The Captive's Position: Female Narrative, Male Identity, and Royal Authority in Colonial New England 9780812203677

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The Captive's Position

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The Captive's Position Female Narrative, Male Identity, and Royal Authority in Colonial New England

Teresa A. Toulouse

PENN University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia

Copyright © 2007 University of Pennsylvania Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States ofAmerica on acid-free paper 10987654321 Published by University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Toulouse, Teresa. The captive's position :female narrative, male identity, and royal authority in colonial New England I Teresa A. Toulouse. p. em. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-o-8122-3958-4 ISBN-10: o-8122-3958-X (alk. paper) 1. Indian captivities-New England-History. 2. Women-New England-History-17th century-Sources. 3· Women in literature-History and criticism. 4. Indians in literatureHistory and criticism. 5. Sex role in literature-History and criticism. 6. Indians of North America-History-Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775· 7· New England-History-Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775· I. Title. E85. T68 2oo6 305-40974 '09032-dC22 2006042174

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Contents

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Female Captivity, Royal Authority, and Male Identity in Colonial New England, 1682-1707 1

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The Sovereignty and Goodness of God in 1682: Mary Rowlandson's Narrative and the "Fathers'" 21 Defense

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Deference and Difference: Female Captivity and Male Ambivalence 45

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The Uses of Female Humiliation: Judea Capta, Hannah Dustan, and Hannah Swarton in the 1690s

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Hannah Dustan's Bodies: Domestic Violence and Third-Generation Male Identity in Cotton Mather's

Decennium Luctuosum

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100

Returning to Zion: Cultural Competition and John Williams's

The Redeemed Captive

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73

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The Seduction of the "Father( s )"

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Coda: Dux Faemina Facta/Dux Faemina Facti Notes

171

Bibliography Index

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Acknowledgments

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Chapter1

Female Captivity, Royal Authority, and Male Identity in Colonial New England, 1682-1707

This study begins with a historical question: why do narratives of Indian captivity appear in New England between 1682 and 1707? During this period a new kind of narrative emerged about colonial women who had been ripped from their families by "savage" men and forced to undergo extraordinary physical and spiritual trials in the wilderness. While North American narratives of Indian captivity had been written before this period by French priests and Spanish and other European adventurers, those stories had focused largely on Catholic conversions and martyrdoms or male strategies of survival among the Indians and self-promotion in the mother country. In contrast, the New English texts represented a colonial Protestant woman who was separated brutally from her family, but manifested culturally valorized qualities of religious acceptance, humility, and obedience until she was "redeemed" eventually to her local colonial community. Most strikingly, these narratives were eagerly supported, disseminated, prefaced, and even written by American-born New English ministerial elites. 1 Dominant second- and third-generation ministers like Increase Mather, Cotton Mather, and John Williams appropriated women's narratives during the same period when the traditional political and religious authority of their English-born fathers and grandfathers became newly threatened from abroad as well as from within. Many historical studies of these narratives have traced their transformation from religious to political texts, from theological to sentimental and sensational uses, and from high cultural to popular cultural dominance. 2 Still others have examined such broad transformations in the light of questions about female authorship and agency. 3 Most neglect, however, to explore captivity narratives in their relation to shifts in political and religious authority occurring in this particular period. Thus, although this study draws on earlier work, it places the captivities within that specific historical

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frame in order to open up the question of the uses which the captivity structure and the representation of the woman captive served for powerful ministerial elites. What was at stake-personally as well as socially, politically as well as religiously-in prominent New English ministers' appropriation of the position of the female captive at this particular moment? This project argues that a popular literary form, developed from stories about orthodox New English women's captivity among Indians, helped dominant male colonials to address and to negotiate profound transformations in their own sense of personal and cultural identity during a crucial transitional period at the end of the seventeenth century. Exploring how and why religious narratives of women's captivity came so powerfully to represent a distinctive identity position for powerful second- and third-generation colonial men is the burden of this project.

The Political Contexts of Captivity Several political contexts surround the writing and publishing of captivity narratives, contexts that intersect with, but are not entirely limited to, the literal Indian/colonial conflicts in whose terms they are often understood. Well-known to political historians, such contexts have not been examined in more than a passing way by most literary or cultural historians, yet as this study will show, they cast illuminating light on the growth, development, and uses of women's captivity narratives. 4 Between the publication of the first text considered here (Mary White Rowlandson's narrative of 1682) to the last (John Williams's narrative of 1707), seven changes in government occurred in Massachusetts alone. Internal changes intersected with international conflicts in Europe that deeply resonated at the local colonial level. Four larger political events are especially influential not only for their obvious effects on Massachusetts governmental structure and practice, but also for their effects on the decision of certain second- and third-generation New English ministers to support and to use women's captivity writings. The first event is the threat to and then the loss of the original Massachusetts charter in 1685. Responses to threats to the charter begin as early as the Restoration of 1660 and come to a head during the entire period under discussion. The second event involves the effects of the so-called Glorious Revolution in England of 1688, in which William, the Protestant Dutch Prince of Orange, successfully seizes the English throne from his father-in-law, the Catholic James Stuart (James II). The Glorious Revolution

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is used by some colonials to justify the 1689 overthrow of the first royal governor of the Dominion of New England, Edmond Andros, and his colonial political supporters, but reactions to it also inform the new Massachusetts charter negotiated with King William by Increase Mather (1691-92), color the regime of William Phips, Increase Mather's choice for the first royal governor under the new charter, and affect the regimes that follow Phips. Continuing conflicts surrounding the charter and the Glorious Revolution in turn intersect with two imperial wars-the War of the League of Augsburg in 1689 and the War of the Spanish Succession in 1702-which spill over into Massachusetts in English terms-as "King William's" and "Queen Anne's" Wars. These wars, the third and fourth events that orient this study, exacerbate continuing issues over legitimate European succession, rights of possession, and expansion that are experienced in New England as boundary and trade wars that equally involve shifting Indian allies. 5 Joint Indian and New French alliances lead to numerous assaults on historically contested New English borders to the north and especially to the east that result in the seizing of a large number of New English captives. A recent study suggests that between 1675 and 1713 (the Peace of Utrecht) up to seven hundred such captives were taken. 6 Colonial interactions with England and other European rivals indicate how this political context necessarily implicates a religious context. Like the rhetoric informing the charter negotiations and the colonial response to the Glorious Revolution, "King William's War" and "Queen Anne's War" are framed by ongoing rhetorical attempts to link religious affiliation to emergent national definitions and identifications. As the "French" and their allies become negatively typed as overwhelmingly Catholic, so the "English" become defined as broadly Protestant/ Traditional colonial New English religious elites like Increase and Cotton Mather, who, as theocrats, directly relate their religious legitimacy and authority to the colony's political legitimacy and authority, react to these changes in a variety of ways. As historians have shown, after halting and then open opposition to royalist intervention in New England in the mid-168os, such leaders come to rally around William as "Englishmen" after the Glorious Revolution, and deploy a new Whiggish rhetoric of political rights and religious toleration. They do so, however, to protect certain traditional New English charter and church privileges which deny rights and toleration to those who dissent from them politically or religiously. While claiming their identification with a newly defined Protestant political/religious culture in post-Restoration England, they thus at the same time, out of a competing identification with their own first-generation fathers and grandfathers, persist in beliefs and behaviors that draw these new affiliations into doubt. 8

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Three broad local complications arise from the attempt of ministers like Increase Mather and his supporters to construct themselves at once as tolerant "Protestant" Englishman of the new kind and as the loyal "sons" of New English nonseparating Congregationalists. An early and ardent member of a self-proclaimed traditionalist faction before the abrogation of the old charter in 1685, Increase Mather becomes the negotiator of a new charter in the late 168os, first with James II and then with William III. Almost immediately upon Mather's return from London in 1692, he is emphatically denounced by those who, in his absence, have construed themselves as the true defenders of traditional New English political and religious orthodoxy against outside English intervention. If traditionalists of both generations violendy attack Increase Mather because he has, for them, bent too far to accommodate English political demands, other second- and third-generation moderates, attracted to newer English forms of church practice and polity, begin to suggest that cultural changes should accompany political changes in New England. Encouraged by the current rhetorical emphasis on religious toleration in New England, an important competitor of Mather's own generation, Solomon Stoddard, begins even more openly to publish work begun before Mather's departure which direcdy undermines the traditional covenantal basis of New English church structure from within rather than without. 9 Each of these groups threatens the balancing acts that Increase Mather, his son Cotton, and their allies come to see themselves as performing and reperforming over the Massachusetts charter. If the first, nonyielding position lays the colony open to royal charges of insubordination or treason, the second and third positions, whether through an overattraction to an unfamiliar and condescending Williamite England or through a more local dismissal of traditional New English ways of understanding legitimacy and authority, seem to betray the identification with the first-generation "fathers" that, for Increase and Cotton Mather and their supporters, grants them a more broadly cultural as well as a political and religious influence. 10 Thus, while the spillover of imperial European conflicts to the colonies during this period apparendy eventuates in a new rhetoric of a shared "English Protestant" position, especially but not only against the French, it also aggravates and helps to precipitate conflicts within Massachusetts involving those who claim adherence to a particular version of the authority of the first generation and those supporting varying degrees of cultural as well as political change. Whereas each of the captivity narratives considered in this project can therefore be read as a reaction to external threats, whether Indian, European, or both, each ought also to be read in terms of internal conflicts

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and competitions within New England, specifically within Massachusetts itself. Although captivity narratives can be argued to play a part in an ongoing construction of Englishness, as a number of scholars have suggested, this construction surely must be analyzed in terms of its conflicted intersection with competing colonial understandings of"New" Englishness as well. Insofar as issues of "Indianization" obviously inflect captivity narratives, they, too, should be considered in relation to, not as separate from, period constructions of what is English and New English. In addition to expressing a range of complicated attitudes toward real Indians, representations of native peoples during the entire colonial period also express overt or covert interpretations of both European and internal colonial relations in need of further exploration. 11 Extending and nuancing suggestions made by Roy Harvey Pearce in 1947, literary scholars have argued for a broadly Puritan base to early colonial captivity narratives, a base that becomes increasingly less religious. 12 While this scholarship has opened up important dimensions of these popular texts' uses and transformations of more general Puritan doctrinal or literary assumptions-European-derived notions of providence and typology, for example-it has not, as a rule, recognized how particular features of narratives representing women in Indian captivity significantly link these texts to fears, beliefs, and positions espoused by colonial male elites whose dominance is threatened during a specific historical period. Unexplored is the intersection of the publication and republication of four major captivities with different moments of political conflict in Massachusetts, an intersection that points to the personal as well as the religious influence that Increase and Cotton Mather clearly exert on the appearance of these texts. Mary White Rowlandson underwent captivity in 1676, during the second year of "King Philip's War" of 1675-76, but her narrative of her experience is not published until 1682, in a climate when renewed charter threats are emerging. Possibly prefaced, certainly supported, by Increase Mather, the Rowlandson captivity concludes with the final jeremiad of her husband, Joseph Rowlandson, a supporter of Increase and a mediator in the bitter separation of Boston's Third Church from the First Church over the Halfway Covenant. (The Third Church accepted the covenant, while the First Church did not.) 13 Cotton Mather uses the sensational story of Hannah Dustan of Haverhill, taken captive in 1697 during the last year of"King William's War:' in three different venues at three different moments of political transition in Massachusetts. The first is appended to a fast sermon delivered in 1697, three years after the ignominious fall and death of William Phips, the

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Mather-supported royal governor, and just before the expected announcement of a new royal governor. The second appears in Decennium Luctuosum of 1699, Cotton Mather's history of the Indian wars of the past decade, prefaced and concluded by comments to Lord Bellomont, the latest royal governor. The third use of Dustan's narrative appears in Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana, which, written sporadically from around 1693 onward, is finally published in 1702, thus coinciding with the appointment of Joseph Dudley, son of the Massachusetts colony's second colonial governor, to the royal governorship. The narrative of Hannah Swarton of Casco, Maine, whose captivity occurs in 1690, during instabilities occasioned by Andros's removal, appears in 1697, appended to the sermon in which Cotton Mather first tells Hannah Dustan's story and defends Governor Phips. Finally, the narrative of John Williams, in which the story of the male minister significantly replaces that of the female captive, appears in 1707, soon after Cotton Mather publishes two virulent treatises attacking the royal governorship of the New English-born Joseph Dudley. John Williams, minister of the frontier town of Deerfield, was the husband of Eunice Mather Williams-Cotton Mather's cousin and Increase Mather's niece. Connections like these prove useful for isolating the four texts considered here and for asserting the need to read Indian captivities as cultural products that involve colonial attitudes toward both Europe and the local scene in Massachusetts. This inquiry draws on the contexts sketched above to argue that each of these narratives performs a role in local conflicts over colonial legitimacy and authority aroused by new imperial interventions in New England. At the same time, however, simply linking these four captivities to political or religious positions espoused by Increase or Cotton Mather neither fully explains ministerial support for them nor accounts for the complexity of the ways in which early captivities intersect with internal and external controversies. This linkage cannot, in itself, entirely account for the reasons why conflicts over legitimacy and authority become related to the range of meanings these powerful men ascribed to the position of the female captive and the narrative structure in which she was represented.

The Question of the Female Captive Why and how did colonial elites like Increase and Cotton Mather turn particularly to stories of female captivity to represent reactions to internal and external threats to colonial male power and legitimacy? Three possibilities

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immediately present themselves. The first is that the experiences of adult colonial women provided the predominant pool out of which captivities, whether written by or about them, would come. The second is the fact, just noted, that Mary Rowlandson and John Williams had personal connections to the Mather family. A third reason-especially in the 169os-involved ministerial desire to counter stories about captive women's conversions and French or Indian marriages in Canada. But other reasons linking understandings of the domestic realm to broader religious and political conflicts over authority become evident once one considers general features of the role played by gender in Puritan social thought and theology. Edmund Morgan long ago remarked upon the analogical potential of a colonial Puritan social structure grounded on gender hierarchies assumed to be divinely mandated. This mandate not only ordered that woman be subservient to man within the marriage covenant; it also dictated that the marriage covenant itself be used as the basis for explaining and justifying all other social covenants. 14 Although studies of actual gendered practices might belie such assumptions, especially toward the end of the seventeenth century, they nonetheless play an important role in ministerial deployments of captivity narratives in which representations of women are so central. Scholars have shown that colonial ministers were aware of the possible contradictions involved in allowing women, whose culturally prescribed duty it was to remain private, subordinate, and silent, to write or even to be represented as characters in public, heroic narratives. But the narratives' perceived usefulness in justifying and persuading their readers of certain political and religious beliefs, especially after the popularity of the Rowlandson narrative, clearly outweighed hesitations about their publication. 15 Given the New English Puritan reliance on typological exegesis, ministers could point to the representative quality of the woman captive's experience; she did not stand for women's experience alone, but, viewed in scriptural terms, for the experience of the entire colony. 16 Similarly, as Ivy Schweitzer, Amanda Porterfield, and others have more recently argued, ministers could further draw on the rhetoric of Puritan theology to argue that all elect believers in fact inhabited the woman's position in the spiritual realm. While the secular social realm might be hierarchical by its nature, the spiritual realm allowed for an equality based on men's inhabiting the passive, obedient, and humbled position before God that they ideally assigned to women before them in the secular realm. 17 Noteworthy in the case of captivity narratives is how this feminized, spiritual position becomes so strongly read and promoted as a political position as well. In times of political stress, especially

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during or just after wars, male conflicts often are played out through attempts to stabilize the meanings of women's position. 18 Such was literally the case in the period at hand, which saw not only the writing of the female captivity narratives considered here, but also the Salem witch trials and the increased executions for infanticide of female fornicators. Historians have read the witchcraft "outbreak" and the ensuing trials at Salem Village in 1692 as responses to the political loss of the original Massachusetts charter and to wide social controversy and unrest about the colony's future. 19 Carol Karlsen has both nuanced and challenged this claim by arguing that the trials arose out of a related confusion and anger about the rising social power and position of some women under new economic conditions stemming from renewed English contacts. 2° Karlsen also links the trials to another related social change occurring in the 1690s: the increasing number of executions of women for an infanticide linked to fornication. Whereas both men and women had been held equally culpable of such sins in the preceding decades, the 1690s exhibit a markedly punitive focus on women. Drawing on the work of anthropologist Mary Douglas, a variety of scholars have argued that female fornicators are executed only in part because of their personal or even their theological guilt; more important are their transgressions of religious and social boundaries that are felt to threaten the community as a whole. 21 In another turn of this argument, however, the transgressing woman becomes a more representative figure, whose breaking of communal covenants more specifically mirrors the shared guilt, not the vulnerability, of the entire community. As a representative figure, "she" becomes less an inside threat to the community than its scapegoat, her death necessary to cleanse all "the Land;' as John Williams put it, of its shared "pollutions:' 22 Another meaning implicit in the notion of the woman as scapegoat complicates reading the fornicator's death simply as a means of restoring community purity. Frank Shuffelton has called attention to the breakdown in the eighteenth century of traditional community measures for supporting as well as exposing those community members, especially the poor and single women, who were in social or religious straits. 23 Examining the late seventeenth-century beginnings of such breakdowns, Laura Henigman has recently explored the dearth of community involvement in a number of pregnancies occurring out of wedlock in the 1690s and the concomitant colonial reliance on recent and rigid infanticide laws to punish women offenders after a child's death. 24 These analyses again suggest that instead of restoring community boundaries, the scapegoating of witches and fornicators at this

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time indicates the community's complicity in such women's boundarycrossing desires and its awareness that the community supposedly cleansed and restored by their deaths has in fact already broken down and been transformed irremediably, both by contacts with different cultural groups, whether Indian or European, and by the desire for land and for goods aroused by these contacts and conflicts. Such readings of the witch and the fornicator point us toward different uses of the woman captive's position from those suggested so far. Like the witch and the fornicator, the woman captive crosses boundaries, in her case cultural as well as literal. Unlike them, however, this figure is represented as submissive, obedient, and loyal to the tradition of the New English "fathers" and their God. Her forced crossing of boundaries is constructed not only as an affliction for her sins, but also as an opportunity to demonstrate her appropriate repentance and belief that God alone can physically and spiritually redeem her. Ministers involved in the publication or editing of the captivities considered here seem to have recognized and stressed clear textual as well as thematic distinctions between their representations of the captive woman and female offenders like the witch and the fornicator. Supporting, editing, and even writing narratives for captive women, they wrote blistering execution sermons for female fornicators. John Williams's first published text, for example, is the sermon he preaches at the execution of one Sarah Smith in 1699. 25 Several years before "improving" and editing the narratives of Hannah Dustan and Hannah Swarton, Cotton Mather preaches a similar execution sermon for Elizabeth Emerson, Hannah Dustan's own sister, and his initial publication of the Dustan/Swarton stories is followed by a collection of execution sermons, Pillars of Salt of 1699. 26 Joseph Rowlandson preaches no published execution sermon for a woman, but Lancaster town records do reveal a particularly nasty confrontation with a local woman, Mary Gates, who disputes his ministerial authority and is duly chastised for it, while his final jeremiad, appended to his wife's narrative, draws pointedly on the figure of the adulteress. 27 On the surface at least, the border-crossing position of the captive woman presents a marked contrast to these transgressors of legitimate community boundaries, these treasonous repudiators of traditional ministerial authority and, given the political crises surrounding these events, of state authority as well. Or does it? Such attempts to distinguish the captive's position from those of the witch and the fornicator only provoke other questions about what is at stake in ministerial support for this figure. While the captive woman, in contrast to these other figures, is represented as a submissive victim who is taken

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unwillingly, might she also have been interpreted as actively using her passivity to realize desires for other and different kinds of cultural and political connections and identifications? Could the community's approbation for this figure be based on desires that not only uphold, but also transgress its own boundaries? Although she is represented as claiming a lack of agency, could it be precisely the culturally valorized passive position of the woman that allows her to cross a variety of cultural, political, and religious norms? The tempting alternative of captive women's resistance rather than their orthodoxy has been variously considered in a range of studies. 28 In its reversal of expectations-that is, simply replacing orthodoxy with some form of resistance to it-this approach to women's captivity narratives cannot sufficiently address the complexity of representations of the woman captive's position during this time period. Too often assuming that the female captive alone occupies a position resistant to orthodoxy as a result of her experience, her gender position, or some combination of the two, however, this argument overlooks the possibility of men's identification with the representation. Those claiming that female captivity invariably belies orthodoxy ignore the fact that there are equally strong and important aims involved both in these texts' identification with orthodoxy and in the kinds of identificatory positions they assume toward the nonorthodox, whether this concept is used to construct other colonials, other English Protestants, French Catholics, or a variety of Indian others. In order to understand the variety and significance of the identity positions that religious women's captivities represent for threatened colonial men, other theoretical approaches to these narratives need to be engaged.

Ambivalence and/ as Colonial Exceptionalism While a number of feminist critics have analyzed individual women's agency in captivity narratives, particularly their resistance to orthodox men's discursive attempts to control their experience, another group has built on these insights in order to explore questions about broader cultural work performed by women's texts. Tara Fitzpatrick, for example, has moved the question of women's captivities' resistance to ministerial control to the context of older discussions of American exceptionalism and national identity. Revising frontier theory, Fitzpatrick links the domestic to the national by arguing that colonial women's captivity represents an initial moment in the forging of an

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American identity made exceptional by captive women's spiritual and literal experience with the wilderness and its peoples. 29 Scholars like Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse have read both the resistance and exceptionalism represented in captivity narratives quite differently. They argue that printed representations of a captive colonial woman's voice, in expressing her loyal resistance to assimilation to her captors, mark a moment in the creation of a distinctly English bourgeois identity. 30 A further line of the scholarship on exceptionalism, represented most currently by the work of Michele Burnham, draws on the work of postcolonial theorists such as Homi Bhabha to argue that the captive's liminal position encourages a sentimental response by readers that dissolves boundaries between captives and captors as well as those between nations. In this reading, it is the ambivalence of women's captivity narratives which resurfaces as a defining feature that invariably undermines exceptional identity, whether American colonial or English. 31 Sharing an interest in American exceptionalism with Fitzpatrick, this study, too, seeks to explore a specifically colonial exceptionalism, but only by redefining it. Rather than reading the female captive's experience in the wilderness as engendering a resistance that rewrites Puritan communalism as "American" individualism, however, this argument considers late seventeenth-century attitudes toward the English-born fathers and toward Europe resonant in the representations of captivity and wilderness used by American-born ministers. In this reading, far from being simply or only figured as a site of an individual female captive's physical testing and conversion, the "wilderness" often renews or re/constructs associations with the moral and psychological Babylon of Catholic Europe and post-Restoration England, on the one hand, and with the questionable spiritual status of colonials considered disloyal to the traditions of the founders, on the other. Like the work of Armstrong and Tennenhouse, this inquiry, too, poses the broader question of the roles played by printed representations of women's captivity in figuring a collective, public identity. But a concern with the ways in which (usually) American-born colonials on the margins differentially use women's captivities to imagine their relations to a shifting English center leads to questions about the identifications of certain colonial New Englishmen rather than about a broadly English identity. Finally, like Burnham's work, this study draws broadly on the psychological concept of ambivalence to dispute the claim that some ultimate single identification, some stable identity, is finally expressed or achieved within these texts. But the reading of the ramifications of the ambivalence expressed in these texts

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differs from Burnham's conclusions. A historically framed reading of these narratives draws into question the assumption that ambivalence necessarily or always undermines any concept whatsoever of colonial exceptionalism. The term "ambivalence" has most generally been used to refer to "the actions and conflicts resulting from a defensive conflict in which incompatible motives are involved."32 Recent scholars of ambivalence point out that such a broad interpretation of ambivalence has weakened the precision of the concept as it was first understood. J. Laplanche and J. B. Pontalis maintain that if "ambivalence" is to continue to possess any distinctive analytical rigor, the concept should be construed more narrowly as referring to "specific conflicts in which the positive and negative components of the emotional attitude are simultaneously in evidence and inseparable, where they constitute a non-dialectical opposition which the subject, saying 'yes' and 'no' at the same time, is incapable of transcending." 33 A number of elements of this elaborated description seem especially relevant to scholarly discussions of women's captivity in its relation to colonial exceptionalism. The concept answers the need for a theory that can account for the presence of both resistance and orthodoxy in these narratives. Ambivalence, strictly considered, does not refer to conflicts in which one position necessarily undermines the other, but to an emotional attitude in which two positions exist simultaneously. Therefore, not every conflicted response is ambivalent; to locate conflict is not always to locate ambivalence. This definition of ambivalence both refines and draws into question interpretations of captivity which argue that women's narratives invariably display the true(r) preeminence of one attitude over another. It does not limit uses of the woman's position to an a priori resistance to or complicity with an "orthodoxy" that may itself be split. This restricted notion of ambivalence further limits the ways in which the concept can be applied. ''Ambivalence" as a term of analysis should be read and understood in relation to the historical specificities informing the nondialectical "emotional attitude" which it structures. The concept should not be read as thus similarly applicable across all historical moments, but as responding in variable ways to different historical events and changes. For the purposes of this project, the concept of ambivalence is suggestive and useful for three reasons. Its focus on the ambivalent emotional attitude of an individual subject offers, first, the difficult but crucial opportunity of extending this emotional attitude to specific groups as well as to certain individuals-in this case, to some second- and third-generation men among the New English ministerial elite. While scholars of typology have often

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acknowledged Puritanism's general capacity to link private to public events, the assumption in what follows, shared with scholars discussed below, is that the concept of ambivalence can be used to reveal shared, collective, and competing fantasies of men who not only were, but who also repeatedly constructed themselves as, members of particular generational groups. Second, the concept permits focus on the specific historical and cultural fields within which an ambivalent emotional attitude is produced and with which it is implicated and thus provides support for the claim that ambivalence should not be read as similarly and unproblematically applicable across multiple periods or genres utilizing representations of women's captivity. Finally, in questioning ahistorical assumptions about the meanings of this "emotional attitude;' a historically informed, limited concept of ambivalence also contributes to the rewriting of the idea of New English colonial exceptionalism offered here. My examination of the emotional attitude produced within late seventeenth-century captivity narratives suggests that the colonial male identities implicated within them might not have been undermined, deconstructed, or even, under all circumstances, psychically distressed by, so much as they were sustained by forms of ambivalence particular New Englishmen found expressed in these representations. To what extent could certain colonial men's profoundest sense of being or becoming exceptional-as groups as well as individuals-have been addressed in the distinctive forms and representations of women's captivity narratives? Considering this question turns us from a broad psychological description of ambivalence to the work of an earlier group of scholars of American Protestantism. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s historians like Philip Greven and John Demos analyzed in cross-generational terms continuing and changing features of American Puritanism-examining, for example, church practices, family structure, domestic and public education, and inheritance customs. What emerged in all these studies was a general consensus about how many first- and some older second-generation fathers engendered feelings of helplessness, dependency, suppressed rage, and guilt in colonial sons who came of age in the last half of the seventeenth century. 34 These interpretations of a general second- and third-generation ambivalence toward fathers inform, in different ways, literary interpretations of Puritan sermons and poetry written largely by ministerial elites. Both Emory Elliott and David Leverenz, for example, have read the images and structure of Puritan sermons as expressing filial ambivalence. While their understanding of why the imagery of these sermons changed is different, each scholar nonetheless puts his formal analysis of ambivalence

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into specific historical and generational frames. Elliott argues that secondgeneration ambivalence is largely "resolved" by the third generation at the end of the seventeenth century while Leverenz maintains that the "energizing ambivalence" of the first generation "declines" by the century's end. 35 More recently, feminist critic Ivy Schweitzer has returned to the question of Puritan ambivalence to offer a new reading of Puritan lyric. Drawing specific attention to Puritan ambivalence as gendered, Schweitzer explores how Puritan male poets used culturally constructed images of women to resolve their own conflicts over patriarchal authority. In Schweitzer's reading, the problem of their ambivalence is "solved" in the structure of the Puritan conversion narrative as men move from inhabiting positions represented as feminized humiliation to achieved positions of"sonship" with the father. 36 Schweitzer's reading of Puritan lyric raises the important question of the role played by representations of women in negotiating an ambivalent Puritan male identity. While Leverenz's far more psychoanalytically framed study addresses how different styles of Puritan parenting are expressed in Puritans' sermonic structure and imagery, both his analysis and that of Elliott overlook certain ramifications of Puritan men's appropriations of culturally constructed representations of women. Unlike Schweitzer's largely unhistoricized work on the lyric, however, Leverenz's and Elliot's work on sermons importantly underscores the necessity of interpreting literary representations of ambivalence in their historical dimensions. Indebted to all three scholars, this analysis explores certain second- and third-generation men's uses of women's captivity narratives in relation to particular historical moments of their appearance. The interest here lies less in ultimately claiming that such men's filial ambivalence is allayed, resolved, or declines within these texts, however. This study instead directs attention to reading the multiple identificatory positions toward a variety of objects which representations of female captivity both displayed and allowed to particular Puritan men, and to interpreting these positions in relation to a range of changing outer events. Considering how and why ministers of two New English generations seized upon popular narratives by or about captive women to locate, explore, and sustain their own mixed responses to cultural and political shifts in authority, this inquiry seeks to make a case for the larger historical usefulness of a concept like ambivalence for addressing the differences within and between distinctive colonial situations as well as the exceptional identities shaped in a continuously shifting relationship to them. David Leverenz asks readers to remember that Puritan men and women,

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whether English or American born, whether first, second, or third generation, experienced a variety of emotional attitudes-they were not simply ambivalent. An argument about certain New Englishmen's uses of representations of women's captivity does not deny this useful caveat. What it does consider are the questions of why and how different forms and representations come to display not only different emotions, but even the same emotion differently at different historical moments. Specific political, religious, and social contexts informing the historical appearance and uses of these gendered narratives offer extraordinary insight into their inner workings as texts. At the same time, the inner workings of the captivities themselves, their own interpretive fluidity as representations, also clearly offered their writers and supporters the opportunity to try on a range of complicated identificatory responses to the changing political, religious, and social contexts within and through which these texts are produced. It is in this sense that narratives by and about female captives, rather than serving merely as responses, however complex, to delimited historical phenomena, should be read as themselves related though different forms of that history. The multiple identifications they perform and shape, while exhibiting loyalty and faithfulness to what is variously construed as a traditional vision of authority and legitimacy, simultaneously reveal the doubt, dread, hatred, and desire that sustain and threaten that VlSlOn.

At the end of the seventeenth century, the appearance of religious narratives of women's captivity indicates a felt need on the part of certain colonial New Englishmen for a new, popular, cultural form through which a nontranscendent, nondialectical "yes and no" toward the "fathers" and toward new relations with a changed England can be expressed and maintained. Briefly yet productively shaping and negotiating such men's ambivalent identities, women's captivity narratives offer one means for us newly to raise questions about the relationship between interiority and history.

Summary The contexts explored above can now be constellated around the following set of claims. From the Restoration of 1660 to the Peace of Utrecht of 1713 imperial conflicts over the larger meanings of political legitimacy and authority in Europe both exacerbate and evoke a crisis in cultural identification for some second- and third-generation New English ministers which eventuates in a defensive reworking of their English-born (grand) fathers' original

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"errand:' This defense should not be read simply as a defense of the first generation, however, as a range of scholars has variously maintained. It should also be read as revealing an equal defense against their own desires to change. Three assertions follow from this claim which this study examines through contextually embedded analyses of a specific group of captivity narratives published between 1682 and 1707. First, while their identification with the orthodox woman captive can be variously used to express second- and thirdgeneration men's loyalty to a shared vision of their "fathers'" authority in the face of perceived inner and outer threats to it, both the structure of women's captivity and its representation of the woman's position suggest views about the nature of that authority and about their relation to it that threaten as well as support their views of the "fathers." Second, while identifying with the female captive's position expresses these men's difference from the positions of other internal and external groups-whether Indian, imperial European, or colonial-the interpretive slipperiness of the captive woman's position equally suggests the possibility of their identifying at the same time with other positions, whether to defend the "fathers" or to separate from them. Third, the specific emotional attitude toward the "fathers' " authority and toward renewed identification with European-especially English-authority which is produced and performed by the captivity narratives considered here, follows a nondialectical trajectory and comes to a more or less determinate end. If women's captivity narratives of the late seventeenth century thus give shape to a range of positions informing a sense of personal and collective identity for certain New English male elites, their capacity to do this work-as a discrete form-gradually breaks down. The second chapter of this project argues that Mary Rowlandson's narrative of 1682 should no longer be read simply as a commentary, whether orthodox or resistant, on "King Philip's [Metacom's] War:' Its publication and support by Increase Mather and ministers aligned with him indicate that they also wished to use it to respond to internal (colonial) and external (royal English) challenges to their cultural control of the construction of traditional religious and political authority in Massachusetts. Read in contexts such as Edward Randolph's challenges to the Massachusetts charter and Increase Mather's debates with William Hubbard, the narrative's representations of the passive position of the woman captive, of her relations to her Indian captors, and of her seizure and return could all be mobilized to define and defend a range of older and emergent theological, social, and political readings of the "ways" of the "fathers:' At the same time, as the third chapter argues, when it is read in its relation

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to particular second-generation men's ambivalence toward the first generation, Rowlandson's narrative also supplies its male supporters with reasons for and fantasies about separating from and replacing "fathers" perceived as limiting and constraining their "sons'" authority. Yet strikingly, the ambivalent emotional attitude toward fatherly authority that such men find registered in a woman's text allows them at once to experience and to avoid choosing among old and newer cultural identifications. The ability to express and sustain an ambivalence expressed for elite second-generation men in an orthodox woman's narrative of Indian captivity might suggest a developmental moment culturally in New English male identity making in which the lack of a fixed choice of identification could be at once experienced, tolerated, and, indeed, even desired. But this emotional attitude, however distinctly marked by some third-generation ministers' renewed interest in women's captivity, becomes transformed in their texts. The fourth and fifth chapters of this study examine Cotton Mather's use of the story of Hannah Dustan, who famously bludgeoned and scalped ten of her captors during the opening year of"King William's War." In his fast sermon of 1697, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, Cotton Mather attempts to use the figure of Judea capta-whom Dustan is to represent-as a way of reaffirming a covert New English position in the face of the humiliation and death of the first royal governor under his own father's new charter, the colonial-born Sir William Phips, and the threat of a new English-born governor to come. At the same time, however, his sermon seems equally directed toward blaming other New English men for the colony's current position as humiliated "daughter of Zion." If these international and local aims reveal Mather's renewed use of the representation of the passive female captive to defend his own version of the (grand) "fathers'" "ways," Mather's text also reveals his extraordinarily convoluted attempts to make Hannah Dustan's active position as Indian slayer conform to these ends. As a result of difficulties with the real as well as the represented Dustan, Mather turns, in the sermon's published form, to features of Mary Rowlandson's 1682 narrative to write and then to append the narrative of a more orthodox captive, Hannah Swarton, to Hannah Dustan's story. Swarton's text, dealing with a captivity that occurred in 1690 and possibly written almost entirely by Cotton Mather himself, provides the opportunity for him both to complete his sermon's original political and religious intentions and to contain the story of Hannah Dustan. Through its representation of a newspecifically French Catholic-arena of captivity, Swarton's narrative ostensibly offers Mather a different rhetorical mode of defending the New England

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"fathers," unifying community and defending himself from violent emotions toward both of them aroused by the Dustan narrative. The fifth chapter addresses the question of why Cotton Mather splits off Hannah Dustan's brutal story both from his sermon and from Hannah Swarton's narrative in his Decennium Luctuosum (The Sorrowful Decade)his 1699 history of the Indian wars of the preceding decade. While this oddly secular history appears to be directed to the new royal governor, Lord Bellamont, in order to demonstrate New English loyalty to England's cause against imperial France, it also seems targeted at a wide variety of New English colonials. Read in the double contexts of the history's unremitting focus on the destruction of New English families and of Mather's own execution sermon for Dustan's sister, Elizabeth, who was accused of fornication and infanticide, Hannah Dustan's violence against an Indian "family" becomes indicative of Mather's ambivalent desire not just to compete with other New Englishmen who struggle for the "fathers'" power, but also to move beyond that form of power altogether. While Hannah Dustan's story can thus be used both to defend and to revolt against the by now traditional construction of a New English fatherly authority, it also hints at the need to replace and reinstate authority and legitimacy in the person of a new "father:' The sixth chapter interprets John Williams's The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion and the sermon written concomitantly with it, God in the Camp, as complicated responses to the governorship of Joseph Dudley, the late-born second-generation New Englander who eagerly replaces Lord Bellamont in 1702. Williams's narrative of the male replacement of the female captive appears in the context of growing anger among self-described New English traditionalists over the cultural as well as the political direction of Dudley's governorship. In spite of Dudley's attempts to use Williams's text for his own ends and Williams's own professed gratitude to Dudley for effecting his release, his captivity narrative seems concerned not only with representing the steadfast loyalty of "English" Protestant captives in the face of French Catholic captors, but also with warning and teaching a royal governor who is openly dismissive of his colonial heritage, about appropriately New English cultural modes of reading and acting on current political and social crises. 37 While each of the narratives examined here addresses the literal and metaphorical meanings of the possible seduction of the captive woman, only Williams, the male captive, makes seduction the central obsession not just of his captivity narrative, but of every other text he writes. The possible sexual as well as the religious "seduction" of his daughter Eunice and the momentary

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conversion of his son Samuel by French priests may underlie some of this obsession. At the same time, the vulnerable situation of Williams's children, his son as well as his daughter, appear only to exacerbate a fantasy about the authority of New English "fathers" that is as ongoing as it is rigid. Framing Williams's narrative with an examination of all his published works, the seventh chapter argues that Williams's representation of his textual relegation to, and his identification with, the position of the passive woman captive illustrates how the productive tensions of second-generation men's ambivalence can no longer be sustained by the third generation. Once the "sons' " fantasy of replacing the captive woman in order to maintain their ambivalent relation to the "fathers' " authority becomes manifested, religious captivity representing the passive woman who is taken away, "forced" into relation with other cultural groups, and providentially restored, can not be used, imagined, or written in quite the same way. 38 The literal as well as textual replacement of the orthodox woman by the man in Williams's work thus demonstrates the end of late seventeenthcentury Puritan captivity's capacity as a cultural form to produce and sustain a particular kind of ambivalent male identity. The trajectory of these early captivities, from Mary Rowlandson's narrative through that of John Williams, as they at once express and give shape to certain New Englishmen's responses to historical and political transformations in fatherly authority, is the story that this study sets out to tell. To argue that religious captivity of this kind ends with John Williams is obviously not to claim that captivity narratives do not continue to be written, read, and indeed, as is the case with those considered here, republished. But the desires that other captivities engage can best be understood not by conceiving them as somehow carrying forward a project unwittingly begun as project by Mary White Rowlandson's text, but by reading their structures and their representations of the captive in relation to the particularities and exigencies of their own particular historical moments of writing, editing, prefacing, and publication. Even to the extent that the four texts considered here are republished, they are republished from the vantage point of those looking back and choosing retroactively to read the desires of their own cultural and temporal moments into the textual products of the past. 39 Cotton Mather's ecclesiastical history of New England-Magnalia Christi Americana-the great works of Christ in America-while written throughout the 1690s, is edited and published during the early Dudley years. Many have shown how it takes the shape of a colossal jeremiad, marking in its overarching structure and themes the rise and fall of New England's

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wilderness "errand;' but few have considered the fact that the Magnalia concludes with Mather's addition of Decennium Luctuosum, his history of the Indians wars, to the body of the larger text. The central dramatic thrust of Decennium Luctuosum, representing at it does a series of contacts, conflicts, and captivities, can be argued to lie in the captivity narrative of Hannah Dustan. 40 The coda to this study briefly explores how repositioning Dustan's narrative as an emotional, if not literal, "end" to the entire Magnalia might lead us to reread Cotton Mather's ecclesiastical history as ambivalent, but newly and differently so. Clearly, while the Magnalia claims to honor and defend both first- and second-generation "fathers;' it does so by burying them in a text conceived as their "monument" rather than as an ongoing conversation with them in the present.41 Although his epic seems thus to entomb the authority of the Puritan "fathers" on one level, it reengages the question of male authority in another, imperial scene, the contours of which Mather's generation has watched emerge in the violent European and colonial wars of the "sorrowful decade." Reread in the light of Hannah Dustan's story, the Magnalia's "ending" both supports the theory offered here about colonial men's uses of women's captivity narratives, and points to a transformation in the emotional attitude and the male identity which these adaptable representations had once so productively helped to sustain.

Chapter2

The Sovereignty and Goodness of God in 1682: Mary Rowlandson's Narrative and the "Fathers' " Defense

In February of 1676, during the second year of a continuing war between New English colonials and a combined force of Indians, who sought through one last effort to cripple the colonists and to drive them from their lands, Mary White Rowlandson, the wife of Joseph Rowlandson, minister of the town of Lancaster, Massachusetts, was taken captive by a group of Wampanoag, Nipmuc, and Narragansett Indians. 1 Freed after eleven weeks, she lived in Boston for the next year and there, according to most, composed a narrative of her captivity, which was published four times in 1682, in both Boston and London. Mary Rowlandson's narrative represents in extraordinary detail physical and psychological aspects of her relations to her captors, her experiences in, and increasingly competent responses to, life in the wilderness, and her sorrow over the death of her youngest daughter and the captivities of her remaining children. The narrative is also notable for Rowlandson's frequent attempts to interpret her experience in terms of Puritan theology and for its extensive references to Scripture. Significantly, her text appears within a ministerial frame: a preface, possibly written, certainly supported, by Increase Mather, and her husband's final sermon. Many past studies of Rowlandson's narrative have interpreted it in light of the conflict known to colonists as "King Philip's War:' This chapter seeks instead to direct attention to the text's appropriation and publication six years later. It explores related but alternative dimensions of why-in 1682-an elite woman's text about her Indian captivity becomes directed to interlinked theological, political, and social ends by second-generation ministers loosely aligned with Increase Mather. Reconstructing aspects of such men's attitudes toward England, toward their fathers, and toward other colonial competitors, I suggest that Rowlandson's narrative of her captivity played a role not only in supporting a providential reading of the past Indian war; it also relatedly, and

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perhaps even more importantly, served as an indirect rhetorical salvo in a cultural battle that involved competing beliefs about traditional "New" English versus "royal" English sovereignty in the New World. This salvo was targeted both at external enemies and at colonials viewed as sympathetic to political and cultural change. Strikingly, the publication and republication of Mary Rowlandson's text in 1682 suggests the centrality of gender assumptions in certain second-generation men's shaping and defending of first-generation authority, on the one hand, and in their defining and positioning of internal and external threats to their "fathers;' on the other. A text about an orthodox woman's experience of Indian captivity thus seems to have been intended to defend and to stabilize a particular construction of colonial male identity. This argument, focused largely on a variety of texts surrounding the Rowlandson narrative, may seem a peculiar one for those interested in the much-discussed ambiguities of the text. Yet its findings provide crucial insights into the narrative's inner workings. The intersecting political, theological, and social contexts examined here set up the parameters of a larger cultural text within which both the possible meanings of Rowlandson's captivity and its complications of representation will need to be reassessed.

The "Sovereignty" of God In its full seventeenth-century form, the American title of the narrative published four times in 1682 is: The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, Together with the Faithfulnes of His promises Displayed; Being a Narrative of the Captivity and Restauration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. Commended by her, to all that desires to know the Lords doings to, and dealings with Her. Especially to her dear Children and Relations. Written by Her own Hand for Her private Use, and now made Publick at the earnest Desire of some Friends, and for the benefit of the Afflicted.

The English text, published the same year in London, bears this title: A True History of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, A Minister's Wife in New-England. Wherein is set forth, the Cruel and Inhuman Usage she underwent amongst the Heathens, for Eleven Weeks time: and her Deliverance from them. Written by her own Hand, for her Private Use: And now made publick at the earnest Desire of some Friends, for the Benefit of the Afflicted. 2

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In a recent study of captivity narratives, Gary Ebersole has addressed the differences in these titles, suggesting that an English audience may have been more interested in other stresses in the narrative (its sensationalized truth claims, for example) than an American audience, for whom the text's truths were theologically representative and thus interpretive of more than Rowlandson's individual experience. Ebersole notes that in both instances "The title was the first of several textual elements that were designed to inform their [these different audiences'] subsequent reading of the narrative proper:' 3 Agreeing with Ebersole's general claim, this chapter seeks to push it in a direction illustrating other contexts shaping the narrative's publication. Imperative in this inquiry is the need not only to locate the text's theological intersections with other New English religious genres, as Ebersole and others have done, but also to consider important current conflicts with which its New English title could have resonated for its local supporters. The use and then the abandonment of the focus on "Soveraignty" in the respective Rowlandson titles offers an intriguing example of the text's interplay with such conflicts. As historians have shown, since the restoration of Charles II in 1660, the question of the nature and repercussions of renewed royal sovereignty within the American colonies had been a fraught one, alternately evaded and interrupted by wars in Europe and in New England. In Massachusetts, in 1676, just as "King Philip's War" was ending, the ongoing question of colonial political sovereignty became newly aroused by the presence of the royal agent, Edward Randolph, who arrived in Boston with what seems the particular intention of undermining New England's claims to its own independent forms of economic, political, and religious authority. 4 Equally ominous for colonials in the late 1670s were conflicts over the broader issue of royal sovereignty occurring in England. Both the Popish Plot of 1678 and the Exclusion Crisis of 1679-81 stirred up ongoing fears among New English as well as English dissenters about the succession of an English Catholic King, James, Duke of York, to the throne. Both groups perceived a change in power after the death of Charles II as almost certainly leading to international as well as national suppression of Independents by arbitrary Catholic sovereignty.5 Louis XIV's persecutions of French Protestants only fueled these global anxieties. A 1681 ''Advertisement" for Mary Rowlandson's narrative, appended to a New English edition of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, suggestively links both the famously imprisoned Bunyan's and the captive Rowlandson's narratives to current and possibly forthcoming afflictions, noting, "Before long there will be published two Sermons lately Preach'd from Acts 8.1 and 1Pet. 4.12 shewing

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the Authors, Ends, and Effects of Persecutions ... being very seasonable and profitable to be perused by all those who love their own, and sion's welfare." 6 In 1682, the same year that Rowlandson's narrative appears, prominent Boston ministers Samuel Willard and Increase Mather both publish sermons on the meaning of persecution. Mather, in particular, links possible changes in the New English "sion's" political sovereignty to almost certain religious affliction: And whether the last of Anti-Christ's Persecutions will not reach both Englands, the Lord knoweth. It will be wisdome for us to prepare for it. In England's peace, we shall have peace. That there are special Designs against the Protestant Interest there, we are all assured. Are we ignorant how awfully God has threatened us with Changes among our selves, as if He would pluck up our hedge: and the wild Boar would soon break in upon this vine. If the Lord should be provoked to bring a change upon us as to our Civil State: if that wall of government, which hath hitherto been such a mercy to this people, should be removed, there are three Evils that would quickly follow. Superstition, Prophaneness, and Persecution.... Are there not Contentions? Have not wee been like foolish little Birds pecking at one another until the great Kite be ready to come and devour one as well as another? Of late, God hath let loose Indian Wolves upon us, in part this very sin, no doubt.? This quotation configures several interlinked fears about the loss of colonial sovereignty. Its description of internal contention-the "pecking" "little Birds"-is matched by a description of the loss of the community "vine" by external forces who can break through its "hedge;' "that wall of government;' the charter that has traditionally defined and defended it. In the immediate colonial context, such language warns that these afflicting forces emanate not only from Louis XIV's France, the subject of the sermon, but also, in the climate of the failed efforts of the Successionists, from an England that now will undoubtedly come under the control of another Catholic Stuart. The references to the ''Anti-Christ" and to the "great Kite"-typically applied to Roman Catholicism, not just to France-hint at a coming Armageddon. Finally, turning to a more local reference, Mather parallels these presumptive external attacks with those of the "Indian wolves" of the past war. If colonial contentions have prompted Indian attacks in 1675/6, he suggests, what analogous threats to the "vine" will they call forth in the 168os? Mather's comments about the intersecting loss of colonial political and religious authority unfold within the context of an overarching worry about transformations in English sovereignty. Changes in royal sovereignty abroad clearly evoke long-standing fears about established colonial sovereignty. In the late 1670s and early 168os, in the face of Randolph's unrelenting attacks

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on the legitimacy of the Massachusetts charter, on the one hand, and James Stuart's almost assured accession to the English throne on the other, the use of the term "soveraignty" in Mary Rowlandson's title thus takes on a number of resonances. Politically as well as theologically, it declares Almighty God's divine sovereignty in all human events and at the same time lauds the providential fulfillment of his particular covenant "Promises" to this New English woman and those whom she represents. Reading Rowlandson's New English title as possessing interlinked political and theological nuances adds another plausible reason to Ebersole's claims about why her text was published under a different title in England. In a London where Randolph had recently warned of possible colonial resistance to changes in the Massachusetts charter, the colonial title, so directly focused on how God's sovereignty worked on behalf of His "covenant" with troublesome dissenters too prone to think themselves a "commonwealth;' might have been read as possessing charged associations. By contrast, in the relative safety of Massachusetts, where the text was published and republished during a period of increasing political tensions, the related religious and political resonances surrounding the term "soveraignty" could almost certainly have been desired and exploited. For still powerful ministers to support a text published under this title in Boston in 1682 was thus not merely to offer another providential reading of the war with Metacomet; it was also to offer a warning to those colonials presumed to be interested in royal intervention, and a related, if not so coded, comment about the perennial question of which New English beliefs were most continuous with those of the first-generation "fathers." In the terms of Increase Mather's rhetoric, colonials interested in forms of sovereignty other than those established by the New England fathers become both threatened by and allegorically aligned with royalist English, French Catholics, and Indian "wolves:' The New English title of Rowlandson's narrative thus directs readers' attention to a text concerned to delineate the right understanding of divine sovereignty, one that would also faithfully defend a particular construction of traditional New English readings of the interrelation of religious and political authority.

