had voted Woodbridge out twice,
only to be frustrated by a headstrong Parker. The first rejection of
WOOdbridge, he claimed, had occurred when the church refused to call
him, and the second came when only four votes were cast in favor of
his preaching.

Parker's "craft and subtilty" did not simply reflect his dif-
ference of Opinion over the meaning of the former votes. Indeed, part
Of Woodman's complaint addressed his methods Of gauging the intention
of his congregation. For years Parker had conducted church votes by
"speech and silence," a method which, his supporters claimed, had been

approved by the Cambridge "Synod" of 1643 and by at least two councils

called to adjudicate differences between Parker and Woodman prior to

 

1663.50 The issue raised by WOodman questioned "the manner Of
48Coffin, 75. 4999a, IV, 122; Coffin, 74.
50

Coffin, 78.

135

testifying the assent or dissent Of the church,"51 for he and his
supporters understood "speech and silence" to mean assent or silence.
Four Woodmanites complained to the Ipswich Court that Parker had put
the issue of Woodbridge's tenure to vote in Such a way as to guarantee
approval.

Those that are for the discontinuance of my cousin Woodbridge

in the way of preaching as formerly he hath done until further

order be taken let them Speak. Afterwards, Mr. Parker expressed

thus, those that are for the continuance of my cousin 52

WOOdbridge . . . let them express themselves by their silence.
Parker would decide if the speech was louder than the Silence was
quiet.

The pastor claimed more than the right to judge elections,
however. DeSpite Woodman's protestations, Parker remained the elder
and, from the pulpit, he did not need to be concerned with ambiguities.
Woodman might complain of his machinations and his apostacy, but
Parker could claim that his status as minister and governing elder
enabled him to act as arbiter. Richard Bartlet, James Ordway, and
John Emery, all Woodmanites, complained that Parker had declared
himself master of church business. In a public meeting, they reported,
Parker had proclaimed a new doctrine:

for the time to come I am resolved nothing shall be brought
in to the church but it shall be brought first to me; and

if I approve Of it: it shall be brought in: if I do not
approve it it shall not be brought to the church.53

 

5111113.. 78. 52QCR, IV, 124; Coffin, 75.

57995, IV, 124; Coffin, 74. See also Noyes' theoretical

justification of this position in Temple Measured, 44-46 and
passim, and in Moses and Aaron, 42ff, and’passim.

 

 

136

Parker would maintain this position in one form or another throughout
the church di5pute.

Supporters Of the pastor could not understand the complaints
of the Woodmanites. Though they admitted the events which Woodman's
fellowers cited to buttress their case, Parker's friends denied that
the interpretation of their Opponents was correct. When Woodman
claimed that the Newbury church was deprived of true congregational
government, Parker's supporters "utterly denied" the allegation. When
WOodman complained that Parker refused to permit the church to vote,
his Opponents proclaimed the assertion "so notoriously and evidentally
false."

Let any act within twenty years or upwards be produced of
this nature, that hath been carried on without the churches'
consent or the major part thereof. We can evidence that
Mr. Parker hath been blamed for bringing things of too
mean a nature to the churches' examination, and strangers
have taken notice of the over much liberty of some in
church actings.
Neither side saw the issue through the same window, and neither,
therefore, could find any common basis upon which a resolution of
the disagreement could be founded.

Nor could the Ipswich Court, which heard the civil case pro-
pounded against WOodman. Parker's supporters were careful to leave
congregational government out of their complaint, for none would have
permitted civil authorities to arbitrate church disagreements. Indeed,
James Noyes had written that the resolution Of church differences was

55

the responsibility of church councils alone. But civil authorities

 

54Coffin, 77. 55Moses and Aaron, 30.

 

137

were empowered to maintain civil and religious peace. Hence, they
complained to the court only about Woodman's behavior which, they
claimed, was detrimental to "our peace both civil and ecclesiastical."56
They had good reason to expect support, for sitting as magis-
trates were Simon Bradstreet and Daniel Denison, both brothers-in-law
of John Woodbridge. But their hOpes were not fully realized. Brad-
street and Denison did find Woodman's demeanor "false and scandalous"
toward Parker and Woodbridge, and "reproachful and provoking and the
whole generally Offensive" otherwise, and both ordered Woodman to
confess "his sinful expressions and just offenses" publically.S7
But over the Objections of Bradstreet and Denison, two other justices
dissented from the sentence of the court. Samuel Symonds and William
Hathorne refused to admonish Woodman, for they had been convinced
that Parker's "alteration" was a just cause of complaint. Though
they encouraged WOodman particularly to acknowledge his unbrotherly
behavior, they fOund both parties guilty Of "errors and miscarriages
and actings or unbecoming words in their public agitations."58
The Split decision made the issue all the more ambiguous,
for both sides claimed vindication. SO uncertain had been the verdict

that Parker and his supporters submitted a rebuttal to the Opinion of

Symonds and Hathorne, asserting that "we look not upon the paper as

 

the determination or sentence of the Court."59 Without a definitive
S6 .
QCR, IV, 122-23; Coffin, 74.
57 .
99R, IV, 122; Coffin, 75.
59

58925, IV, 123; Coffin, 75-76. Coffin, 76.

138

statement from the magistrates, however, the issue could not be re-
solved. Consequently, the church split continued. Indeed, it had

barely begun.

Woodman's Opposition to Parker had taken only the form of
civil tranSgressions prior to the ambivalent decision Of the Quarterly
Court. Buttressed by the refusal Of the Court to pass on the validity
Of his religious assertions, and perceiving only continued deviations
from true church government in the Newbury church, WOodman now re-
fused to partake in communion administered by Parker. At the same
time, he declined to answer the minister's charges against him before
the congregation. Instead, he extended his majoritarian principles
a further step. Over Parker's prohibition, Woodman's adherents,
claiming to be the major part of the church, met independently as the
church, attempted tO administer their own church discipline, and voted
general church orders "as if they were the church."60

Parker was not quite ready to try his fOrtune again in the
Quarterly Court, although the actions Of his Opponents had given him
sufficient grounds. Moreover, Woodman's behavior added an urgency
to Parker's arguments, for now he was challenging the church govern-
ment accepted by most in Massachusetts. Hence, taking advantages Of

the WOodmanites' absence from his own meeting, Parker and his party

voted to ask a council Of neighboring churches to assemble in Newbury.

 

6°Ibid., 79.

139

Issued fOrmal invitations, representatives of nine churches convened
in November, 1669 to consider the problems before Parker's congregation.
The assembly was stymied from the Start. Objecting that it

was not a valid council and denying that they were subject to its
authority, the Woodmanites compounded their implicit threat by refusing
both to attend its sessions and to communicate their complaints. Hence,
the council acted on the basis of the allegations and evidences pro-
vided by Parker and his supporters. Shown only one side of the contro-
versy, it found Woodman's actions to be "breaches of church order,"
"reproachful," and "dishonorable."

In an organic body . . . that there should be any regular

orderly church, consisting Of the major part of the brethren,

severed from Others of their brethren, yea of their pastor,

or persons without, and not within the church, and such a

company acting as a church being no regular church, all their

actings as a church are tO be accounted irregular. . . . It

will be all the more offensive in the dissenting brethren to

act in any such way for time to come.61

Before suspending "any further counsel" the assembly urged

Parker and his supporters to endeavor to convince the Woodmanites of
their errors, to restore peace and harmony in Newbury, and to "improve

2 Thus calling for rational

also any other helps for that end."6
persuasions, the council adjourned until the next April. But rational
discourse was not to be had, for each side was too deeply convinced
of its own sanctity to be swayed by impassioned or unimpassioned
debate. Neither was prepared to compromise or yield on the basic

points of difference. The "Declaration of the pastor and several Of

the brethren Of the Church of Newbury," submitted to the Ipswich Court

 

61Ibid., 78-80. 62Ibid., 79.

140

in 1671, indicated the inelastic spirit with which the Parker faction
approached rationality. Following the adjournment Of the council,

we endeavored . . . to see what composition we could bring

our brethren to, and accordingly by public and private

agitations we labored to reduce our brethren to a right and

sober mind, that . . . they might be brought to a right

understanding of the congregational way . . ., which, if

our brethren had consented to, there might have been

hopes to have proceeded peaceably . . . 3
When his attempts to convince his opponents of their error proved
unsuccessful, Parker recognized only one alternative. He censured
the WOodmanites, insisting that only the confession of their errors
could effect a reconciliation.64

Woodman and his followers were no less instransigent. In

February, 1670, for example, John Webster, 3 Woodmanite, read to the
congregation a complaint against Parker. Recounting the charges
against "the major part of the church," webster denied that any were
just complaints. His standard of truth, however, was dubious, par-
ticularly to Parker. Speaking fOr the majority, he affirmed that

we do not judge ourselves guilty Of those sins you have

publically charged upon us, having duly examined our

consciences and actions by the word of God, and therefore

cannot approve Of your proceedings therein, but do conceive

that you have proceeded therein beside the rule that Christ

hath given his church to walk by.

Denying that any rational persuasion had been attempted by Parker or

his supporters, Webster accused the minister of a "distemper of

 

63Ibid., 93. This document, in R, IV, 353-54, has been

abstracted ineptly. UnfOrtunately, this is the only chronological
account Of the events between November, 1669 and the suspension
Of Parker in 1671.

64gga, IV, 232-33.

141

Spirits" and asserted that his complaints against the Woodmanites
were, themselves, irregular and offensive.65
Despite the hopes of the 1669 council, then, the differences
between Parker and Woodman proved impossible to solve so long as both
sides saw no grounds for compromise. Accordingly, the council re-
assembled in April, 1670. Both adversaries, made more determined by
the events of the preceding half-year, anticipated vindication. Recog-
nizing that a "Slight plaster" would not heal Newbury's wounds, the
Woodmanites, who had refused to meet with the council the previous
November, infOrmed the assembly that "we do heartily wish that God
would make [the messengers] instruments for the settling of peace and
truth amongst us and SO throw down the strong hold that Satan hath
erected against us." But their attendance would not be without con-
ditions. They remained adamant that, because they "had no hand in
your call," they would not be obliged to abide by the decision of the
council. Nevertheless, they would be willing, they said, tO hear the
friendly advice tendered by the "honored and reverend brethren."66
While maintaining it was a true council, the assembly agreed

to Woodman's conditions if, in turn, he would promise "to submit

actively or passively" to their advice.67 Agreeing without promising

 

65995, Iv, 232-33; Coffin, 81-82.

66995, IV, 363-65; Coffin, 86-87.

67Coffin, 87-88.

142

adherence,68 Woodman's supporters catalogued their griefs, and, in
the process, revealed the gulf separating their perspective from
Parker's. They could not understand why they should have fallen into
such widespread disfavor, for they claimed to be orthodox in both
faith and government. Indeed, seeking to bias the council against
Parker, they suggested that their orthodoxy itself made them martyrs.
"We have cause to doubt that the Offenses here against us at home is
because we abide constantly to those principles and will not turn
presbyterians." Even if simplistically, they recognized that the
church disagreement touched the roots of congregationalism.

As for our controversy, it is whether God hath placed the
power in the elder, or in the whole church, to judge
between truth and error, right and wrong, brother and
brother, and all things Of church concernment. It is denied
that the fraternity have anything tO do with it, but the
minister only, and if his determination be not approved Of,
the persons aggrieved may appeal to all the ministers in

the country .

Finally, they blamed the malicious and unyielding spirit of Parker's
adherents for the miseries before the town.

And it is come to pass that such as do not consent hereto

are Corathites, and like the sons Of Eli, that make the

holy things of God to be despised, and upon this ground is our
division. Principles preached and endeavored to be practiced,
one contrary to another, have made two sorts Of professions,
contrary to one another . . . And yet we that to this day

have Stood unmoveable to those principles proved by the
scriptures in books of controversy, in catechisms by the
synod, by ecclesiastical laws confirmed, and approved Of by
the practice Of all churches in general, are tossed up and

 

68nwe . , , do solemnly engage to the utmost ability to

receive with all readiness, and attend with all diligence whatsoever
scriptural light you may impart unto us according to the best of
our understanding and consciences [Coffin, 88]."

143

down by the mouths of some unworthy persons as decliners

to levellism, to Morellianism and are a people that nothing

will satisfy.69

With possibly one exception, any written communication passed

between the Parker group and the council has not survived. Neverthe-
less, there is no reason to doubt that Woodman had described at least
the theological basis of the diSpute fairly accurately. If James
Noyes' theology reflected that Of Parker, then both men gave few
governing rights to the congregation. "Common members are not to
govern by suffrage and coordinate authority with the elders," wrote
Noyes, for elders were bestowed upon election with the same keys of
instituted power that had first been granted to the apostles. Once
the elders were chosen, the power of the brethren therefore became
"consultative," not "authoritative." Tending more toward anarchy
than toward good government, majority rule was incompatible with the
order charged upon the church.70 In the event of maladministration
by the elders, the only option available to the brethren was appeal to
other elders sitting as a council. Representative of the "catholick
power" inherent in the church, such councils must have transcendent
authority, Noyes argued prophetically, otherwise they could not bind
an Offending majority to make amends to an aggrieved but justified

minority. "Suppose the minor part offended, and a council judging on

the innocent side, yet if the major part doth counterjudge the council,

 

6999a, IV, 363-65; Coffin, 86-87.

7oTemple Measured, lO-16, 30-33, and passim; Moses and

Aaron, 20, 42ff, and assim. On the other hand, Parker may have
gone beyond his cousin's theology. See Moses and Aaron, 55-56.

 

 

 

144

it being not bound to active or passive Obedience, the innocent still
shall suffer, without redress from authority."71 (The mysterious
Declaration of the Council at Newbury, in the hand of John Woodbridge,
expressed virtually the same ideas less extensively, though its
authorship is uncertain.72)

. Although both Sides hoped that the council would bring the
controversy to resolution, progress came slowly. Whether or not the
Woodmanites appeared "with such a spirit and carriage as ill befit
them before such a reverend assembly," the council took four days to
complete its business. After hearing Parker's arguments, the council
lestened to more than a score of grievances proferred by the Woodman
faction, complaints which, according to the supporters of the minister,
the council deemed unjustified.73 Apparently preparing to rule again
in favor of Parker, the council was interrupted while writing its
report by Woodman himself and several of his followers. With "tears
of joy," WOodman Spoke as agent for his party. Acknowledging their
"personal Offenses," Woodman declared that he and his supporters
realized they had been in error, and that they now sought the "for-

giveness of the council, Pastor, and brethren."74

 

71Temple Measured, S and passim; Moses and Aaron, 21, 30,

32, and passim.

724-5, 8. See note 17 above.

73Coffin, 93.

74QCR, IV, 355; Coffin, 93.

14S

Encouraged by Woodman's contrition, the council set aside
whatever report it was writing and undertook to compose articles of
accommodation between Woodman and Parker. On April 22, 1670, the
council completed its efforts. When the resulting "Covenant" was
signed by Parker and all Of the Woodman party, the council disbanded,
confident that the disorder in the Newbury church had finally been

healed. AS earlier, however, their confidence proved unfOunded.

The covenant failed to unite the Newbury church because it
did not resolve the differences between the perspectives of Parker and
Woodman. It was an agreement without an understanding, fOr it bound
each Side to terms which remained undefined. Accordingly, both Parker
and Woodman could agree tO the covenant, each confident that he had
subscribed to propositions which he had maintained from the outset.
Each could reSpond to subsequent events with assurance that his inter-
pretation of the covenant was the one intended by the council. Hence,
where deviation from the agreement was perceived, each could revile
the other all the more vituperatively, for their respective under-
standings of the covenant could supplement the claims Of correctness
asserted by each. Moreover, each alleged deviation would also produce
the charge that one faction or the other had broken its covenant, all
the more serious an allegation because, by 1670, it was the only
covenant Newbury had.

Central to the agreement and to its inadequacy was the first

clause, which required that the Cambridge Platform be the standard by

146

which church affairs were conducted. Reference to the Platform, how-
ever, had always been made by both Parker and Woodman to support their
reSpective positions, and each had consistently maintained that it
was the other who deviated from its declarations. In March, 1669, for
example, the Parker group strenuously professed that Newbury was not
"a singular people contrary to the professed persuasion and practice

of all the churches . ."75

Calling themselves "faithful to God and
lovers of truth and peace" two years later, they accused the Woodman-
ites of accepting the Platform only insofar as they could be its
interpreters and of acting "contrary to the platform of discipline
allowed by the general court and the received practice Of all the
congregational churches in this country."76 Before the council in
1670, the WOodman party likewise maintained that they adhered strictly
to "that which the General Court hath established for the synod book,"
and asserted that Parker opposed them precisely for that reason. And
in 1671, their "Defense of the Persons Accused" included a chapter-by-
chapter catalogue of Parker's deviation from the Platform.77
Part Of the confusion stemmed from the ambiguities of the
Platform itself, which was propounded as a handbook of true church
government. Part, as well, was the result Of the intensity with which

each Side professed its ideas. The Platform spelled out relationships

among parts of the church, but seldom did it elaborate upon the

 

7SCoffin, 77.

7699a, IV, 353; Coffin, 92, 95.

77925, IV, 363-64; Coffin, 86-87, 95-97.

147

intricacies of the relationships. For example, in the mixed consti-
tution of the Congregational church, the Platform maintained, "if the
church have power to choose their Officers and ministers, then in
cases of manifest unworthiness, and delinquency they have power also

."78 But the absence Of a definition of mal-

tO depose them.
feasance left its determination, in effect, in the hands of the
aggrieved. Thus, when the Woodmanites suspended Parker from Office
in the Spring of 1671, they could argue that the minister's Offenses
had been "clearly proved by sufficient evidence." Consequently, they
could assert that "we cannot but judge you worthy of blame, and do
hereby blame you."79 The platform had Stated that the advice Of
neighboring churches be solicited "where it may conveniently be done"
when a church officer was tried.80 But what was convenient? And,
what recourse was there when the churches contacted either failed to
advise for censure or else Opposed the act? Faced with this dilemma
when Samuel Philips Of Rowley refused to sanction their suspension of
Parker, the Woodmanites proposed their own rationale. The advice of
other churches, they maintained, was not absolutely necessary. It
was, redundantly, only a convenience, "where [it] may be had." In

justification Of their actions, they maintained that Philips' Objec-

tions and the refusal of the Salisbury church to advise them gave them

 

78Walker, Creeds and Platforms, 215.

 

79ggk, IV, 360; Coffin, 82-83.

80Walker, Creeds and Platforms, 215.

 

148

no alternative but "to take liberties as God hath given us to procede
ourselves as the rule of the word doth lead us."81
As a result, the second article of the covenant, which
applied the Platform to disagreements within the church, could not
be implemented. "All matters of controversy being considerable and
of moment, not issued before the pastor or elders to mutual satis-
faction of parties concerned, shall be brought to the church according
to the said plathrm," the clause Specified.82 Two additional issues
hence became entwined in the dispute, and only the simultaneous
resolution of both could make this clause workable. The question Of
gpp_composed the church had to be determined if the will of the
congregation was to be discoverable. Nor did the second clause re-
solve the long-standing problem that had afflicted the church since
at least l669--how were the intentions of the church to be
ascertained?83
Closely related to the second article were the third and
fourth, both of which concerned admissions to membership in the church.
Both also were, on the surface at least, implicit criticisms of the
minister. The third term provided that those who were propounded for
membership should "stand some considerable time, at least a fort-
night," prior to the vote of the congregation, and required, further,

that a warning be issued to notify the members that a vote would occur.

In combination with the fourth clause, which denied that membership

 

81Coffin, 96, 104-105.

8299a, 1v, 361-62; Coffin, 88.

83See above, pp. 134-36, and passim.

149

could be made contingent upon "judgment as to the congregational way,
pro or con," the agreement seemed to confirm that Parker had changed
more than one of his ideas. In 1644, he made no claim that an entrant
must adhere to presbyterianism before his admission. Indeed, he had
asserted that admission criteria should be "SO large, that the weakest
Christian may be received,"84 and contemporary Observers had noted
that he practiced what he preached.85

Nevertheless, if church membership at the time of the dispute
is any indication, inclusiveness did not continue to characterize the
Newbury church. Although extant records do not permit an accurate
estimate Of town size, the eighty-two men who were church members
during the controversy were by no means the complete population.
Indeed, they seem to have been largely Older members of the first and
second generations of settlers. For example, the mean determinable
age of participants in the church dispute was 47.7 years, and the
median was 51. Of the 68 persons for whom age is known, only 28 were
younger than the mean. Table IV-l summarizes the ages of church
members in 1671, the year in which the church dispute became most
vociferous.

The high mean age of members was not necessarily the result
of declining interest among the younger generation. Nor was it
wholly the product of a disproportionate absence of younger members,

for a skewed age distribution should be expected where church

 

84I£EE_22§§3 4- See also, NOyes, Temple Measured, 63-65;
Moses and Aaron, -85.

 

85Lechford, Plain Dealing, 80, for example.

 

150

TABLE IV-l

AGE OF CHURCH MEMBERS, 1671

 

Age Number

 

20-24
25-29
30-34
35-39
40-44
45-49
50-54 1
55-59
60-64
65-69
70-74
75-79
80-84

Nommbowmumoooom

 

membership is concerned. However, the age distribution assumes meaning
when the ages for the Opposing groups are tabulated separately. Al—
though the mean ages of both groups were about the same (47.0 for the
Parker faction and 49.9 for the Woodmanites), the youngest member of
the Parker group was 5 years younger than the youngest Woodmanite.
Moreover, although both median ages were also higher than the respective
mean ages (50.5 and 53.0), the same bias appears when the groups are
divided by age relative to the median. Among the Parker supporters,
the median age for the 16 members younger than the group median was

27, whereas for the 14 Woodmanites it was 36. Yet for both groups,

the "Older median" was 58 years. The relative absence of youth in the
congregation, then, seems to be associated with articles three and four
of the covenant. Parker was admitting only those younger inhabitants

who seemed likely to support his position. (See Table IV-2.)

151

TABLE IV-2

AGES OF CHURCH MEMBERS, 1671
(PARKER AND WOODMAN GROUPS)

 

 

 

Number
Age
Parker Woodman
Supporters Supporters
20-24 3 0
25-29 5 3
30-34 4 4
35-39 0 2
40-44 2 5
45-49 2 0
50-54 6 6
55-59 4 5
60-64 1 3
65-69 4 3
70-74 2 1
75-79 0 0
80-84 1 l

 

This conclusion is Strengthened by one more "piece" of evi-
dence. The church records prior to 1674 are no longer extant, but
the complete membership of the church is known fOr the year 1671.86
Using the records kept after the ordination of John Richardson, a
"Catalogue of Members, previous to 1816" was drawn up by the church.87
Although the list Of members prior to 1674 in this compilation is un-
doubtedly incomplete, a comparison Of both sets Of names was used to

identify at least some of those who were members before 1674 but not

 

86925, IV, 359-60, 361; Coffin, 83, 85-86.

87CovenantLArticles Of Faith,pand Rules of the First Church
of Newbury, with a Catalo ue of its Members and’an Accountin Off
its Pastors (Newbury: OlfiByfieldiPrinting co., 1896). Mem ers
before 1674 are listed on 10-11.

 

 

 

152

during the church split. After the names Of those who died or left
town prior to 1671, and those who participated in the church dispute,
were eliminated, the list contained the names of many, if not most,
of the admissions between March, 1671 and 1674. It is not possible
to determine either the date an individual was propounded for ad-
mission or the position he would have taken in the church Split.
Nevertheless, on the surface at least, the list does suggest that
Parker was admitting members on the basis Of their theology.
Twenty-five people, at least, were admitted to the church
between 1671 and 1674. For sixteen of these, kinship ties extended
exclusively toward one group or the other, and the remaining ad-
missions had no kinship links to either group. Moreover, the six
whose kin were supporters of Parker were significantly younger, on
the average, than those whose kin supported Woodman. John Sewall
and Moses Gerrish, who were probably too young to have been admitted
much before 1674, were "Parker kin" eliminated from consideration.
Nevertheless, the 26.3 year mean age of these "predicted" Parker
supporters was six full years younger than the mean age of their
"predicted" opponents (32.4). Four fewer "Parker kin" were admitted
between 1671 and 1674, but three Parker supporters were the only
persons in the 20-24 bracket of the age distribution of church members
in 1671. It is quite possible that the admissions Of these youthful
inhabitants during the dispute, if not others as well, were predicated

upon their known support for Parker's theology.88

 

88Among the six Parker kin, five were connected to either
the Knight or the Noyes family. John Knight, Jr. (23) was the son
of John, Sr., and, in 1672, married the daughter Of the late Reverend

153

Thus, when Edward Woodman objected to the admission of James
and John Smith,89 he was Objecting to a principle as well as to an
event. Parker probably had admitted those who agreed with him before
admitting others prior to the second council session, and he certainly
did so after.90 Moreover, it is not unlikely that he had also taken
advantage of the periodic absence of some or all Of his Opponents to
"railroad" into membership those he wished. Even while half the
church was under suspension, he continued to administer the Sacrament,
so he therefOre had some subjective justification to continue the

normal administration of church business.91 For this reason, Woodman

 

James Noyes. Thomas Noyes (23), the son of James, had married the
daughter of Daniel Pierce, Sr., in 1669. Cutting Noyes (22), the
son of Nicholas, Sr., became the son-in-law Of John Knight, Sr.,
in 1674. John Noyes (25), the son Of Nicholas, and John Knight's
son-in-law, Joseph Downer (33) also became members prior to 1674.
Finally, Abraham Adams (32), the son Of Robert, had married the
daughter of Richard Pettingall in 1670.

The Woodman kin betray the same pattern with more diffusion.
Moses Pilsbury (age unknown) was the son of William, and Francis
Browne (39) the son of Thomas. John Badger (28) was the son-in-law
of Stephen Swett (whose wife was the daughter of John Merrill) and
the nephew of Stephen Greenleaf. Elisha Ilsley (23) was the son of
William and the son-in-law of John Poore, Sr. (In 1671, however, he
was in Woodbridge, New Jersey.) In 1669, Joshua Browne (29) had
married the daughter of William Sawyer, and in 1671, Samuel Bartlet
(25), the son of Richard, had married the daughter Of William Titcomb,
his uncle through marriage. John Woolcott (39) had been Richard
Thorla's son-in-law since 1653. Jonathan Woodman (28) was the son
of Edward, Sr., and Samuel Poore (48) was probably the brother Of
John, Sr. Finally, Joseph Pike (33) was the son of John, who, though
he was, like Elisha Ilsley, in Woodbridge in 1671, had given Strong
testimony in support of Edward Woodman previously and probably had
been a church member.

89QCR, IV, 357.
90

See the letter from Samuel Philips to John Woodbridge,
January 16, 1672, in Coffin, 105.

91Philips to Woodbridge, April 3, 1672, in Ibid., 107-109.

154

probably revealed his distrust of Parker by insisting on the third
provision of the covenant. And it is probably no coincidence that

in his objection to the admission Of the Smith brothers he complained
that they had not stood in wait long enough. If Parker was to use
his absence to admit supporters of his position, Woodman wanted to be
warned in time to prepare for the vote.

The efforts Of the council therefore produced only a truce
between Parker and Woodman. Without clear definitions, the covenant
could not heal the breach that had develOped. The Council, however,
had done as much as it could, and it left confident that future dis-
agreements had been prevented. Anticipating the restoration of
peace in the church, the council made no attempt to outline any ex-
plicit means to settle subsequent problems, short Of the method
provided by the Platform. Nor could it foresee that the document
might mean different things to Parker and Woodman. It invoked, im-
plicitly, a new spirit of compromise, yet neither Parker nor Woodman
was capable Of Showing the self-restraint or moderation a peaceable
settlement required. Controversy returned to Newbury well befbre the

year was out.

By December, 1670, it was clear that the church was even more
completely divided. WOodman, who had, despite his "tears Of joy,"
continued to abstain from communion, declared his disavowal of the
covenant and soon renewed his agitations. Parker as well maintained

his intransigence, refusing to put the covenant to the vote Of his

155

supporters and rejecting a number of prepositions offered by Woodman.
As a result, "we could scarcely have any public occasion . . . but
there was some public Opposition from one or another, and nothing
could be managed with peace." Matters came to a head on December 8,
1670, when Parker called a meeting of the church to deal again with
the complaints before the congregation. After an exchange of accusa-
tions between Nicholas Noyes, against Woodman, and Woodman, against
Parker, the meeting broke up without having resolved a single issue.92
At this meeting, Parker had Offered to answer Woodman's com-
plaints. WOodman, however, refused to hear Parker's reply, seeking a
special church meeting to deal with the minister. Two weeks later,
Woodman confronted Parker in private "to deal with him according to
the rule in order to bring him to the church, if he refuses." Parker,
reCOgnizing that no public or private explanation would satisfy his
Opponent, offered instead to join WOodman in calling a new council.
But Woodman rejected the Offer, claiming "he would never call in the
help of any elders as long as he lived." It is doubtful, however,
that Woodman had approached Parker with the intention of settling the
controversy. Instead, he probably had intended the meeting to con-
clude in a stalemate, for he infOrmed the minister that "he would
bring it to the church in order to depose him, and then they would
desire the advice of other churches what they were to do in point of

farther censure." With the failure to effect a resolution of their

 

92925, IV, 354-55, 357; Coffin, 93, 96, 106.

156

differences at this time, WOodman set in motion his plans to carry
out his threat.93
Claiming to possess a majority of the church members, Woodman's
party met several times in December and January to plot their course
and to resist the attempts by Parker to call them before the church.
By the end of January, 1671, Woodman and his supporters initiated
their fOrmal move to oust Parker. On the twenty-ninth of the month,
over the protests of the minister, WOodman "desired the church to
stay" in order to schedule a meeting to hear his complaints against
Parker. Eight days later, on February 6, the meeting called by
WOodman convened and summoned Parker to appear in the name Of the
church. When the minister refused to answer, the brethren in atten-
dance chose officers for the meeting and heard about forty Objections
tendered by WOodman alone.94
The results of this meeting are not known, but it is likely
that the WOodman supporters at least considered deposing the minister
at this time. However, the weighty implications Of such an act
caused them to pause. Hence, they continued to sit as the church in
their own meetings, rejecting Parker's repeated urgings tO summon a
new council. By February 16, the Woodman group had decided upon its
plan of attack. Writing the churches at Rowley and Salisbury, the
leaders of WOodman's party requested these neighbors to send

messengers fOr advice.95

 

93Coffin, 94.

949g5, Iv, 352, 355; Coffin, 91, 93-94, 98.

95Coffin, 95, 103.

157

In reply, Samuel Philips wrote that his church thought it
unwise to send emissaries, because Parker had not been asked tO join
in the call and because two churches was not a sufficient number under

the circumstances.96

On February 28, therefOre, only the messengers
from Salisbury conferred with the WOodmanites. They refused to con-
sider the ouster Of Parker, deSpite the complaints articulated to them
by WOodman. Instead, they advised the Woodmanites "that the choice of
officers either teaching or ruling elders, such as the church Should
most unanimously agree upon would most conduce to our peace and
quiet." Woodman, however, was not to be diverted. The recommendations
of the Salisbury church became, for WOodman, the tool to unseat
Parker.97
WOodman had known when he requested their advice that the
Rowley and Salisbury churches were not likely to lend their support
to Parker. Hence, he probably knew that Parker would reject their
recommendations. He was not mistaken. As expected, Parker refused to
consent to the message from Salisbury. Armed with "proof" of Parker's
unbrotherly stubbornness, Woodman was ready when his church reconvened.
On March 16, 1671, "being forced thereunto to the great grief and
trouble of our hearts and by an act laid Mr. Parker under blame, sus-
pending him from all official acts . . ."98

After electing Richard Dummer and Edward Woodman as ruling

elders, the WOodman church wrote to Parker, notifying him of their

 

96Ibid., 104. 97Ibid., 92-104.

 

9899a, IV, 360; Coffin, 82-83, 103, 104.

158

actions. Declaring him guilty with respect to WOodman's complaints
"by sufficient evidences, and much of it known tO our selves to be
true," they asserted that Parker's "change of Opinion and practice and
several times breaking promises and covenants" were culpable Offenses.
Protesting their great grief, the forty-one brethren demoted Parker
back to the congregation, allowing him only to preach "as a gifted
brother" until he had given the church satisfaction.99

Parker first responded to the Woodman letter with patience
and a threat. Setting the stage for future developments he wrote his
Opponents that he would have nothing to do with their actions. He
denied any personal guilt and reminded them that it was not he who
had broken "the unity and peace of the church." Nevertheless, he
was willing to resolve the issue in a legal way. "Once more I entreat
you to think of some way of reconciling our differences, which we
think will only be by consenting with us to call a regular council,
resolving to submit to their advice." At the same time, however, he
issued a warning that his concern was matched by his resolution. If
the WOodman faction did not join him in seeking assistance, "we shall
be forced to consider what course shall be taken to defend ourselves,
and blame us not fOr using any lawful means whereby we redress your
Sin and our distraction."100

After the Woodman brethren rejected Parker's request to call

a council, the Parker church assumed the Offensive. From March 22,

 

10OQCR, Iv, 358-59; Coffin, 83-84.

159

Parker no longer sought reconciliation. Rather, he persisted in his
assertions Of righteousness, determined to drive the WOodmanites tO
their knees. There was no doubt, he maintained, as to the source Of
the disturbances. "What patience have been used toward them, yet
what opposition have been made by them, how irreverently then have
carried themselves . . ." The high-handed actions Of the Woodmanites
a week earlier had brought the crisis to a head from which there could
be no compromise. Accordingly, Parker's church, without calling upon
their errant brethren to repent, voted to "renounce communion with
all those brethren that have SO deeply violated the communion of
Christ's church, nor shall we accept them as regular members . .
till God shall give them a mind to see and heart to acknowledge and
confess their great Offenses . . ."101
On March 23, Parker sent a second letter to the WOodman group,
chastising them fOr preparing to ordain Dummer and Woodman. Gone
from Parker's words was any hint of a willingness to compromise.
Indeed, the minister affirmed that his words Of warning were sent
less out of genuine concern than out of his duty tO provide "that
there be nothing wanting in us to evidence that love and respect unto
you, which brethren ought to have one towards another, and the duty
we owe to God binds us to." He wrote not to urge moderation but to
"intreat you not to despise the Lord Jesus Christ by making his
ordinances contemptible." He then prepared to wash his hands of any
further Obligations to the Woodmanites. If, deSpite his advice,

Woodman and his church continued along their errant path, Parker

 

101Coffin, 84-85, 106.

160

wrote, then it would be no fault of his. "We have done our endeavor
to prevent your sin," he concluded, and "[we] leave you to [H]is
judgment, that will in [H]is time judge everything in truth."102
At the same time, Parker confirmed what the Woodmanites had
been expecting. He would press a new complaint against Woodman befOre
the Quarterly Court. Confident Of a successful plea, he warned his
adversaries not to "despise the civil authorities above us, we have
cause abundantly to thank God that they will countenance and protect
us."103 In April, Richard Kent, Jr. and Daniel Pierce, Sr., on behalf
Of the Parker church, presented to the court at Ipswich a lengthy
accusation, citing at least nine alleged violations committed by
WOodman and his party against the peace and order of the town and the
church. The WOodmanites, they charged, had slandered Parker's reputa-
tion and stubbornly persisted in their contempt. In addition, they had
acted factiously by conspiring against their minister, defying his
official pronouncements, calling irregular meetings, impeding church
discipline, depriving the church Of ordinances and Godly rule, illegally
imposing ruling elders upon the church without the consent of the

Pastor or the congregation, and acting schismatically. Having listed

the Offenses, Kent and Pierce asked the Court "at least to redress such

 

102Ibid., 85.

103Ibid., 85. Parker also may have been reflecting on
WOodman's stated intention to take the case to the General Court.
See below, p. 165.

161

miscarriages as are contrary to the known laws of the country, and

so, contrary to public peace."104

The Parker supporters were meticulous in their complaint,
preferring, as earlier, to treat the issue in legal terms only.
Indeed, they had little choice, fOr by their own admission they were
outnumbered among the de facto voting members of the church.105

Hence,

they avoided questions of theological significance and largely invoked
statutes pertaining to civil and ecclesiastical peace. Their concep-
tion of court responsibility remained constant-~the civil authorities
were not to be the arbiters Of theology, which was prOperly the domain
of Church councils. Secular authority was only to be used "to see the
peace, ordinances, and rules of Christ to be observed in every

church . . . and our honored magistrates . . . do account themselves
bound by all due means to countenance and protect the Observers Of
the Congregational government."106

This reliance upon law, however, was not only the result of

political considerations. It also reflected the prOfOund sense of

 

104995, IV, 350-53; Coffin, 90-92. This is a revealing .
political document as well, for it appeals to the emotions of magis-
trates who were faced with other, similar majoritarian challenges.
Pierce and Kent, in the Opening paragraph, made clear its political.
implications. They wrote that they held out little "hope of silenCing,
much less of curing, our difficulties and fearing lest such mis-
carriages may have an influence, not only to breed public disturbance
in other churches, some sparks whereof already appear, but may break
forth into Open factions and mutinies . . ."7 (Emphasis has been
added.)

losggn, IV, 359-60; Coffin, 86.

loégga, IV, 353; Coffin, 92.

162

order and regularity shared by Parker's supporters. Order, the
organizer of society, was embodied in the law. Hence violations of
order were violations Of the law. Convinced of his own rectitude,
Parker was no less certain that his concept of order was the only
prOper one. He could maintain throughout that Woodman's actions were
disorderly, for he and his party had threatened to unleash anarchy
upon the church. They had stepped out of place, he argued, and "will
be content with nothing but their own will, to the subduing of all to
their humors."107 Parker felt amply justified in using legal channels
to restore the order which he perceived had been violated by the
irregularity of his opponents.

In contrast, the WOodmanite perspective was predicated on a
different notion of order, one with which few first generation Puritan
leaders would have agreed. Where Parker emphasized responsibility and
submission to place, they based their arguments on rights and majori-
tarianism. In rebuttal to Parker, they posed two related lines of
defense. On the one hand, they claimed to be the majority of the
church and denied the membership of six Parker supporters. As the
major part, they asserted that they had sufficient power to act in
the name of the church when disciplinary action was put to a vote.
They, too, made the invokation of law part of their defense. Deprived
of their "lawful liberties," they insisted that it was Parker who
should properly be called usurper. "Whether we are not a people that
go about to set up a new government, because we act or allow the act

of the major part Of the church to be authentic, to us seemeth to be

 

1°7§R, IV, 354; Coffin, 95.

163

an Objection new coined by such as might as well say a Church hath
no power or privilege whether they be major, or minor, of the
whole."108
Establishing to their satisfaction that they were the major
part of the church, and claiming that they possessed "concluding
power" as a result, the WOodmanites argued that their actions were
therefOre legal. They, too, posed political arguments befOre the
magistrates, citing custom and law in justification of their behavior.
From General Court to the election of way-wardens, they said, the
vote Of the majority carried the issue. "How it is come to pass,"
they stated, "that the poor church of Newbury amongst all the thousands
in N. B. should be Opposed in their lawful liberty in this kind we
cannot but a little wonder." Citing scripture, law, and the Platform,
they declared, defiantly, that all of their recent actions were, and
could only be, legal and regular.109
Asserting their own justification, they attempted no direct

answer to the charges leveled by Parker, for the accusations were
irrelevant to their own understanding of congregationalism. Instead,
they entered only one complaint of their own against the minister, a
complaint which reveals the true breadth of the gulf separating their
understanding and that Of Parker.

We . . . desire this court to consider whether it be not

against all order, law or custom that complaint should be

brought to a court against brethren, which from conscience
of the rule of Christ do complain to a church against an

 

108995, IV, 363; Coffin, 95-97.

logggk, IV, 363; Coffin, 92, 97.

164

offending brother, merely because they have complained,

when the church hath heard the complaint and acquit the

complainer, by owning the complaint to be dulyoproved,

and sentenced the person complained against.1
The event which precipitated Parker's complaint was, to the Woodman
faction, the action of a self-evidently justified congregation. In the
light of Parker's accusations, the complaint offered by the Woodmanites
suggests that neither side was able to address, much less to understand,
the arguments of the other.

If Woodman hoped that the Court would accept his arguments,

he was to be disappointed, for the Court would not become involved in
a theological issue as complex as the Newbury controversy. Its May,
1671 decision, this time unanimous, found in favor of Parker, just as
the pastor had anticipated. Chastising the Woodmanites for their
"high and irregular practices unheard of in this country," the magis-
trates called Woodman's claims groundless and Often false, and the
justification for his actions totally insufficient. "They have alleged
nothing but that they were the major part of the church, not Charging,
much less proving, any Offense given by their reverend pastor, Mr.
Parker, who for anything that doth yet appear is altogether innocent,
though exceedingly scandalized, reproached, and wronged by Mr. WOodman
and his parties [gigju' Accordingly, the Court found Woodman and his
supporters "guilty Of very great misdemeanors, though in varying
degrees," and levied fines totalling more than twenty-eight pounds

against Parker's Opponents.111

 

110Coffin, 92.

111995, IV, 365-67; Coffin, 99-100.

165

Both Parker and the Court were no less in error if they
expected Woodman to return to the fold. Although he knew that Parker
intended to present the controversy to the Quarterly Court, Woodman
remembered the favorable intervention Of the colonial government in
the militia controversy. Hence, he wrote his Opposite on March 23,
notifying the minister that he would take the case to the General
Court.112 Presented the issue in May, shortly after the Quarterly
Court had given its decision, the Court of Elections instructed the
churches at Dedham, Roxbury, Charleston, and the first church Of
Boston to send messengers to Newbury "and offer them their best
advice."113

Woodman hOped that the Court would be able to extricate
Newbury from the morass Of controversy in a manner which accorded
more with his sympathies, and his hOpes were undoubtedly buoyed by
the haste with which the council set about its business. But the
messengers were not successful in their charge. Indeed, ignoring most
of the fundamental issues of the controversy, the council seems to
have considered only the events stemming from the suspension of
Parker, for its report to the Court in May, 1672 recommended specific
actions to reverse only the events after March 16, 1671. By fall,

1671, though the council had finished its business in Newbury, matters

had not improved. As early as September, Parker had sought to bring

 

llzgga, IV, 359; Coffin, 84.

113Shurtleff, IV, part 2, 487; Mass. Archs., X, leaf 59-

166

the council back to take stronger action, but his request was rejected
summarily by the council itself.114
As a result, the Parker church continued to sit and act with-
out the Woodmanites, whose own actions have largely become obscured.
Parker, in fact, proved particularly stubborn. Even when several
WOodman supporters heeded the council's advice to acknowledge their
offenses, Parker "told them . . . that let them go as far as they
would in acknowledgement except they would come and join with him at
the Lord's table, it would not be taken fOr satisfaction." Deprived
of the Sacrament in their own church, at least two Of the WOodmanites,
Richard Dummer and Thomas Hale, Jr., both of whom had acknowledged
their faults to Parker, shared communion with the Rowley Congregation.
When John Woodbridge complained that the practice of the
neighboring church resembled Anglicanism, Samuel Philips, who had
administered communion to Dummer and Hale, replied that "I wish there
were nothing in Newbury that looks of a more episcopal countenance."Us
The Rowley pastor was not reSponding only to Woodbridge's accusation.
Both Rowley and Newbury had been aroused in March, 1672, by rumors
that Parker and his supporters were preparing to appeal their case to
England. Robert Adams, who had not voted to suspend Parker, told
several Woodmanites that the minister had indeed sent communications to

England.116 Agitation was even more pronounced in Rowley, where

 

114Mass. Archs., X, 107; Currier, History of Newbury, 321.

 

115Philips to WOOdbridge, April 3, 1672, in Coffin, 107-109.

“GQR, v, 39.

167

Robert Loomis, a member of the Newbury church living in the neighbor-
ing town, had told several Of his fellow townsmen that Richard
Saltonstall could prove Adams' assertion. Loomis had told William
Goodhue that

he heard that Mr. Parker had written to some friends in

England concerning their differences at Newbury and that

they had presented his case to the Arch-Bishop of

Canterbury.11
Whether this had been Parker's intention is uncertain, but it is
clear that at least Benjamin WOOdbridge, in Old Newbury, had received
letters from his brother John or his uncle Parker.118 Newbury's
pastor had probably not intended for his communication to reach the
ears of the Archbishop, who would hardly be likely to support a
Presbyterian settlement in New England. Nevertheless, the presence
of rumors that he had indicates the extent to which Parker's behavior
had elicited fears in Rowley that the allegations might be true.
Coming only a few years after a number of Parker's supporters had
petitioned the General Court not to press the issue of colonial

autonomy from England too stridently,119

Thomas Leaver's testimony
assumes additional significance. Leaver told the Court of his and
others' "suspicion or fear lest Mr. Parker's party or some of them

should in writing impart their troubles to some great ones of the

Presbyterian party who Of themselves as was feared might inform the

 

117Ibid., 38.

118"Woodbridge-Baxter Correspondence," 579.

119Mass. Archs., CVI, leaves 167-68.

168

archbishop of Canterbury and so give occasion to our adversaries to
send over as far as them concerned some general bishop or other.
."120

These rumors undoubtedly had disturbed the ears Of both
the council sent to deal with the Newbury controversy and the General
Court, neither of which was overly sympathetic to Parker. The
Newbury pastor had been a thorn to the New England ministry since
1643, when some of his objections to the New England way had been

represented to the assembly of ministers at Cambridge.121

Opposition
remained a prominent quality in his relations with other ministers.
In 1662, fOr example, Eleazer Mather referred to Parker as a "great
antagonist of the Congregational way and order" who continued to
question "whether we were in the right ecclesiastical order."122
The Court, perhaps, had even more reason to be concerned. Twice
since 1661, many of those who became Parker supporters had signed
inflammatory petitions which questioned the political relationship
between Massachusetts Bay and the crown. Indeed, the court so re-
sented the 1666 petition that it summoned William Gerrish to answer

for the audacity Of the petitioners.123

 

Izogga, v, 38-39.

121Walker, Creeds and Platforms, 136-37; Parker, True Copy,
4; and Hall, Faithful Shepherd, 112, for example.

 

 

122Mather to John Davenport, July 4, 1662, in M.H.S. Colls.,
4th. Ser., VIII, 192-93.

123Shurtleff, IV, part 2, 6, 317-18. See also Paul R. Lucas,
"Colony or Commonwealth: Massachusetts Bay, 1661-1666," 9, 3d
Ser., XXIV (1967), 106-107; and Bailyn, Merchants, 123-24.

169

But Court and council were in a quandary. If they decided
against Parker, they would be supporting a majoritarian ideology that
was rapidly becoming anathema to the leaders of the Bay. To the newly
rising second generation Of ministers, the increasing demands of the
brethren made the elaboration of ministerial power, so central to the
theology of Parker and his kin, all the more desirable. Indeed, by
the 16605, the demands of these new ministers seemed to be moving in-
creasingly closer to the arguments put forth by Parker and Noyes in

the 1640s and 1650s.124

Nor had the Court been immune to similar
pressures. Concurrent with ministerial attempts to augment their
power were attempts by the Court to define voting and office holding
rights much more exclusively and to restrain the whims Of the
pOpulace.125 The widening gulf between Puritan and citizen, leader
and follower, was perceived by both magistrate and minister, having
been brought into clear focus by the debates over the Half-Way Covenant
and the election of 1671.126
Pulled in two directions, Court and council chose, through
equivocation, to repudiate both sides Of the controversy. The report

of the council, as approved by the Court in May, 1672, annulled the

March, 1671 actions Of the WOodmanites, calling them disorderly,

 

124Hall, Faithful Shepherd, 207-18, and passim.

 

125Robert E. Wall, Jr., "The Decline of the Massachusetts
Franchise: 1647-1666," JAH, LIX (1972), 303-10; Bailyn, Merchants,
134-42, assim; T. H. BrSEH, "English Origins and New WOrld DeveIO -
ment: Tfie Case of the Covenanted Militia in Seventeenth Century
Massachusetts," Past and Present, LVII (1972), 74-96.

 

126Miller, New England Mind: From Colony to Province,
105-109, for example.

170

scandalous, and contrary to scripture. At the same time, the Court
voided Parker's "irregular" suspension Of the Woodman faction without
"seeking other healing means or taking council." The Court refused
to impose further sentence, choosing instead to Offer advice only on
"some other things that are more dubious." Addressing the issue of
the major part, the Court recommended that "lifting up of hands" was
the best way to ensure "liberty of voting in all their own concerns."
WOodman, the Court suggested, should return to the "public worship of
God," and indirectly accused him of "Offense and ill example." Because
peaceful worship and edification were promoted best by "the amicable
close of spirit and united judgment of the Officer and brethren," the
report strongly urged WOOdbridge "not to impose himself or his ministry
(however otherwise desirable) upon this church." Recommending public
humiliation, fOrgiveness, and reformation, the Court completed its
report with a warning. "Should there be a failure" to restore order,
the Court wrote, "you may not think that we Shall be necessitated to
advise what further course is to be taken."127
As even-minded as the Court tried to be, its fence-straddling
did not resolve all of the contested issues, fOr the Obligatory pro-
visions of the adopted report attempted only to reunite the church
physically. TO this extent, and insofar as it found WOodman's behavior
blameworthy, the report justified Parker's long-held assertion that
only a council could heal controversies over church dogma or govern-
ment. Yet its unenfOrceable recommendations, which seemed to support

WOodman's position, threatened to make Parker the victim of one set of

 

127Shurtleff, IV, part 2, 521-24.

171

circumstances that would have not arisen had his criticism been
heeded--they acknowledged the unwillingness or inability of authori-
ties tO impose solutions to fundamental church problems. Given the
social context of the church Split, the prescriptions Of the General
Court alone could not resolve the problem, for the controversy was
not, as the Court perceived it, one between ideas on the one hand or
between man and God's word on the other. Rather, it was a conflict
between men, one that had become a holy crusade of sorts. This made
it all the less easily solved from without.128
As a result, the Court learned in October that its efforts
had not met with success. Advised that the council "hath not been
so attended as the court expected," the Court ordered a new council
"to repair to Newbury, and call both parties together, and persuade
with them to attend the same with love and Christian submission, one
to another."129 The actions of this council are unknown. Although
the Court instructed it to submit a report "in case there shall
appear any refractoriness," the records became mute on the further
developments in the Newbury church split.
The means by which the Split was resolved, therefore, are
unknown. However, the restoration of peace to Newbury was not without
its own irony. Both of the councils which attempted to settle the

Newbury controversy had concluded that one ruling elder was at least

one too few. Both, therefore, advised the town to hire a suitable

 

128See below, Chapter 5.

12
leaf 60.

9Shurtleff, IV, part 2, 549; see also Mass. Archs., X,

172

assistant to Parker. The retention of John Richardson around 1673
implemented this recommendation. Although he was not ordained until
1675, Richardson seems to have restored a spirit of compromise and
moderation to the congregation. The son of Amos Richardson,130 he
was a recent Harvard graduate from Stonington, Connecticut. Since
the 1660s, James Noyes, Jr., the son of the same James, Sr. who had

been such a moderating influence on Thomas Parker, had been the

minister at Stonington.

 

130His relation, if any, to Edward Richardson, a Woodmanite,
has not been determined.