Sovereignty at Home: Social Reform as Political Position While the difference between Rowlandson's English and New English titles indicates an awareness of differences between certain English and colonial

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audiences, the New English title also seems pointed to differences within a New English audience. The last section of Mather's comment underscores an explicit cause for the external threats looming over the colonists: their own internal contentiousness. While ministerial wrangling occurs over a range of issues during the 1670s and early 168os, running through all of them is the issue of what the relationship of secular to religious authority should be in New England in general and in Massachusetts in particular. In a well-known essay historian Ann Kusener Nelsen has demonstrated how, toward the end of"King Philip's War;' an intense competition for interpretive hegemony emerged between Increase Mather and William Hubbard. 8 Social reform of the community as a whole had become a general ministerial theme in the context of ongoing battles over church membership aroused by the Halfway Covenant of 1662 as ministers sought larger frames within which to define and unify a broader sense of community as well as to maintain their own cultural authority within it. At stake in Mather and Hubbard's implicit debate is the respective roles played by ministers and magistrates in social reform. Nelsen contrasts what she presents as Hubbard's "prudential" view of the magistrates' overarching role in keeping community order through a related policy of limited toleration and the pragmatic exercise of social reforms, on the one hand, to Mather's impassioned defense of "declining old style" beliefs in intolerance and strict punishment for targeted social sin, on the other. While Nelsen mentions how Mather's stridency could be read as playing into the hands of English officials who threaten the Massachusetts charter, she does not probe how Mather and Hubbard's differences over the role of the magistrates in social reform and their apparently conflicting positions on the role of providence in colonial affairs seem more specifically linked to concerns about Massachusetts's continuing political sovereignty. 9 The Mather-Hubbard debate over social reform occurs not only within the context of such threats, but should clearly be read as responding to them. Thus, while Hubbard was probably selected by a majority of the magistrates to deliver an election sermon supportive of their reading of the connection of social reform to divine providence, they also chose him with a political eye toward English reactions to his claims. While The Happiness of a People seems addressed to continuing divisions over the Halfway Covenant as well as to disputes with Baptists or Quakers, it thus appears equally directed to readers such as Edward Randolph, his English patrons and his possible New English supporters. One way of broadly meeting diverse local and international audiences' beliefs about New England's political sovereignty

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would be rhetorically to minimize the more theocratic aspects of New England's political self-understanding and social practice, and instead to focus on a less inflammatory notion of magistrates' reforming responsibilities within an "English" colony. Hubbard accordingly argues that under the law of nature "the end of civil polity or government in the Rule of this world is that men may live peaceably and quietly with one another." Even under the law of the gospel, the "work of Rulers" is "to keep men from doing evil then to compel them to doe good." 10 Arguing that Congregationalists should be wary of compelling men's consciences in minor matters that do not adversely affect the orthodox community as a whole, Hubbard famously calls for a very moderate degree of religious toleration, exercised not only toward those sharing different positions on the Halfway Covenant, but also perhaps, although Hubbard does not speak it, toward Anglicans like Edward Randolph who wished to form an Anglican church in Boston. Certainly, Hubbard does not deny that orthodox magistrates have a right and a duty to support a given form of religion within their communities and to show their support in promoting the religious authority of ministers of their own persuasion-furthering orthodox ministerial education, for example, or calling ministers into synods in the case of religious disputes. At the same time, he points out that such magistrates are not under any civil obligation to enact or enforce any particular ministerial findings about social reform. In support of this claim, Hubbard calls on Philip Nye's (a longtime English friend to many first- and second-generation ministers) "defence of the lawfulness of the Oath of Supremacy, and power of the Civil Magistrates in Ecclesiastical Affairs and the Subordination of Churches thereto:'u While, as T. H. Breen long ago noted, Hubbard's sermon seems intentionally to move attention from political structure as such to the qualities a "godly" ruler must possess, his distinguishing of the civil authority of elected magistrates from the religious authority of ministers implicitly marks both his difference from and criticism of Increase Mather's reading of NewEngland's political structure and suggests his desire to calm possible English criticism of the New English charter. 12 Read in this light, Hubbard's warnings about how "spiritual pride" is undermining the community and his rebuke to the Massachusetts deputies in which he cautions them "not to get into such a false conceit of liberty (in electing or keeping commonwealth) as may end in the ruine of both Electors and Elected" should be read as a pointed reminder about the political repercussions of their behaviors for all New Englanders.13 Hubbard's more expansive reading of divine Providence in this sermon,

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in which he argues against reading any clear providential equation between the war just ending and specific colonial sins, afflictions, or blessings, might also be read, in part, as a considered rhetorical ploy as much as a theological claim: "We must not lye for God, and need be careful we doe not entitle divine Providence to the mistakes of our minds, and make God speak by his providence, which never entred into his heart. Of many outward changes it is most certain that we can know neither love nor hatred thereby:' 14 In contrast to Nelsen, who views Hubbard as a protorationalist, Michael Winship has argued that Hubbard, in contrast to the more extreme position of Increase Mather, presents a fair example of a moderate providentialist. While The Happiness ofa People suggests that both affliction and grace may stem from varying hidden intentions on the part of the divine Father, Winship argues not only that elsewhere in Hubbard's writings, but also in this very sermon, Hubbard still reveals his belief in New England's special providential status. 15 The more open readings of God's providential intentions that Hubbard offers in his election sermon, preached as it was in 1676, with Edward Randolph already in Boston, thus seem in part another rhetorical tactic directed both to New Englanders who were sympathetic or unsympathetic with Hubbard's views about tlle relation of particular behaviors to divine interventions (and the appropriate response of civil authorities to such claims), and, as Winship notes, indirectly to readers of such interpretations from abroad. The suggestion that Hubbard was appealing to several audiences is particularly pertinent to his sermon's ending. The Happiness of a People famously closes with an impassioned plea for "charity" as that which will bring order to a contentious community. In so doing, Hubbard is quite obviously making reference to John Winthrop's 1630 lay sermon, A Modell of Christian Charity, in which Winthrop similarly lays out a vision of social harmony and discusses the special grounding of the new Massachusetts community in love. While Hubbard's dual focus on social order and charity refers his audience and his readers to the work of first-generation founders like Winthrop, however, his particular rendering of charity calls for a limited civil tolerance of diverse religious beliefs and groups pointedly absent from Winthrop's text. In thus indirectly citing Winthrop even while changing him, Hubbard seems to warn his own community that the Massachusetts colony can maintain certain features of its original chartered structure only as it allows for the possibility of certain historically expedient transformations within that structure. To read Hubbard in this manner is not to position him as a prudent protorationalist; it is rather to reveal his role as a moderate member of the

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ministerial elite who viewed his claims about the respective roles of ministers and magistrates in the arena of social reform as equally, if differently, defending the Massachusetts charter at this historical moment. As is well known, however, Increase Mather does not share this reading and in attacking it displays not only his disagreement with Hubbard about the nature of the charter and the causes of threats to it, but also about the relation of any changes in his understanding of the charter's structure to changes in the selfunderstanding of the New England community as a whole. While Mather, like Hubbard, is interested in addressing an English as well as a New English audience, his concern is clearly with demonstrating to dissenters of all kinds the ongoing specialness (even in conditions of sin and affliction) of the New English system. 16 In both his Earnest Exhortation (1676) and particularly his own election sermon, A Discourse Concerning the Dangers ofApostasy (preached 1677, published 1685), Mather argues for the Massachusetts charter's grounding in a peculiar relationship of magistrates, deputies, ministers and "people" that cannot be bent or expanded without being broken. Both sermons elaborate his belief that a particular understanding of the "Kingdom of God" is written into Massachusetts's civil Constitution. Not only should Rulers be "men of God" under our "Civil Polity;' argues Mather, but "Laws in the Commonwealth should be regulated by the Word of God, that so the Lord Jesus may reign here." 17 And who is to interpret the Word of God in order that laws most suited to maintaining a godly social order may be so established? Godly ministers, both individually and in synods. And who is responsible for so implementing these interpretations? Civil magistrates duly elected by the people's representatives. In a possible response to Hubbard's reference to the English Nye, Mather points to New England's own Jonathan Mitchell's claim that "there is much of the Kingdome of Christ is in our Civil Constitution." 18 In his election sermon, Mather exhaustively ranges through biblical and Reformation history to prove his claims both about the divinely mandated relation of civil and religious authorities and to point to the destruction of those magistrates and the people led by them who refuse to follow the reformist social recommendations of their prophets. In so doing, he directly and indirectly links magisterial intransigence to the downfall of those who support even a very moderate form of toleration. Not only social sins, but such sins construed in the light of changes in the proper relation of religious to political authority will lead the Lord to "discovenant" and "unchurch" His People. While those individuals within the inner "covenant of grace;' will

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survive such actions, "they that are externally in Covenant may cease to be the Lord's visible people:' 19 Mather's Discourse asserts that the first generation's patent cannot be tampered with; it is too linked to a particular religious understanding to allow for any change in the interlinked roles of magistrate and minister in the arena of social reform. If the people's elected magistrates do not fulfill what Mather views as at once their chartered and their scripturally mandated obligations to support orthodox ministers by enforcing the measures recommended by the synods they themselves call, then the community as a whole will be destroyed. Hubbard's apparendy more open reading of God's providence in The Happiness of a People is of a piece, for Mather, with what he represents as the other minister's support for a religious toleration that threatens both colonial political "liberty" and social reform. However orthodox Hubbard's providentialism may be, it is clearly vitiated, in Mather's texts, by Hubbard's acknowledgment in an election sermon of any need for religious tolerance on the part of New English magistrates. Mather's own targeted readings of divine Providence's role in New England correspond to his unwavering stress on the necessity of intolerance. Indeed, Mather's readings of the explicit connection between divine anger and a variety of natural and social punishments serve as his primary defense of the Massachusetts charter. God's anger at the community's refusal to reform its sins, as evidenced in the more negative exercises of His providence-war, disease, social competition and social contention themselves-paradoxically supports Mather's version of the special interplay of magisterial and ministerial duties in New England. The magistrates are calling religious, political, and social ruin down on their people by not enforcing their own reforming laws. In laying out these arguments, both Hubbard and Mather claim to further the "ways" of the first generation. Far more direcdy than Hubbard, Mather lards his sermons with direct and indirect references to the "fathers:'20 Still, both preachers, quite obviously, are involved in a struggle to construct and deploy a reading of New England's "traditions" in the face of the looming fact of almost certain political changes forced from abroad. For Hubbard, Mather and his allies' intransigence (their "spiritual pride") may well destroy not only New England's current political basis, but also its political future. For Mather, what he presents as Hubbard's expedient toleration, by altering the nature of the community's internal social relations, will implode the "liberties" of the New England of the "fathers" from within. In

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even hinting that Edward Randolph or other nonorthodox believers be allowed not only to believe in the manner they choose, but also to build a "temple" for themselves, New Englanders like Hubbard and implicitly Governor John Leverett devalue the shared religious principles which John Winthrop had argued could alone create and legitimate a new form of community among English colonials of different social orders. For Mather, instead of solving the problem of internal social contentions, they will only unleash violent new forms of them. Given such differences, it is striking that the "sins" the two ministers decry within the community are so similar. As Nelsen points out, both men attack the prevalence of "land hunger" and "worldliness" newly unleashed at the war's end. 21 Yet, as our discussion has indicated, even these similarities should be read as stemming from alternative interpretations of New England's past, present, and future course of political and social action. For Hubbard, social reform of such sins will not simply support particular ministerial aims; it will also promote the civil harmony demanded at a given historical situation. For Mather, in contrast, social reform will uphold what he calls the "liberties" of an orthodox religious community faithful to what magistrates and ministers together construct as the "ways" of the "fathers." Nelsen describes how William Hubbard's positions on social reform, providence, and the New England political order momentarily yield to Increase Mather's growing cultural power in the late 167os. 22 Crucial for Mather at this moment, Governor John Leverett, the canny supporter of mild Hubbardian tolerance and New England's chartered rights, dies in 1679 and is replaced by Simon Bradstreet, an older and seemingly more orthodox member of the New English elite. At the same time, in the heat of the Exclusion Controversy, Edward Randolph is momentarily called back to London. In 1679, at the suggestion of an English friend and with the support of most of the prominent ministers in the Boston area, Increase Mather presides over New England's third and last major synod-the Reforming Synod. Significantly called by Governor Bradstreet, the Synod pointedly confirms Mather's version of the social causes and nature of God's continuing punishment of New England and suggests the means of reforming New England's sins. Yet in spite of Mather's ascendancy and the clearly orthodox thrust of the Synod as a whole, simmering political and social differences revealed by the implicit debate with Hubbard do not disappear. A newly empowered Randolph returns to New England in 1680 and again in 1681; but, even without Randolph's machinations, Massachusetts has itself become more openly

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divided over the issue of what changes in political sovereignty will mean to the colony. As Michael Hall and others have shown, several different colonial positions, albeit with perpetually shifting contours, are emergent in Massachusetts by the late 1670s and early 168os. While scholars have disputed their fixity, one might be called loosely and inconstantly royalist, another is initially more moderate in its view of English political and economic interests, and another, whether initially or as a result of perceived provocation from abroad, is more traditionalist. Before the threat of such political splitting, what are ministers like Increase Mather and others ministers promoting the religious linkage of social reform to the Massachusetts charter to do? 23 Cultural historian Richard Gildrie has offered insight into particular ministerial responses to the accelerated social and economic transformations of this postwar period, analyzing orthodox ministers' attempts to retain interpretive control of the meaning of these changes-and thus to contain perceived social fragmentation-through a renewed stress on older and newer rituals of church organization. 24 Gildrie notes how during this period covenant renewals, a practice in which churches as a whole were formally asked to "renew" their traditional covenant beliefs and obligations as church members, whether membership was full or "halfway;' became increasingly used as means of linking personal to communal piety and, as such, were seen as instrumental in encouraging a sense of community around ministers' ongoing reform agendas. Similarly, more numerous days of humiliation and fast days were called in order to serve as unifying occasions for highlighting the Synod's stress on the relationship among sins, punishments, and social reforms. 25 Older work by Perry Miller and T. H. Breen significantly intersects with that of Gildrie by arguing that in the late 1670s and early 168os both moderate and traditionalist ministers began to direct measures like covenant renewals and rituals of humiliation and fasting to political ends as well. Unifying rituals, particularly covenant renewals, not only enabled these ministers to pursue their own interest in defending the ways of the fathers and expanding their reformist attacks on old and newer social sins, but also, implicitly, helped them to construct a quasi-political position for their churches counter to that of magistrates or ministers with whom they disagreed. Scholars have long read these rituals as part of a larger cultural war created and waged by certain orthodox ministers for a popular New English selfunderstanding no longer necessarily dependent on magisterial support.26 Increase Mather's famous 1681 call for a collection of providences must surely be read in the light of ministerial desires to connect ritual practices to political as well as social goals. Like covenant renewals and ritual days of

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atonement, a collection of marvelous providences would be used, both directly and indirectly, to shape a particular traditionalist case for God's special interest in the continuing fortunes of English dissent in New England. After all, Mather purportedly discovered the proposal for such a collection in the papers of radical first-generation "father;' John Davenport, whose attacks on the Halfway Covenant Increase had earlier defended against his own father, Richard. The next chapter explores Mather's break with Davenport. It is nonetheless significant here to suggest that Davenport's famous position as first-generation minister and defender of the more theocratic principles of New English governance continued to resonate not only in Mather's 1681 decision finally to gather such a collection, but also in his own and other ministers' increasing focus on the nature and meanings of"providence" throughout the early 168os. While Mather's edited collection, An Essay for the Recording of Illustrious Providences, and his own collection of sermons on providence, The Doctrine of Divine Providence Opened and Applied, appear in 1684, they are preceded by the publication of the recently deceased Urian Oakes's Sovereign Efficacy of Divine Providence in 1682, by three Mather works variously exploring the providential significance of comets, and, most notably for this discussion, by four (three New English, one English) editions of Mary Rowlandson's

The Sovereignty and Goodness ofGod. 27

Situating Mary Rowlandson's Narrative The publication and republication of Rowlandson's popular captivity narrative, usually ignored or minimalized in analyses of this kind, can now be set in its relation to the religious, social, and political contexts just described. Ministerial support for the publication of an orthodox woman's narrative should be read as part of an evolving strategy that included not only a particular interpretation of the Indian war, but also a reading of that war in its connection to the unstable contexts of the early 168os. The Rowlandson text is caught up in a shifting and ongoing cultural debate-comprising fears of internal and external changes-about the continuing political and religious sovereignty of the Massachusetts colony. No clear proof exists of Increase Mather's authorship of the anonymous preface to Mary Rowlandson's text. Still, his long-standing friendship with Joseph Rowlandson and the fact that the preface, Mary Rowlandson's narrative, and Joseph Rowlandson's concluding jeremiad all offer certain traditionalist readings of the war, of providence, and of divine sovereignty

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strongly suggest Mather's hand in the narrative's publication. That the '~d­ vertisement" for the narrative appears in the same year as his own call for a collection of providences also suggests Mather's growing realization that the printed narrative of the providential redemption of a famous captive could perhaps serve to whet popular interest in his own collection. Thus, in addition to the text's characteristic themes and frames, the printing history of the narrative also suggests Mather's influence: the Boston (first) edition is published under the aegis of Mather and Joseph Rowlandson's friend, Judge Samuel Sewall, who briefly assumed direction of the Boston press (with Bartholomew Green Jr. as its new printer) in 1681. When the first edition proved so popular, suggests Zabelle Derounian, the second (and third) Cambridge editions are set by Green's father, Bartholomew Green Sr. Finally, given Mather's status in Boston as primary guide, spokesperson and writer for the 1679/80 Reforming Synod, it seems evident that this text, written as it was by a woman, could not have been published without his very conscious support. 28 That Rowlandson's captivity narrative is intended to express the specific position of those claiming a particular kind of adherence to the "fathers" is born out in comments made in the preface, in Joseph Rowlandson's jeremiad, and in the body of Mary Rowlandson's text itself. Consider the wellknown defense of Mary Rowlandson by reference to Joseph Rowlandson in the anonymous preface: I hope by this time none will cast any reflection upon this gentlewoman on the score of this publication of her affliction and deliverance. If any should, doubtless they may be reckoned with the nine lepers, of whom it is said, "Were there not ten cleansed, where are the nine?" but one returning to give God thanks. Let such further know that this was a dispensation of public note, and of universal concernment, and so much the more, by how much the nearer this gentlewoman stood related to that faithful servant of God, whose capacity and employment was public in the house of God, and his name on that account of a very sweet savor in the churches of Christ. 29

Often and accurately read as an attempt to justify the publication of a woman's text, this comment should also be understood in the context of Increase Mather and Samuel Willard's relationships to Joseph Rowlandson. While Joseph Rowlandson died in 1678, features of his public life and preaching connect him to the reformers seeking to define the future political and social directions of the colony. As Robert Diebold has noted, Joseph Rowlandson served as one of the ministerial mediators in the bitter Third Church controversy, which involved the separation of those supporting the Halfway Covenant from the resistant First Church of Boston in the late

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166os.30 Historians have examined how religious conflict over church membership and the proper relationship of pastor to congregation nearly split the colony politically as well as theologically when a large number of the deputies defied the magistrates and supported the anti-Halfway Covenant position of John Davenport, who had accepted the position of pastor at the First Church under doubtful circumstances. The conflict remained unresolved well into the 167os and beyond, but became less publicly disruptive in part because major players on the opposing sides-John Davenport of New Haven and Richard Mather of Dorchester, who supported the Halfway Covenant-died in the midst of it, and because other actors, especially Increase Mather, came to change their positions on it. Strikingly, the name of Increase Mather appears with that of Joseph Rowlandson on the list of Third Church mediators. Their roles in this mediation and their own subsequent connections to the Third Church (which took in the entire Rowlandson family after the children's release) suggest a shared realization by Mather and Joseph Rowlandson that the new mode of church membership could and should be made commensurate with a new interpretation of the "ways" of the first generation. 31 That Rowlandson possibly shared Mather's position on the relation of ministerial to political authority is further suggested by his call to the Wethersfield Church after the war. The Wethersfield Church was well known to be associated with a number of ministers, all of whom, despite their differences, were recognized as "orthodox:' sometimes even defiant, supporters of the theocratic beliefs of the first generation. For example, it was a former minister of Wethersfield, John Russell, who sheltered the "regicides" Edward Whalley and William Goffe, when he was minister at Hadley. Gershom Bulkeley, the Wethersfield minister whom Joseph Rowlandson replaced, was the son of prominent first-generation father, Peter Bulkeley, and, like Rowlandson and Mather, had also served on a committee mediating disputes over the Halfway Covenant. A disillusioned theocrat, suggests Perry Miller, by the late 168os, Bulkeley was later to leave the ministry and support what he saw as the divinely granted sovereignty of the king! Still, his calling to Wethersfield indicates his initial earlier support for more traditional New English readings of the relation of political to religious authority. Such noteworthies as Samuel Willard and Joseph Rowlandson both participated in Bulkeley's ordinationY For the anonymous preface writer thus to invoke Joseph Rowlandson, to defend publication of his wife's text, and to append Joseph Rowlandson's final jeremiad to her text, indicates a desire to align both Rowlandsons with a specific position on intersecting religious, political, and social issues emerging in the early 168os.

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Joseph Rowlandson's own sense of conflicts reemerging in the immediately postwar period comes through quite strongly in his final jeremiad of 1678, preached significantly on a Day of Atonement called for by orthodox ministerial social reformers and proclaimed by the Commissioners of the United Colonies as a whole throughout New England. Rowlandson's jeremiad not only makes indirect reference to the past war and the experiences of his family, but also supports Increase Mather's reading of the war and of God's continuing displeasure with New England over and against the reading of ministers like William Hubbard and his magisterial supporters, especially Governor John Leverett. Particularly notable is Rowlandson's opening of his text from Jeremiah 23:33: ''And when this People, or the Prophet, or a Priest, shall ask thee, saying, What is the burden of the Lord thou shalt then say unto them, What burden? I will even forsake you, saith the Lord." 33 In opening this text, Rowlandson sets it in the context of the text just preceding it, in which the prophet admonishes false "Pastors" and "Prophets:' In the text now at hand, argues Rowlandson, the Lord "proceeds from the head Rulers, to the people that were seduced by them:' Jeremiah then "enters upon new matter: this People, or the prophane sort of them, whom the False Prophets had seduced, to which he joyns the Prophet, and the Priest, in that they were alike prophane." 34 Joseph Rowlandson does not hesitate to imply that the Lord will punish certain "prophane" groups, not the whole people, while at the same time noting the form the punishment will take: "I will even forsake you, saith the Lord: a burden heavy enough, and you are like to feel it so ere long, heavy enough to break your Backs, to break your Church, and your Common-wealth, and to sink your haughty Spirits." 35 Delivered in 1678, it seems clear that Rowlandson is referring not only to the past war or to the fate of Lancaster, but also to continuing magisterial, ministerial, and lay intransigence in the face of ministerial calls for social reform. Just as Hubbard had earlier warned of spiritual "pride" on the part of reformers, so here Rowlandson turns the tables and admonishes the "haughty Spirits" in the "Church" and "Commonwealth" who fail to support reform. Friend and supporter of Mather and Willard, Rowlandson clearly uses his jeremiad to suggest the separation of those sharing his beliefs from the "prophane" position of certain other ministers, magistrates, and "People:' Preached in 1678, but published in 1682, and then in conjunction with his famous wife's narrative, Rowlandson's jeremiad seems clearly meant by those who published it to support orthodox ministerial readings of the relationship of social reform to the colony's continuing political sovereignty.

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Finally, of course, there are suggestive comments within Mary Rowlandson's text itself pointing to the fact that there are those who have attempted or who will attempt to discredit her claims. Famously, she declares at the end, "I have been in the midst of those roaring lions, and savage bears, that feared neither God, nor man, nor the devil, by night and day, alone and in company: sleeping all sorts together, and yet not one of them ever offered me the least abuse of unchastity to me in word or action. Though some are ready to say I speak it for my own credit, but I speak it in the presence of God and to His Glory." 36 Scholars have read this comment in relation to Rowlandson's desire to prove that she was not raped in the wilderness, to the ignorance of broader Algonquin customs that such an assumption on her part expressed, and to her equal desire to address apparent gossip surrounding her return. In the context just sketched, this comment and others in the text in which the narrator defends herself from whispers that she has not in fact reformed-(claims that she still smokes tobacco, for example)-deserve some further attention. Read in the light of the disputes explored above, one additional reason for slanders about Rowlandson's own failure to "reform;' may have involved a desire to discredit the orthodox group to which she belonged. If such social discrediting suggests her (or their) hypocrisy, it also thereby hints at an unwillingness to accept the narrative's claims that Rowlandson's experience is somehow exemplary of that of a whole community. Far from suggesting colonial unity, the Rowlandson narrative's terse comments about "those" who socially discredit her, suggest both the social spillover of the conflict about New England's future directions earlier expressed in the Mather-Hubbard debate and the current role that Rowlandson's text was ideally to play in addressing renewed contentions. With the joint appearance of the anonymous preface, Mary Rowlandson's narrative, and Joseph Rowlandson's jeremiad in 1682, ongoing disputes like that over the Halfway Covenant and more current disputes over the interrelations of providential will, social sin, and community reform are brought forward to resonate in a rapidly destabilizing political context. Authorized by its position between two clearly orthodox spokesmen, Rowlandson's captivity narrative evidences certain traditionalists' desire to demonstrate the connection between a particular exemplary group within New England and the fatherly authority of their "Soveraign" God by demonstrating explicit instances of His providence to a woman who represents their position. In 1682, furthermore, her text will not simply defend older interpretations of "King Philip's War;' it will also implicitly address current debates over "Sion's" political future.

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Whereas such comments shed light on the question of the text's relationship to the interests of particular ministers, however, they do not directly address questions about why a woman's text was used to promote such interests. Certainly, Mary Rowlandson literally underwent captivity and, as Joseph Rowlandson's wife, she belonged to a ministerial group that felt culturally threatened by the prospect of political change. While these are salient reasons for publishing her text, other related questions suggest themselves. To what extent could such ministers have been interested not only in Mary Rowlandson's actual authorship, but also in her representation of a captive woman? What kinds of ends might a specific representation of female captivity have served by the early 168os?

The Woman's "Place" Historians have pointed out that the jeremiadic concern with constructing and idealizing the ways of the first-generation fathers increased dramatically in the post-1676 period. Sacvan Bercovitch has nuanced this argument by suggesting that the jeremiads also change after "King Philip's War": they take individual and communal passivity as both their subject and their method. 37 Given Mary Rowlandson's fame as a captive, certain traditionalists could promote her text as an especially useful representation of the appropriate position to take in the face of competing authorities, whether that of the first -generation fathers, that of the Indians, or, in a newer context, that of the English or French. In the face of internal and external challenges to their readings of the relation of religious to political authority, a representation of a passive woman in captivity offered a site where the ongoing sovereignty of the fathers' "ways" could be dramatically displayed and defended. The overarching structure of Rowlandson's captivity narrative-its movement from affliction to providential restoration-and the defining characteristics of the woman captive who undergoes this movement-passivity, humility, dependence, and obedience-would concretely demonstrate as no jeremiad could a relation between historically specific behaviors and divine intervention. As growing ministerial awareness of the power of popular print culture suggests, this structure and s/he whose characteristics define it became a means of widely disseminating and popularizing their version of male as well as female colonial identity in the face of perceived threats. Annette Kolodny long ago pointed out that New English ministers usually preferred to turn to women's rather than men's captivities because

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women as examples of vulnerability provided more compelling theological object lessons than men. 38 Read in the terms of the contexts examined here, a related but slightly different reason behind the focus on women's narratives emerges: the part played by the reading of women's position in Puritan social structure. An attack on Rowlandson is not simply personal, nor is it simply communal; it represents an attack on the Puritan family. To remove Joseph Rowlandson's yoke-fellow is to remove a position that helps maintain that structure. The Puritan family was patriarchally organized with each member interpreted as playing different roles within a particular form of hierarchy. As Edmund Morgan describes it: "The essence of the social order lay in the superiority of husband over wife, parents over children, and master over servants, ministers and elders over congregation in the church, rulers over subjects in the state." 39 To take Rowlandson captive, then, and to take her children from her, was not to be read as simply disrupting the family, but as disrupting a particular chain of subordinations and thus, in its larger application, as disrupting a particular kind of social organization. In disrupting this organization, Rowlandson's captors were also forcibly breaking the covenant which she and Joseph, as a married couple, had made. For while such subordinations were presumed to exist "naturally;' they were also reinforced in the civil and social sphere through the voluntary entry into covenants that expressed them. Not only is a natural/social order disrupted when a woman is taken captive, then, but the covenant/contract she and her husband have entered into-to perform the prescribed duties of this relationship-is broken as well. From this point, it is easy to move, as Cotton Mather does in a representative comment, to an assumed relation among the marriage covenant, the church covenant, and the state covenant. The family is "the very First Society that by the Direction and providence of GOD, is produced among the Children of Men."40 All other social institutions follow from the family: when it is attacked and taken captive, so, analogically, are they. Such structural anxieties were particularly marked during and after "King Philip's War;' not simply in response to the massive casualties and displacements of that war, but also in the face of newer local and international challenges to the social order. This anxiety becomes evident when one considers that a new group of officers, the tithingmen, was established between 1675 and 1679 "for the purpose of inspecting and re-enforcing family government:'41 Whereas colonial selectmen and constables had observed family governance before the war, increased fears about social disorder in the postwar

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period called for the establishment of even more official male overseers of familial as well as general civil order. The Reforming Synod of 1679/So backed up and expanded the language of the postwar "blue laws" when it determined that New England's social, natural, and political disasters, both past and present, sprang from bad family governance: And many Householders who profess Religion, doe not cause all that are within their gates to become subject unto good order as ought to be. Ex.20.10. Nay, children and Servants that are not kept in due Subjection; their Masters, and Parents respectively, being sinfully indulgent to them. This is a sin which brings great Judgments, as we see in Eli's and David's family. In this respect, Christians in this Land, have become too like unto the Indians, and then we need not wonder if the Lord hath afflicted us by them. Sometimes a sin is discerned by the Instrument that Providence doth punish us with. Most of the Evils that abound amongst us, proceed from defects as to Family government. 42 Family structure provided a model for other kinds of covenanted relationships, religious and civil, and its disruption by an "Indian" indulgence was represented as analogous to a variety of other pre- and postwar indulgences marked by the Synod, including the wearing of finer European apparel by servants than their status warranted, an increase in the "English" vices of drinking and swearing, and, crucial for the ministers, the feverish quest for "Land, and worldly Accomodation" (especially on newly conquered Indian lands) without a settled ministry. In the terms of the Synod, all such evils, whether traditional or new, whether deriving from an "Indian" derangement of order or from a related attraction to Old World cultural and economic practices and excesses, could be "cured" by more rigorous family discipline. 43 Read in such contexts, Mary Rowlandson's social position as a captive woman suggests several ministerial ends. On the one hand, the forced removal of a woman by outsiders could be read as a threat to all the interlocking forms of a covenantally sanctioned social and political order inherited from the first-generation fathers. The familial breakdown represented in Rowlandson's captivity could be used as a powerful rhetorical incentive to unify the churches, if not the magistrates, not only against future Indian attacks, but also against possible outside interventions of the English Crown or Catholic France. When the woman captive is menaced, the entire social structure that her position as woman upholds is likewise threatened. On the other hand, as both the Synod's comments and the creation of the tithingmen's position suggests, the causes of the captive's removal from

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the social order are not simply to be blamed on outsiders, whether Indian or European. Mather's collected sermons on providence, The Doctrine of Divine Providence Opened and Applied (1684) replicate the same logic used in the above quote from the Synod: social sin is often punished by something akin to it. Typically, the third sermon proclaims: "That the Providence of God does wonderfully suit his Judgements according to what the sins of men have been:' 44 In 1682, a threat to the continuity of a colonial Puritan patriarchal order is likewise best represented for those who supported Rowlandson's narrative precisely because her captivity as captivity points to the sins already being committed within the community. Just as the colony's structure is threatened from the outside by captivity, so too, is a captivity, a breakdown of structure, occurring on the inside. The affliction God sends matches the sin; external punishments simply match internal disruptions of the sanctioned order. An affliction taking the shape of a removal of the woman from her subordinate position matches a corresponding breakdown of social hierarchies and social distinctions already occurring within the community. Rowlandson's position as a captive woman removed from her place in the social structure could be used by reformers simultaneously to highlight both the threats to the structure from without and its breakdown from within. While it could be used to give dramatic embodiment to particular ministerial readings of the causes and effects of Rowlandson's and the community's "captivity;' however, her narrative was clearly also intended to represent possible ways out of captivity as well as the causes and repercussions of it. Like the covenant renewals and the ritual days of humiliation and fasting that proliferated in the later 1670s and early 168os, Rowlandson's text offered not only a representation of threats to the community's identity, but also a representation of the appropriate position to occupy in reestablishing and securing such identity. 45 Removed from the social and cultural structure that gave her meaning and threatened from without by Indians, English, and French because of her inner removal from her community's own structure, the captive woman ideally demonstrates her own inability to do anything to restore herself. She must simply exhibit the appropriate female qualitiespassivity, obedience, humility, and dependence-and trust in the providential God of the fathers to restore her. Her restoration and that of her community to its original structure, and thus to its original relationship with divine sovereignty, could come only out of her nonactivity. As Amanda Porterfield and Ivy Schweitzer have demonstrated, Puritan assumptions about gender draw upon specific distinctions in the social realm

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that become blurred in the spiritual realm. While in the secular world each gender is ascribed certain qualities and duties, in the spiritual world all of God's "saints" exhibit qualities that draw on the representation of the pious woman, the bride or spouse of Christ. 46 Inhabiting a position granting them power and authority over women, children, and servants in the world, men thus equally inhabit the submissive position of women before God. The Rowlandson representation of the passive female captive is thus an old religious means, both in the history of Christianity, and in the history of Puritanism, of displaying the spiritual stance that men as well as women should take in the face of natural and social afflictions. As such, her position as woman becomes useful not solely because it represents a breakdown of traditional social norms in the secular world, but also because it also offers a spiritual position with which men as well as women should identify. What is suggested here complicates such generalizations about the spiritual representativeness of female piety and affliction in historically compelling ways. In 1682, the representation of the passive female captive is deployed by particular second-generation ministers not only as proof for a providential reading of a past Indian war, but also as an agent equally useful for interpreting the meaning of probable English intervention and for organizing responses to it. So read, part of the intention in supporting and publishing Mary Rowlandson's narrative was for the implicit and explicit aid it could provide in the hoped-for organization of the New England churches in the face of external intervention. In addition, as consideration of internal colonial debate has suggested, her text was also to support particular ministerial attempts to castigate and not so covertly to challenge those within New England who, on whatever level, were perceived as responsive to changes in the "traditional" relation of political and religious sovereignty. In both instances, the female passivity that all share in the face of divine sovereignty in the spiritual world here becomes for orthodox social reformers a quasi-political means to explain perceived threats to the "ways" of the first generation "fathers" and their sovereign God in the secular realm as well. Far from simply "explaining" such threats, moreover, the dramatic representation of the captive woman powerfully enforces the local necessity for colonial men to take on the female position, to actively seek to identify with a sanctioned kind of passivity. Lending strength to the traditionalist reading of the fathers' "ways" being ritually promoted in crescendoing numbers of covenant renewals and days of humiliation, the submissive, obedient, passive female captive provides the providentially appropriate position for colonial

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men to inhabit in the face of theological, political, even literal conflicts with the English "Babylon" similar to those their fathers had confronted in the English Civil WarsY

Conclusion Were we simply to stop at this point, a different argument might be made for why certain New English ministers appropriate an orthodox woman's representation of a female captive during the early 168os. In the face of growing internal and external threats to their continuing interpretive authority within a changing colonial culture as a whole, ministers like Increase Mather, Samuel Willard, and others come to support the publication of Mary Rowlandson's text because it is written by the wife of one who shared their reading of the interrelation of politics, religion, and social reform in New England, and because of the power of its representation of the passive woman in captivity. They eagerly seize upon (and republish) Mary Rowlandson's popular print narrative to explore and to explain anew the nature of the threats confronting Massachusetts and to encourage belief in a particular solution to them. While the displacement of a woman from a community structure importantly represents inside as well as outside threats to that community's structure, the representation of a woman's submissiveness, obedience, and humility in the face of such deserved afflictions also offers a model with which colonial men could identify in actively supporting (and thus justifying) some "original" structure. The restoration of the passive female captive would serve two interrelated ends: on multiple levels it would signify both the restoration of the ministers' version of colonial sovereignty in the face of alternatives and the concomitant redemption of their interpretation of New English male identity in the face of challenges by other men. In the light of other complications posed by ministerial appropriation of Mary Rowlandson's text, this persuasive point of closure must be at once acknowledged, resisted, and opened anew. Mary Rowlandson's text does provide a striking means for certain men of Increase Mather's generation to define, defend, and ascribe to themselves the authority and legitimacy of the first-generation "fathers" during a period of political and cultural transformation. At the same time, the much-debated conflicts her text represents seem to point to such men's equally powerful identification with different attitudes toward their first-generation fathers and toward change. As the next

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chapter will argue, the ambivalence performed in an orthodox woman's text suggests reasons for the support for Rowlandson's captivity that at once uphold and challenge the filial loyalties and traditionalist claims of ministers who promoted its publication. Exemplary in ways we have not entirely explored, Mary Rowlandson's text inscribes and mediates the mixed identifications through which a distinctive colonial male identity is momentarily shaped and sustained in New England at the end of the seventeenth century.

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Deference and Difference: Female Captivity and Male Ambivalence

My soul was upon this, I confess, very impatient and outrageous. -The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 12th remove God did not leave me to have my impatience work against himself, as if His ways were unrighteous. -The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 13th remove

Ministerial support for Mary Rowlandson's captivity narrative in this period points to a political, social, and cultural defense of the Englishborn first generation that will promote and sustain certain second-generation men's power and legitimacy by helping them to frame outside threats, chastise inner challengers, and even to organize for action against both. Yet, comprehensive as it may appear, this reading fails to provide a culturally satisfactory understanding of particular second-generation ministers' attraction for the representation of the woman captive. To complicate this attraction one need only point to their own awareness of other difficulties involved in rhetorically yoking their own (and their community's) self-representation to a woman. While, as the first chapter argued, the position of the passive and obedient woman could be used to indicate the spiritual position all should take before a punishing God, the cultural unruliness and duplicity traditionally ascribed to the woman's position could also call for controlling measures as various as Joseph Rowlandson's public arraignment of Mary Gates, the Lancaster woman who harassed him, and his representation in his deathbed jeremiad of the unfaithful soul as an adulteress fleeing to other lovers the moment her husband departs. In New England, of course, the prime example of the seventeenth-century disorderly woman who stepped out of her

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gendered social position to challenge male authority remained that of Anne Hutchinson. The appointment of tithingmen between 1675 and 1679 to reinforce appropriate family "governance" also suggests anxieties about "feminized" behavior-whether demonstrated in overly affectionate behavior to children, attraction for apparel beyond one's status, or a disregard for the "natural" authority of their betters by women, children, or servants. Lending further support to culturally inflected interpretations of untrustworthy women was the gossip that surrounded even Mary Rowlandson's captivityearly on it was whispered that she had married an Indian chief.' Some have read the anonymous preface and Joseph Rowlandson's sermon, the frames for Mary Rowlandson's narrative, as very conscious ways of at once acknowledging and controlling such interpretation of the woman captive. 2 Despite cultural anxieties about its author's womanly status, the narrative was published-and republished in the 168os. As the last chapter indicated, once the popularity of the first edition became recognized, this text proved just too useful for promulgating the ideas and identifications of certain ministerial elites. Yet, as the following comments will argue, simply remaining at this level of analysis neglects another crucial way of reading ministerial support for a text representing a woman held captive during a period of political, economic, and cultural challenges to the traditional colonial order. At issue is a different interpretation of the use of a colonial woman's narrative to defend a secondgeneration ministerial construction of first-generation authority. In this reading, it is ministerial identification with the cultural doubleness ascribed to the woman's position that suggests a desire not simply to prove loyalty to the "fathers;' but at the same time to express anger and a desire to separate from the first generation. Certain ministers' enthusiasm for the representation of the passive woman captive thus indicates that more is at stake in the defense of the "fathers" than a defense, however intense, of traditional colonial authority against all challengers. Certainly, some men's interests in the 168os seem very much like those of members of the first generation in the 166os. In mounting their own defense of New England from England in 1682, second-generation ministers could be argued to engage very consciously in a project that had been ongoing since the Restoration of Charles II in 1660. Viewed in the light of the first chapter's claims, for example, the Halfway Covenant of 1662 should surely be reinterpreted as a gesture that not only involved a local notion of retaining some form of first-generation control over following generations, but that also thereby expressed a response to changing events abroad. Even in its

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halfway form, the covenant was constructed by some as preserving a purer reformed English Puritanism in New England, particularly in the face of postRestoration threats to nonconformity in England. 3 Similarly, while jeremiads of the 166os that threaten the "sons" back behind the "hedge" and interpret all change as threat may thus attempt to enforce a particularly local construction of the first generation and its ongoing authority, these sermons, too, are often written with an equal eye toward an England "restored" to monarchical government. Still, even though aspects of the first chapter's claims could thus fruitfully be read as analogous to this earlier historical moment, other aspects cannot. By the early 1680s, the jeremiads' theological and political commentary on the community intensifies and a ministerial rift with the magistrates becomes more pronounced as certain ministers become increasingly alarmed about the consequences of events in Europe spilling over to New England. In response to the growing threat of an English Catholic king and its repercussions for colonial political and religious life, many jeremiads come to take a different shape than those preceding "King Philip's War." The horrors of that experience, coupled with a sense of threat from new internal and external agents, propel a rhetorical shift to passivity rather than activity as a way of pleading for divine "restoration" of the community. The shift to passivity accompanies a renewed focus on divine Providence that, as the first chapter noted, becomes expressed in sermons, in Increase Mather's gathering of providence tales, and, finally, in his and others' support for the publication of a captivity narrative representing a passive woman. Yet, while Mather's interest in captivity narratives and providence tales intersects with his increased emphasis on covenant renewals during and after the war, his support for a representation of female passivity indicates other motives as well. The female captive certainly demonstrates her cultural and theological loyalty to traditional New English "ways." Passively waiting to be saved by the Father God, enduring whatever occurs, she ideally enacts an incapacity to act on her own. Her vulnerability calls on the Father to save her. Granting that such seems the case from one angle, however, could we not also argue that it is precisely her position-represented as passive-that allows the captive woman to move to a new position? Taken against her will to another place, she may claim her orthodoxy, but in spite of her loyalty, she is nonetheless compelled to experience a changed cultural condition. In representing a state in which the captive appears simultaneously loyal and border-crossing, the very structure of female captivity inscribes a form of ambivalence. Ambivalence has been described as "the simultaneous existence of

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contradictory tendencies, attitudes or feelings in the relationship to a single object-especially the co-existence of love and hate:' 4 To what extent does second-generation ministerial support for Mary Rowlandson's captivity narrative suggest an awareness of its usefulness in shaping, supporting, and maintaining mixed attitudes toward fatherly authority? To what extent does the intense cultural defense of this authority, exacerbated as it is by threats to colonial political sovereignty, suggest male identification with an ambivalence they find represented by female captivity? Is/how is such identification productive for certain colonial men? This chapter explores these questions in two ways. The first section briefly summarizes features of the ambivalence toward their real fathers that historians have broadly attributed to many New English men born in New England and coming to adulthood between 1650 and 1675. The second and third sections consider particular internal features of the Rowlandson narrative-its structure, its use of the types, and its representations of her captors-to explore how the text can be argued to open up the love, fear, anger, and sense of contradiction on which the narrative's own defense of the "fathers" is built. Ministerial support for the publication of Rowlandson's narrative, I suggest, indicates a response not simply to its orthodoxy, but also to its ambivalence. Without denying the rhetorical reading of Rowlandson's text as a quasi-political defense against royal challenges that is offered in the last chapter, this reading thus draws a larger cultural circle around this defense. The intent in thus opening the meanings of defense is to argue for the necessity of considering different historical and textual dimensions of certain New English elites' responses to new imperial challenges to colonial authority. Taken together, the two chapters contrapuntally develop a model for exploring more completely the productive cultural role played by women's captivity texts in helping to express, negotiate, and sustain the ambivalent identities of powerful colonial men.

Filial Loyalty and Fatherly Desire Social historians have argued that English Puritanism's patriarchal mode of child raising, with its emphasis on the physical and psychological enforcement of the fathers' control and the breaking of the child's will, necessarily created ambivalent children who experienced at once intense dependence on their parents and an intense hatred of them for denying them their own desires. Historians of American Puritanism have drawn on such insights to

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examine historically specific features of the ambivalence of second- and third-generation New English men, many of whom were not only raised in a manner that enforced an emotional attitude of simultaneous love and hate of their parents, especially their fathers, but who also had their childhood positions prolonged and reinforced by these fathers' unwillingness to grant them adulthood in economic, political, social, and cultural arenas. In the specific case of many late seventeenth-century men, as Emory Elliot has usefully summarized it, historically locatable practices such as the refusal to grant mature sons separate property from their fathers, the concomitant later marriages that such refusals demanded, and the requirement by ministers and elders of stringent and public examinations for full church membership, a membership on which political franchise also depended, all could have exacerbated earlier feelings of such sons about their fathers' authority. 5 Some scholars of the period note instances in the 1650s and t66os where sons' obedience and dependency gave way to actual aggressive actions against their fathers. 6 Others suggest that these men's inability to profess full church membership does not so much indicate their lack of piety, as many first(and second-) generation ministers suggested, so much as their all-too-pious internalization of their fathers' own legalism.? Useful for the purposes of what follows is the related case of first-generation minister Richard Mather's son, Increase, who left Boston for continued schooling in Ireland in 1657 and was forced to relinquish two church positions abroad and to return to New England because of renewed post-Restoration threats to dissenters. To what extent might Increase Mather's awareness of Richard Mather's leadership position in Massachusetts have helped to precipitate his English sojourn and his hopes of remaining there? 8 Forced to return, he almost immediately challenges his father's authority in New England by disagreeing with him about the Halfway Covenant for which Richard Mather was then arguing. Rather than accepting his father's typologically based reasons for the shift in membership practice, which allowed for the baptism of the children of those largely second-generation parents who had not received full church membership, Increase Mather instead turned to support another first-generation figure, the charismatic John Davenport. As Michael Hall has pointed out, John Davenport was much admired by a younger Increase Mather for his early and sustained defense of his particular vision of Puritanism in England, Holland, and New England and for his ongoing fame abroad. 9 Janice Knight suggests the grounds of such admiration in Davenport's never-relinquished belief in the international communion of gathered churches of "saints" who looked forward to the realization of

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the "kingdom of God" in human time. 10 Not for a man who had sheltered the regicide judges Edward Whalley and William Goffe in New Haven were the 1662 "halfway" measures that allowed the baptized children of still-unprofessed second-generation church members into church membership. In contrast to some other first-generation ministers, Davenport retained an unchanging, some would argue rigid, belief in the absolute necessity of Puritan churches to be composed of professed regenerate members. When his theological and political power as cofounder of the New Haven colony was challenged by the bitterly contested union of New Haven with Connecticut in 1664, an aging and angry Davenport turned his sights toward Boston. In 1667, some five years into the ongoing general controversy over the Halfway Covenant, Davenport was called to become the minister of the First Church in Boston and to leave his longtime church in New Haven. Encountering resistance from his own church, on the one hand, and from those members of the First Church, who had wished to implement the Halfway Covenant and who now wished to leave to found their own church, on the other, Davenport infamously forged a letter from his New Haven congregation permitting his acceptance of the Boston invitation and plunged into a bitter dispute with the First Church group who wished to leave. As their new pastor, Davenport adamantly refused to allow them to separate and to form a new church.U While Increase Mather's disagreement with his father has often been read as his taking a more conservative theological stance, his initial support for Davenport could also have stemmed from his sense of Davenport's position as one that would not only grant more power to his own generation of New English ministers in their bid to succeed first-generation ministers, but also thereby engage his generation in the wider interchange within an international dissenting community that Davenport (and Increase himself) had experienced. Increase Mather's views on this whole issue seem to have undergone a sea change, however, when his father died in the midst of the controversy and, several months later, the Davenport forgery became revealed. Together, the two events apparently helped to precipitate a much-discussed form of nervous collapse in second-generation son, Increase, and possibly contributed to his later ardent construction of his fathers' views on infant baptism (and the halfway church membership of those so baptized) as the only historically and scripturally valid views. In 1670, Increase Mather not only completed a repentant biography of Richard, but also began a book defending infant baptism that was published in 1675-the year the war with "King Philip" (Metacom) began. In 1671, he

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printed (and possibly largely rewrote) a series of sermons written by his dead brother, Eleazar, A Serious Exhortation to the Present and Succeeding Generations. In 1674, he preached the jeremiad that catapulted him to new ministerial leadership in Boston, the prophetic The Day of Trouble Is Near. And in 1675, in the midst of the punishing Indian conflict that Mather's sermon had predicted, the General Court of Massachusetts confirmed his growing interpretive authority by writing into law the "Provoking Evils" his sermon had detailed. Seeming to assume his father's position not simply on church membership, but also on the diminished views of his own generation's spiritual capacities which this position seemed at once to call for and construct, this second-generation "son" finally located cultural power in New England and, what he also clearly hoped, would be cultural power abroad. But his authority derived from and depended on what he and those like him came to represent as their identification with the English-born "fathers;' not their difference from them. As the discussion of the Mather and Hubbard debates of the last chapter suggests, Mather and his supporters sought rhetorically to represent themselves as the only "sons" who truly occupied this position. In the 1670s, jeremiadic attacks on the "rising" generation purported to explain the punishments New England had already experienced and plausible punishments to come. As Perry Miller observed, discussions of natural punishments became succeeded or replaced by social punishments in many jeremiads of the 1670s. "Outbreaks" of drunkenness, pride in apparel, or usury, for example, replaced fires or tempests. Above all, the death of the first generation presaged a worse punishment than any drought or storm, signaling as it did the withdrawal of the New England father God. Strikingly, these punishments were increasingly read as reflections of the sins which they punished-like punished by like. 12 The last chapter offered an example of this in Increase Mather's claim that any behavior that challenged traditional authority-from indulgence to children to excess in dress or behavior-was Indian-like. In his Earnest Exhortation (1676), written at the war's end, he insisted, in what would become a standard claim, that "Indian-like" acts were punished by literal Indian attacks. In a similar manner, God's departure, like that of the first generation, was interpreted as punishment for the "sons'" own sin of abandoning Him. His withdrawal thus became viewed as a function of theirs. Signs of God's leaving were clearly indicated not only in first-generation deaths, but also in the whole range of perceived breakdowns in the social order examined in the preceding chapter. And as we noted there, one way of talking about and framing these breakdowns involved a language of gender positioning.

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Throughout the 1670s the developing language of declension often cast the colony as female or feminized. In Mather's An Earnest Exhortation, for example, the representative position of the woman was described in a very different way than Mary Rowlandson's position will later be. An Earnest Exhortation notes, "The Lord saith ... because the Daughters of Zion are haughty therefore he will discover their Nakedness ... [as] when the Indians have taken so many and stripped them naked as in the day that they were born. And instead of a sweet smell there shall be a Stink. Is this not verified when poor Creatures are carried away Captive into the Indians filthy and stinking Wigwams?"13 Similarly, women and men who delighted in enhancing their bodies with goods made available through burgeoning postwar New English trade were castigated in the 1679 Synod for a pride that threatened the social order. Feminization challenged that order in a very pointed manner in Samuel Nowell's artillery sermon of 1678, Abraham in Arms, which reviled many second-generation men as "effeminate and wanton;' incapable of "breed(ing) up soldiers" to defend the colony from further Indian or European incursions. 14 Such language comes full circle in the link that Mather, as chief writer of the Synod's findings, made between colonial feminization, "Indianization;' and punishment by literal Indians. Why were second-generation men often represented by ministers of their own generation as thus weak and effeminate? Because their desires, born of new, rapidly expanding economic and cultural contacts with Europe as well as with the frontier, were interpreted as feminizing. Desire for European goods, for apparel, and for changes in perceived status, as well as the desire for Indian trade and more Indian lands, became so often described in feminized terms that at a certain point colonial desire as such seems positioned as "female:' What does this language imply? Not, as the following analysis of Rowlandson will suggest, that there should be or indeed that there could be no desires, but simply that the "sons' " only true desire should be to share in the legitimate desires of God the Father. Yet, an impasse in this logic appears not only when one considers the scholarship on second- and thirdgeneration piety, but also when one returns to the social world of the midseventeenth century. In this world many real fathers did not allow their sons to act on desires like their own. In both literal and psychological terms, many of them had refused to permit such sons to become like them, that is, to take on their authority and power as adults. On the one hand, these men were told that their sin was not having their fathers' desires; on the other hand, they were told that their fathers and their fathers' God were withdrawing

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from them because of desires like the fathers' that these fathers did not permit them to have! Edward Randolph's arrival in 1676 at the tail end of"King Philip's War;' the threatening events of the Exclusion Controversy, the Popish Plot, and the quelling of the Scots Covenanters in England during the later 1670s directly threatened the political and religious legitimacy of the first generation's fatherly authority in a way not experienced in the 166os. And it is the second generation, not the first, which became exposed to the latest English challenge. If this new threat from abroad helped to motivate both the ministerial construction and the ministerial defense of the "fathers" explored in the preceding chapter, the very intensity of this defense indicates how the English threat to the "fathers'" power also exacerbated some second-generation men's long-standing ambivalence toward the first generation. Yet, the possibility presented by renewed English intervention of acting not merely on their own desires for cultural change, but also on their related wish to separate from the fathers was experienced by these men not as a natural generational phenomenon, but as an aggression against the first generation which had to be massively defended against. That such is the case is signaled by the rhetorical turn to passivity and dependency in the jeremiads of this period andcrucially for the purposes· of this project-by ministerial support for the publication of a captivity narrative representing a passive woman. Filial loyalty was best exemplified in nonaction because only absolute passivity was construed as granting total sovereignty to the "fathers." Read in the context of the early 168os, ministerial engagement with Mary Rowlandson's narrative must surely be interpreted in the light of certain second-generation men's responses to a number of specific cultural issues. Whereas Rowlandson's narrative can be argued to play a role in such men's defense of fatherly political and cultural authority, we must thus also address the question of the ways in which her text can be read as revealing the ambivalent emotions informing this extraordinarily heavy defense. For if the passive captive woman supposedly represents the position all New England, male as well as female, should inhabit in order to defend the "fathers;' to prepare for the destruction of their enemies, and to plead for divine restoration, internal features of Rowlandson's text indicate an equally powerful wish to separate from fathers, to establish difference from them, and even to do violence against them. In its structure, in its use of scriptural types, and in its representation of her Indian captors, the narrative reveals both the extraordinary ambivalence that grounds second-generation men's loyalty to

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the first generation and the urgency of their efforts to maintain their mixed emotions.

Prodigal Sons: Performing Fatherly Desire Most broadly presented as representing the entire colony in the woman captive's position, Rowlandson's narrative, like the postwar jeremiads, suggests that restoration can never be complete. In contrast to other ministers, for example, Increase Mather maintains almost immediately following the war that divine displeasure and divine punishment have not been salved by a momentary New English victory. 15 Likewise, the captive Rowlandson's famous sleeplessness, described at the text's end, represents the narrator's unending sense of threat: "I can remember the time I used to sleep quietly without workings in my thoughts, whole nights together, but now it is otherwise with me. When all are fast about me, and no eye open, but His who ever waketh, my thoughts are upon things past, upon the awful dispensation of the Lord towards us." 16 Both captive and community were encouraged by ministers like Mather to feel, endlessly, ceaselessly at risk. As the following remarks will suggest, however, if the female captive's vulnerability can be read as a representative mark of colonial obedience, of acceptance of punishment, and as a plea for restoration/redemption by the father, Rowlandson's text indicates that the emotions involved in identification with this position are more complicated. Consider, for example, the contradictory emotions displayed in the representation of the female captive's vulnerability to Indian violence. By the logic of providentialism, the Indians' violence can be used to suggest the violence the captive must do to her own (as opposed to the fathers') desires. At the same time, the act of obsessively describing the community and its representative woman as weak and open to such violence suggests the attraction of those identifying with Rowlandson's position for a different kind of violence. Indeed, as the fifth chapter will suggest, the ongoing fascination of some ministers with descriptions of colonial vulnerability might indicate at its furthest reaches not only a possible wish to be violently destroyed oneself, but also, in the process, to take down the whole authorizing structure of relationship and community that has made one so vulnerable in the first place. Read in this light, the orthodox woman's vulnerability would not merely inscribe such men's desire to do violence against their own sins, and thereby to

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fulfill what they view as the desire of the father God, but also to do a violence against the "fathers" that can only be directed against themselves. Whereas the woman captive's representative passivity might thus indicate loyalty to the community the "fathers" have made, in this sense passivity might also enact another aim-it could encourage aggression against that kind of community.17 A reading of the structure of Rowlandson's captivity that considers the entirety of the captive's movement from captivity to restoration offers an alternative and more historically probable fantasy about how to remain loyal to and to escape from the "fathers" without destroying the community or oneself. Earlier, we noted that the captive woman's passivity allowed for the simultaneous expression of loyalty to an older structure and of the desire to change to a new one. This notion of passivity can now be rewritten on another level: captivity expresses connection to fathers precisely through a representation of separation from them. The captive woman returns, but she also undergoes separation. She is therefore open to the transformations by other groups that separation from the community makes possible. While the orthodox, loyal captive can once again be viewed as unwilling and passive, she can also be interpreted as using passivity as a way to acknowledge or even to establish different forms of relationship within a new structure. As much as the structure of captivity and the representation of the passive woman stressed the captive's repudiation of connections that threaten her faithfulness, the structural movement of captivity indicates not merely the possibility of such changes, but their reality as well. The colonists the ministers chastised had indeed been "Indianized" as the 1679 Synod argued, through conquest, through an often speculation-driven appropriation of land from other colonials as well as from Indians, and through an interlinked frontier-based and transatlantic system of trade that rapidly and massively burgeoned throughout the lifetimes of the second generation. 18 By the 168os, colonial men's "Indianized" behaviors, while referring to the consequences of relating to actual Indians, could thus at the same time be used to refer to practices or beliefs equally attributable to Anglo-Europeans. For, as the last chapter suggested, to be Indianized in the 168os also expresses fears about being newly Anglicized as well. Literal challenges by groups outside the colony, whether Indian, English, or, increasingly, French, thus served to confirm overlapping and complicated senses of economic and cultural connection to these groups that already existed as well as those that were newly coming into being. Whereas certain ministers cast women's captivity in terms of a model of

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sin and punishment for a departure from the "fathers" and their God that would nonetheless be followed by "restoration;' their seizure of and their own identification with the position of the captive woman implies an equal sense that the representative woman could also place such fatherly authority in doubt. That the captive's defense of the "fathers" was supported by and supportive of the ambivalence of such second-generation men is indicated by features of the Rowlandson text other than its structure. The narrative's use of typology and its representations of Rowlandson's Indian captors have attracted attention that an argument examining them as sites for an ambivalent filial identification at once nuances and rewrites. The Rowlandson text's use of the types (figures or events from Scripture, aspects of which are interpreted as being historically completed by parallel "antitypes" in the New Testament) is complex. 19 Sometimes they are drawn upon for analogical as well as historical reasons, and sometimes, as Sacvan Bercovitch has pointed out, they are used in a way common in Puritan New England. Here, rather than being completed solely by antitypes in the New Testament, the types were viewed as operating in the current historical moment, undergoing reworking and transformation until the Last Days. This broader interpretation of typology made Old Testament types available for use across a range of elite and more popular textual practices and products.20 Commentators have read the Rowlandson narrative's use of the types as both supporting a particular kind of New English orthodoxy-her captivity represents a moment in the present life of the American "new" Israel, for example-and as rejecting orthodox attempts to typify Rowlandson's experience. At stake in what follows is the different question of how the types used in the narrative productively express, negotiate, or fail to negotiate an ambivalence permeating the orthodox believer's relationship to the "fathers" and their God. How might this text's use of types have helped the colonial men who appropriated her text to try on a range of positions toward fatherly authority? One cannot address every dimension of the Rowlandson narrative's complex use of scriptural types. For the purposes of this analysis, let us briefly consider the text's representation of three particular figures within one of its central "removes." (Mary Rowlandson's narrative is broken into a series of textual units denominated "removes;' a term that usually refers to the varying campsites where she halted with her captors.) Briefly, the scene set in the narrative's 13th remove represents one of the deeper moments of despair in a despairing text. By this point, the narrative

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has already represented the onslaught which killed so many of the narrator's neighbors and relatives and has detailed both the lingering death of Rowlandson's youngest child and her frustration at not being better able to succor the two who remain. After her representation of the initial shock, comments on her hunger and on trading efforts with her captors begin to emerge. By the 12th remove, the narrator experiences a brief moment of hope, believing that her captors have begun to turn "homeward:' She rejoices, only to describe her hopes as almost immediately destroyed by the adamant demand of her Indian mistress, Weetamoo, that she return and remain in the previous encampment. The text represents the narrator's outrage and impatience at this blow as compounded physically by hunger and culturally by the social "insolency" of the Indians toward her-especially by one who claims to be a Praying (that is, a converted, Christianized) Indian. At the beginning of the 13th remove, while resuming her practice of trading or knitting for food, the narrator pauses to describe her frustration and rage at an Indian report that her son has been eaten. It is "about this time:' she notes: I began to think all my hopes of restoration would come to nothing. I thought of the English army, and hoped for their coming, and being taken by them, but that failed. I hoped to be carried to Albany, as the Indians had discoursed before, but that failed also. I thought of being sold to my husband, as my master spake, but instead of that, my master himself was gone, and I left behind, so that my spirit was now quite ready to sink. I asked them to let me go out and pick up some sticks .... Then also I took my Bible to read, but I found no comfort here neither, which many times I was wont to find. So easy a thing it is with God to dry up the streams of Scripture comfort from us. 21

Theologically speaking, one might argue that at this point the captive Rowlandson is appropriately represented as reaching the point of despair in her own abilities, one of the necessary steps in the orthodox morphology of conversion. 22 Given the text's interest in establishing the representative orthodoxy of Rowlandson's supporters, such a moment might suggest that they were more loyal in their adherence to the Puritanism of the fathers than were other colonials. This despairing moment is parallel to one described at the very beginning of the narrative, when the narrator abruptly stops the ongoing narration of the terrible moment of captivity to comment on her elder sister's difficulty in coming to terms with the scriptural notion of"His grace" being sufficient. As the text recounts it, Mary Rowlandson's sister learned to accept this doctrine some years earlier only to die pierced by an Indian

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bullet. Tellingly, the anecdote of the sister's earlier acceptance of her passivity before God's will is juxtaposed by the narrator to another tale in which a pregnant Lancaster woman, Mrs. Joslin, complaining of her captivity and crying to go home, is brutally burned at the stake with her two year old. By the 13th remove, it is made emphatically clear that Mary Rowlandson-as individual believer and as her community's most exemplary representativemust undergo a similar test of faith, reduced and reducing herself to passivity before God's will, preparing herself for the possibility of His free grace. At the same time, the variety of types the text considers in this remove represent the narrator as trying on not one but a number of different kinds of relationship to the Father who demands that she inhabit this passive position. Taken together, the Rowlandson narrative's use of these types expresses and complicates the range of the ambivalence her text performs in the face of fatherly authority. By and large this remove employs two different kinds of Scripture: one relies on anecdotes from well-known biblical narratives; the other serves more as commentary on these anecdotes as they are applicable to narrator's experience. Specifically, in the 13th remove, citations from David, Paul, and the prophets often serve as a kind of explanatory chorus to quotations drawn from the stories of Job, Samson, and the parable of the prodigal son. Strikingly, in each case, a formerly strong man becomes relegated to the passive, obedient, humble, and dependent position of the passive woman. Throughout Rowlandson's narrative, here in the context of having ashes thrown in her eyes by an irritated Indian woman, the captive narrator calls on Job: "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, 0 ye my Friends; for the Hand of the Lord, has touched me:' 23 Job's case acquires a number of meanings on several levels in this remove. On this initial level, "Job" insists that the "hand of God" is at work in spite of his horrific experience of the material and physical destruction of his lands, his family, and his own health. While Job's experience is represented as one of the worst, if not the worst, the Old Testament imagines, at this moment in Rowlandson's text, using Job allows the narrator to persist in believing that God's providence, however tormenting, is still somehow present. The father and son remain in relationship, so the torment has meaning even if it remains inexplicable to Job. In her second usage of a type, the Rowlandson narrator turns to Samson in the Book of Judges. In many ways, this anecdote seems worse than Job's situation because it involves the breaking or disappearance of relationship as opposed to its continuity. A moment in the life of Samson occurs to her as she depicts her periodic tendency, when daydreaming in an Indian tent,