CHAPTER V

THE CONSISTENCY OF CHANGE

The partisan conflict between Parker and Woodman was not only
an intellectual disagreement over the nature Of church government. TO
be sure, it was that, and a power struggle as well. But it was of much
greater import to inhabitants of the town than any single disagreement
or power struggle could have been. Fundamentally, the church Split was
both a result of and a stimulant to continuing and profound social
changes occurring within the town. Although the town maintained the
same goals of peace, harmony, and unity that it had sought in the
16305 and 16405, the context in which these goals were sought had not
remained static. Gradually, imperceptibly, and inexoribly, the uni-
fied network of kin and friends which facilitated the corporate action
of the town had become fragmented. Whether the townsmen recognized it
explicitly or not, the town had matured.

TO some degree, the social complication of the town was in-
evitable. Despite a considerable out-migration from the town, the
net growth Of the population within its boundaries made virtually
certain that new associations would not keep pace with the rapid rise
in the number Of possible new kin and friends. The dispersal Of

domiciles within the town and the occupational and social

173

174

diversification of the inhabitants combined with the growth of popu-
lation to abet the fragmentation of the unity that characterized the
early social relationships Of the townsmen. As a result, by 1685,
the town was composed of a network with eight separate groups.
Although the town was Still knit together socially, the
mutual support and recognition afforded one another in its earliest
years were things of the past. By 1685, people had become more dis-
tant emotionally and socially. Whereas formerly the townsmen had
remained moderately single-minded on most issues (or potentially so),
following the church Split they became significantly more susceptible
to the influence Of smaller, more discrete groups. If they did not,
in fact, align along these lines prior to 1685, it was not because
the potential lines of division were more quantitative than qualita-
tive. Other issues imposed other, cross-cutting lines of differen-
tiation upon the first, second, and third generations of residents,
blurring the lines of kinship and friendship group identification.
The critical event in this social transformation seems to
have been the church Split. This disagreement stimulated the
"patriotism" of "ego-centric" kinship and friendship associations
and, in turn, imposed upon each individual the responsibility to
choose among his associates. Once choices were made, social "in-
vestments" were established. The systematic exploitation Of inter-
personal obligations paved the way toward a redefinition Of the

social structure Of the town.1

 

1For an example of how this process might have Operated,
see Mayer, "The Significance Of Quasi-Groups," in The Social
Anthropology of Complex Societies, ed. by Banton, 97:i22.

 

 

175

At the same time, however, the social structure of the
church split was the result of social processes which had been in-
fluencing town affairs for some time. The differential patterns of
behavior revealed by the social alignment of the dispute were already
present, implicitly, when the town was founded. It is no coincidence,
for example, that only two or three of the Woodmanites had arrived in

New England with Parker on Mary and John. Even the earliest settlers

 

did not join forces as a completely unified group. Implicit social
differentiation accelerated with the emergence of other, physical and

intellectual strains on the unity of the town.

The origin of the social disruption began as early as the
16405, when the town chose to remove to the Merrimack. Not only did
this decision provoke considerable discomfort among those who wished
to remain at Old Town,2 but it also laid the groundwork fOr the dis-
integration Of the social network. Once the movement had been com-
pleted, the unity of the town, as the inhabitants understood it,
became doomed to extinction.

Much of the impetus to the settlement of Newbury had come
from prominent men whose concerns ran toward livestock breeding.
As long as the major interest of the town remained cattle raising,
the extensive and sparsely-treed marsh and meadow of its topography

could satisfy the needs of the inhabitants. But by 1640, a new

 

2See above, pp. 92-98.

176

interest in mercantile callings had emerged among the inhabitants. To
established and aspiring merchants, the broader, tree-lined Merrimack
Offered distinct advantages over the narrow and shallow Parker River.
Though Newbury continued to breed large numbers of livestock, more-
over, most of the townsmen did not Specialize in husbandry. By the
early 16403, most of the arable land in the town had been taken up,
particularly because the town had alienated a sizable proportion Of
its land to encourage the settlement of Rowley.3 As a result, common
lands became more distant, new plow lands were inconveniently located,
and timber was hard to find. These were the arguments used, in fact,
to justify the creation of the commission in 1642 "for removing,
settling, and disposing of the inhabitants to such places as . . .
might tend to their enlargements."4

The quest for personal "enlargement," however, posed ominous
implications for the collective social harmony of the town. By pro-
viding fOr diffused settlement, the Commission deprived the town of
the daily, social interaction necessary for cooperation and compromise.
The original houses had been laid out in Old Town and Newbury Neck,
along Opposite banks of the Parker River. Other accommodations,
furthermore, had been concentrated in Specific locales around the
residential areas, where many, if not most, of the inhabitants

combined them into open fields.5 As a result, whether in their

 

3Prop. Recs., 7-8.

 

4Town Recs., n.d., 1642; Prop. Recs., Fol. 58, 151.

 

5998, IV, 227.

177

neighborhoods or working their lands, Newbury inhabitants experienced
day-tO-day contact with one another, fostering the interdependence

of the population and thereby preserving the potential for harmonious,
corporate activity. In turn, the frequent social and civil inter-
course among the townsmen helped maintain the dense and interlinked
social network that characterized the early town.

With the creation of the New Town, many of these inter-
relationships were severed. Not only was the town divided into two
centers, but also the population became diSpersed from the Parker to
the Artichoke River, producing irreparable strains on the organic
unity Of the town. Those who remained in Old Town became a distinct
group, separated by neighborhood interests from those who removed to
New Town. Moreover, many of those granted farm acreage, such as
Richard Dummer, used the movement of the town and meeting house to
justify their permanent removal to their farm lands. As early as
1652, Edward Johnson could note that "their houses are built very
scattering," an observation repeated by John Josselyn eleven years

6

later. By the 1660's, the town had become so dispersed that three

and four separate sets of fence viewers had to be appointed.7

 

6Johnson, Wonder Working Providence, 145; Josselyn, Ap_
Agcount of Two Voyages to New England,in MHS Colls., 3d Ser., III,
324.

 

 

 

7For example, Town Recs., April 2, 1666. The abandonment of
the principal of compact settlement not only lessened the daily inter-
action Of the population, but it also may have biased whatever inter-
action remained. It is impossible to reproduce the neighborhood pat-
terns of the post-removal population. Nevertheless, the dispersal Of
the population would encourage an expectation that regional biases
affected both interpersonal alignments and kinship and friendship
patterns. Much Of the differentiation apparent in the network analysis
below may well be the result of regional contours of association.

178

The loss Of COOperation which resulted from population dis-
persal was reflected in the gradual abandonment Of Newbury's open
fields. Despite the town practice of granting Specifically-bounded
acreage to individuals, not to groups, the lands frequently remained
unfenced so that they might be worked in common. Although the town
meeting continued to regulate the maintenance of general fences, the
loss of perpetual town supervision which occurred with the removal
of the town placed greater responsibility to cooperate in the hands
Of those who Shared the Open cultivation Of specific areas. At
times, this mutual accommodation was hard to Obtain. In 1653, for
example, a number of Old Town inhabitants admitted that the coopera-
tion among them was less than ideal. Betraying the same harsh majori-
tarianism that WOodman and his party would later evoke, "we the major
part" of the participants voted, without legal sanction, to fine
anyone failing to maintain his share of the surrounding fence. At
the same time, they affirmed that enclosure Of plots was already under
consideration, at least, when they stipulated that responsibility to
maintain the general fence would lapse "when any man's land is fenced
in particular to himself."8

Nor did the removal of the town alleviate the land shortage
which had been its cause. As early as 1655, for example, one peti-
tioner to the General Court bewailed "the number of inhabitants that
have crowded in and the large [?] accommodations the town hath had to

diSpose of."9 Six years later, the Selectmen voted to discharge the

 

8gCR, IV, 227.

9Mass. Archs., XL, leaf 39A.

179

lot layers, "as there is no more land to be granted by the town."10

The townsmen were also well aware of the land problems. In 1651, the
town issued a one year moratorium on land distributions by the Select-
men, even though lands had hitherto been granted extensively by the

Selectmen.11 When the Selectmen's instructions were revised in the

1660S, moreover, they were not given authority to distribute land.12
By 1677, they were expressly prohibited "to sell, give, or exchange

3 and the freeholders, not the town meeting, became

any town land,"1
the reluctant administrators of land grants.14 Even the use of common
land was guarded with increasing jealousy. At a meeting "to consider
and conclude Of some effectual means for the just liberty and privi-
leges of the town proprietors," for example, the town voted to deny
all non-commoners "any right, liberty, or privilege of commons in any
of the town commons."ls
These town actions were designed to benefit the collective

population, not specific freeholders. Individual townsmen, therefore,

had to act on their own behalf if the regulations proved

 

1012!2_§2£§;s June 22, 1661; Coffin, 64.

11Prop. Recs., 4.

12Cf., Town Recs., May 3, 1669, for example.

13Ibid., March 27, 1677.

14Ibid., March 1, 1680, for example.

1Slbid., October 12, 1670.

180

disadvantageous. Accordingly, a number of alternate means to Obtain
land were employed. Some inhabitants augmented their lands through
purchase outside the town. Largely after 1660, for example, at least
fifty Newbury residents were participants in a brisk trade Of land in
the Norfolk County towns of Salisbury, Amesbury, and Haverhill.l6
Some of this land undoubtedly was procured for short-term investment,
as many Of the various deeds disposed of properties by sale. But
acquisitions outnumbered alienation by nearly three to one, sugges-
ting that the long-term value of outside land was appreciated. Many
of the holdings, indeed, were acquired by individuals whose children
were approaching adulthood.17
Other inhabitants found the situation more intolerable and
chose to move elsewhere. Many departed individually. Others joined
forces. Even befOre the creation of New Town, groups of families
had left Newbury to fOund other towns, such as Salisbury, Hampton,
and Haverhill. Shortly thereafter, others joined John Woodbridge in
the settlement of Andover. Nor did the migration cease with the
movement to New Town. After 1650, a number of Newbury residents
removed to Nantucket. “In 1659, several others combined with inhabi-

tants of Dover in a futile attempt to establish a new settlement on

the Saco River. And between 1665 and 1670, at least thirty Newbury

 

16Essex Antiquarian, I-VIII (1897-1905), passim; EIHC,
LVI-LXX (1920-1934), passim.

 

17A comparable phenomenon seems to have been present in
Plymouth colony as well. See John Demos, "Notes on Life in
Plymouth Colony," in Colonial America, ed. by Katz, 86.

 

181

residents, along with others from Nantucket and Plymouth Colony,
traveled several hundred miles to found Woodbridge, in East Jersey.18
Faced with a shortage of land early, many others pursued
callings which did not require large amounts of planting ground. The
town did not want for artisans and skilled laborers. Indeed, virtually
everyone combined some serviceable calling with his agricultural pur-
suits. But the greatest single, non-agrarian pursuit in the town was
related to commerce and shipbuilding, providing an outlet for some of
the pressures of the landless. Commercial enterprise was as old as the
town. Merchants, attracted to the Parker and Merrimack rivers, were
among the earliest settlers, and they were joined by others who
Specialized in mercantible goods of one sort or another. Well prior

to the church split, William Thomas was pickling sturgeon to be carried

to England on boats owned by Newbury and Boston merchants. Others,

 

18Mass. Archs., XL, l‘eaf 39A; 0x11, 117, 134; Shurtleff, I,
206, 236, 237, 277; Coffin, 29, 33, 70; Currier, History of Newbury,
42-44, 74-75; George Wingate Chase, The History of Haverhill,
Massachusetts: From its First Settlement in 1640, to the Year 1860
(Haverhill: n.p., 1061), 3S; Greven, "Four Generations,“ Chapterl;
Alexander Starbuck, The History of Nantucket County, Island, and Town
(Rutland, Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle Company; Publishers, 1969), 17-19,
and passim; and Joseph Dally, Woodbrid e and Vicinity: The Story of
a New Jerse Town (reprint; Madison, N.J.: Hunterdon House, 1967).

e eparture of many of these later migrants, just prior to
the church dispute, administered a shock to the social arrangements of
the town. They were not simply sons and transients. Indeed, several
of those who left for Woodbridge had been long-time residents of the
town. Some did return after finding WOOdbridge less than satisfactory.
For example, Daniel Pierce and Henry Jaques, two early settlers of
Newbury who had extensive personal kinship and friendship networks,
were present in the town when the church split came to a head. But
the influence of other migrants remained lost. John Pike, for example,
had occupied a central position in the network of the town, linking
eight other major town leaders prior to 1665. Migration did not reduce
the social network to manageable size. Rather, it created holes in
the grid, preventing the church dispute from being resolved more
readily and accelerating the disintegration of the unified network that
had characterized the town in its early years.

 

 

182

like Paul White and Abraham Toppan, speculated in liquors and cloths
of the West Indies. In 1664, Daniel Pierce, Sr. set sail for Cape
Fear with a probable cargo of livestock, and as early as 1665, Richard
Dole was called "merchant."19
But it was not until the late 16705 that commerce became an
extensive part of Newbury's economy. At a time when the younger sons
and daughters of the first generation were reaching majority, the
growth of mercantile enterprise became a source of livelihood for
those who were unable to obtain much land. At the same time, it pro-
vided at least some in the town with a new, more worldly outlook and
a new source of tension. On the one hand, indebtedness became an
expanding cause of interpersonal animosities. In the dockets of the
Quarterly Court, for example, the relative frequency of litigations
for debt initiated by or against Newbury residents rose steadily
through the 16705. Moreover, it was a new type of debt. Increasingly,
the indebtedness was in commodities and commercially-related items
such as boards, pipestaves, hogsheads, and even shares in vessels.20
Second, the growth of commercial enterprise posed a new chal-
lenge to the ethos of communalism. For those whom it touched directly,
business interests supplanted local participation as a way of life.
Few of those identifiably involved in commercial activity seemed

willing to take on the burdens of major town office. Richard Dole,

for example, though prominent in his own right, was Selectman for the

 

ngCR, passim; Coffin, passim.

 

20QCR, VI, VII, VIII, assim; see, also, William I. Davisson,
"Essex County Wealth Trends: Wealth and Economic Growth in 17th
Century Massachusetts," EIHC, C111 (1967), 291-342.

183

final time in 1673, and thereafter was a jury member twice, a tithing-
man once, and a member of only two additional Special land commissions
until 1685. Likewise, Thomas Woodbridge, unlike his father, John, Sr.,
who turned to colonial politics after his ouster as assistant minister,
eschewed all political office until his accidental death in 1681.

It was not only that these men were disinterested in town
office. Those with commercial interests also seemed to personify a
new, eclectic cosmopolitanism. Increasingly, their business concerns
directed their attentions away from the town and toward their sup-
pliers and their markets. When, for example, Richard Dole's ship,
Hopewell, set sail for "Jamaica, or to any other place in the West
Indies," in 1679, Dole frankly instructed its master, Patrick Evans,
to "di5pose of the ship and cargo for my best advantage," and to take
care to do whatever "is necessary to be done that may consist with

your comfort and my profit."21

Men like Dole, however, were not dis-
tracted by profits alone. Supplies as well focused their concerns
beyond the town. Increasingly, if the debt cases are indicative,
Newbury merchants expanded their contacts throughout the Merrimack
Valley and the colony, establishing business relationships with
inhabitants living as distant as Boston and Exeter.

The development of commerce, then, was a mixed blessing to
Newbury. Although it provided the town with a new economic base, it
also made inevitable the collapse of the local interdependence that

had made the town a potentially harmonious, corporate undertaking.

With the dispersal of the population throughout the town, it

 

21993, VIII, 77-78.

184

contributed to the emergence of differentiated and heterogeneous
social units. By the early 16805, the townsmen were instinctively
aware that they could no longer return to the days of the cooperative,
unified past. As early as 1680, the relationship between population
dispersal and the development of commerce had become plain. In justi-
fication of their petition seeking Court authorization to create a
second ordinary in the town, the Selectmen asked the magistrates to
consider "that the town is much increased, and by reason of trading
being begun to be set up among us, like to be enlarged even more,

and the town being much scattered . . ."22

Only three years later,
several other townsmen signaled the permanence of commercial enterprise
in the town. Seeking "to ease us of that charge which at present we
are forced unto by going to Salem to enter our vessels," ten town
merchants petitioned the General Court to appoint a permanent clerk

of the harbor at N'ewbury.23

The problems caused by the shortage of land in Newbury were
compounded by the growth of the population in the town. Elaborate
demographic analysis of the population trends has not been attempted.

Nevertheless, intricate analytic techniques are not necessary to

 

221bid., VII, 417.

23Mass. Archs., LXI, 254.

185

reveal the sizable increase in the number of people the town had to
support.24

In 1642, preliminary to the movement to New Town, the special
commission took stock of the number of freeholders in the town.
Ninety-two individuals were acknowledged to have claims on undisposed
town lands.25 Ten years later, the Commissioners and the Selectmen
together determined "that all the inhabitants was freeholders," except
for eight Specifically named men.26 Presumably, the latter decision
did not change the number of freeholders significantly, for the town,
already sensitive to the rights of freeholders to common lands, probably
would not have conferred upon a large number of inhabitants a freehold
status. Because it is equally unlikely that the number of freeholds
would have changed drastically, it is reasonable to assume that the

pOpulation of the town in 1650 was contained in about 100 families.27

 

24Although I have reconstituted all the families in the town
between 1635 and 1685, much of the demographic analysis made possible
by this procedure will not appear in this study. Obviously, some of
the population characteristics which are included here do call for the
further inquiry which I shall attempt at a future date. In the present
context, however, the important demographic information pertains to
the relative growth of the town.

25Town Recs., December 7, 1642.

26Ibid., January 10, 1653.

27In 1651, Edward Johnson estimated that only about seventy
families lived in the town (Wonder Workin Providence, 145). For
reasons which will become apparent, I suspect this:figure to be low.
However, if Johnson was correct, then I have underestimated the
growth of the population.

On the other hand, Robert Wall projected a population of 114
adult males in Newbury in 1647 ("Massachusetts Bay Colony Franchise in
1647," 559, 3d Ser., XXVII, 136-44). The difference between his
estimate and mine seems to be minor, for not all of these chronolog-
ically adult males were freeholders. Some were unmarried sons, others

 

186

In 1648, the population per Dedham taxpayer, according to Kenneth
Lockridge, was about 4.9 persons. Generalizing from this estimation,
Newbury's population in 1650 would have been around 500 persons.

In 1681, for whatever purpose, the town clerk compiled a list
of the freemen and inhabitants of the town. A total of 226 names, not
all of which were legible, constituted this list (100 freemen and 126
inhabitants). Assuming that all of those named were taxpayers, then
the population of the town would have been at least 1,100 in 1681, if
the population-per-taxpayer ratio remained the same. But if the ratio
rose to the 5.9 figure computed by Lockridge for Dedham in 1700, then

the population may have been as high as 1,300.29

By either estimate,
the town's population had at least doubled in the space of 30 years.
If these estimations are accurate, the population had grown at a rate
of 2.5 to 3.0 percent per year.

This rate of growth seems Significantly higher than the rate
determined by Lockridge for Dedham during the same period. Lockridge
projected a long-term growth rate in the interior town of about 2
percent per year between 1636 and 1736. However, he noted that from

1648 to 1694, the rate had Slowed to about 1 percent per year. If the

$00 is even an approximately accurate estimation of the Newbury

 

purChased or inherited freeholds, and others still migrated out of the
town. Even if Wall's figures are more accurate than mine, the rate of
population growth would decline, but the relative increase in town
size would not have been significantly affected, particularly in its
subjective impact.

28"The population of Dedham, Massachusetts, 1636-1736,"
Economic History Review, 2d Ser., XIX (1966), 326.

 

291bid., 326.

187

population in 1650, then a growth rate of 1 percent per year would
produce a population of less than 700 persons in 1681. At a com-
parable rate of growth, in fact, the pOpulation would have had to
have been well over 800 in 1650 to produce a town size of 1,100-1,300
in 1681.

It is impossible to determine rates of mortality for Newbury
because of the apparent underregistration of deaths. Nor is it pos-
sible to estimate the extent to which deaths were not recorded.30
Nevertheless, unless it can be assumed that the town had a lower
mortality rate than contemporary townS--and mortality rates throughout
New England seem to have been significantly lower than comparable
European rates to begin with31--then the difference between the New-
bury and Dedham figures was the result of variations in natural
increase and migration.

Were it not for the underregistration of mortality, nature
alone would have provided enough new inhabitants to account for the
population increase. Between 1650 and 1681, the town clerk recorded
the births of 1,064 infants and the deaths of 343 persons. Through
recorded natural processes alone, the difference of 721 persons would
provide a population gain sufficient to confirm the estimated popula-

tion in 1681 of 1,100 to 1,300.

 

30Underrecording of mortality was fairly commonplace in many
New England towns. See Ibid., 332; and Susan L. Norton, "Population
Growth in Colonial America: A Study of Ipswich, Massachusetts,"
Population Studies, XXV (1971), 433-52.

31Lockridge, "Population of Dedham," 332ff; and Norton,
"Population Growth," 439-43, and passim.

 

188

There is reason to believe that Newbury residents may have
been unusually prolific. For example, the mean age at marriage in
any given society has profound implications for the size of its pOpu-
lation. For Newbury, this mean age was noticeably lower, particularly
fer women, than in other contemporary towns. In Andover, the mean
age for women of the second generation of settlers was 22.3 years,

and the mean age for men was 26.7.32 In Dedham, between 1640 and

33

1690, the mean ages were 22.5 fer women and 25.5 fer men. And in

Ipswich, the mean ages between 1652 and 1700 were 21.1 for women and

34

27.2 for men. Between 1645 and 1685, Newbury males tended to marry

at an age which was comparable or slightly younger (24.9). But the
women who bore the children married at a mean age significantly
younger than in other towns. The mean age from 1645 to 1685 of 20.2
years was almost a full year younger than the lowest mean reported
elsewhere, and the means for each decade during this 40-year period

never exceeded the age of 21.35

As the population grew and the amount
of available town land remained constant, these means becme more
representative of other New England towns. But by that time, Newbury
was becoming a commercial center, and the growth was irreversible.

Table V-l, A and 8, summarizes mean ages at first marriage in a

comparative context and on a decadal basis, and Table V-2 compares the

 

szGreven, Four Generations, 33-35.
33

 

Lockridge, "Population of Dedham," 330.

34Norton, "Papulation Growth," 445.

351685 is added to this last decade for the purpose of con-
venience. The addition of an eleventh year, however, does not
change the mean values.

189

TABLE V-l (A)

COMPARATIVE MEAN AGES AT FIRST
MARRIAGE, FOUR TOWNS

 

 

 

Mean Ages
Town
Men Women
1.. Andover: Second Generation, 1650-99 26.7 22.3
2. Dedham: All marriages, 1640-90 25.5 22.5
3. Ipswich: All marriages, 1652-1700 27.2 21.1
4. Newbury: All marriages, 1645-85 24.9 20.2

 

Sources: Greven, Four Generations, 33-35; Lockridge, "The Population
of Dedham,“330; and’Norton, "Pepulation Growth," 445.

 

TABLE V-l (B)

MEAN AGES AT FIRST MARRIAGE,
NEWBURY, 1645-1685

1645-54 1655-64 1665-74 1675-85 1645-85

 

 

 

 

 

0

Mean (N) Mean (N) Mean (N) Mean (N) Mean (N)

 

Men 24.6 (22) 23.5 (31) 24.5 (48) 25.9 (80) 24.9 (181)

WOmen 20.8 ( 9) 19.6 (20) 19.9 (44) 20.6 (53) 20.2 (126)

 

190

TABLE V-2

AGE AT MARRIAGE: NEWBURY (1645-1685)
AND ANDOVER (1650-1699)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Males Females

Age Newbury Andover Newbury Andover

N 8 N 8 N 5 N 8
Under 21 12 6.6 5 4.8 77 61.1 29 35.8
21-24 78 43.1 36 34.6 36 28.6 32 39.5
25-29 70 38.6 39 37.5 12 9.5 14 17.
30-34 17 9.4 17 16.3 1 0.7 3 3.7
35-39 4 2.2 4 3.8 0 0.0 2 2.5
40 and over 0 0.0 3 2.9 0 0.0 l 1.2

Total 181 99.9 104 99.9 126 99.9 81 100.

 

191

marital age distribution among Newbury inhabitants to the comparable

distribution among second-generation Andover residents to 1699.36
The growth of the population is indirectly and tentatively

confirmed when the mean number of births per family is estimated.

When dealing with aggregate figures, this measure can only approximate

the number of children born to each couple. Nevertheless, over the

long term, the number of marriages divided into the number of births

37 Table V-3 summarizes this

can give a crude estimation of fecundity.
information in comparative form for Newbury parents in staggered,
thirty-year intervals between 1635 and 1685. It should be remembered
that these measures do not reflect the mean completed family size,
for they do not incorporate infant or child mortality and they take
no account of the influences of migration either in or out of the
town. Moreover, they include all marriages in Newbury whether or
not the couple resided in the town after marriage, but they do not
include marriages which occurred outside of the town. Finally, the
figures blur generations, adding children born to couples married
prior to the base year and adding the larger number of marriages
occurring near the end of the period. Nevertheless, in comparison

to the same figures for Dedham, the ratio of births to marriages in

Newbury suggests that the Essex County town had a population that

 

36Information for Andover is from Greven, Four Generations,

 

34.

7This procedure was used by Lockridge, "Population of
Dedham," 331. See also the short-term variation employed by
Greven, Four Generations, 27, which is based on more precise
family reconstitution methods than those used here.

 

192

TABLE V-3

BIRTHS PER MARRIAGE: NEWBURY (1635-1685)
AND DEDHAM (1636-1703)

 

 

 

Town Births Deaths Ratio
Newbury

1635-65 490 99 4.95

1640-70 768 139 5.53

1645-75 876 171 5.13

1650-80 1,009 192 5.23

1655-85 1,141 222 5.14
Dedham

1636-1668 4.8

1669-1703 4.1

 

Source: Lockridge, "Papulation of Dedham," 331.