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to forget the new life she is living outside of it and to fantasize that she is instead at home. Curiously, the narrator represents her desire for an idealized home as analogous to Samson's desire for the foreign Dalilah. Like Dalilah, "home" is represented as a desire that replaces the father. And Rowlandson's punishment is likewise similar to Samson's. "I will go out and shake myself as at other times, but he wist not that the Lord was departed from him:' 24 Samson's sin is not simply disobeying God in admitting the source of his strength to Dalilah, a Philistine, who is a threat not only to him, but to Israel as a whole, but for having a desire other than the desire of his God. Like Rowlandson, Samson, too, forgets that his desires should be the father's desire. The Rowlandson narrator casts her memory of home in the same mold: it too expresses a desire for something other than her dependent relationship with God. More disturbingly, for her and for her supporters, as becomes evident in the representations of the Indians in the next section, it could also suggest an uncomfortable awareness of her own gradual "at homeness" in a foreign culture as well. In either case, the parallel with Samson certainly indicates an awareness that the narrator's desire is not her God's. Samson's punishment for not sharing the father's desire is to be made passive, dependent, and feminized-all of which are represented not just by the loss of his strength, but by the terrible fact of his blindness. As Mary Beth Rose has recently argued, rather than relying on his male heroism, Samson must now learn to inhabit the traditionally feminine position of passive endurance before God's will. 25 But the condition of Samson's regaining his strength and destroying his enemies is his own death. For the Rowlandson narrator, it is her meditation on Samson's state that leads her into worries about the Lord's departure. If separation from God is the worst punishment the jeremiads of the 168os can imagine, Samson's tale elaborates some excruciating details of this withdrawal. There is the terrible irony of Samson's not even knowing that the Father on whom he depended is gone and then, there is the point at which he discovers this: when he acts and his God is not there to uphold him. It is at this moment in the Rowlandson account of his story that the choral voices of Scripture intercede, noting that the only answer to such despair on Samson's part (and on the part of those identifying with him) is even more passivity. The narrator cites Isaiah ss:S, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord." And then, softening this truth, she quotes Psalm 37:5: "Commit thy ways unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass:' The external action of the remove resumes as the Rowlandson narrator

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complains of more Indian lying, represents a fight with the maid of her Indian mistress over the use of her apron, and describes unsatisfying encounters with her son and a sick Englishman, whom she attempts to aid. This act, read by her captors as an escape plot, eventuates in her staying in a tent rather than risking reprisal, until, various Indians wishing to trade with her, she is allowed to come out. Upon emerging, the narrator characteristically represents the situation by turning to another quotation from Isaiah: "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee" (Isaiah 54:7). Yet this moment of interpretive clarity is followed immediately by descriptions of the loss of Rowlandson's son to a new master, of the death of her mistress's papoose and of her brutal response to it ("more room") and, finally, by an extraordinary series of ending comments in which the narrator's own voice and the mounting number of quotations from Scripture become almost indistinguishable: Many sorrowful days I had in this place, often getting alone, "Like a crane or a swallow, so did I chatter; I did mourn as a dove, mine eyes ail with looking upward. Oh Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me:' (Isaiah 38.14). I could tell the Lord, as Hezekiah, "Remember now, 0 Lord, I beseech thee, how I have walked before thee in truth:' Now had I time to examine all my ways: my conscience did not accuse me of unrighteousness toward one or other; yet I saw how in my walk with God I had been a careless creature. As David said, "Against thee, thee only have I sinned": and I might say with the poor publican, "God be merciful unto me a sinner:' On the Sabbath days, I could look upon the sun and think how people were going to the house of God, to have their souls refreshed; and then home, and their bodies also; but I was destitute of both; and might say as the poor prodigal, "He would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, and no man gave unto him" (Luke 15=16). For I must say with him, "Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight." I remember how on the night before and after the Sabbath, when my family was about me, and relations and neighbors with us, we could pray and sing, and then refresh our bodies with the good creatures of God, and then have a comfortable bed to lie down on; but instead of all this, I had only a little swill for the body and then, like a swine, must lie down on the ground. I cannot express to man the sorrow that lay upon my spirit; the Lord knows it. Yet that comfortable Scripture would often come to mind, "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee." 26

Elsewhere I have argued that this passage repeats and underscores an anger radiating throughout the entire 13th remove, an anger that becomes manifest in the discrepancy between Scripture's choral claims and what really happens to the narrator. 27 Focusing there on Mary Rowlandson's own agency, I ascribed this fury to her motherly anger at the death and captivity

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of her children. In the context of ministerial appropriation of this text, I wish to suggest a slightly different reading. If, on one level, their appropriation of Rowlandson's position suggests an attempt to control or even to dictate what "orthodox" behavior by a woman "should" be in such a situation, on another level, it surely points to an equal identification with the narrator's anger. Many second-generation ministers also experienced a confusion and anger at their fathers and their God which Rowlandson's narrative, the publication of which they so eagerly endorsed, can be read as at once allowing and disavowing. In this regard, it is this passage's iteration of the text's ongoing examination of fatherly authority that particularly stands out, this time in the figure of the prodigal son. This parable (strictly speaking, the "son" is not a "type") is a variant on two earlier parables: the shepherd who rejoices over his one lost lamb and the woman who rejoices over the recovery of a single lost coin. All three are adduced by Jesus to proclaim the "Joy in the presence of the angels of god over one sinner that repenteth:' The parable of the prodigal tells the tale of a son who wishes to leave his father and accordingly asks for his inheritance. In his own 1684 collection of sermons on the prodigal son, Samuel Willard strikingly describes the son's asking in this manner: "Though he calls him Father, yet he asks in a way of challenge, as though his father had stood obliged to do it upon his asking, as though the Estate were his during his fathers life; he does not beg, but as it were command." Such a son, suggests Willard, clearly seeks "to shake off the yoke of his Father's government:' 28 When the obliging father grants what he wishes, he spends it "with riotous living" and quickly falls into want. Finally, hired out as a servant to another man, living with the swine, he decides to return to his father, to admit his sin, and to become one of his servants. His father, of course, surprises him with forgiving love and a great feast. The parable ends with the jealousy of the older son and the father's explanation for the celebration-"for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost and is found:' The story of the prodigal represents a different relation to the father God than the cases of Job and Samson. In spite of the "insolence" of his request, as Willard presents it, this father permits his son to separate and to take his inheritance, but the son fails. A providential reading suggests that the father already knows he will fail, but that the father sees the need of letting him do so in order to legitimate his "government" over him. The son in effect must find out for himself that independence from the father ends in excess and famine. Freedom is not worth it; it is far better to stay home with

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the father. While the parable of the prodigal, for Willard, offers insights into the "free grace" available to even the worst of sinners, the prodigal son also clearly offers an object lesson in why not to separate or be independent. But there is a second curious aspect of the story as well that involves the question of who is permitted to be excessive. The parable does not assert that excess is bad; after all, the father prepares him a feast. But there is good excess and bad excess. The son must learn that excess is for the father, not for himhis sinful excess is trumped by his father's excess of mercy. Only his father can feast him-he cannot do it for himself. The lesson here overlaps with that on independence. Not only does it suggest that sons should not have their own desires, but also that the father has better ones than they do anyway. At the end of the Rowlandson passage's recounting of the prodigal's tale, the narrator repeats the choral comment heard earlier in the remove: "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee:' The quote suggests how the prodigal son is set up as a possible answer to Job and Samson: the relation to the father is maintained, but it is not as horrific as that of Job. Furthermore, if the father leaves (as he does with Samson), the story of the prodigal assures that it is only for a small moment. The son has merely to yield his independence to the father's (better) desire and he will be feasted. If each of these representations provides a defense of the father God's "ways" in order to remain in relation with him, the story of the prodigal son indicates at the end of the 13th remove what is at stake in so defending him. What puts relation with father at risk is any act perceived as involving independence or difference from him. In Samson's case and in the prodigal's, the sin of difference comes down to replacing the father with foreign desiressexual or material-which involve movement away from him. Even Job, without knowing why, is attacked by foreign peoples. Similarly, for those endorsing and appropriating Rowlandson's text, new political, economic, and cultural connections to England, on the one hand, and contentious movement outward to conquered Indians' land, on the other, could be and were cast as desires foreign to those of the Father(s.) This is a persuasive way of reading the Rowlandson text's use of the types except for the fact that the 13th remove's final passage, even though it turns to the prodigal son as an "answer;' fails to provide one. Indeed, the passage as a whole, rather than expressing the narrator's compliance with her situation, can more accurately be read as expressing confusion, anger, and fear over the father God's unwillingness to play the appropriate fatherly role as the passage defines it. Often drawing on Scripture's choral voices, the

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narrator, somewhat astonishingly notes that, in contrast to the prodigal, she has not been unrighteous and that she has invariably walked in "His" truth. Out of these claims she then pulls the, to her, confusing notion that nonetheless, she must have been somehow careless in her "walk with God." The scriptural examples (and voices) of David and the publican suggest that the answer to this punishable shortsightedness lies in simply claiming that you've sinned, even if you don't know what it is or why. Yet, in this context, the narrator's ensuing turn to the prodigal son suggests less the text's compliance with this explanation than a refusal of its logic. After all, the prodigal has clearly sinned in becoming independent (in having his own desires), and when he gives them up, he is granted comfort of soul and body. By extension, it would seem that once the narrator actively renounces her desires, she will be in the position of fulfilling the father's desires such that she, too, will be blessed with the prodigal's feast. Not receiving what she expects to receive, however, the narrator is thrown back for comfort on an earlier choral quote of the father's intentions: "For a small while I have left you, but in a little while I will gather you:' Yet, as we noted, this quote is the same as that used just before her son Joseph is sold away into the wilderness. In this instance-and at the end of the 13th remove as a whole-the narrator seems almost to demand that cause follow effect-that sin, punishment, and redemption become mutually explicable and that inhibiting her own desires will provoke God's mercy on her behalf. Unlike the prodigal son, however, she is represented as receiving no answer. Rather than being in his position, the anger, confusion, and self-abnegation limned in the 13th remove's final passage suggest that the narrator instead remains in the position of Job. Job is neither the prodigal, nor is he Samson because the sin of desiring something other than or something foreign to, the father's desire is not his sin. Job is a righteous man and his story represents the outward and inward losses visited on him as being without any cause that he can discern. Like the prodigal son and Samson, Job is reduced to absolute passivity and dependence, but unlike them, what he loses is what he has earned as a mature adult, not as a son nor as an aspiring young man-his family, his wealth, and his health. Job's case suggests that his "sin" consists not in something he has actively done, but is rather a state or a condition of his being. Job is punished because he is separate and therefore different from the father simply because he is, not because he actively desires or behaves in a way such that he creates this difference. The trauma of the Book of Job, as commentators have noted, is the apparent meaninglessness of any human action. No act can control,

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change, or mitigate the innate difference from God the Father that one is. And yet, one is nonetheless somehow guilty of this difference anyway. Rowlandson's narrative at once approaches and refuses this traumatic knowledge. Its narrator would rather be martyred (Samson) or inhibited (the prodigal) as ways of sustaining the fantasy of a cause for guilt and aggression rather than acknowledge that there is no cause. The scarcely veiled hysteria of the Rowlandson text's concluding passage suggests that all anger against the Father(s) must be turned against oneself not only to maintain relationship with them, but also, at a profounder level, to maintain any concept of fatherly authority and legitimacy at all. While here and elsewhere in her narrative, the Rowlandson text's religious representations allow the men who identify with her passive position to draw near to a knowledge of the Father's unreasoning aggression, Rowlandson's social position as a woman also suggests the possibility of their displacing passivity's more threatening associations onto her. On at least two levels, a woman's text could have served to mediate the trauma of their difference from the Father/s for them. While theologically they could explore their difference through her representations of passive biblical men, socially, her text also provided them with a cultural position on which to displace their anxieties-the reliable cultural and social difference of the woman. That is, if "sons" had no control over their own passivity before the aggressing father, they could displace their lack of control on to a social difference over which they did exercise control. To return to gender difference in this sense might be to return to a logic of cause and effect that makes difference from the Father and their fathers the effect of an act or acts that call forth the Father's justifiable punishment. In this light we can return to ministerial railing against lax household government, their strictures about pride in apparel, their warnings about stepping outside of social boundaries, and so forth. We might also reconsider local gossip about Rowlandson's Indian bigamy, her smoking, her Sabbath breaking, and so forth. Furthermore, these behaviors could be attributed not only to women, but also, as we have seen, to other colonial men caught up in newer desires that were "feminizing" them. Feminized behaviors, whether enacted by men or women, provided marks of social difference, "sins" that could be legitimately located, chastised, and controlled by other men. 29 Within the narrative, the anger that the text represents against Rowlandson herself stands in for and displaces the rage and confusion at what thenarrative not so covertly suggests is anger at the father God's unfulfilled covenant. Unwilling and unable to remain at this level of aggression against the narrator, the text invariably reaches toward more obvious and controllable forms of

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difference. It is in the later removes that the narrative represents Rowlandson's rage against her captors, especially the supposedly Christian, Praying Indians, as at its greatest. This is also the point where the narrator's own passivity becomes intensified. While certain male supporters of Rowlandson's text could have mediated their experience of the passivity of the male types through her and then, confronted with Job, have possibly used her female position in part to "explain" her punishment, the narrative also offered them a more immediately available and culturally expedient site for their anger and anxiety in its shifting representations of her native captors. If feminization and Indianization can often be linked, as they often are in the rhetoric of the Synod, they can also flexibly be distinguished, the Indians of the narrative marking a controllable difference from all colonials, women as well as men. Sent from the Father not simply as mirrors of colonial sin, the Indians also serve as agents of divine punishment and test.

The "Strange" Providences to the "Heathen" In a manner similar to analyses of the types, the Rowlandson text's representations of the Indians have been read as confirming her orthodoxy, suggesting its breakdown, or underscoring her culturalliminality among them. 30 More recently, historians have begun not only to analyze the way Puritan discourse constructed the Indians, but also to study the motivations, lives, and practices of different individuals and tribes who participated in the wars against the colonists. 31 Indebted to the insights of these scholars, the question addressed by this project remains the kinds of tensions residing within the Rowlandson narrator's representations of her captors. Like the types, representations of Indians both defend the authority of the "fathers" and reveal the ambivalence that at once threatens and sustains this defense. 32 Rowlandson's anger at the Indians, at times represented as virulently personal, very often also involves a simmering and at times eruptive frustration at their unreadability. Noting that "Sometimes I met with favor, and sometimes with nothing but frowns," the narrator comes to liken "these barbarous creatures to him who was a liar from the beginning"-Satan himself. 33 The unreadability of the Indians comes on varying levels to reinforce the woman narrator's passivity and to transform her understanding of God's fatherly providence. Set up as at once available and understandable agents of the narrator's punishment and legitimate recipients of her aggression, the Rowlandson text's representations of the Indians express a separation from the

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desires of the fathers. Rowlandson's representations of the Indians sketch the contours of a colonial male identity that is different from the fathers at the same time that it conceives and presents itself to be most loyal. Often attempting, I will argue, to displace on to her captors the fact of the second generation's own difference from the first generation, Rowlandson's representations of the Indians, on a number oflevels, circle back uncannily to underscore the inevitability of such difference. Famously, Mary Rowlandson's captivity initially represents her as still able to read providential signs even as she is described as physically passive. For example, in the sth and 6th removes, she construes her feet not getting wet as a mark of God's favor and "good providence" to her. 34 Similarly, misunderstanding Algonquin customs, she attributes to God's power the fact that she experiences no "abuse of unchastity" during her captivity. 35 Notable providences to her appear at less bodily levels as well-when she receives a Bible from a captor, when her son Joseph appears in response to her prayers, when "comfortable" Scriptures appear before her eyes at opportune moments.36 While instances of such providential readability occur throughout the text, however, they diminish in the later removes, until by the text's ending the narrator claims-"God many times leaving(es) us most in the dark when deliverance is nearest:' 37 It is only after the fact, back in Boston writing her narrative, that the narrator represents herself as retroactively able to read the logic of the "strange providences" to the heathen which she herself cannot fathom while she is in their midst. Only when her captivity has ended do Indian successes become fully readable as providential chastisements-"We were not yet ready for so great a mercy as victory and deliverance." As the language suggests however, in spite of a professed acceptance of the final readability of unreadability, the narrator nonetheless continues to view the "dispensations" to the heathen as "strange." Yet if the term "strange" seems to explain and to make readable the Indians' previous unreadability, it also suggests both the conditions and the limits of the narrative's after-the-fact interpretation of the meanings of the Indians .. At first glance, the Praying Indians who join with the unconverted heathen against the "English" provide the narrator a slightly more controllable site of unreadability from within her experience. In spite of their Christianized exteriors, the text confidently asserts, their interiors are still heathenrude, bloody, vengeful, and demonic. A Praying Indian denies Rowlandson shelter; a Praying Indian trades her daughter Mary for a gun; a Praying Indian betrays his own father to the colonials. Others participate in the bloody Sudbury fight (one of the worst of the conflict) and possess necklaces

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of white men's fingers and their bloody clothing to prove it. Furthermore, despite their so-called conversions, the text avers, Praying Indians continue to participate in Satanic "pow-wows:' Converted Indians are thus not just savages; they are the abomination of all truly professed and "visible" saintsthey are hypocrites, those who profess one thing and actually believe and do another. While Rowlandson claims her ability to read this discrepancy, however, the fact that she sees such a savage "under the appearance of a Friend Indian" in Boston after the war confirms her Cassandra-like inability to convince those colonials in power to believe what she has seen. Scholars have read the Rowlandson representation of the Christian Indians as opposing the views of Increase Mather, John Eliot, the so-called "Apostle to the Indians;' and others in this instance. For Mather and Eliot, especially, conversion of the Indians had become increasingly both a major justification for the New English colonial mission in the first place, and, if less directly, a fantasied means of populating the region with orthodox Christians of their stamp who could help them fight both threats from abroad and possibly even challenges from other colonists. 38 In this instance, one need only point to the Rowlandson text's split representation of these Indians-making general claims about them as a group, she is nonetheless welcoming and loving to "Tom" and "Peter" who come to intercede for her with her captors in the 19th remove. The issue here is that the Praying Indians do not fully represent any one thing either to Rowlandson or to her supporters. It is precisely their flexibility as representations that make them useful to second-generation ministers confronting a range of challenges, European and colonial as well as Indian. In the case of Rowlandson's narrative, rather than entirely dismissing its reading of their meaning here, one would rather think that ministerial elites could also have supported it, precisely because of the focus on the discrepancy between inner feelings and outer performance demonstrated by the Praying Indians whom Rowlandson encounters. The issue of how to read appearances had not only been of profound concern in the Puritan past, but remained a pervasive concern in the context of ongoing internal arguments over the conversion of the second, third, and (even fourth) generations and of fears about English intervention. As the "outbreak" of witchcraft in Salem announced ten years later, concerns about how to read appearances only magnified as the colonial situation became massively destabilized by political and social changes which adaptation to English and to new French and Indian interventions demanded. Strikingly, as recent work by Mary Beth Norton details, not only does the rhetoric of Indian warfare and captivity inform the witch

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trials, but many of the participants, accused and accusers, had also been earlier marked by the experience of war and captivity in Maine. 39 In the case of Salem in 1692 as in the case of Rowlandson in 1682, representations of Indians and representations of gender converged to register inner as well as outer responses to political, social, and cultural transformations in notions of legitimate fatherly authority. It is in this sense that we can return to Rowlandson's representations, suggesting that her casting of the Praying Indians as false Christians raises questions not just about their beliefs, but also about the feelings informing the text's anger against them. The anecdote about Rowlandson's sister invoked at the beginning of this chapter expressed both the anxiety and the relief her sister experienced in acknowledging her own inability to act for herself, in accepting God's "free grace;' and presumably, in professing her conversion. In contrast to the case of her sister, the narrator's representations of the Praying Indians reveal the hypocrisy underlying their conversionsand the reality of their acting on other allegiances, other feelings, other desires than those of the truly converted. In its angry denunciations of them, the Rowlandson narrative seems both to express anxieties about Rowlandson's own spiritual state-to what extent might there be a discrepancy between her own outer protestations of fidelity and her inner anger-and to reveal, through the very intensity of its denunciations, an increasing awareness of other kinds of similarity to them. For if the Praying Indians raise the question of the Rowlandson narrator's own spiritual identity, the Indians as a whole disturbingly raise the question of the grounds for the cultural identity of second-generation colonials as well as that of the Indians. Two moments in the 2oth remove, for instance, remark the Indians' apparently new practice of calling their own "General Court" and their direct use of Puritan modes of scriptural interpretation to justify their practices during the war. In the first case, they call Rowlandson before them "and said they were the General Court;' seeking to learn for what price her people would ransom her. Noting that it is a Praying Indian who writes her ransom letter on behalf of this "court;' the narrator begins a diatribe against them. Initiating this attack is her disdainful reading of Praying Indian scriptural interpretation that has equally been derived from their contact with colonial institutions and practices: There was another Praying Indian, who told me, that he had a brother, that would not eat horse; his conscience was so tender and scrupulous (though as large as hell, for the destruction of poor Christians). Then he said, he read that Scripture to him, (2 Kings 6:25) "There was a famine in Samaria, and behold they besieged it,

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until an ass's head was sold for four-score pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a cab of dove's dung for five pieces of silver." He expounded this place to his brother, and showed him that it was lawful to eat that in a famine which is not at another time. And now, says he, he will eat horse with any Indian of them all. 40

While intended to exhibit contempt for the Indians, this description both points at the Rowlandson narrator's own eating habits-she, for one, represents herself as making no such scriptural distinctions-and to a larger fact that the text both acknowledges and avoids. While many have noted how the narrative shows Rowlandson herself becoming adept at Indian wayseating and trading, for example-the text also represents specific instances of cultural blending and cultural accommodation on the part(s) of her captors. This blending does not involve Indian "hypocrisy" so much as it suggests the cultural accommodations they have made to the European colonial incursions over the past century, accommodations achieved not by the wholesale abandonment of their own culture (as John Eliot and others might have wished), but by a pragmatic transformation of certain practices and even beliefs to their own ends. 41 But what does such accommodation mean to the colonials who describe it? Another response by the Rowlandson narrator to the Indians' cultural transformation occurs earlier in the 16th remove when a group of horsemen approaches and she believes, by their dress, that they are English: "My heart skipped within me, thinking they had been Englishmen at the first sight of them, for they were dressed in English apparel, with hats, white neckcloths, and sashes about their waists; and ribbons upon their shoulders; but when they came near, there was a vast differences between the lovely faces of Christians, and foul looks of those heathens, which much damped my spirits again:' 42 What is fascinating about this passage is the connection it makes between clothing and cultural identity. Unable to come up with any clear means of differentiating between Indians and "Englishmen:' the narrator can only base her claims on the arguable distinction between "fair" and "foul" faces. Her inability to distinguish real differences, when it is considered in the light of the Indians' institutional imitations as well as their clothing choices, has profound implications for the narrator's attempts to distinguish not simply outer appearance but also inner feelings from those of her captors. Throughout the text's representations of Indians, there resonates within the Rowlandson narrator's claims of orthodoxy the fear that the text is becoming something other than itself to itself, that its narrator can no longer establish credible distinctions. This recognition points to the need for a rereading of the narrative's representations of Indian unreadability.

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To keep the Indians unreadable, on one level, to leave their meaning up to Providence, is to avoid a knowledge of what, on one level, one already knows from the jeremiads: the colonists are being attacked by Indians because they have been "Indianized:' But if this is the case, why does the Rowlandson narrative suggest that rather than admitting one's Indianization, it is preferable to remain passive and to ascribe no meanings to the Indians until Providence finally provides one? What precisely is at stake in admitting the similarity this claim defers? If the logic of providentialism sets it up one way-we are "like" the Indians because they are at once representations of and punishment for our own sinful desires, Rowlandson's text both elaborates on and moves beyond this logic. On the one hand, like the Praying Indians, the narrator and the men who identify with her position have become hypocrites; they too profess a loyalty to their fathers while wishing to do them violence. This violence takes the shape not only of beliefs about Indian hypocrisy and Indian aggression, however, but also of fears of cultural transformation. What the Praying Indians suggest from one perspective, the Indians dressed as Englishmen thus suggest from another. Like Rowlandson, the colonial men who support her text possess the desire to dress as, to become something other than, what they think they are. The single loophole for the captive woman and those who identify with her position seems to be to forestall acknowledging that this desire is at all the case and to leave the final word on the meaning of the Indians and of the colonials' own "Indianization" up to a Providence that will not (cannot) reveal itself until the captive's "restoration" is completed. The phrase "strange providences," or "strange dispensations," occurring a number of times in the text-especially in the final removes-provides a way of at once acknowledging and foreclosing a more traumatic sense of what the Indians signify. For, to return on another level to our analysis of the types, what if the Indians serve as less the marks of the sins of colonial "sons;' signs of their transgressions of the positive law of the "fathers" through conscious counterdesires or activities, than as the marks of a difference from fathers that has occurred in spite of all filial attempts to maintain that similarity? What if the most "strange" aspect of divine dispensations to the heathen is that in this New England, in this generational moment, the more that loyal "sons" have attempted to repeat their "fathers;' the more they find themselves becoming the difference from them that they cannot help but be? Doing what they think is demanded, politically, culturally, economically to repeat the "fathers" (from devotional practices to replicating the initial moment of English

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colonization through trade )-in the "strange dispensations" to the Indians, "praying" and nonpraying, New England "sons" potentially stand revealed as something other than the "fathers'" demands and other than their own fantasy of loyal continuity. It is this awareness, this shock that returns this reading on a cultural as well as theological level to the state of Job, the figure of absolute difference whose position so deeply informs the Rowlandson text's use of the types and its representations of her captors. If Job's guilty and guiltless state presents one of the starkest theological grounds for the Judea-Christian faith, the continuous inscription of this contradictory state throughout different features of Mary Rowlandson's captivity narrative underscores the extremity of the ambivalence on which the second-generation defense of the first generation depends. Job as the figure of ineradicable difference, acknowledged and avoided in the narrative's use of the types, but uncannily reappearing in the representation of Rowlandson as "Praying Indian" and the Indians as colonial "Englishmen;' serves at once to reveal the mixed emotions on which the defense of the first generation and their God is grounded and to insist on the absolute necessity of maintaining it anyway. For to move beyond or outside of Job's apparent contradictions-guiltless and still punishable, essentially not willfully different from the Father's demand-is not only to move beyond Scripture to confront the unsymbolizable contingency of all human experience; it is thereby to overwhelm and to destroy utterly the ambivalent framework that grants some colonial men their identity.

Summary And thus we return to the cultural centrality of the representation of the captive woman in 1682 for second -generation ministerial supporters of Mary Rowlandson's narrative. The planned intervention of royal government in New England in the years after "King Philip's War" arouses a crisis in the communal as well as the self-understanding of particular male elites who support the cultural positions of Increase Mather. Trained up in a religious tradition of self-doubt and self-distrust that is in many ways socially confirmed by real first-generation fathers' prolonged efforts to refuse their sons mature cultural status, these ambivalent men nonetheless come to locate their own cultural power as a generation in an ardent defense of what they powerfully construct as their orthodox repetition of the ways of the "fathers." Fearful of their own desires to separate from these "fathers" and consciously

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to embrace the cultural changes they have experienced since the Restoration, in the years after the conflict with Metacom, such men not only renew and transform the jeremiadic rhetoric of generational declension by turning to a rhetoric of passivity, they also actively support the publication and republication of a new postwar type of providence tale-the narrative of an orthodox woman's captivity by Indians. Identification with the representation of the passive woman captive allows them to displace current political and religious worries about England and their own internal competition onto features of the past Indian War. At the same time, this identification also arouses and reveals the ambivalence at the heart of the defense of their reading of the first-generation against all challengers. The Rowlandson text productively comes to serve the multiple ends of expressing their filial loyalty and their desire to separate, their orthodoxy and their unwitting "Indianization;' their fantasied passivity and their fantasied violence. The representative position of the passive woman captive at once threatens and sustains a transforming social order affected as much by new Anglo-European cultural and economic influences as it is by Indian attacks. Revealing their confrontation, avoidance, and refusal of their inevitable and uncontrollable difference from the first-generation fathers, Mary Rowlandson's narrative offers profound insight into the mixed desires marking and sustaining such men's identities.

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The Uses of Female Humiliation: Judea Capta, Hannah Dustan, and Hannah Swarton in the 1690s

The position of the female captive as represented in the Rowlandson text is used to express and sustain the desire of certain secondgeneration men simultaneously to identify loyally with the "fathers" and to separate from the first generation. As their 1682 support for Rowlandson's narrative suggests, the position could be turned toward local conflicts and competitions (Indian or colonial) and toward international imperial challenges (English and, later, French). In both cases, the position of the passive colonial woman, who must endure and depend on rescue from others, is used to shape and to maintain ambivalent attitudes toward fatherly political and cultural authority. The intensity of such men's ambivalence indicates not simply the presence of mixed emotions toward the first generation, however; it also suggests the extraordinary threat to their sense of identity that challenges to the structure of their ambivalence presented. The renewed use of representations of the female captive by ministers like Cotton Mather and John Williams during the unstable political and cultural period following the abrogation of the original Massachusetts charter indicates how this flexible representation could be turned to new political and social uses in an attempt to address and to construct unifying challenges to a third- and even a fourth-generation male identity for those who no longer necessarily read themselves in the generational terms of the second generation. At the same time, however, to a far more pressing degree than is evident in Increase Mather's and his allies' support for Mary Rowlandson's narrative, Cotton Mather and John Williams's uses of captivity reveal not only the difficulty of this fatherly mandate, but their own ambivalence towards it. During the late 1690s and early 1700S, their representations of captivity come to reveal alternative fantasies about the relationship of "fathers" to "sons" which the inherited structure of ambivalence can no longer adequately contain.

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Shaping a "Distressed People" Indian captivity, real and threatened, became one of the punishments for colonial sins which regularly appeared in sermons throughout the 169os, as a series of new wars erupted in Europe and in the North American colonies over issues of political sovereignty and legitimacy that continued until 1763. In 1688, William of Orange, husband of James II's Protestant daughter, Mary, easily seized (some will say usurped) the throne of England from a politically weakened James II. In Massachusetts, the Dutch-born king's actions were used to justify the 1689 overthrow of the colony's first royal governor, Edmond Andros, by a variety of contesting groups who became momentarily unified in their hatred of Andros, an unpopular figure who flaunted his Anglicanism in Puritan Boston and, perhaps more significantly, threatened colonial property rights and trading practices. 1 Louis de Baude, comte de Frontenac, governor of Canada, with whose French and Indian forces Andros was already competing, read this situation somewhat differently from New English colonials, refusing to send back their captives whom he now termed "rebels" against the legitimate English authority with which he himself contended.2 The legitimacy of the "Glorious Revolution" that claimed to establish true English identity as Protestant identity was threatened by the ensuing efforts of Catholic kings, Louis XIV and James II, to invade England from Ireland. Not only confronted with this challenge, the new English rulers, William and Mary, also became involved in a Continental war over French attempts to expand militarily and economically into northern and central Europe. Quickly repelling threats to the new monarchy from Scotland as well as from Ireland, William III and his allies continued to fight with Louis XIV in Europe until the exhausted and tenuous Peace of Ryswick of 1697. 3 As a result of such ongoing European conflicts over "legitimate" sovereignty and imperial expansion, older frontier skirmishes in the North American colonies over borders and trade-many still lingering from before Andros's time as royal governor-became newly fueled in New York and New England. The entire "eastern" region, as it was called, was destabilized for over a decade by the raids and skirmishes of French regulars, colonials, and their native allies. Complicating matters, tribes such as the Iroquois, involved both militarily and diplomatically, played French and English colonials against one another and frequently changed sides for their own economic and political interests. 4 Within New England itself, ongoing attacks on towns and settlements in western Massachusetts as well as in New Hampshire and in Maine resulted

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not only in the taking of captives, but also in the creation of large migrant populations fleeing into secured towns unprepared to accommodate their needs. New research suggests that these migrants as well as groups of returning captives themselves helped to strain the psychological as well as physical resources of these towns and contributed to the witchcraft controversy in which a number of one-time captives directly or indirectly participated. 5 The rhetoric of trial participants certainly linked the French and Indians to witchcraft, with both groups famously appearing as the spectres who tormented their victims (many former captives) even in the heart of New England. At the same time, the rhetoric was also directed at the deported royal governor, Edmond Andros, and those New English colonials who were suspected of supporting him. 6 Such research is now rewriting in different social terms earlier claims that the Salem witchcraft crisis was a response to political instability. Wars in Europe over political legitimacy within states as well as economic and expansionist competition among them spilled over into colonial conflicts between colonial New England and Canada that directly contributed to internal social conflicts within Massachusetts towns already divided over the economic and political changes that accompanied the 1685 loss of the "fathers' " charter. Increase Mather, having fled Andros's Boston in 1688 to plead for thereturn of old charter privileges before James II found himself in just a few months-on the other side of the "Glorious Revolution" and the Andros overthrow in Boston-attempting to make the case for the charter's restoration, in somewhat different terms, before the new Protestant sovereigns, William and Mary. Although he had recourse to an unfamiliar Whig vocabulary of English "rights" and a more comfortable rhetoric of shared Protestantism, Mather was unable to recover the crucial charter practice of gubernatorial election as opposed to royal appointment and so returned to Boston in 1692 at the beginning of the Salem controversy. He had won the return of colonial property rights as well as the right of an elected Assembly to nominate the members of the royal governor's council, who were mandated to give him "advice and consent" in all matters set before him. But because Mather had failed to restore older practices such as attaching voting rights to church membership (instead of to property ownership) and, crucially, the election of all officials, the governor included, he was bitterly excoriated by one-time fellow traditionalists. In the midst of the crisis over authority raised by the witch crisis, Mather's return with both a new charter and a new royal governor could be read as contributing to as much as resolving dissension over the grounding of legitimate "sovereignty" in Massachusetts.?

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Increase Mather's handpicked choice for the first royal governor under the new charter, William Phips, famously did little to help matters. If Phips had earlier provided one moment of glory in the colonial sector of the war by capturing Port Royal in Acadia in 1690, his attempt that same year to take Quebec proved an ignominious failure for New England. While Phips was governor from 1692 to 1695, his erratic and uncontrollable behavior, ranging from public beatings of prominent men to political intrigues against members who opposed him in the elected General Assembly, called forth complaints to London from traditionalists as well as from those supporting the colony's new royal status. Returning to London in relative disgrace to answer charges, he suddenly died in 1695, leaving the colony once again in an uncertain position politically. William Stoughton, who became acting governor, had been a friend of both Increase and Cotton Mather, but was enraged by both Phips's and Increase Mather's dismissal of his rigid judgments during the latter part of the Salem trials. 8 It is in this ongoing context of national and imperial reorganization and competition in England, in Europe, and in the North American colonies that Cotton Mather, Increase's third-generation son, mounts the pulpit to preach a humiliation sermon before a fast in 1697, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, the central representation of which is a captive woman. Cotton Mather had attained a measure of generational autonomy during his father's time in London when he had become involved in the "revolution" against Andros; both in sermons and in a variety of tracts he indirectly supported and justified the royal governor's removal. Yet, as Kenneth Silverman has noted, upon Increase Mather's much desired return, Cotton Mather seemed willingly to renounce his own momentary leadership role in colonial politics. In spite of his father's public disagreement with him over the Salem witch trials, which Cotton Mather persisted in reading as a satanic conspiracy against New England, Cotton zealously supported both his father's new charter and the appointment of Phips as the first royal governor under the new charter. He was accordingly deeply dismayed by attacks on the former and by the military and political failures of the latter. 9 Cotton Mather's defensive biography of Phips, Pietas in Patriam, as much an apologia for his father's role in negotiating the new charter as for Phips, appeared in London in 1695, while his election sermon, Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon, directly took up the more local defense of Phips and Increase Mather in 1696. It is within the context of this defense, in particular, that Cotton Mather's (re)turn to the figure of the captive woman in 1697 should be understood. Alluding in Things for a Distress'd People to the coming of yet another

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royal governor, Cotton curiously lauds the fact of governorship, while also proudly detailing New English constraints on its power: [0] ur God, upon our turn to Him, will give us a Governour, that shall be like a Guardian Angel unto us, Employing his whole strength to Guard us from all Disasters. Although we are Invested with a Royal Charter, which leaves not any Governour capable to Enact one law, or Levy one Tax, or Constitute one Counseller, or one Judge, or one Justice, or one Sheriff, without such a Negative of the people upon him, as the people are not in the other American Plantations, no, nor in Ireland, no, nor in England it self, privileged withal ... 10

If being an appointed royal governor is tantamount to being an angel, clearly Mather signals to his New English hearers-and to the new government of Massachusetts-that even angelic authority has been significantly curtailed by his father's new charter. Cotton uses this same logic, in which he ends at a reversed position from where he ostensibly begins, to describe Phips's Canada defeat. Even if a "marvellous Frown from Heaven, so defeated this contrivance, that although it was at first next unto a Miracle that so important a Thing, as the Conquest of Canada, was not accomplished, yet Now our Armies not being All cut off, by the whole Force of Canada now arriv'd into Quebeck, was a Deliverance next unto a Miracle."n The miracle of the victory itself not having occurred, Cotton nonetheless contrives to locate a miracle in the escape of the New English army from the French. Such adaptable rhetoric allows Cotton, while expressing his allegiance to the appointed royal governor to come, at once to defend his father's charter limitations on imperial governance and, if indirectly, to praise the deceased Phips, the loyally orthodox New English governor of his own father's choosing. By 1697, however, this rhetoric becomes transformed, due, it seems, not only to the fact of recent French and Indian raids on Casco, Maine, and Haverhill, Massachusetts, but also to a growing sense that internal colonial contentions and competition over political and cultural authority have not subsided in the face of external threats, but increased. As historians have detailed, in 1697, Increase and Cotton Mather and their allies, still smarting from Sir William Phips's political failures, entered into new controversy with former students and fellow ministers concerning the oversight that the next royal governor and his council would be allowed to exercise over the education of ministers at Harvard, whose charter (and whose control) they had sought to defend from the other changes royal appointment of the governor had imposed on Massachusetts. 12 Publicly acknowledging toleration as English state policy, many ministers were clearly alarmed at the possibility of its

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application to ministerial education at Harvard and its obvious repercussion for their own power as New England's traditional cultural spokesmen and monitors of social behavior. On all fronts-political, religious, and social-the orthodox position is threatened by changes that Cotton Mather's attempts to explain and to accommodate rhetorically in Things for a Distress'd People can no longer contain. In Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, a fast sermon delivered the year after his election address, Mather's convoluted efforts to impose a logic on the colony's chaotic situation disappear and his exhortations near the sermon's end instead highlight the lack of clarity surrounding all internal and external events. Seeking to "quicken" the more specific humiliations he has detailed at the sermon's beginning and here repeats-by now predictable humiliations such as droughts, captivity and murder by Indians, losses at sea, and sickness-Cotton Mather points to inexplicable and mysterious confusions. He notes the humbling that should be seen in "[t]he Constant Miscarriages of our most Likely Expeditions;' the "darkening of the Land" under the cloud of misunderstanding attending the witch trials, and the "unfruitfulness;' "insensibility" and "Apostasy" of even the colony's "Seers" and "Churches:' Turning to a rhetoric used formerly in his treatment of the witch trials, Wonders of the Invisible World (1693), Mather here again suggests how forces of darkness and confusion seek to overcome New England's gospel order from within as well as without. Underlying this rhetoric of darkness and incoherence is the fear Mather invokes indirectly in his description of New England's latest Indian adversaries as "such as are not a People, but a Foolish Nation." 13 Preceded by the preacher's detailing of colonial confusions and apostasies, this description seems to refer less to the Indians, toward whom the biblical description of the Canaanites had often been directed in justification for seizing their land, than to a woefully fragmented and confused New England that can itself no longer claim to be a unified "People." The desire both to arouse and to address fears about New England's not being such a "People" directly informs Cotton Mather's choice of a humiliated captive woman to represent the current position of all of New England. He directs the sermon as a whole to the goal of encouraging identification with her position. Such identification would serve as evidence that New England, especially Massachusetts, continued to be a "People" of a particular kind. Rather than drawing on a real captive's experience in this sermon, like that of Mary Rowlandson, the details of which could presumably detract from this broader rhetorical goal, Mather instead asks his hearers to view themselves within the terms of his own allegorical representation of female

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humiliation. The female captive's position will at once explain the nature of the sins and the punishments which have been levied on New England and indicate, in the face of a new royal governor to come, a way for the community to emerge unified and supportive of the grounding offered by the traditional political and religious authority represented by figures like William Phips and his own father.

Judea Capta vs. the Daughters of Zion Judea capta appears in the applications section of the sermon. Having "confessed" a variety of colonial sins and punishments and outlined the "ceremony" of a reforming fast, Mather turns to exhort his hearers: It was a Prophecy concerning, The Daughter of Zion, in Isa. 3.26. She being Desolate,

shall sit upon the Ground. When Zion was Desolate, by the Roman Conquest, (unto which this Prophecy might Extend) there were Coins made in Commemoration of that Conquest, and on those Coins there was a Remarkable Exposition of this Prophecy. On the Reverse of those Medals, which are to be seen unto this Day, there is, A Silent Woman sitting upon the ground, and leaning against a Palm-tree, with this Inscription, JUDAEA CAPTA. Nor was any Conquered City or Countrye, before this of Judaea, ever thus drawn upon Medals, as, A Woman sitting upon the Ground. Alas, If poor New-England, were to be shown upon her old Coin, we might show her Leaning against her Thunderstruck Pine tree, Desolate, sitting upon the Ground. Ah! New England! Upon how many Accounts, mayst thou say with her, in Ruth 1:13. The Hand of the Lord is gone out against me!" 14

An implicit narrative precedes this representation that places it in two overlapping contexts. Discussing the meaning of the phrase, the "Mighty Hand of God;' Cotton notes that the Roman emperor Nero may be "particularly designed" in this phrase. This leads him to draw an analogy between Nero and Louis XIV: "And by a French Nero, have we also been so vexed, that we have cause to Humble ourselves under what we have Endured from that Mighty Hand:' 15 The analogy seems clear. Just as the imperial Romans have conquered the Jews, so New England is threatened with conquest by a Roman Catholic king. At the same time, however, there is another piece to this analogy that Mather does not make quite so explicit. The reference in the passage proper to the pine-tree shilling complicates the Jewish vs. Roman and New English vs. French Catholic parallels by suggesting the older and continuing threat of an English imperialism equally threatening to orthodox New England.

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The New English coin of which Cotton Mather speaks, the pine-tree shilling, first appeared in 1652, against express commands that the colonies not mint their own specie. It continued to be minted throughout the 1670s, still using the date of 1652, and was used, in fact, to pay troops during "King Philip's War." Although new coinage was forbidden by Governor Andros, the first royal governor, the pine-tree shilling still persisted as a means of exchange, though limited, in the colonies and outside of them. 16 Mather obviously wishes to conflate Jewish history, Roman history, and New English history in his imaginary new coin. Yet if his intention here is to invoke a New English completion of a biblical prophecy in the face of Catholic France and a Catholic as well as an imperial Rome, his use of the colonial pine-tree shilling also points to events preceding the current imperial conflict. The reference to the "pine-shilling" is telling, invoking as it does, the time before the fall of Andros and the 1652 original printing, when Cromwell was still in power in England and the original charter still in effect in New England. Attitudes toward current royal dominion in New England are implied not only in the phrase ''And on how many accounts might we say" that "the Hand of the Lord has gone out against us;' but also, less obliquely, by Cotton's turn to the dying words of a loyal second-generation ministerial son. Immediately following his description of Judea capta, Mather cites the prophetic last words of"Mr. John Eliot, the younger," the son of the minister, John Eliot, the first-generation preacher to the Indians and longtime supporter of Increase Mather: ''As for New England, I believe, that God will not Unchurch it, but He will make a Poor and Afflicted People in it. Boston and the Massachusetts Colony, is Coming Down, Coming Down, Coming Down apace! Expect Sad and sore Afflictions:' 17 Whereas deathbed professions certainly were a favorite of ministers and congregations in New England, Cotton Mather specifically puts a date on this one-"twenty years ago:' In 1697, twenty years before would mean the end of "King Philip's War;' the coming of Edward Randolph, and the latest resumption of New England's political difficulties with royalist England. The language itself, "Boston and the Massachusetts Colony is coming down" implies that an unspoken humiliation in Mather's sermon remains the fall of New England's chartered autonomy and the cultural confusions and conflicts over legitimate political and social authority that have occurred ever since. Mather "quickens" the younger Eliot's warning, following it with explicit references to humiliating moments in New English past history: the mysterious failure of military expeditions and other enterprises, the witch outbreak, and relatedly, the strange spiritual "insensibility" and well-nigh apostasy afflicting the "churches."

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For New England's political fall is clearly matched by and analogous to its spiritual fall. The humiliated woman captive represents not simply the state to which New England has been reduced by past and continuing external challengers, English as well as French and Catholic, but also by its own internal religious and social controversies. In addition to bruising punishments from without, the "Daughter of Zion" has been humbled above all, by Spiritual Plagues whereto we are abandoned. The Plagues of a Blind Mind, and an Hard Heart, and an Astonishing Unfruitfulness under all the Means of Grace; and a Stupid Insensibility of the Causes for which, and the Manners in which, the Almighty God is Contending with us, have Siezed upon us. Some of our Seers have a mist before their Eyes' Some of our Churches fall asleep till they are stript of their Garments; under the Sharpest Chastisements of Heaven, we grow worse and worse, with such a Swift Apostasy, that if we Degenerate the Next Ten Years ... that we have done the Last, God be Merciful unto us! 18 What is striking in this passage is not Mather's assault on individual church or nonchurch members, but on New English "Seers" and "Churches" who, the passage implies, have refused to accept his and others' readings of the social "Causes" for and "Manners" whereby God is punishing New England. In a manner similar to his father's earlier conflict with William Hubbard, Cotton argues that the breaking of New England's covenants-personal, church, and federal-has eventuated in a range of past and current humiliations. Perry Miller long ago commented on New England preachers' "cult of indirection" in which different and conflicting interests might be addressed in the most orthodox of terms. 19 In this instance, while Cotton Mather avoids the ascription of specific parties who disagree with him, major targets seem to be Solomon Stoddard, the minister of the Northampton Church in Connecticut, on the one hand, and John Leverett and William Brattle, two Harvard tutors, on the other. Again, Cotton's naming of a time frame, in this case "ten years" of apostasy, may be very particular. In 1687, exactly ten years from the time Cotton is preaching, Stoddard published his The Safety ofAppearing at the Day of Judgment in the Righteousness of Christ, in which he drew the traditional notion of New England's church covenants into question. While Stoddard's influence had been largely limited to the Connecticut Valley, given the political as well as religious climate of the 1690s, his challenge to traditional church polity had clearly become attractive to men like John Leverett and William Brattle, who left his Harvard tutorship in 1696 to become minister of the influential church in Cambridge. In 1696 and 1697, to the extreme anger of Increase, Brattle and Leverett failed to vote against

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visitation to Harvard by the new royal governor and council, suggesting both their willingness to allow imperial English political forces into the one New English institution unchanged by the new charter, and, perhaps even more tellingly, their openness to and support of a new moderate, latitudinarian, "enlarged;' in short-more contemporary English-curriculum for their students. Both Leverett and Brattle and the new curriculum they supported were directly and indirectly dismissive, even scornful, of the traditional covenant theology that continued to be promoted by ministers like Increase and Cotton Mather. It is therefore telling that in 1697, the same year as the conflict over Harvard begins, that Cotton Mather published his biography of Jonathan Mitchell, architect of the Halfway Covenant of 1662, the document establishing the central, if modified, role of covenant in New English church polity. 20 In the terms of the passage just cited, the positions of "Seers" like Stoddard, Leverett, and Brattle have helped to bring the colony to the position of Judea capta precisely because they have failed to acknowledge that this is in fact the position the colony is in! It is their "sleepiness;' their indifference to traditional modes of church practice that has helped to bring on what they deny-God's wrath at New England for breaking its covenantal vows. It is in this context that Cotton Mather's references to Isaiah 3, the passage describing the "haughty daughters of Zion:' should surely be read as taking on a more pointed and virulent tone, one which becomes directed at the explicitly female representation of Judea capta in a slightly different way. The third chapter of Isaiah begins with images of social death and reversal, lamenting the passing of all men of wisdom and the ascension to power of "children" and "babies," who behave "proudly against the ancient;' and usher in the reign of oppression and contention: "As for my people, children are their oppressors, and women rule over them. 0 my people, they which lead thee cause thee to err, and destroy the way of thy paths." This reversal in the patriarchal order of things is typified by the "daughters" of Zion, who "walke with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet:' The Lord, warns Isaiah, will punish them by removing their ornaments one by one: ''And it shall come to pass, that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty." 21 Just as the pride of those who have effected this reversal in appropriate authority is represented by women's bodies that are ornamented, so is their humiliation typified by women's bodies stripped of their ornaments and "discovered" in "their secret

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parts." In this context, the worst image Cotton Mather can conceive of for those second- and third-generation "Seers" and "Churches" who oppose his readings of New England's current humiliation as stemming from a breaking of covenant is precisely to humiliate them by representing them as naked, genitally stinking, half-balding women! Yet as much as this use of Isaiah certainly implies Cotton Mather's (and the prophet's) culturally inflected fear of, anger at, and repulsion for the female body, Mather clearly also needs the representation of a woman's humiliation to do more than to enforce or prove the community-wide afflictions or humiliations caused by fellow colonial men who disagree with him. As the sermon itself demonstrates, Cotton Mather was also concerned with ritualized acts of humiliation and their social "effects."22 If humiliation is an effect of sin, an accepted or even a willed humiliation, such as that expressed in a ritual fast, may signal redemptive effects. As much as the humiliated captive woman is thus used to figure past historical afflictions and current religious and social conflicts, she also represents the position one must inhabit to be delivered from such humiliations. In her assent to her humiliation, ritually acknowledged in the structure of the fast, lies restoration, not only of the individual "one," but also of the group as a whole. And these effects are more than simply local. For while concerns about social behaviors and covenants in New England drive Mather's choice of Judea capta, like his father, he was equally interested in the meaning of captivity both in the Bible and in the worldwide captivity of Protestants that seemed to be occurring in the 1690s. All of these he read in terms of a chiliastic vision in which New England in general as well as Cotton Mather in particular, were to play their own roles. In the early 1690s he had argued that the witch outbreak needed to be read in a far larger context and a rhetoric of premillennialism (the coming of the thousand years before the Last Judgement) persists throughout the 1690s as he writes with increasing excitement about worldwide Protestant captivities. In 1698, for example, he writes A Pastoral Letter to the English Captives in Africa and in Things for a Distress'd People, he specifically relates the current difficult "Captivitie" of the Protestant Church throughout both Europe and America to a reading of the times to come: "For you must expect, That these Things will come on with such Horrible Commotions, and Concussions, and Confusions, that Mens Hearts everywhere shall fail them for Fear, and for looking after those Things which are coming on the Earth." 23 Like Daniel, who did "understand by Books, that the Number of the years, for the Captivitie of the Church of God, was very near accomplished;' New England, led by her ministers, should read the local

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and international commotions, turmoils, and even the captivities of the past decade not as signs of her continuing captivity, but as indications of a coming restoration, and, indeed, of a renewed role in God's plan: The mighty Angels of the Lord Jesus Christ, will make their Descent, and set the World a Trembling at the Approaches of their Almighty Lord: They will shake Nations, and Shake Churches, and Shake mighty Kingdoms, and Shake once more, not Earth only, but Heaven also. The very next Thing, I freely tell you, that I look for, is, That there will those Horrible Shakes be given unto certain Kingdoms in Europe that shall bring the pure Worshippers of the Lord Jesus Christ into such Employments and Advancements, as they never had before. 24

Cotton Mather's focus on God's readable providence yields to a new interest in the intentions underlying unreadable catastrophes. Understood in the light of the Book of Revelation's splitting of the world into the Kingdoms of Christ and Antichrist, the reduction of New England to the state of the humiliated female captive signals not divine abandonment but the possible coming of the new Reformation. Even though the Jewish people have also been taken captive and have engaged in chosen and ritual acts of humiliations throughout their history, their efforts, warns Mather, have had no "effects" because they have not accepted the new covenant of grace offered by Christ. Failing to accept the new covenant, they have deprived themselves of His willingness to save them both individually and as a people. In contrast, "pure worshipers of Christ" who have depended on Christ's humiliation to put their own humiliation "into Suit" with God, have experienced the "great effects" their humbling has helped to set in motion. All it takes, notes Cotton, moving to, yet linking together, Judaeo-Christian history and his own church, is for one member of the congregation, the faith of "one Humble Soul," "one Moses, of one Samuel, yea, of one Amos, one poor, obscure, honest Husbandman;' to urge Christ's "Sacrifice for the Congregation." When "he" is willing to assume the position of the "woman on the ground" and to signal their humiliation through his performance of the duties of a ritual fast, then assuredly, "great effects;' including conceivably, new "Employments" and "Advancements" in the coming thousand-year kingdom, will follow. 25 The structure of Mather's fast sermon which so carefully interweaves religious, political, and social issues with the central representation of Judea capta suggests that this is the culminating point at which he wished his remarks to arrive. Drawing on what was by now a typically jeremiadic form, the sermon begins by detailing New England's humiliations and then outlines

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the two-part structure of the fast, confession and reformation, that will indicate "her" willing acceptance of humiliation. The representation of Judea capta allows for past and present New English history, both local and international, to be read as a meaningful series of humiliations that offer a way of recouping losses and, imaginatively at least, regaining some sense of political as well as cultural authority. Had the sermon concluded with the exhortations to the "one poor soul" this double logic of the representation of Judea capta would have been clearly enforced as a single male soul, willingly inhabiting her passive position, made "suit" to Christ for a deliverance of the entire congregation and colony. But, Mather's sermon did not end here, and something far more dramatic occurred. As the published version of Humiliations indicates, Cotton Mather's sermon did not draw to its projected conclusion because of the unexpected appearances of three real captives in his congregation's midst, two of them victims of the latest "humiliation"-the French and Indian attacks on Haverhill and Casco for which the official fast day had been called. Dealing with these captives, specifically with Hannah Dustan, a woman who had already become famous for her violent exploits, proved an extraordinarily difficult rhetorical task for Cotton Mather. For, while Dustan's bloody story upholds aspects of his focus on representative female humiliation, it also undercuts his attempts to exhort the congregation to a ritual passivity in which New England's special covenant relations to God-both personal and communalare reaffirmed and even premillennially transformed. Clearly eager, as the size of the printed title of the sermon suggests, to publicize grandiosely his own and his congregation's own role in the famous Hannah Dustan and her fellows' return, Cotton can also be argued to have sought, in published form, a way to recoup the original goal of his humiliation sermon-to locate the representative "one" whose ritual humiliation and passivity would achieve "great effects" for his congregation and New England as a whole. It is this end, I would argue, that leads him both to append the far more modestly announced narrative of another captive woman, Hannah Swarton, to the published version of his humiliations sermon and to a very explicit borrowing of text and language from Mary Rowlandson's earlier captivity narrative. As we shall see, in its focus on the threat from French Catholicism as much as from Indians, Hannah Swarton's narrative enables Mather to showcase a captive New English woman's humiliation on a world imperial stage in a way that. serves both his local and international ends. While Hannah Dustan's bloody story initially threatens Mather's sermonic intentions, his attempts both sermonically and structurally to frame it for his own ends move him to a

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renewed sense of the variable uses of the female captive's position for defending and sustaining his own generational version of a loyal male identity. 26

The Difficulties of Hannah Dustan The facts about Hannah Dustan of Haverhill's captivity we obtain largely from Cotton Mather's third-person account, itself possibly drawn from or even citing a report sent to him from the minister at Haverhill. In March of 1697, Hannah Dustan, having just given birth to her eighth child, was taken captive by a group of Northern Abenaki Indians in the service of the French. In response to their boasts that their captives would be forced to run the gauntlet in Canada, Dustan and her two fellow captives, Mary Neff of Haverhill, Dustan's nurse, and Samuel Lennardsen (captured the year before at York) killed ten of their captors and escaped. Famously, Dustan, in particular, returned to remove their scalps because of the bounties Massachusetts had earlier promised for them. Mather inserts this story just after he reaches the original concluding point in his sermon addressing the need and ability of the "one Humble soul" to put Christ's merit "in suit" for the salvation of the entire congregation. Remarking that he notices "three persons" in the congregation who have been recently delivered, he notes that he will conclude "this Discourse, with making this unexpected occurrence, to be Subservient unto the main Intention thereof:' 27 Accordingly, as the anonymous preface had done with Mary Rowlandson's narrative, Mather attempts to humble Hannah Dustan by beginning his comments with a focus on her husband and his rescue of their remaining children (the newborn, according to the account, is brutally taken from her and bludgeoned against the family apple tree). Her husband's part in the adventure takes up more than a third of Mather's account of her captivity, suggesting Mather's clear desire to remove the sole focus of attention from Dustan herself. Then, turning to a topos that will become familiar in later captivities, the sermon describes Dustan's physical vulnerability as a mother who has just given birth. As it moves on, the text juxtaposes events in her story to comments from Mather that more specifically attach them to his sermon's attempt to re-create community through formal acts of humiliation. For example, the bloody deaths of neighbors are used as an occasion to argue for humiliation: "Christians, a Joshua would have Rent his Clothes, and fallen to the Earth on his Face, and have Humbled himself Exceedingly upon the falling out of such doleful Ruines upon his Neighbours!" 28 Simi-