193

was growing proportionately faster than that of Dedham or Watertown,
which produced figures similar to those of its neighbor.38
Migration into the town was a second contribution to popu-
lation growth. Although it is impossible to measure the net in-
fluence of in and out migration without militia rolls or rate lists,
it is fairly clear that more families moved into the town than out,
particularly as commerce developed around the 16705 and 805. On the
basis of vital record entries alone, at least forty families, or
more than one per year, entered the town between 1650 and 1685.
They arrived, of course, at varying Stages of the family cycle, but
if the 4.9 persons-per-taxpayer estimate is a valid average fer these
families as well, they may have contributed nearly 200 additional
persons to the pOpulation of the town, plus any fUrther children
born into these families after they had become settled. Outmigra-
tion reduced the net change, of course, but given the land shortage
in Newbury, those departing the town would be expected to have been
younger sons without large families. Such at least was the case
among those who departed for Woodbridge, NEw Jersey between 1665 and
1670. Information about nineteen of these emigrants is known. At
least twelve of the nineteen, with a mean age of about twenty-five
in 1670, were sons of first generation settlers, whereas only three
early Newbury residents, John Bishop, Sr., Thomas Bloomfield, Sr.,

39

and John Pike, Sr. joined the permanent migration. Of the entire

 

38Lockridge, "Population of Dedham," 331-32.

sgBishop had removed to Nantucket several years earlier.

194

group, eight are known to have been married before the migration, and
only six are known to have been parents. A total of thirty-two
children are known to have accompanied these six families, but the
three first-generation families accounted for twenty-six, most of
whom had been born in the 16305 and 16405.

.Compounding the influx from migration was the presence of
servants in Newbury. As in the case of in-migrants, it is impossible
to gauge the size of the indentured population or the number of
servants who removed elsewhere when their terms had expired. But it
is quite clear from the Quarterly Court Records alone that more than
a few Newbury households included non-kinsmen and women working for
masters. Some servants did not remain in Newbury. Both Samuel Moore
and Henry Lesenby, fer example, had been in service to Newbury inhabi-
tants prior to their voyage to Woodbridge. But others, such as George
Major, Stephen Lavenuke, and Daniel Mussiloway married and began their
own families in Newbury, perhaps even before their contracts had
expired.

By the 16805, then, Newbury had grown to be a moderately large
town. Natural increase, servitude, and migration--particularly after
commercial ventures were based in the town--added population to a
settlement without a sufficient quantity of land. As a result, the
town's only surviving rate lists include the names of 246 different
individuals during 1684 and 1685. If 100 taxpayers in 1650 is an
accurate estimate, the rate of taxpayer increase was better than 2.5

percent per year in the 35-year span. If the taxpayer increase

195

paralleled the population increase, then the town was growing at a
rate that would double the population in less than 30 years. And,
if the population-per-taxpayer ratio rose, as in Dedham, then the
rate of population growth was closer to 3.0 percent, half again
greater than the long-term rate established at Dedham. If that were
the case, then the town population would have doubled in less than
25 years.

Juxtaposed with commercialization and land shortage, the
growth of the town provided fertile ground for a new social outlook
to root. With the rise of mercantile ventures in Newbury appeared a
new "class" of inhabitant whose livelihood was associated with the
sea, not with the communalism of the town or even with the welfare of
the church. It is not surprising, fer example, that Caleb Powell, a
seaman, could promise to rid William Morse's house of the Devil

40

through his "understanding of Astrology and astronomy;" that the

youth, John Stiles, "used many idle words and when asked where he would

go, said he would go to hell;"41

or that widow Sarah Stickney could
name John Atkinson as the father of her child after the real culprit,
Samuel Lowle, a seaman, refused to marry her because "he had no
money."42 Each of these illustrations--and there are many more--i5

a testament to the changes in social outlook that had affected the

life of the newly complicated town.

 

40995, VII, 357; see also Coffin, 122-34, assim; and Samuel G.
Drake, Annals of Witchcraft in New England . . . IBEEEEn: W. Elliot

Wbodward, 1869), 141-49, 258-93.

 

“ER, VII, 377. 42%, VIII, 288.

196

More than an intellectual change occurred, however. With
diffusion, growth, and differentiation came a new social structure.
As long as the town remained small and relatively homogeneous, the
community could stand, potentially, as a harmonious unit. The mutual
interaction and recognition which occurred in the corporate enterprise
acted as constant reminders of the interdependence of all. But in
the multifaceted, differentiated community of mercantile Newbury, daily
interaction was no longer the rule. Hence, new restraints on indi-
vidual activities and new social mechanisms to unite the town had to
be found, lest permanent geographical, occupational, or social cleav-
ages immobilized the town. Out of necessity, therefore, the social
network became revised. No longer a unified, coherent organism,

Newbury became interlinked in a different way.

Given these changes in the social environment of the town,
some disintegration of the unified network probably was inevitable.
The shape of the new pattern of social interrelationships, however,
was determined by less-coincidental factors. Indeed, the church split
alignments formed the basis for a new arrangement of kinship and
friendship clusters. At the same time, the dispute represented the
epitome of a conflict between two disparate, socio-ideological strains
within the town. Positions taken during the controversy were "pre-
dictable" from positions the participants had taken previously, and
the location of individuals in the post-dispute network were likewise

"predictable" from the interpersonal associations of the church

197

controversy. Very little in these social relationships, in short,
could be called random.

The social structure of the church Split was not independent
of the structure of other events in which the townsmen were asked to
express their desires. Those who participated on the side of Woodman
or Parker participated differently on virtually all major petitions
submitted by inhabitants of Newbury between 1654 and 1677. Of these 1
nine petitions, six were signed predominantly by those who supported
Edward woodman, and three were dominated by those who defended Thomas
Parker. In association with the ideology of the church split, the
nature of the petitions suggests that at least two different intel-
lectual outlooks defined the behavior of each group.

Five of the six petitions signed predominantly by WOodmanites
sought to reduce the extent to which sumptuary laws could be used to
enforce standards of behavior. Although the petitions were not pleas
for a general relaxation of social controls, they did seek to minimize
the ferce of law as it was applied to specific individuals in Newbury.
To this extent, they represented challenges to the order which more
strict Puritan leaders sought to impose upon the generality. In
combination with the church Split arguments of the Woodman faction,
they suggest that the opponents of the minister were also Opponents
of the Puritan insistence upon rigidly enforced standards of social

behavior.43

 

43On Puritan social controls and the increasing concern
evinced by Bay leaders about men like the Woodmanites, see Flaherty,
Privacy in Colonial New En land; Breen, "English Origins and New
Werld Development;" and WaIl, Massachusetts Bay: The Crucial Decade;
Idem., "Decline of the Franchise;" inter alia.

 

 

198

In 1654, John Pike's brother, Robert, was disenfranchised and
disabled for words he had "let fall," criticizing the General Court's
vote on a law to "restrain unfit persons from constant preaching."

In defense of Pike, several inhabitants of Essex and Norfolk counties
petitioned the Court, calling Pike a peaceful and useful man and
asking the Court to overlook Pike's slip of the tongue and restore
his liberties.44 Thirty-three men who participated in the church
dispute signed this petition, of whom twenty-fOur (73%) became sup-
porters of Edward Woodman.

Three years later, the Woodmanite, William Titcomb, was pre-
sented to the Ipswich Court fer lying several times to the inhabitants
of Newbury. As in the case of Robert Pike, a number of Newbury resi-
dents petitioned the Court in defense of Titcomb, affirming their grief
that a complaint had been made. The petitioners asked the Court, to

no avail, not to find Titcomb guilty.45

Of the ten church disputants
who signed this petition, nine were Woodmanites.

In 1663, John Emery, Sr., also an opponent of Parker, was pre-
sented and convicted of entertaining Dr. Henry Greenland for four
months without license from a Magistrate. Despite the unsettling
impact of the haughty Greenland upon the town, Emery petitioned the
General Court for relief. Greenland practiced "physick and churgury,"

Emery noted, and was needed in Newbury because of some unmentioned

illness which was then sweeping the town. Hence, he claimed, he took

 

44Mass. Archs., x, 300; 99R, I, 366-68.

4SQER, II, 41.

199

Greenland in for the winter out of necessity, not contempt.46 Twenty-

two of the thirty-three church split participants who signed Emery's
petition became supporters of Woodman.

Two other petitions were dominated by Woodmanites, both of
which sought leniency for young men accused of destructive or irregular
behavior in church. The first, in 1669, has already been discussed.47
In 1677, Joshua and Caleb Richardson and Edward Ordway, all sons of
Woodman supporters, were convicted by a jury of vandalism in the
church. A petition from Newbury asked for the abatement of their
fines, for the accused "have been diligent to promote and support
their parents who stand in need of their help, they have been employed
in public service, have endured hardships, and adventured their lives
and limbs for the country." Moreover, the petitioners added, they

had acknowledged their offenses publically.48

By this time, much of
the tension engendered by the church dispute had subsided. Neverthe-
less, 60 percent of the forty-two signatories who also took a position
in the church Split had been Woodmanites.

One further petition was dominated by the Woodman faction. In
1659, a handful of Newbury and Dover (New Hampshire) residents sought
a grant of land from the General Court at Pennecook, on the Saco

49

River. Of the eight petitioners who also participated in the church

 

46Mass. Archs., XV, A, 10.

47See above, pp. 105-107.

4899B, VI, 259-61.

49Mass. Archs., CXII, 117, 134.

200

split, seven became Woodmanites. This request did not seek any special
diSpensation from the Court, but it was no less an appeal to escape the
social controls of the Bay. Pennecook was, the petitioners acknowleded,
"so far remote" that the inconveniences upon the settlers would be
numerous. To the petitioners, however, several of whom migrated to
Weedbridge within a decade, the distance from Boston may have been an
attraction. The area north of the Merrimack had long been a haven fer
dissidents who were able, in isolation, to assert their de facto inde-

pendence from the Bay.50

Throughout the 16505, a lay, "counter-
ministry" had emerged in the northern reaches of Norfblk County in
opposition to the "official practice and increasing formalism" of the
Bay Colony churches.51 And only six years after the request for land,
Samuel Maverick wrote to Colonel Nichols from Portsmouth that two of
his company had been received with great encouragement as far south as
Hampton, where the inhabitants hoped to become independent of
Massachusetts authority.52
In contrast to the behavior of the Woodman faction, the sup-
porters of Thomas Parker tended to sign petitions which appealed to
the social control possessed by Puritan leaders and affirmed the order
inherent in all social and political relationships. To the minister's

defenders both during the church split and in their subscriptions to

petitions, the dictates of place and station were not to be challenged.

 

soBreen and Foster, "Moving to the New WOrld."

$1Man, Faithful Shepherd, 183-84.

 

52Calendar of State Papers, Colonial Series, Vol. 5, No. 1009.

 

201

Indeed, so strong was their conception of right and wrong order that
they were willing to challenge the authority of the General Court, if
necessary, to establish the propriety of relationships.

When William Titcomb was convicted of lying in 1657, he had
been presented by nine "witnesses," of whom six became Parker suppor-
ters.$3 No future Woodmanites signed the complaint. When John Emery
was the subject of a counter-petition to the General Court, the
complaint was signed by twenty-one Parker supporters and only nine

54 In both events, the petitioners complained that

future Woodmanites.
prOper order and station had been violated. William Titcomb, for
example, had lied to the town in his capacity as Deputy and Moderator
of the town meeting, two offices which made his prevarication all the
more serious. And Emery, in obtaining signatures for his petition,
had done even worse--he had violated all standards of station and
privilege through his alleged deception and duplicity.

The order demanded by Parker's adherents extended even to
relations between Massachusetts and the Crown. In 1666, when the
Court had been asked to send agents to England, Newbury residents
wrote the Court to articulate a sense of order that placed Massachusetts
in a balanced relationship with the mother country. "If any proceed-
ings of ours have given occasion to apprehend that we believe His

Majesty has no jurisdiction over us," they wrote, "what speedy course

had need be taken to save [?] ourselves from the suspicion of so

 

”ER, II, 41.

54N§§§§, VIII (1858), 274. See above, pp. 100-102.

202

dangerous an offense, and to give His Majesty all due satisfaction
in that behalf [?]." Pleading for moderation, they urged, to the
great displeasure of the Court, that a delegation be sent to treat

with the Crown.55

This petition was signed by two Woodmanites and
twenty-one supporters of Parker.

. Table V-4 summarizes the differential association evident
in the pattern of petition signings. Particularly because both
groups were nearly the same size, the pattern of alignment across
these petitions becomes all the more significant, for under an assump-
tion of randomness, neither group should have dominated any petition.
Quite clearly, however, Newbury residents signed petitions neither
at random nor on the basis of merit alone. From a different perSpec-
tive, participation in the church Split was not isolated from other
socio-ideological alignments which were superimposed upon the social
arrangements of the town.

This is all the more apparent when the petitions are compared
simultaneously. Defining the population to be analyzed as those who
participated in the church split and were eligible to Sign all peti-
tions between any two dates, it is possible to project an estimation
of how many peOple, other things being equal, should have been ex-
pected to Sign any two petitions. Once the expected number has been
determined, the number of people who actually signed the two petitions
can be compared to the expected frequency. If people acted "at

random," then both frequencies should be approximately the same. If

 

SSMass. Archs., CV1, leaves 167-68.

203

TABLE V-4

PETITION SUBSCRIPTIONS OF CHURCH

SPLIT PARTICIPANTS

 

Number of

 

Church S lit Number of Number of
Petition Participants Parker Woodman
Signing Supporters 8 Supporters 8

1. Pike defense

(1654) 33 09 27 24 73
2. Titcomb

complaint (1657) 6 O6 100 00 00
3. Titcomb

defense (1657) 10 01 10 09 90
4. Counter-petition

to Emery (1658) 31 22 71 09 29
5. Pennecook

request (1659) 8 01 13 07 87
6. Emery petition

(1663) 33 11 33 22 67
7. Moderation

petition

(1666) 23 21 91 02 09
8. Church seat

petition

(1669) 32 05 16 27 84
9. Vandalism

petition

(1677) 42 17 40 25 60

 

204

the numbers are significantly different, then people were not behaving
as expected, given the assumption of randomness, and something was pre-
disposing a stronger or weaker relationship between the two petitions.
Table V-S lists the prOportions of the entire group of church
Split participants who signed each of the nine petitions.S6 Given
random behavior, the number of people signing any two petitions should
be approximately the number determined by multiplying the respective

proportions fer both petitions and converting back to whole numbers.

TABLE V-S

PROPORTIONS OF CHURCH SPLIT PARTICIPANTS
SIGNING PETITIONS, 1654-1677

 

 

Petition* Number Proportion
Signing (D)
l 28 .528
2 06 .113
3 10 .189
4 27 .509
5 06 .113
6 28 .528
7 18 .340
8 23 .434
9 35 .660

 

*Petitions are in the order listed in Table V-4.

 

56This operation has been performed for the time periods
1654-1677, 1654-1669, 1657-1677, and 1657-1669. All four applications
provide similar results, so only the time period 1654-1677 will be
discussed here.

205

Thus, if the proportion for one petition is .20 and the proportion for
a second in .50, then, given the independence of the petitions, .10 of
the entire group should have signed both. This procedure was performed
for each pair of petitions to obtain estimates of the overlap between
all pairs of events. The actual overlap was then counted, and the
expected frequencies were compared with the actual figures. Finally,
an "error matrix" was drafted to show the difference between the actual
and expected values for all pairs of petitions. (Tables V-6, A, B,

and C. Because both halves of the matrices are symmetrical, only

one half is reproduced.) For the nine petitions between 1654 and 1677,
only three of the estimates did not differ from the actual frequencies,
and the total error of eighty-five persons provided a mean error of
greater than two persons per cell between the two matrices.

The direction of the errors provides a clue as to the "cause"
of the discrepancies. Indeed, it suggests that a systematic bias ran
under the patterns of alignment. When the estimation suggests that
more people should have signed a given petition than did so in reality,
some factor tended to dissuade individuals from signing both petitions.
Likewise, an under-estimation implies a greater interdependence
between the two petitions than one would have expected. When direc-
tion of error is examined, it is clear that there was, with very few
exceptions, a tendency for petitions dominated by one church split
group to be positively associated (i.e., produce under-estimated pro-
jections) with petitions dominated by the same group and negatively
associated with petitions signed largely by the other group

(Table V-7).

206

TABLE V-6

EXPECTED OVERLAP, ACTUAL OVERLAP, AND ERROR

BETWEEN PETITIONS, 1654-1677

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A. Expected Overlap
Petition 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Total
1 3 5 l4 3 15 10 12 18
2 1 3 1 3 2 3 4
3 5 l 5 3 4 7
4 3 l4 9 12 18
S 3 2 3 4
6 10 12 18
7 8 12
8 15
9
Actual Overlap
Petition l 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Total
1 0 8 8 6 18 6 18 20
2 0 6 0 4 4 0 4
3 3 2 6 1 7 9
4 2 13 12 6 18
5 3 0 6 5
6 9 l4 l9
7 1 10
8 l6
9
C. Error
Petition 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Total
1 3 3 6 3 3 4 6 2 30
2 l 3 1 l 2 3 0 ll
3 2 l 1 2 3 2 ll
4 l 2 4 6 0 13
5 0 2 3 1 6
6 l 2 l 4
7 7 2 9
8 l l
9 ‘85

 

207

TABLE V-7

DIRECTION OF ERROR

 

 

 

 

 

Petition 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
+ - + - - + - -
2 + - + - - + 0
3
+ - - + - -
4 + + - - 0
5 0 + _ _
6
4. .. -
7
+ +
8 -
9
Petitions Overestimations Underestimations
Dominated by
Supporters of: Parker WOodman Parker Woodman

 

Parker (2, 4,
7) O 7 3 2

Woodman (l, 3,
5, 6, 8, 9) 7 0 o 14

 

208

Controlling for church split participation confirms the con-
clusions suggested by the direction of error analysis. Dividing the
larger church split group into two subgroups representing supporters
or opponents of Thomas Parker permits the petition pattern to be
examined more intensively. The results of this control suggest quite
clearly that the church split divisions were part of the same socio-
ideological alignment that created differential patterns of petition-
signing. Alternately, the basic divisions among the inhabitants which
were reflected by the church dispute alignments were consistent
patterns dating to 1654 at least and extending beyond the church Split,
though with less precision, to 1677, if not later.

Once the respective groups have been separated, the procedure
remains the same until the last stages of the Operation. Table V-8

lists the respective preportions of each group who signed each petition,

TABLE V-8

PROPORTIONS OF CHURCH SPLIT PARTICIPANTS
SIGNING PETITIONS, 1654-1677
(CONTROLLING FOR CHURCH SPLIT)

 

 

 

 

Parker Supporters (N=25) Woodman Supporters (N=28)
Petition

Number (D) Number (D)
l 7 .280 21 .750
2 6 .240 O .000
3 1 .040 9 .321
4 20 .800 7 .250
5 1 .040 5 .178
6 10 .400 17 .607
7 16 .640 2 .071
8 3 .120 20 .714
9 15 .600 21 .750

 

209

and Table V-9 reproduces the expected and actual overlappage. Exami-
nation or error becomes a little more complicated. The controlled
matrices are not directly comparable to the uncontrolled matrix be-
cause of the differences in the numbers of people whose behavior they
summarize. The errors in both controlled matrices must be combined
before the controlled results can be compared to the aggregate find-
ings (Table V-lO). Even after errors were summed, the total error of
the combined-controlled group (thirty-eight, with a mean cell error
of 1.1) was less than half of the error found when no controls were
used. Knowing the position an individual took in the church split
makes his petition behavior considerably more "predictable."57
The church dispute, therefore, was closely related to the
divergent interpersonal associations which were exploited whenever
petitions were to be signed. Indeed, the relationships among the
petitions became accentuated as the church split approached, suggesting
that the presence of a divisive issue could raise socio-ideological
affinities to a patriotic level. Table V-ll reveals the levels of
intensity with which town inhabitants committed themselves to peti-
tions. Column 1 represents the alignment of inhabitants on each
petition in matrix form. The first row of this matrix summarizes the
behavior of the supporters of Parker, and the second row represents

the behavior of the WOodmanites. The first column expresses the number

 

S7To guard against the possibility that the mere act of

reducing the size of each group prior to re-combining them in the
error matrix generated the reduction of error, I have also divided
the larger group at random to correspond with the sizes of the sub-
group. This "test" control, when both groups were combined, produced
a greater number of errors than did the uncontrolled group.

210

TABLE V-9

EXPECTED AND ACTUAL OVERLAP, 1654-1677
(CONTROLLING FOR CHURCH SPLIT)

 

A. Parker Supporters

 

Expected Overlap

 

 

 

 

 

Petition
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
l 2 0 3 1
2 0 2 1
3 0 0 0
4 l 8 13 2 12
5 0 0 1
6 6 1 6
7 2 10
8 2
9
Actual Overlap
”“1““ 2 3 4 s 6 7 8 9
1 0 6 l 3 4 3
2 6 0 2 4 0
3 l 0 0 0 0 1
4 l 8 13 2 12
5 0 0 1 0
6 2 4
7 0 9
8 0
9

 

211

TABLE V-9--Continued

 

B. Woodman Supporters

 

Expected Overlap

 

 

 

 

 

Petition

3 4 5 6 7 8 9
1 4 13 2 15 16
2 0 O 0 0
3 2 5 1
4 l 4 l
5 3 O 4
6 l 12 13
7 l l
8 15
9

Actual Overlap
Petition

3 4 5 6 7 8 9
l 5 15 2 15 16
2 0 0 0
3 2 6 l
4 1 4 l
5 3 0
6 2 12 15
7 l l
8 16
9

 

212

TABLE V-10

ERROR MATRICES, 1654-1677
(CONTROLLING FOR CHURCH SPLIT)

 

Parker Supporters

 

Petition

Total

1

 

53103432 n

01001212

2100112

001011

00000

1000

1.9-1.4.Rsav7.avo.

 

Woodman Supporters

 

Petition

Total

1

 

7.nu13117.z.nv11_nu

00111201
0010100
100001
20100

1000

123456789

 

Combined

 

Total

1

Petition

 

23415733 8
1 3

01112413
2110212
101012
20100

2000

10

123456789

 

213

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

memH.- 000A». eAmwo. meA~.- eAmem. ”Neae. A an aAAeAV
as me a
owem.- Noooo. AeoHn. ename.- Aces». enema. e 0N Ameeav
NA n m
meow. Noooo. HEANM. Nemme. QHNAH. awAmw. em N neeeHv
0 ea A
on~.- mANAH. ammofi. eHAo~.- mmmoe. ”some. HA AH AmeeHv
ma ea 6
mAH~.- mamma. Hmmea. Neaem.- ammee. maeom. AN m Ammeav
em H m
seem. moooo. emmAN. emamm. Hoemm. emmAA. AN A Ammeuv
m em 4
Hoem.- meNHo. ENHAN. ~m~em.- eNHAA. eAENN. as e flAmeHV
VA a m
eAAm. NH-No. oooom. ooooo.~ ooooo.o oooeo.H mm o AAmeHU
AH e N
eOAe.- Amoco. AAmAN. emOAe.- AmmmA. mAeee. A AA nemefiu
as A 3
Age .e _~\.m-m_ A.m-mu A.mv Ame xuueee some use
A e m e n A H eeaeaeea

 

AAeH--meH .onA<Huomm< onAHAme mo AAHmzmAzH

HHI> mqm<e

214

of people signing each petition and the second column, the number of
people failing to sign.58 Columns two and three contain measures of
the Strength of association within the matrix, Column 2 (B) expressing
the relationship between support for Parker and subscription to the
petition and Column 3 (B') the same for the supporters of Woodman.59
Column 4 represents the difference between the measures of intensity.
The greater the difference, the greater the discrimination between the
two groups. Column 5 is the absolute difference between intensities
divided by 2, which can be interpreted as a measure of deviation from
equality. The figures in Column 6 are similar to the statistical
significance of the relationship. They represent, in proportions, the
number of other possible arrangements of the petition matrix which

would produce an association of equal or greater intensity (Column 2).

Finally, the numbers in Column 7 are the correlation ratio, Phi,

 

58Failure to sign a petition, however, does not denote an
Opposition to its contents.

59Column 2 is derived by the formula:

 

x = (n «a

11“22 ' 11"22“12“21 / n11“22 ' “12“21)

and Column 3 is its complement. Though this is used here as a
measure of intensity, it was originally designed as a formula to
determine the value of ce1111 in a standardized matrix of partici-
pation. For the technical discussion of this measure, see Philip
Bonacich, "Technique for Analyzing Overlapping Memberships," in
Sociological Methodology: 1972, ed. by H. L. Costner (San
Francisco: Jossey-Bass, Inc., Publishers, 1972), 176-85. 1 have
not employed Bonacich's methodology to the letter, because I
judged many of the manipulations he recommends inessential or
inappropriate for this data.

 

215

calculated for the Specific distributions in the petition matrix and
included for comparative purposes.60
From these petitions, it is fairly evident that a systematic,
socio-ideological bias cut across the town, even while Newbury re-
mained, quantitatively, a unified social organism. The church dispute
itself was no less an outgrowth of this inherent strain on the unity
of the town. Since 1654, two different groups existed in more than
potential fOrm among the Newbury townsmen. Although the extent to
which this differential pattern of socio-ideological alignment varied
from petition to petition, its overall effect was to create a potential
rift in the social network of the town. As the controversy within the
church became more pronounced with the return of John Woodbridge in
1663, the rift began to widen. It is certainly no coincidence, for
example, that the petitions with the highest degree of group dis-
crimination occurred in 1666 and 1669, when the issues befOre the
church had already begun to polarize the town. And, parenthetically,
it may be no less coincidental that the petition with the least degree
of intensity occurred in 1677, well after the conclusion of the di5pute

had purged or abated the hostilities within the town.61

 

6OCanuIated by the formula

 

phi = (pllpzz ' P12P21 I Jp_1p_2p1_p2-)

See Charles M. Dollar and Richard J. Jensen, Historian's Guide to
Statistics: ,Quantitative Analysis and HistoricaI:Research (New York:
HOIt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1971), 71-72.

 

61For a discussion of conflict as a purgative of aggression

and hostility, see Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict
(New York: The Free Press, 1956), 39-48, and passim.

 

216

Given this pattern of socio-ideological alignment, the church
dispute assumes added significance. Whereas nothing is known about
those who failed to sign any given petition, those who were confronted
with the action to suspend Parker were presented with a choice that
they could not avoid. Because it froze, for a moment, the patterns
of social relationships within the town, the church Split is an ideal
vehicle through which the local social structure can be laid bare.

Its intellectual and theOIOgical content notwithstanding, the church
controversy was a social division which exerted a profound influence
on the life of the town.

By 1666, Newbury had lost its unitary character. Five groups
now constituted the town, and, although one group still remained signi-
ficantly larger with 63 members, it did not represent both sides of
the church split. Those breaking off to form new groups tended,
virtually without exception, to be supporters of Edward Woodman. Where
the central group from 1635 to 1665 contained 29 future supporters
of Woodman, the central group from 1666 to 1672 included only 16
Woodmanites, a reduction of nearly 45 percent. By contrast, only
three supporters of Parker were not members of the core group.

William Morse, who with his son, Jonathan, and both Richard and
Francis Thorla, had only maintained his group membership from the
earlier period. John Kelly was the other exception, and even then an

ambiguous one. Of his two links, one extended to Richard Knight, a

217

supporter of Parker, and the second connected him to Joshua Browne,
who took no position during the church split.62
One new group was composed of 16 members, of whom 8 were
Woodman supporters. These Opponents of the minister were interlinked
among themselves to an extent that surpassed the interrelationships
within the group as a whole. Although the connectedness of the group,
or the number of directed, internal links divided by the number of
possible links, was .225, for these Woodmanites the connectedness was
.357. Of the 37 kinship and friendship links extending from the
Woodman supporters, 23, or 62 percent, connected other Woodmanites,
and only 2, or 5.4 percent, linked them, through one person, to
Parker supporters. Four of the five other links connecting this
entire group to external Parker supporters emanated from John Cheny,
Sr., and his son, Peter, who married into the Noyes family. The re-
maining link belonged to John Kelly. Finally, the Woodman supporters
tended to display an "interlocked" pattern of association. Among
those linked tOgether, the integratedness ratio, or the number of two-
step paths connecting any two persons directly linked divided by the
number of directed links, was 1.35. This group of Woodman supporters
tended, therefore, to be mutual friends as well as mutual Opponents
of the minister.

A second group, containing nine members, included Edward

Woodman himself and three of his supporters. Like the former group,

 

62Kelly was assigned to "Grid One" by the computer, which

could have assigned him just as easily to "Grid Two," the central
group.

218

these opponents of Parker also were closer to one another than the
group average. Compared to a group connectedness of .444, the four
Woodmanites were connected at a level of .500. Three of them, how-
ever, Woodman, his son Edward, Jr., and Benjamin Lowle, were connected
at the maximum level of 1.000. (Each, in other words, was linked to
the other two.) Slightly under half of their links (7 of 16) connec-
ted them to other Woodmanites, and none of them had any links to a
Parker supporter. In fact, only two links extended beyond the group,
one to Archelaus Woodman and one to Robert Adams, and this latter

link to a Parker supporter was a kinship bond cemented between Adams
and William Goodridge. The integratedness ratio for these Woodmanites
(1.67) exceeded that of the former group, demonstrating an even
stronger interlinked quality among the three who were directly
related.

The third group of Woodmanites perhaps should not have been
excluded from the central town group. This was composed of Richard
Bartlet and his three sons. Of these, only Richard was a Woodmanite,
for none of his sons was a church member. Their four extra-group
links, all to members of the central group, extended to Richard
Bartlet's brother, John, Sr., to William Titcomb, both Woodman sup-
porters, and to Titcomb's son, Benaiah.

Except for the latter group, which is ambiguous, both the
other groups shared certain characteristics. On the one hand, the
WOodman supporters in each were all closely associated. Compared to
group characteristics, they were more closely connected to one

another than the group was connected. Moreover, they were clearly

219

distant from supporters of Thomas Parker. Only one Woodmanite, John
Emery, Sr., had links extending to defenders of the minister, and
these were friendship connections without any degree of integration.
Finally, they tended to be mutual associates, as the integratedness
ratios indicate. As mutual, interlinked friends and kin, they could
be expected to be moderately homOgeneous in attitude.63
At the same time, there was an important difference between
the two groups. The second cluster, which included Edward Woodman,
was virtually isolated from the rest of the town. Only two inter-group
links prevented it from becoming a completely unconnected cluster, and
only Woodman's link to his brother, Archelaus, could be considered
strong. The second, connecting William Goodridge and Robert Adams,
was off-set by Adams' other two links, one to his son Abraham and the
other to the Parker supporter, Richard Pettingall, none of whose own
links extended to a Woodmanite. On the other hand, the fOrmer group
was connected to the central group much more firmly. Although nine
inter-group links extended from members of this group to members of
the core group, five of these nine emanated from those who did not
participate in the church split. However, linking this cluster to the
rest of the town was the single liaison in the network, John Webster.
Six of his seven links extended him to other Woodmanites, and none
linked him to a supporter of Parker. Nevertheless, Webster connected

John Emery, Sr., and John Emery, Jr., with Nicholas Batt and Stephen

 

63Edward O. Laumann, "Interlocking and Radial Friendship

Nets: A Formal Feature with Important Consequences," Paper #65
(Ann Arbor, Mich.: The Center for Research on Social Organization,
1971), pp. 28-29.

220

Swett, two members of the central group, as well as both of the
Thorlas.

The central group, by contrast, was considerably more diffused,
containing supporters of both Parker and Woodman. However, while
members of the same sociometric group, the Parker and Woodman suppor-
ters were not "equal" participants in the group structure. Indeed,
they discriminated against one another, with each faction tending to
occupy a separate location within the network. In effect, the selec-
tive differentiation they brought to their patterns of association
gave the central group the shape of an hour glass within a circle.

This discrimination is apparent in the context of connected-
ness. Characteristically, the larger the group becomes the lower
the connectedness must be, for individuals are limited in their
abilities to maintain associations with other persons. The connected-
ness of this central group, therefore, was the low figure of .063.
Among church Split participants, however, there was considerable
deviation around this level. The 28 supporters of the minister were
connected at a level significantly greater than the group level.
Given the size of this core group, their connectedness of .120 is a
remarkable sign that they were quite highly associated with one
another. The comparable figure for the Woodman supporters is deceiv-
ingly small because their 57 intragroup links were disproportionately
fewer than the 139 links of the Parker supporters.64 Despite their

fewer number of links, however, their connectedness level of .079 was

 

64Proportionate equality would require that the supporters
of Woodman have had 79 links as opposed to 57.

221

still almost a quarter again higher than the group level.65 Simul-
tnaeously, a negative relationship pertained between the two factions.
Supporters of Parker and Woodman were connected at a level of .058,
slightly lower than the group level.

The two factions in the central group were similar to the
other groups in their differential degrees of mutual association.
For the core of the network as for the fringe, those who aligned on
the same side of the church dispute tended to be mutual associates.
Among the Parker supporters, the integratedness ratio was 1.71. The
WOodmanite ratio of 1.32 indicates that both were fairly highly
interrelated internally. However, the 0.81 ratio for inter-faction
relationships suggests that the two groups were much less frequently
mutual associates of one another.

The lower level of inter-faction association was no coinci-
dence. Rather, it was part of a more general pattern among those
in the church split, regardless of network position, to remain closer
to those on the same side of the quarrel. The alignments of townsmen
in support of or in Opposition to Thomas Parker, in fact, can be
partially explained by the different kinship and friendship patterns
within the two factions. The position an individual supported was
in part a function of his location within the kinship and friendship

structure of the town.

 

65When the number of Woodmanite-to-Woodmanite directed

links is standardized to parity with the Parker group links (57:79::
l9:x, where 57 is the number of Woodmanite links, 79 is the necessary
number of Woodmanite links to obtain proportionate equality, 19 is
the number of links connecting Woodman supporters, and x is the
respective number under the condition of proportionate equality),
then their connectedness increases to .108.

222

The supporters of Thomas Parker, in particular, constituted
a discreet subgroup within the town. With only fOur exceptions,
every member of this faction was closer, on the average, to other
defenders of the minister than to Woodmanites. The mean distance
separating each member of this group from other supporters of Parker
was 3.36 links. By contrast, this group was connected to supporters
of Edward Woodman by a mean of 3.95 links.

Mean distances, however, reflect only trends, for they are
determined, in part, by the closeness of people who were not associated
directly. They are measures of central tendency and, accordingly, say
nothing about the exploitability of specific kinship and friendship
bonds. A glance at directed, one-step links reveals that mean inter-
and intragroup distances actually underestimate the extent to which
the subjective obligations of kinship and friendship ties were evoked.
Of the 124 relationships involving supporters of Thomas Parker, 61,
or almost half, established kinship or friendship bonds among them,
whereas only 31 linked Parker supporters to Woodmanites. For this
group, moreover, the integratedness ration was 1.57, compared to 0.87
for relationships between factions.

Superficially, the WOodman faction seemed less exclusive in
their associations, for their mean distances contrasted with those
of Parker's followers. Where the latter group was more "tightly
knit," the Woodmanites proved to be closer, in mean distance, to the
Parker supporters than to other Woodmanites. Internally, they were
separated, on the average, at a distance of 4.21 links, but they were

connected to their opponents at a distance of only 3.95. This does

223

not mean, however, that they were closer in affinity to Parker's
followers. Rather, the supporters of Woodman appeared to be less
densely associated and either on the social fringes of the town or
else clustered in several areas within the network.

Part of the explanation for their greater internal distance
lies in their disproportionate tendency to form groups outside the core
of the town. Earlier, when Newbury had been much more nearly a single
social group, Woodmanites had been closer internally than externally.
But because the external groups in which many Woodmanites were located
during the church Split were not significantly interconnected, the
only "path" between these groups ran through the central core, where
most Parker supporters were located. Moreover, among both groups, but
particularly among the WOodmanites during the church split, those who

66 Of the

were closest to one group tended to be closest to the other.
thirty-seven supporters of Edward Woodman who were group members,
seventeen belonged to the core group, and ten of these seventeen were
among the fifteen Woodmanites closest to the Parker supporters.
Moreover, supporters of Woodman also tended to be associated
with one another more frequently and intensively than they were linked
to Parker supporters. Of their 117 total links, 39 established rela-

tionships with other WOodmanites and 31 linked them to Parker

supporters.67 Furthermore, these WOodmanites revealed the influence

 

66Kendall's Tau for Woodman supporters during the church
split was .765, indicating a strong correlation between rank-orders
of mean distances to both groups.

67Forty-seven related them to others who did not participate
in the church split. This was a significantly larger proportion
(.40) than that for Parker's supporters (.27), and it may have been
partially the result of Parker's discriminatory admission practices.
See above, pp. 149-52.

224

that mutual associates could wield on questions of ideological or
attitudinal homogeneity. Their integratedness ratio of 2.15 was
higher than any other ratio, even within groups, and stood in stark
contrast to their 0.87 integration with those Parker supporters to

whom they were linked.

The pattern of differentiation which appeared during the
church Split was not an aberration from a normally balanced system
of social relationships. It represented a temporary intensification
of the social discrimination that affected the town. But, though
momentary, its influence was permanent. The interpersonal dimension
that made the church dispute so serious a social division had been

present among the inhabitants of the town since Mary and John landed

 

in the Bay. Moreover, it continued to influence the shape of social
relationships in the town even after the church quarrel had been re-
solved. Social differentiation along the lines of kinship and
friendship had already begun when Newbury was called Quascacunquen,
and continued to distinguish men from men and families from families
well beyond the period under study. The social arrangements of the
church di5pute, to this extent, were but part of a continuing process.
At the same time, the controversy acted as a catalyst to its
acceleration.

Even while the town was a unified social network, the divi-
sion of the inhabitants remained a potential undercurrent. Within

the three small groups not connected to the immense central group Of

225

earliest Newbury were six future WOodmanites and only two Parker
supporters. All of these groups, moreover, revealed the importance
of kinship as a differentiator of persons. One group, for example,
was composed of Richard Bartlet, his sons, John, Richard, and Samuel,
his brother-in-law, William Titcomb, along with Richard Kent, Sr.,
whose son John later married Edward Woodman's daughter. Bartlet

and Titcomb were linked to the central group through John Bartlet,
Sr. A second group included Edward Woodman, Jr., his father-in-law
and brothers-in-law, William, Joseph, and Benjamin Goodridge, and
Edmund Moores, the father-in-law of Joseph Goodridge, and Moores'
son, Jonathan. Woodman and two of the Goodridges maintained links
with Edward Woodman, Sr., a member of the core group. The third
group contained William Morse, his son, Jonathan, his son-in-law,
Francis Thorla, and Thorla's father, Richard. Bartlet, Titcomb,
Woodman, Moores, and both of the Thorlas later became WOodmanites.
While both Morses were supporters of Parker, Morse's brother, Anthony,
a Woodman supporter, was a member of the central group.

Although virtually everyone else was a member of the central
group, they were not co-equal contributors to the unity of the
network. But the degree of differentiation between the two future
sets of opponents was hardly as extreme as it would become during
the church split. Social relationships in the town were only
develOping, and it would be years befOre implicit or nascent patterns
would become crystallized with the elaboration of kin and friends.

Both factions, for example, were only slightly divided with

reference to distance. For the future supporters of Parker, the

226

mean intragroup distance was 2.9, which was only 0.3 less than the
mean intragroup distance of 3.2. Of the 168 relationships in which
they were nodes, 52 (318) were established with other Parker supporters,
4 fewer than the number of links shared with supporters of Edward
WOodman. Though their internal relationships were fewer, however,
they were also stronger. The integratedness ratio of these relation-
ships was a hefty 3.31, indicating that for every direct link connec-
ting two Parker supporters there were more than three indirect, two-
step circuits connecting the same pair of individuals. By contrast,
the integration of future Parker supporters with their opponents,
while considerably larger than unity, was not comparable. The ratio
of 1.50 suggests that the lines of significant kinship and friendship
association were already being drawn by Parker's allies.

The WOodmanites revealed a similar pattern during the early
years of the town. They, too, barely tended to be more closely re-
lated internally than externally. Their mean distance from other
WOodmanites was 3.1, in comparison to their 3.2 mean distance from
Parker's supporters. Like the Parker group, they, too, had estab-
lished more relationships with the opposite faction, but the relation-
ships established with other WOodman followers similarly proved to be
stronger. Their 41 internal associations were integrated at a level
of 2.98, whereas the 56 relationships they established with Parker
supporters were augmented by only half as many indirect circuits.

If group differentiation existed only moderately in the
earlier period, it became considerably more pronounced in the period

1666-1672. Through mortality and migration, older relationships

227

disappeared and through marriage and social processes, new ones

arose. These new relationships revealed the extent to which social
discrimination had set in. Thirty new kinship and friendship associa-
tions were established by Parker supporters during the church split.
Five out of every six of these new linkages connected supporters of
Parker. Likewise, the Woodman faction created seventeen new associa-
tions, of which twelve were intragroup relationships.

The same characteristic continued to dominate the selection
of new associates following the church Split, but with an important
difference. On the surface, it would appear to the contrary. Of the
new relationships involving supporters of Parker, twelve were estab-
lished with others of the same group and twenty bridged the gap to
the Woodmanites. Among WOodman supporters, eight new relationships
were formed from within the faction. However, of the twenty associa-
tions cemented between Parker and Woodman supporters, twelve (608)
originated from three Woodmanites alone, and fourteen (708) from four.
Only four other WOodman followers established associations with
Parker supporters. The same pattern holds true fOr new kin alone.
Eight new relationships connected Parker supporters, six connected
Woodmanites, and ten connected both. But, as previously, 80 percent
of the cross-group links were associated with three of the five
WOodmanites who became linked to supporters of Parker by kinship.

If Newbury was not becoming more homogeneous, it was returning
to a more stable system of relationships following the intensification
of interpersonal biases which the church Split engendered. Older

figures, central to prior networks, had passed from the scene or

228

also become less active. The death of John Knight, a Parker supporter
with kinship ties to the Bartlets, removed his nine links from the
network. Likewise, the death of John Cheny, Sr. and Abraham Toppan,
Sr., eliminated eleven more links connecting both sides of the church
dispute. Others, with the approach of old age, yielded to younger
men. Anthony Somerby, for example, maintained only four quantified
relationships following the church split, as did Henry Short, Sr.
Daniel Pierce, Sr. possessed only two kinship links between the church
split and his death in 1677. Richard Knight's eight links, though a
sizable number, were considerably fewer than the twelve he had
possessed during the church dispute or the twenty associations he
maintained earlier.

These men were replaced by other individuals, whose developing
personal networks did not necessarily reSpect the older lines of
social boundaries. Nathaniel Clarke, for example, increased his link
total from one to ten, and Stephen Greenleaf from four to ten. John
Knight, Jr. inherited his father's association pattern with twelve
links, of which eight were new. Samuel Plummer, whose fOur previous
links had connected him to WOodmanites only, added three new ones,
all to Parker supporters. And Benjamin Rolfe doubled his total
relationships.

As a result, the town's network, though conducive to greater
stability, did not entirely resemble the reticulum of pre-dispute
Newbury. In aggregate characteristics, however, it did seem quite
similar. Once again, a greater number of links extended across the

church di5pute groups. Former Parker supporters counted thirty-eight

229

relationships with the members of the same faction, and former
WOodmanites established thirty-nine with other Woodmanites. Connecting
the two sides, however, were fOrty-four associations.

A5 earlier, these figures belie the underlying general differ-
entiation that characterized the patterns of association. The inte-
gratedness ratios, for example, show that despite the new linkage
arrays, neither group was moving toward accommodation. Parker suppor-
ters were integrated at a level of 3.55, and WOodman backers achieved
a level of 2.31. Between the groups the ratio of 1.75, while higher
than previously, was deceptively inflated by the combined contributions
of Stephen Greenleaf and Benjamin Rolfe. Together, they were nodes
in almost one-third of the cross-group relationships (14 of 44) and
supplied 51 of the 77 two-step circuits which determine the level of
integration. Removing their influence, the 30 remaining intergroup
relationships were integrated by only 0.87, the same as it had been
during the church di5pute. Both Rolfe and Greenleaf were members of
the same sociometric group, but both may be thought as effective
liaisons, for they seem to have been largely responsible for mediating
the potential inter-group tensions.

DeSpite their influence, moreover, the groups became even
more highly differentiated with reference to distance. For the first
time, both groups were significantly closer internally than externally.
Among the WOodmanites, the mean distance separating the group was 3.76
links, and among the Parker faction it was 3.78. However, the mean
intergroup distance rose to 4.66. Both Greenleaf and Rolfe,

expectably, were closer to both groups than the mean. Greenleaf

230

was, on the average, 3.2 links from the Woodmanites and 2.7 links
from Parker supporters. Rolfe, likewise, was 2.8 links from the
WOodman faction and 2.5 from defenders of the minister.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the town's social net-
work continued to disintegrate. Following the church Split, seven
different groups composed the grid of relationships. As previously,
one large group constituted the core of the town and was "dominated"
by Parker supporters. But the core group had continued to shrink.
In the period 1673-85, its membership had declined to forty-one.
Flanking this central group were six smaller ones, encompassing
70 percent of Woodmanite group members and less than 40 percent of
the fOrmer supporters of Parker. Moreover, with one or possibly two
exceptions, church Split participants remained segregated in their
external group membership.68

Supporters of Parker composed a single fringe group, one
which was relatively isolated, Henry Short, Sr., his son, Henry, Jr.,
and Anthony Somerby. Short, Sr. died shortly after this analytic
period began, so this group is, in some reSpects, artificial. It
was, however, connected at a level of 1.00 internally. In addition,
it was connected at the same level to Richard Kent, Jr., a network
liaison and one of the two non-group members with whom this group

maintained association. The only other non-group member in

 

68One group of thirteen members contained five former Parker
supporters and three former WOodmanites. This, however, was a hodge-
podge group, difficult to interpret and resembling a molecular diagram
more than a social web. It functioned almost as a liaison group,
connected to the core group by nine links, to three different
liaisons by four links, and to two other groups by a link each.
Intensive analysis does not yield any meaningful results.

231

relationship to any of these three was Hugh March, who maintained a
friendship link with Henry Short, Jr.

The remaining fringe groups were composed mainly of former
opponents of the minister. One, in fact, contained Woodman himself,
his son, Edward, Jr., and his two sons-in-law, John Kent and Benjamin
Lowle.. The three participants in the church split, Lowle and both
WOodmans, were connected at a level of 1.00 and integrated at a level
of 2.33. Five links extended beyond the boundaries of this group,
but only one, a friendship connection between Lowle and Richard Dole,
reached to 8 Parker supporter. Two others connected Woodman, Jr. to
his brothers-in-law, Benjamin and Joseph Goodridge, and two more
established kinship bonds between Woodman, Sr. and his brother
Archelaus (a liaison) and John Emery, Sr.

A third group was closely associated with the last one, and
perhaps should have been combined with it. This cluster included the
WOodmanite, Edmund Moores, his son Jonathan, his son-in-law, Joseph
Goodridge, and Goodridge's brother, Benjamin. Both Goodridge's were
brothers-in-law to Edward WOodman, Jr., and the only links reaching
beyond this group were, not surprisingly, bonds to the younger
Woodman.

Yet another group was devoid of Parker supporters. Of its
eleven members, ten were WOodmanites or their sons, and the eleventh
was the son-in-law of a Woodman supporter. In contrast to the group
connectedness of .309, the six who signed the order suspending Parker
were connected at a level of .533, and their integratedness ratio was

1.56. At the center of the six Woodmanites were the Emerys, John Sr.

232

and Jr. Emery, Sr. was the father-in-law of James Ordway, the
step-father of John Webster, and the uncle and father-in-law of
John Bailey, who, in turn, was the father-in-law of Thomas Browne's
son, Isaac. Of their six extra-group links, three extended to other
WOodmanites and two to Richard Kent, Jr. Moreover, joining them in
this group were the sons of Bailey and Ordway, two sons of Richard
Bartlet, Sr., and Bailey's son-in-law, Daniel Cheny. For the entire
group, the two links to Richard Kent, Jr. were the only links to any
former Parker supporter. Six other external relationships were estab-
lished with other Woodmanites, and five more extended to sons or
brothers of WOodman supporters.

Although it contained three fOrmer Parker defenders, the
fifth external group was also predominantly a WOodmanite cluster.
John and James Smith had supported Parker, but they were not as yet
major contributors to the network of social relationships. Each had
three links, one to each other and one each to their brother-in-law,
Stephen Swett, who had not been the most vocal WOodmanite. Addition-
ally, each had a link to his father-in-law, Samuel Poore, Sr. (John)
and the WOodmanite, Robert Coker (James). The third Parker supporter
was Nicholas Wallington, who Spent little time in the town.

Six others had been WOodmanites, and four more were their
kinsmen. The connectedness of the six opponents of Parker was .400,
compared to the group connectedness of .219, and they were integrated
at a level of 1.33. Among their thirteen extra-group relationships,
eight involved other Woodmanites (7) or Woodmanite kin (1) and only

two extended to Parker supporters. Their fOur kinsmen added only

233

three intergroup connections to the group, of which two extended to
WOodmanites or their kin and one to another Parker supporter.

These groups were outside the center of the network, but
they were not isolated from one another. Indeed, from one perspective
they may be considered one large Woodmanite network, for they were
linked together--and, to some extent, to the central group--by the
eight liaisons within the town. Three liaisons, linking four groups,
were members of the Bartlet family, Richard, Sr., his son, Samuel, and
his brother John, Sr. Two more were Joseph and Samuel Plummer, who
also established contacts between four groups. Another was Archelaus
WOodman, who linked three of the external groups together and provided
Richard Dummer with his only link in the town. A seventh was Anthony
Morse, Sr., who connected William Morse and William Sawyer to the
central group, and an eighth was Richard Kent, Jr., whose friendship
bonds connected Emery and Webster with both Henry Shorts and Anthony
Somerby, and all five with the central group.

Six of these liaisons had been WOodmanites. Eleven of their
twenty-seven links established their relationships with other Woodman-
ites, and eight more connected them with kin of Woodman supporters. By
contrast, only six of their associations were with former Parker sup-
porters or their kin, and these links emanated from only three of the
WOodmanite liaisons. Finally, only five of their links reached to
members of the central group. Richard Kent, Jr. and Anthony Morse were
their counterparts, establishing more relationships with Parker sup-
porters than with members of WOodman's faction. Kent, a vigorous

defender of the minister, was the only liaison with links to the group

234

fOrmed by Somerby and the Shorts. Morse, though himself a Woodmanite,
was the brother of William Morse, who was a defender of Parker. To-
gether, these multi-group linkers connected all of the external groups
but that formed by the two Moores and the Goodridges, which was con-
nected to a second Woodmanite group directly. All of the other ex-
ternal groups dominated by Woodman supporters were knit together by
the mediating roles played by the liaisons in the network, and
particularly by the associations involving the Bartlets and Archelaus
Woodman.