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larly, the fact that the Indians who take her captive "pray" is set in contrast both to backsliding New Englanders who do not and to the sermon's own emphasis on prayer as part of the mandated preparation for a fast: "and for the shame of many a Prayerless Family among our English, I must now publish what these poor women assure me; 'tis This; In Obedience to the Instruction which the French have given them, they [Dustan's Indian captors) would have Prayers in their Family, no less than Thrice every Day." 29 When Mather finally describes Dustan's own actual movements into the wilderness, he points to her ability to survive in her weakened condition as a "wonder" of providence and not at all as a sign of her individual agency. Up to this point, Mather's account attempts to connect what happens to Dustan to its themes of humiliation and self-humbling. Eventually, however, the preacher must describe the unhumble act for which Dustan has just achieved her notoriety-her brutal beating and scalping of ten Indians. In the sermonic context (but significantly not in others, as we shall see) the meaning of this aggressive act must at least be in part removed from Dustan and her accomplices' control. In fact, what seems intentional on this part, given the typological parallels the sermon stresses, is Mather's rhetorical attempt to move the murders away from Dustan, Neff, and Lennardsen themselves by ending his description of their act by recourse solely to a scriptural parallel: One of these women took up a Resolution, to imitate the Action of Jael upon Sisera, and being where she had not her own Life secured by any Law unto her, she thought she was not forbidden by any Law, to taken away the Life, of the Murderers, by whom her Child had been butchered. She heartened the Nurse, and the Youth, to assist her, in this Enterprise; and they all furnishing themselves with hatchets for the purpose, they struck such Home Blows, upon the Heads of their Sleeping Oppressors, that e're they could any of them struggle into any effectual Resistance, at the Feet of those poor Prisoners, "They bowed, they fell, they lay down, at their feet they bowed, they fell; where they bowed, there they fell down Dead:' 30

The next chapter considers this language in detail. In this context, I wish to consider possible reasons for why Mather's description of the murders moves at its end to Scripture. The scriptural language, referring to the death of the pagan general Sisera at the hands of Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite, seems used here less as an analogy to than as a kind of orthodox representational replacement for the unorthodox Dustan's own act. While this might be viewed as a simple typological gesture on Mather's part-Dustan's act "completes" a scriptural forerunner-given Mather's desire to make her actions

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"subservient" to his sermon, we could instead interpret it as his attempt to cover and to control interpretation of her own active aggression. That is, Jael's act seems less to be typologically completed by Hannah Dustan's act than to replace it by displacing Dustan's act back to another scene. Mather's wish to manipulate Dustan's story becomes apparent when he turns from simply reporting her captivity to his own sermonic engagement with its meanings. As an addition to the application section of his fast sermon, Dustan's redemption is represented as less her own than a function of Mather's congregation's prayers for her. Her victory points to the efficacy of their prayers and should further suggest to them the great effects that follow from a ritually accepted and appropriately performed humiliation: "If we did now Humble our selves through out the Land, who can say, whether the Revenges on the Enemy, thus Exemplified, would not proceed much rather unto the quick Extirpation of those Bloody and Crafty men." 31 Dustan's act, transformed into an act of divine, not personal, restoration, becomes an example of what New England as a unified community could accomplish were "we" appropriately to "Humble our selves:' Turning next from his congregation to the three captives, Mather warns them to give credence to his interpretation of their act rather than to their own because his words, spoken in an "ordinance"-preaching-"carry with them a peculiar Efficacy and Authority." 32 At this point the sermon stages a reversal in which instead of being compensated or rendered to for their actions (whether in payment for scalps or otherwise), he argues that it is the captives who must now "render" to God. And what they are to render is a self that performs Cotton Mather's mandated form of self-humiliation. They can demonstrate their humiliation by turning to the "Lord Jesus Christ, Become[ing] the sincere Servants of that Lord, who by His Blood has brought you out of the Dungeon, wherein you were lately Languishing." He expects "great Returns of Humiliation, Thankfulness, and of Obedience, from you." If such returns are not made, warns Mather, alluding yet again to the rhetoric of the witch trials, they may be taken captive again, this time, not by Indians, but by tormenting "Devils."33 A number of issues surround Cotton Mather's attempt to humble Hannah Dustan, especially in front of his congregation at the North Church. First, there is his clear intention, given her current fame, to make her serve as "matter" for his fast sermon and thereby to prove the effects of his congregation's self-humbling to them as well as to her and her companions. Secondly, there is the more explicit theological desire to convince his hearers that such selfhumbling involves an appropriate and orthodox conversion experience-an

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owning of Christ as the ''Angel of the Covenant." Not their own actions, but only a humble acceptance of His merit can truly save them. Hannah Dustan, however, proves a problematic representative for such thinking on a number of intersecting religious, social, and ultimately political, levels. As Laurel Thatcher Ulrich long ago noted, Hannah Emerson Dustan was not a converted full church member. She made no public profession of faith for twenty-two years after her captivity.34 For Mather, whose sermon had detailed "sleepiness" and downright "apostasy" about owning the covenant on the part of elite preachers and Harvard tutors, Dustan obviously proved a literal as well as homiletical conundrum. She did not neatly represent the exemplary "one" at the sermon's close who satisfies God's demands, keeps His authority in place through a performed passivity that grants all to Christ's humiliation, and receives the desired public as well as personal "effects" of owning the covenant both individually and as a church member. The unconverted Dustan's individual aggressive female action clearly does not fit the passive model of restoration the sermon offered. She did not act out a designated role in a structure that projected and defended a particular covenantal model of understanding, appeasing, and benefiting from divine authority. No wonder that Mather struggles to make her seizing of control a function of his congregation's own orthodox prayerful self-humiliation and demands that she yield to his interpretive authority or, like the witches, be captured by devils. Her position as unconverted woman threatened not only his representation of Judea capta, but also the multiple ends, historical and contemporary, local and international, theological and political, that his sermon's representation of female passivity was intended to support. The structure of the sermon's ending, in which Mather turns first to his listeners and then to Dustan, Neff, and Lennardsen is reminiscent of the endings less of fast sermons than of execution sermons of the decade, in which generally the public and then the criminal were alternately addressed by the presiding preacher. Mather's reference to the "Dungeon" of the devils into which the unconverted captives may fall draws both on the rhetoric of the witch trials and on standard execution sermon imagery. 35 In Dustan's case, the use of this rhetoric has a further resonance. The next chapter addresses this story in more detail. Here it is sufficient to point out that Mather and many of his listeners were undoubtedly aware of the possible social problem that Hannah Dustan's triumph also presented. Her sister, Elizabeth Emerson, had been hanged for fornication and infanticide four years before her famous sister's exploit and Cotton Mather himself had preached Elizabeth's execution sermon. 36 The language of dungeons and devils at the end of his

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fast sermon seems consciously to refer to that sermon in at once admonishing and threatening Dustan to "self-humiliate" in the manner Mather describes or, like her murderous sister, to suffer the punishment of dungeons and tormenting devils. Rather than seeming like the application section of the standard jeremiad, in which the turn is so often to God's continuing love for a properly humiliated and repentant New England, Mather's ending comments thus seem more like ministerial warnings to a witch or other sinner about to be executed. He concludes his sermon with an emphasis more on punishment than on the "great effects" of individual humiliation: ''After all that is come upon us for our Evil Deeds, seeing thou, our Lord, has given us such Deliverances as this, should we again break thy Commandments, wouldst thou not be angry with us, till thou hadst Consumed us." 37 Humiliations does not end with a humbled, grateful, and representative Judea capta, who willingly accepts her humiliation and enacts and repeats it in a ritual fast, but with an aggressive unconverted woman who comes from a frontier family of dubious status. In addition to the theological and social problems she presents, there are the related, but unspoken, political meanings of Dustan as a settler in a town like Haverhill. As much as Mather desires to claim her exploit as one with representative clout for all of New England, her position as an unconverted settler opens up the old issue, addressed in the Synod of 1679, of the lack of clerical authority in the hinterlands as well as the related political and cultural threat posed by those at the current frontier. Scholars have recently noted how settler populations, unbound politically as well as religiously to Boston, posed a threat to Massachusetts's claims of political sovereignty over Maine-a property scramble which took place just before the Restorationand which was part of an attempt to consolidate a New English cultural as well as economic authority over the region in the face of revived royal English intervention. Settlers like the Dustans of Haverhill, Massachusetts, a settlement which the General Court of Massachusetts designated a "frontier town" in 1694, and even more pointedly, settlers like Hannah Swarton, who had moved to Casco, Maine, a far more distant "frontier;' were represented as threatening not simply because of their failure to express political allegiance to Massachusetts, but also because of their proximity to and trading contacts with Catholic Indians and French from Canada. 38 On this level, Dustan's and Swarton's positions as unconverted women, in particular, represent intersecting anxieties about the reach and legitimacy of traditional male political and cultural authority throughout the entire eastern region. Their captivities

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write in gendered terms fears about the instability of the "frontier" in New England. If the older definition of "frontier" expressed already-fixed boundaries between political entities such as France and England, in its colonial meanings it expressed a designated-yet shifting-line of settlement separating settled colonists from purportedly "unsettled"-that is, not legitimated, not yet politically bounded-territory. 39 Mather's representation of Judea capta derives from a war fought between Rome and Israel-and would thus seem to point to an older definition of competing states, with clear boundaries. In contrast, the haughty "daughter of Zion;' covered by and glorying in goods and services from elsewhere, seems more to represent what he feared about the position of frontier colonials, open to transformations caused by cultural crossings and economic and social contacts that cannot be so clearly delimited. Like the "daughter of Zion;' the unconverted captive woman represents an openness to multiple, not single "conversions" on the shifting eastern frontier. Clearly, much is at stake in Cotton Mather's attempt to make Hannah Dustan's story "subservient" to the intentions of a sermon on ritual humiliation. In spite of his attempts to twist Dustan's deliverance into a biblical repetition or an effect of his "People's" self-humiliating, her aggressive act, her unconverted state, her family's social status, and her suspect position as woman frontier-dweller profoundly challenge his attempts to unify a covenant community around an orthodox conception of authority. Try as his text may to incorporate her, to force her into the Judea capta mold, its own convolutions reveal an inability to do so. But if Dustan's story cannot be so molded, traditional interpretations of the "causes" and "manners" of God's controversy with His covenant people cannot be advanced for explaining the course of past and current events, and Judea capta can no longer offer the proper position to inhabit to call for divine deliverance. At its further range, Dustan's narrative threatens not merely Cotton Mather's cultural and social authority, but also his sermon's purported grounding in and its attempted formal expression of the overarching sovereignty of a divine Father. It is "He;' after all, who demands the self-humiliation and the concomitant acts of both personal conversion and communal renewal of covenant that Dustan's tale and her life appear to belie. A sense that it is this fatherly authority that Dustan's self-authorizing narrative ultimately challenges adds yet another dimension to Mather's addition of a new text to his sermon-cumcaptivity narrative when he published it soon after its delivery. To the end of

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ultimately succeeding-in print-to frame popular understanding of Hannah Dustan's exploits, Cotton Mather surrounds her narrative not just with his original humiliations sermon, but critically, with another, far more orthodox narrative of female captivity-''A Narrative of Hannah Swarton:' Swarton's story-a first-person narrative that scholars have suggested was probably in large part written by Mather himself-provided a rhetorical opportunity not only to reframe the Dustan story, however; it clearly moved him to explore how he could reconfigure thematic and structural elements of the earlier Rowlandson captivity as well. 40 In the process of representing a female New Englander faced with French attempts at conversion as well as Indian captivity, Mather comes upon a new means of using the woman captive's position to defend the traditional religious and political authority of the "fathers" in the face of both local and international critique.

Hannah Swarton: New English Conversion and New French Captivity Like Increase Mather, who had possibly intended to use Rowlandson's narrative as part of a collection of providences, Cotton Mather apparently desired to publish Swarton's narrative in a collection of"remarkables:' A Diary entry suggests Mather's excitement about the possibilities offered by popular captivity narratives for advancing his interrelated theological and political ends. While putting together his texts on the "terrible and barabarous Things undergone by some of our English Captives" he notes, "I annexed hereunto, a memorable narrative of a good Woman, who relates in a very Instructive Manner, the Story of her own Captivity and Deliverance ... yea, I could not easily contrive, a more significant Way, to pursue these Ends; not only in respect of the nature of the Book itself, which is historical as well as theological, but also, in respect of its coming into all Corners of the Countrey, and being read with greedy Attention." 41 When this collection did not materialize, he found reasons in 1697 to add her story instead to the published version of his fast sermon, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, which contained Hannah Dustan's narrative. Swarton's text, significantly, becomes used by Mather not only to demonstrate the frontier woman's spiritual conversion, but also to highlight the related threat of her cultural/political conversion. Menaced by the French as well as by Indians, Swarton locates her truest identity in resisting the French, not the Indians. Like the Humiliations sermon itself, however, Swarton's text

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suggests that the French religious and cultural threat to New England also possesses an imperial English valence. Swarton's actual captivity occurred in 1690, just after Governor Andros's deportation amid threats that he, as the appointee of the deposed Catholic James, had colluded with the French and Indians to let both ravage New England. Significantly, Swarton is released in 1695, the year that William Phips dies, embroiled in an equal if different controversy over New English political and cultural legitimacy. And Mather's version of her story, drawing on Rowlandson and framing Hannah Dustan, appears in 1697, the anxious year not only of the coming of a new royal appointee whom Increase Mather had not chosen, but also of Cotton and Increase Mather's beginning struggles over the governance of Harvard. Clearly, if Hannah Swarton's narrative proves useful in evidencing New English loyalty to England in the face of French and Indian incursions, it is also targeted to specifically local issueslinking those attracted to English cultural and political transformations both to the Indians and especially to the Catholic French, while at the same time suggesting that "true" New English identity, cultural and political, can only be possessed by those who profess a traditional conversion experience. There was a real Hannah Swarton, who migrated from Beverly, Massachusetts, to Casco, Maine, was taken captive in 1690, lost a husband and two children, was "delivered" in 1695 as a result of a captive exchange, but left two other children in Canada. 42 While details of her text, especially about her Indian captors, suggest Mather's possible contact with Hannah Swarton, for the most part the Swarton narrative, as Mather presents it, is broadly structured in the humiliation/confession/accepted humiliation and deliverance model of Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance. As Lorrayne Carroll has recently suggested, Hannah Swarton, unlike Mary Rowlandson, appears to have been sufficiently unknown for Cotton Mather to fill in her narrative as he desired. 43 Presented in a first-person narrative, like Mary Rowlandson's text, Swarton's tale immediately involves readers in a more direct personal account than Mather's third-person rendering of Dustan's experience. Descriptions of the initial raid, the losses of her husband and her son, the dispersal of her children, and the hunger and physical deprivation she experiences all loosely parallel the structure and details of Rowlandson's text. At the same time, following both Mather's sermonic claims and the Rowlandson narrative's observations, they are presented by the Swarton text as the means by which she is being "humiliated." 44 Once her humiliations have

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been described, the text represents Swarton, like Rowlandson, as pausing not only to consider, but also simultaneously to confess, the reasons for her humiliation. In a well-known passage whose language appears almost directly drawn from Increase Mather's 1679 Reforming Synod, the narrator eagerly admits that the chief sin for which she's being humiliated consists of her leaving "the public worship and ordinances of God where I formerly lived (viz. at Beverly) to move to the north part of Casco Bay where there was no church or minister of the Gospel. And this we did for large accomodations in the world, thereby exposing our children to be bred ignorantly like Indians and ourselves to forget what we had been formerly instructed in, and so we turned our backs upon God's ordinances to get this world's goods." 45 In a manner similar to Mary Rowlandson, Swarton is represented as accepting her punishment by the Indians as a mark of her own "Indianization" and as acknowledging that she "received less than my iniquities deserved:' 46 Unlike the orthodox Rowlandson, however, Mather's Swarton specifically notes that her humiliations have been caused by her passage outside of traditional church and community structures, not by her complacency within them. Yet, in spite of such a move and an admitted loss of cultural memory, Swarton is still represented by Mather as drawing just as assiduously as Rowlandson on Scripture to explain the reasons for her captivity. Significantly, given the ending of Mather's Humiliations sermon, with its focus on individual prayer and the "one" who will throw himself on Christ's merits for the rest of the community, the Swarton narrator notes, "This was for my humiliation and put me upon prayer to God for his pardoning mercy in Christ." 47 Like Rowlandson, but unlike Hannah Dustan (and those in the preface to Rowlandson's text, who neglect to give thanks to Christ for delivering them), Swarton is represented as dutifully claiming, "I made vows to the Lord that I would give up myself to Him if he would accept me in Jesus Christ and pardon my sins, and I desir' d and endeavoured to pay my vows unto the Lord." 48 At the end of her narrative, her text, in fact, draws directly on the language of Cotton Mather's complaint to Dustan in his sermon. In contrast to Dustan, Swarton, citing David and the preface to Rowlandson's text, dutifully asks, "What shall I render to the Lord?" Unlike Mary Rowlandson, Mather's Hannah Swarton does not simply undergo and interpret the humiliation of an Indian captivity, she also experiences what Cotton Mather dramatizes as an even worse captivity among French Catholics. When she is "ransomed" from the Indians by the French, she comments, "Here was a great and comfortable change as to my outward man in my freedom from my former hardships and hardhearted oppressors. But

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here began a greater snare and trouble to my soul and danger to my inward man:' 49 Worse than either Rowlandson or Dustan, Swarton is represented as undergoing two captivities, one by the Indians and one by French Catholics. Hannah Swarton's experience among the French as well as the Indians allows Cotton Mather to represent her spiritual captivity as even more of a challenge than her physical captivity and to argue that no captivity is over until the "inner" as well as the "outer Man" is freed. This move on Mather's part clearly refers back to and answers the issue he raises with Hannah Dustan at the end of the Humiliations sermon: saved physically, Dustan remains unconverted spiritually-and therefore, according to Mather, prone, like the Salem witches, to fall quickly, if she has not fallen already, into captivity by "devils:' Swarton's and Dustan's sin-their position as unconverted women on a shifting, not fixed, frontier-is thus not absolved by their release from physical captivity. Swarton's spiritual trials underscore the fact that the unconverted continue dangerously "captive:' Thus, unlike Rowlandson's narrative, where the orthodox captive engages in no theological debates with her Indian captors, it is crucial for Mather's purposes that Swarton's narrative use such debates to dramatize the spiritual dimension of captivity and release from it. In addition to his involvement with the Salem trials, Cotton Mather's direct experience in the early 1690s with young women afflicted by demons, especially with Mercy Short, a former captive, whose parents and siblings had been killed by the French-supporting Abenaki Indians, had shown him the intense mental and dramatic bodily debates over theology that demonic tormentors staged with(in) their largely female captives. As Richard Slotkin and others have noted, Short's experience as a literal Indian captive was clearly renewed and reexperienced for her and for him in her position as a spiritual captive of the devil. Her debates with her demonic captors as well as with Mather, attested to him the extraordinary power and, I'm suggesting here, the dramatic potential of, spiritual as well as physical captivity. It is clearly some of the sensationalism-and the possible political valences-of the struggles attributed to women seized by demons, that Mather wishes to bring to his representations of Swarton's debates both with her French Catholic opponents and with herself over the question of her conversion. 50 Mather dramatizes this twofold debate for a variety of ends. Debate with the French, especially the clerics, allows Mather, through Swarton, to align traditional Protestant-Catholic conflicts over old issues such as praying to saints, mediation by priests, and the existence of purgatory with his belief that the final conflict between Satan and Christ has begun. The text frames

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these well-worn debates with Swarton's initial "comforting" of herself with memories of the miraculous scriptural deliveries of other captives-Paul and the "three children out of the fiery furnace:' ''And I believed He would either deliver me from them or fit me for what He called me to suffer for His sake and name." 51 While such a representation of theological debate in terms of passive suffering provides a means for Mather to organize readers' sense of New England's Protestant loyalty to England in the face of French Catholic temptations, it also clearly displays his own New English debating skills against the Jesuits. Carried away perhaps by "her" ability to counter Catholic claims Scripture by Scripture, Mather's Swarton pulls back at the end of this section to remark, "But it's bootless for me, a poor woman, to acquaint the world with what arguments I used if I could now remember them, and many of them are slipped out of my memory." 52 Mather's dramatic depiction of Swarton's battles over theological matters extends to the representation of her personal conversion experience that immediately follows the debates: "I have had many conflicts in my own spirit, fearing that I was not truly converted unto God in Christ and that I had no saving interest in Christ. I could not be of a false religion to please men, for it was against my conscience. And I was not fit to suffer for the true religion and for Christ. For I then feared I had no interest in Him. I was neither fit to live nor fit to die and brought once to the very pit of despair about what would become of my soul." 53 Viewed in the context of the debates which precede it, this language appears quite dramatic; viewed in the context of a traditional New English conversion experience, with its focus on the movement from despair to assurance, it is also extraordinarily conventional. Swarton's "inner" debates over her faith help to propel her into what Mather and his readers would recognize as the orthodox form of the conversion narrative, in which the self, desperate over its own lack of abilities, is nonetheless divinely enabled to describe itself as experiencing the saving power of Christ. Swarton is accordingly represented as falling into a pit of self-doubt and anxiety, humiliated, hopeless and irredeemable, only to find herself able to "throw herself" upon Christ. In this position alone can she experience the transformative power of His grace that will save her from Catholic wiles: "Then came to mind the history of the transfiguring of Christ and Peter's saying, Matthew 17:4, 'Lord, it is good for us to be here!' I thought it was good for me to be here, and I was so full of comfort and joy I even wished I could be so always and never sleep or else die in that rapture of joy and never live to sin any more against the Lord. Now I thought God was my God, and my sins were pardoned in Christ, and now I

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could suffer for Christ, yea, die for Christ, or do anything for Him." 54 While the language of such transformation is purposefully heightened and dramatized by Swarton's captivity among the French, it, too, is nonetheless part of the traditional narrative whereby a Congregational church applicant was said to "own" the personal covenant that was also to make him or her a full church member. Not surprisingly, Swarton's experience of Christ's grace allows her torepeat and repent of her sin of leaving the "public worship and ordinances of God" for "worldly advantage" and "to lay hold of the blood of Christ to cleanse me from them all." Her repentance is demonstrated not simply by her personal conversion, however, but more importantly, by her entering into her own form of public church fellowship and community with other captives, the "conferences that some of us captives had together about things of God and prayer together sometimes, especially with one that was in the same house with me, Margaret Stilson. Then was the word of God precious to us, and they that feared the Lord spake one to another of it as we had opportunity:'55 The relationship between the individual's personal covenant and the church covenant is confirmed by Swarton's continuing claim that "I desired to enter into covenant with God and to be His, and I prayed to the Lord and hoped the Lord would return me to my country again [and] that I might enter into covenant with Him among His people and enjoy communion with Him in His churches and public ordinances." 56 Given that the last half of the narrative focuses on Swarton's conversion among the French, not (as was frequently the case with female captives), to Catholicism, but to New English congregationalism, it is evident what aspect of her captivity interested Cotton Mather. Quickly moving through her Indian captivity, her narrative seems purposefully and unerringly directed towards the moment of orthodox conversion and repentance represented in her personal owning of Christ and of the public church covenant. In this way, Hannah Swarton's experience seems adduced at once to complete the uncompleted "restoration" of Hannah Dustan to traditional New English cultural values and to complete the logic of Mather's Humiliations sermon by representing the "one" who was to throw himself on Christ's merits on behalf of the entire congregation/community. Her conversion represents not her transformation into an Indian or a French Catholic, but into a humiliated and repentant Judea capta whose owning of covenantal theology (re)converts her into a traditional (and traditionally representative) New English church member. The representation of Swarton thus allows Mather not only to address the issue of unconverted settlers on the

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eastern frontier, however, it also links their position to those safe within all of New England, whose challenges to the fathers' covenantal system he constructs as alternately quasi-papist, demonic, irreligious, and threatening. While Swarton's dramatized battles with the French thus seem characterized by a polarization between the Catholic and Protestant position and were intended to be read as representing New England's loyal "English" position against imperial France, they also demonstrate Mather's rhetorical attempt to maintain and even to reconstruct his own desired form of New English identity within such Englishness. Just as he had attempted to argue for New England's special status as a "People" in his tortured writings on the witch outbreak in Salem five years earlier, Wonders of the Invisible World, so here Mather attempts to use a female captive's dramatic theological struggles and conversion process to proclaim a reworked version of New English specialness. 57 In this light, Swarton must surely be read not simply as a broadly English Protestant defending and confirming her faith in conflict with the Catholic French. Both her theological debates and her conversion experience should also be understood as versions of debates with other English and New English rivals for New English self-understanding. Swarton converts or reconverts to a New English covenant while surrounded by "French" who also take on resonances directed at English and New English rivals alike. That such is the case is hinted at not solely by the kind of conversion experience she undergoes, but, as we noted earlier, by the very dates of her captivity and restoration. Swarton is captured in 1690, just on the other side of the ouster of royal governor Andros who, it was whispered, had been really more loyal to Catholic interests in England and France, than he was to New England-a "fact" expressed in the role he supposedly played in releasing formerly imprisoned Indian allies of France on the eastern frontier. It was this release, according to Mather and others, that led to the captivity of Swarton and others from Casco in the first place. Hannah Swarton was, hints Mather's narrative, as much the victim of a certain kind of papistically leaning Englishness as she was of French interests. Swarton is restored in 1695, after the death of Increase Mather's candidate for the first royal governor under the new charter, William Phips. Significantly, the narrative of a Maine captive appears in 1697, just after new attacks on Casco by the French and Indians and just before the coming of a new royal governor, Richard Coote, Lord Bellamont, who was not supported by Increase Mather. The resurrection of Swarton's experience and its juxtaposition to Hannah Dustan's far more recent exploits thus suggest Cotton Mather's implicit commentary on as well as

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his desired solution to past and current political events. Threatened by quasiCatholic English interests in 1690, New England continues to be threatened, not only from without-by imperial England as much as by France-but from within-by sleepy and indifferent "Seers" and their "Churches"-men like John Leverett, William Brattle, and Solomon Stoddard. The answer to the threats they pose are offered to New England men in the three captivity texts Cotton Mather jointly publishes in 1697: turn from being a "daughter of Zion"-unstably and fickly drawn to theological, cultural, and economic transformations that may damn you-and recognize yourselves in the representation of humiliated Judea capta. Only through identification with her position, as a spiritual as well as a bodily captive, can you call forth the "great effects" of a new social and religious reformation that well may signal God's global as well as His more local intentions for New England. Such rhetorical maneuvers on Cotton Mather's part indicate his own obvious loyalty to and his attempt to recreate a unified New English "People" faithful to the traditions of the "fathers;' as he constructs them. But the very intensity of his defense-his need to use Hannah Dustan, to revive Hannah Swarton, to link the captive woman's experience both to that of Mary Rowlandson and to those threatened by witches and "French" instead of Indian demons-raises as many questions as it attempts to solve. Like his father's support for the Rowlandson narrative, Cotton Mather's defense of his own version of New English tradition and New English male identity points to an ambivalence permeating that which he so ardently defends. For if Cotton Mather can be argued to appropriate Hannah Swarton's story in order to frame Hannah Dustan's unconverted violence, why is it to Hannah Dustan's narrative, not to Hannah Swarton's, that Mather twice returns? While the Swarton narrative appears once again in the Magnalia Christi Americana of 1702 and while aspects of its structure will be used and transformed by John Williams, as we shall see in Chapter 7, Swarton's narrative will never again be juxtaposed to the story of Hannah Dustan. And Hannah Dustan's story, far from being constrained by either Swarton's narrative, Rowlandson's captivity, or Mather's sermon, reappears both in Cotton Mather's 1697 history of the entire decade, Decennium Luctuosum (The Sorrowful Decade) and in the Magnalia Christi Americana (1702), the massive ecclesiastical church history which Mather concluded by adding a revised version of Decennium Luctuosum. While the coda to this study imagines Hannah Dustan's place in Mather's overarching ecclesiastical history of New England, it is to a consideration of Decennium Luctuosum as a whole and to the roles played by a female captive's violent story within it that we now turn.

Chapters

Hannah Dustan's Bodies: Domestic Violence and Third-Generation Male Identity in Cotton Mather's Decennium Luctuosum

In Decennium Luctuosum, the "Sorrowful Decade" (1699), Cotton Mather self-consciously turns to history to describe and explain colonial engagements with the French and their Indian allies dating from 1688 to 1698. Clearly drawing on Increase Mather's example in his Brief History of the Warr with the Indians in New England, Cotton Mather attempts to frame an interpretation of his own generation's intermittent wars with the French and their Indian allies. Hannah Dustan's tale appears almost at the very end of Decennium Luctuosum, the twentieth-sixth of thirty selections of varying lengths called "articles." Sandwiched between loosely chronological accounts of other captivities, Dustan's captivity is here related neither to the themes of Cotton Mather's humiliation sermon, nor, given that Hannah Swarton's text is omitted (even though her captivity occurred during the period under consideration), to the containing story of the more orthodox female captive. Mather's new placement of the account of Dustan's violent acts within Decennium Luctuosum demands that we read it within the context of his history as a whole. Rather than being offered as a (failed) example of an humiliated Judea capta or as an unconverted woman's narrative in need of orthodox explanation, the third-person story of Dustan's violent acts against her Indian family comes to express most clearly ambivalent aims expressed throughout Decennium Luctuosum-the desire at once to denigrate and destroy and to uphold the New England of the "fathers." This ambivalence is displayed and enacted under the nose and in the context of fulsome praise for the latest royal governor, Richard Bello mont, who arrives in 1697 to replace Sir William Phips, Increase Mather's failed, and recently deceased, choice for the first royal governor under the 1691 charter. Decennium Luctuosum in general and

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the story of the violent Hannah Dustan in particular reveal not only the ways in which Cotton Mather contrives to question and to cling to a fantasy of his loyalty to the English-born "fathers'" legitimacy, however, but also his equal fantasy of a new royal English father whose authority alone can be envisioned to control the aggressions and to stabilize the identities of competing New English "sons."

"A Knock upon the Head" As several scholars have noticed, Decennium Luctuosum pointedly announces its literary and historical similarity to classical, epic struggles which represent and maintain a particular kind of cultural identity against overwhelming odds. 1 Unlike Cotton Mather's Magnalia, where classical referents are woven together with competing and completing Christian interpretations of New English history and experience, Decennium Luctuosum, with some marked exceptions, does not make a typological or providential reading the central overarching frame of the events it details. 2 The use of classical referents in Mather's Indian history seems rather an attempt to raise the status of the decade's colonial events and players before the outside world as it is represented by the newly arrived Lord Bellomont, in whose noble status the text revels, calling him "the greatest person ever to set foot on the English Continent of America." 3 Referring to a variety of imperial Roman historians, Mather implicitly presents himself as the Livy, Curtius, and Tacitus of a new moment in what he implies should no longer be recognized as simply a colonial, but as an imperial history. In his dedication "To the People of New England;' a dedication equally directed to Bellomont, he notes that while some of those "abroad" may read his history as a "Batrachomyomachie ("Battle of Frogs and Mice")-every incident in it has been "considerable" for us "at home:' Yet, read "truly;' in its defense of "English" interests against the "French;' this history is not merely local, but should also take its place with-and even above-Homer's "poetic" rendering of the fall of Troy: "[W]hile the Fault of an Untruth can't be found in it, the Author pretends that the famous History of the Trojan War it self comes behind our little History of the Indian War; For the best Antiquaries have now confuted Homer; the Walls of Troy were, it seems, all made of Poets Paper, and the Siege of the Town, with the Tragedies of the Wooden Horse, were all but a piece of Poetry." 4 Attempting rhetorically to raise New England's status before the newly

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appointed royal representative, Mather also presents native American combatants as variously "Myrmidons"-the legendary warriors of Achilles-or "Scythians"-the enemies of the Romans, well known in the ancient world for such practices as tattooing themselves and scalping their victims. New English history, in contrast to the writing of Homer, literalizes what in the Old World is or has become "but a piece of Poetry:' In contrast, but with a similar intention in mind, Mather also goes to great lengths throughout the history to remark the status of the New French, noting how Frenchmen "of quality" invariably accompany the Indians or how captives are met with the "civility" of the higher orders in Quebec. 5 Such descriptions indicate a general desire on his part to locate ways of representing enemies worthy both of New England and of the new English order that she loyally represents and supports. As the dedication and introduction to Decennium Luctuosum make clear, Mather views his own role as historian as similarly humble and crucial, local and international, overly stressing at one moment his anonymity and lack of importance in the flow of events while in the next underscoring the centrality of his truthful presentation of it. At one moment, for example, he can evasively refer to himself as an "Obscure Person;' while, at the next moment, he will liken his writing to that of the hand "on the Wall to Belshazzar"-the prophetic hand, of course, of the divine. 6 Just as he wishes to raise New England's status before Bellomont, so does he wish to raise his own status, not simply as a Mather, but also as a representative of New England's traditional intellectual order, an older order which his history will demonstrate possesses knowledge of the best features of the new. That Cotton Mather feels the need to claim New England's and his own status here suggests that both have, in fact, been impugned. One cause for arguing that this is the case would clearly be the local and international criticism Mather and others received over their handling of the witch trials, explicit references to which appear throughout Decennium Luctuosum.7 Another possible source of this criticism remains the recent failures of Sir William Phips, whose recall to London and ensuing death had resulted in the need to send over Bellomont in the first place-a governor pointedly not of his father's choosing. At the end of his introduction Mather asks "if he do Erect Statues for Dead Worthies, where there is no Room Left for Flattery ... who could betray any such Ill nature as to be angry at it?"8 That such ill nature has in fact already betrayed itself calls forth a telling response from Mather at the introduction's end. Repeating his desire to tell the "truth" in his history, but also to leave it open to modifications by later information,

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Mather remarks that "thus at the very beginning ... I have given such a Knock upon thy Head, 0 Malice, that thou canst never with Reason Hiss at our History:' 9 Significantly, in the context of the brutal accounts that follow, Mather's displeasure at new and past criticism of his defense of "Dead Worthies" is expressed through a phrase specifically referring to Indian scalping. He will give his critics ''A Knock upon the Head." The dedication and introduction as well as mythological and other classical references throughout Mather's Decennium Luctuosum indicate his desire to show off the intellectual quality of the "standing order" before Lord Bellomont. Yet, as his concluding comments demonstrate, Mather's version of events is also offered in the face of competing colonial versions of events within New England. Thus if the need to raise New England's status abroad strongly animates the kind of history Mather tells, his history is also informed by an intense anger and competitiveness toward colonial critics and debunkers. While one of his motives in including the multitude of captivity stories the history describes is thus to raise general English sympathy and support for a brave and beleaguered New England in its struggles against the French and Indians, another involves a desire to display the incompetence of certain New English men in solving the situation by themselves. It is striking that while the history often sets up the French and Indians as worthy enemies of New England, New English men do not invariably appear as its worthy defenders. If one strand of the text certainly celebrates their victories in order to polish New England before Bello mont, another strand so often represents New English men's failures that one of the history's alternative purposes seems in fact to be their castigation. This aim is particularly revealed in Mather's descriptions of captivity throughout the history and especially in his placement of the story of Hannah Dustan's captivity toward its end.

0 merae Novanglae, necque enim Novangli In the body of Decennium Luctuosum Mather often figures New England's vulnerability to external attack through multiple representations of captive women and children physically and emotionally incapable of protecting themselves. The history clearly aims to construct a massive disruption to New England as a whole via representations of harm to the domestic body. In the fourth article, to which is appended a "Mantissa:' seven-year-old Sarah Gerish, one of the first captives described, is presented as largely teased, taunted, and insulted by her captors. She is more psychologically than

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physically assaulted. In contrast is the fate of the male child, James Key, whose grisly murder Mather will minutely describe in Article VII. We will consider the representations of both of these captives in more detail in a moment. Finally, there is a brief, but possibly even more shocking murder represented in the description in Article XX of a pregnant Mrs. Adams, who "was with horrible Barbarity ripped up" in an action that simultaneously kills mother and child. Each of these instances signals a different degree of threat to the New English domestic body, from threat and insult, to child murder, to what has been read as the displaced rape of mothers in the description of "outraged maternity:' Yet, although this is certainly one of this text's rhetorical ends, representing such disruption does not simply serve to arouse sympathy for victims and outrage against the external enemies causing their pain. Rather, in Decennium Luctuosum, examples of psychological and physical brutality toward families pointedly highlight the failure of certain New English men appropriately to preserve New England's traditional social order. That the history desires to derogate these men as much as to praise them is underscored by numerous representations of colonial men's inefficacy. In spite of the victorious actions of the few, New Englishmen are often represented as failing at organized military engagements, as fleeing their posts at inopportune moments, and as incapable of thwarting attacks against their families or themselves. Compassionately representing the bodily vulnerability of New English women and children, Decennium Luctuosum especially expresses little sympathy for the weaknesses of colonial men. Two instances are particularly telling: the death of Robert Rogers in Article VI and the relinquishing of Fort Pemaquid, in Article XVII. Robert Rogers, "Nicknamed, Robin Pork;' for his "Corpulency;' is taken by the Indians shortly after a 1690 attack on Salmon Falls. Unwilling, presumably because of his weight, to carry the "Intolerable Burden" his captors demand, Rogers runs away. Attempting to hide, all too visibly, in a hollow tree, he is quickly recaptured and executed. The history details his excruciating torture and death, especially, how "they did with their knives cut collops of his Flesh, from his Naked Limbs, and throw them with his Blood into his Face:'w The tale of the corpulent Rogers reoccurs at another level in the story (Article XXIV) of the appropriately named Colonel Pascho Chubb, who surrenders the "Brave Fort at Pemaquid": "There were Ninety-Five men doubleArmed, in the Fort, which might have Defended it against Nine Times as many Assailants; That a Fort now should be so basely given up! imitating the

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Stile of Homer and Virgil, I cannot help crying out, 0 merae Novanglae, necque enim Novangli! [0 mere New England women, not New England men] :•u The fort at Pemaquid had been rebuilt by William Phips, for whom Cotton Mather had just recently penned a defensive biography, Pietas in Patriam. Decennium Luctuosum describes the building of the fort in minute detail in Article XVII-almost rebuilding it in its attention to measuring the fort's dimensions and capacitiesY In surrendering Fort Pemaquid, prominent sign to Mather of Phips's success as a traditional New English leader, Chubb does not simply demonstrate cowardice; he manifests blatant disloyalty to Mather's conception of New English authority. Chubb does not escape without what appears providential redress: in February of 1698, ''As much out of the way as to Andover, there came above Thirty Indians ... as if their Errand had been for a Vengeance upon Chub, whom (with his Wife) they now Massacred there:' 13 Murdering Chubb, these same Indians nonetheless mysteriously spare Colonel Dudley Bradstreet, son of Simon Bradstreet, the last governor under the old charter. Rogers and Chubb present only two examples of certain New English men's weakness and cowardice in the text, but instances suggesting other New English men's inabilities as protectors-their sense of a "false security" and their willingness to flee their posts at forts and settlements-abound. Given this kind of male behavior Mather even suggests that if anyone is to save New England, it may well have to be New English women, not New English men, who have themselves become the "Novanglae" in need of protection. Accordingly, Decennium Luctuosum often juxtaposes its bloody descriptions of the destruction visited upon captive women and children's bodies to descriptions of women's courage, ingenuity, and loyalty. In contrast to Chubb and other deserters, there is Mrs. Heard, whose "Garrison was the most Extrem Frontier of the Province;' yet who does not flee it and "by her presence and courage, it held out all the war." Had she fled, it "would have been a Danger to the Town and Land: but by her Encouragement this Post was thus kept." 14 In contrast to Robert Rogers, there is the captive Goody Stockford, whose willingness to act as a go-between for the Indians and English helps to redeem several captives. A particularly important instance of female bravery is described in the only major victory reported in the entire text. In the battle for the town of Wells, a fight in which colonial men are finally shown as exercising an ingenuity capable of thwarting enemy designs, the women "took up the Amazonian stroke" and not only brought ammunition to their men, but "with a Manly Resolution fired several Times upon the Enemy:' 15

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Such instances of female bravery set the stage for the appearance of Hannah Dustan's captivity narrative toward the history's end, in which an individual woman takes it upon herself to defend herself physically from the enemy. The last chapter suggested that Mather clearly wished to direct interpretation of Dustan's story by replacing it with that of the biblical Jael. In the context of Decennium Luctuosum, this is not the case. Here, Mather's comparison of Dustan's act to that of Jael against Sisera in the Book of Judges seems specifically intended both to serve as an Old Testament analogue to the bravery of classical heroines and to resonate critically for weaker male colonials. In chapter 4 of Judges, the Israelite general Barak hesitates to fight the forces of Jabin, king of Canaan, unless the prophetess Deborah accompanies him to battle. Reading his need of her presence as a sign of his distrust in the Lord, she rebukes him, saying, "I will surely go with thee: notwithstanding the journey thou takes shall not be for thine honour; for the Lord shall sell Sisera into the hand of a woman:' 16 The "woman" is Jael, the wife of Heber the Kennite, who invites Sisera, the fleeing general of Jabin's forces, into her tent. There she feeds him, lulls him to sleep, hammers a nail into his temple, and decapitates him. Laurel Thatcher Ulrich has noted the ways in which Mather parallels Dustan's aggression against her sleeping captors with that of Jael to demonstrate the similarity between the wartime hesitations of New English male colonials and the reluctant Israelites. 16 Ulrich's insight opens up a broader way of interpreting not simply this moment, but also the entirety of Decennium Luctuosum. Mather's descriptions of the brutalized bodies of family members throughout his text suggest how colonial men's ineptitude can lead not only to the breakdown of the patriarchal family, but concomitantly to the breakdown of traditional gender distinctions. Hannah Dustan's story exemplifies a theme appearing throughout Decennium Luctuosum-certain colonial men's inabilities, cowardice, and procrastination force colonial women to defend themselves bodily. At the same time, the representation of Dustan also reveals complicated emotions about the breakdown of traditional roles. Toward the history's end, Mather implicitly addresses the loss of New English male authority in two ways. First, he offers a brief representation of women restored to their proper position, and second, he represents himself as assuming the mantle of a legitimate and manly New English authority. Immediately following the Dustan narrative, Mather tells the tale of "some Women and Children [who] would needs ramble without any Guard,

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into the Woods to gather Strawberries." Seeking to "Chastise them with a Fright;' "some;' clearly men, call an ''Alarum"-an act that providentially frightens off several real enemy Indians who had, in fact, been lurking in the vicinity. 17 Here, in contrast to its representation of Dustan, the text exhibits these women's foolishness, their tendency to wander, rather than their heroism, and their need for a "chastisement" by men that alone can preserve them. In a second attempt to exhibit an appropriate male authority, Mather represents himself in rhetorical battle with the Quakers, deeming this act comparable to defending New England's borders against the Indians: "If the Indians have chosen to prey upon the Frontiers, and Out-Skirts of the Province, the Quakers have chosen the very same Frontiers, and Out-Skirts, for their more Spiritual Assaults; they have been Labouring incessantly, ... to Enchant and Poison the Souls of poor people, in the very places, where the Bodies and Estates of the people have presently after been devoured by the Salvages." 18 Using the old ploy of claiming that internal sins call forth commensurate external punishments, Mather threatens frontier settlers with Indian attacks if they turn away from Congregational authority to Quakerism. Attempting to convince his readers of Quaker irrationality by showing the doctrinal battles and persecutions at work within the sect itself, Mather also represents himself as a well-trained Congregational minister in battle with an ignorant Quaker and dramatizes their conflict in two voices before a set of "Neighbours" who eventually take his position. But more seems at stake in this attack on Quakers than Mather's desires to show his own heroism in persuading settlers to remain loyal to traditional church order and practices. What is crucial in this attempt is his need to defend the legitimacy of the "fathers' " initial colonial enterprise altogether. As Mather reports it, Quaker Thomas Maule, angry at New English persecution of Quakers, "sets himself to Defend the Indians in their Bloody Villanies" by arguing that such acts are justified because of the "Unrighteous Dealings;' "the Killing of the Indians, (or Murdering of them) by the Old Planters of these Colonies in their first settlement:' 19 While Mather fulminates that the "Ashes of our Fathers" are "vilely staled upon" by these assertions about the first generation's illegitimate means of settlement, he oddly does not directly defend the first generation's actions as colonizers, but turns instead to his own accounts of Quaker infighting and his dramatization of Quaker stupidity. It is through revealing their persecutions of one another as well as their inability to ground their theological speculations in Scripture that Mather defends both the theology and the legitimacy of the "fathers' "

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"first settlement:' This manly colonial grand-"son" will prove victorious over his opponents and, symbolically at least preserve the legitimacy of New Englishmen's rights of possession to the "fathers'" land in the face of Indian, French, and even English imperial claims. In the last article, "Things to Come;' Mather underscores the need for loyalty to the New English "fathers" to win the war by turning to the use, rare in Decennium Luctuosum, of a jeremiadic rhetoric to prophesy that New England's end is near if it does not return to their ways. Not surprisingly, the sins that call forth such destruction involve disrespect for particular ministers and the traditional church practices granting them authority. At the same time, Mather also specifically excoriates degenerate churches that fail to follow the organizational and ritual practices of the fathers' "ancient Church state." 20 A return to the fathers would seem to suggest not only theological, but also renewed social and political authority for third-generation sons like Cotton who, throughout the 1690s, have experienced the disintegration of their roles as New England's traditional spokesmen. Deprived of political clout, with the erosion of local control over the Massachusetts charter and the embarrassing fiasco of Phips's governorship, Cotton Mather and many of his cohort have also experienced the loss of cultural as well as religious dominance. Unable adequately to explain or contain the Salem witch crisis-a failure for which they are derided both locally and internationally-they have proved equally incapable of containing challenges to their authority from other religious groups, whether from outsiders like the Quakers, or as the last chapter indicated, from covenant-challenging insiders like Solomon Stoddard or "enlarged" London-leaning colonial moderates like John Leverett and William Brattle. Jeremiads by second-generation figures like Increase Mather had warned of Indian wars like that with "King Philip;' had seized the political as well as the theological upper hand in interpreting their social meanings, and had invariably blamed the "rising generation's" apostasy for such punishments. But these ritualized and powerenhancing forms of social explanation have clearly lost their power to construct either a unified social body or a cohesive vision of a "third generation" (not to speak of a "fourth") by the late 1690s. Decennium Luctuosum's assaults against New English bodies should be more carefully considered not only in the context of Mather and other ministers' rage about their loss of interpretive control over New English self-understanding, but also in the context of a pervasive cultural anxiety about what seemed the current lack of identitystabilizing representations. 21 In The Body in Pain, Elaine Scarry offers a pertinent explanation of the

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political uses of bodily pain. She argues that "at particular moments, when there is within a society a crisis of belief-that is, when some central idea or ideology or cultural construct has ceased to elicit a population's belief either because it is manifestly fictitious or because it has for some reason been divested of ordinary forms of substantiation-the sheer material factualness of the human body will be borrowed to lend that cultural construct the aura of 'realness' and 'certainty.' " 22 Scarry's reading allows us more clearly to assess Decennium Luctuosum's assaults on New English bodies. Read in her terms, Cotton Mather's representations of the dead and the tortured express both his criticism of and his competition with other New English men; they show divine punishment for New English sinfulness; and, implicitly and explicitly, before Governor Bello mont himself, they call for the defense of the New English "fathers" and the restoration of traditional New English modes of authority for loyal "sons.'' The question remains, however, if the stabilization, the making "real" and "certain" of traditional New English male identity is the only aim of Mather's representations. Each of the additional articles considered above-the attack on the Quakers and the jeremiadic rhetoric of "Things to Come"-seems oddly and abruptly tacked onto a history that Mather himself admits really ends in Article XXVIII. Neither of the articles we have just considered-Article XXIX in its strange avoidance of the fathers' original colonizing violence against Indians and Article XXX in its extraordinarily brief and formulaic listing of traditional sins-fully explains or contains the massive acts of physical destruction detailed in the rest of Mather's text. In Scarry's terms, Decennium Luctuosum thus offers no compelling answers to the "ideological" problems it exposes. Indeed, the text's framer often seems far more attracted to the violent acts he so carefully describes than he is to providing alternatives to them. Desiring not only to praise the sacrifices, but also to expose the weakness of certain male colonials and its dire effects on New English families, Cotton Mather's representations of bodies reveal less controllable desires and fears.

Doing and Undoing: (Fe)male Violence and the "Fathers'" Law Scarry's study of pain offers further insight into what these emotions might be. According to her analysis, there are three phenomena that structure the act of torture: pain inflicted in ever more intense ways, pain that becomes objectified, and finally pain that is denied as pain in order that it may be read

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as power. Tracing the complex relation of torturer to tortured and the relation of both to the way physical pain can dismantle a world made by language, Scarry's theory points to the complex meanings torture might have accrued for third parties like Mather, who ostensibly only describe it. 23 In a recent study of the textual construction of "King Philip's War;' historian Jill Lepore draws on some of the implications of Scarry's theory, arguing that "word and wounds ... cannot be separated, that acts of war generate acts of narration and that both types of acts are often joined in a common purpose"-defining and maintaining a variety of "boundaries" among "peoples:' 24 On one level, aspects of Lepore's reading of narration as a form of wounding is certainly pertinent to Cotton Mather's purposes in his description of colonial and Indian bodies: as historian and narrator he is engaged in waging war and in defining and creating boundaries. In Article VI, for example, he horrifically represents the wages of boundary breaking in a representation of the "half-Indianized Frenchman and half-Frenchified Indians" who attack the town of Salmon Falls. Still, the number and sheer excessiveness of Mather's descriptions of tortured bodies demands that we read them not only as representations of a wounding that constructs boundaries, but also as representations evincing an equally violent desire to break boundaries down. While Cotton Mather purports to fear the destruction of distinctions on one level, on another level, his extensive depictions of tortured and murdered victims, whether Indian or New English, reveal a desire to occupy a whole variety of positions vis-a-vis what he describes. Not merely historian; he is also victim, victimizer, sympathizer, and voyeur. Positing that mixed feelings about violence toward bodies are expressed in Decennium Luctuosum's representations helps us to understand other features of these depictions than those suggested by Scarry and Lepore. In the case of the captive Sarah Gerish (who was introduced earlier in this chapter), the structure and details through which her torture is displayed demonstrate the range of ways in which Mather's text takes a fantasied part in what it purports simply to represent or to distinguish. The reader, asked to "imagine" Gerish's various "Agonies" is enabled to do so only because of the extremely detailed picture of her abuse offered by the text. Mather's attempt to arouse readers' feelings of compassion and/or outrage toward the "enemy" thus reveals another less bounded desire: the wish to torment and punish a New England girl (here psychologically more than physically) through the Indians' agency. In Mather's description, Gerish is titillatingly "commanded to loosen ... her upper-Garments" while "he [her master] charged his Gun." 25

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She is not shot, however, but saved for more Indian sport. Gerish is nearly drowned, then blamed for it herself; abandoned in the snow for "prey;' but then recovered; and, finally, threatened with burning at the stake, "saved" by her master, who, along with the "young Indians" has apparently contrived the whole mental game only to "terrifie" her. If the power that emerges from and replaces this intensification and objectification of psychic torture accrues to Gerish's Indian torturers, in this representation, the judgment, the punishment, and the dominance equally emanate from Mather's text. In comments preceding the description of the death of the captive child, James Key, Mather dwells not only on how those who were tortured were punished because they cried, but also how their compatriots who were forced to watch them could not cry lest they receive the same punishment. Here the text's obvious interest in watching someone tortured and the complicated emotions such watching arouses becomes marked. The feeling described is pleasure, a pleasure combined with and arising out of horror at this example of a New English son being torn apart. Torture moves at this point from the psychological (as in Gerish's case) to the brutally physical, as what is being objectified for readers-the victim's physical pain-becomes radically intensified not simply by the Indian master, Hopehood, who tortures the child, but also by the describing text. Little James is represented as crying, exhibiting his "Natural Affections" for his parents: "Wherefore ... this Monster Stript him stark naked, and lash'd both his Hands round a Tree, and Scourg'd him, so that from the Crown of his Head unto the Sole of his Foot, he was all over Bloody and Swollen; and when he was Tired with laying on his Blows, on the Forlorn Infant, he would lay him on the Ground, with Taunts remembering him of his Parents." 26 Later, having a "Sore Eye;' the unfortunate child cries again and receives another terrible punishment that presages his murder to come: Laying Hold on the Head of the Child with his Left hand, with the Thumb of his Right he forced the Ball of his Eye quite out, therewithal telling him, That when he heard him Cry again he would Serve t' other so too, and leave him never an Eye to Weep withal. About Nine or Ten Days after ... the Child ... sat him down to rest, at which this Horrid Fellow, being provoked, he Buried the Blade of his hatchet, in the Brains of the Child, and then chopt the Breathless Body to pieces before the rest of the Company, and threw it into the RiverY

The sensationalism of the description is obvious: it progresses from a beaten body, to a mutilated body, to total bodily dismemberment. Although it moves from the psychological to the physical register, the description follows

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the same structure of intensification as Sarah Gerish's "torture." Its focus does not fall only on the child's pain, however, but perhaps even more significantly, on the massive rage and lethal responses that his "weeping on forbidden accounts" arouses in his master. Hopehood is elsewhere described as having once been the servant of a "Christian master;' and the text represents him as possessing his own "family" as well. 28 He is thus presented as less culturally distinct from James Key than readers might expect. In fact, in another, less lethal context, Hopehood might even be read as an angry New English father righteously inflicting punishment on a weak son. The Mather history's repeated descriptions of the torturing of the New English domestic sphere demonstrate the similarity between Gerish's psychological abuse and James Key's physical fragmentation and raise a series of suggestive questions. To what extent do these representations arousing emotions about "Indian" brutality simultaneously use the Indians as agents of an anger against all New English "children" who have ignored their "fathers' " laws? To what extent does the text's emphasis on watching James be tortured as well as the warning that weeping for him will only attract an equal punishment imply not only sympathy for the child or vengefulness towards the Indians, but also sadistic feelings towards the entire New English family? James Key's portrayal is only the most sustained example of numerous descriptions of children who are "brained" within and by Cotton Mather's history. The Mather text's aggression against adult male bodies in the text has been discussed, but the aggression against new English children's bodies exhibited here seems truly in excess of a simple intention either to expose weakness or to arouse readerly sympathy. It remains only to suggest that this less containable aggression can also be directed against the bodies of adult women. Since the text usually represents women as saved for ransom, or as disappearing into Canada, any portraits of suffering mothers thus seem significant. The brief case of Mrs. Adams, mentioned earlier, thus seems a special one. In Article XX of Decennium Luctuosum, Mather discusses the breakdown of the treaty of 1693 as an instance of Indian "Perfidy:' Mr. Adams trusts the Indians and opens his door, only to have his wife, "then with Child ... with Horrible Barbarity ripped up:' 29 Here the pregnant woman serves as a convenient and important symbolic marker of the breakup of the peace and the renewal of hostilities. At the same time, her death also implies her husband's stupidity in believing the Indians in the first place. If Mrs. Adams's death participates in these goals, viewed from the perspective of this analysis of other murders, her death as ripped-apart mother also suggests her own inability, demonstrated throughout the text, to protect her child. To what extent could

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examples of passive mothers, figuratively raped and incapable of defending their children, express an equal desire to punish them as well? In contrast to weaker mothers are the women who contrive to escape, to save their children, and to defend their communities. At its further range, there is the violent example of Hannah Dustan, whose child is also murdered before her eyes, but who, rather than remaining passive, turns violently on her captors. While Dustan as a vengeful mother can be read as a possible rebuke to New England men, cannot her story, in conjunction with other examples of female bravery, also be read as a rebuke to other colonial mothers who let their children die? Surely, if Decennium Luctuosum expresses varying degrees of anger at men and at children, the use of Dustan also figures intensely mixed emotions about mothers. In fact, given the descriptions of murdered men, women, and children we have just discussed, a darker desire implicit in Mather's placement of Dustan's story near the end of Decennium Luctuosum begins to suggest itself. Structurally, of course, Hannah Dustan's murdering of her Indian "family" might simply represent a satisfying "eye for an eye" logic. As they have tortured and murdered New Englanders, so a representative New Englander, albeit a woman, now murders them. The textual descriptions of abused colonists that we have examined, however, imply that while this might be true on one level, on another level, Dustan's aggressive female body in fact continues a sadistic rage against the family that is represented throughout Cotton Mather's history. Here it seems only more obviously justified. As in the case of Hopehood, the Indian who murdered James Key, so the Indians of Dustan's narrative are carefully presented, not as a war party, but as a "family." Furthermore, as we noted in the last chapter, they are set up by Mather as a good, religious, "praying" family, even if a Catholic one, in contrast to backsliding, nonprayerful New Englanders. In spite of obvious differences, Dustan's Indian victims are thus in many ways shown to be similar to New Englanders killed throughout the text: they are men, women, and children, members of families. Considered in the wider context of the Mather text's descriptive pleasure in detailing the torture and murder of the New English domestic order, Dustan's more apparently righteous vindication of mass slaughter offers only a more subtle instance of a continuing desire to punish and dismember the colonial family. Her killings, through a more justifiable displacement to an Indian family, could thus be read not simply as an act of New English preservation, but also as a means of continuing Decennium Luctuosum's murderous rage against New England as a whole.