The remaining eight Woodmanites, all of whom began to open up
relationships with Parker defenders, were located in the central group
along with eighteen of their former opponents. Among these eight were
two of the younger Woodmanites with extensive, cross-faction ties,
Stephen Greenleaf and Benjamin Rolfe. Together, they were involved in
twelve intergroup relationships with Parker supporters and only four
with former Woodmanites. Only one Opponent of the minister, in fact,
had no links with Parker supporters. This was John Bartlet, Jr., a
member of this core group because the only intragroup link he possessed
united him with John Knight, Jr. in a kinship bond cemented well prior

to the church split.69

The rest of the Woodmanites in the core group
directed at least half of their links toward Parker supporters.

This central group embodied, in effect, a partial reordering
of town relationships. Of eighty-two total intragroup links connecting

former participants in the church split, sixty (738) involved at least

one Parker supporter. The discrimination that hitherto had shaped the

 

69Bartlet was also linked to his father, John Bartlet, Sr.

235

pattern of association among church disputants no longer seemed to
affect the respective groups quite so completely. Among the Woodman-
ites, 16 of 24 intra-faction links (678) were directed at Parker sup-
porters, who were only slightly more tightly associated. (Seventy-two
percent of their links went to other defenders of the minister.) All
of the group, moreover, was quite highly integrated, which suggests
further that a new series of social arrangements was beginning to
emerge. Parker supporters were integrated at a level of 2.50, Woodman
supporters by a 2.75 ratio, and both groups at 3.38. Sociometrically
at least, the fOrmer Woodmanites in this group were no longer reflect-
ing the social biases that had earlier characterized even their own
patterns of interpersonal association.

But these eight WOodmanites were exceptions, for more than
twice as many of their former cohorts had chosen to preserve the social
patterns which contributed to the church split. Those who had opposed
the minister were "outsiders" in the town's social network, and they
remained without the hub of the social structure. The two WOodman
supporters who were the most notable deviants from this pattern,
Stephen Greenleaf and Benjamin Rolfe, were, not coincidentally, rela-
tively younger than their fellow Woodmanites. In 1671, when the mean
age of Parker's Opponents was 49.9 years, Greenleaf was 43 and Rolfe
33. Both, moreover, had married into "Parker families" prior to the
church Split. Greenleaf had married Tristram Coffin's sister in 1651,
and Rolfe had wed the daughter of Thomas Hale, Sr., in 1659. Both
were therefore able to diversify their kinship linkages predominantly

after the church split had come to a conclusion. Unlike the link

236

patterns of most other Woodmanites, theirs were able to Span the
widening social chasm between the two groups, perhaps because they
had never perceived themselves as loyal members of an outside group
or perhaps because the Parker supporters with whom they developed .
new relationships did not seek to perpetuate the divisions within the
town .

Whatever the reason, a new town core was emerging. With the
transition of generations that seems to have been occurring during
the 16705 and 16805, new social relationships were beginning to re-
align the pattern of town associations. This is not to say that the
older discrimination between families and individuals would not re-
appear as a divisive force in the town. Nor is it to argue that the
church Split was becoming forgotten by all of the participants. The
group structure of the town would permit neither assertion. Neverthe-
less, the passage of the dispute and the appearance of a new generation
of families erased gems of the harsh lines of division that had pre-
viously rent the town. As 5292 of the townsmen became reunited and
others became newly united, realignments in the patterns of differen-
tiation would emerge. The town, meanwhile, would no longer resemble

the potentially unified social organism it once it had been.

CHAPTER VI

EPILOGUE: "A Greater Variety of Parties"

If Newbury began as a unified, harmonious town, by 1685 its
single-mindedness had been shattered. In part, the network dis-
integrated because the townsmen could not maintain the commitment
to corporatism that was required to sustain the cooperative thrust
of social life. As enthusiasm waned, townsmen became conscious that
their consensus about goals did not extend to other areas of life.
They were not altogether convinced that it could not be restored.
But, by implication, the evocation of majoritarian ideals represented
an admission that consensus, while still desirable, could no longer
be founded on voluntarism. Indeed, the elevation of "the major part"
was an attempt to re-define the context of social corporatism without
altering the mechanisms of its Operation. Although the population
had ceased to agree on basic issues, the town was not prepared to
discard the institutional avenues through which consensus had been
translated into action previously. In short, the town seemed un-
willing to accept the conclusion that consensus was a thing of the
past.

The presence in the town of an increasingly differentiated

population, however, placed new demands on the consensus-minded

237

238

people. When individuals began to "identify" themselves with one
or another of the sub-groups which appeared in the social network,
the conflict of loyalties Spelled the end of single-mindedness in
the town. Accustomed to agreement and remembering the common dedica-
tion of all to the wilderness adventure, the town could not at first
recognize the place of "interest groups" in the larger scheme of
affairs. Both policy and faction were evil words in the Puritan's
vocabulary, and, to everyone involved in the affairs of the town,
there was only one proper way of behaving. Those who expressed dif-
ferent ideas, then, were regarded as factious, and their arguments
became the policies of interested and selfish minorities.

Conflict became all the more serious because consensus
was synonymous only with general understanding. The townsmen agreed
that God was to be served, that peace was to be maintained, that the
good of the whole was to be the standard of town action, that an
organic society presupposed an unequivocal ordering of persons, and
that the dictates of place and duty, if followed, would guarantee all
other desiderata. Few, however, took the time to explore the impli-
cations of these shared values. How was God to be served? What
peace was to be preserved? What was the good of the whole? What
were the proper relationships among men? These were questions seldom
asked. When answers were called for, they were not available. By
the time definitions were needed, the consensus of which they were a
. part had already been shaken.
Townsmen, therefOre, turned inward for the answers, relying

on personal values and emotions to delineate the boundaries of their

239

common goals which, by the 16605, had become subjects of debate. Two
separate interpretations of the "good society" were proferred, inter-
pretations which hinged as much on personal affiliations as on gener-
ally accepted social norms. Both dealt with the "rules" of the game,
and both posed absolute assumptions about the nature of consensus.
Yet both were mutually exclusive, because their divergent applica-
tions of values placed their emphases on different a5pects of com-
munalism. Each, in short, was "correct" from a different perspective,
and, as a result, neither could be compromised successfully with the
other. To Thomas Parker and his adherents, consensus could only
exist in the context of certain basic truisms, the rejection of which
would make consensus unimportant. Unless these fundamental prin-
ciples were accepted, the good society could not be attained. To
Edward Woodman and his followers, consensus was a more functional
standard, to be implemented mechanically by institutionalizing Speci-
fic standards of behavior which defined how the good society should
operate. Both proposed solutions which were designed to restore and
define communalism, but in absolute terms which could not be recon-
ciled. Both agreed, in general, on the goals of the good society,
but each proposed a different understanding of the relationship
between means and ends.

From a different perspective, it was consensus itself which
made the church Split so volatile. Although the town agreed, in
large measure, on the ends of society, and although the issues that
were contested were predominantly trivial ones, the church dispute

polarized the town. Particularly because the corporate organization

240

of the town emphasized peace and, indeed, provided the means to con-
trol dissent, the outbreak of hostilities was necessarily intense.
Moreover, because disharmony amid consensus was an intellectual
contradiction, any conflict which succeeded in cutting across the
interrelated and interdependent society of the town would, by defini-
tion, challenge the very consensus that the town had shared.1

No less ironically, the same social relationships that inter-
linked the population into a unified social network with the potential
for consensus were also the means whereby consensus was broken.
Through kinship and friendship, the townsmen had begun their settle-
ment within a tightly-knit, organic web or relationships that gave
them a collective sense of participation and membership in the cor-
porate venture. For a time, these relationships bound one and all
tOgether as a brotherhood of closely associated fellows and gave to
the town a potential for corporate agreement as well as an ascribed
and socio-psychological basis for harmonious interaction. As long as
the size of the town remained fairly small, as long as the population
remained moderately interconnected, as long as settlement patterns
stimulated interpersonal interaction, and as long as no issues evoked
loyalty to associates instead of loyalty to the town, kinship and
friendship worked to make everyone brothers and cousins.

But these conditions could be found only in earliest Newbury.
Within ten years of the founding of the town, the compactness of the

residential pattern had been destroyed, and whatever interaction

 

1See, for example, Coser, Functions of Social Conflict,
60-65, 72-81.

241

remained was differentially associated. Population growth, especially
as the second generation matured and began to cement their own personal
patterns of association, posed new threats to the continued homogeniza-
tion of the network. Distance between people increased as the number
of possible associates outpaced the number of choices that could be
made. The social network of the town, moreover, became less omni-
present as the selection of new associates tended to be influenced by
older patterns of relationships. Finally, when an issue or series of
issues cut across the network of the town, the glue which had held the
townsmen together became weakened. Loyalties to close associates were
summoned. Once exploited, the interests of different groups in the
town became pitted against one another. The result was the deteriora-
tion of the unitary kinship and friendship network into a multifaceted
and differentiated network composed of segregated and diffused groups.
Following the church dispute, the unified network was
shattered. As the core group shrank progressively with each period
studied, the number of groups lying outside the center of the town
increased step for step. Both during and after the church split, those
heeding the call of associates to transfer loyalties to particular
cliques as opposed to the town as a whole were those who had issued
the first challenge in the church, the symbol of a united and saintly
pOpulace. They became, in effect, "outsiders" in Newbury society,
preferring to remain closer to the small groups of associates with
whom, individually, they could achieve a meaningful consensus. Because
of the social changes occurring in the town, virtually everyone became

more distant from everyone else. But while the mean distances among

242

Parker supporters and those gm22g_the WOodmanites increased by about
one-third between 1635 and 1685, the mean distance between the two
groups increased half 3ggig_as much. At the same time, supporters of
WOodman remained relatively more distant from others in the town as
well.2 In short, social retrenchment had set in among Parker's
opponents particularly, and they became partial outcasts from the
rest of the social network.

In many respects, the town finally recognized that its new
social arrangements precluded a harmonious corporatism at the individual
level. As a result, the town began to seek a restoration of harmony
through alternate means. Acknowledging the permanence of differen-
tiated social units within the town, the inhabitants attempted to find
ways of integrating the outlying groups into the town. Virtually all
the conflicts faced by the collective town had been political in one
context, for they all involved relationships of power. Because the
union of political dissent with social arrangements had disabled the
town's ability to function harmoniously at the collective level, and
because differentiated social groupings seemed to be irreversible
additions to the social network, the town sought to link political
peace with, not against, the permanence of social diffusion.

In the early years of the town, virtually all officers had

been members of the central group and close to all members of the

 

2This is also evidence that the methodology is sound. Were

discrepancies the result of the attribution of kinship and friendship
or a peculiarity of their programmed transfermation, then the between-
group differences should have been proportionate to the within-group
differences. However, for the three time periods Studied, the mean
distances separating Parker supporters were 2.9, 3.4, and 3.8,
respectively; those separating Woodman's faction were 3.1, 4.2, and
3.8; and those separating both factions were 3.2, 4.0, and 4.7.

243

town. From 1673 to 1685, this was no longer the case. All but one
of the outlying groups was represented in the selection of major town
offices. As a result, the centrality of town leaders in the social
network no longer characterized the political arrangements of the town.
Those leaders chosen from the central group, of course, continued to
be closely associated with the town as a whole. But those chosen

from the detached groups tended to be distant from the remainder of
the townsmen, and, because they were WOodmanites, they also tended to
be more distant from former Parker supporters. There had always been
a Strong correlation between mean distance to Parker supporters and
mean distance to Woodman supporters. During the earliest period of
life in Newbury, town leaders had generally been high among the ranks
of both intragroup and in-ergroup linkers. Both during and after the
church Split, however, the rank-order of town leaders in mean distance
to both sides of the church split began to rise, as Table VI-l demon-
strates. The selection of leaders from outlying groups meant that the

relationship between town leadership and network centrality no longer

TABLE VI-l

MEAN RANK-ORDER OF DISTANCE TO PARKER AND WOODMAN
GROUPS, TOWN LEADERS, 1635-1685

 

Rank in Distance

 

 

 

 

Parker Supporters WOodman Supporters

to same to other to same to other
1635-65 6.4 6.3 10.6 12.2
1666-72 10.0 10.6 21.4 21.5

1673-85 11.6 12.8 15.0 16.8

244

pertained. Instead, major offices were increasingly becoming filled
by men who were chosen as "delegates" of specific groups.

This is particularly true for officers chosen from the Wood-
manites, the church di5putants who constituted the bulk of those out-
side the central group. The decline in their mean rank of distance
to both groups following the church split indicates the transformation
occurring within the town. There were, in fact, two groups of Wood-
manites chosen to office. On the one hand, 5, with a mean rank of
distance to Parker supporters of 3.0 and a mean intragroup rank of
5.6, were members of the central group or liaisons. They were all
second generation townsmen, younger than most other WOodmanites, who
had come to terms with Parker's defenders. On the other hand, none
Of the remaining seven leaders elected from the Woodman faction be-
longed to the core group. They were all members of one or another
detached group or liaisons who linked the detached groups. Their
mean interfaction rank of 26.5 and mean rank of distance from other
Woodmanites of 21.9 suggests strongly that they were chosen less
because they were central to the network than because they could give
a voice to the "outsiders" and thus, hopefully, prevent both the
paralysis of systematic, socio-political dissent and the appearance
of what later generations would call the tyranny of the majority.

But the significance of an individual's kinship and friend-
ship contacts was not the only criterion of town office. It is
possible to reserve too strong a place in the social system for these
relationships, particularly when they are studied in isolation from

other social phenomena. Admittedly, differentiation was proceeding

245

along other dimensions as well, and other groups, not related to the
church di5pute, would eventually raise their voices in protest.
Society was becoming more complex and diffused, not only socially
but economically, geographically, and intellectually. New, unifying

and divisive interests not necessarily comprehended by kinship and

 

friendship were, indeed, already emerging in the town to provoke
new, personal and non-collective identities. These would all have
to be reconciled with the pursuit of the collective good if civil
unity were to be maintained. Although a relationship between these
other forms of differentiation and both kinship and friendship would
be expected, the extent to which social and other units of organiza-
tion were or were not becoming interrelated remains moot.

This is not the point, however. The more things change, the
more things remain the same is a hackneyed phrase. But for seventeenth-
century Newbury it is more true than trite. The changes which had
occurred in the social and political realm were changes that, in the
end, altered very few of the assumptions people made about their lives,
for they were changes in form, not substance. The goals of coopera-
tion and corporate organicism remained the goals of the town through-
out the seventeenth century and, in all likelihood, until the Revolu-
tion as well.3 The diversification and differentiation of society, to

which kinship and friendship were only contributors, had made the quest

 

3For general discussions of similar attitudes and goals in
the eighteenth-century, see, Zuckerman, Peaceable Kingdoms, 46-84,
and assim; Gordon S. WOod, The Creation of the American Republic
(Chape Hill: University of North Carolina Press (Fer the Institute
of Early American History and Culture], 1969), 53-65, and 51m; and
Kenneth A. Lockridge, "Social Change and the Meaning of the AEErican
Revolution," Journal of Social History, VI (1973), 420-28, and passim.

 

 

 

246

fOr these goals more complex. But, as Madison would argue a century
later, these goals were no less worthy of pursuit, even in the context

of a faction-filled society.4

 

4The Federalist Papers, Number 10 (New York: Mentor Books,
1961), 77:84.“

 

APPENDICES

APPENDIX I

ENGLISH ORIGINS OF NEWBURY SETTLERS, 1635-1650

APPENDIX I

ENGLISH ORIGINS OF NEWBURY SETTLERS, 1635—1650

The following is a list of those Newbury settlers before
1650 fOr whom prior residence is known or suspected. It is by no
means a complete list of all Newbury inhabitants during the period,
for many of those who helped found the town cannot be traced. Ques-
tion marks indicate that the identification of the individual's home
is only tentative. Names which are underlined are those I have
called "persisters" in Chapter 1. Finally, an asterisk fellowing a
name denotes that the individual was assigned a freehold right by

the town in 1642.

 

 

 

 

NAME ENGLISH RESIDENCE SHIP AND DATE
Robert Adams Ottery St. Mary,
Devonshire
Walter Allen* Bury St. Edmunds,
Suffolk
Giles Badger* Thornbury or Westbury-on-

Severn, Gloucestershire

Nathaniel Badger* Thornbury or Westbury-on-
Severn, Gloucestershire

Richard Badger* Thornbury or Westbury-on-
Severn, Gloucestershire

247

NAME

 

John Bailey

 

Christopher Bartlet*

John Bartlet*

 

Richard Bartlet*

 

Christopher Batt

Nicholas Batt*

 

James Browne*

Thomas Browne*

 

Joseph Carter*

John Cheny*

 

John Clarke*

Tristram Coffin

 

Thomas Coleman*

John Cutting*

Thomas Davis*

Richard Dole

 

Richard Dummer*

 

Stephen Dummer*

248

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Chippenham,
Wiltshire

Wiltshire?

Wiltshire?

Wiltshire?

Salisbury,
Wiltshire

Devizes,
Wiltshire

Southampton,
Hampshire

Malford Christian,

Wiltshire
London

Waltham Abbey,
Essex

London

Brixton,
Devonshire

Marlborough,
Wiltshire

London

Marlborough,
Wiltshire

Bristol or Thornbury,

Gloucestershire

Bishopstoke,
Hampshire

Bishopstoke,
Hampshire

SHIP AND DATE

 

James, 1635

Mary and John,
1634

 

Bevis, 1638

9.5122» 1635

 

Mary and John,
133T

18223.. 1635

22162.- 1635

Wh_a_1_e_, 1632?

L_ 1638

NAME

 

Thomas Dummer

Nicholas Easton*

John Eels

Anthony Emery

John Emery*

 

William Eastow

William Fifield

John Fry*

William Gerrish

 

Lancelot Granger

Edmund Greenleaf*

 

Thomas Ha1e*
Luke Heard
Nicholas Holt*

Abel Huse*

Christopher Hussey

249

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Bishopstoke,
Hampshire

Lymington,
Hampshire

Aldenham,
Hertfordshire

Romsey,
Hampshire

Romsey,
Hampshire

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Littleton,
Hampshire

Basingstoke,
Hampshire

Bristol,
Gloucestershire
(also listed as
Melksham,
Wiltshire)

St. Antholin,
London

Ipswich,
Suffolk

Watton at Stone,
Herthrdshire

Claxton,
Norfolk

Romsey,

Hampshire

London

Dorking,
Surrey

SHIP AND DATE

 

Bevis, 1638

Mary and John,
1634

 

James, 1635

James, 1635

Hercules, 1634

Hector, 1937?

James, 1635

NAME

 

John Ilsley

William Ilsley*

 

James Jackman

 

Henry Jaques

 

John Kelly"

 

Richard Kent, Sr.*

 

Stephen Kent*

 

John Knight*

Richard Knight*

 

Robert Long.

 

William Longfellow

John Lowle*

 

Percival Lowle*

 

Thomas Macy

Hu March

John Marston

Robert Marston

250

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Nether Wallop,
Hampshire

Nether Wallop,
Hampshire

Exeter,
Devonshire

Stanton or Rodborne,
Wiltshire

Newbury,
Berkshire

Upper Wallop,
Hampshire

Tyeherly or Nether Wallop,
Hampshire

Romsey,
Hampshire

Romsey,
Hampshire

Dunstable,
Bedfordshire?

Ilkley,
Yorkshire

Bristol,
Gloucestershire

Bristol,
Gloucestershire

Chilmark,
Wiltshire

Tytherly,
Hampshire

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

SHIP AND DATE

 

Confidence,
3

Confidence,

 

1638

 

I33: and John,

Confidence,
Lugs.» 1635
James, 1635

Defense?

Confidence,

NAME

 

Thomas Marston

William.Marston

John Merrill*

 

Nathaniel Merrill

Thomas Milward

Henry Monday

Hugh Monday

William Moody*

 

Edmund Moores

 

Anthony Morse*

 

William Morse*

 

John Moulton

Robert Moulton

Thomas Moulton

John Musselwhite*

 

James Noyes*

 

251

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Wherstead,
Suffolk

Wherstead,
Suffolk

Yarmouth,
NorfOlk

Pewsey,
Wiltshire

Pewsey,
Wiltshire?

Ipswich,
Suffolk,
or Wales

Deniton Magna,
Dorsetshire

Marlborough,
Wiltshire

Marlborough,
Wiltshire

Great Ormsby,
NorfOlk

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Great Ormsby,
Norfolk

Lanngrd,
Wiltshire

Choulderton,
Wiltshire

SHIP AND DATE

 

Confidence,

¥§§i and John,

 

3.2-ass. 1635

James, 1635

93258.. 1635

Ma§% and John,

 

NAME

 

Nicholas Noyes*

 

John Oliver*

 

John 05good*

Joseph Parker

Nathan Parker

Thomas Parker*

 

John Pemberton*

Richard Pettingall

Daniel Pierce

 

John Pike*

Francis Plummer*

 

John Poore*

 

Edward Rawson*

Henry Rolfe*

Anthony Sadler

252

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Choulderton,
Wiltshire

Bristol,
Gloucestershire

Wherwell or Andover,
Hampshire

Newbury,
Berkshire or
Romsey,
Hampshire

Newbury,
Berkshire

Choulderton or
Mildenhall,
Wiltshire, or
Newbury,
Berkshire

Lawford,
Essex

Topcroft,
Norfolk

Ipswich,
Suffolk

Whiteparish,
Wiltshire

London or Wales

Thornbury,
Gloucestershire

Gillingham,
Dorsetshire

Whiteparish or
Melchit Park,
Wiltshire

Tytherly,
Hampshire

SHIP AND DATE

 

¥§§y and John,
4

 

Mary and John,
I334

 

929.23.: 1635

Confidence,

 

NAME

 

John Sanders

Samuel Scullard*

 

Henry Sewall*

 

Thomas Smith*

 

William Snelling

Anthopy Somerby*

 

Henry Somerbyf

 

John Spencer*

John Steven*

William Stevens*

Benjamin Swett

 

John Swett*

Henry Tewkesbury

William Thomas*

 

Daniel Thirston*

 

William Titcomb*

 

253

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Langford,
Wiltshire

Hampshire?

Coventry,
Warwickshire

Romsey,
Hampshire

Plympton St. Mary,
Devonshire

Little Bytham,
Lincolnshire

Little Bytham,
Lincolnshire

Kingston,
Surrey

Gowsham or Caversham,
Oxfordshire

Gowsham or Caversham,
OxfOrdshire

Wymondham,
Norfolk

Wymondham,
NorfOlk

Greenwich,
Kent

Great Comberton,
Worcestershire

Thornbury,
Gloucestershire

Newbury,
Berkshire

SHIP AND DATE

 

Confidence,

 

1638

James, 1635

Ma§g and John,

NAME

 

Abraham Toppan*

 

Nicholas Wallington

Nathaniel Weare*

 

John Wheeler

 

Thomas Whittier
Benjamin Woodbridge

John Woodbridggf

 

Archelaus Woodman*

 

Edward Woodman*

 

Lionel WOrth

254

ENGLISH RESIDENCE

 

Yarmouth,
Norfolk, or
Coverham,
Yorkshire

Nether Wallop,
Hampshire

Brokenborough,
Wiltshire

Salisbury,
Wiltshire

Salisbury,
Wiltshire

Stanton,
Wiltshire

Stanton,
Wiltshire

Malford Christian,
Wiltshire

Malford Christian,
Wiltshire

Yeovil,
Somersetshire

SHIP AND DATE

 

Confidence,
1638

 

Mary and John,
T634

 

and John,

 

a?

James, 1635

 

«1822. 1635

255

 

XI. Essex
V. Norfolk XII. Suffolk
VI. Oxfordshire XIII. Hertfordshire
I. Wiltshire VII. Lincolnshire XIV. Devonshire
II. Berkshire VIII. Dorsetshire XV. Kent
III. Hampshire IX. Worcestershire XVI. Somersetshire
IV. Warwickshire X. Gloucestershire XVII. London

Figure 2.--Map 1: England, ca. 1600-1650 (With Original
Residences of Newbury Settlers Emphasized).

APPENDIX II

INFORMATION ON NETWORK INPUT

APPENDIX II

INFORMATION ON NETWORK INPUT

At the level of the individual, ego-centric network, there is
little to make an analysis ambiguous. But at the aggregate level, the
number of links and nodes, and the ways they are arranged and inter-
related, can affect the overall characteristics of the total group.

For example, there may be a direct relationship between the mean dis-
tance separating the individuals within a group and the number of
links and nodes which are the units from which distance is determined.
It Stands to reason that the members of a group of size N with X number
of links will be more distant on the average than the same group with
2X links, assuming that the links are not simply repeated. Conversely,
the members of a group of size N‘would likely become closer were the
number of links held constant and the number of nodes reduced. Be-
cause the total number of eligible inhabitants in this study has re-
mained constant at 135 while the number of ggpugl_links and nodes
varied from time period to time period, an examination of link and
node distribution is in order. (It is advisable, fOr reasons that
should be apparent, that this appendix be consulted only after

Chapters 2 and 5 have been read.)

256

257

Table A-II, 1 indicates the distribution of links and nodes

over the three periods.

TABLE A-II, 1

LINK AND NODE DISTRIBUTION BY TIME PERIOD

 

 

 

1635-1665 1666-1672 1673-1685
Nodes 126 125 130
Links
Kinship 294 275 332
Friendship 370 160 156
Total 664 435 488

 

While the number of nodes with active links remained fairly constant,
the total number of links was subject to considerable variation from
one period to the next. However, the period-by-period differential
is by no means as large as might be expected given the difference in
the number of years included in each. Kinship links are nearly the
same across all three time divisions, because "losses" through mor-
tality and migration offset the creation of new kinship bonds. More-
over, kinship linkages were considered redundant--i.e., they were
treated as continuous and repetitive throughout periods until an
individual left observation permanently.