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That Dustan's murders could have served as a displaced version of the murder/fragmentation of colonials for Mather becomes plausible when we consider not just the excessive descriptions of multiple murdered families in the text, but also when we review a crucial extratextual event. As was noted in the last chapter, Hannah Dustan's unmarried sister, Elizabeth Emerson, conceived male twins out of wedlock in 1691, apparently in her parents' own house, possibly even in their own bed, in the frontier town of Haverhill. When they were born, by all accounts, she possibly strangled or otherwise allowed them to die of asphyxiation and buried them in the family's back garden. Four years before he began his series of appropriations of Hannah Dustan's captivity story, Cotton Mather preached her sister's execution sermon, Warnings from the Dead (1693). 30 Kathleen Brown has recently argued that Elizabeth Emerson's execution and Cotton Mather's execution sermon are acts that attempt to reassert the social boundaries that Elizabeth's "unclean" bodily act, her fornication, has threatened. As constructed by Mather in his sermon, Elizabeth's sexual sin and her purgation become representative of those of the Puritan "body" as a whole. Drawing attention away from his failures at interpretation in the witch trials, Mather finds a new arena-female fornication-over which to reassert male ministerial power. 31 Acknowledging that such motives must surely have informed aspects of Mather's interest in Elizabeth Emerson in 1693, I would argue that another feature of her story deeply resonated for him as well, one that would return with a literal vengeance in 1699. In the context of the competing desires that Hannah Dustan's violence represents within Mather's history, her sister Elizabeth Emerson's sexual "uncleanness" becomes less resonant in Decennium Luctuosum than its consequence-her murder of her own children. Elizabeth Emerson and Hannah Dustan murder families: both mothers, in effect, thus threaten the New English order from within, not from outside of it. In the Mather history's representation of Hannah Dustan's extraordinary violence against Indian men, women, and children, a displacement occurs from Elizabeth to Hannah and from Elizabeth's murdered sons to murdered Indian parents and children. Read in the light of Elizabeth Emerson's family murders, in the light of the multitude of domestic murders described in Mather's history, and in the light of the perceived breakdown of the political and social order occurring throughout the 1690s, Decennium Luctuosum's use of Hannah Dustan provides Mather with his most extreme means of expressing a rage not simply against competing peers, but even more disturbingly, against the entire New English social order. If Mather's claim in Dustan's

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narrative that she had come to a place where there was no law suggests his horror at what he perceives as New England's intersecting political and social breakdowns, the increasing bloodlust of his text against all New English families equally expresses his own wish for such fragmentation. In other examples these mixed desires surface in the structure and excess of detail with which Mather objectifies instances of aggressions against the body of the family. In the Dustan narrative, they express themselves in the very rhythms of Mather's prose and in the cadences of the language of the prophetess Deborah's victory chant (Judges 5:27) in which he embeds and through which he largely describes Dustan's acts: "furnishing themselves with Hatchets for the purpose, they struck such Home Blows, upon the Heads of their Sleeping Oppressors, that e'er they could any of them Struggle into any Effectual Resistance, 'at the Feet' of these poor Prisoners, 'they bow'd, they fell, they lay down: at their feet they bowed, they fell; where they bowed, there they fell down Dead: " 32 The alliteration of "Hatchets;' "HomeBlows;' and "Heads" tells the story one way; the repetitive and rhythmic language of the Bible repeats the story and in its repetitions seems to prolong the killings. Mather is certainly doing far more here than objectively describing the death of the Indian family-his rhythmic narration vicariously enacts bloodshed and enjoys and triumphs in its act. Mather's defense of the context in which Dustan's murders occur expresses especially complicated feelings of justification and horror. The context that ostensibly allows for violent actions detailed throughout the history is finally named in Hannah Dustan's narrative: "[B]eing where she had not her own life secured by any law unto her, she thought she was not forbidden by any law to take away the Life of the Murderers by whom her Child had been butchered."33 This explanation attempts to locate an overarching reason to justify Dustan's bloodlust against the Indians and, by extension, all other forms of violence the text describes: the fact of an all-encompassing lawlessness surrounding Indians and colonials alike. Another aspect of Elaine Scarry's reading of the structure of torture suggests what is at stake in this attempt. The third dimension of torture that she elaborates is its transformation of the victim's pain into an acceptance of the power of the torturer. Such power is no longer to be seen only in its physical dimension; when torture is at its most extreme point, physical pain (and the breakdown and reorganization of the world it entails) result in the victim's acquiescence to the ideological rightness of the position the torturer represents. 34 Scarry's insight demonstrates how law can paradoxically derive its

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justification from a power derived from lawlessness. What Dustan's bludgeoned and scalped victims reveal and what the description of tortured and murdered New Englanders throughout Decennium Luctuosum reveals is not that Hannah Dustan has come to a place where there is not "any Law;' but instead to the very source of law itself-the physical control of one body by another stronger body. If Mather's descriptions of tortured New English family members-friend and enemy alike-surely express a fantasy about what aggressions can be released when there is no law, his desire to justify and to recontain Hannah Dustan's rage suggests his profounder knowledge that the legitimacy of the New English fathers has been grounded precisely in lawless aggressions against Indian and New English families alike. In this context, Sarah Gerish's psychological torments, Hopehood's "fatherly" dismemberment of James Key for weeping, and Thomas Maule's claims about the "fathers' " illegitimate murder of Indians return with disturbing clarity. But colonial New England's older social order, which Mather fantasizes about dismembering from his own current position of angry powerlessness, is also that which he himself depends upon to renew his desired position of cultural potency. Decennium Luctuosum's feeble attempts to reconstruct gender roles and to figure true "manliness" through chastising foolish women and attacking Indianized Quakers indicate a wish to reinstate a law that cannot be allowed to recognize its own basis in a sadistic power over weaker bodies. Such pleasure in torture must be ascribed to Indians, not to the "fathers" or their loyal "sons." It is in order to (mis)recognize this knowledge that the text must suggest how current New English men's weakness and female aggression are somehow the real problems to be solved, not the lawless law of the Puritan fathers which Hannah Dustan's problematic act both imitates and, given her female position, rebels against. We have already examined the Mather history's representation of weak colonial men. Now, having considered the text's passionate identification with the captive woman's physical violence, we must also consider its equal fear of identification with her position. Critics argue that Dustan's story could certainly have aroused anxiety as well as identification with her role as heroic Judea capta. 35 Although it seemed justified by war, even Jael's act could be viewed as a troublesome sign of duplicitous female aggression. In fact, if Jael's murder supported the Israelite cause, another chapter of Judges portrays a woman acting within the domestic realm who equally turns the tables on the Israelites. Delilah seduces and wins Samson, learns the source of his bodily potency, and, just as suggestively as Jael, cuts it off (Judges 6:19-20 ). Mather's own allusion to the

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"Amazonian stroke" at Wells further implies a sense not only that women's rage can destroy the patriarchal order from within, but also that womenAmazons-may function powerfully outside of it. 36 While, as we have seen, Mather's text reveals a desire for the destruction of colonial New England exemplified in its detailed murders of families, on another level, it expresses intense fear of this destruction. Decennium Luctuosum wishes to torture and murder New England men and at the same time to preserve New England's threatened order; it exposes the lawless law justifying fatherly control over weaker bodies, and, at the same time, attempts to suppress this knowledge. Decennium Luctuosum provides two ways of dealing with impossibly double desires it represents: the first involves its use of a body that is bludgeoned or scalped and survives; the second involves its celebration of the new imperial governor, Bellomont, a figure ostensibly outside the "lawless" scene, whose imposition of a new law can be (mis)read as solving the impasse posed by colonial men's mixed desires. The beaten or scalped victim who lives is described at least five times in Cotton Mather's text. A major example is that of the Deerfield boy who lives through an "assault" in which "[t]hey struck an hatchet some inches into the Scull ... even so deep, that the Boy felt the Force of a Wrench used by 'em to get it out. There he lay a long while Weltring in his Blood' ... considerable Quantities of his Brain came out from time to time, when they opened the Wound' yet the Lad Recovered, and is now a Living Monument to the Power and Goodness of God." 37 Mather uses this specific case to gloat that there are no "mortal wounds" except those that "Providence" makes so. At the same time, in this case as in others, he admits that these wounds do not close. Clearly, given this history's intense focus on personal agency, it should seem extremely suspect to find it, near its end, so easily offering providential justifications for why wounds kill or do not. Such claims obviously place the issue outside the physical body itself and outside the agents responsible for its destruction. A rare and extended attempt by this text at justifying these preservations in standard New English religious terms indicates a fantasy at work beyond their ascription to "Providence:' Specifically, the history's focus on colonials who are "brained;' yet survive, returns attention to the dilemma just described-the text's simultaneous identification and disidentification with aggression against the colonial New English order. In examples like this, the history attempts to solve the problem of its own violence against bodies by focusing on their "miraculous" recoveries. New England's body/bodies can be brutally punished, yet still survive! This fantasy, however, is shortlived. A series of similar descriptions leads directly into the narrative of

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Hannah Dustan, from whose extended bludgeonings no one recovers. Clearly, a different strategy is needed both to justify aggression and to control it.

Virtue and Highest Power This need accounts for Mather's dedicatory and concluding comments to the earl of Bellomont. At the history's end Mather praises King William and addresses Bellomont as the "Illustrious Image of His own Royal Virtues." Bellomont is especially lauded for his role in persuading William of Orange to lead his own revolt against the Stuart monarchy. Surely, his "Conduct" as governor will similarly impress and subdue disputatious colonials. In him meet "Virtus et Summa potestas" (virtue and highest power). 38 While such language serves as the conventional language of praise, it seems extraordinarily overblown even for a text already filled with exaggerated descriptions. Its excess suggests Mather's own extreme pleasure in Bellomont's status, so close to the throne itself. The connection between such noble status and the attributes it joins together demands further attention, however. Bellomont's nobility seems to depend on two terms that need not fit together-"virtue" and "highest power:' Linking the two under the aegis of nobility clearly appears to solve several problems Decennium Luctuosum has raised. First, given the clear relation in all of the history's classical sources of virtue and virtu, Bellomont's nobility would seem to usher in the "manly" body the text has exposed in so many places as lacking. His nobility will thus abrogate the need for women like Hannah Dustan to step out of culturally appropriate gender positions. In so doing, Bellomont's nobility will also symbolically solve the problem of male identification with a pleasurable and dangerous female aggression against the older patriarchal order. Putting "highest power" in the hands of a nobleman will implicitly resolve the problem of aggression against New England by competing colonial sons. "Virtue" in the shape of a newly legitimated imperial governing power will be restored by a body who legally represents the new royal "father:' Such, at least, seems a final tentative "answer" proffered by Decennium Luctuosum. It is also the problematic solution yearned for in the Book of Judges. According to the logic of Judges, Jaels would no longer be needed, Delilahs would no longer triumph, and most tellingly, the sons of Israel would no longer rise up against one another instead of against external threats, were there only a "king in Israel." Throughout the Book of Judges runs a

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longing, at once defended and criticized, for a new king who will unify the tribes internally and drive out all enemies claiming possession of the land of Israel. The analogy to the unstable colonial situation, in which thirdgeneration men are massively competing for new power and status in a changing imperial political context as well as for justification of their own and the "fathers' " original acts of Indian dispossession, seems obvious. In the wake of the political failures and the literal deaths of the English-born first- and, increasingly, the second-generation "fathers;' Lord Bellomont could symbolically provide the new imperial "king in Israel;' by whose authority alone colonial male aggression could be controlled, confusion dispelled, and a unified (male) identity (re)stabilized (Judges 21:25). 39 But there is another way to read this fantasy of stabilization in a nobility uniting "virtue" with "highest power:' The contexts of King William's own "Glorious Revolution" against the Stuart monarchy, the corresponding colonial "revolution" against the royal governor, Edmond Andros, and the continuing expansionist wars over the meaning of "legitimate" succession in Europe that aroused the "sorrowful decade" of colonial French and Indian wars in New England in the first place reveal how "noble" status follows rather than precedes aggression. It is power over bodies on familial, local and now, imperial, levels that retroactively and textually determines both what is "virtuous" and what is "noble:' Once this power is achieved, it then writes its own legitimacy, and not vice versa. The aggressions against and by the captive bodies described throughout Decennium Luctuosum and with such compelling force in Hannah Dustan's narrative tell the story of a particular thirdgeneration son's recognition, displacement, and deferral of this knowledge.

Chapter6

Returning to Zion: Cultural Competition and John Williams's The Redeemed Captive

In Article XXVII of Decennium Luctuosum, Cotton Mather addresses the "last Bloody Action" of his history, a foiled attempt made on the town of Deerfield in 1698. Deerfield, notes Mather, "has been an Extraordinary Instance of Courage in keeping their station;' owing, he says, to "their worthy Pastor Mr. John Williams;' who "deserves the Thanks of all this Province, for Encouraging them all the ways Imaginable to Stand their ground."' Williams, like the one other minister whom the history praises, Shubael Dummer of York, keeps his flock together as a community even under assault. Dummer's fate, however, is to be murdered in an ambush just as York is destroyed. Five years later, in the context of yet another imperial war, Deerfield, too, will be decimated and its minister taken captive. The raid from Canada that became known in New England as the "Deerfield Massacre" occurred in February of 1704. Intent not only on plundering the town and driving away its inhabitants, Deerfield's invaders also desired to take a captive with stature important enough to be used in negotiations for the release of one of their own. 2 Accordingly, the Reverend John Williams, his wife, and four of their seven children-two were killed outright and one was away from the town-were taken captive. Williams's wife, Eunice, the daughter of Eleazar Mather, Increase's brother, was killed along the way, but he and three children were redeemed after three years in Canada. His daughter Eunice, Increase's niece and Cotton's first cousin, seven when she was captured, nearly eleven when he returned to New England and when he wrote his narrative of his captivity, remained in Canada despite numerous efforts to free her. The assault on Deerfield occurred in the third year of another long Old World conflict over legitimate succession and expansionist ambitions known in Europe as the War of the Spanish Succession and in the colonies as

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"Queen Anne's War:' With William III's death in March 1702, England's crown was assumed by his sister-in-law, Anne, who found herself once again at war with the France of Louis XIV. In 1700, Charles II of Spain, who had no direct heir, named Philip of Anjou, Louis XIV's grandson, as his successor. Louis XIV immediately called for the union of France and Spain. Fearing not only the political power but also the trading power of a unified and expansionist France and Spain in the New World as well as in Europe, England joined forces with Holland, Prussia, and Austria to name Charles of Austria as the legitimate successor. By 1711, after ten years of war, the Emperor of Austria, Joseph I, died after also naming Charles as his successor. Fearing that this new arrangement would equally destabilize the balance of power in Europe, England and her allies agreed at last to support Philip of Anjou's right to the Spanish throne, but only with the proviso that France and Spain remain separate nations. Accordingly, the Treaty of Utrecht was signed in 1713. This war, which some have called the first world war because of the breadth of its colonial as well as European reach, ended the notion of dynastic succession in Europe. 3 Tensions over political boundaries and trade routes similarly effected the New English arena of this imperial war. By 1702, the always uncertain and porous New English borders became challenged anew by the depredations of French and affiliated Indian groups increasingly concerned about the proximity (and the trade relations made possible by such proximity) of New England to French Acadia. As Howard H. Peckham points out, the New English colonies fought almost entirely without aid from other colonies in this conflict. Even New York did not want to test its own newly stabilized relationship with the Iroquois on either side of its borders by offering aid to those in the north it had formerly supported. 4 While renewed hostilities over trade and the boundaries between French and English possessions erupted, tensions about the direction of New English colonial authority, in religion as well as in politics, had once again become exacerbated.

Cotton Mather and Paul Dudley: The Dominion of Grace versus Royal Prerogative Richard Coote, Earl of Bellomont, died in 1701 after only fourteen months as governor of Massachusetts and New York. In 1702, just as "Queen Anne's War" was gaining intensity in New England, Joseph Dudley finally became appointed the royal governor of Massachusetts. Son of Thomas Dudley, the

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colony's second governor under the old charter, Dudley was well known throughout New England. His appointment had been supported by Cotton and Increase Mather, even though in the "revolt" of 1688 Cotton had been among those who had helped to send him back (with his ally Edward Randolph) to London as an Andros supporter. But by 1702, they clearly wished to view him differently: in contrast to Andros and Bellomont, Dudley was at least New England born and New England educated as well as a son of one of the major first-generation fathers. As historians have noted, Dudley almost immediately foiled their expectations of his identification with these roots. Having spent a good deal of time in London as well as in a variety of positions in the colonies-including a stint in New York where he famously prosecuted those who seized power there in the 1688 revolution-Dudley was clearly not about to promote the religious and social ambitions of traditional colonial elites. He had, as one historian puts it, an "understanding of the imperial interest"-and possessed little patience with what he considered New English provincialisms. 5 In a variety of signs indicating his dismissal of still powerful ministers like Increase and Cotton Mather, Dudley immediately flouted his support of Anglican symbolism-taking his oath on the Bible, allowing the use of crosses in his soldiers' hats on holidays (to the distress of Judge Samuel Sewall), and bringing with him George Keith, an erstwhile incendiary Quaker turned Anglican, to preach at the Anglican King's Chapel. 6 More tellingly, in 1699 Dudley supported the fashionable new church, the Brattle Street Church, in the "enlarged" innovations in church practice that its minister, Benjamin Colman, erstwhile student of Mather's foe, John Leverett, had learned in London. And, as early as 1703, the new governor listened to Solomon Stoddard-he who three years earlier had renewed his attacks on the "fathers'" covenant theology-preach the colony's yearly election sermon. Stoddard dryly noted: "There are many ways whereby Persons come to be ill-Principled ... some by being too tenacious of old Traditions:' 7 Most insultingly, against the wishes of both Increase and Cotton Mather and their dwindling supporters, Dudley engineered the appointment of John Leverett to the presidency of Harvard, thus taking the traditional Congregationalist clergy's last remaining privilege under the 1691 charter out of their hands. 8 As early as 1702, Increase Mather warned Dudley to remember his "fathers" and not to choose his councilors from among those who had undermined the old charter, while Cotton Mather, almost as soon as Dudley arrived, began to pump for his removal and the installation of a new governor in a series ofletters to influential London supporters.9 Cotton also preached a sermon, Lex Mercatoria, in 1704 (published 1705) that interpreted the

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economic and social effects of the war in terms of covetousness-a sin of which Dudley was broadly accused. 10 In the spring of 1706, one of Dudley's lieutenants, Samuel Vetch, who had been sent to Canada to redeem captives, was charged with trading arms to the French, thereby fueling colonial outrage and rumors that Dudley himself was involved with or indirectly supported a trade that had possibly led to Indian assaults on New England." In the fall of 1707, after purportedly failing to receive an answer to two admonitory letters to the governor, Cotton Mather began a pamphlet war, the texts of which were all published in London. His first pamphlet, A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State of New England, opens by setting its complaints about Dudley's governorship in the explicit context of Edmond Andros and his supporters' dismissal of the first charter. Implicitly, in a manner similar to attacks on Andros in 1688, Cotton Mather links what he considers Dudley's dismissal of the charter-this time the new one of 1691-92 negotiated by his father-to his indirect support of French and Indian raids on New England: The Inhabitants of New England had for many years before the late Happy Revolution; Enjoy'd the Liberty and Property of as Free and Easy a Charter as a People Could Desire' and this, too, with as much Satisfaction and Loyalty on their Part, as Malice and Envy on that of their Enemies, who from a Persecuting Spirit Looked upon this their Charter with an evil Eye, took up an Implacable Resolution of Robbing them of it. They had no sooner Effected this, but a vast Scene of Misery appear'd, and they find among the principal Instruments of this Mischeif, One [Dudley] whom their own Womb had brought forth, and whose Breast had Nourish'd. But the Unhappy (or rather Happy) Reign of the late K.J. [King James] running Precipitantly upon its own Ruin, made well for the deliverance of New-England; without which doubtless the People had fell a Sacrifice to French and Popish Slavery. 12

Mather's pamphlet is structured as a series of complaints coupled with individual colonial affidavits backing them up. The nine complaints range from accusations of Dudley's clandestine communication with a French Jesuit and the governor of Port Royal to attacks on colonial taxation, bribe taking, and the role Dudley played in the Vetch trials. (Vetch and his associates were accused of high treason by the General Court, a sentence that was rejected by the Privy Council in England as outside the Court's jurisdiction. Their sentence was ultimately annulled.) What is most striking for the purposes of this project are Mather's eighth accusation and his conclusion. The eighth complaint involves Dudley's "breach of Promise" to the French governor-namely his failure to free all the French prisoners in an exchange with English prisoners-"which was the occasion of the French governor's

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not sending several of the prisoners, particularly a Minister that was taken Captive at Derefield, detain'd by the French, who might have been Discharged with sundry others." 13 A reference to the plight of John Williams and his congregation also concludes the account of Indian barbarities and "Remarkable Providences" with which Mather ends his first pamphlet: Mr. John Williams, the worthy Minister of that Pious and Holy Flock was carried into Captivity with five of his children; two of which were slain and his Desirable Consort beginning to Faint ... they there, like themselves, cruelly Murdered her ... Before they reached Mont Real ... near Twenty more of the Captives lost their Lives; for the manner was, that if any found himself not able to travel through the Deep Snows now on the Ground, the Salvages would Strike their Hatchets into their Heads, and there leave them weltring in their Blood. 14

Structurally, these intentionally graphic remarks about Williams, his family, and Deerfield run parallel to the comments Mather makes about Andros and Dudley at the beginning of his pamphlet. Here, in final comments tacked on to his accusations, he intimates that Dudley's self-enriching policies, whether directly (through taxes or bribes) or indirectly (as in the case of Vetch's trading) have contributed to a pervasive cultural climate in which the French-supported Indians have been able to launch attacks on New England towns like Deerfield. Strikingly, these same comments had been printed a year earlier in a publication that sold a thousand copies in a week's time, Good Fetch't Out of Evil, a compendium by Cotton Mather that included a Mather preface, a description of "remarkables" and, crucially, a printing of this same John Williams's "pastoral letter" to returning Deerfield captives. 15 Those in New England who had read both publications would clearly be able to see what Dudley's son, Paul, was to respond to in his defense of his father: that Mather rhetorically linked Williams's continuing incarceration, current and past Indian attacks and the taking of captives, and threats of a French/ papist takeover of New England by those now manipulating the second as well as destroying the first charter. Paul Dudley's anonymous reply to Mather, A Modest Enquiry, into the

Grounds and Occasions of the Late Pamphelet In titled, A Memorial of the Deplorable State of New England by a disinterested hand offers a paragraph by paragraph refutation of Cotton's claims, in which he links most of Mather's complaints to the continuing factionalism and "hereditary rancour" bred into those who had been Old Charter supporters. 16 In his opening comments, he notes for his English audience how Mather's first paragraph, "extolling the former happy State of the Province in the Charter they Enjoy'd before the

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Revolution ... sufficiently shows how they regard the Charter they now have; and consequently what an Opinion they retain not only of that Power that took from them their Old Charter, but also of King William, who was too wise to return to them their Idol, which he knew had been affrontingly us'd in preceding Reigns." 17 Dudley then explicitly defends Andros and Joseph Dudley, notes their acquittals and the new posts given to them both under William, and precedes either to minimalize or to belittle Cotton Mather's claims on procedural grounds-as governor, Joseph Dudley had no control over changes in the Vetch decision-or on the grounds of ignorance or "malice." In the case of John Williams, for example, Paul Dudley explicitly notes that his father could not effect a speedier exchange because of French demands to swap Williams for Pierre Maissonat, known as "Baptiste;' a notorious French privateer and murderer. Perceiving, however, that Williams would be freed "upon no other terms, the governour in respect of Mr. Williams submitted:' 18 Mather, claimed Paul Dudley, knew that this was the case, yet persisted in a contradiction: blaming the "governour" both for his releasing of"Baptiste" and for the continuation of John Williams's captivity. Furthermore, of Mather's ending descriptions of captivities, Dudley notes, that while everyone is compassionate toward captives, "when they shall be heap'd together to endeavour to Incense the People against their Governour (to whose good Conduct 'tis owing that fewer are in this Distress now than in former wars) it takes off from that Humanity that such deplorable Cases call for." 19 Rather than helping the cause of the captives, warns Joseph Dudley's son, Cotton Mather ignores the fact that his father alone, as governor, has the political power to ransom them. Not only does Paul Dudley directly attack Cotton Mather's penchant for connecting the fact of captivity to his father's or his associates' hidden relationship with French officials and Indian traders, he also goes out of his way to belittle Mather's collection of special providences. In several instances, responding to Mather's claims of providential intervention, he notes that captives are freed from their painful circumstances not because of any New English purchase on divine favor, but because of the Indians "having more Humanity than some that call themselves Christians:' 20 At another point, dismissing a woman's "wonderful" finding by her husband in Canada, he archly comments "it being no uncommon Thing for a Man to find his Wife where he least expected her:' 21 Pointedly, at an earlier moment, Dudley condescendingly notes that the thinking of these colonials is conditioned by their quaint and outdated belief "that Dominion is founded in Grace" rather than in royal prerogative. 22

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plorable State of New England by Reason of a Covetous and Treacherous Governour, and Pusillanimous Counsellors, in which he reiterates his older complaints, specifically attacks the behavior of Joseph Dudley's council and the "cowardly" Assembly which had voted for his continuance, and glories in the failed attack that Dudley's forces had attempted at Port Royal in May 1706. 23 For a number of reasons, however, not the least of which are the highly supportive affidavits affirming Dudley's governorship by other ministers (a list headed by Solomon Stoddard), merchants, and military commanders that the governor sent to London, these mutual recriminations come to an end. What remains important for our purposes here is that Cotton Mather's tracts and Paul Dudley's response reveal the continuing desire and practice of certain traditional third-generation elites to link the afflictions as well as the "remarkables" of captivity to the abrogation of New English charter rights by royal governors with supposedly "papist" leanings and that a special contemporary focus of this debate involves the captives of Deerfield and their minister, the Reverend John Williams. John Williams's narrative, The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion, and the sermon that was written contemporaneously with it, God in the Camp, both appeared in March of 1707, three months after his release. Given Cotton Mather's publication of Williams's "Pastoral Letter" from Canada several months before and Mather's opening of his church for the sermon Williams delivered upon his return, it seems clear that once again, a Mather-supported captivity should continue to be read in terms of its response to contexts that are at once local and international--deeply concerned with the ramifications of royal authority for God's "sovereignty" in a changed New England. For if Williams did not know before, he certainly learned from Increase and Cotton on his return of the ongoing Vetch dispute, its relation to the extension of his own captivity, and about their views of Dudley's scornful dismissal of the covenant of his fathers for the mammon of economic gain and royal political power. In this light, Mather's suggestion that he helped to write Williams's return sermon and possibly his captivity, while dismissed by historian Edward Clark, rings true on other levels: "I now, satt with him, and studied and contrived and united Counsils with him, how the Lord might have Revenues of Glory from his Experience, And I particularly employ'd him to preach my lecture, unto a Great Auditory (The General Assembly then also sitting) and directed him, to show how great Things God had done unto him." 24 Both Williams's captivity narrative and his sermon appear in the context of and indirectly speak to continuing competitions over cultural and

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political power in New England, questions in which the Mather family and its supporters had been particularly involved since the Restoration. Once again the crisis of the war is constructed as involving the charter (this time the 1691 charter for which Increase Mather had fought) and once again the Indians are read as loosed not only by an afflicting God, but also by a royal governor who was exceeding the bonds of his authority, was attracted to "popish" (in other words, Anglican) practices, and is represented as being possibly aligned with the French. In the face of the threat posed by Dudley and his local and English adherents to their own increasingly belittled notion of a covenanted community in which religion and politics should "kiss;' embattled ministers like Cotton Mather turn to a Mather relative's narrative in which the action now centers on a male, not a female, captive. One final time, the narrative of an orthodox captive will be used to defend the ways of the New English "fathers" and, in the process, help both to castigate and to unify a New England which their loyal "sons" read as repudiating them.

Imperial Covetousness and "God in the Camp" John Williams's captivity has been read as contributing to anti-French propaganda in England and New England. 25 While this is certainly the case, it also seems to have served other related, but different, ends for certain local supporters. This claim is made more compelling when we read the narrative in the context of the sermon Williams delivered just before its publication. God in the Camp was written concurrently with The Redeemed Captive and preached in March 1707 "before the Governour and General Assembly." 26 Most broadly, God in the Camp seems a traditional jeremiad, describing the anger of a sovereign God at a backsliding covenant people whom He will save-yet again-if they reform their ways and renew their covenant with Him. In the climate of the Vetch trials and other rumors about Dudley and his associates' greed, however, the ways in which this sermon treats the jeremiad's generic themes seem particularly telling. First, there is Williams's unmitigated passion in detailing God's absolute sovereignty over all the external and internal actions of the current war. Pointedly, Williams argues that neither the wisdom and council of leaders, nor the strength and courage of their armies have any meaning or power without the aid of this offended God. 27 Williams suggests this sovereignty rhetorically by couching virtually all his comments in the doctrine and reasons sections of the sermon in direct scriptural language.

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An example of this technique can be found in the second point made under the opening of the doctrine. Having just treated the uselessness of men's wisdom and council without God's presence, Williams turns to the question of their strength and "valour": Strength and Courage as well as Wisdom and Counsel are from the Lord: 'Tis God that takes away courage from the Adversary and makes them to be sway'd: 'Twas He that sent faintness of heart among the Canaanites of old. Josh. 2.9, 10.11 "And she said to the men, I know but the Lord hath given you the land, and that your terrour is fallen upon us, and that all the inhabitants of the land faint because of you. For we have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red Sea for you, when you came out of Egypt, and what you did unto the two kings of the Amorites, who were in the other side of Jordan, &c. And as soon as we heard these things, our hearts did melt, nor did their remain any more courage in any man because of you:' For the Lord your God, He is God in Heaven above, and in earth beneath. 'Tis God that threatens as a punishment of a People's sin to take away courage, Lev. 26. 36, 37 I will send a fai[n]tness into their hearts in the land of their enemies, and the sound of a shaking leaf shall chase them, and they shall flee as fleeing from a sword: and they shall fall when none pursueth. And they shall fall one upon another, as it were before a sword, when none pursueth, and ye shall have no power to stand before your enemies. Amos. 2. 14,15. 28 Offering first the pos1t1on of the enemy, interestingly represented by a woman speaker, vis-a-vis the Israelites when God is with them, Williams closes with the position of the Israelites when God departs. Noticeably, the preacher himself offers very sparse commentary. A reader of the sermon's printed version is struck by the mass of italicized prose on every page-the mark of scriptural citation piled upon scriptural citation. The effect of this practice is that the preacher's voice nearly disappears and the sovereign God of Scripture seems to speak directly to the congregation-especially here to the governor and his council--displaying His power rather than theirs over the course of the war. Whereas Williams's theological point is not exceptional, the particularity of his account resonates in the face of Dudley's perceived arrogance as royal governor and in the face of recent colonial military defeats. Williams leaves the question of the sin that has brought down this war on a "covenanted people" extremely general, but, indirectly, the sermon does seem pointed to a specific failing. His text is Deuteronomy 23:9, "when the Host goeth forth against thine enemy then keep thee from Every WICKED THING." In the context of preaching to the army, this text certainly refers to sexual misconduct as well as-the sermon will point out later-to the

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soldiers' "tipling:' We will discuss Williams's uses of what he considers sexual sin in more detail in the next chapter. Here, sexual sin is allied to a sin that Williams views as inextricably related to it. Not only the phrase the "wicked thing;' but also the "unclean thing;' the "accursed thing;' and the phrase, "tarry[ ing] by the stuff" occur throughout the sermon. To what sin do these make reference? Joshua 6 recounts the story in which God warns Joshua and the Israelites not to withhold from Him any of the booty taken from the enemy after the fall of Jericho: ''And ye in any wise keep yourselves from the accursed thing, lest ye make yourselves accursed, when ye take of the accursed thing, and make the camp of Israel a curse, and trouble it" (Joshua 6:18). When Achan, son of Carmi, keeps back part of this booty and then lies about secreting it away, the people begin to lose battles. The Lord must then explain that the "accursed thing" has not been "taken away" as He asked and that Achan and all he possesses must accordingly be sacrificed to ratify anew the people's covenant with Him. Achan and his children and his goods are all duly and brutally destroyed by stoning and by fire. Particularly at issue for Williams-especially in the face of an audience composed not only of the militia and "people;' but also of the governor and the General Assembly, is the sin of covetousness, the sin of keeping back or taking something that belongs to God in time of war. In Williams's other writings, as we shall see, tarrying by "the stuff" is invariably read as akin to idolatry-choosing other gods than the sovereign God. In the context of the sermon-touching the "unclean thing" demonstrates a blatant denial of God's sovereign will. In the context of a wartime New England that traditionalists read as having been taken over by the "idols" of trade, the sermon uses a biblical reference extremely well known in New England. (William Hubbard had lamented the overuse of the Achan type in the 167os.) 29 In the specific context of the Vetch accusations and the rumors then swirling about the governor's own complicity in trading with the enemy, in bribing, in overtaxing, and in the view of many, helping to create the conditions for French and Indian attacks that lead to Williams's long captivity, however, the reference must also have seemed current and topical. The sin for which God Himself is condemning New England and her rulers is specifically targeted as their covetousness. Finally, there is the sermon's intense blame in its uses section of the people "at home" for the failure of their "Armies and Frontiers:' While Williams carefully exonerates colonial leaders from direct blame-noting how people invariably complain about rulers when a war goes badly-his emphasis on the fact that covenant breaking is occurring among "all" those at home also

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reflects on that leadership. Having himself been ransomed by Dudley's efforts, Williams is clearly in no position to chastise the governor directlyeven though other actions by Dudley could have been read as extending his lengthy captivity and delaying his release. Speaking through the jeremiad, however, he is enabled powerfully, if indirectly, to accuse all those who directly or indirectly manipulate the war for their own gain of covenant breaking: "You act as tho' you had no Bowels of Charity to your Friends, Relations, and Neighbours, and are doing of them the greatest injury. You cry out against the Enemy for Murdering of so many. Sirs, your ways and your doings procure these things: I may say, our Apostasies from God and from Holiness, Kill our Friends, and open the graves for many of our Acquaintance:' 3°Flatly, the preacher declares, it is all of you, not the Canaanites, who have become the "Troublers of God's Israel." Whereas one can, as John Demos does, certainly ascribe to Williams's personal anger his belief that the "sins" of those who remained at home are responsible for his own captivity and the deaths of his wife and children, one should also take seriously the terms in which this anger is couched. 31 In the face of open slights to or even specific attacks on covenant keeping by those in political and religious positions of power, the recriminations Williams voices toward those who have ignored God's absolute sovereignty, who have "tarried by the thing;' and who have thereby killed their friends and relations are surely as much the views of Williams's traditionalist supporters as they are his own. Speaking, if far more obliquely than Cotton Mather will do, to the current state of New English social and economic relations under Dudley's governance, Williams, under the jeremiad's traditional cover, also voices their position.

Submissive to "Sovereignty": Re-incorporating Dudley into Zion? Historians Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeney have recently considered the striking absence of a preface by Increase Mather, Cotton Mather, or any anonymous supporter from John Williams's The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion. Noting that the narrative is preceded by Joseph Dudley's imprimatur and followed by a dedication to him by the captive himself, they conclude that Williams's text must have confounded and dismayed his "kinsmen" who so recently had been attacking the governor both at home and abroad. 32 Agreeing certainly that the narrative's prefatory material lauds Dudley and could have been viewed by him as exonerating him from claims made by Cotton

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Mather and others, the question remains of Williams's variable intentions in so praising the governor. Certainly, Williams had obvious reason to be grateful to one who had organized his own and several of his children's releases. As Solomon Stoddard's son-in-law, he might also have felt some compunction about attacking a governor who supported his father-in-law and one whom his father-in-law supported. (Stoddard had married Eunice Mather Williams's mother after the death of Eleazar Mather. Since Williams's second wife, Abigail Bissell, was Eunice's first cousin, his second marriage found him related, once again, to both Mathers and Stoddards.) Solomon Stoddard and John Williams, as Haefeli and Sweeney point out, headed a list of ministers from the hardest-hit frontier regions who had signed a "memorial" backing Dudley's actions that was sent to London. 33 Such facts are intriguing. The issue remains, however, of just how to interpret them. Other facts involve Cotton Mather's earlier printing of Williams's letter to returning captives, the fact that Williams's famous return sermon was preached in Mather's own church, and the fact that Williams's captivity narrative was probably written while he stayed with his "cousin;' Cotton Mather. These facts surely position a reading of Williams's "support" for Joseph Dudley in a slightly different way. Finally, there is the question of the "dismay" that Increase and, especially, Cotton Mather might have experienced about the narrative's imprimatur and dedication. On the one hand, one might suggest that there was no practical way to avoid either-Dudley had, after all, sent his own son to Canada to aid in Williams's release. On the other hand, traditional ministers, even those opposing Dudley, might also have found the governor's support for the narrative useful, in that it suggested direct political action on behalf of one of their own-and thus could have confirmed the status of the ministry. But there are two further ways in which Increase and Cotton's engagement with Dudley's imprimatur and Williams's dedication might be viewed. First, as we have noted earlier in the case of both Increase and Cotton Mather, there is a tendency for them either to use the latest English rhetoric (as in the case of Increase's turn to "Whig" rhetoric in the 169os) or to praise royal power fulsomely (as in the case of Cotton's praise of Bellomont) when perceived colonial interests are threatened from London. Given Cotton's public opposition to the governor at this particular moment, is it out of the range of possibility that he and his father might have viewed, indeed might have even encouraged, their "kinsman" to do something similar? To what extent could Williams's shared sense of a continuing New English "interest" as well as his personal gratitude have motivated his compliments to a royal

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governor whose New English reputation was so checkered? Second, and most tellingly for what follows, there are hints within Williams's dedicatory comments and prefatory remarks that become full-blown in his captivity narrative that John Williams is in no way dissenting from a traditional New English reading of political and social events. While he deliberately expresses loyalty to imperial English authority and to Joseph Dudley, his text also remains directed to particularly New English cultural and social ends. That such is the case is indicated by the text's obvious similarities to other narratives more explicitly appropriated, supported, or written by Increase and Cotton Mather. Structurally similar to Hannah Swarton's narrative in its representation of French as well as Indian captivities, The Redeemed Captive shares biblical texts and a focus on the special providences experienced by devout New Englanders with that of Mary Rowlandson. Finally, like both the narratives that precede it, The Redeemed Captive stresses the absolute need for New England as a whole to identify with the passive and obedient position of the female captive in the face of the will of an ultimately "sovereign" father God. Long-standing local conflicts over the connection political authority should bear to traditional religious interpretations of it are here transmuted into a final traditionalist argument about the ways in which it is God's sovereignty-not English or New English military, financial, or even diplomatic expertise-which alone can redeem a once "professing" people. While Joseph Dudley might thus be read as having preempted John Williams's narrative for his own defense, both at home and abroad, we might also read such preemption as itself encompassed by a number of local intentions. Seeking-and to an extent receiving some of the elite colonial support he desired-Dudley, at the same time, becomes himself incorporated by John Williams into a decidedly New English mode of political and social interpretation. Rather than being dismayed by such incorporation, Increase and Cotton Mather-whose private and public writings record no such disappointment-may, in the face of losing arguments in London as well as Boston, have become persuaded that such cultural incorporation provided one of their few remaining tools for dealing with him. 34 A focus on God's sovereignty frames Williams's dedication to Dudley, in which he expresses his gratitude to God before turning to Dudley whom heaven has "honored" as God's "prime instrument." Yet while Dudley is clearly made God's providential tool, a tool he remains. It is God alone who in his "spotless sovereignty" has meted out both "rebukes" and "mercies" to Williams, his family and "his people." Not to publish one's thankfulness to

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this all-powerful God, Williams suggests to Dudley and to all his readers, would be a sign of the greatest "folly" as well as the "blackest ingratitude." 35 Grateful as he thus professes to be to the governor, who has clearly been viewed as ungrateful by many traditional colonial supporters, Williams nonetheless will attempt to teach Dudley to read both his own deliverance and the major events of "Queen Anne's War" in orthodox New English terms. John Williams provides prefatory material to his own narrative. Notably, in this case, since he is not a female captive, the ministerial captive alone may construct the frame in which readers should understand his captivity. Williams provides two texts for interpreting his narrative, the first, from Genesis 32:10-11, in which Jacob explicitly asks for deliverance from the rage of his brother Esau, and the second, from Genesis 32:26 in which Jacob wrestles with God and refuses to let Him go until He blesses him. In Williams's reading, the first texts asks for something explicit; the second, rather than asking for anything in particular, acknowledges God's ultimate sovereignty by simply asking Him "to prepare us to sanctify and honor him in what way soever He should come forth towards us." Williams's narrative will demonstrate the effects of an appropriately spiritual preparation that depends solely on a divine will already at work in him. 36 As in God in the Camp, the explicit focus throughout Williams's text is the need for New England to learn to be submissive and passive to God's will in order that He may demonstrate his power and redemptive love through "providences:' "remarkables:' and "wonders." While such a condition is also mandated of the captive in Mary Rowlandson and Hannah Swarton's narratives (and the lack of it the problem that Cotton Mather finds with Hannah Dustan's) it is striking that in Williams's text the one who must learn and show such obedience is represented as a man rather than a woman. As Cotton Mather's hesitations over representing Swarton's debating skills indicated, captivity among French Catholics was felt to demand the intellectual and argumentative skills of a trained Protestant minister rather than a female captive, however orthodox. Furthermore, given the undeniable fact that many New English women had converted in French Canada, a woman might have seemed less and less the proper representation whereby to defend orthodoxy. But on another level, Williams's text very directly indicates its debt to representations of the female figure at the center of the other Mather-supported captivities we have discussed. In a central moment at the beginning of her text, Mary Rowlandson turns to consider her sister's (and thus her own) relationship to saving grace. Similarly, as we have seen,

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Hannah Swarton represents the crucial moment in her text as involving her passive reception of free grace. In Williams's narrative this moment becomes prolonged and dramatized in the extraordinary description offered of his wife's passive-and clearly prepared-acceptance of what has happened and what she knows will happen to her. Here it is Eunice Mather Williams who represents the passive, obedient, feminized soul who, through her death, passes this model onto the minister who replaces her as captive and tested saint. Like Hannah Dustan, Eunice Williams has recently "lain in;' but unlike Dustan, she proves too weak physically for the journey and is therefore "knocked on the head" by her captors early in the march. As she walks with her husband, just before her death: We discoursed of the happeiness of them who had a right to an house not made with hands eternal in the heavens and God for a father and a friend as also that it was our reasonable duty quietly to submit to the will of God and to say the will of the Lord be done. My wife told me her strength of body began to fail and that I must expect to part with her, saying she hoped God would preserve my life and lives of some, if not all of our children with us, and commended to me, under God, the care of them. She never spake any discontented word as to what had befallen us, but with suitable expression justified God in what had befallen usY

Eunice's submission to what happens, her passivity and obedience to God's will, represent the position that Williams himself must learn to occupy throughout his narrative. In the first section of his text, like Mary Rowlandson, Williams represents his learning submission to God's will in the face of the physical challenges offered by captivity. A striking scene at the beginning of the narrative offers an obvious blow to traditional notions of male heroism, as Williams notes the failure of his initial attempt to shoot his attackers: "My pistol missing fire was an occasion of my life's being preserved, since which I have also found it profitable to be crossed in my own will:' 38 Elsewhere, like Rowlandson, he focuses on how he is providentially upheld in the wilderness, suffering extreme lameness and exhaustion on varying occasions, but nevertheless, after prayer, feeling his strength "restored and renewed to admiration:' As he does in God in the Camp, Williams stresses how "God can give strength to them who have no might and power to them who are ready to faint." 39 Those who have been enabled spiritually to prepare themselves to submit to God's will have a presence with them that can "renew" them in spite of no external aids. Despite his claims about an already enabled preparation, however,

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divine acts in Williams's favor sometimes involve fulfillment of his direct prayers, as when his lameness seems thus healed or when a new snow falls to cushion his way. But these moments of divine response to human requests often intersect with more explicit anecdotes in which he must learn to become passive in the face of God's desires, not his own. A particular case of this occurs when Williams's prayers, twice-repeated, do not win him the wind that he needs to cross lake St. Pierre in order to reach Montreal, where two of his children are held captive. All else failing, "I reflected upon myself for my unquietness and the want of a resigned will to the will of God:' Begging for a "will fully resigned to the will of God;' Williams returns to his "company;' and lo, when he is placed once again in his master's canoe, the wind providentially falls and they make it across. 40 Representing himself as yielding to the will of God in his very brief account of his Indian captivity, Williams crucially describes his submission to that will in his captivity among the French and demonstrates the more explicitly political wonders that follow his orthodox personal submission. In one instance, he invokes the long history of New England's conflicts with the Indians and French when he describes how the Jesuits brag about how their prayers and not the Puritans' were heard when William Phips failed to take Quebec in 1690. 41 In another, referencing the current imperial conflict abroad, French priests are shown boasting about the "two young princes contending for the kingdom of Spain and a third that care is to be taken for his establishment on the English throne:' 42 Tellingly, in the context of Williams's warning that assertions of active male power cannot achieve what the soul submissive to God's will can experience, he notes that the Jesuits mock England for having merely a weak queen, while they are the subjects of a powerful male king. 43 Hearkening back to the old rhetoric of the witch trials, Williams likens Jesuitical reasonings to those of the devil, who attempts to "have[ing] the world ... in subjection" to him. Williams represents himself as submissively commenting in response to all their claims, "Glory not, God can make great changes in a little time and revive his own interest and yet save His poor afflicted people:' 44 As proof of God's sovereignty and as proof that the performance of Catholic rituals-processions, masses, confessions, and so forth-cannot engage His miraculous support, the French are represented as experiencing almost immediate chastisement. Following fast upon clerical boasts, "God gave them to hear sorrowful tidings from Europe" and then gave them such hard losses in New England that they themselves become captives, "led up and down and sold by the heathen as sheep for the slaughter:' 45

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At the same time, however, there are even in this context moments when Williams comes very close to ascribing a variety of Catholic misfortunes, ranging from the destruction by fire of a monastery to the English seizure at sea of a bishop on his way to Canada, to his own acceptance of God's will. 46 lt is as if he wishes to demonstrate both to Joseph Dudley and to his son Paul, who had been so dismissive of New English "marvels" and "providences;' that events turn out the way they do not simply because of God's sovereign will, but also, if indirectly, through the obedient New English captive's prepared submission to that form of sovereignty above all others. This obedient submissiveness is represented as tested not just in openly public and political arenas, but importantly in the most personal. As we will consider in more depth in the next chapter, Williams's entire text resonates with horror at the cultural transformations that captivity among the French and Indians represents. The narrator pointedly suggests to imperial English and New English authorities the dire necessity of quickly "redeeming" those who have been taken captive-indicating in the case of their "Indianization" that their cultural changes are irreversible. Conversion to Catholicism is presented as at once related to and even more threatening to imperial and colonial religious and political authority. Over a third of Williams's narrative treats his attempts to save his son Samuel from the machinations of priests who ostensibly force him to convert. Here, the war between French and English political interests becomes totally fought in religious terms and here Williams most powerfully argues for the marvelous effects that arise from yielding oneself to God in a specifically New English way. Once again, this time writ large, Williams's ability to achieve his desires is represented as occurring only when he assumes the female position, the position of absolute submission to God's will, not his own. At the darkest point in the narrative, when he receives Samuel's letter admitting his conversion, Williams represents his emotions in terms strikingly similar to those of Mary Rowlandson in her 13th remove: I now found a greater opposition to a patient, quiet, humble resignation to the will of God than I should otherwise have known if not so tried. Here I thought of my afflictions and trials; my wife and two children killed and many of my neighbors; and myself and so many of many of my children in a popish captivity separated from our children, not capable to instruct them in the way they ought to go, and cunning crafty enemies using all their subtlety to insinuate into young ones such principles as would be pernicious. I thought with myself how happy many others were, in that they had their children with them under all advantages to bring them up in the

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nurture and the admonitions of the Lord, while we were separated one from another and our children in great peril of embracing damnable doctrinesY Like the Rowlandson and Swarton narratives, Williams's text turns his present condition into a persuasive example to those remaining in New England to use and to support traditional Congregationalist modes of selfunderstanding to interpret the current conflict. Whereas the Rowlandson narrator urges them to do so under bleak physical conditions, Williams, like Mather's Swarton before him, urges their adherence to traditional orthodoxy under conditions of highly dramatized political and spiritual threat. While his urging those at home to teach their children identification with English Protestant doctrine can surely be read as an ideological nod to English interests, New Englishness of a certain kind is also at stake in these comments. In the face of dismissals of New English interpretive traditions not only from French clerics, but also from Joseph Dudley and from New English ministers and laity equally perceived as abandoning them, Williams's text will show the marvelous effects that follow upon such beliefs. Directly making reference to a question also posed in the Rowlandson narrative, the narrator comments: "But in the midst of all these God gave me a secret hope that He would magnify His power and free grace and disappoint all their crafty designs. When I looked on the right hand and on the left, all refuge failed, and none showed any care for my soul. But God brought that word to uphold me who is able to do exceedingly above what we can think or ask. As also that-is anything too hard for God?" 48 Once he experiences his own renewed hope of God's "free grace;' Williams represents himself as propelled into heroic and ultimately victorious male theological debate with the "adversary:' In his extraordinarily lengthy second letter to Samuel, Williams stages a point by point refutation of every Catholic claim made in his son's letter. He attacks the notion of there being any mediator with God except Christ; attacks the Catholic veneration of images, especially of the saints; attacks the notion "of inequality of power for the pastors of the Church" (a reference to apostolic succession); and finally turns to the lack of "rational" notions in the doctrine of transubstantiation and in the ritual, the Mass, that expresses it. The narrator ends this initial debate with a further attack on purgatory-a concept debunked throughout his narrative-and warns his son, in the most orthodox of Calvinist terms, to trust only in Scripture and in God's "all-sufficient grace" to "save" him. 49 Toward the end of the text, in a move that underscores the need for the

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exemplary captive in this text to be a minister, Williams represents his theological expertise not only to convince his son, but also to save the reputations of a variety of threatened New Englanders, several of them members of his Deerfield congregation and a number of them already dead. Patiently, in the light of his claims to Samuel, Williams represents himself as explaining how the so-called deathbed conversions of two New England women, Abigail Turbet and Esther Jones, must either have been the result of their physical weakness, or, to him more likely, of a Catholic misreading of dying Protestants' professions of faith. In a similar manner, he presents himself denouncing and revealing the priestly tactics behind a variety of competing popular stories about the appearance of dead Protestant souls either lamenting their failure to convert or celebrating their conversion to Catholicism. Strikingly here, while debunking Catholic claims of marvels, Williams does not at all undermine his own text's stress on the need to read events as providentially ordered for English and, more specifically, New English interests. 5° As Williams makes clear in The Redeemed Captive, what all New Englanders, including it would seem, Joseph Dudley himself, need to do in order to win the war is twofold: they need to "remember" and to "publish" God's "mercies" to them, and they need to inhabit the position of prepared submission to God's sovereignty that alone may elicit His wonders on their behalf. Reliance on their own military preparation and their refusal to follow what the text several times calls the "father's advice;' has led only to military and political failures-including the divinely ordained and representative punishment of John Williams, his family, and his people. 5 1

Conclusion Traditional colonial elites' early dissatisfaction with Joseph Dudley's actions as royal governor is publicly confirmed by Cotton Mather's 1707 pamphlet war with him, a conflict that intersected not simply with "Queen Anne's War;' but also, tellingly, with Dudley's support for local New English ministers opposed to self-described traditionalists. As we have seen, John Williams's God in the Camp, preached before Dudley by a newly released captive who, at the moment, was probably the most well-known figure in New England, obliquely confirms Cotton Mather's reading of the cultural effects of Dudley's governance in its display of a sovereign God's anger at a pervasive New English arrogance and greed. Both Williams's sermon and the captivity narrative he wrote concomitantly dismiss the notion that any human preparation,

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whether military or, in the case of French Catholics, ritualistic, can prevail. Both of these charges are phrased in general biblical terms and take in the "sins" of New England as a whole. Yet, given the contexts surrounding them, they also seem particularly pointed toward the current governor, chastising him and his supporters not only for creating and participating in a widespread climate of colonial covetousness, but also, relatedly, for their condescending dismissal of traditional New English religious and educational practices and their support for those introducing new ones. Read as a response to a range of local and imperial accusations and counteraccusations, John Williams's narrative of his captivity stands revealed as political, but differently so, than commentators have suggested. Participating certainly in the enterprise of constructing and supporting "Queen Anne's War" as a religious war between Protestants and Catholics rather than between competing imperial economic and political interests, Williams's text expresses its Protestant loyalties in decidedly New English Congregationalist terms. Concerned as Williams is with expressing both his gratitude to Dudley and his loyalty to the imperial English authority he represents, Williams-like his Mather relatives-seems equally concerned with preserving and distinguishing New England's own culturally distinct form of Englishness. For all of them, victory in the current war, whether local or international, could be achieved by no more sanctified means than those defended in their own jeremiads and exemplified, popularized, and "published" in John Williams's captivity narrative. Ultimate victory could not be won until all of New England demonstrated a prepared "submission" to a sovereign God, a submission best represented by Eunice Mather Williams, the dead female captive whose idealized position is assumed by her husband. Only in similarly identifying with her position will New Englishmen become enabled to read in their actual experience the personal, social, and political "wonders" that adherence to their "father's advice" will unfold for them. At a moment when New England has split into competing centers of political and economic interest that no longer seem explicable or condemnable in a rhetoric of generational declension, the need for a new mode of defending the "fathers' " ways becomes evident. Not only does Williams repeatedly highlight the traditional focus on the necessity of giving up one's will in order to be "saved" from inner and outer captivity, he also increasingly turns to an explicit language of seduction to describe his own captivity experience. It is surprisingly the male captive's text in which this trope most frequently appears. While Williams seems personally fearful of the literal as well as the spiritual seduction his young daughter Eunice may experience, his narrative

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describes all possibilities of cultural transformation for all colonials-men and women alike-in terms of "seduction:' Yet if the representation of the helpless captive, now prey to imperial European as well as Indian seducers, could conceivably be used to (re)unite diverse New English audiences in identification with the captive's plight, the seduction trope also dangerously underscores the possibility of the captive's own seducibility. Inhabiting the position of the female captive, the male captive himself becomes open to the continuing doubleness ascribed to her position-passive, submissive, and loyal to the "fathers" and their God, the captive man may also prove passive, submissive, and seducible to other loyalties. In our final reading of a text by John Williams, we will consider ramifications of the trope of seduction not simply for Williams, but also for other colonial men of his moment who were drawn to the representation of female captivity to express and sustain their sense of a distinctive male identity.

Chapter7

The Seduction of the ''Father(s)"

Like Cotton Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana, finally published in 1702, John Williams employs many of the terms of traditional New English self-understanding, but he alters one of the major structures and one of the major representations through which such self-understanding had been sustained since 1682-the narrative of the orthodox female captive. Central to this move that at once connects and disconnects his text to other Mather-supported captivity narratives and to political and cultural conflicts described in the last chapter is the way in which Williams structures captivity as less about bodily afflictions and physical threat from the Indiansalthough these features are certainly there-than as an almost explicitly sexualized seduction and temptation story in which the male colonial plays the central role. While the possibility of actual rape always implicitly intersects with the fact of other bodily afflictions in narratives of women's captivity, Williams's sustained stress on the trope of seduction throughout his narrative, especially as he moves captivity from an Indian into a French Catholic arena and as he himself assumes the position of the woman captive, distinguishes his narrative from the texts preceding it. If in the case of Williams's captivity narrative this emphasis clearly serves useful propagandistic aims against the French-another obvious element in Joseph Dudley's imprimatur for The Redeemed Captive-the fact that the trope informs all of John Williams's writings suggests that seduction possesses further cultural dimensions for him. On one level, Williams's representation of priestly seducers is not unexpected. Some of the oldest Catholic as well as Protestant oral and written traditions make use of the figure of the seducing priest. 1 As Frances Dolan has recently shown, representations of priestly seducers, both literal and spiritual, also permeate English Reformation texts. 2 Closer to home, the rhetoric of the 1692 witch trials had drawn on a similar rhetoric of demonic captivity and seduction that could be equally attributed to hostile Indians and the French. The two latter examples, in fact, make it particularly compelling to

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argue what we have seen throughout this project-that Increase Mather, Cotton Mather, and certain of their supporters read European and local events like captivity not only as signs of a coming millennium, but read that millennium itself as the harbinger of a new Reformation in which orthodox third- and even fourth-generation New Englanders, like the "fathers" before them, would play crucial parts. Interpreted in this light, their eagerness to prove their distinctive place within a larger Englishness-in the manner we have just claimed to be part of Williams's intention-should be read as expressing the related, but different wish that a truer, purer Englishness existed in New England rather than in the "mother" country itself. It is this captive "Englishness;' after all, that is being threatened by the seductive practices of the French to the north. 3 At the same time, the trope of seduction is not applied only to New French or French clerics. As a number of historians have demonstrated, a concern with physical seduction, also termed fornication, permeates New English culture and law from the 1640s on, coming to a head during the 1690s, the period not only of the Salem witch trials, but also of almost continuous border warfare and captivity. 4 In her study of New England witchcraft, Carol Karlsen notes that while laws existed that argued for the equal punishment of men and women in cases of seduction, over time these laws had become increasingly and more severely applied to female than to male offenders. In cases of fornication that did not involve adultery, men were not only punished less than their female counterparts, but also reacted to this state of affairs by significantly changing what had been traditional practice: they refused to marry their pregnant partners and thus contributed to both a perceived and a real rise in the number of illegitimate births by the end of the century. 5 As the case of Hannah Dustan's sister, Elizabeth Emerson, suggests, this change in practice also resulted tragically in a number of infanticides for which the "fornicating" mother alone was usually held legally responsible. Strikingly, the fear (and punishment) of women as physical seducers in New England becomes inverted in the case of captivity narratives like those of Hannah Swarton and John Williams, where New English captives become instead the objects and victims of spiritual seduction by French priests. In this case, furthermore, the language of seduction is applied not just to colonial women, but also, as the example of Williams's son Samuel demonstrates, to colonial men. In New France, all New Englanders become subject to possible seduction by priests popularly thought to be servants of Rome-the ultimate "whore of Babylon"-the horrific representation in which Protestant anxieties

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about interlinked female and priestly seduction can finally come together. Read in such terms, the conversion of captive New Englanders to Catholicism, however many historical examples suggest actual choice in the matter, could only be interpreted in New England as the product of seduction. 6 While Hannah Swarton's captivity is used by Cotton Mather to imply this state of affairs in Canada, he is also clearly unwilling to represent even the idealized, even the appropriately converting woman captive as "solving" the problem of her own spiritual seduction. John Williams's captivity, in which the male captive at once appropriates the passive, obedient, and humble theological position of the female captive and, because of his social position as man and minister, is enabled actively to fight the seducers in their own theological terms, provides on the surface a far more satisfying solution. Yet, as Williams himself is aware, simply assuming the theological position of the female captive does not in fact not ensure his own imperviousness to accusations of seduction. If his ostensible meekness, obedience, and humility can theologically indicate a prepared lack of self-will and loyalty to God (and the "fathers") that will protect him from seduction, the very fact of his captivity-his vulnerability to being taken away-may also indicate an openness to seduction and, perhaps even more problematically, suggest his own seductiveness. Uncomfortably recognizing this possibility, Williams reports an instance in his captivity when, after being tempted to convert (and thereby to recover his children), he "made an inquiry with myself whether I had by any action given encouragement for such a temptation:' 7 Williams's "inquiry" here speaks volumes. While his captivity narrative seems structurally to repeat the ambivalence toward the "fathers" we have located in the other narratives considered here-he at once "leaves" the "fathers" and remains/is restored loyally to them-his focus on seduction, physical and spiritual, voluntary and involuntary, in all his writings, foregrounds a different and startling dimension of the ambivalence of certain third-generation men. Williams's obsession with seducers at loose not only in New France, but shockingly, within New England itself, reveals a specifically third-generation fantasy about traditional fatherly authority. With increasing urgency, his texts unveil a belief that it is only the continuing seduction of the "father" by "sons" like himself that can keep the "father" authoritative and legitimate at all. If these "sons" fail in their proscribed duty to seduce him, this "father" will, in the terms of this fantasy, not simply punish them; He will cease to exist. If this should be the case, not only the "father(s)'" authority and legitimacy, but the identity-grounding ambivalence that the "sons'" upholding of his claims

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produces in them, will disappear as well. Who are such men if they no longer possess this "father"? Who are they without their ambivalence?