Friendship links, however, may give cause for hestiation.
From a high of 370 in 1635-1665, they continued to be reduced until,
by the last time division, they numbered only 156, less than half of
the number of friendship links during the first time period. Unlike

kinship relationships, friendship was not considered redundant, for

258

it is not necessarily a constant relationship. NEw friendship links,
therefOre, were assigned for each period, and old ones, unless con-
tinued, were erased. Thus, friendship links would be affected by the
compression of the time period in which they are assigned.

Fortunately, the difference is not as large as it might have
been, for, with the passage of time, an increasing number of first
generation settlers left probated material yearly. This increase was
insufficient to Offset the loss of infOrmation which resulted from the
abbreviation of each of the last two periods, but the proportion of
wills probated annually rose from period to period. From 1635 to 1685,
.84 wills per year received action. This rose to 1.59 during the
period 1666-1672, and to 2.00 for 1673-1681.

The remainder of the difference in friendship links is the
result of a decline in the number of depositions and testimonies which
can be fOund in the Court records. The number of actual cases did
not decline nearly so drastically, but the nature of the cases under-
went a significant change. Increasingly after 1665, fewer broad
cases involving large numbers of inhabitants appeared in the records.
Instead, the litigations initiated by Newbury inhabitants tended to
replace witnesses and deponents with formal documentations, like
receipts and invoices, to support the increasing number of debt
litigations.

I do not regard this link differential as crucial, however.
The reduction in personal associations would explain part of the
increase in mean distances discussed in Chapter 5, particularly the

increase between the first time period and the second. But, during

259

the period 1673-1685, the number of links increased at the same time
that the distance between people also increased. Integratedness, as
well, should have been affected by the changing number of links. Once
again, this anticipated characteristic proved true in the transition
from the first period to the second. But integratedness ratios also
tended to increase disproportionately during the third period.
Moreover, even if the difference in link totals did influence
the characteristics of the network, and even if the difference obviated
all discussions of distance and integration in absolute terms, the
comparative dimension of the analysis would not be affected. Any
change caused by the reduction in links must be assumed to be a whole-
sale change, affecting all relationships within the network propor-
tionately. Because it is the relative qualities of these measures
that define the differentiation which I have perceived, and because
these comparative measures are compatible with the conclusions de-
rived from the analyses of individual and group link patterns, the
general results of this study are not significantly challenged by any

effects of the differences in link totals from.period to period.

The technical aspects of the network program are beyond my
ability to discuss in depth. A complicated iterative process of data
manipulation is used to identify groups, one which involves the suc-
cessive location of nodes on a 1 to N continuum, the weighting of
links, the averaging of link weights, and the relocation of nodes

along the continuum in clusters determined by the weighted and

260

averaged links. Specific details of this procedure can be obtained
from Professor Richard V. Farace, Department of Communications,
Michigan State University.

Certain characteristics of the program, however, require a
few explanatory words. The definition of a group within the network
is not constant. Rather, the possible network configurations which
can be generated are determined by the parameters of the network,
which are set by the user prior to each "run." Upon the redefinition
of a single limit, the same data may produce a slightly different
network and group structure, although absolute qualities, such as
distance and integratedness, will not be affected. Three of these
parameters may have a significant influence on the network structure
which emerges. Although these parameters were held constant fOr all
three time periods examined in this study, their influence, if any,
has affected all of the groups discussed.

In order to give definition to a group, some standard of
group membership must be Specified. Regardless of the nature of the
links within the network--and any quality may be used as a link--the
standard must be an empirically determined relationship among the
links of a group. This is defined as the "criterion percentage," or
the proportion of an individual's links which must connect him to
other members of the same group. This percentage must be specified
befOre the program will run.

This is an arbitrary parameter, and whatever the level speci-
fied, it will create certain ambiguities in the output. The same

data, evaluated on the basis of different percentage parameters, can

261

produce different group configurations. A network generated with a
criterion percentage of fifty, for example, will produce larger
groups and fewer non-group members (e.g., "liaisons") than a network
based on a percentage of fifty-one. Alternately, a criterion per-
centage greater than fifty will produce fewer ambiguous group
boundaries and more non-group members than a network determined by a
percentage of fifty. Accordingly, the criterion percentage must be
chosen carefully if the network is to reflect interpersonal relation-
ships as realistically as possible.

I elected to define the criterion percentage so as to minimize
certain ambiguities and to obtain as much analytic infOrmation as
possible. Because the output provides the greatest amount of summary
infOrmation for network groups, I chose to set the criterion per-
centage parameter at 50 percent. Preliminary tests of the network at
both 50 and 51 percent permitted a comparison of networks generated
at each percentage. The differences between the two seemed to be a
result of the relatively small number of links per person, which
made each link a significant portion of each ego-centric network.
Because of this situation, a change in the criterion percentage by as
little as 1 percent was sufficient to cause a major revision of the
group structure. To illustrate, at a criterion percentage of fifty,
an individual with four links would need to be associated with two
other members of the group to be a member himself. At 51 percent,
however, the same individual would need links to three other members.

Because a large number of non-group members for whom there was no

262

analytic information resulted from a percentage of fifty-one, I
thought it better to obtain infOrmation at the cost of ambiguity.

A second important parameter sets the boundary of groups.

In order for a group to be defined consistently, some "outer limit"
must be prescribed. To make this boundary empirically determined,
the limit must also be a function of the links in the group. This

is accomplished by specifying the maximum distance which can separate
any two members of the same group. If it can be assumed that "chain-
reactions" cannot extend over an infinite distance, then the validity
of a boundary limit on coherent groups can readily be appreciated.

In the context of kinship and friendship, this maximum dis-
tance parameter represents the distance over which kinship and
friendship ties can be exploited effectively. In a social situation,
a chain-reaction is presumed to be most intense at its initiation,
and gradually less strong as it becomes further removed from its
source. To define group limits, therefore, calls for an estimation
of the effective range of kinship and friendship connections.

For several reasons, I have defined this range rather
liberally. In each of the three final networks, the maximum dis-
tance for a group was assigned a value of ten steps. In most cases,
this is far in excess of the actual mean and modal distances fOr
each individual within a group. Occasionally, however, the generous
limits prove valuable, particularly for those groups containing
individuals who participated in few court cases and had small
families. Practicality as well dictated a generous limit. One of

the most useful analytic measures included in the output is a

263

distance matrix which places all members of each group in an hlby N
fOrmat and prints the distance between them in the cells of the
matrix. The greater the maximum distance, the more information will
be available. Finally, it should be noted that the large maximum
distance in no way compromises the criterion percentage parameter.
All members of a given group must still possess 50 percent of their
links within the group.

Finally, a third set of parameters is required to enable both
friendship and kinship to be evaluated simultaneously. Because the
program can handle two variables Simultaneously, it can produce a
network which is far more sophisticated than one generated on the
basis of one variable alone. However, to combine twin variables,
the program must be able to transform them intO’a summary variable
by a process of weighting each according to the significance of the
relationship. Four separate parameters are required during this
operation, each serving as a constant multiple in a weighting equa-
tion. In effect, this requires that values be assigned to reflect
the relative importance of kinship and friendship.

In most cases, it is probably a reasonable assumption that
obligations based on kinship are "more important" than those based
on friendship. But the relative significance of these variables is
virtually impossible to estimate. Even if it were possible to posit
a general set of guidelines to evaluate the importance of these
relationships, no set of categorical standards could comprehend the

meaning of these links for any given individual.

264

Accordingly, I made no attempt to assign separate weights to
kinship and friendship. Instead, I assigned values to these para-
meters which make both relationships equivalent. Admittedly, this
may assign disproportionate weights to Specific relationships. But
I am less interested in exploring the relative significance of friend-
ship and kinship than I am in discovering the relationships among
interpersonal affinities (loosely defined), normative and cultural
standards, and issue-related behavior. In this context, it is not a
question of whigh_relationship was present. Rather, it will serve my

purposes to note that g_relationship existed.

BI BLIOGRAPHY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

No bibliography can do justice to all the works and all the
authors which have influenced the study to which it is appended.
This bibliography is no exception. The number of works consulted
in this study of Newbury are legion, and it would be impossible to
credit--much less to recall--all of the sources I have consulted.
Accordingly, what follows is, of necessity, a selected list of
works, representing the volumes cited in the fOotnotes and a number
of others whose indirect influence must be acknowledged.

An essay of this nature should do more than recognize the
authorities, however, particularly where several works had a bearing
on more than one chapter. Rather than arrange this list by topic,
therefore, I shall discuss my debt to these works so as to make

clear the context in which they have been used.

Primary Sources

 

The once lost town records of Newbury, though incomplete and
ravaged by carelessness, are located in the town hall of Newbury
under the supervision of the Town Clerk and the Board of Selectmen.
For the period 1635 to 1685, these include the Proprietors Records
as well as two town books in which all official acts of the town

meeting, the Selectmen, and the freeholders are recorded. Although

265

266

the first town book is now partly illegible, Joshua Coffin's meticulous
transcription, completed in the 18205, is in exceptionally good condi-
tion and can be fOund alongside the original. All three volumes were
recently microfiled by the Genealogical Society of the Church of

Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and can be ordered as films 886194
and 886195. In addition, the transcription made by Coffin was itself E
copied with good accuracy. This bound and typed transcript can be .arag
perused without restriction at the Long Island Historical Society,

in Brooklyn, New York.

 

(1.15:1

The original records of births, deaths, and marriages in the A.
town are also located at the Newbury town hall. The indefatigible Mor-
mons have filmed these as well, and these records can be ordered as
films number 886202 and 886203. Additionally, Newbury's vital records,
as are those of most other Massachusetts towns, have been published in
two volumes under the title Vital Records of Newbury, Massachusetts to

the End of the Year 1849 (Salem: The Essex Institute, 1911).

 

Other records pertaining to seventeenth-century Newbury are
scattered throughout archives in Massachusetts. The first historian
of the town, Joshua Coffin, possessed a number of early letters, deeds,
and wills among his own personal papers, which are now located at the
Essex Institute, in Salem. The official relations between Newbury and
the General Court are recorded in the numerous volumes of the Massa-
chusetts Archives in the State House, Boston, and in Nathaniel B.

Shurtleff, ed., Records of the Governor and Company of Massachusetts

 

 

Bay in New England, 5 vols. in 6 (Boston: William White, 1853-54).
Certain documents probated through 1681 and filed in the County Court

Building in Salem have been published in the three volumes of Th3_

267

Probate Records of Essex County, Massachusetts,_l635-l681 (Salem: The
Essex Institute, 1916-1920). Finally, the valuable but ponderous court
records, a rich and underused source of material for social history,
are stored in the Office of the Clerk of the Court, in Salem. These
have been abstracted by the somewhat genteel George F. Dow, and pub-
lished in eight volumes as The Records and Files of the Quarterly
Courts of Essex County, Massachusetts (Salem: The Essex Institute, is
1911-1921). These records are generally accepted as complete, and 3
they seem accurate in cOntent. They are not, however, entirely satis-
factory to the purist, fOr only some of the material is transcribed ‘3
verbatim.
Newbury's church records prior to 1674 are lost, possibly

destroyed in a symbolic act to erase all record and memory of the
church split. However, a number of works produced by the Presbyterian
elders of the church have remained to shed at least some light on the
church. James Noyes wrote two major tracts, both of which sought to
promote his conception of a highly ordered civil and religious society.
In The Temple Measured: Or, A Brief Survey of the Temple Mystical,
Which is the Instituted Church of Christ . . . (London, 1647), Noyes
attempted to outline his theology and to "declare what are the points

. . wherein he can or cannot concur" with others of the New England
ministry. Eleven years later, he expanded upon his first work in the
posthumous Moses and Aaron: Or the Rights of Church and State, pub-
lished by Benjamin WOOdbridge in 1661. Dedicated by Thomas Parker to

Charles 11, Moses and Aaron was Noyes' unfinished attempt to lend his

 

support to Hobbesian contractualism in both church and state.

268

Thomas Parker shared much of Noyes' concern for order. In

addition to the preface to Moses and Aaron, where he pronounced his

 

relief at the restoration of a (hopefully) right-minded monarch,
Parker left a number of English language tracts detailing his rather
strict, organic image of church and state. Addressed to an anonymous

member of the Westminster Assembly, the True Copy of a Letter:

 

Written by Mr. Thomas Parker . . . DeclaringHis Judgement Touching

the Government practiced in the Churches of NEW ENGLAND (London,

 

1644) made clear Parker's opposition to excessive rule by the breth-
ren, an antipathy he shared with his cousin Noyes. Six years later,

in The Copy of a Letter . . . To His Sister . . . (London, 1650), he

 

expressed his disapproval of both the extremely rational religious
persuasion of his sister and of her rash action of publishing a book.

His only scholarly work published in English, The Visions and

 

Prophesies of Daniel Expounded (London, 1646) was Parker's attempt to

 

interpret the progression of the "vials" which would precede the
return of Christ. Curiously, for all his assurance that he was a
correct interpreter of the Scriptures in other respects, Parker was
unable to predict the precise century when the Millenium would begin.
John WOOdbridge, Sr. and Jr. also left testaments to their

Presbyterianism. The elder Woodbridge apparently wrote A Declaration

 

of the Council at Newbury, Joshua Coffin's transcription of which is

 

now located in the Congregational Library, in Boston. WOOdbridge's
purposes are not clear, and the document, while it sheds much light
on the dispute between Parker and Edward Woodman, raises more ques-
tions than it answers about both Woodbridge and the Council. More

revealing is "The CorreSpondence of John WOOdbridge, Jr., and Richard

269

Baxter," edited by Raymond Phineas Stearns, New Epgland Quarterly, X
(1937), 557-83. The younger Woodbridge, reared to Presbyterianism
by his father and Parker, clearly had the Newbury church conflict in
mind when he wrote Baxter to lament the restraints which elders and
brethren in Massachusetts imposed on Presbyterian advocates.

In the context of religious developments in Newbury, several
other contemporaries also left descriptions of the church. The most
complete, and in many ways the most useful, is Cotton Mather, Magpalia

Christi Americana (2 vols.; Hartford: Silas Andrus and Son, 1855).

 

Mather himself reveals a subtle distaste for the Newbury elders, but
he also reproduces the memorial to Noyes and Parker, written by
Nicholas Noyes, the nephew of James. Although Samuel Sewall's‘Digrz_
(in M.H.S. 92132:, 5th Ser., V-VII) contains references to Parker,
Noyes' account of both Parker and Noyes is virtually the only true
biographical sketch penned by a contemporary. Both the Mather Papers,
M. H. S. 92113:, 4th Ser., VIII, and Edward Johnson's Wonder Working_
Providence, in 1212,, 2d. Ser., 11, III, IV, VII, and VIII contribute
a few words about Newbury and the town's church, as do Thomas

Lechford's Plain Dealing, or Newes from New England, Ibid., 3d. Ser.,

 

111, 55-128, and New Englands Jonas Cast Up at London, Ibid., 2d.
Ser., IV, 107-20, by the hostile Major John Child. Finally, both
Urian Oakes and Daniel Denison, though not inhabitants of Newbury,
penned accounts which placed the Newbury church di5pute in larger
perSpective. Oakes, the Pastor at Cambridge, may have been among the
Council sent to Newbury in 1672. His election sermon, New England

Pleaded With (Cambridge, 1673) cautioned, without mentioning Newbury,

 

against the extremes embodied by the supporters of both Parker and

 

270

Woodman. Likewise, Denison, who was brother-in-law to John Woodbridge,
Sr., and a member of the Ipswich Court which heard the case against

Edward Woodman, railed against lay usurpations in his Irenicon, or

 

a Salve for New England's Sore (Boston, 1684).

 

Other chroniclers as well have helped clarify the history of

Newbury. William Hubbard's A General History of New England, M. H. S.

 

h—

Colls., 2d. Ser., V, VI, while not entirely original and, I think, in
error with regard to the church split, made explicit the relationship

between the settlement of Newbury and the social contacts of the

 

fOunders. Also valuable, particularly for events surrounding the
creation of Newbury, is the eighteenth-century history of Thomas
Hutchinson, The History of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay, Lawrence 8.
Mayo, ed., (3 vols.; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1936).
Although John Winthrop did not have a great deal to say about Newbury,
his Journal (ed. James Kendall Hosmer, 2 vols. [New York: Charles

Scribner's Sons, 1908]) and The Winthrop Papers (5 vols. [Boston:

 

Massachusetts Historical Society, 1929-1947]) both contain occasionally

useful material. John Josselyn's An Account of Two Voyages to New

 

England, in M. H. S. Colls., 3d. Ser., 111, 211-354, contains a
geographical description of Newbury. And, finally, occasional and
revealing references are made to Newbury, particularly in the years
immediately fOllowing the Restoration, in several documents abstracted
in W. Noel Sainsbury, 22.21:, eds., Calendar of State Papers, Colonial

Series,4America and West Indies, 1574-1676 (London: Public Records

 

Office, 1860-89).

271

Secondary Sources

 

A number of general treatments of New England history have
been useful as chronological or interpretive summaries. Clarence L.

Ver Steeg, The Formative Years, 1607-1763 (New York: Hill and Wang,

 

1964) is a brief but synthetic overview of colonial America to the

pro-revolutionary crises, and David Hawke's The Colonial Experience

 

.
‘ fall:

3%
. a

.’ ‘0 .
3’—

(Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1966 is the best of
the "shorter" interpretive outlines of colonial America. James

Truslow Adams, The Founding of New England (Boston: Little Brown

 

V rm“ 2 -- in I
:“~—-

and Company, 1921, 1949), though dated and, at times, quite shallow,
is nevertheless a well-written and informative interpretation of
early New England. A number of anthologies of articles are useful as

well, the best of which is Stanley N. Katz, ed., Colonial America:

 

Essays in Politics and Social Development (Boston: Little, Brown
and Company, 1971). In addition, I have found quite valuable the
historical and genealogical studies which fill the pages of The Essex

Antiquarian, The New Engiand Historical and Genealogical Register, and

 

The Essex Institute Historical Collections.

The influence of Perry Miller upon colonial American histor-
iography is well-known, and it can be seen throughout this study
despite my divergent focus. Miller's three major volumes on Puritan
thought, while amended here and corrected there, have yet to be sur-
passed as a generally valid synopsis of the intellectual milieu of
early New England. Originally published in 1939, his The New England

Mind: The Seventeenth Century (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961)

 

272

summarizes the cultural construction of the Puritan mentality in

static form. Setting the stage for Orthodoxy in Massachusetts,

 

1630-1650 (Boston: Beacon Press, 1959 [1933]), which concerns the
attempts by Massachusetts to preserve a single-minded religious
scheme, it provides a foundation for Miller's third study, The New

England Mind: From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961

 

[1953]), which details the gradual provincialization of the American
mind and the increasing separation of the pietistic and rational
strain which the founders worked so hard to keep in balance. His
discussion of "federal theology" is recapitulated in "The Marrow of

Puritan Divinity," in Errand into the Wilderness (Cambridge: Harvard

 

University Press, 1964), 48-98, and his analysis of the jeremiad, to
him a barometer of provincialization, is summarized in "Declension in

a Bible Commonwealth," in his Nature's Nation (Cambridge: Harvard

 

University Press, 1967), 14-49. With Thomas H. Johnson, finally, he
edited a brief and more topical summary of New England intellectual

life, with illustrative documents (The Puritans: A Sourcebook of

 

Their Writingg, Torchbook ed. [2 vols; New York: Harper and Row,

 

Publishers, 1963]).

Miller concerned himself mainly with the most literate sector
of the population, particularly the ministers and the magistrates.
While these spokesmen expressed their ideas within the larger
parameters of accepted values and assumptions, it cannot be doubted
that they represented only part of the general social and religious

Weltanschauung of the age. For needed correctives to Miller's per-

 

spective, see the equally perceptive, behavioralistic approach of

‘19]. “‘-|“ ' _
- ‘3 f
V
1

‘-M" .
‘4
I

273

Darrett B. Rutman, summarized most succinctly in his American
Puritanism: Faith and Practice (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott
Company, 1970). Michael McGiffert's "American Puritan Studies in the
1960's," Egg, 3d. Ser., XXVII (1970), 36-67 is the most complete
bibliographical summary of other past and present attempts to correct
or modify Miller's paradigm.

Other general studies of seventeenth-century New England
have also contributed to my understanding of the relationship between

culture and behavior. Howard Mumford Jones, 0 Strange New World:

 

 

American Culture, the Formative Years (New York: The Viking Press,
1968), is a sound overview of the thought of the period. Stephen
Foster, Their Solitary Way: The Puritan Social Ethic in the First
Century of Settlement in New England (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1971) is an imaginative, if not entirely thorough, treatment
of the social goals articulated by the Puritans. Foster's study,
however, should be read in tandem with the not always convincing

study of David Flaherty, Privacy in Colonial New England (Charlottes-

 

ville: University Press of Virginia, 1972). Timothy H. Breen has

studied the expectations of the magistracy in The Character of the

 

Good Ruler: Puritan Political Ideas in New Englana, 1630-1730 (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), picking up the theme begun by
George L. Mosse's perceptive The Holy Pretense: A Study of Chris-
tianity and Reason of State from William Perkins to John Winthrop
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1957). Charles E. Clark discusses the

settlement of the area to the north of Massachusetts in The Eastern

 

Frontier: The Settlement of Northern New England 1631-1763 (New York:

274

Alfred A. Knopf, 1970). Finally, in terms of cultural outlook, Peter
Gay makes a not entirely convincing argument that Puritan historians--
by implication, representatives of Puritan intellectuals?--were not
able to confront the changes in their own discipline. See A Loss

of Mastery: Puritan Historians in Colonial America, Vintage Books

(New York: Random House, 1968 [1966]). }
More helpful than these general discussions have been a [L—-J
a
number of local town studies, many of which date to the days of the ‘
patrician historian. The first major history of Newbury was Joshua ..-‘r
Coffin's carefully researched labor of love, A Sketch of the History ij

 

 

of Newbury, Newburyport, and West Newbury, from 1635 to 1845 (Boston:
Samuel G. Drake, 1845), a proud chronicle of Coffin's lifelong resi-
dence. This work, however, suffers at time from both its author's
prejudices and its construction, and should be supplemented by the
more interpretive if no less patriotic studies of John J. Currier,
his History of Newbary, Mass., 1635-1902 (Boston: Damrell and Upham,
1902) and his "Ould Newbury": Historical and Biographical Sketches
(Boston: Damrell and Upham, 1896). Other, older town studies have
also proved useful, though to a lesser degree. Joseph Dally's E929-
bridge and Vicinity: The Story of a New Jersey Town, Reprint
GMadison, New Jersey: Hunterdon House, 1967) is a competent history
of a town settled largely by Newbury inhabitants. Other areas settled
by families from Newbury are treated by George Wingate Chase, I§g_
History of Haverhill, Massachusetts, From Its First Settlement in

l640,_to the Year 1860 (Haverhill: n.p., 1861), and Alexander

 

Starbuck, The History of Nantucket County, Island, and Town (Rutland,

Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle Company, Publishers, 1969).

275

Several other town studies of more recent origin are of
greater conceptual utility, and all, in one way or another, begin
the discussion of social differentiation which is the unifying con-
cept of this study. The most elaborate and carefully documented of

these is Darrett B. Rutman's excellent Winthropls Boston: A Portrait

 

of a Puritan Town, paperbound ed. (New York: W. W. Norton and Company,

 

Inc., 1972), which traces the collapse of the unified cooperative
society to the earliest days of the town. Richard Peter Gildrie finds
much the same situation to have affected "Salem, 1619-1668: History
of a Covenanted Community" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University
of Virginia, 1971).

Boston and Salem, however, were not "typical" of most Massa-
chusetts towns of the seventeenth century, for both early commercial
centers were larger, richer, more complex and cosmopolitan, and less
homogeneous at the outset. The differentiation and contention which
occurred elsewhere, while no less divisive, seems to have been less
insoluble and far more monolithic in origin. In Hingham, John J.
Waters has suggested that the division was one of style, caused by
the cohabitation of two dissimilar groups of East Anglians and West
Countrymen, in "Hingham, Massachusetts, 1631-1661: An East Anglian

Oligarchy in the New World," Journal of Social History, I (1968),

 

351-70. While Waters suggests that the transition of generations
provided the means to blur the social lines between these two groups,
Sumner C. Powell's Puritan Village: The Formation of a New England
Tara, Anchor Books (New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1965)

argues that reconciliation of differences was not the only way to

276

preserve social cooperation. Similarly combining an analysis of
generational conflict with a study of prior English origins, Powell
shows that the conflicts in Sudbury over land distribution and use
were solved only by the fragmentation of the town with the creation
of Marlborough.

Unlike both Hingham and Sudbury, Dedham was able to remain
a "Christian Utopian Closed Corporate Community" for a considerably
longer time. In A New Ergland Town: The First Hundred Years (New
York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1970), Kenneth A. Lockridge
presents a broad study of society and culture, using Dedham as a
medium for discussing the New England village in general. Lockridge
found a local society with the characteristics of a traditional
"peasant" community, as depicted by Eric R. Wolf (Peasants [Englewood
Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1966]), one which was able to preserve its
social cohesion for almost half a century until numerous, small and
subtle changes fostered a preceptible "Anglicization" of (by
implication) New England society.