Like Punished by Like: The Seduction of Sarah Smith

Warnings to the Unclean (1699) is John Williams's first published work. Preached in the newly designated frontier seat of Springfield, it is an execution sermon for one Sarah Smith of Deerfield, found guilty of both fornication and infanticide. 8 The sermon not only speaks to the current colonial interest in punishing fornicating women in particular, it also specifically links Sarah Smith's sin to Deerfield's and the entire country's wartime vulnerability. As Williams represents her, she lived next to the town garrison, could see the soldiers coming and going, and-because of the presence of Williams, a "settled" minister in her town-knew that the ongoing war with the French and Indians had been interpreted as a sign of God's "controversy with us." Yet, even with such visible indications of God's displeasure with the entire "Land" before her, Smith persisted in adulterous dalliances that could further inflame His anger against them. She did so, furthermore-in a move reminiscent of Joseph Rowlandson's final jeremiad-while her husband was "absent"-and in captivity himselfl Williams links Smith's sin still more closely to on going fears of the war and its effects by noting her movement "out of one Plantation into another" before she came to Deerfield. 9 Whereas Smith has clearly been displaced by wartime conditions, a fact marked by her husband's captivity, her "wandering" for Williams instead becomes one more indication of the equally unsettled, boundary-crossing behavior-seductionthat she practices in Deerfield. Smith's sin, her seduction, is presented as another name for the sin of fornication, a sin which Williams views as a species of lying connected to a range of other physical and spiritual sins that ultimately damn the soul: murder, whoremongering, sorcery, idolatry, hypocrisy, and heresy (Williams's own addition to his text from Revelations). Williams reads what he calls seduction/fornication as not merely numbered among, but as framing all these sins because at its core, it involves a secrecy, a covering up and hiding of the truth. For Williams, Smith's infanticide, the linked crime for which she is to be executed, occurs within the broader frame of her fornication. Fornication is most closely aligned to idolatry in this sermon because Williams views it as so powerfully alienating the heart's desires from God and divinely legitimated

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authority. Interpreted by Williams as a sin dangerous enough to call down even more divine wrath on the suffering community, fornication must immediately be punished by executing the fornicator. She must die, "lest the Land be greatly polluted." 10 At the same time that Williams attempts to justify Smith's execution by exposing the fruits of physical seduction and its punishing spiritual effects on the community, however, he also argues that the sin, once committed, proves almost impossible to eradicate. Seduction/fornication and all the related sins it frames are, he claims at several points, "addictive:' extraordinarily compelling because of the pleasures that accompany them. 11 In addition to castigating Smith and arguing the justness of her sentence, then, the preacher must also drive home the divine punishments in store for all those who are drawn to seduction or even now committing the secret and addictive sin of desiring anything other than the "Father's" desires. Williams first turns to simple inversion: the bed of pleasure will in hell become the bed of pain-having sinned by the "bed;' seducers will now suffer by it. But a related punishment is far more striking. We have examined the jeremiadic shift in the 1690s from punishment by natural causes to punishment by social sins. In Warnings to the Unclean, Williams argues that seduction may justly be punished by the extension of the sin itself to others. He points out how David's killing of Uriah and seduction of Bathsheba in 2 Samuel12:11 incited the Lord to threaten to take all of David's wives and to give them to the neighbors "to lie with in public." Similarly, "God may justly suffer you to be punished in the same way that you abuse others." "You" would not like to have "Husbands, Wives, Sons, or Daughters left of God to Uncleanness, but it would be a righteous Thing for such to happen:' Linking seduction to idolatry and private acts to communal desires, Williams further points to Hosea 4:12-15 in which Israel as a whole has become a "whore" because "she" has gone whoring after strange gods. 12 Beginning with the sins of Sarah Smith, Williams's text moves, as execution sermons traditionally do, to the sins of the community. Yet the nature of the sin at hand and even the punishments he envisions for it do not suggest the eradication of seduction from the community-but its almost inevitable penetration through it. Williams's reference to 2 Samuel and Hosea 4 as well as his own opening of them creates an image of the total breakdown of social authority and legitimate social distinctions as husbands, wives, sons and daughters all "lie" with their neighbors, thereby producing, like Sarah Smith, illegitimate children who fit within no authorized hierarchies or boundaries.

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Captivity and Adaptable Identities Despite its trauma, Williams's own captivity experience might initially appear to offer a kind of relief from the anxieties about authority and legitimacy exposed in Warnings to the Unclean. On one level, at least, his narrative of his captivity enforces a sense of identity-stabilizing distinctions: Protestant versus Catholic and English versus French. Throughout the text, the captive's passive state also ostensibly helps to distinguish the seducers from the seduced, the tempters from the tempted. In mandating the obedience, humility, and passivity of the captives, captivity thereby gives them a distinguishable position to occupy such that a sovereign God may authoritatively act on their behalf. As was suggested in the previous chapter, captivity could thus be seen as not only a punishment for sin, but also as offering a powerful defense of a particular kind of divine authority in contrast to another. A rhetorical means of addressing local and international shifts in political and religious authority as well attacks by French and Indians, narratives by or about orthodox captives as representative defenders of traditional New English male identity could prove extremely useful. On this level, Williams's narrative suggests that acceptance of one's vulnerable, passive, and feminized position is a crucial part of the captive's covenant with a saving God that distinguishes loyal colonial "sons" not only from French Catholics, but also from other competing colonial men. On another level, however, he is clearly worried about the literal physical and psychological implications of captives' very real vulnerability to New French wiles. The stress in his text on the necessity for the captive's theological openness to God's will, not his or her own, is matched by his equal fear of the passive captive's openness to the will of French "seducers." Priestly (usually Jesuit) means of seduction include lying and mental as well as physical temptations and punishments. Numerous references to the seducing ways of the priests and other Catholics indicate how, for Williams, spiritual and physical seduction become less and less distinguishable. After the coming of New English agents to sue for the release of captives, Williams reports increased efforts at conversion of captives in these terms: "A young woman of our town met with a new trial. For on a day a Frenchman came into the room where she was and showed her his beads and boasted of them, putting them near to her; she knocked them out of his hands on the floor, for which she was beaten and threatened with death and for some days imprisoned." 13 Here the language-"he showed her his beads ... putting them near her" -blatantly suggests the sexual nature of as

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well as the captive's sexualized response to the display of Catholic icons. One of Williams's ending descriptions makes this link explicit: after a visit by another New English agent, another female captive is "debauched and then in twenty-four hours of time published, [she was] taken into their communion and married, but the poor soul has had time since to lament her sin and folly with a bitter cry and asks your prayers that God of his sovereign grace would yet bring [her] out of the horrible pit she has thrown herself into. Her name was Rachel Storer ofWells." 14 Whereas one woman is tested, but prevails, another, literally raped, gives in to her seducers, and thereby loses not only her virginity and her religion, but for Williams, her very identity. "Her name was Rachel Storer of Wells:' If we view seduction not only as temptation, but also as a "debauching;' as an identity-altering rape, then the physically forced conversion of Williams's son Samuel by Father Meriel (a Sulpician priest) bears an uncomfortable relationship to the story of Rachel Storer-only this time, Samuel's real "father" is enabled to talk him out of his seduction/conversion. Samuel's own references to the deathbed conversions of the two New England women mentioned in the last chapter, Abigail Turbet and Esther Jones, and John Williams's equal defense of them further suggest the analogous position of his son to that of captive women, vulnerable and open to a Catholic seduction both physical and spiritual from which their Protestant minister/father must attempt to redeem them. 15 While representations of New English captives' temptation, punishment, and literal rape by French seducers fill Williams's narrative, however, it is also filled with representations of children, largely girls, who, in his reading, have gone over to the Indians and have thereby lost their identities entirely. The sense of identity loss here seems extraordinarily different than that suggested by English/French marriages like that of Storer. Williams's descriptions of girls who have become "Indianized" resonates, as others have argued, with his fears for his daughter Eunice, whose openness and vulnerability to cultural change presents the reverse case of her dead mother's elect openness to God's will. The distinction between the two, the one named for the other, could not have been more painful. 16 Yet something else seems to be occurring in these passages than a simple mourning about the personal and social loss of some New English children to Indian culture. In keeping the main focus of his captivity on issues of English/French and Protestant/Catholic seduction Williams's narrative attempts to maintain a stage on which the major players not only remain European but, as the letter to Samuel suggests, are also still involved in the same

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larger conflict as the English-born fathers-the uncompleted Reformation. Framing events and players this way allows him, as we have seen, to indicate a special "New" Englishness within a developing imperial Englishness, and also, in response to local competitions and conflicts, even to maintain a belief in this colonial variant as in fact the purest form of reformed Englishness. But Williams's captivity, in which he so quickly moves from his Indian captivity to his French captivity only to find Catholic Indians and "Indianized" New English captives just outside Montreal, forces his confrontation with a different kind of seduction and a different notion of identity. Stopping at Fort Francois, a French and Indian encampment not far from Montreal, Williams encounters a variety of New English captives, ranging from recently taken children who, clothed like Indians, have already begun to "symbolize" like them, to an "English maid" taken in "King William's War" who no longer remembers "her own name or the name of the place from which she was taken." 17 That she has not only forgotten her name, but also her gendered position in New England seems indicated by Williams's implication that she, and the Indian woman who accompanies her, witness without emotion his Catholic Indian Master's torturing attempts to proselytize Williams. The "great confusion" and lack of "gospel order" that the coerced and defiant Williams goes on to deride in the Mass performed for the Indians is thus paralleled by his sense of the horrific breakdown of distinctions and mixing of national and cultural identities occurring at Fort Francois: One of the Jesuits was at the altar saying Mass in a tongue unknown to the savages, and the other between the altar and the door saying and singing prayers among the Indians at the same time saying over their Pater Nosters and Ave Mary by tale from their chaplets, or beads on a string. At our going out, we smiled at their devotion so managed, which was offensive to them .... When I was here, a certain savagess died; one of the Jesuits told me she was a very holy woman who had not committed one sin in twelve years. 18

Unlike the children and "maid;' Williams, the male captive, represents himself as able to withstand seduction whether it is figured as priestly persuasion or as Indian force. Theologically and physically, he demonstrates how he, at least, has maintained his cultural, religious, and social distinctiveness. Yet, given his ends in so doing-to make himself a representative figure for other New Englanders-Williams must also be seen as failing. In the next section of the text, this failure is almost immediately suggested by the fact of his inability to save little Eunice. In spite of his efforts and those of New

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French administrators, she, like the Indianized children and maid, remains among them: "it's [she's] still there and has forgotten to speak English." 19 At the same time that Williams represents Indianized and Romanized New English children and "maids" at the fort, he also offers a portrait of Ruth, an Indian woman whose personal history limns the entire history of conflicts with a variety of New English tribes from 1676 onward. Ruth apparently lived at the home of the Reverend Gershom Bulkeley of Wethersfieldhe whom Joseph Rowlandson briefly replaced. Later, reports Williams, Ruth "had been often at my house." 20 In spite of such ministerial contacts-and even her own initial conversion to Protestantism-Ruth, now in Canada, has been "proselyted to the Romish faith." In ironic contrast to Williams's representation of captive New English children, however, Ruth has retained her command of English and her knowledge of Puritan scripturalism-both of which she uses to debate with the Reverend Williams: "Mr. Williams, you know the Scripture and therefore act against your own light, for you know the Scripture saith, 'Servants obey your masters.' He is your master and you his servant." The description ends with Williams drawing on his sense of his "civilized;' gendered, and status distinctions to chide this Indian woman, this former servant, for her obvious ignorance of Scripture's true meaning. He could not "disobey" God "to obey any master." 21 What are we to draw from Williams's different descriptions of cultural mixing? Both of them clearly call into question Williams's ostensible desire to frame the "seductions" of captivity in English versus French and Protestant versus Catholic terms. What the representations of Indianized children indicate is the literal fact as well as the cultural fear that colonials themselves are not just seducible, but seducible to cultural identities other than those offered by Europe. Neither English, nor French, third-generation colonials have become something different than either their European-born grandfathers or their own fathers. Clearly, Mary Rowlandson's spiritual fear that she could become a Praying Indian is, by the time of Williams's third-generation text, starkly literalized in representations of captive children and maids who no longer know their own names or "from whence" they came. In contrast to his portrait of Indianized English children, Williams's brief portrait of Ruth offers both a different reality and a different possibility. Ruth's openness to cultural adaptation as it becomes necessary or useful at different historical moments in some ways mirrors the behavior of traditional New Englishmen. Eager to claim a loyalty to constructions of "Englishness" mandated by current imperial interests in London, they have also overtly and covertly strived to maintain their loyalty to what they construe as

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the traditional ways of the "fathers:' Identity here, rather than being lost, becomes hidden, adapting to, but still retaining its difference from the current political and cultural power. But the representation of Ruth offers a third compelling and even more disturbing reading of identity. In the two models just explored, identity, even when threatened, is still believed to remain a stable entity. While in the case of the children, one can lose one identity and become something entirely different; in the case of Ruth, identity can be maintained, even while one adapts to perceived challenges to it. But a third model-only hinted at in the representation of Ruth-draws both of these models into question by suggesting that colonial identity is always multiple and always provisional. Ruth's representation indicates that in itself (colonial) identity is at once always already in relation to a given authority and always ready to shift that relation when a new authority comes into being. Ruth's identity should not necessarily be read as adaptable in order to preserve one fantasy of historical, cultural, or, in the terms of this study, fatherly legitimacy. What her brief, yet telling representation instead suggests is that the colonial self is perhaps nothing but its unending adaptability to an authority that, as English history throughout the century had definitively shown New English colonials, is itself disturbingly contingent. Moving from a notion of seduction based on a shift from English to French identity to a notion of seduction by Indians that involves a total destruction of European cultural identity, Williams arrives at a representation of an Indian woman who seems to move easily among and between different modes of identity. Multiply seduced by and seductive to the desires of other cultures to enforce their own "legitimating" identities on her body/ language/religion, Ruth also nimbly negotiates among competing social and political authorities. Her representation expresses, in different terms, the moment in Williams's sermon for Sarah Smith, when he warns about the breakdown of all fatherly legitimacy and the resulting public and undifferentiated fornication of a Deerfield community that can no longer (because it desires no longer) to repeat the "fathers." In spite of Williams's clear efforts to maintain distinctions, the indeterminate meanings and repercussions of seduction are not stabilized by captivity in the New France of The Redeemed Captive. Nor does return to New England from such captivity alleviate the threats that seduction poses to a loyal repetition of the "ways" of the "fathers:' Indeed, as Williams's last published writings indicate, what he calls the "new world" of New England only replicates the seductive threats experienced across the border. In his letter to those captives "redeemed" before his own release, in his

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return sermon, and in his sermon for the militia, God in the Camp, Williams explores what he now considers the incontrovertible fact of New England's own seduction and possible responses to it.

Publish or Perish: New England as the Land of Seduction In Good Fetch't Out of Evil, his extraordinarily popular letter published with prefatory and concluding materials by his "cousin" Cotton Mather, John Williams repeatedly stresses that it is the "new world" of New England, not French Canada, that represents the most dangerous seductive possibilities to freed captives. Home is here represented as the uncanny mirror of threats to identity posed by seduction abroad. Williams fears that returning home will seduce returning captives to desire to "see Your Friends, ... to gain estates and recover your outward losses; and to be free again to come and go as you list." In his view, these desires, while understandable, will dangerously distract captives from meditating on the meaning of their afflictions and acting to "pay back" their "vows" to God. Even desire for "lawful comforts" like family, friends, or work may become so overvalued as to become "covetousness;' a form of"spiritual idolatry:' 22 Echoing the Rowlandson and Swarton narratives, Williams reminds former captives that it is affliction, not worldly redemption that is the best "good" of their souls. The afflictions of captivity are their true "profit" not the worldly nor the emotional "prosperity" represented by home. Those freed captives who are not converted should evidence this spiritual "profit" by converting; those already converted should "show how your purging has brought Christ more forward." 23 The "new world" of New England also presents an unbelievably seductive occasion for the commission of new sins (and punishment by new afflictions) unless the experience of captivity and return become totally directed to acknowledging God's authority and "publishing" His glory in the entire matter. Accordingly, in an extremely proscriptive manner, Williams argues that returnees are to order their "entire conversation as to manner, time, and the ends of obedience:'24 Specifically, their "thoughts, desires, delightes, choices, refusals, words and actions" must always be directed to "God's glory and honor:' 25 Outer signs manifesting their inner states include "bewailing" their behavior while captive (instead of submitting to God's will) and bewailing their lack of"improvement" of the mercies He has granted them (manifested either in their lack of conversion or "improvement" of a previous one). The

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temptations of the homeland surrounding them will be so compelling that the only way to avoid them will be to "pray without ceasing" and continually to "stir up others" with stories of their captivity! The pastoral letter is framed by a striking representation. Williams warns the redeemed captives that their God must be kept both "forward and rereward" as they enter into New England. 26 Williams does not simply make spatial reference to God's remaining behind in Canada and stretching forward into New England, but to His being in front and behind the captives at all times once they return. He is there to block their vision of anything other than Himself. Clearly, if this representation is one of support-God holds them upon all sides-it is also one of constriction; they should not, indeed, they cannot see beyond this Father. The need to place God continually "forward and rereward" indicates Williams's fears about the seductive power of the temptations awaiting the redeemed captives at home. As forms of material and spiritual idolatry, the outer and inner "profits" of New England threaten God's "glory" because in turning to them captives will fail to evidence that their captivity and return are from God alone. Williams warns that the punishment for not "evidencing" God's presence in their captivity experience will not just call forth further punishment; it will occasion the withdrawal of the power that has granted them their legitimacy and distinctiveness as His people. At its furthest reaches, the letter implies that failure to yield even lawful desires to God's desire will eventuate in the divine father's abandonment. For Williams, the only response to this threat is the one he details in his own return sermon and narrative of captivity: to become utterly passive, willess, and humble, depending almost physically as well as emotionally on a God standing "forward" and "rereward" to keep one from falling into the sin of independent desire. Reports of Divine Kindness; or, Remarkable Mercies should be faithfully published, for the Praise of God the Giver, preached in 1706 at the Boston Lecture in Cotton Mather's church upon Williams's return from Canada, opens up more precisely what the male captive, who has faithfully assumed the passive and obedient position originally of the female captive, can do to forestall God's departure. The central claim of this sermon is that God's glory must be "published"-made public-by those whom He has afflicted and delivered. Those who hear or read their claims should not only be led to understand more deeply the reasons behind God's afflictions and marvels; they should thereby be moved to stir up others to glorify Him. The task of publicly glorifying God should become at once so attractive, so engrossing, and

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so encompassing of the desires and "conversation" of all who participate in it, that the seductive temptations posed by the "new world" of their own homes will successfully be evaded and surmounted.27 Throughout the sermon Williams "evidences" both directly and indirectly the theological base of the marvels surrounding his own captivity and those of others that he later expands in his published captivity narrative. He begins the sermon with the tale of a man, like Job, "forsaken of God and all comforts;' who has become a "theme of discourse" of all people for "dolefulness:' Yet, God, "in very remarkable and wonderful works of power and mercy;' suddenly saves and places this man at the "feet of Christ." That both his affliction and redemption have been done "for the declarative and manifestative glory and honour of God" becomes clear to the man when he asks only that he "may abide with him [God]." In response to his plea, "he receives commandement, to be glorifying the power and mercy of God, in declaring to others what great things God had done for him." 28 The narrative that the "man" produces is shown to proceed from and, in some ways, to fulfill Williams's sermonic text from Luke 8:39, "Return to thine own house, and shew how great things GOD hath done unto thee." The text demands attention to the subject of such "great mercy" (clearly Williams himself), to God's command that He be glorified through this subject's relating of His mercies to others (the sermon), and finally, to the subject's "obedience" to such commands (manifested in Williams's act of preaching from Cotton Mather's pulpit). The occasion of the return sermon, mandated by Scripture itself as a mode of glorifying God through narrating His mercies, provides a way for Williams, the ministerial captive, to claim the attention of all New Englanders and to reclaim not only his own, but also the general interpretive authority of the traditional New English clergy. At the same time, Williams's concern in this sermon, as in his pastoral letter, never strays far from the felt threat to this mandate posed by other returned captives. In the sermon's uses, Williams explicitly warns that redeemed ones must not be too prideful, too ashamed, or too slothful to publish God's glories. At stake here is not only the fact that they break covenant and enrage God when they do not narrate His mercies. What the redeemed captives threaten even more profoundly is an interpretive structure and authority that depends on their remembering, representing, and publishing their experience in terms of "afflictions" and "wonders:' Williams has set up a structure in which "God accounts forgetting of mercies a forgetting of himself." 29 If the kind of narrating Williams's sermon exemplifies is not "published;' that God, in fact, will be forgotten. The very idea of the

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Father and his special covenant with New England is here presented as dependent on His people's using a particular narrative structure and assuming particular positions within it. Thus, while all the marvels of God's providence manifest His glory, there is an implicit insistence throughout Williams's sermon not only on the duty, but also on the central importance of the role played by the human narration and renarration of such marvels: "God has a design to magnify his power, mercy, and covenantal faithfulness in the eyes of the world:' 30 This design can best, perhaps only, go forward if"we" fall in with it "and in an actual manner [to] be giving Glory." Both these cases suggest Williams's sense of the "Father's" need for His passive "sons" to complete His plan for the world through their narratives. In God in the Camp, the sermon composed concurrently with The Redeemed Captive, Williams reveals what is at stake if they refuse this mandate.

Rereading God in the Camp In its structure of condemnation and last-minute promises of reconciliation, God in the Camp seems at once to confirm traditional jeremiadic interpretations of New English experience and, as we noted in the last chapter, to implicate Governor Dudley, his Council, and all who support him in such readings. Traditional interpretive authority in New England is proclaimed by the very choice of speaker, the famous and newly returned captive, John Williams, to preach before the governor, Council, and "people" as well as to the militia. Yet, while Williams's sermon confirms orthodox New English norms, especially that of the covenant, it does so within the discourse of seduction that Williams has used in all his texts. In God in the Camp this discourse has spread to infect the whole of New England, however, and there is no longer any scapegoat. If unresolved issues about the younger Eunice Williams's captivity may here inform her father's focus on seduction, these emotions, as we have seen, are far from simple, and the representations expressing them are not merely personal, but public-representations of a complex of beliefs and fantasies shared by other traditional ministers who have struggled to construct and to defend the ways of the New England "fathers" since the fall of the old charter. God in the Camp presents Williams's most extreme version of the fantasy that in spite of New England's almost unbelievable "uncleanness;' God still desires and needs "her" to take the position

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that evidences, narrates, and thereby confirms His (and the "fathers'") ongoing authority and legitimacy. Williams begins the sermon by arguing that all wars, far from being politically motivated, are the result of apostasies. Wars invariably set the "People of God" in conflict with their apostasizing enemies. Given this claim, the purpose of God in the Camp becomes twofold. As we previously noted, throughout the sermon Williams argues that no human power can claim victory in war. Winning is dependent not on the outer or inner strengths of armies and their supporters, but solely on God's presence with them. If this is the case, it follows that both armies and the "People" they defend should clearly keep from any form of sin offensive to God, lest he remove His presence from them. While Williams seems initially to direct his argument to the task of distinguishing God's people from His enemies, what becomes almost immediately evident is his belief that God's armies in New England are less on an offensive mission against their enemies than on a mission hampered by their own behaviors and the behavior of those they defend. While God in the Camp thus sets up "war" as that of God's people against His enemies, it quickly comes to center on His own convenanted people as that enemy. Several notable features of Williams's scriptural text, Deuteronomy 23:9 and the chapter just preceding it, indicate the preacher's beliefs about the nature of this people's apostasy. Deuteronomy 23:9-"when the Host goeth forth against thine enemy then keep thee from Every WICKED THING"refers explicitly to bodily actions offensive to God's holiness. In order that God may "see no unclean thing;' armies are to cleanse themselves from involuntary night ejaculations and to defecate outside their camps. Just preceding these directives, the chapter has detailed which former enemies of Israel could become church members and when, and which are irremediably barred from the church. In the logic of the biblical text, pure church membership and bodily purity are obviously conjoined. This joining is underscored by the ending of the 22nd chapter of Deuteronomy, the chapter just preceding Williams's text. At the end of chapter 22, the Deuteronomic author describes rules for determining whether and how a variety of different sexual behaviors by married and unmarried woman are to be punished. Strikingly, in sexual offenses committed "in the field;' outside a city's walls, where "her" complaints could presumably not be heard, a virgin is not to be held guilty for a fornication. Fornication inside the city, however, is another question because presumably, if"she" cries out in the city, someone will certainly save her. (If she does not cry out, she and her partner are both guilty.) The one sin

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occurs outside the community, the other within and under its jurisdiction. In both chapters, female bodily purity, community purity, and community responsibility are contextually linked to where they occur. 31 This cluster of biblical referents indicates that a linkage similarly based on a locatable body/community connection is occurring in John Williams's sermon. Just as the godly community is defined by its recognition of the distinctions between punishable and nonpunishable sexual behaviors, so the godly "camp" is defined by its knowledge and avoidance of "unclean" bodily acts. Warning its audience to beware all sin in time of war, God in the Camp presents all sin as deriving from involuntary as well as voluntary bodily desires. Yet in so doing, Williams's artillery sermon returns to the concerns of his earlier execution sermon for Sarah Smith, in which seduction is represented as almost insurmountably addictive. While in the Smith sermon Williams casts Smith as a representative victim whose punishment will cleanse the land of fornication, God in the Camp offers no such scapegoatall the people, not only soldiers, but especially those at home, are imagined as equally guilty of uncleanness and, in the specifically related phrase, of failing to put away the "accursed thing." The last chapter explored how the phrase and its variant "the unclean thing;' from the Book of Joshua, are so frequently cited or referred to in this sermon. In our first reading, the "accursed thing" is used indirectly to point to a covetousness with political and economic overtones; in the present reading, such covetousness becomes analogous to touching the "unclean thing;' a phrase pointedly linked to the sin of fornication. Read in this light, Achan's holding back of his booty from God becomes tantamount to a broader refusal to yield up his own desire for pleasure to the desires of the Father. Deuteronomy obviously refers to rules within an army camp, but God in the Camp, while it distinguishes "Soldiers" from "People;' on some levels, comes imaginatively to view them as all in the same "camp." In time of war, no one is outside the camp; therefore, no one is outside the wickedness practiced therein. Since camps are regularly constructed at "borders" with the enemy, the entirety of New England also becomes implicitly cast by Williams as a "border"-there remains little or no separation between "city" and "frontier:' In the sermon's reasoning, "Soldiers" and "People" are not that separate-they are a border people. That such is the case is underscored by a range of biblical citations Williams employs about borders in which God is represented as variously denominating borders as "the border of uncleanness" or "the border of righteousness;' depending on whether He is destroying or supporting His own border people or those who have "magnified

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themselves against their borders."32 In the sermon as in the texts it cites, a people as a whole is thus defined by its "border" behaviors. Clearly, as in the Smith sermon, bodily representations of the border between the inside and the outside of the individual female fornicator or nonfornicator intersect here with representations of an entire people as a border or frontier. The conjunction of soldiers and supporters as all defined by their border state is reinforced by the sermon's specific attacks on those who assume they remain "behind" borders when their armies go forth. As noted in the last chapter, Williams stresses repeatedly that the sins of those at home are more to blame for the army's losses than the army's own sins or the strengths of the enemy. By remaining attached "to your lusts" those at home have loaded their own soldiers with a God-enraging guilt. Thunders Williams, "may we not say" you are "the Troublers of God's Israel" far more than its external enemies? In the Book of Joshua it is Achan who "troubles" Israel; in God in the Camp it is a lustful New England that troubles New England. In the imaginary of Williams's text, New England as a whole resembles a frontier camp in which bodily uncleanness and the sins of idolatry and covetousness that are linked to it threaten the literal and spiritual lives of all. As the sermon progresses, there is thus less and less need for any external enemy. In fact, rather than discussing the enemy's position in great detail, this sermon focuses on God Himself as the community's wrathful antagonist, accoutred in armor and carrying a sword on which New England is ready to impale itself. Notes Williams scornfully, "Who? Where is the man of you all? That can stand before our God, who is a consuming fire to the workers of iniquity, when he clothes himself with vengeance and comes forth in Battle array to punish and humble a Sinful backsliding People." 33 Unaware that "God stands as it may be said with his Drawn Sword in his hand;' they are presently "running upon the thick bosses of God's buckler:' Representing New Englanders as continuing after their "lusts" even with the ''Alarming providences" of their armies' losses before them, Williams concludes this section of the sermon with an extraordinary image: "[H] ow sad if by our security and bold impenitency we provoke God to sheathe his Sword in our bowels, and cause the slain of the Lord to be many." 34 Driving the sword into New England's bowels represents God's ultimate vengeance on His people. At the same time, given the language of seduction that permeates this sermon, God's action here also appears extraordinarily analogous to the physically violent form of seduction-a debauching, a rape. On one level, Williams's demonstration of God's vengeance against his "unclean" people could be read as expressing and, if only at the level of

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representation, satisfying the anger of orthodox male elites like Williams toward all those colonials whom they conceive as having deprived them of cultural authority. In the logic of the sermon, these internal enemies are imagined as subject to God's sheathing precisely because they have been seduced and in turn have seduced others to strange new gods. It is their economic, political, and cultural behaviors that have constituted the region as an unclean "camp" and a "border" open to surprise attack by an insulted God as much as by the French or their Indian allies. As "troublers" of Israel, dismissive of the "fathers" and their God, they may well reap the bloody fruit of their own lustful desires-calling God's rape down on themselves. By this logic, not only the Deerfield Massacre and the temptations of French captivity but also the continuing captivity of sufferers like Eunice Williams are to be laid at the feet of "unclean" New Englanders more than at the feet of external enemies. Read in this light, Eunice and other captive New Englanders suddenly become representatives less of New England's justly punished sins than of New England's own victimization by seductive New Englanders. 35 Her father and his group's orthodox values are clearly notresponsible for the afflictions of captivity-rather, the Indians retain Eunice because of the border-crossing desires and actions of civil and religious opponents at home. Clearly, the representation of a sheathing God upon whose "buckler" one's enemies "unknowingly" run expresses feelings of revenge and blame. At the same time, Williams's pervasive interest in the ways in which the sin of seduction may be punished by even more seduction suggests other feelings at work in this representation. As we have noted, in his return sermon, Williams suggested the necessity to God of the human evidencing of His plan. Dependent on the publication of afflictions and marvels by the creature, the divine design cannot be completed without human participation. God in the Camp's representation of New Englanders running on "God's buckler" while He impales them on His sword suggests at least two fantasies surrounding such completion. First, even if grisly, the representation of such sheathing is one of joining and, given the sermons of this period's endlessly reiterated message of God's love for New England, might be read as much as a representation of Liebestod as of retribution. Those whom God loves, He afflicts. Affliction is love and affliction by God Himself-so all the captivity narratives considered in this project have suggested-the paradoxical, yet ultimate form of His loving. Secondly, the representation of God's sheathing, however much it involves the divine father's own will, also represents a relationship that in the sermon is

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actively aimed for by the one ("New England") who occupies the vulnerable position. Instead of being vulnerable, passive, and spiritually prepared, as Williams represents himself in his captivity narrative, New England is presented as open to God's actions because of her sins of "uncleanness." In a shocking inversion of spiritual preparation, God in the Camp presents "wantonness" as that which does not simply make the sinner vulnerable to God's anger, but as that which also draws His absolute attention to the seductive one. Conscious evidencing of open personal desire as well as conscious evidencing of spiritual preparation are equally positions that attract God's attention. Furthermore, when we follow the logic of the return sermon, both uncleanness and spiritual preparation not only call forth God's reactions but, in so doing, also help to "complete" His plan as Godhead. At the furthest reaches of this fantasy, it would seem that God's authority can be maintained only through such a structure of relationship, whether it be punitive or redeeming, with the human. His fatherly sovereignty and His legitimacy depend on His "sons'" participating in and evidencing His providential designs. But who is to inhabit this passive, vulnerable position as seductive sinner or as prepared saint? Obviously, in this sermon, it is no longer captive daughters or wives. Here, as Williams's question-"where is the man"demonstrates, the vulnerable male specifically replaces wives and daughters as the object both of the Father's rage and of His desire. It is "he" who receives the Father's sword in his bowels and thereby not only completes His fatherly plan, but, in so doing, comes to realize his own powerful role within it. That a fantasy about the "sons'" necessary completion of the "father's" desires is at play here is borne out toward the end of God in the Camp, when it takes the traditional jeremiadic turn to God's promises. Williams argues that desisting from a variety of physical and spiritual "uncleannesses" which the sermon formulaically names only toward its dose-wantonness, idleness, drunkenness, contention, and spiritual lukewarmness-will result not merely in God's winning the current war for them-but also in His granting them every manner of physical, spiritual, and emotional prosperityP 6 Pointedly unlike his reading of the "true" meaning of prosperity as otherworldly and spiritual at the end of the pastoral letter, "prosperity" in "God in the Camp" has become unquestionably material. Refraining from uncleannesses and touching "the accursed thing," Williams promises his auditors, will "be beneficiall as to your worldly Interests;' not only in terms of social and physical health (fewer contentions, "breaches and bereavements") but also, crucially, because of monies "you" will save because "you" have not spent them on expensive "lusts" or war taxes! Gloats the preacher, "in every respect for

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Soul and Body; it will be a Gain and a Benefit for you to be Holy:' 37 Renewed authority for the ministers who aid in this reformation, and whose fall from cultural power has clearly opened the door to such expensive sins in the first place, is slipped in merely as a part of this package of benefits offered by a loving God if only "you" will complete His plan and (re)turn to Him. What is unusual about this section of the sermon is not its expected structural turn to God's promises but the way in which these promises are discussed. What occurs is less a call to return to the covenant as a series of positive rules for belief and conduct, than a kind of explicit bribery. If "you" return to that which you have left, that is, if you turn away from your current lusts and desires, you will, paradoxically, be granted all that you could desire, whether it is physical, social, or emotional "prosperity:' Clearly this gesture, here represented as one made on God's part, seems made less out of God's "spotless sovereignty" than out of God's own desire and desperation. It is not simply that this God will severely punish His people if they do not take up His offer-although the whole sermon, including the section following this one, obviously suggests that He will. It is rather that God requires them to take up His offer as offer in order to be kept in authority at all. His power and legitimacy seem not only to demand but also to be grounded in His "sons' " giving up of their desires in order to share in and complete His desire. The Father cannot continue "sovereign" without their abrogation of their desire. There is an extraordinary paradox at work here. In The Redeemed Captive Williams represents himself as learning that desires can be met, but only when they cease to be desired, a ceasing that is to be evidenced through one's assumption of the obedient, female captive's position of prepared passivity. In God in the Camp, in contrast, the desires that God is represented as willing to fulfill are precisely those that Williams in all his other work represents as "seducing" His people away from Him in the first place-too great a love for friends, for relatives, for family, and for New England's worldly, material prosperity. That which God deemed unclean, addictive, and accursed here becomes precisely that which He promises to His "sons" if they abjure their desires and "complete" His plan! Spiritual preparation and uncleanness are thus drawn into intimate relation, the practices enjoined by the former now seeming to allow for the fulfillment of desires expressed by the latter. Whereas Williams is careful to warn against the "blaming" of secular authorities, commanders, and ministers for the failures of New England's army, it is evident that a rhetoric of vengefulness and blame against other competing colonials pervades the entirety of God in the Camp. At the same time, however, this rhetoric of castigation must now be read as at once

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screening and revealing another fantasy. Acceding to affliction in the proscribed preparatory manner will not merely win faithful colonial men their material as well as spiritual desires in this world; it will also win the desired attention, the affection, even a quasi-sexual emotional relation with a Father whose authority and legitimacy can no longer continue without His "sons' " evidencing of His design. If this fantasy on one level involves loyalty to God-and a defense of the "fathers' " continuity-it nonetheless also clearly expresses the desire of men like Williams for change, for transformation, for the border crossings they have expended so much rhetorical energy in condemning as seduction. John Williams's God in the Camp stunningly reveals the complicated emotional machinery by which certain third-generation New Englishmen could simultaneously maintain their loyalty to tradition and negotiate the reality of their difference from the "fathers:' The God who afflicts and loves them, whom they seduce and incite through spiritual preparation or wanton uncleanness, whose borders they at once defend and transgress, is, in the end, also the God who promises them the changes that will mark their difference from Himself-if only they will repudiate these desires as their own.

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Dux Faemina Facta/Dux Faemina Facti

Although Cotton Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana was announced for London publication in 1697, it was not mailed to England until 1700, at the height of Cotton and Increase Mather's battle with John Leverett and his protege, Benjamin Colman, over the founding of a new church in Brattle Street. 1 While rage and the need to comment on Brattle Street's English-influenced innovations in traditional Congregationalist Church practice might have delayed Cotton Mather's sending off the manuscript, the coincidence of the year of the Magnalia's final publication date, 1702, with the accession of Joseph Dudley to Massachusetts's royal governorship must have seemed providentially fortuitous to him. Preceding John Williams's work chronologically, Mather's history attempts to project a future out of its monument to the past that Williams's work, ending in a revealing impasse about the terms in which fatherly authority can be imagined and sustained, does not. In so doing, the Magnalia indicates a transformation in the ambivalence toward the "fathers" that had so informed earlier orthodox representations of the captive woman and, in the case ofWilliams, her ministerial replacement. The following comments briefly propose that two late additions to the Magnalia suggest dimensions of the shift occurring in the identifications of traditional third-generation colonial male elites like Cotton Mather. Among the seventeen previously published works either added to or marked as appendices to the Magnalia when it was mailed to England are Pietas in Patriam: The Life of His Excellency, Sir William Phips, Knt. and Decennium Luctuosum. Mather's appending of Phips's life to the second book of the Magnalia-Ecclesiarum Clypei (Shields of the Church)-which treats the lives of the governors of the Bay Colony, can certainly be viewed as a lastditch effort to portray the controversial governor as both the religious and political continuation of a virtually seamless New England Way. Cotton not only constructs the life of Phips as the "natural" political fruit of this past, but also as a text which, as it looks back from the vantage point of the

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present, newly reconstructs that past such that it inevitably leads to Phips. 2 Just as the extraordinarily divisive and contested Halfway Covenant of 1662 becomes represented by the one time ardent Davenport proponent, Increase Mather, as derived from the "fathers'" views on baptism, so, in the Phips biography, bitter and continuing political debates over Increase Mather's 1691 charter become dismissed as that charter (with Phips as its first royal appointee) emerges as the only legally, theologically, and politically feasible response to the abrogation of the first. 3 As critics have variously remarked, however, there is a structural oddity about Mather's biography of Phips. On the one hand, Pietas in Patriam represents Phips's continuity with and defense of the "ways" of the "fathers" as Cotton Mather describes them in the Magnalia. On the other hand, the biography also represents Phips, and glories in so representing him, as a fatherless, self-made man, "A Son to his own Labours;' who rises to the top because of his own distinctive talents as carpenter, captain, and entrepreneur. 4 Considered briefly in the terms of this project, the Phips biography lays out the competing components of the productive ambivalence we have tracked throughout traditionalist representations of the female captive: a loyal defense of the "fathers" and, explicitly here, that which this defense at once defends from and reveals-a desire for independence from them. But beyond the exposure of these two broad structural components of the biography, something else seems to be taking shape in this text. Kenneth Silverman has pointed out how, in Mather's history as a whole, an older language of "mortified living, reverence towards ministers and relation of conversion experiences" survived "into the new epoch of commercial enterprises, imperial expansion, and perriwigs:'s What is compelling in the instance of Phips seems less the fact of this "survival" alone than how Cotton Mather's biography can juxtapose the two strands with so little apparent tension or conflict. The position of loyalty and the position of independence are simply not presented as incommensurate. This peculiarity raises the question not simply of whether older mores "continue" into a newer cultural space, but of what mechanism serves to connect two cultural spaces. In this reading, what links them is Cotton Mather's desire, exacerbated surely by Brattle Street's claims of a privileged connection to a newer cosmopolitan culture and by the coming of another royal governor who is New English born, imaginatively to link New England's history to his own construction of the new imperial order. Scholars of the period have pointed out how the Magnalia, while acknowledging the fathers' original theological differences with those in the mother country, attempts to minimize these

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differences by invariably casting those who "fled" to New England, those who remained, and those who were born there, as always loyal-politically and theologically-both to the institution of the monarchy and to the "true" Church of England. 6 Reframing the narrative of the immigration in his "General Introduction;' Mather, for example, represents the first-generation "fathers" as driven out by a faction within the Church of England, one that had unlawfully claimed not only theological, but implicitly, political authority in English affairs: The Church of England, by Numberless Oppressions, grievously Smote those their Fellow Servants. Then 'twas that, as our Great OWEN hath expressed it, Multitudes of Pious, Peaceable Protestants, were driven by their Severities, to leave their native Country, and seek a Refuge for their Lives and Liberties, with Freedom, for the Worship of God, in a Wilderness, in the Ends of the Earth. 3· It is the History of these PROTESTANTS, that is here attempted: PROTESTANTS that highly honoured and affected The Church of ENGLAND, and humbly Petition to be a Part of it: But by the Mistake of a few powerful Brethren, driven to seek a place for the Exercise of the Protestant Religion ... 7

By 1699, the language of factionalism among English "Brethren" could serve obliquely as a local slap at New English Benjamin Colman and his wealthy Brattle Street supporters, whose attraction for "liberal" church practices such as dispensing with conversion narratives, using "set" forms of prayer, and supporting new modes of hymn singing were deemed "syllabical idolatry" by Increase Mather. 8 But it is also obviously employed by Cotton Mather to represent the first-generation "fathers" to English as well as New English readers as nonseparating and loyal Protestant Englishmen all along. Placed in this configuration, Sir William Phips can still be construed as continuous with Mather's reading of a distinctive New England tradition. Pietas in Patriam goes to great lengths to include Phips's conversion narrative, probably written, certainly edited by Cotton Mather, and the story of his entry into church covenant. It also, relatedly, stresses the governor's early support for the Old Charter and his later determination not to tread on the "people's" privileges under the new one that has brought him to power. 9 At the same time, however, when it is read within the broader frame of the Magnalia's connection of the first-generation fathers to foundational English religious and political traditions, the life of the first royal governor appointed by William and Mary also foregrounds New England's ongoing relationship to the mother country. In serving these two roles, Phips's life can be used to pose a competitive challenge both to those who continue to threaten Increase

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Mather's second charter by lobbying yet again for the old one, and those, like John Leverett or Benjamin Colman and later, Joseph Dudley, whom Cotton Mather feels have presented themselves as the elite colonial faces of an "enlarged" imperial culture. Cotton Mather's portrait of Phips as adventurer and entrepreneur is also not presented as incommensurate with Mather's representation of the "fathers" as continuously loyal to "true" Crown and "true" Church of England. If, viewed from one angle, Phips's actions demonstrate his self-reliance and autonomy, viewed from another, they mark the dependence of his actions on English political and economic power. From the Indian wars that force him to abandon his Maine lumber enterprises and to save his fellow villagers, to his captaincy of a "King's Ship" and his English-funded discovery of vast treasure in the Caribbean, all the events that make Phips famous spring from the interests of imperial expansion. This connection does not sever Phips from New England, however. Rather, in Mather's construction, it only serves to highlight the long-standing loyalty and economic usefulness of the entire region to England. As Nathaniel Mather's prefatory letter to the Phips biography avers, the actions of the "fathers" had similarly made New England one of the "jewels" among England's New World colonies. 10 Connecting the ends of an earlier English expansionism to the aims of the Protestant Reformation, Cotton Mather offers the "fathers" not as colonial anachronisms, but instead as progenitors and harbingers of New England's ongoing participation in the political, religious, and economic furthering of a new Protestant empire's "true" interests. 11 It is tempting, in closing, to read Cotton Mather's rendering of continuities within apparent oppositions as yet another high-stakes rhetorical gambit through which he and other self-defined traditionalists could not only retain a measure of cultural power in New England, but could also, beneath the rhetoric of English loyalty, continue to attack those who disagreed with them. 12 Like John Williams, Mather truly desires to create a place within empire for a distinctive New Englishness. Yet while this reading continues to have merit, especially given Mather's bitter competition with fellow colonials like Colman and Dudley, it overlooks another larger question about Mather's argument at the current New English moment. To what extent could Mather's convoluted claims about cultural and political continuities in Pietas in Patriam also be directed to finally assuaging and dissolving filial ambivalence toward the "fathers"? This question points to another text that Cotton Mather appended to the Magnalia. In considering the addition of William Phips to the line of

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New England's governors, we must not forget that Decennium Luctuosum concludes the history's final book, Ecclesiarum Praelia (The Wars of the Lord). And Decennium Luctuosum as we noted earlier, draws toward its close with Hannah Dustan's narrative. It is suggestive to juxtapose the lengthy representation of Sir William Phips to the far briefer account of Hannah Dustan. One could argue that Dustan, too, both defends the ways of the "fathers" at the same time that she defends broader imperial interests against the French and their Indian allies. Similarly, one might remark, as Jay Fliegelman has done, that Dustan, like Phips, also represents an emergent colonial self-reliance under God, rather than a feminized passivity before His providence.13 So read, the woman captive would in many ways emerge as the female parallel to Phips-she, too, serves as an agent of cultural continuity and of individual autonomy. Such a reading, however, overlooks the provoking difference ofDustan's gender. Why, toward the end of the Magnalia as a whole, does Cotton Mather offer, one last time, not merely a representation of female captivity, but of an independent and violent female captive? Throughout New English history, but very pointedly in the massively conflicted years following the "Glorious Revolution;' representations of women as seizing power, as witches or as fornicators, as "indianizing" their families-or as murdering them-were made broadly emblematic of inner and outer social, cultural, and political border crossings and breakdowns, while a variety of new measures, legal and religious, were instituted to control real women. In apparent contrast to these representations, certain second- and third-generation elite men seized upon the position of the passive female captive-from Mary Rowlandson, to Hannah Swarton (as she doubles and contains Hannah Dustan), to Eunice Mather Williams, whose position must be taken by her husband-to represent their own ultimate loyalty to the "fathers" in the face of physical, spiritual, and cultural dislocations. As we have seen, even though she is invariably taken away as a sign of divine punishment, the woman captive is also often represented as either experiencing for the first time or as renewing very passionately a personal and communal covenant with the God of the "fathers" who, as a result, redeems both the captive and the entire community. Throughout the period we have examined, moreover, the woman captive's obedient acceptance of passivity is figured as possessing a decidedly political as well as a religious valence. Both her afflictions and her redemption are to be interpreted as signs directed not merely at the orthodox community, but also at those constructed as internal and external enemies of New England as a whole.

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Simply contrasting this representation of the submissive female position to representations of active women, however, obscures the productive ambivalence we have traced at the heart of the representation of female passivity itself: its figuring of a desire on the part of certain second- and thirdgeneration men to identify with, to repeat, and to differ from the "fathers;' to defend them and to separate from them. While Mary Rowlandson's secondgeneration text lays out the terms of this ambivalence by representing a variety of relational positions that the vulnerable captive woman assumes toward a punishing and redeeming father/God, third-generation texts like Hannah Dustan's narrative, Cotton Mather's Humiliations sermon, and the narrative of the passive, obedient Hannah Swarton reveal the interrelated poles of such ambivalence as violent lawlessness and orthodox selfabasement. On this level, John Williams's captivity narrative can be read as Williams's ultimately unsuccessful attempt to cover over a threatening split in the representation by staging captivity in broadly Protestant versus Catholic terms and, more significantly, by himself (as minister) assuming the female position of his dead Mather wife. Among these texts, only Decennium Luctuosum, with its focus on the overwhelming disruptions of French and Indian warfare, allows for the momentarily free representation of violent activity on the part of the female captive. In so doing, however, it offers aninitial reading of fatherly power that suggests the foundation of authority and legitimacy in the oppression of those whom they imagine to threaten it, whether they are women, Quakers, Indians, or ambivalent "sons:' But, as we have seen, given some third-generation men's continuing fantasy about finally possessing the "fathers' " power, Decennium Luctuosum attempts to contain its own reading. It is instead in the work of John Williams that this authority becomes newly and differently drawn into question. In its unrelenting focus on New England's internal as well as external seduction, Williams's writing gradually exposes a jealous, angry, and weakened fatherly power desperately attempting to persuade the "sons" that their own desires will be met if only they will publicly continue to assume the passive female position before it. Even though the Magnalia precedes the publication of most of Williams's texts, the representation of Hannah Dustan within Mather's ecclesiastical history raises the possibility of a further shift in the relationship to fatherly authority expressed by Williams. What does it mean to place an already wellknown representation of the adive woman captive in the context of a selfproclaimed providential history of the entire New English project? Does Hannah Dustan's violent act of destruction-whether directed at Indians,

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French Catholics, competing New Englanders or at royal English threats-in fact figure a different end to filial ambivalence than the life of Phips? In contrast to the strand we have traced in the Phips biography that attempts to present a seamless connection between past forms of power and legitimacy and their future forms, does not the addition of Decennium Luctuosum in general and of Hannah Dustan in particular point to a fantasy of historical transition from the authority of the colonial "fathers" as universal bloodbath and apocalypse-a war of all against all? 14 Yes and no. Rather than argue that Mather is asking readers to choose one of these positions or the other as a "solution" to a once productive ambivalence, or even to argue that his Magnalia is contradictory or ambivalent about its own modes of resolving such ambivalence, it seems more fruitful in closing to suggest that Cotton Mather appears instead to be using these two positions, as second- and third-generation ministers have differentially used the position of the female captive throughout the period examined here, to try on various ways of understanding the interrelation of authority and historical change. Read in these terms, the real issue at stake at the end of the Magnalia is not a forced choice between "solutions" to generational ambivalence, but the way in which, as the explanatory power of the trope of generations breaks down, the larger meanings expressed in the representation of the captive woman have shifted. To examine this transformation, let us briefly consider two similar chapter titles appearing in the Magnalia's final book. Book 7, "The Wars of the Lord;' is broken into chapters with titled subsections. Chapter 3 is entitled Hydra Decapitata (The Hydra Beheaded) and deals with the Antinomian Controversy, the most threatening of early religious/political conflicts within the young Massachusetts colony, one which revealed not some originary unity, but a bitter split in ideas about political, social, and religious authority and legitimacy within the first-generation "fathers" themselves. At the center of the discussion occurs Cotton Mather's partisan attack on "the woman on top;' on Anne Hutchinson and what he constructs as her illegitimate female seizure of familial as well as social interpretive authority, especially as it constitutes a threat to his own version of a seamless and continuous new English orthodoxy. Cotton scornfully titles this subsection Dux Faemina Facta-"a woman made the leader"-and clearly blames those local male supporters "seduced" to Hutchinson's heretical positions as well as Hutchinson herself. 15 Compare this title to that used for Article XXV of Decennium Luctuosum-''A Notable Exploit; Dux Faemina Facti." The phrase "a notable exploit" does not fully translate the Latin.

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More literally rendered, it reads, "a woman the leader of the exploit/deed." The earlier title marks the woman made leader as staggeringly dangerous, offering hydra-headed threats to all legitimate forms of authority and community; the later one not only condones, but indeed, if briefly, celebrates the woman leader's exploit. The grammatical closeness of the two Latin tags discloses their unwitting connection in Mather's text: not only does one move temporally to the other--disrupting or even disputing other temporal movements offered by the Magnalia, the two also overlap in their meanings as Anne Hutchinson's being made a leader at the colony's contested beginnings palimpsestically overlays Hannah Dustan's actions as a leader in its conflicted transition to imperial province. One way of reading the HutchinsonDustan overlay is to suggest that Mather's last representation of the female captive at the end of traditional "New England's history" opens a new and long-desired Antinomian space outside the "fathers' " law. Another related reading points to a Dustan thus situated as serving as a cultural agent of transition between forms of political and social authority. But is there not a third possibility emergent here as well? In Hannah Dustan's gendered duplicity, her border-erasing lawlessness, and her excessive violence and vengefulness against all challengers, do we not glimpse Cotton Mather's vision of the sublime new face of imperial power itself? 16

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Notes

Chapter I 1. Other Europeans, including the English, wrote about their captivities throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but the Spanish and French texts were certainly the most numerous. While these narratives, too, can be read as possessing their own personal, social, and political valences, such analysis is beyond the purview of this study, concerned as it is with contextualizing colonial Protestant captivities written in English in New England. Similarly outside the frame of this study are narratives written by Puritan men. As Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark point out, Puritan men did write captivities, but these either were not written under the specific aegis of the ministers discussed here, whose major interest comes to fall on narratives by or about New English Protestant women, or, just as pertinently perhaps, did not achieve the popularity of the women's texts. See Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark, introduction, "Cups of Common Calamity: Puritan Captivity Narratives as Literature and History;' in Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724, ed. Vaughan and Clark (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 3. For a recent argument analyzing American captivity narratives in their relation to and transformation of English providence tales, see James D. Hartman, Providence Tales and the Birth of American Literature (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999). My specific interest is not on captivity as a genre per se, but on the political contexts that affect the writing and publication of very specific captivities in New England. It is striking that captivity texts like these did not appear in either the Southern or the Middle Colonies in this period. (Thanks to Frank Shuffelton for this insight.) 2. Roy Harvey Pearce's essay, "The Significances of the Captivity Narrative;' American Literature 19 (1947): 1-20, provides the locus classicus for this reading. Another key point of reference for any study of the cultural continuities and transformations in captivity is Richard Slatkin, Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 16oo-18oo (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973). While my focus is not on the development of captivity as frontier "myth;' Slatkin's more historical emphases have clearly influenced my own. While he does not focus on changes in captivity narratives, Stephen Carl Arch does importantly concern himself with how shifting Puritan conceptions of history and historical writing should be read in relation to political, social, and religious transformations that occur in New England throughout the seventeenth century. Arch is particularly useful in his analysis of ministerial defenses of the first and second charters. See Stephen Carl Arch, Authorizing the Past: The Rhetoric of History in Seventeenth-Century New England (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1994).

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3. An extraordinary number of essays and books take this perspective. For a well-known early example, specifically dealing with Mary Rowlandson's text, see Mitchell Breitwieser, American Puritanism and the Defense of Mourning: Religion, Grief, and Ethnology in Mary White Rowlandson's Captivity Narrative (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990 ); see also Susan Howe, The Birth-mark: Unsettling the Wilderness in American Literary History (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1993.) For suggestive recent studies, see Christopher Castiglia, Bound and De-

termined: Captivity, Culture-Crossing, and White Womanhood from Mary Rowlandson to Patty Hearst (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995) and William J, Scheick, Authority and Female Authorship in Colonial America (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1998). For some important essays dealing with female agency in individual narratives, see note 27 and notes to individual chapters below. 4. See, for example, T. H. Breen, The Character of the Good Ruler: A Study of Puritan Political Ideas in New England, 1630-1730 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1970); Stephen Foster, The Long Argument: English Puritanism and the Shaping of New England Culture, 1570-1700 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Richard R. Johnson, Adjustment to Empire: The New England Colonies, 1675-1715 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1981); DavidS. Lovejoy, The Glorious Revolution in America (1972; reprint, Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1987); William Pencak, War, Politics and Revolution in Provincial Massachusetts (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1981); J, M. Sosin, English America and

the Restoration Monarchy of Charles II: Transatlantic Politics, Commerce, and Kinship (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1980 ); and Stephen Saunders Webb, 1676: The End ofAmerican Independence (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1995). For a reading that also places the Rowlandson narrative in the political context of charter anxieties, see Richard Slatkin and James Folsom, "Introduction," in So Dreadful/ a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War: 1676-1677, ed. Slatkin and Folsom (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1975), 3-45; "Increase Mather: Puritan Mythologist;' in So Dreadfull a Judgment, 55-77; and "Mary Rowlandson: Captive Witness;' in So Dreadfull a Judgment, 301-12. Whereas Slatkin and Folsom relate colonial land acquisition from the Indians to broader fears of imperial English intervention, their larger argument, focused on the creation of the frontier myth in its relation to "American" identity, does not address how representations of Indian captivity expressed ambivalent colonial male relations both to Restoration and Williamite England and to the "fathers." s. Extended historical discussions of these wars include Douglas E. Leach, Arms for Empire: A Military History of the British Colonies in North America (New York: Macmillan, 1973) and Howard H. Peckham, The Colonial Wars, 1689-1762 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964). For a broad discussion of war and political change throughout all the colonies, see Wesley Frank Craven, The Colonies in Transition: 1660-1713 (New York: Harper and Row, 1968). 6. See Alden Vaughan and Daniel K. Richter, "Crossing the Cultural Divide: Indians and New Englanders, 1605-1763;' Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Association 90 (1980): 53· See also Hartman, Providence Tales, 16. Like Hartman, I derive such information not only from information gleaned from Vaughan and Richter, but also from Emma Lewis Coleman's indispensable early study, New England Captives

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Carried to Canada During the French and Indian Wars, 2 vols. (Portland, Maine: Southworth Press, 1925). 7. For a recent discussion of how English colonialism in particular functioned to help England to forget or suppress its Catholic past and to define its national(ist) mission as distinctly Protestant, see Thomas Scanlon, Colonial Writing in the New World: Allegories of Desire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). For a compelling discussion of how this act of national self-definition is linked to gender, see Frances Dolan, Whores of Babylon: Catholicism, Gender, and Seventeenth-Century Print Culture (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1999). 8. See Perry Miller's description of this deceiving and possibly self-deceptive process in The New England Mind: From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961); see also Louise Breen, Transgressing the Bounds: Subversive Enterprises among the Puritan Elite in Massachusetts, 1630-1692 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 9. Aspects of Increase and Cotton Matiler's similar and different conflicts with such groups, especially the last two, will be noted in tile chapters that follow as they particularly relate to their support for captivity narratives. For pertinent analyses of Increase Mather's quandary at this particular historical moment, see Perry Miller, From Colony to Province, and Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan: The Life of Increase Mather, 1639-1723 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1988). 10. When the term "fatilers" is placed in quotation marks, as it is throughout tilis study, tile term refers to the ongoing construction of both first- and second-generation "fatilers" by tileir sons. When the term is not so punctuated, it refers to literal historical fathers. Similarly, tile use of the term "sons" in quotation marks refers to an imagined position in relation to tile imagined authority of"fathers." n. Older ethnohistorical work on Native American groups in New England has been supplemented by work specifically dealing with those tribal groups represented in captivity narratives. For examples of earlier work, see James Axtell, The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981); William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983); Francis Jennings, The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism and the Cant of Conquest (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975); and Neal Salisbury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982). For some more specific recent studies, see Jill Lepore, The Name of War: King Philip's War and the Origins ofAmerican Identity (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1998); Patrick Malone, The Skulking Way of War: Technology and Tactics Among the New England Indians (Lanham, Md.: Madison Books, 1991), and for Mary Rowlandson in particular, Neal Salisbury, "Introduction: Mary Rowlandson and Her Removes;' in The Sovereignty and Goodness of God, Together with the Faithfulness of His Promises Displayed ... and Related Documents, ed. Neal Salisbury (Boston: Bedford Books, 1997). The present study obviously takes a different angle on representations of Indians in captivity narratives, arguing, as does Thomas Scanlon, that these representations serve multiple purposes for those writing and/or supporting texts written about them. Like Scanlon, I argue that representations of Indians, as well as referring to "real" Indians, can also be used both to refer to Europeans and to different colonial positions. Scanlon's focus falls on representations used by a number of first-generation

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European colonizers; mine falls specifically on representations linked to captivity as they were supported by certain second- and third-generation New Englanders responding to shifts in imperial organization and to imperial wars. See Scanlon, Colonial Writing in the New World. This claim does not obviate the larger question of why these varied identifications are made through representations of Native Americans, however. 12. See note 2, especially Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence. 13. For an excellent recent discussion of the dispute, see Janice Knight, Orthodoxies in Massachusetts: Rereading American Puritanism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), 191-92. For Joseph Rowlandson's role in the dispute, see Robert Diebold, "Mary Rowlandson," in American Writers Before 1800, ed. James A. Levernier and Douglas R. Wilmes, 3 vols. (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1983), 3=1244· 14. Edmund Morgan, The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth Century New England (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1966). 15. See, for example, Breitwieser, American Puritanism and the Defense of Mourning, 101-2. 16. For an important discussion of similarities and differences between Old and

New World uses of typology, see Sacvan Bercovitch, The Puritan Origins of the American Self(New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1975), 35-71. 17. Amanda Porterfield, Female Piety in Puritan New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); see also Ivy Schweitzer, The Work of Self-Representation: Lyric Poetry in Colonial New England (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991). I address Schweitzer's work in the text below in this chapter. 18. See, for example, Mary Beth Rose, "Introduction;' in Women in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Mary Beth Rose (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1986), xiii-xxviii. For additional insight derived from a recent study of the aftermath of World War I in France, see Mary Louise Roberts, Civilization Without Sexes: Reconstructing Gender in Postwar France 1917-1927 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). Although he interprets the captive woman's meaning differently than I do here, Jay Fliegelman is similarly interested in the way representations of captives express something about moments of cultural transition. Of Hannah Dustan's narrative, Fliegelman notes, "in its small way it symbolically reflects a turning point in American intellectual history." See his wide-ranging and brilliant study, Prodigals and Pilgrims: The American Revolution against Patriarchal Authority 1750-18oo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 146. 19. See Paul Boyer and Stephen Nissenbaum, Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1974); John Putnam Demos, Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Culture of Early New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982). See also Mary Beth Norton's important rereading of these claims in the light of ongoing border confrontations and war in Maine. Norton reads responses to these confrontations (such as the witchcraft accusations) at the village level of interpersonal relationships. See In the Devil's Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of1692 (New York: Alfred P. Knopf, 2002.) I came upon Norton's text as I was finishing this study. What I find operating here at the level of textual analysis her historical analysis often confirmed.

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20. Carol Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England (New York: W. W. Norton, 1987). 21. For two recent treatments, see Laura Henigman, Coming into Communion: Pastoral Dialogues in Colonial New England (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999) and Kathleen Brown, "Murderous Uncleanness: The Body of the Female Infanticide in Puritan New England;' in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, ed. Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tartar (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 77-94. See also Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (New York: Praeger, 1966). 22. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean (Boston, 1699), 58. 23. Frank Shuffelton, "Hannah Webster Foster's Coquette and the End of Brotherly Watch." Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 16 (1986): 211-24. 24. See Henigman, Coming into Communion, 17-88. 25. Williams, Warnings to the Unclean. 26. Cotton Mather, Warnings from the Dead, (Boston, 1693). 27. For the brief information we have about Gates's confrontation with her minister, see Henry S. Nourse, ed., Early Records of Lancaster, Massachusetts, 1643-1725 (Lancaster, 1884), 46-48. Salisbury also mentions this incident. See Salisbury, "Introduction;' 17. For the comment on adultery see also Joseph Rowlandson, The Possibility of God's Forsaking a People (Boston, 1682), 43. The wicked man, like "the Adultress in her Husbands absence, will seek after other lovers." 28. In addition to the full-length studies cited in note 3, some essays dealing with Rowlandson in particular, and questions of agency in general, include: Kathryn Zabelle Derounian-Stodola, "Puritan Orthodoxy and the 'Survivor Syndrome' in Mary Rowlandson's Indian Captivity Narrative;' Early American Literature 22:1 (Spring 1987): 82-93; Tara Fitzpatrick, "The Figure of Captivity: The Cultural Work of the Puritan Captivity Narrative;' American Literary History 3 (1991): 1-26; Teresa A. Toulouse," 'My own Credit': Strategies of E(Valuation) in Mary Rowlandson's Captivity Narrative;' American Literature 68 (1992): 655-76 and "Mary Rowlandson and the Rhetoric of Ambiguity;' in Sacvan Bercovitch and the Puritan Imagination, ed. Michael Schuldiner, Studies in Puritan American Spirituality (SPAS), Series 3 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1992), 21-52; and Lisa Logan, "Mary Rowlandson's Captivity and the 'Place' of the Woman Subject;' Early American Literature 28 (1993): 255-77. Many of these studies do not explicitly address the way passivity allows for movement, but each is concerned with the ways in which, while claiming orthodoxy, captivity narratives-especially that of Mary Rowlandson as the ur-text-represent some kind of change in literal and/or psychological positioning. See also Michelle Burnham, Captivity and Sentiment: Captivity and Exchange in American Literature, 1682-1861 (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1997), 10-40. I engage more particularly with Burnham's work below in this chapter. 29. Tara Fitzpatrick, "The Figure of Captivity;' 2-3. 30. Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse, "The American Origins of the English Novel;' American Literary History 3 (2002): 386-410. In spite of differences in our focus, Armstrong and Tennenhouse share my interest in the ways in which muchdiscussed questions of female agency and authorship can be redirected to address the question of why/how representations of women's agency (or their lack of it) become

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culturally representative. For a similar interest in the question of why women's voices are seen/become used as more broadly representative of colonial experience in general, see Patricia Caldwell, "Why Our First Poet Was a Woman: Bradstreet and the Birth of an American Poetic Voice;' Prospects 13 (1988): 1-32. As I was completing this project, I discovered Lorrayne Carroll's provocative new essay, "Affecting History: Impersonating Women in the Early Republic;' Early American Literature 39:3 (2004): 511-52. Carroll shares this past and growing interest in how and why women's voices become historically representative. By way of a concept of"male impersonation" or "rhetorical drag;' she traces how the bodily "authenticity" conceived to center in women's "voices" (oral culture) becomes seized upon by male writers/ editors involved in early American print culture to construct normative (and problematic) categories of"gender;' "class;' and "nation:' While my project shares some of this interest as it was manifested at an earlier colonial moment, my focus falls on the variability of colonial men's identifications with, in contrast to their simple impersonation(s) of, a "female" position in the face of particular political and cultural shifts in authority. In my reading, impersonation itself should be read as always performed in the face of an imagined authority. I view colonial men's ambivalent identification(s) with the female position as having both rhetorical and psychological dimensions. See my further intersections with and differences from Carroll's earlier work on Hannah Dustan in Chapters 4 and 5. 31. See Michelle Burnham, Captivity and Sentiment, 1-9. Two early and influential studies by Homi Bhabha, "Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse" and "Signs Taken for Wonders: Questions of Ambivalence and Authority under a Tree outside Delhi, May, 1817;' are reprinted in his collection, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994), 85-92 and 102-22, respectively. For two different critiques of aspects of Bhabha's claims about ambivalence and cultural hybridity, see Patrick Colm Hogan, Colonization and Cultural Identity: Crises of Tradition in the Anglophone Literatures of India, Africa, and the Caribbean (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000 ), 24-43, and Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (New York: Routledge, 1995), 61-69. 32. J. Laplanche and J. B. Pontalis, The Language of Psychoanalysis, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1973), 28. 33· Laplanche and Pontalis, The Language of Psychoanalysis, 28. 34· For a comprehensive discussion of the tensions between actual firstgeneration fathers and second- and some third-generation sons, see Emory Elliott, Power and the Pulpit in Puritan New England (Princeton, N,J.: Princeton University Press, 1975), 16-62. Elliott draws on Philip Greven, Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, Massachusetts (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1972). For a well-known treatment of Puritan child-raising practices, see Philip Greven,

The Protestant Temperament: Patterns of Child-rearing, Religious Experience, and the Self in Early America (New York: Knopf, 1977. See also John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family Life in Plymouth Colony. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970 ). 35· See Elliott, Power and the Pulpit in Puritan New England, 12-15. See David Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling: An Exploration in Literature, Psychology and Social History (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press,), 1-22 and 195-221. Upon completing this study, I rediscovered Leverenz's important early interdisciplinary work. While we differ in our reading of generational ambivalence in New

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England and in the genres we examine, my project has clearly benefited from broader methodological claims originally advanced by Leverenz. 36. See Schweitzer, The Work of Self-Representation, 1-39. Schweitzer assumes that the "orthodoxy" against which she reads not only Puritan male lyric poetry which uses female representations, but also the work of Ann Bradstreet and Roger Williams remains a stable and unchanging frame into which subjects are interpellated or resist interpellation. 37· An important recent book on the Canadian female captors of many New England captives suggests the range of gender roles being confronted and performed by both captives and captors. William Foster argues that New English male captives, bought and indentured to female masters, were shocked and indignant about the way their social/cultural roles as men became inverted in French Catholic Canada. Much of Foster's historical work on the identities and cultures of captives and female captors (especially nuns) is new and useful, but I resist the notion that the emotions and behaviors of male captives should be interpreted only in terms of a cultural belief in fixed gender roles. As the cases of Hannah Dustan and John Williams differently suggest, within different cultural domains-especially, but not only, the religiouscolonial gender roles could be variously understood and manipulated in more fluid terms than his analysis suggests. See William Henry Foster, The Captors' Narrative: Catholic Women and Their Puritan Men on the Early American Frontier (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003). 38. For a similar interest, see Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling, 4· My concern is with how later generations of Puritan men, using a crucially different form than the sermon, can be said variably to address this wish. In this arena, I have learned the most from the theoretical work of Slavoj Zizek, especially Enjoy Your Symptom (New York: Routledge, 1992). 39. See, for example, Greg Sieminski, "The Puritan Captivity Narrative and the Politics of the American Revolution;' American Quarterly 42 (1990 ): 35-56. Sieminski reads the republication of the Rowlandson and Williams narratives in the 1760s and 1770s as possessing political valences distinct to that revolutionary era. While he interprets these texts' initial publication in traditional religious terms, in the terms of my project Sieminski's essay might instead be read as picking up on an earlier political awareness of the uses of captivity. Or not. If the "fact" (of seeing captivities' political uses) establishes "continuity" from one perspective, it also suggests that such "continuity" is itself constructed at particular historical moments for reasons particular to such moments. 40. To be clear: obviously, this is not literally the case. In the terms of the argument presented here, I am arguing that it should be read as imaginatively the case. In my reading, Mather's final use of Dustan marks the "end" of a distinct kind of"Puritan" captivity as it is presented in this project. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark suggest reading later narratives such as those of John Gyles (1736) and Elizabeth Hanson (1728) as "Puritan:' While these texts may use similar Scriptures or gesture to providence, neither structurally uses Scripture or providence in the manner of the Mather-supported texts. In the case of the Hanson text, in particular, the representation of the female captive is clearly not pointed toward the same kind of issues of fatherly authority or filial ambivalence discussed here. Gyles underscores his own

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difference in this respect from the Williams as well as the Rowlandson texts quite openly, noting his unwillingness to "give a particular account of my father, which I am not very fond of, having no dependence on the virtues or honors of my ancestors to recommend me to the favor of God or men" (95). This interesting claim deserves its own interpretation. Finally, these texts' often sympathetic descriptions of their captors-French and Indian alike-lack both the specific political valences and corresponding identificatory ambiguities of the earlier narratives. Surely, these later eighteenth-century texts can best be read in terms of the exigencies of their own, now decidedly imperial, moments of publication as well as, in the case of Hanson's Quaker narrative, their transformation by other ministerial editors who do not share the agenda (or the ambivalence) of the earlier ministers considered here. See John Gyles, "Memoirs of Odd Adventures, Strange Deliverances, etc." (1736) and Elizabeth Hanson, "God's Mercy Surmounting Man's Cruelty;' (1728) in Puritans among the Indians, ed. Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark, 91-131 and 227-44, respectively. 41. For a reading that similarly emphasizes Mather's and some of his readers' sense of becoming cut off from a "dead" past as well as Mather's equal desire newly to reconstruct/revitalize the history of the "fathers;' see Stephen Carl Arch, Authorizing the Past, 146-48.

Chapter2 1. For a fascinating interpretation of Anglo-Indian relations at this period that relies on a variety of texts other than the Rowlandson narrative alone, see Neal Salisbury, ed., The Sovereignty and Goodness of God . .. and Related Documents. In his wide-ranging introduction, Salisbury is particularly concerned with placing thenarrative in the context not simply of Puritanism per se, but also of current AngloIndian relations. In contrast, I am concerned with the identity issues for ministers like Increase Mather and Joseph Rowlandson that surface in their support for and use of representations of Indians as they are constructed in women's captivity narratives. I am indebted to Salisbury's research on the White and Rowlandson families. 2. Kathryn Zabelle Derounian points out that only eight leaves of the original first Boston edition exist. Given the argument made here about the interrelation of the publication of Rowlandson's text with the proliferation of covenant renewals, it is particularly significant that these leaves are bound into the first edition of Samuel Willard's Covenant Keeping (Boston, 1682). See Derounian, "The Publication, Promotion, and Distribution of Mary Rowlandson's Indian Captivity Narrative in the Seventeenth Century, Early American Literature23:3 (1988): 239. Derounian also notes that the second Cambridge "addition" has errors in the title and elsewhere, which are corrected by the third (also called the "second") Cambridge edition. Derounian argues that the London text-despite its different title-appears to be set from the first Boston edition (246). Whereas she shares Ebersole's belief that the different titles suggest different audiences, Derounian's position implicitly questions Armstrong and Tennenhouse's claim for the wide popularity of captivities in England. Derounian suggests that Rowlandson's text did not sell particularly well abroad (248).

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3· Gary Ebersole, Captured by Texts: Puritan to Postmodern Images of Indian Captivity (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1995), 19. See also Derounian, "The Publication, Promotion, and Distribution of Mary Rowlandson's Indian Captivity Narrative in the Seventeenth Century;' 249-50, 252. 4· As is well documented, Randolph examined such authority in a manner prejudicial to it, writing letters and reports such as his "Narrative of the state of New England;' in which he attacked not only Massachusetts's political behavior toward the crown but also its charter, the very grounds of its political legitimacy. This attack eventuated in the need to send colonial agents to London to dispute Randolph's claims and, on the other side of the ocean, in initial royal attempts to modify charter rights. See Michael G. Hall, Edward Randolph and the American Colonies: 1676-1703 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1960), 33-63. Drawing on T. H. Breen, Richard Slatkin points out that Randolph sensed early the possibility of a double meaning in Samuel Nowell's artillery sermon, Abraham in Arms, which was delivered in May of 1678, and which suggested the possibility of a war against England comparable to that just fought against the Indians. See Slatkin and Folsom, "Samuel Nowell: Prophet of Preparedness;' in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War: 1676-1677, ed. Slatkin and Folsom (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1975), 268. See also T. H. Breen, The Character of the Good Ruler: A Study of Puritan Political Ideas in New England, 1630-1730 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1970), 91-121. I am grateful to Prof. Stephen Foster for directing me to Nowell. 5. Richard Johnson, among others, notes growing post-Restoration fears, in New England in general and Massachusetts in particular, of a possible Catholic interference in the region. See Richard R. Johnson, Adjustment to Empire: The New England Colonies, 1675-1715 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1981), 37-38. It has further been argued that the variety of attempted land grabs before and after "King Philip's War" also points to anxieties that some kind of intervention, from the English, if not also from the French, was about to occur. See Slatkin and Folsom, "Introduction;' So Dreadfull a Judgment, 24-30. The Duke of York's military acquisition, loss, and reacquisition of New York in the early 1670s must also have exacerbated anxieties about his coming intentions for New England. Finally there was the fact, not only of Louis XIV's attack on French Protestants, but also those of Charles II on the Scots Covenanters, whom he sent James to fight in 1679, during the early months of the Exclusion Controversy. See Geoffrey Holmes, The Making of a Great Power: Late Stuart and Early Georgian Britain: 1660-1722 (London: Longman, 1993), 11, 12, 32, 128. Thanks to John Aubrey of the Newberry Library for pointing this out. 6. John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress (Boston, 1681). The text was printed at the direction of Samuel Sewall, who had just taken over the management of the Boston press. Bartholomew Green Jr. was the printer, newly invited in after the death ofJohn Foster. 7. Increase Mather, A Sermon Wherein is Shewed that the Church of God is Sometimes the Subject of Great Persecution (Boston, 1682), 19-20. 8. Anne Kusener Nelsen, "King Philip's War and the Hubbard/Mather Rivalry;' William and Mary Quarterly 27 (1970 ): 615-29.

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Notes to Pages 27-32 9· Anne Kusener Nelsen, "King Philip's War and the Hubbard/Mather Rivalry;'

624. 10. William Hubbard, The Happiness of a People, 6, 35. 11. William Hubbard, The Happiness of a People, 34· 12. T. H. Breen, The Character of a Good Ruler. 13. William Hubbard, The Happiness of a People, 25. 14. William Hubbard, The Happiness of a People, 51. 15. Michael Winship, Seers of God: Puritan Providentialism in the Restoration and Early Enlightenment (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), 21-24. In his reconsideration of Hubbard's providentialism, Michael Winship notes Hubbard's concern that "King Philip's War" would be problematically read abroad as "punishment for some extraordinary declension" (24). I suggest here that Hubbard attends to possible English as well as split New English responses not only in his Brief History of the Warr or his unpublished "General History;' but also in his earlier election sermon where he is so specifically concerned with delineating aspects of the appropriate ministerial/magisterial relation. Agreeing with Winship's insight that both Mather and Hubbard were appealing to various English as well as colonial interlocutors, I also share with Nelsen an interest in local contexts for their different approaches to this relationship. My specific interest is in how the Mather-Hubbard debate over the role of the magistrates and ministers in social reforms (that spills over into their argument over toleration) has ramifications for their understanding of the Massachusetts charter. In my view, arguments about reform (and its ramifications for New English political life) also equally underlie the two competitors' different providential emphases in their treatments of "King Philip's War;' which Mather, in contrast to Hubbard, so insistently reads as the result of a governmental failure to reform external, social sins marked by the ministers. Winship presents Hubbard and Mather as points along a cultural spectrum, with Hubbard's position on providence being more generally "representative" of many New English ministers. While this reading usefully opens up the transatlantic variety of competing forms of providential thinking occurring during the period at hand, it does not address the question of Mather's (not Hubbard's) leadership in the Reforming Synod of 1679/80, nor the possible political reasons behind and for Mather's prominence in promoting public interest in multiple kinds of providential intervention in the early 168os. 16. For varying discussions of the Mather-Hubbard differences, see Breen, Character of the Good Ruler, 97-116; Hall, The Last American Puritan, 118-26; Miller, From Colony to Province, 135-37; Nelsen, "King Philip's War and the Hubbard/Mather Rivalry;' and Winship, Seers of God, 20-27. 17. Increase Mather, Earnest Exhortation, 17. Nelsen sees this comment as a very clear slap at those in England as well as New England who support political change. 18. Increase Mather, Earnest Exhortation, 17. 19. Increase Mather, A Discourse, 62. 20. Hubbard's use of Nye, an influential friend of the fathers, and his indirect reference and rewriting of Winthrop have already been noted. In Mather, see, for example, Earnest Exhortation, where in addition to Mitchell, other "fathers" such as Cotton, Davenport, Shepard, and his own father, Richard Mather, are invoked. A Discourse also directly names Shepard, Mitchell, and Cotton.

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21. Nelsen, "King Philip's War and the Hubbard/Mather Rivalry;' 622. 22. Nelsen, "King Philip's War and the Hubbard/Mather Rivalry;' 629. 23. Historians dispute the exact nature of such groups. Some, like Hall, believe that their positions were clearly definable; others, like Foster, Johnson, and Pencak, claim that group affiliations were far less defined. See Hall, The Last American Puritan, 187; Stephen Foster, Their Solitary Way (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1971), 182-86; Johnson, Adjustment to Empire, 48; and William Pencak, War, Politics and Revolution in Provincial Massachusetts (Boston: Northeaster University Press, 1981), 13-14. While Mather is often read as a moderate until1683, his earlier implicit debates with Hubbard, his 1682 sermon on the French persecutions, his interest in collecting providences from 1681 on, as well as his early and on going 168os' work on the historical/political meanings of comets, suggest that public support for the popular group was only waiting for the appropriate moment to appear. This does not mean, however, that he was not equally capable of rhetorically shifting this position in order to protect certain facets of colonial authority in the later 168os and early 169os. 24. See Richard Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly: The Reformation of Manners in Orthodox New England, 1679-1749 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994). 25. Richard Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly, 26-28. 26. See T. H. Breen, The Character of the Good Ruler, 108-9, and Perry Miller,

From Colony to Province, 115-17· 27. Mather's work on comets includes Heaven's Alarm to the World (Boston, 1681); this sermon was reissued with The Latter Sign Discoursed (Boston, 682), and Kometographia, Or a Discourse Concerning Comets (Boston, 1683). 28. Attributions to Mather have become common, most of them drawing on David A. Richards's 1967 Yale honors thesis, "The Memorable Preservations: Narratives of Indian Captivity in the Literature and Politics of Colonial New England:' See, for example, David Minter, "By Dens of Lions: Notes on Stylization in Early Captivity Narratives;' American Literature 45 (1973-74): 336-37; Charles E. Hambrick-Stowe,

The Practice of Piety: Puritan Devotional Disciplines in Seventeenth-Century New England (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1980), 259; and more recently, Neal Salisbury, ed., The Sovereignty and Goodness of God . .. and Related Documents, 45· All such attributions, including one of my own (see Teresa Toulouse, "The Sovereignty and Goodness of God in 1682: Royal Authority, Female Captivity, and 'Creole' Male Identity;' English Literary History 67 [2ooo]: 925-49) are based on Richards. Having now read the entirety of Richards's careful thesis, I can confirm that he nowhere claims that Increase Mather was the preface's actual author. It is significant that Michael G. Hall, Increase Mather's scrupulous biographer, also does not attribute the preface to Mather. In his 1972 Yale Ph.D. dissertation, "A Critical Edition of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson's Captivity Narrative," Robert Diebold intriguingly suggests that Gershom Bulkeley, who not only was Joseph Rowlandson's predecessor at the Wethersfield Church but also served as a chaplain with Connecticut troops during events mentioned in the preface and narrative, may have been its author. See Diebold, cii and passim. Diebold also suggests that Benjamin Woodbridge, the minister who followed Rowlandson at Wethersfield, wrote the preface to Joseph Rowlandson's sermon. Neither Diebold nor anyone else I am aware of has pursued the

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Bulkeley possibility. In this context, it is suggestive that Joseph Rowlandson officiated with Samuel Willard at Gershom Bulkeley's ordination. The son of Peter Bulkeley, one of the most famous and strict first-generation fathers, Gershom Bulkeley is described by Perry Miller as "one of the last of the theocrats;' who in the later 168os became a monarchist, "disillusioned with Puritanism and Congregationalism only because they had moved away from the original ideals of subordination and submission:' See Perry Miller, From Colony to Province, 171-72. See also James M. Poteet, ''A Homecoming: The Bulkeley Family in New England;' New England Quarterly 47 (1974): 30-50. Poteet points out that Bulkeley left his first ministerial position at New London as a result of arguments over church governance and that later, in a manner similar to Joseph Rowlandson and Increase Mather, he was chosen by the Connecticut General Court to deal with various churches' contentions over the Halfway Covenant. After his stint with the army during "King Philip's War;' Bulkeley also resigned his position at the Wethersfield Church to pursue his scientific and political interests. His heritage, his (at this point) orthodoxy, his positions on church governance, his connection to Joseph Rowlandson and to the Wethersfield Church may all have endeared him to those supporting the publication of Mary Rowlandson's narrative and Joseph Rowlandson's final sermon. If he were the Rowlandson preface's author, one can of course only speculate that Bulkeley's resignation from two church positions by 1677 and his own increasing political interests might, at least in part, have accounted for his anonymity. Anonymous prefaces are certainly rare in the period at hand. For the project at hand, however, the fact that Increase Mather may not have explicitly authored the preface does not detract either from the fact that it clearly supports his positions on the war, or that the narrative and sermon appear in a specific discursive context which he is largely responsible for promoting. Given Mather's own publicly moderate stance at this moment, he may, in the interest of persuading as wide an audience as possible (English as well as New English), have found it more useful to allow someone else to present his views or, as many scholars have long suspected, he may, in fact, have decided to present them anonymously himself. For further, more detailed speculation about other related features of the text's publishing history that also draws on Diebold, see Derounian, "The Publication, Promotion:' 29. [Anonymous], "Preface to the Reader;' for Mary Rowlandson's The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, in Slotkin and Folsom, So Dreadfull a Judgment, 320. 30. Robert Diebold, "Mary Rowlandson;' in American Writers Before 1800, ed. James A. Levernier and Douglas R. Wilmes, 3 vols. (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1983), 3:1244. 31. For the standard history of this dispute and its resolution, see Hamilton Hill, History of the Old South Church (Third Church) Boston 1669-1884, 2 vols. (Boston, 1890 ), 1:1-159. For two recent discussions of the conflict, see Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 78-88 and Janice Knight, Orthodoxies in Massachusetts, 190-92. 32. See John Langdon Sibley, Biographical Sketches of Graduates of Harvard University, 3 vols. (Boston: Massachusetts Historical Society, 1873-85), 1:393. See also Sherman Adams and Henry Stiles, The History of Ancient Wethersfield, Connecticut (New York: Grafton Press, 1904), 321-22, 324-47. 33· Joseph Rowlandson, The Possibility of God's Forsaking a People (Boston, 1682), 37. The fact that Rowlandson's sermon participated in a more general Day of

Notes to Pages 36-42

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Atonement was brought to my attention by Richards's thesis, which, I discovered, shared my interest in the political dimension of the publication of this text and others. 34· Joseph Rowlandson, The Possibility, 37-38. 35. Joseph Rowlandson, The Possibility, 38. 36. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 360-61. 37. Sacvan Bercovitch, The American Jeremiad (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1978), 82-83. 38. Kolodny, The Lay of the Land, 21. 39. Edmund Morgan, The Puritan Family: Religion and Domestic Relations in Seventeenth-Century New England (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1966), 19. 40. Cotton Mather, Family Religion Urged (Boston, 1709), 1; quoted in Morgan, The Puritan Family, 133. 41. Morgan, The Puritan Family, 148. 42. Increase Mather, The Necessity of Reformation (Boston, 1679), 4-5; quoted in Morgan, The Puritan Family, 149. 43. Far from suggesting that such "Indian" indulgence only springs from contact with real Indians, the Synod suggests somewhat confusingly at several points that the Indians themselves are being "scandalized" by such Old World behaviors. The Indians are being debauched by European-derived worldliness rather than being converted. Such conversion, claims the Synod, was the original aim of the first generation. See [Increase Mather], The Necessity of Reformation, 2-8. 44· Increase Mather, The Doctrine of Divine Providence Opened and Applied (Boston, 1684), 6o. 45· Breen reads covenant renewals as ways of asserting a ministerial and congregational power no longer in need of magisterial support, The Character of the Good Ruler, 108-9. Miller pushes this further in his assertion that they were ritual means of organizing in the face of English intervention as well (From Colony to Province, 115-17). Bercovitch reads them as a signal instance of a ministerial rhetoric of ambiguity. What Bercovitch reads as ambiguity-the changing of positions as it is deemed politically expedient-! instead often read as ambivalence, a state in which two positions are actually held at the same time. See The American Jeremiad, esp. 81-83. As the next chapter suggests, Rowlandson's text can itself be read as a kind of ambivalent covenant renewal. 46. See Amanda Porterfield, Female Piety in Puritan New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992). See also Ivy Schweitzer, The Work of Self-Representation: Lyric Poetry in Colonial New England (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991). Such constructions were long in the making. See, very generally, Suzanne W. Hull, Chaste, Silent and Obedient: English Books for Woman, 1475-1640 (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library, 1982). See also Mary Beth Rose, "Introduction;' in Women in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, ed. Rose (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1986), xiii-xxviii. Faced with the growing number of female congregants in his church, Cotton Mather goes back and forth between a belief in women's traditional cultural passivity and his awareness of their real and necessary assertiveness. See Ornaments for the Daughters of Zion (Boston, 1692). Laurel Thatcher Ulrich suggests that lives of real Puritan women rarely conformed to qualities desired in the conduct books supported by men. See Good Wives: Image and Reality in the Lives of Women in

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Notes to Pages 43-49

Northern New England (New York: Knopf, 1982). Current readings focusing on Rowlandson's activity do not place it in the terms of her own repeated claims of passivity, nor do they consider how her wavering between action and a scripturally dictated waiting could have appealed to an ambivalence within orthodoxy experienced by male as well as female readers. Yet the text's almost overwrought claims for passivity, in spite of the narrator's actions, indicate both her own and the text's ministerial supporters' desire to conform and to defend sanctioned behavior, while at the same time demonstrating the presence of other desires. 47· Theodore Bozeman has most recently and persuasively argued for the primitivist dimension in Puritanism, its push to retrieve an "original" purity. I suggest here, in a manner commensurate with Charles Hambrick-Stowe's sense of the transfer of the pilgrimage to the New World, that this "return" to origins also involved (for the second generation under discussion) a fantasy about repeating the "fathers:' But a repetition, of course, is never the "same:' See Bozeman, To Live Ancient Lives: The Primitivist Dimension in Puritanism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988), 6-12 and 311-55.

Chapter] 1. See N. S. [Nathaniel Saltonstall], A New and Further Narrative of the State of New England (London, 1676) in Narratives of the Indian Wars: 1676-1699, ed. Charles H. Lincoln (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913), 352. Salisbury makes the interesting claim that this dispute also involved an ongoing argument between newer settlers like the Rowlandsons and older Lancaster settlers who resented the Massachusetts General Court's interference in town affairs. See Salisbury, "Introduction: Mary Rowlandson and Her Removes;' in The Sovereignty and Goodness of God . .. and Related documents, 17. For our purposes it is interesting that this dispute is here parsed in gendered terms. 2. See, for example, Mitchell Breitwieser, American Puritanism and the Defense ofMourning: Religion, Grief, and Ethnology in Mary White Rowlandson's Captivity Narrative (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990), 7-8, 101-2. Unlike Breitwieser, who acknowledges that Mather, in attempting to control her text, "knows" the profounder critique of Puritanism that it contains, this study will argue that part of its attractiveness for him as well is precisely its ambivalence about authority. 3. For the fullest treatment of the Halfway Covenant, see Robert G. Pope, The Halfway Covenant: Church Membership in Puritan New England (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969). Most interestingly, Pope traces increasing adherence to the covenant by formerly opposed lay people in the 169os-after "King Philip's War" and the disruptions caused by the loss of the charter. For a recent analysis of Increase Mather's responses to the Restoration, see William J. Scheick, "'The Captive Exile Hasteth': Increase Mather, Meditation, and Authority;' Early American Literature 36:2 (2001): 183-200. 4· J. Laplanche and J, B. Pontalis, The Language of Psychoanalysis, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1973), 26.

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5· For a discussion of broader English and Continental sources, see Emory Elliott's useful comments and notes, Power and the Pulpit, 63-64. See also David Leverenz's discussion of English child-raising practices in The Language of Puritan Feeling: An Exploration in Literature, Psychology and Social History (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1980), esp. 70-104. For specific treatments of colonial New England, see Emory Elliott, Power and the Pulpit, esp. 26-62; John Demos, A Little Commonwealth: Family Life in Plymouth Colony (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970); and Philip Greven, Four Generations: Population, Land, and Family in Colonial Andover, Massachusetts (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1970) and The

Protestant Temperament: Patterns of Child-Rearing, Religious Experiences, and the Self in Early America (New York: Norton, 1972). See also Leverenz's discussion of how first-generation New English ambivalence is transformed into guilt in the second generation, The Language of Puritan Feeling, 41-69 and 195-224. Following Emory Elliott, Perry Miller, and Sacvan Bercovitch, I am more interested in how the crisis of fatherly authority that Leverenz argues is endemic to all of Puritanism was ambivalently experienced by and variously represented by some second- and third-generation New Englanders at explicit historical moments of political and social stress. 6. See, for example, Elliott's discussion of how sons in Sudbury, Massachusetts, legally challenged their fathers over disputed land, Power and the Pulpit, 26-30. Elliott is drawing on Sumner Chilton Powell, Puritan Village: The Formation of a New England Town (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1963). 7· See, for example, Robert Pope's criticism of those who too easily accept tlle rhetoric of generational "declension" in The Halfway Covenant, 9-10. 8. David Leverenz argues for Increase Mather's "real" identification with, and concomitant ambivalence toward, his mother instead of his father. See David Leverenz, The Language of Puritan Feeling, 97-98. I am here concerned with Increase Mather's initial unwillingness to compete with his father for a public position. Whatever his personal weaknesses may have been, Richard Mather possessed an ongoing leadership role in the colony. It is this "fatllerly" position tllat Mather's support for John Davenport threatens. Almost immediately upon his return, an Increase who was unable to locate his own autllority in Ireland and England begins to compete with a "fatller" for public authority. After his death, of course, Richard Matller is totally transformed by a contrite son into a representative "fatller," not a father. Such a transformation, I would argue, allows Increase Mather to negotiate and sustain, not to resolve, his ambivalence toward fatherly authority. This ambivalence, as his career suggests, was extraordinarily productive for him. 9. See Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 55-60. 10. See Janice Knight's more sympathetic reading of Davenport in Orthodoxies in Massachusetts: Rereading American Puritanism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994), 184-97. n. For discussions of Increase Mather's dissent from Richard Mather's point of view, his support of Davenport and his change of heart about tlle Halfway Covenant, see Miller, From Colony to Province, 93-115; Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 55-60; see also Robert Pope, The Halfway Covenant, 51-52, 152-84; and Janice Knight, Orthodoxies in Massachusetts, 184-97. Instead of setting up Increase's choices in terms either of Davenport's adherence to more "authentic" older ways or Richard

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Mather's "liberal" bending of these ways, however, it might be fruitful to read Increase Mather's response to both figures as involving his own search for a newer kind of cultural authority that could be both local and international. For a variety of reasons he came, if ambivalently, to identify with his own particular construction of his father's point of view. 12. See Miller, From Colony to Province, 27-39. 13. Increase Mather, An Earnest Exhortation (Boston, 1676), 66. 14. Samuel Nowell, Abraham in Arms (Boston, 1678), in So Dreadfull a Judgment: Puritan Responses to King Philip's War, 1676-1677, ed. Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press), 288. Nowell uses such male weakness as a sign that a new war is coming and to urge the training of men physically and spiritually capable of fighting in what may be the last days. 15. See Miller, From Colony to Province, 33. Miller notes the tendency in the jeremiad in general and Increase Mather's A Brief History of the Warr with the Indians in New England (Boston, 1676) in particular to flourish "in dread of success:' 16. Mary White Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God (Boston, 1682), in So Dreadfull a Judgment, ed. Slotkin and Folsom, 365. 17. For an absorbing reading that parallels this one, although in a very different historical context, see Robert Orsi, The Madonna of nsth Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 188o-1950 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985), 128-29. 18. With specific reference to continuing transformations in older colonial political and social relationships that occur as a result of the changes in colonial debt structure occasioned by "King Philip's War" and by changes in colonial political administrations from 1675 to 1692, see T. H. Breen, Puritans and Adventurers: Change and Persistence in Early America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980 ), 81-105. For recent studies of early New English capitalism and entrepreneurship, see, for example, Stephen Innes, Creating the Commonwealth: The Economic Culture of Puritan New England (New York: Norton, 1995) and John Frederick Martin, Profits in the Wilderness:

Entrepreneurship and the Founding of New England Towns in the Seventeenth Century (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991). Louise Breen provides the useful warning that such studies have a tendency to replicate the "consensus" views of Puritan agrarianism that they purport to replace. See Transgressing the Bounds: Subversive Enterprises among the Puritan Elite in Massachusetts, 1630-1692 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 9· In her search to locate heterogeneity among Puritan elites, however, Breen has a tendency to separate them into clearly opposed groups rather than to explore how different or fluctuating desires might be located within the same group as well as between different groups. For another recent critique of readings of New English towns which, consciously or unconsciously, accept the myth of declension and thereby promote the concept of an "inevitable" historical split between Puritans' spiritual beliefs and their economic attitudes and behaviors, see Mark Peterson, The Price of Redemption: The Spiritual Economy of Puritan New England (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997). Rather than a wholesale replacement of Puritan rhetoric (and studies based on it) with a reading that furthers a concept of the more "truly" historical "evolution" of Puritanism, however, (as Peterson suggests,) could it not also be fruitful to analyze the equally historical, multiple, and often overdetermined wishes expressed in that rhetoric and how and why they shift?

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19. For a discussion of the centrality of typology to New English thought, see Sacvan Bercovitch, The Puritan Origins of the American Self (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1975) and Thomas M. Davis, "The Traditions of Puritan Typology;' in Typology and Early American Literature, ed. Sacvan Bercovitch (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1972), 11-45. Specific studies of Rowlandson that draw on her use of typology include Mitchell Breitwieser, American Puritanism and the Defense of Mourning; David Downing," 'Streams of Scriptural Comfort': Mary Rowlandson's Typological Use of the Bible;' Early American Literature 15 (1981): 252-59; Teresa Toulouse, "Mary Rowlandson and the 'Rhetoric of Ambiguity; in Sacvan Bercovitch and the Puritan Imagination, ed. Michael Schuldiner, Studies in Puritan American Spirituality (SPAS), series 3 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1992), 21-52; and Dawn Henwood, "Mary Rowlandson and the Psalms: The Textuality of Survival;'

Early American Literature 32 (1997): 169-86. 20. See Bercovitch, The Puritan Origins, 35-71. 21. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 343. 22. Important discussions of the morphology of conversion include Edmund S. Morgan, Visible Saints: The History of a Puritan Idea (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1965) and Patricia Caldwell, The Puritan Conversion Narrative: The Beginnings of American Expression (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). While, as Morgan explores it, the nonelect could experience such doubt and despair on the road toward saving faith, the very faith of the elect could itself also be predicated on precisely the same feelings (68). 23. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 342. Richard Slotkin also suggestively draws on the figure of Job in his interpretation of Rowlandson's narrative but reads Job as a universal Western archetype of affliction with which she and her community are asked to identify rather than as modeling a specific form of historical and generational relationship as I do here. See Richard Slotkin and James K. Folsom, "Mary Rowlandson: Captive Witness;' in So Dreadfull a Judgment, ed. Slotkin and Folsom, 308-9. 24. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 343· 25. Mary Beth Rose, Gender and Heroism in Early Modern English Literature, (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2002), 85-111. 26. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 346-47. 27. Teresa A. Toulouse," 'My Own Credit': Strategies of (E)Valuation in Rowlandson's Narrative;' American Literature 68 (1992): 655-76. 28. Samuel Willard, Mercy Magnified in a Penitent Prodigal, (Boston, 1684), 17. 29. Examining the social dynamics of the witchcraft accusations, Carol Karlsen notes that "If men found it hard to acknowledge, let alone express their resentment against other men, they encountered less difficulty in expressing resentment against women. Even mothers were vulnerable:' See The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England (New York: W.W. Norton, 1986), 215. For a suggestive account of the unevenness of categories of race, class, and gender as they are used in an early modern woman's writing, see Margaret Ferguson, "Juggling the Categories of Race and Gender: Aphra Behn's Oroonoko;' in Women, "Race," and Writing in the Early Modern Period, ed. Margo Hendricks and Patricia Parker (London: Routledge, 1994), 209-24.

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Notes to Pages 65-67

30. For some influential recent theories about Rowlandson's relations to her captors, see for example, Breitwieser, American Puritanism and the Defense of Mourning, Michelle Burnham, Captivity and Sentiment: Cultural Exchange in American Literature, 1682-1861 (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1997), and Christopher Castiglia, Bound and Determined: Captivity, Culture-Crossing, and White Womanhood from Mary Rowlandson to Patty Hearst (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). 31. For examples of earlier work, see James Axtell, The European and the Indian: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981); William Cronon, Changes in the Land: Indians, Colonists and the Ecology of New England (New York: Hill and Wang, 1983); Francis Jennings, The Invasion of America: Indians, Colonialism and the Cant of Conquest (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975); and Neal Salibury, Manitou and Providence: Indians, Europeans and the Making of New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982). For some more specific recent studies, see Jill Lepore, The Name of War. King Philip's War and the Origins of American Identity (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1998); Patrick Malone, The Skulking Way ofWar. Technology and Tactics among the New England Indians (Lanham, Md.: Madison Books, 1991); and for Mary Rowlandson in particular, Neal Salisbury, "Introduction: Mary Rowlandson and Her Removes;' in The Sovereignty and Goodness of God ... and Related Documents (Boston: Bedford Books, 1997), 1-60. 32. Readings of colonial ambivalence like those of Homi Bhabha have stressed the ambivalence experienced by colonizers in the face of the mimicry of those whom they have attempted to control. Bhabha has analyzed, for example, the ambivalence nineteenth-century British colonizers felt toward those they had forced or trained to be, but could not, in the end, allow to be "like" them. Drawing on elements of this insightful analysis, I argue that the ambivalence expressed in New English colonial representations of native peoples at this particular moment also reveals the ambivalence colonial men felt about their own difference from the first generation. Representations of Indians in women's captivity narratives offer a palimpsest in which second- and third-generation colonial men see at once their own complicity in their fathers' act of colonizing (the colonizers' desire to see and to make the Indians at once "like" and "not like" them) and see themselves, the children and grandchildren of these colonizers, as also occupying the position of the colonized. Such parallelism usually eventuates in no positive effects for real Indians, of course, who come to be interpreted as theologically and racially "unreadable." See Homi Bhabha, "Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse;' and" 'Signs Taken for Wonders': Questions of Ambivalence and Authority under a Tree outside Delhi, May, 1817 ;'both reprinted in The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994), 85-92 and 102-22, respectively. 33. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 344· 34· Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 333-34. 35. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 361. 36. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 329, 330, 331. 37· Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 357· 38. See, for example, Salisbury, "Introduction: Mary Rowlandson and Her Removes;' 41. For new work on both Increase and Cotton Mather's continuing

Notes to Pages 68-74

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involvement with conversion efforts, see Kristina Bross, "Dying Saints, Vanishing Savages: 'Dying Indian Speeches' in Colonial New England Literature," Early American Literature 36:3 (2001): 325-52. 39· See Carol Karlsen's early comments in The Devil in the Shape of a Woman, 277 and 335· Drawing on the unpublished research of the deceased novelist Esther Forbes, Karlsen suggested that the Indian raids in Maine contributed to the creation of a large number of refugees, especially single women, whose presence in towns like Salem contributed to the economic and social crises that helped precipitate witchcraft accusations. Newly published work by Mary Beth Norton explicitly links the Salem trials to the Andros years and to the early wars in Maine. See In the Devil's Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of 1692 (New York: Alfred P. Knopf, 2002). See also Janice Knight's moving essay on Mercy Short, "Telling It Slant: The Testimony of Mercy Short;' Early American Literature 37=1 (2002): 36-69. 40. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 352-53. 41. See, for example, Neal Salisbury, "Red Puritans: The 'Praying Indians' of Massachusetts Bay and John Eliot," William and Mary Quarterly, 3d ser., 31 (1974): 27-54. James Ronda, "Generations of Faith: The Christian Indians of Martha's Vineyard." William and Mary Quarterly 38:3 (1981): 369-94; and Harold Van Lokhuyzen, ''A Reappraisal of the Praying Indians: Acculturation, Conversation, and Identity at Natick, Massachusetts, 1646-1730;' New England Quarterly 63 (September 1990): 396-428. For an excellent extension and reformulation of theories of acculturation and accommodation see, Hilary E. Wyss, Writing Indians: Literacy, Christianity, and Native Community in Early America (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2000). For a thoughtful discussion of the different meanings of Praying Indians to colonials before and after "King Philip's War;' see also Kristina Bross, "Dying Saints, Vanishing Savages;' 325-52. 42. Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 349·

Chapter4 1. For commentary on the Andros administration, see Richard R. Johnson, Adjustment to Empire: The New England Colonies: 1675-1715 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1981), 73-91. See also Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan: The Life of Increase Mather, 163')-1723 (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1988), 206-n, 224-32, and Kenneth Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather (New York: Harper and Row, 1984), 55-82. See also DavidS. Lovejoy, The Glorious Revolution in America (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1987). 2. For this claim regarding De Frontenac, see Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark, Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity and Redemption, 1676-1724 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 148. See also Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christ: Americana, Books 1 and 2, ed. Kenneth B. Murdock (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1977), 303. 3. See Geoffrey Holmes, The Making of a Great Power: Late Stuart and Early Georgian Britain 166o-1722 (London: Longman, 1993), 231-32.

190

Notes to Pages 74-79

4. For treatments of "King William's" and "Queen Anne's" Wars, see Howard H. Peckham, The Colonial Wars, 1689-1762 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964); Wesley Frank Craven, The Colonies in Transition: 166o-1713 (New York: Harper and Row, 1968); and Douglas Edward Leach, Arms for Empire: A Military History of the British Colonies in North America (New York: Macmillan, 1973). 5· See Carol Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in colonial New England (New York: W. W. Norton, 1987) for early suggestions about this connection. See, most recently, Mary Beth Norton's exploration of the connection between the witchcraft controversy and the political and social conflicts-especially "King William's" and "Queen Anne's" Wars-affecting New England in the early 1690s. In the Devil's Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of 1692 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2002). Norton's work corroborates historically much of what is argued here at the level of textual analysis. My focus, of course, is on representations of women in captivity and not witchcraft per se, yet, as we both agree, the two representations become extraordinarily linked in the mid-169os as a result, in large part, of ongoing conflicts in the "east:' Such a fact does not, of course, limit their application as representations to "frontier" towns. 6. For the belief, promulgated by Joseph Mede, of the devil's rule over the Indians in the New World, see Kenneth Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 108. For the specific connection to Andros, see Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 108. See also Mary Beth Norton, In the Devil's Snare, 59, and Richard Godbeer, The Devil's Dominion: Magic and Religion in Early New England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992) 188-92. 7. See Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 251-53, 264-69; see Perry Miller, From Colony to Province, 168-69. 8. See Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 265-66; see also Emerson W. Baker and John G. Reid, The New England Knight: Sir William Phips, 1651-1695 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998). 9. For more on Mather's role in the Andros overthrow and his defense of Sir William Phips and his father's new charter, see Kenneth Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 55-82. Increase Mather's ambivalence toward Cotton Mather has been much discussed. See, for example, Hall, Increase Mather, 175-77. Seemingly proud of his son's accomplishments, Increase nonetheless delayed making Cotton his assistant at the North Church for five years, this despite the expressed wishes of his own congregation! Similarly, scholars have discussed Cotton's own mixed feelings toward his father, seeing in his almost parodic emulation and copying of Increase not only his loyalty, but also his rivalry with him. See, for example, Silverman, Life and Times, 25-28. 10. Cotton Mather, Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon, (Boston, 1696), 66. n. Cotton Mather, Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon, 26. 12. For the dispute over Harvard, see especially Perry Miller, The New England Mind: From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961), 237-41 and Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan, 282-89. 13. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance (Boston, 1697), 33. 14. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 31.

Notes to Pages 79-88

191

15. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 30. 16. For details on the history of the pine-tree shilling in America, see Walter

Breen, Walter Breen's Complete Encyclopedia of U.S. and Colonial Coins (New York: Doubleday, 1988), 16. 17. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 31-32. 18. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 34. 19. Perry Miller, From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), 375. 20. See note 13. For more on both Increase and Cotton Mather's conflicts with Solomon Stoddard, see Miller, From Colony to Province, 227-37 and Hall, The Last American Puritan, 148-49, 158. 21. See especially Isaiah 3:1-26. 22. Richard Gildrie notes the variety of rituals, including days of humiliation, with which New and Old World Puritans attempted to replace and repress both traditional Catholic and English folk rituals. See Richard Gildrie, The Profane, the Civil, and the Godly, 111-31. I am here concerned with the changing political as well as social uses of such rituals at a specific historical moment. In this context, it is useful to recall David Hall's claim (quoted in Gildrie, m) that "[r]itual represents and acts out a myth of collective identity.... Yet it may also become expressive of contradictions and alternatives." See David D. Hall, "Religion and Society: Problems and Reconsiderations;' in Colonial British America: Essays in the New History of the Early Modern Era, ed. Jack P. Greene and J. R. Pole. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984), 336. In the context of 1697, what is striking is not Cotton Mather's repetition of the well-known public ritual of humiliation for the entire community, but his calling for "one" from the community to come forth as its exemplary humiliated figure. 23. Cotton Mather, Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon, 37. 24. Cotton Mather, Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon, 37. 25. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 39. 26. For an argument similarly interested in how and why Mather publishes his sermon, Dustan's story, and the narrative of Swarton together, see Lorrayne Carroll, "'My Outward Man': The Curious Case of Hannah Swarton:' Early American Literature 31 (1996): 45-73. While Carroll's focus falls more on the anxieties Mather and later editors and prefacers of captivities felt about actual female authorship, we are both concerned with and use many of the same examples and contexts to explore questions about how and why Cotton uses representations of female captives. Agreeing that Cotton and Increase may be interested in creating normative constructions of women to control "real" women, my question instead concerns their own ambivalent identification with the "female" position they seek to appropriate and construct in a series of specific political contexts. 27. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 40. 28. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 43· 29. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 45· 30. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 46-47. 31. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 47· 32. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 48. 33· Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, 49·

192

Notes to Pages 89-95

34. See Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Good Wives: Image and Reality in the Lives of 1650-1750 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982), 234-35. I am grateful to Prof. Ulrich's readings of Dustan and the Dustan family

Women in Northern New England,

throughout this chapter and the following one. 35. See Daniel Williams, ed. and introd., Pillars of Salt: An Anthology of Early American Criminal Narrative: (Madison, Wisconsin: Madison House, 1993) and Daniel A. Cohen, Pillars of Salt, Monuments of Grace: New England Crime Literature and the Origins of American Popular Culture, 1674-1860. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993). 36. For information on Elizabeth Emerson, see Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Good Wives, 184-85 and 195-201. 37. Cotton Mather, Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance, so. 38. For an analysis of Massachusetts's troubled relations with Maine during the late seventeenth century, see Mary Beth Norton, In the Devil's Snare; see also Lorrayne Carroll," 'My Outward Man,' "50-51. 39. For comments on frontier as boundary and as contact zone, see also Jill Lepore, The Name of War, xii-xiii. For a detailed historical study of comparable interIndian and intercolonial relationships in a different "contact zone,'' see Richard White, The Middle-Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650-1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 40. For the initial ascription of Swarton's narrative to Cotton Mather, see Thomas J. Holmes, Cotton Mather: A Bibliography of His Works, 3 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1940), 1:210. Lorrayne Carroll's persuasive essay is built around Holmes's original claim of Mather's probable authorship. 41. Cotton Mather, Diary, 1:210. See also Lorrayne Carroll, "'My Outward Man,'" 57. Carroll also reads Mather's comment in terms of his desire to attract a popular audience. I read this desire as connected to quite specific religious and political ends. 42. For some details on the historical Hannah Swarton, see Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark, eds., Puritans among the Indians: Accounts of Captivity andRedemption, 1676-1724 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 147-48. The Swarton narrative used here is taken from this edition. 43. See Lorrayne Carroll," 'My Outward Man,'" 53. 44· Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative of Hannah Swarton Containing Wonderful Passages Relating to Her Captivity and Deliverance,'' related by Cotton Mather, in Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark, eds., Puritans Among the Indians, 151. 45· Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative,'' 150-51. 46. Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative,'' 151. 47· Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative," 151. 48. Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative,'' 152. 49. Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative,'' 153. so. For Cotton Mather's unpublished account of Mercy Short, see "A Brand Pluck'd from the Burning,'' in Narratives of the Witchcraft Cases, 1648-1706, ed. George Lincoln Burr (New York: Charles Scribner's, 1914). See also Richard Slotkin, Regeneration through Violence, 128-45. In a manner similar to my concerns here, Slotkin notes

Notes to Pages 96-101

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that Mather reads Short's captivity within the context of other historical "assaults" on New England's authority. But Slotkin's interpretive interest vis-a-vis such authority falls largely on representations of captivity as they express colonials' attraction/repulsion for the literal wilderness and the Indians rather than as ambivalent responses to political, economic, and social changes accompanying shifts to imperial administration. In this particular context, I am simply interested in how Mather's published narrative of Hannah Swarton's captivity in New France draws on the motif of double captivity and the dramatic structure of theological debate that he locates and constructs in his unpublished manuscript on Short. See also Janice Knight's recent essay on Short, "Telling It Slant: The Testimony of Mercy Short;' Early American Literature 37=1 (2002): 36-69. Knight's focus falls sympathetically on the usefulness of the language of"demonic possession" to Short as a way of dealing with the trauma of her real captivity. See also Christopher Castiglia, Bound and Determined, 41-43. Castiglia reads Short in terms of her gendered subversion of the forms of Puritan authority. Here I am instead concerned with how Mather uses certain structural features of his rendering of her case to defend and confirm such authority in the face of imperial French Catholic threats to it. 51. Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative;' 154. The reference to the "three children" interestingly appears in the anonymous preface to Rowlandson's text and in the Rowlandson text itself. If this gambit is thus an ideological ploy that pits "England" against "France;' it must surely also be read as having specific New English resonances for Mather and his local readers/hearers. 52. Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative;' 154. 53· Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative;' 155. 54· Hannah Swarton, "A Narrative;' 155. 55. Hannah Swarton, ''A Narrative;' 155-56. 56. Hannah Swarton, ''A Narrative;' 156. 57· Cotton Mather, Wonders of the Invisible World (London, 1693).