Subtle yet natural change is the motif of a number of
Specialized studies using the town as their bases. The growth of
population at the local level is recounted by Lockridge in his "The

Population of Dedham, Massachusetts, 1636-1736," Economic History

 

Review, 2d. Ser., XIX (1966), 318-44, and by Susan L. Norton,
"Population Growth in Colonial America: A Study of Ipswich, Massa-

chusetts," Population Studies, XXV (1971), 433-52. For colonial New

 

England as a whole, see Daniel Scott Smith's short but meaty "The

Demographic History of Colonial New England," Journal of Economic

 

 

277

History, XXXII (1972), 165-83. P. M. G. Harris has attempted to place
these demographic "cycles" in a social context in "The Social Origins
of American Leaders: The Demographic Foundations," in Donald Fleming

and Bernard Bailyn, eds., Perspectives in American History, III

 

(Cambridge: The Charles Warren Center for Studies in American

History, 1969), 159-344. However, his conclusions may be largely
coincidental. See Daniel Scott Smith's rejoinder to Harris, "Cyclical,
Secular, and Structural Change in American Elite Composition," 1212:,
IV (1970), 351-74.

Population growth assumes added importance when viewed in
relation to land availability and use. Several studies have attempted
to outline the basic patterns of land employment and town design in
the colonial period. Three of these discuss legal and geOgraphical
considerations of land allocation and make up in detail what they lack

in interpretation. See Melville Egleston, The Land System of the New

 

England Colonies, John Hopkins University, Studies in Historical and

 

 

Political Science, IV (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, 1886);

 

Edna Scoville, "The Origins of Settlement Patterns in Rural New

England," Geographical Review, XXVIII (1938), 652-63; and Glenn T.

 

Trewartha, "Types of Rural Settlement in Colonial America," Ibid.,
XXXVI (1946), 568-96. A more recent attempt to understand the roots

of town settlement and development is John W. Reps, Town Planning in

 

Frontier America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969).

 

The implications of land usage and ownership have been re-
counted for the New England colonies by Roy H. Akagi, The Town

Proprietors of the New England Colonies: A Study of Their Development,

 

278

Organization, Activities, and Controversies, 1620-1770 (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1924), an outdated work long overdue
to be superceded. Virtually all of the town studies mentioned above
and below include discussions of the relationship between land and
society, a topic most completely examined by Philip J. Greven, Jr.,
in "Four Generations: A Study of Family Structure, Inheritance, and
Mobility in Andover, Massachusetts, 1630-1750" (unpublished Ph.D.
dissertation, Harvard University, 1964) and in its published form,
Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover,
Massachusetts (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970).

With Greven, several other historians have inquired into the
changes wrought upon the family by alterations in the general social
environment. The best, traditional study of family life in colonial

times in Edmund S. Morgan's collected essays on The Puritan Family:

 

Religrous and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New England
Revised, Torchbook ed. (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1966).
Morgan's treatment, by and large, is confined to the "public" family
and its relation to the society as a whole, and it concludes by
pointing to the increasing "tribalization" of Puritan households.

It should be read in conjunction with John Demos' excellent, psycho-

historical study of the "private" family, A Little Commonwealth:

 

Family Life in Plymouth Colony (New York: Oxford University Press,
1970), which implies that behind the shifts in the "public" family
lay a more nearly continuous "private" family structure and internal
function. Though Demos agrees with Morgan that the seventeenth-

century family was closely tied to other, societal institutions,

Punt-9.1 A". ._
I'M‘ ' '

g

e

279

there is reason to believe that the nature of the bond was changing.

For example, Bernard Bailyn's Education in the Forming of American

 

Society: Needs and Opportunities for Study (Chapel Hill: University

 

of North Carolina Press, 1960), which is far more of a history of
the family than its title implies, traces the gradual replacement of
the family by the society as the formal source of education and

socialization. In his The New England Merchants in the Seventeenth-

 

Century, paperbound ed. (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1964),
Bailyn also shows the relationship between merchant families and the
social order. Though his primary concern was to trace the emergence
of a distinct and successful merchant "class," he makes clear that
family business was successful business, and that successful business-
men were not always the best Puritans. By the time of the Revolution,
Bernard Farber maintains, two very distinct forms of family organiza-
tion had emerged to sound the death knell for the harmonious inter-
action of family and social or political arrangements in general.

See his controversial Guardians of Virtue: Salem Families in 1800

 

(New York: Basic Books, 1972).

‘Social change, population growth, land holding modifications,
and the shifting context of family life fostered rearrangements in
other areas as well. Edward Channing described the local institu-
tional forms brought from England and modified in the New World in

his Town and County Government in the Eaglish Colonies of North

 

America, Johns HOpkins University, Studies in Historical and

 

Political Science, 11 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, 1884),

 

a timeless if non-interpretive study. Like institutions, English

lfi‘elt are-um
D; A

l

280

law was imported and revised according to local demands, as George

Lee Haskins' careful study indicates. See Law and Authority in Early

 

Massachusetts: A Study in Tradition and Desiga_(New York: The
MacMillan Company, 1960).

Behind much of the alteration in institutional forms lay new
political demands posed by various elements in the society. Some came
from within the governing elite itself. As Robert E. Wall, Jr. has
demonstrated, the Magistrates had constantly to guard against encroach-
ments upon their powers from the aspiring "lesser gentry," from the
Deputies, and from dissident elements within the population. Using
the fear of royal intervention as a lever, the Magistrates were able
to establish legal, institutional precedents which would serve to
preserve their position until the revocation of the charter. See his
"The Massachusetts Bay Colony Franchise in 1647," EUQR 3d. Ser.,

XXVII (1970), 136-44, and his carefully constructed Massachusetts Bay:

 

The Crucial Decade, 1640-1650 (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1972). Wall provides statistical support of his thesis and extends
it to the 16605 in "The Decline of the Massachusetts Franchise,

1647-1666," Journal of American History, LIX (1972), 303-10. The

 

threat of external intervention, however, did not cease with the
defusing of the Remonstrants of 1645, nor did the victory of reaction
ensure the single-mindedness of the Magistrates. Indeed both issues
became united once again in the 16605 with the commission sent by

the crown to "investigate" the conduct of Massachusetts affairs.

For an analysis of these debates, see Paul R. Lucas, "Colony or

281

Commonwealth: Massachusetts Bay, 1661-1666," Egg, 3d Ser., XXIV
(1967), 88-107.

Nevertheless, with the passage of newly restrictive franchise
laws in 1647 and again in 1666, much of the political agitation--and
perhaps interest--shifted to the local and county level. By no means
was the generality quiescent. As T. H. Breen has noted, the struggle
for majoritarianism in the colonial militia--a seemingly innocuous
institution--implied a strong undercurrent of popular unrest. See
his thoughtful essay, "English Origins and New World Developments:
The Case of the Covenanted Militia in Seventeenth-Century,

Massachusetts," Past and Present, XVII (November, 1972), 74-96. Mean-

 

while, at the town level, the demand for popular participation was
also on the rise, and, with increased political competition, the town
meeting began to re-emerge as the central arena of local politics.
See Kenneth A. Lockridge and Alan Kreider, "The Evolution of Massa-
chusetts Town Government, 1640-1740," Egg, 3d Ser., XXIII (1966),
549-74.

Many of the same pressures and changes were felt in meeting
houses throughout New England. The rules and formal prescriptions of
the New England Way testify to the modifications imposed by changing
circumstances. These have been compiled, with discussions of their

historical contexts, by Williston Walker, as The Creeds and Platforms

 

of Congregationalism (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1893).

 

Equally convincing barometers of changes within the church were in-
tellectual develOpments among ministers themselves. One of the best

intellectual biographies of the first generation of preachers is Larzer

282

Ziff, The Career of John Cotton: Puritanism and the American Experience

 

(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962), a work which is de-
ceptively broad as a biography. Revealing the ability of three suc-
cessive generations of one family to transcend "the limits of the
emerging lay culture of their time" while preserving the fusion of
religion, reason, and human understanding, Robert Middlekauff's I§a_

Mathers: Three Generations of Puritan Intellectuals, 1596-1728 (New

7 Jul-

 

York: Oxford University Press, 1971) may give too much weight to the

spokesmen of a family which was admittedly unique. A more general

. . mun; ‘11-. .1.
F“‘“ " iflfiflfl

history of the early New England ministerial calling is David D. Hall,

The Faithful Shepherd: A History of the New England Ministry in the

 

Seventeenth Centnry (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,

 

1972), which depicts a gradual drift among the ministers "toward a
higher definition of their office" in the face of diffused traditions
and new social pressures.

There are fewer studies of religious developments from the
perspective of the congregation. Kenneth A. Lockridge details the
tortuous early developments of the Dedham church in "The History of

a Puritan Church," New England Quarterly, XL (1967), 399-424. The

 

most expansive treatment of the daily affairs of the New England
congregation can be found in Ola Elizabeth Winslow's fascinating

study, Meetinghouse Hill, 1630-1783, paperbound ed. (New York: W. W.

 

Norton and Company, Inc., 1972).
Church membership as well has implications fOr the social
changes in colonial Massachusetts, for, in theory, the declining

membership as the century progressed indicated both a decline in piety

283

and a loss of ministerial ability to control the values and behavior
of the population. The last word on this subject perhaps will never
be heard, but at least four major works have directly confronted the
question of church membership. In "New England Puritanism: Another
Approach," EUR! 3d Ser., XVIII (1961), 236-42, Edmund S. Morgan
brashly asserted that the decline of conversions which precipitated
the Half-Way Covenant was, in fact, evidence of an increased piety in :‘ttd
an insecure society which took the ministers' words quite seriously.
Challenged by Darrett B. Rutman ("God's Bridge Falling Down: 'Another . ‘i
Approach' to New England Puritanism Assayed," 1233:, XIX [1962] 408-

21), Morgan tempered his conclusions in Visible Saints: The History_

 

of a Puritan Idea (New York: New York University Press, 1963), where

 

he asserted that a declining membership was not evidence of falling
piety. Ironically, Robert G. POpe, a student of Morgan, confirmed
the interpretations of Morgan and of historians who see an increasing
division separating the generality and the ministers. In The Half-Way

Covenant: Church Membership in Puritan New England (Princeton:

 

Princeton University Press, 1969), he argued that it was the laity,
not the ministers, who were largely in opposition to the "liberaliza-
tion" of church admission procedures and that church membership in-
creased in later decades in reSponse to environmental pressures. It
may well be that church membership was a manifestation of perceived
needs for collective association.

(There are no comparable histories of the Newbury church.
The only chronological account, which follows Coffin closely, is

Eliza Adams Little and Lucretia Little Isley, The First Parish,

 

284

Newbury, Massachusetts, 1635-1935 [Newburyport: The News Publishing
Company, 1935]. In addition, the church itself published Covenant,
Articles of Faith, and Rules of the First Church of Newbury, With a
Catalogue of its Members and an Accounting of its Pastors [Newburyz
Old Byfield Printing Company, 1896]. Only two studies of Newbury's
pastors have been published. Samuel Eliot Morison's "The Education
of Thomas Parker of Newbury." Colonial Society of Massachusetts,

Publications, XXVIII [1932], 261-67 is a brief essay on Parker's

 

extensive scholastic accomplishments. A lengthier discussion can be
found in the geneaIOgically-oriented and pedantic study of Richard
Edward Kelly, "A Study of the Schoolmasters of Seventeenth-Century
Newbury, Massachusetts" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Michigan
State University, 1971].)

Given the various changes and pressures discussed in the works
mentioned above, New England seems to have been settled by a restless
people. Much of their restlessness, moreover, seems to have begun
even before the migration to the New World. Indeed, the society of
England during the Civil War period was torn by both unsettling and
stabilizing forces. Political and religious conflicts aside, the
society was not disposed toward conflict. As Peter Laslett notes, I§g_

World We Have Lost was a traditional world of order and patriarchalism

 

(New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1965), with families like that

of Ralph Josselyn (Alan MacFarlane, The Family Life of Ralph Josselyn:

 

A Seventeenth-Century Clergyman [Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1970]) and a cultural outlook that was both traditional and

prefigurative (see E. W. M. Tillyard, The Elizabethan WOrld Picture,

 

285

Vintage Books [New York: Random House, originally published 1944],
and Margaret Mead, Culture and Commitment: A Study of the Generation
gap_[New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1970]). It was, fur-
thermore, a society of pronounced localistic sentiment, notes Ivan D.
Roots, "The Central Government and the Local Community," in E. W.
Ives, ed., The English Revolution, 1600-1660, Torchbook ed. (New York:
Harper and Row, Publishers, 1971), 34-47, and one of strongly entrenched
local social systems (Alan Everitt, "The County Community," in £2333,
48-63) which could be mobilized effectively against the perceived en-
croachment of the royal hand (D. H. Pennington, "The County Community
at War," in 2212:: 64-75).

At the same time, however, English society was a mobile
society. Population movement, whether over long distances or short,
was challenging the permanence of localistic sentiments for a few and
making unfamiliar homes and faces commonplace for more. See Peter
Laslett and John Harrison, "Clayworth and Cogenhoe," in H. E. Bell
and R. L. Ollard, eds., Historical Essays 1600-1750 Presented to David
Qgg_(London: Adam and Charles Black, 1963), 157-84; E. E. Rich, "The
POpulation of England," Economic History Review, 2d Ser., 11 (1949-
50), 247-65; and Julian Cornwall, "Evidence of Population Mobility

in the Seventeenth Century," Bulletin of the Institute of Historical

 

Research, XL (1967), 143-52.

In was also a worried society. Many who looked about their
homes could see too many peOple, too much dishonesty, too much devia-
tion from "true" faith, too much competition. Many of these became

migrants to the New WOrld, according to Carl Bridenbaugh, Vexed and

286

Troubled Englishmen (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968). They

 

left various parts of England to find new homes, many as mutual friends,
as Charles Edwards Park has noted in "Friendship As A Factor in the
Settlement of Massachusetts," American Antiquarian Society, Proceed-
raga, XXVIII (1918), 51-62, and many more as "middle class" kin and
neighbors, both young and not so young. See T. H. Breen and Stephen
Foster, "Moving to the New World: The Character of Early Massachusetts
Immigration," Egg, 3d Ser., XXX (1973), 189-222.

There is a question as to the extent to which the restlessness
of these migrants was assuaged upon settlement. Virtually all of the
works noted here suggest that social change and accompanying conflict
was a hallmark of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. James
Henretta, in fact, has attempted, prematurely, to propose a model for
the development of society in his extended review essay, "The Mor-

phOIOgy of New England Society in the Colonial Period," Journal of

 

Interdisciplinary_History, 11 (1971-72), 379-98. Others, however,
have expressed doubts that social change had a very profound impact
on social peace. Timothy Breen and Stephen Foster, in "The Puritans'
Greatest Achievement: A Study of Social Cohesion in Seventeenth-

Century Massachusetts," Journal of American History, XL (1973), 5-22,

 

attempted to show that social harmony was an on-going characteristic
of early Massachusetts. Their definitions and their perSpective,
however, make their conclusion true by default, for they regard only
organized force as evidence of dissention and dismiss all other forms
of disagreement from consideration. For the eighteenth century,

Michael Zuckerman, in Peaceable Kingdoms: New England Towns in the

 

287

Eighteenth Century (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1970) makes
much the same error by confining the conflict he says did not exist
to its potential political and cultural manifestations alone.
Zuckerman's assertion that conflict was proscribed by the isolation
of towns has been challenged by David Grayson Allen, "The Zuckerman
Thesis and the Process of Legal Rationalization in Provincial
Massachusetts," to which Zuckerman added a rebuttal, EUQ! 3d Ser.,
XXIX (1972), 443-68.

In a broader context, the social develOpments of early
colonial society have also been discussed as parts Of a larger
process of "modernization." See Kenneth A. Lockridge, "Social Change

and the Meaning of the American Revolution," Journal of Social

 

History, VI (1973), 403-39, and the slightly more cautious essay by
Jack P. Greene, "The Social Origins of the American Revolution: An

Evaluation and an Interpretation," Political Science Quarterly,

 

LXXXVIII (1973), 1-22. For the impact of these social changes and
the revolution upon the intellectual "modernization" of political

and social thought, see Gordon S. Wood, The Creation of the American

 

Republic (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1969).

A definitive result of this new outlook is The Federalist Papers,

 

particularly the tenth, of which a convenient compilation is the

Mentor edition (New York: The New American Library, 1961).

Methodological Sources

 

For some time, historians and social scientists have been
moving toward a mutual accommodation. While the Puritan's doctrine

of "technolOgia" has not yet been resurrected, there are signs, such

 

288

as the publication of Robert F. Berkhofer's A Behavioral Approach

 

to Historical Analysis (New York: The Free Press, 1969) that the

 

strengths of one field are becoming appreciated by the other. The
first bridges were erected by French and English students of popula—
tion. By 1966, demographic history had prOgressed to the point
where a handbook of methodology was needed (E. A. Wrigley E£_§l:' An_

Introduction to English Historical Demography from the Sixteenth to

 

the Nineteenth Century_[London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson]), the

 

fruits of which are noticeable in scholarly works like the paperbound

anthOIOgy edited by Orest and Patricia Ranum, Popular Attitudes

 

toward Birth Control in Pre-Industrial France and England (New York:

 

Harper and Row, Publishers, 1972) and in numerous of the works
cited above.

History and social science have become allies in other re-
spects as well. Psychology, for example, has been employed to form

"psycho-historical" essays like A Little Commonwealth, by John Demos,

 

The Devil in Massachusetts: A Modern Enquiry into the Salem Witch

 

Trials, by Marion L. Starkey, Dolphin Books (New York: Doubleday and

Company, Inc., 1961), David Hunt's Parents and Children in History:

 

The PsychOIOgy of Family Life in Early Modern France (New York:

 

Basic Books, 1970), and in Bruce Mazlish's paperbound anthology,

Psychoanalysis and History (New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1971).

 

Anthropologists and SociolOgists, as well, have turned to history
as a source for non-laboratory research. See, for example, Alan

MacFarlane, Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England (London: Routledge

 

and Kegan Paul Ltd., 1970), and Kai T. Erikson, Wayward Puritans:

 

289

A Study in the Sociology of Deviance (New York: John Wiley and Sons,

 

Inc., 1966).

Most of these studies employ elementary and sophisticated
quantitative techniques. For historical purposes, the best general
survey of statistical methods in Charles M. Dollar and Richard J.

Jensen, Historians Guide to Statistics: Quantitative Analysis and

 

Historical Research (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.,

 

1971). General statistical techniques are discussed in more depth

by Hubert M. Blalock, Jr., Social Statistics (McGraw Hill Book

 

Company, 1960), and, from a different perSpective, by John W. Bisher

and Donald W. Drewes, Mathematics in the Behavioral and Social

 

Sciences (New York: Harcourt, Brace and WOrld, Inc., 1970).

Although they do not always appear cited in the text, I have
found a number of studies in the social sciences quite helpful in
shaping the perspective from which Newbury has been viewed. Theodore

M. Newcomb, Ralph H. Turner, and Philip E. Converse, Social Psychology_

 

(New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1965) is a good survey
of the psychology of group behavior. Edward Shils, "Deference," in

J. A. Jackson, ed., Social Stratification (Cambridge: Cambridge

 

University Press, 1968), 104-32 is an excellent study of the sub-
jectivity of social prestige. Family life in colonial New England
seems remarkably similar to the farmers studied by Conrad Arensberg

and Solon Kimball in Family and Community in Ireland, 2d ed. (Cam-

 

bridge: Harvard University Press, 1968). The assumption that mankind
may be psychologically constant seems at least partially justified

by my perusal of Anthony Allison, ed., Population Control (Baltimore:

 

290

Penguin Books, Inc., 1970). Three studies by Edward O. Laumann have

contributed to my understanding of human interaction and social

structure in Newbury. See "Open and Closed Structures," Detroit

Area Study Project 938, Working Paper No. 3, prepared for the 1967

meeting of the American Sociological Association. With Franz Urban

Pappi, Laumann also wrote "New Directions in the Study of Elites," ?
Parts I and II, The Center for Research on Social Organization, f..g

Ann Arbor, Michigan (1972). Finally, I found Laumann's Prestige and

 

Association in an Urban Community: An Analysis of an Urban Strati- (ps-

fication System (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1966) ,J

 

a stimulating, if limited, discussion of social structure in present-
day context.

Two general studies were fundamental to the development of
my interpretation of the influence of kinship and friendship on the
patterns of personal alignment during times of dissent. Leon

Festinger's seminal A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (Stanford:

 

Stanford University Press, 1957) is a study of the psychological
underpinnings of rational decision making which no historian should

overlook. Likewise, Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict

 

(New York: The Free Press, 1956) has been invaluable to me in my
attempt to understand the social and emotional implications of the
church dispute.

Studies on networks, kinship, friendship and groups cannot
normally be divided by category, because they overlap in both
methodological and contextual respects. A good, short discussion

of why people associate with one another is Ellen Berscheid and

291

Elaine Hatfield Walster, Interpersonal Attraction (Reading, Massa.:

 

Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, 1969). Recent literature on this
subject is listed, summarized, and evaluated by Gardiner Lindzey and
Donn Byrne, "Measurement of Social Choice and Interpersonal Attrac-

tiveness," in Lindzey and E. Aronson, eds., The Handbook of Social

 

Psychology, 2d ed., 5 vols. (Reading, Massa.: Addison-Wesley
Publishing Company, 1969), II, 452-525. One of the best short sum-
maries of the psychological aspects of friendship is Robert 5. Albert
and Thomas R. Brigante, "The Psychology of Friendship Relations:

Social Factors," Journal of Social Psychology, LVI (1962), 33-47.

 

Paul Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton discuss friendship development
and maintenance in "Friendship as a Social Process: A Substantive
Inquiry," in Morroe Berger, Theodore Abel, and Charles S. Page, eds.,

Freedom and Control in Modern Society (New York: Octagon Books,

 

Inc., 1964), 18-66. Edward O. Laumann extends the discussion of
Lazarsfeld and Merton to include different types Of friendship net-
works in "Interlocking and Radial Friendship Nets: A Formal Feature
with Important Consequences," Paper No. 65 (Ann Arbor, Mich.: The
Center for Research on Social Organization, 1971), and T. J. Fararo
and Morris H. Sunshine explore the relationship between behavior and

friendship in A Study of a Biased Friendship Net (Syracuse: Youth

 

Development Center, Syracuse University, 1964).
On the study of groups, a good, structural-functional

synthesis is Theodore M. Mills, The SociOIOgy of Small Groups

 

(Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1967). A critical discussion

of group literature is B. E. Collins and B. H. Raven, "Group

292

Structure: Attraction, Coalitions, Communication, and Power," in

Lindzey and Aronson, eds., The Handbook of Social Psychology, 2d ed.,

 

IV, 102-214.
The best discussion of network terminology and literature

is J. A. Barnes, Social Networks, Addison-Wesley Modular Publications,

 

No. 26 (1972). Two unpublished studies by Richard V. Farace, ot_al,,
discuss the appropriateness of networks to communications systems.
See Farace, William D. Richards, Peter R. Monge, and Eugene Jacobson,
"Analysis of Human Communications Networks in Large Social Systems"
(1973) and Farace and James A. Danowski, "Analyzing Human Communica-
tions Networks in Organizations: Applications to Management Problems,"
paper presented to the Organizational Division of the International
Communication Association, 1973.

Several Specific applications of network concepts have also
been valuable, both conceptually and methodOIOgically. One of the
earliest and, in many ways, the most satisfying, application of the

idea of a network is Elizabeth Bott's ground-breaking Family and

 

Social Network: Rolea, Norms, and External Relations in Ordinary

Urban Families, 2d ed. (New York: The Free Press, 1971), which also

 

contains a retrOSpective evaluation by Bott of the work done Since
its original publication in 1957. The best collection of essays on

networks is J. Clyde Mitchell, ed., Social Networks in Urban Situa-

 

tions: Analyses of Personal Relationships in Central African Towns
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1969). Of the essays
included in this volume, I have found particularly useful J. A.

Barnes, "Networks and Political Processes," (51-76), Barry Kapferer's

293

perhaps too rationalistic "Norms and the Manipulation of Relationships
in a Work Context," (181-244), and P. D. Wheeldon, "The Operation of
Voluntary Associations and Personal Networks in the Political Pro-
cesses of an Inter-Ethnic Community," (128-80). J. 8. Coleman
studies the relationship between personal networks and decision

making in Medical Innovation: A Diffusion Study (Indianapolis: The

 

Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1966). In many ways the most revealing and
successful discussion of the relationship between personal, social
networks and interpersonal influence is Adrian Mayer, "The Signifi-
cance of Quasi-Groups in the Study of Complex Societies," in Michael

Banton, ed., The Social Anthropology of Complex Societies (New York:

 

Frederick A. Praeger, 1966), 97-122.
Finally, I owe particular appreciation to Philip Bonacich's
short essay on "Technique for Analyzing Overlapping Memberships,"

in H. L. Costner, ed., Sociological Methodology: 1972 (San Francisco:

 

Jossey-Bass, Inc., 1972), 176-85, which suggested the method I used
to examine the petition-signing patterns discussed in Chapter 5, and
provided several of the quantitative formulae used to measure the

intensities of the relationships.

A Bibliographic Addendum on Appendix I

 

Information about the English residences of many of Newbury's
early settlers is not difficult to find. Unambiguous documentation,
however, is another story, for the sources do not always agree. Some
degree of uncertainty and imprecision is therefOre inevitable. I

have tried to balance carefully the information found in the

294

periodicals mentioned above with the genealogical sections in Coffin's
History, both of the Currier volumes, and the various primary sources
consulted.

To a much greater extent, however, I have relied on several
older compilations of biographical information to determine English
origins. Most helpful, in this rESpect, have been Charles Edward

Banks, Planters of the Commonwealth, 1620-1640 (Boston: Houghton

 

Mifflin, 1930); Samuel G. Drake, The Founders of New England, Reprint

 

(Baltimore: The Genealogical Publishing Company, 1969); and James
Savage, A GeneaIOgical Dictionary of the First Settlers of New
England, Reprint (Baltimore: The Genealogical Publishing Company,

1965).

61 5466