Chapters 1. See, for example, Kenneth Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather (New York: Harper and Row, 1984), 243. See also Lorrayne Caroll, "'My Outward Man': The Curious Case of Hannah Swarton;' Early American Literature 31 (1996): 64. 2. For a reading that importantly sets Mather's history both in the wider context of New English historical writing as a whole and in the fraught context of the 1690s in particular, see Stephen Carl Arch, Authorizing the Past: The Rhetoric of History in Seventeenth-Century New England (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1994), 176-82. Arch offers a compelling argument about both the history's fragmented structure and Mather's relationship to his readers. His focus falls on Mather's conscious attempt to present the direction of New English history as contingent on his readers' behaviors and choices rather than (as Silverman's reading and mine differently do) on the text's ambivalence.

194

Notes to Pages 101-108

3. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum (Boston, 1699). The text of Decennium Luctuosum used here is collected in Narratives of the Indian Wars, ed. Charles H. Lincoln (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913), 276-77. 4. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 182, Lincoln's translation. 5. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 201, 220. 6. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 181. 7. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 242-47. 8. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 183. 9. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 185. 10. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 207-8. n. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 262, my translation. 12. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 240-41. "The Fort, called The William Henry, was built of Stone, in a Quadrangular Figure; being about Seven hundred and thirty-seven Foot in Compass, without the Outer Walls, and an Hundred and Eight Foot Square, within the Inner ones; Twenty-eight Ports it had, and Fourteen (not Eighteen) Guns mounted, whereof Six were Eighteen-Pounders." 13. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 270. 14. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 199. 15. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 237. 16. Judges 4:9. 16. See Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, Good Wives: Image and Reality in the Lives of Women in Northern New England 1650-1756 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982), 169. q. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 266-67. 18. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 277-78. 19. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 278. 20. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 297-99. Taken to task are those who fail to uphold "schools;' who refuse to join ministerial associations, who fail to use church elders or to encourage private pastoral meetings and, most significantly, those who have allowed those who are not full church members full voting rights in the church. These remarks seem directed at continuing targets like Solomon Stoddard as well as new ones like John Leverett, William Brattle, and Benjamin Colman, who joined together to form a new hotly contested church, the Brattle Street Church, in 1699· 21. For some influential accounts of political, social, and economic contexts and contentions in the years just preceding Decennium Luctuosum, see, for example, Perry Miller, The New England Mind: From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), 149-73; Howard Peckham, The Colonial Wars, 1689-1762 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), 25-56; Richard Johnson, Adjustment to Empire: The New England Colonies, 1675-1715 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1981), 183-247; William Pencak, War, Politics and Revolution in Provincial Massachusetts (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1981); and Bernard Bailyn's seminal study of a group other than ministerial elites, The New England Merchants in the Seventeenth Century (New York: Harper and Row, 1964). In The Art of Prophesying: New England Sermons and the Shaping of Belief(Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1987 ), 46-74, I argue that the battle over the Brattle Street Church involved a battle over not only modes of church governance, but also, implicitly, over modes of preaching. Benjamin

Notes to Pages 109-119

195

Colman's well-heeled supporters found a necessary and stabilizing sense of themselves in the new forms of rhetoric he brought home from his sojourn in London. 22. Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 14. 23. Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain, 28. Scarry's analysis, especially of mediated agency, is far richer than there is space to elaborate. See chap. 1, "The Structure of Torture;' 27-59. 24. Jill Lepore, The Name of War: King Philip's War and the Origins of American Identity (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1998), x. For Lepore, identity seems constituted only by the creation and maintenance of literal and discursive boundaries; in my reading, identity is rather a function of the play of multiple and contradictory identifications that can break down as much as, or even at the same time as, they build up such boundaries. 25. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 200-201. 26. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 209. 27. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 209-10. 28. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 209. "Hopehood, once a servant of a Christian Master in Boston, was become the Master of this Little Christian:' Note the rhetorical reversal. Hopehood's Indian name, according to Mather, is Wohawa. Mather vengefully notes how, "by a strange Mistake;' he is later ambushed and killed by a group of allied "French Indians" who mistake him for their enemy (221). 29. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 253. 30. For information on Elizabeth and more information on the Dustan family, see Ulrich, Good Wives, 196-201. 31. See Kathleen M. Brown, "Murderous Uncleanness: The Body of the Female Infanticide in Puritan New England;' in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, ed. Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tartar (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 77-94. 32. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 266. 33. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 266. 34. See Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain, 56-59, where she argues that "[t]orture is a condensation of the act of 'overcoming' the body present in benign forms of power." In the view of power implied in Mather's text, the law grounded by such "overcoming" is always already less than benign. 35. See, for example, Ulrich, Good Wives, 170 and Annette Kolodny, The Land before Her (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 22-24. 36. The history's repeated use of classical analogies and tags deserves further attention, especially for its implications for the text's fantasies about shifting gender roles. For a discussion of how the notion of"Amazons" threatened Renaissance male writers, see Margaret L. King, Women of the Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 188-93. 37. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 223. 38. Mather, Decennium Luctuosum, 276-77. This is my translation of the Latin phrase. 39. If Bellomont serves as the adulated but unaware authority under whose aegis the history's aggressions can be legitimately described, performed, and justified, he also, on another level, represents the new al;lthority that both licenses and occasions

196

Notes to Pages 120-122

them. For a superb analysis of the symbolic father, see Slavoj Zizek, Enjoy Your Symptom (New York: Routledge, 1992), 149-93.

Chapter6 1. Cotton Mather, Decennium Luctuosum (Boston, 1699). The version used here is that found in Narratives of the Indian Wars, ed. Charles Lincoln (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913), 271. 2. For more on the French desire to capture an important figure, see John Demos, The Unredeemed Captive: A Family Story from Early America (New York: Knopf, 1994), 16-17. See also Edward Clark, introd. and ed., John Williams, TheRedeemed Captive. (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976). 3. See, for example, Geoffrey Holmes, The Making of a Great Power: Late Stuart and Early Georgian Britain, 166o-1722 (London: Longman, 1993), 241-44; and Daniel Philpott, Revolutions in Sovereignty: How Ideas Shaped Modern International Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001) 90-91. 4· See Howard H. Peckham, The Colonial Wars, 1689-1762, 6o. 5. See Perry Miller, The New England Mind: From Colony to Province (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), 274. For other pertinent discussions of Dudley's imperial interests and contacts, see T. H. Breen, The Character of the Good Ruler (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1970), 226-37 and Richard Johnson, Adjustment to Empire: The New England Colonies, 1675-1715 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press,) 336-46. For comments aligned with my larger claims about colonial responses to Dudley's perceived imperial interests as quasi-papist as well as Anglican, see Louise A. Breen, Transgressing the Bounds: Subversive Enterprises among the Puritan Elite in Massachusetts, 163o-1692 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 215-20. 6. See Samuel Sewall, The Journal of Samuel Sewall (New York: Farrar, Strauss, Giroux, 1973), 469-70, 481, 490, 494· 7. For more on Colman and Brattle Street's innovations in church practice and style, see Teresa Toulouse, The Art of Prophesying: New England Sermons and the Shaping of Belief (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1987), 46-74. See Solomon Stoddard, The Way for a People to Live Long in the Land That God Hath Given Them (Boston, 1703), 25. Quoted in Perry Miller, From Colony to Province, 247. 8. For conflicts over Leverett's appointment, see Michael G. Hall, The Last American Puritan: The Life of Increase Mather (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1988), 320-23. For a discussion of ongoing conflicts over the Harvard charter and presidency, see Miller, From Colony to Province, 240-47. 9. For Increase's public comments to Dudley, see The Excellency of a Public Spirit Discoursed (Boston, 1702); for Cotton's intrigues and his attempt to replace Dudley with Charles Hobby, see Johnson, Adjustment to Empire, 342-43. As Patricia Bonomi points out, Cotton's attacks bear similarity to those levied by colonials outside New England. Royal governors were routinely charged with patronage and misallocation of funds. See Patricia Bonomi, The Lord Cornbury Scandal: The Politics of Reputation in British America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,

Notes to Pages 123-129

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1998), 9· Significant for our purposes are the rhetorical links Mather makes between

Dudley's behaviors and inclinations, those of Andros (whom Dudley had served) and the fate of captives. Royal governors are not only covetous, but in being so, linked to external as well as internal threats to New England. 10. Cotton Mather, Lex Mercatoria (Boston, 1705). Delivered on November 9, 1704, the sermon's full title is instructive: Lex Mercatoria. Or, The Just Rules of Com-

merce Declared. And Offenses Against The Rules of Justice in the Dealing of Men with one another, Detected. With a Testimony Publickly given against all Dishonest Gain, in the Audience of the General Assembly of the Province of the Massachusetts Bay, New England. The telling term is "detected:' 11. For accounts of Vetch's activities and trials, see George M. Waller, Samuel Vetch, Colonial Entrepreneur (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1960 ), 82-99 and Everett Kimball, The Public Life of Joseph Dudley (New York: Longman's, 1911), 115-19. 12. Cotton Mather, A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State of New England (London, 1707), 1. (There is also a Boston, 1707, edition.) 13. Cotton Mather, A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State, 39. 14. Cotton Mather, A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State, 64. 15. Cotton Mather, Good Fetch't Out of Evil (Boston, 1706). Mather happily

comments on the pamphlet's huge sales in his Diary--"In a week's time, he sold off a thousand of the Impression." See Cotton Mather, Diary (Massachusetts Historical Society, 1891), 568. 16. [Paul Dudley], A Modest Enquiry (London, 1707), 78. "The Hereditary Rancour that appears in the Holy Man's letter as well as in many of his Actions, will Everlastingly be opposite to government, even tho' it were Angelical." 17. [Paul Dudley], A Modest Enquiry, 68. 18. [Paul Dudley], A Modest Enquiry, 74. 19. [Paul Dudley], A Modest Enquiry, 87. 20. [Paul Dudley], A Modest Enquiry, 87. 21. [Paul Dudley] A Modest Enquiry, 87. Perry Miller notes Dudley's tale of Cotton Mather's relationship with a woman of questionable virtue. See Miller, From Colony to Province, 276. For Paul Dudley's precise comments, see A Modest Enquiry, 81.

22. [Paul Dudley] A Modest Enquiry, 68.

23. Cotton Mather, The Deplorable State of New England By Reason of a Covetous and Treacherous Governour and Pusillanimous Counsellors (Boston, 1707). Also pub-

lished in London, 1707. 24. See Cotton Mather, Diary, 575· For Clark's demurral, see his introduction to John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 5-6. 25. See Fitzpatrick, "The Figure of Captivity;' 18-19 and, more generally, Roy Harvey Pearce, "The Significances of the Captivity Narrative;' 3-6. 26. John Williams, God in the Camp (Boston, 1707). 27. John Williams, God in the Camp, 7-9. 28. John Williams, God in the Camp, 6-7 29. See William Hubbard, The Happiness of a People (Boston, 1676). In this context, the repetition of the well-known story not only made reference to an earlier

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Notes to Pages 130-133

wartime period in New England, it also rhetorically linked the economic excesses and political profiteering of that period to Joseph Dudley's administration. 30. John Williams, God in the Camp, 19. 31. Demos, The Unredeemed Captive, 74-75. 32. Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeney, Captors and Captives: The 1704 French and Indian Raid on Deerfield. (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2003), 179. 33. For Williams's second marriage, see Demos, The Unredeemed Captive, 53· For comments on Williams's signing of the petition supporting Dudley, see Evan Haefeli and Kevin Sweeney, Captors and Captives, 181-82. 34. Clearly, the fact that one can locate so many plausible positions for Williams suggests his own awareness that he needed to please competing parties, each of whom had been helpful to him and his family throughout the period of his captivity. See Demos's discussion of his correspondence with his Mather relatives and others throughout his captivity, for example, The Unredeemed Captive, 45-50. 35. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive Returning to Zion (Boston, 1706). I am using the text edited by Alden T. Vaughan and Edward W. Clark in Puritans among the Indians: 1676-1724 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 169. 36. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 171. In this way, he presents his position and that of his congregation as analogous to Jacob. The figure of Jacob resonates on several levels. Jacob's strenuous wrestling represents his "preparation"-he cannot force the Lord to "bless" him, but he can be as prepared as possible should He choose to do so. At the same time, as Genesis 28 explains, Jacob and "his seed" have previously been chosen to be Abraham's successors. Jacob's "wrestling" only enacts what is already so: personally and publicly he is the new and chosen representative of the covenant with God, a fact fully confirmed at the end of chapter 32 when the Lord changes his name to "Israel." Williams's odd use of Jacob's "wrestling" exhibits a waffling on the issue of whether human preparation occurs before the moment of generation or is enabled by it. This waffling mirrors debates over preparation that had occurred in English and New English Puritanism from the sixteenth century on. For a discussion of debates over the meaning of "preparation" in the face of God's ultimate sovereignty, see Norman Pettit, The Heart Prepared: Grace and Conversion in Puritan Spiritual Life (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1966); for an early discussion of specific New English conflicts (especially the Antinomian Controversy) over "preparation;' see Perry Miller," 'Preparation for Salvation' in Seventeenth Century New England;' journal of the History of Ideas 4 (1943): 253-86. For a recent study that complicates the idea that "preparation" constituted the orthodox position either in England or early New England, see Janice Knight, Orthodoxies in Massachusetts: Rereading American Puritanism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994). Williams's stress on the preparatory power of prayer and supplication is akin to the stress his "cousin;' Cotton Mather puts on prayer. In spite of his seeming allegiance with Stoddard in supporting Dudley, Williams's focus on preparation and regeneration link him more to Cotton and Increase Mather than to Stoddard. Given conflicts between his relatives over Dudley and other matters, it is tempting to suggest that Williams uses the Jacob/Esau reference to urge the need for reconciling brotherly disputes within "Zion" as well as a parallel to Deerfield's situation before the onslaught of the French and their Indian allies.

Notes to Pages 134-141

199

37. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 175. 38. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 172. 39. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 181. 40. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 186-87. 41. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 193. 42. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 192. 43. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 192. 44. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 192. 45. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 194. 46. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 193. There is a sequence following these

comments in which Williams and several priests argue about just what natural signs, or lack of natural signs, signify God's preference for Protestant or Catholic prayers. In an instance like this the distinction between Catholics' "superstitious" reliance on miracles does not seem that different from Williams's stress on "providential" intervention. 47. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 208. 48. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 209. See Mary Rowlandson, The Soveraignty and Goodness of God, 356. Rowlandson's phrasing is slightly less assured than that of Williams, however: "Oh, that we could believe that there is nothing too hard for God!" 49. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 211-18. It is interesting how Williams continually underscores the irrationality of Catholic doctrine-he does not simply attack its lack of scriptural grounding. As father to son, as minister to congregant, he does not merely assert the truth of what he's arguing; he attempts to demonstrate it to his son. so. Williams's Protestant focus on rigorous scriptural analysis occurs concomitantly with his use of his own experience to combat popular stories surrounding the Deerfield and other captives. Not only fighting "high" Catholic doctrine, Williams simultaneously combats popular Catholicism with his own popular narrative. For important discussion of retentions and transformations in popular religious practices and attitudes, English and New English, see David Hall, Worlds of Wonder, Days of Judgement: Popular Religious Belief in Early New England (New York: Knopf, 1989). For a discussion linking popular providence tales most broadly to changes in scientific understanding and method and to the rise of the novel, see, James D. Hartman, Providence Tales and the Birth ofAmerican Literature (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999). 51. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 209-10. The phrase is repeated three times in the first letter to Samuel and appears in the first paragraph of the second letter.

Chapter7 1. On priestly concubinage, see, for example, Chaucer's "The Reeve's Tale;' in

The Canterbury Tales, in The Riverside Chaucer, ed. Larry D. Benson 3rd ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987), 79 and 850, n. 3943· The note in this edition points to G. G. Coulton, Five Centuries of Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1928)

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Notes to Pages 141-144

and P. Heath, The English Parish Clergy on the Eve of the Reformation (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1969). Thanks to Professor Michael Kuczynski for this reference. 2. For a discussion of the "structural parallels" that Protestant Reformers found between the positions of priests and of women (both overruled or covered by a master husband/pope), see Frances Dolan, Whores of Babylon: Catholicism, Gender, and Seventeenth-Century Print Culture (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1999), 86-87. This parallel can encompass both claims of priestly sodomy and of priestly adultery. For the Reformers, both are the offshoot of a celibacy that denies the importance of marriage. See Dolan, 86-91. Dolan's argument draws on, for example, Bruce Smith, Homosexual Desire in Shakespeare's England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991) and Alan Stewart, Close Readers: Humanism and Sodomy in Early Modern England (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997). Dolan's analysis deals with Catholics within England, rather than French Catholics who attack from without in the colonies. Given the ways in which those who compete with Increase and Cotton Mather's and their allies' political and religious interests from within New England are also often constructed as quasi-Catholic (and therefore aligned with royalist English as well as to the French and their converted Indian allies), the parallel remains pertinent. 3. For witchcraft as involving a demonic captivity by French Catholics and Indians, see, for example, Mather's report from the Rev. John Emerson of Gloucester, in Decennium Luctuosum, 243-47. Also quoted in Slatkin, Regeneration Through Violence, 120. For a similar linkage and for demonic attempts to "seduce" Mercy Short with worldly goods, see Cotton Mather, A Brand Pluck't From the Burning, in Narratives of the Witchcraft Cases, 1648-1706, ed. George Lincoln Burr (New York: Charles Scribner's, 1914), 263. Noted also in Janice Knight, "Telling It Slant;' 52. Carol Karlsen usefully notes that while any mode of tempting others into sin could be called "seduction;' in the case of women (as victims or as perpetrators of seduction on men-and even, sometimes, women), the term invariably possessed a sexual dimension. See Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman (New York: W. W. Norton, 1987), 134-138.

4· See, for example, Peter C. Hoffer and N. E. H. Hull, Murdering Mothers: Infanticide in England and New England: 1558-1803 (New York: New York University Press, 1981); Laura Henigman, Coming into Communion: Pastoral Dialogues in Colonial New England (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999); Carol Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman, 194-210, and more recently, Kathleen Brown's essay, "Murderous Uncleanness: The Body of the Female Infanticide in Puritan New England;' in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, ed. Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tartar (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), 77-94 5· See Carol Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman, 201-2. 6. For a recent study of the conversions of some New English women to Catholicism and the gendered power-as mistresses of New English captive menthat they accrued in Canada, see William Henry Foster III, The Captors' Narrative: Catholic Women and Their Puritan Men on the Early American Frontier (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003). I am grateful to Fredrika Teute for this reference. 7. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 195. 8. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean (Boston, 1699). The sermon was

Notes to Pages 144-153

201

delivered in August 1698. For more on Smith's untenable situation-she was apparently raped by colonial soldiers who were never charged some years before her "turn" to fornication, see Richard Melvoin, New England Outpost: War and Society in Colonial Deerfield (New York: W. W. Norton, 1989), 204-8. See also Laura Henigman,

Coming into Communion, 71-74. 9. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean, 57 10. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean, 58. 11. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean, 16. 12. John Williams, Warnings to the Unclean, 30. 13. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 199. 14. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 221. 15. Here is a signal instance of Frances Dolan's claim of the seeming interchangeability of fantasies about female fornication and priestly sodomy in the Protestant rhetoric of anti-Catholicism. See note 1. The son here is placed in the position of the many women captives (over four hundred) who, as William Foster III has recently argued, did convert to Catholicism. See Foster, The Captors' Narrative, 16-17. 16. See John Demos's moving discussion of Williams's pain at this realization,

The Unredeemed Captive, 69. 17. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 183,185. William Foster III has identified this "maid;' as one named, perhaps generically, because she did not know her given name, as "Marie-Anne Davis;' a captive who had become an active proselytizer among the Indians! While she did not know English, she certainly knew the language of her captors. See Foster, The Captors' Narrative, 77-79. 18. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 185. For a similar reading of "MarieAnn Davis's" behavior, see Foster, The Captors' Narrative, 78-79. 19. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 189. 20. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 185. For comments on Ruth, whose position first as slave of "King Philip's War" and later as Catholic convert in Canada limns the entire period covered by this study, see Foster, The Captors' Narrative, 79· Foster is drawing on tlle work of Alice N. Nash, "The Abiding Frontier" (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1997), 265. Foster suggests that Rutll must surely have relished the inversion in power relations with Williams (185-86, n. 57). 21. John Williams, The Redeemed Captive, 186. 22. Cotton Mather, Good Fetch't Out of Evil (Boston, 1706), 7-8, 18, 16. 23. Cotton Mather, Good Fetch't Out of Evil, 14-15. 24. Cotton Mather, Good Fetch't Out of Evil, 9 25. Cotton Matller, Good Fetch't Out of Evil, 10. 26. Cotton Mather, Good Fetch't Out of Evil, 6. 27. John Williams, Reports of Divine Kindness (Boston, 1706). John Demos offers a lovely reading of tllis sermon as involving an alternating rhytllm between pride and humiliation and interprets it as expressing Williams's feelings about his own redemption, about other captives-especially tlle still captive Eunice, and about his auditors in Mather's church. My focus here is largely on the uses of tlle sermon. While Demos notes Williams's interest in "publishing" to God's "glory;' his stress is not on the meaning of the act of "publication:' See The Unredeemed Captive, 61-65. 28. John Williams, Reports of Divine Kindness, 94· Note the similarity of "the

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Notes to Pages 153-164

man" not only to Williams himself, but also to Jacob in Genesis, whose role in representing all of"Israel" we noted in the last chapter. 29. John Williams, Reports of Divine Kindness, 108. 30. John Williams, Reports of Divine Kindness, 96. 31. The "laws" detailed at the beginning of chapter 22 of Deuteronomy include, interestingly, a mandate to brothers to care for and/or return their brothers' goods, a mandate for men and women not to wear one another's garments, and a command not to plow or sow with "divers" animals or seeds. These laws are followed by laws regarding various forms of legitimate and illegitimate sexual behavior. All, most broadly, are concerned with the related acts of clarifying legitimate ownership (of women as well as goods) and with establishing/distinguishing differences. 32. See, for example, Malachi 1:4; Jeremiah 15=13-14; and Zephaniah 2:8, 9, 10, n. 33. John Williams, God in the Camp (Boston, 1707), 15. 34· John Williams, God in the Camp, 21. 35. John Williams, God in the Camp, 21. Demos persuasively reads these accusations as personal. I again read them as also expressing a group position. If Williams on one level is the voice of the "frontier" speaking to the "city," on another level the point of his sermon is to argue that all of New England has become a "frontier:' 36. John Williams, God in the Camp, 21. 37· John Williams, God in the Camp, 21.

Coda 1. On Increase and especially Cotton Mather's battle with Colman and his supporters over the founding of the Brattle Street Church, see Kenneth Silverman, The Life and Times of Cotton Mather (New York: Harper and Row, 1984), 159. See also Teresa Toulouse, "'Syllabical Idolatry; Benjamin Colman and the Rhetoric of Balance;' Early American Literature 18 (1983-84): 257-74. 2. On what I am calling this retroactive fashioning of history, see Silverman's comments in his Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 159-60; see also Perry Miller, From Colony to Province, 170. 3· For the still-ongoing debates over the original and new charters throughout the 169os, see William Pencak, War, Politics and Revolution in Provincial Massachusetts (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1981), especially chap. 3, 35-49. 4· Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana, Books 1 and 2, ed. Kenneth B. Murdock (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977), 279. 5· Silverman, Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 165. 6. See, for example, Silverman, Life and Times of Cotton Mather, 161-62. Silverman wonderfully points out how in the Magnalia's biography of first-generation "father" John Higginson, England is no longer figured as "Babylon;' but as "Dear England:' 7. Mather, Magnalia, ed. Murdock, 91. 8. See Toulouse, "Syllabical Idolatry;' 259. See also Increase Mather, The Order of the Gospel (Boston, 1700). 9. Mather, Magnalia, ed. Murdock, 321-22.

Notes to Pages 165-169

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10. Mather, Magnalia, ed. Murdock, 274. n. This reading overlaps with, but differs from the reading Sacvan Bercovitch offers in The Rites of Assent: Transformations in the Symbolic Construction ofAmerica (London: Routledge, 1993). In chapter 3, "The Ends of Puritan Rhetoric," Bercovitch reads Cotton Mather's uniting of the discovery of print, the discovery of the "New" World, and the Protestant Reformation as indicating New English "specialness:' Here, in contrast, rather than separating it from, Mather is concerned rather with eliding such "specialness" with what he perceives as the ends of the new British imperium. 12. See, for example, Miller's fuller reading of this complex strategy at different historical moments in From Colony to Province, 130-33, 160-69. 13. See Jay Fliegelman, Prodigals and Pilgrims: The American Revolution Against Patriarchal Authority, 175D-18oo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 145-46. See also Tara Fitzpatrick's similar argument for how ministers, who wished to capitalize on these texts' popularity, begin to use captivity narratives by/about women to figure a move to frontier individualism within apparent continuities. See Fitzpatrick, "The Figure of Captivity: The Cultural Work of the Puritan Captivity Narrative:' American Literary History1:3 (1991): 14-17. 14. This is clearly one of the fantasies behind Cotton Mather's brand of millennialism in the 1690s. Miller points out that, like his father, Cotton was a premillenialist, who believed that while initial destruction would come, it would in fact presage a thousand years of peace, at the end of which the Last Judgment would finally occur. See Miller, From Colony to Province, 187-89. 15. Cotton Mather, Magnalia Christi Americana (London, 1702), 18. Hutchinson's inversion of the usual order of things is marked by what Mather sees as a seizure of the role of the (usually) male seducer: "it is the mask of Seducers that they lead captive silly women; but what wil you say, when you hear of Subtil Women becoming the most Remarkable of the Seducers?" It is through "seducing" the women that Hutchinson is enabled to win their husbands. 16. Patricia Bonomi's fascinating study of Lord Cornbury, the royal governor of New York and New Jersey from 1702 to 1708, who was accused by a small number of transatlantic (largely colonial) enemies of cross-dressing as Queen Anne in public, is pertinent here. Uncovering the probable untruth of these accusations on a literal level, Bonomi addresses the anxieties about political shifts in authority that-in the absence of fixed political parties-scandal, rumor, and sexual gossip are used to address during this period, both in England and Anlerica. Sharing some of the interests explored here, she not only notes how period shifts in political authority are accompanied by attempts to fix determinate gender boundaries and definitions for real men and women, but also examines the role played by the rise of Grub Street in both disseminating such gossip and in creating such new norms. For the purposes of this project, what is interesting in the case of Cornbury is the fact that power itself is being configured as unstably gendered. Whether he "truly" cross-dressed or not, Cornbury, as his attackers knew, in fact represented the expanding and incorporating imperial power of his first cousin, Queen Anne. While disidentification-a refusal to acknowledge one's own similarity with what one attacks-may be one response to competitions that occur, after all, within the same imperial frame, another response, one I am

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suggesting, hinted at in Mather's final representation of Hannah Dustan, is identification with the "feminized" forms of power. See Patricia Bonomi, The Lord Cornbury Scandal: The Politics of Reputation in British America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998). Thanks to Fredrika Teute, who brought Bonomi's work to my attention as I completed this project.

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Index

Abenaki Indians, 86, 95 Abraham in Arms (Nowell), 52 ambivalence: and colonial exceptionalism, 10-15; defining and refining notion of, 12; and "emotional attitude;' 12-13; and feminist critics' analysis of women's agency, 10-11, 175 n.29; and Mather's Decennium Luctuosum, 10Q-IOI, 113-18; and Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana, 162, 163-68; and Puritanism, 13-15; ramifications of psychological concept, 11-15; Rowlandson's narrative and second-generation men, 65-71; Williams's narratives and thirdgeneration men, 73, 143-44, 167 Andros, Edmond: overthrow of, 3, 74, 75, 98, 119; and witchcraft trials, 75 Anglicanism, 122, 164 Antinomian Controversy, 168-69, 203 n.15 Arch, Stephen Carl, 171 n.2, 193 n.2 Armstrong, Nancy, 11, 175 n.29 Bellomont, Lord (Richard Coote), 98, I00-103, 121; and Cotton Mather's Decennium Luctuosum, 100-103, 118-19, 195 n.39 Bercovitch, Sacvan, 38, 56, 183 n.45, 203 n.11 Bhabha, Homi, 11, 188 n.32 The Body in Pain (Scarry), 108-9 Bonomi, Patricia, 196 n.9, 203 n.16 Bozeman, Theodore, 184 n.47 Bradstreet, Dudley, 105 Bradstreet, Simon, 31, 105 Brattle, William, 81-82 Brattle Street Church, 122, 162 Breen, Louise, 186 n.I8 Breen, T. H., 27, 32, 183 n.45

Brief History of the Warr with the Indians in New England (Cotton Mather), 100 Brown, Kathleen, 114 Bulkeley, Gersh om, 35, 149, 181 n.28 Bulkeley, Peter, 35 Bunyan, John, 23 Burnham, Michele, 11-12

Carroll, Lorrayne, 93, 176 n.29 Castiglia, Christopher, 193 n.so Catholics: and Swarton's captivity, 94-97; Swarton's theological debates wit!I, 95-97, 98; Williams's captivity narratives and Catholic doctrine, 135-36, 137, 199 nn-49-50; Williams's captivity narratives and priestly seduction, 141-42, 146, 200 n.2 Charles II, Restoration of (166o), 23,46 Charles II (of Spain), 121 Chubb, Colonel Pascho, 104-5 Church of England (Anglicanism), 122,164 Clark, Edward W., 126, 171 n.I Colman, Benjamin, 122, 162, 164 Commissioners of the United Colonies, 36 Coote, Richard, Lord Bellomont. See Bellomont, Lord (Richard Coote) Cornbury, Lord, 203 n.16 covenant renewals, 32-33, 183 n.45 Davenport, John: and Halfway Covenant, 35, so; Increase Mather's admiration for, 49-50, 185 n.8, 185 n.n; and Increase Mather's collection of providences, 33 The Day of Trouble Is Near (Increase Mat!Ier), 51 de Baude, Louis, comte de Frontenac, 74 Decennium Luctuosum (Cotton Mat!Ier), 18, 100-119; account of t!Ie beaten/scalped victim, 117-18; account of the foolish wandering women, 106-7; and accounts of women's bravery, 87-88,105-7, 116-17; appended to Magnalia Christi Americana, 166; classical literary and historical referents, 101-3; death of Robert Rogers in Article VI, 104; dedication and introduction, 101-3; Dustan's story and ambivalent aims of, 99,100-101, 106-7, 116-18; and failures of New English men, 104-6; and imperial Roman historians, 101, 102; and Jael in Book of Judges, 87-88, 106, 116-17, 118-19; and Lord Bellomont, 100-103, 118-19, 195

216

Index

Decennium Luctuosum (continued) n.39; male colonial identity and thirdgeneration men, 100-101, 104, 106-9, 119, 194 n.2o; and Mather's ambivalence toward New English social order, 113-18; and Mather's rhetorical battle with the Quakers, 107-8; and New England's vulnerability to attack, 103-9; political context of, 6, 108; portraits of suffering mothers (Mrs. Adams), 112-13; relinquishing of Fort Pemaquid, in Article XVII, 104-5; torture and aggression against children and families, 103-6, 110-13, 116; torture and bodily pain, political uses of, 108-10; tortured bodies and bodily pain, 103-4, 108-18 Deerfield "Massacre;' 120-21 Demos, John, 13, 130, 201 n.27

The Deplorable State of New England by Reason of a Covetous and Treacherous Governour, and Pusillanimous Counsellors (Cotton Mather), 126 Derounian, Kathryn Zabelle, 34, 178 n.2 Deuteronomy and sexual sin, 128-29, 155-56, 202 n.31 Diebold, Robert, 34, 181 n.28

A Discourse Concerning the Dangers ofApostasy (Increase Mather), 29-30 The Doctrine of Divine Providence Opened and Applied (Increase Mather), 33, 41 Dolan, Frances, 141, 200 n.2 Douglas, Mary, 8 Dudley, Joseph: and Anglicanism, 122; appointment as royal governor, 6, 121-23, 196 n.9; and Cotton Mather, 122-26, 196 n.9; Mather's pamphlet war over governorship, 123-26, 138; and Williams's The Redeemed Captive, 18, 130-33 Dudley, Paul, 124-26, 138 Dummer, Shubael, 120 Dustan, Hannah Emerson. See Dustan's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of Dustan's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of, 17-18, 73-99, 100-119; Decennium Luctuosum and ambivalent aims of, 99, 100-101, 106-7, 116-18; Dustan's beating/scalping of Indians, 87-88; Dustan's husband's role, 86; Dustan's murderous rage, 87-88, 113-16; Dustan's physical vulnerability, 86-87; and Dustan's position as

unconverted settler, 89, 90-91; and execution sermon rhetoric, 89-90; the facts of Dustan's captivity, 86; and female humiliation, s-6, 86-92; and the "frontier;' 90-91; and Jael in Book of Judges, 87-88, 106, 116-17; Mather's appending of story to Magnalia Christi Americana, 166; Mather's attempts to humble Dustan, 88-89; and Mather's Decennium Luctuosum, 100-101, 113-18, 166; political and social contexts, 76-79; published version of Humiliations and Mather's attempts to frame, 85-86; and ritual humiliation sermons, 88-92; and Swarton story, 8s-86, 92-99

Earnest Exhortation (Increase Mather), 29, 51-52 Ebersole, Gary, 23 Eliot, John, 67, So Elliott, Emory, 13-14, 49 Emerson, Elizabeth, 9, 89-90, 114, 142

An Essay for the Recording of Illustrious Providences (Increase Mather), 33 Exclusion Crisis of 1679-81, 23, 31, 53 female fornicators: Elizabeth Emerson, 9, 89-90, 114, 142; scapegoating of, 8-10; seduction and punishment of, 142, 145; Sarall Smith, 9, 144-45, 150, 156 female humiliation and Cotton Mather's use of Dustan and Swarton stories, 73-99; Dustan's husband's role, 86; and Dustan's physical vulnerability, 86-87; and Dustan's position as unconverted settler, 89, 90-91; and execution sermon rhetoric, 89-90; female captives and ambivalence toward fatherly mandate, 73; and the "frontier;' 90-91; and imperial Roman imagery, 79-80; Isaiah and humiliation of the daughters of Zion, 82-83; Mather and ritual acts of humiliation, 83,191 n.22; migrant populations in New England, 74-75; and New England's humiliations, 84-85; and New England's internal religious and social controversies, 80-82; political and social contexts, s-6, 74-79, 80-82, 93, 98-99; publishing history of Swarton's narrative and Mather's Humiliations, 92-93; and representation of judea Capta, 79-80, 84-85; as rhetorical responses to threats to

Index New England, 99; and ritual humiliation sermons, 88-92; and Salem witchcraft crisis, 75; and Swarton's captivity, 93-99, 167; Swarton's conversion experience, 96-99; Swarton's theological debates, 95-97, 98; and worldwide captivity of Protestants, 83-84. See also Dustan's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of; Swarton's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of First Church of Boston and Halfway Covenant, 34-35, 50 Fitzpatrick, Tara, 10-11 Fliegelman, Jay, 166, 174 n.17 Folson, James, 172 n.4 Fort Pemaquid, 104-5 Foster, William, 177 n.36 Gates, Mary, 9, 45 Genesis texts and figure of Jacob, 133, 198 n.36 Gerish, Sarah, 103-4, 110-11, 116 Gildrie, Richard, 32 Glorious Revolution in England (1688), 2-3,74 God in the Camp (Williams), 126-30, 154-61; Book of Joshua and Achan type, 129, 156; Book of Joshua and the "unclean thing;' 156; and Deuteronomy, 128-29, 155-56, 202 n.31; and discourse of seduction, 154-61; God's promises and punishments, 159-61; and God's sheathing, 158-59; and God's vengeance on New England, 157-59; and imperial covetousness, 127-30; and sexual sin, 128-29, 155-56, 202 n.31; soldiers and borders, 156-57; and the vulnerable male, 159; wars and apostasies, 155 Goffe, William, 35, 50 Good Fetch't Out of Evil (Cotton Mather), 124, 151 Green, Bartholomew, Jr., 34 Green, Bartholomew, Sr., 34 Greven, Philip, 13 Gyles, John, 177 n.39 Haefeli, Evan, 131 Halfway Covenant, 5, 26-27,34-35, 46-47, 49-50 Hall, David, 191 n.22 Hall, Michael, 32, 49 Hanson, Elizabeth, 177 n.39

217

The Happiness of a People (Hubbard), 26-29,30 Harvard College controversy, 77-78, 81-82,122 Henigman, Laura, 8 historians, imperial Roman, 101, 102 Hopewood, 111-12, 195 n.28 Hubbard, William: The Happiness of a People, 26-29, 30; Mather-Hubbard debate over social reform, 26-33, 180 n.15, 181 n.23 humiliation. See female humiliation Humiliations Follow'd with Deliverance (Cotton Mather), 76, 77,85-86, 92-93; and Hannah Dustan's story, 85-86; and Swarton's story, 92-93 Hutchinson, Anne, 46, 168-69, 203 n.15 Indians in colonial captivity narratives, 5, 173 n.10; ambivalence expressed in representations of, 65-66, 167, 188 n.32; Dustan's rage and her Indian victims, 113-14; and Indians' cultural transformation, 69; Praying Indians, 57, 66-71; representations of unreadability, 69-70; Rowlandson's narrative and colonists' defense against "Indianized" behaviors, 55-56; Rowlandson's narrative and female captives' vulnerability to Indian violence, 54-65; Rowlandson's representations oflndians, 65-71; Swarton's Indian captivity, 94; as "types," 6o, 70-71; Williams's captivity narrative and Indianized girl children, 147-48 Iroquois Indians, 74 Jael in the Book of Judges, 87-88, 106, 116-17, 118-19 James, Duke of York, 23, 179 n.5 James II, 2-3, 4, 74 Job and Rowlandson's narrative, 58, 62, 63-64, 71, 187 n.23 Jones, Esther, 138, 147 Joseph I, Emperor of Austria, 121 Judea Capta and Mather's humiliation sermons,79-80,84-85 Judges, Book of: Jael in, 87-88, 106, 116-17, 118-19; Samson in, 58-59, 62 Karlsen, Carol, 8, 142, 187 n.29, 189 n.39, 200 n.3 Keith, George, 122

218

Index

Key, James, 104, 111-12, n6 King Philip's War: and political context of Rowlandson narrative, 5, 21, 23, 39-40; and sovereignty questions, 23; and threats to family social structure, 39-40 King William's War, 3, 5-6 Knight, Janice, 49-50, 193 n.so Kolodny, Annette, 38-39 Laplanche, J., 12 Lennardsen, Samuel, 86, 89 Lepore, Jill, no, 195 n.24 Leverenz, David, 13-15,185 n.8 Leverett, John, 31, 36, 81-82, 122, 162 Lex Mercatoria (Cotton Mather), 122-23 Louis XIV, 23, 74, 121

Magnalia Christi Americana (Cotton Mather), 19-20, 162-69; appending of Decennium Luctuosum and Dustan narrative to, 166; appending of Phips's biography to, 162-65; and attack on Anne Hutchinson, 168-69, 203 n.15; and the Church of England, 164; final book, Ecclesiarum Praelia (The Wars of the Lord), 166, 168-69, 203 n.15; political context of, 6; and Swarton narrative, 99; and third-generation colonial males' ambivalence toward fathers, 162, 163-68; and tradition of female captives' obedient passivity, 166-67 Maissonat, Pierre, 125 Massachusetts charter: loss of, 2; Increase Mather and, 3, 4, 29; Phips as first royal governor under, 76, 77, 98 Mather, Cotton: and Dudley, 122-26, 196 n.9; election sermon, 76-77, 78; execution sermons, 9, 89-90, 114; on the family and covenant, 39; feelings toward father, 76, 190 n.9; and Harvard controversy, 77-78, 81-82; humiliation sermon, 76, 78; and overthrow of Andros, 76; and pamphlet war, 123-26, 138; and Phips, 76, 77; on royal governorship, 77; as third-generation son, 108-9; and worldwide captivity of Protestants, 83-84. See also Decennium Luctuosum (Cotton Mather); Dustan's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of; female humiliation; Magnalia Christi Americana (Cotton Mather); Swarton's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of

Mather, Eleazar, 51, 120, 131 Mather, Increase: and authority of his father, Richard, 49-51, 185 n.8, 185 n.n; call for collection of providences, 32-33; on colonial political and religious authority, 24-25, 75; and conversion of the Indians, 67; and Davenport, 33, 49-50, 185 n.8, 185 n.n; and Dudley's appointment, 122; and Halfway Covenant, 35, 49; on Indian-like acts of colonial feminization, 51-52; and infant baptism, 50-51; Mather-Hubbard debate over social reform, 26-33; and new Massachusetts charter, 3, 4, 29; persecution sermons, 24; and preface to Rowlandson's narrative, 33-34, 181 n.28; and printing history of Rowlandson's narrative, 34, 181 n.28; providence sermons, 33, 41; and Reforming Synod, 31, 34, 94; religious/ cultural changes in New England and influence of, 4, 75· See also Rowlandson's captivity narrative and second-generation men's ambivalence; Rowlandson's captivity narrative and sovereignty issues Mather, Nathaniel, 165 Mather, Richard: and Halfway Covenant, 35; Increase Mather and authority of, 49-50, 185 n.8, 185 n.n Maule, Thomas, 107, n6

A Memorial of the Present Deplorable State of New England (Cotton Mather), 123 migrant populations in New England, 74-75 Miller, Perry, 35, 81, 182 n.28 Mitchell, Jonathan, 29, 82 A Modell of Christian Charity (Winthrop), 28 Morgan, Edmund, 7, 39 Neff, Mary, 86, 89 Nelsen, Ann Kusener, 26, 28, 31, 180 n.15 New Haven colony, 50 Norton, Mary Beth, 67-68 Nowell, Samuel, 52 Nye, Philip, 27 Oakes, Urian, 33

A Pastoral Letter to the English Captives in Africa (Cotton Mather), 83 Peace of Ryswick, 74 Peace of Utrecht, 3 Pearce, Roy Harvey, 5

Index Peckham, Howard H., 121 Philip of Anjou, 121 Phips, William: as first royal governor under new charter, 3, 76, 77, 98; and Cotton Mather, 76, 77; Mather's biography of, 76, 105, 162-65; and Mather's Dustan narrative, 5-6,76 Pietas in Patriam (Cotton Mather), 76,105, 162-65 Pilgrim's Progress (Bunyan), 23-24 Pillars of Salt (1699), 9 Pontalis, J. B., 12 Pope, Robert G., 184 n.3 Popish Plot of 1678, 23, 53 Porterfield, Amanda, 7, 41-42 Poteet, James M., 182 n.28 premillennialism, 83, 203 n.14 Puritanism: and ambivalence, 13-15; childrearing and men's ambivalence, 48-49; gender assumptions of female passivity, 41-43, 183 n.46; gender hierarchies, 7-8, 39; lyrics, 14, 177 n.35; and Rowlandson's narrative, 39-43; sermons, 13-14 Quakers, 107-8 Queen Anne's War (War of the Spanish Succession), 3, 120-21, 139 Randolph, Edward, 26-27, 28, 31-32 The Redeemed Captive (Williams), 18, 130-38; appearance of, 126-27; captivity/ submission of Eunice Mather Williams, 134, 139, 167; and combatting of Catholic doctrine, 135-36, 137, 199 nn.49-50; and cultural transformation that captivity represents, 136; and Dudley, 18, 130-33; Genesis texts and figure of Jacob, 133, 198 n.36; and male/female captives, 133-35, 139-40, 167; prefatory material, 130-33; and Rowlandson's narrative, 132, 133-34, 136-37; and son Samuel's conversion, 136-38, 199 n.49; spiritual seduction of daughter Eunice, 139-40; and submission to divine will, 134-36, 139; and submission to "sovereignty;' 13o-38; and Swarton's narrative, 132, 134, 137 Reforming Synod (1679/So): on Indians, 40, 183 n.43; Increase Mather and, 31, 34, 94; and the Puritan family structure, 40-41

Reports of Divine Kindness, or Remarkable Mercies should be faithfully published, for

219

the Praise of God the Giver (Williams), 152-54, 201 n.27 Richards, David A., 181 n.28 Rogers, Robert, 104 Rose, Mary Beth, 59 Rowlandson, Joseph: Mather and Willard's relationship with, 34-36; public life and preaching of, 34-36; sermon against border-crossing women, 9; and Third Church controversy, 5; and Wethersfield Church,35 Rowlandson, Mary. See Rowlandson's captivity narrative and second-generation men's ambivalence; Rowlandson's captivity narrative and sovereignty issues Rowlandson's captivity narrative and secondgeneration men's ambivalence, 45-72; ambivalence and representations of Indians, 57, 65-71, 167, 188 n.32; ambivalence toward fathers' authority, 48-54; and colonial feminization, 51-53, 64; and colonial male identity, 22, 43-44, 65-66; and female captives' vulnerability to Indian violence, 54-65; filial loyalty and threats to fathers' authority, 53; and gender assumptions of second-generation men, 22, 43-44; gossip surrounding Rowlandson's captivity, 46; and Halfway Covenant, 46-47; and "Indianization;' 55-56, 70; jeremiads of the 166os, 47; jeremiads of the 167os, 51-52; jeremiads of the 168os, 47; male ambivalence and female captives' passivity, 47-48; male control of disorderly women, 45-46; and Increase Mather, 49-51, 185 n.8, 185 n.n; narrator's mediating of trauma of men's differences from the Father, 64, 187 n.29; and providential signs, 66; and Puritan childrearing, 48-49; representations of the Indian in, 65-71; Rowlandson's anecdote about her sister, 57-58, 68; Rowlandson's expression of rage at her captors, 64-65; and Rowlandson's own spiritual identity, 68-69; scriptural typologies, 56-65; and social and political contexts, 46-47; Swarton story in comparison to, 93-95. See also Rowlandson's captivity narrative and sovereignty issues Rowlandson's captivity narrative and sovereignty issues, 5, 16, 21-44; anonymous preface, 33-35, 181 n.28; and Bunyan's Pilgrim's

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Index

Rowlandson's (continued) Progress, 23-24; conflicts and questions of royal/colonial sovereignty, 22-25, 179 n.s; covenant renewals and other unifying rituals, 32-33, 183 n.45; and debate over political and religious sovereignty, 33-38; facts of Rowlandson's captivity, 21; female captivity as site for defense of fathers' sovereignty, 38-43; female passivity and divine sovereignty, 42-43; internal tensions about sovereignty and secular/religious authority, 26-33; and King Philip's War, 5, 21, 23, 39-40; and Increase Mather, 33-34, 181 n.28; Mather and Willard's relationship with Joseph Rowlandson, 34-36; and Mather-Hubbard debate over social reform, 26-33, 180 n.15, 181 n.23; New English title, 22-23, 25-26; political and social contexts, 5, 16, 21, 33-38, 46-47; printing and publication history, 5, 22-23, 34, 46, 178 n.2, 181 n.28; and Puritan families and gender assumptions, 39-43, 183 n-46; Joseph Rowlandson's public life and preaching, 34-36; and social reform as political position, 25-33; and threats to social order and community identity, 39-41. See also Rowlandson's captivity narrative and second-generation men's ambivalence Russell, John, 35

The Safety of Appearing at the Day ofJudgment in the Rightousness of Christ (Stoddard), 81 Salem witch trials, 8, 67-68, 75, 102, 189 n.39 Salisbury, Neal, 178 n.1, 184 n.I Scanlon, Thomas, 173 n.10 Scarry, Elaine, 108-10, 115-16 Schweitzer, Ivy, 7, 14, 41-42, 177 n.35 Scots Covenanters, 53 seduction trope. See Williams, John, captivity narratives of

A Serious Exhortation to the Present and Succeeding Generations (Eleazar Mather), 51 Sewall, Samuel, 34 Short, Mercy, 95, 192 n.so Shuffelton, Frank, 8 Sieminski, Greg, 177 n.38 Silverman, Kenneth, 76, 163 Slotkin, Richard, 171 n.2; and figure of Job in Rowlandson's narrative, 187 n.23; and political context of captivity narratives, 172

n.4; on Mercy Short's captivity, 95, 192 n.so Smith, Sarah, 9, 144-45, 150, 156

Sovereign Efficacy of Divine Providence (Oakes), 33 sovereignty issues: conflicts and questions of renewed royal sovereignty/colonial sovereignty, 22-25, 179 n.s; female passivity and divine sovereignty, 42-43; and MatherHubbard debate over social reform, 26-33; ministerial responses to secular and religious authority questions, 26-33; representations of female captivity and defense of fathers' sovereignty, 38-43; and Williams's The Redeemed Captive, 130-38. See also Rowlandson's captivity narrative and sovereignty issues Stilson, Margaret, 97 Stockford, Goody, 105 Stoddard, Solomon, 4, 81, 122, 131 Storer, Rachel, 147 Stoughton, William, 76 Successionists, 24 Swarton, Hannall. See Swarton's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of Swarton's captivity story and Cotton Mather's account of, 17-18, 92-99, 167; facts of Swarton's captivity, 93; and French Catholics, 94-97; and humiliation, 93-94; Indian captivity, 94; and Mather's reframing of Dustan story, 85-86, 92-99; political context, 6, 93, 98-99; publishing history of Swarton's narrative and Mather's Humiliations, 85-86, 92-93; and Rowlandson narrative, 93-95; Swarton's conversion experience, 96-99; Swarton's spiritual captivity, 95-98; Swarton's theological debates with the French Catholics, 95-97, 98 Sweeney, Kevin, 131 Tennenhouse, Leonard, u, 175 n.29

Things for a Distress'd People to Think Upon (Cotton Mather), 76-77,78,83 Third Church and Halfway Covenant, 5, 34-35.49 Treaty of Utrecht (1713), 121 Turbet, Abigail, 138, 147 typology and Rowlandson's narrative, s6-6s; and fathers, 61-65; Indians, 6o, 70-71; Job, 58, 62, 63-64, 71, 187 n.23; the prodigal son, 61-63; Samson, 58-59, 62

Index Ulrich, Laurel Thatcher, 89, 106, 183 n.46 Vaughan, Alden T., 171 n.1 Vetch trials, 123, 126, 129

Warnings from the Dead (Cotton Mather), 114 Warnings to the Unclean (Williams), 145,146 War of the League of Augsburg (1689) ("King William's War"), 3, 5-6 War of the Spanish Succession (1702) ("Queen Anne's War"), 3, 120-21, 139 Wethersfield Church, 35, 182 n.28 Whalley, Edward, 35, 50 Willard, Samuel, 24, 34-36, 61-62 William II, 4 William of Orange, 2-3, 74, 121 Williams, Eunice (daughter of John Williams), 120,139-40,148-49,158 Williams, Eunice Mather, 6, 120, 131, 134, 139> 167 Williams, John, captivity narratives of, 120-40; appearance of, 126-27; biblical referents, 129, 133, 155-56, 198 n.36; Book of Joshua and the "unclean thing;' 129, 156; captivity/seduction and identity issues, 146-51; and captivity/submission of Eunice Mather Williams, 134, 139, 167; and Catholic doctrine, 135-36, 137,199 nn.49-50; colonial identity and cultural mixing, 148-so; and cultural transformation that captivity represents, 136; and Deerfield Massacre, 120-21; and Dudley, 122-23, 130-33, 196 n.9; and Englishness, 141-43; and execution sermon for Sarah Smith, 9, 144-45, 150, 156; fear of women as physical seducers, 142-43; female captives and sons' ambivalence toward fatherly mandate, 73, 143-44, 167; and French captivity at Fort Francois, 148-49; girl children who have lost their identities, 147-48; and God in the Camp, 127-30, 154-61; God's

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promises and punishments, 158-61; and God's sheathing, 158-59; and male/female captives, 133-35, 139-40, 143, 167; and the Mathers, 124-27, 130-33; and Mather's pamphlet war, 124-27; and New England as the land of seduction for former/freed captives, 151-54; and New England as unclean frontier camp, 157-59; political context, 6, 120-21; portrait of Indian woman "Ruth;' and colonial identity, 149-50; prefatory materials, 130-33; and priestly seducers, 141-42, 200 n.2; and punishment of female fornicators, 142, 145; and Queen Anne's War, 120-21, 139; The Redeemed Captive and submission to sovereignty, 130-38; and Rowlandson's narrative, 132, 133-34, 136-37; and seduction in Reformation texts, 141-42; and seduction of daughter Eunice, 139-40,148-49, 158; and seduction trope, 18-19, 139-40, 141-61; and sexual sin in Deuteronomy, 128-29, 155-56, 202 n.31; soldiers and borders, 156-57; and son Samuel's conversion, 136-38, 147,199 n.49; and submission to divine will, 134-36, 139; and Swarton's narrative, 132, 134, 137; and task of publically glorifying God, 152-54, 201 n.27; and the Vetch trials, 123, 126, 129; and the vulnerable male, 159; wars and apostasies, 155; and witch trials, 141-42. See also God in the Camp (Williams); The Redeemed Captive (Williams) Williams, Samuel, 136-38, 147, 199 n.49 Winship, Michael, 28 Winthrop, John, 28, 31 witch trials: Cotton Mather and, 102; and Cotton Mather's use of Dustan and Swarton stories, 75; Salem trials, 8, 67-68, 75, 102, 189 n.39; and scapegoating, 8-10; and trope of seduction, 141-42 Wonders of the Invisible World (Cotton Mather), 78, 98 Woodbridge, Benjamin, 181 n.28

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Acknowledgments

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, naming those who have contributed to this project has taken on particular significance for me. I want to begin by gratefully acknowledging the intellectual support and encouragement I received from Mary Beth Rose, Molly Anne Rothenberg, and Michael Zimmerman throughout the writing of this project. Generously and rigorously reading this book in several incarnations, they define for me the meaning of intellectual fellowship and friendship. This study would not exist without their help. A number of colleagues in early American literary studies engaged with this work from the beginning. For their early interest and continuing support, I thank especially Andrew Delbanco, Kathryn Zabelle DerounianStodola, Annette Kolodny, Janet Moore Lindman, Jesper Rosenmeier, Tom Scanlon, David Shields, Frank Shuffelton, William Scheick, Michele Lise Tarter, Fredrika Teute, and Albert J. von Frank. Sharing my belief in the need to sympathetically reconsider colonial interiority, Janice Knight crucially helped me to frame several of the ideas developed here. Both Frank Shuffelton and Stephen Carl Arch, kindly revealing their readership of the manuscript, pushed me to improve this project in its final stages. (What errors remain are, of course, my own.) As I completed the manuscript, I was newly energized by the work and friendship of Lorrayne Carroll. I came upon Ralph Bauer's valuable comparative study only at the very end of this project. As his work indicates, captivity as a subject is far from exhausted. As I list these names, I am increasingly struck not only by the number of newer scholars working on these narratives but also by the valuable and generous conversation that American literary studies has proved to me. Current and former colleagues and students at Tulane University also supported this project. For the two leaves of absence that helped in its initial stages, I thank Tulane and especially then-provost James Kilroy. For their comments on portions of the manuscript in varying stages, I thank Michael Bibler, Geoffrey Harpham, Jim Kilroy, Michael Kuczynski, Cynthia Lowenthal, Richelle Munkhoff, Supriya Nair, Michael Plante, Ben Reiss, Jerry Snare, and

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Acknowledgments

Molly Travis. I especially thank Gaurav Desai, who not only read drafts and loaned me his books but also saved me technologically on several occasions. In this arena, I also thank Kevin Murphy and Mike Griffith, who helped to prepare the final manuscript. The Department of English staff also proved unfailingly helpful, especially Barb Ryan, as did the librarians of the HowardTilton Memorial Library, especially Eric Weidig. I am particularly grateful to the National Endowment for the Humanities, which granted me a fellowship at the Newberry Library in 1996 that enabled much of the research. Thankful to all my Newberry colleagues, I want here to highlight the support of John Aubrey and Paul Gehl. Among the fellows, Meredith McGill, Toni Bowers, Karen Sawislak, and especially Catherine Ingrassia offered useful responses to my work. Jim Grossman and Stephen Foster, rigorous historians both, while sometimes raising their eyebrows at my claims, were always forthcoming in their suggestions. I would also like to acknowledge generous responses to my work and to my requests offered by Michael G. Hall, Neil Salisbury, and Michael Zuckerman. David A. Richards kindly allowed me access to his important Yale honors thesis. A version of Chapter 2 appeared as "The Sovereignty and Goodness of God in 1682: Royal Authority, Female Captivity, and 'Creole' Male Identity;' English Literary History 67 (2ooo): 925-49 ©The Johns Hopkins University Press. A version of Chapter 5 appeared as "Hannah Duston's Bodies," in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America, edited by Janet Moore Lindman and Michele Lise Tarter © 2001 Cornell University Press. I thank both these publishers for permission to reprint. I am particularly grateful to Jerry Singerman, editor and friend, who has been unstinting in his support, help, and good humor. At the University of Pennsylvania Press, I would also like to thank Erica Ginsburg for her graceful guidance through the production process, Laura Rogers for her thorough copyediting, and Holly Knowles for her work on the index. Numerous relatives and friends freely gave me emotional as well as intellectual help with this project. I thank especially Marilyn Brown, Pam Cowan, Barbara Zimmerman Dirks, Denise Dorsey, Barbara Ewell, Betsy Toulouse Fett, Gail Feigenbaum, Linda Floyd, Tricia Hill, Steve Miller, Julie Nice, Jerry Speir, Dom, Mike and Pat Toulouse, Bill Tronzo, and Tibby Wagner. My daughter, Lizzie, arrived while this book was under way. She has granted far too much "Mommy time" to it. I hope someday that she will understand my need to complete it. My husband, Michael Zimmerman, in ad-

Acknowledgments

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clition to patiently commenting on what must have seemed endless drafts, has run the household, serviced the cars, fed the cat, and granted me countless weekend hours away. More recently he has moved all of us from New Orleans to Seattle (where we evacuated) and back. His love shows the need for and proves the impossibility of adequate acknowledgment.