We have been broken up and moved six times. We have been despoiled of our property. We thought when we moved across Missouri River and had paid for our home in Kansas we were safe, but in a few years the white man wanted our country. We had good farms, built comfortable houses and big barns. We had schools for our children and churches where we listened to the same gospel the white man listens to. The white man came into our country from Missouri and drove our cattle and horses away and if our people followed them they were killed. We try to forget these things but we could not forget that the white man brought us the blessed gospel, the Christian’s hope. This more than pays for all we have suffered.
–Charles Journeycake, Chief of the Delawares
Humans are subject to the tyranny of time. At a single moment, a person’s life changes, takes a different direction than that heretofore. Humans try to track such instances, narrow them to a specific date, time of day, hour and minute, to attempt to exert some feeble control over what is uncontrollable. Other instances cannot be dated, are not subject to clocks and calendars. They just happen, vaguely but definitively.
At such a moment, Daniel Little was walking along the road returning home from the port, where he had journeyed earlier that day to inquire about a shipment of furniture he had been expecting. His business concluded, he departed for the two mile walk along the Port Road back to the parsonage, where he and his wife and children lived in a small village called Kennebunk. Little had lived in Kennebunk for half a dozen years, having accepted the call of the Second Parish in 1751 to minister to their needs. He had in 1752 built a snug two-story dwelling on the outskirts of the village on the road to the port. The Kennebunk River was just north of his home. He had a fine garden, a quiet life, a stable existence, and considered himself happy, blessed by God.
Little was a native of Newburyport, Massachusetts, and had grown up in nearby Haverhill. He had been well-educated by private tutors and had become a gifted Gospel minister. He arrived in Maine at a time between wars, when there appeared to be a modicum of peace, the previous conflict, King George’s War, having been concluded a few years earlier. The inhabitants of Maine had, unlike some British-American settlements in North America, generally been spared the worst of recent warfare. Rarely did Maine homesteaders fear for their lives from attacking French and, particularly, their Abenaki allies. Indeed the British had been on the offensive against Indian tribes and the French during King George’s War, and the Indians had the worst of it. Likewise when war broke out again in 1755, Maine seacoast communities were largely spared the violence that others further west and south experienced. There was then, during the French-Indian War, a slight sense of security in Maine seacoast communities that previous generations would have hardly felt.
Daniel Little was walking alone this day on the road from the port, approaching a bridge crossing a tidal inlet, feeling full and satisfied, his thoughts wandering about his favorite themes—the wonderful plenty of the land; the rich fodder, marsh hay, bending in the breeze; the cool, moist air promising much for the farm community; God’s benevolence revealed in nature—when a sudden noise interrupted his solitude. A whistle. Not the whistle of a gull or hawk, or the whistle of the wind blowing through birches and pines. Rather an artificial whistle made by a contrived instrument. Little had heard the pewter and wood whistles used by militiamen on training days, but this one somehow sounded different, ominous. There was no militia training that day. All was quiet save the brief shrill of the whistle. Uncertain, afraid and cautious, Little slipped from the road and hid in the tall marsh grasses next to the bridge support. A whistle implied at least two separate warriors or warrior-bands. Had they seen him? Were they coming even now to capture him? He thought of his family, his widowed wife, his fatherless children. Even if the raiders had not seen him, they would use the road, cross the bridge, as he had. Little, knowing he must depart quickly, crawled on his hands and knees in the shallow, rank water of the marsh, provided by the grace of God to protect him; he moved slowly away from the bridge. He heard soft footsteps. He glimpsed a warrior. Stories from the past descended upon him.
A child in Haverhill, growing up during Dummer’s War, when there was so much talk of militia hunting scalps, paid for by the Province of Massachusetts according to the age and gender of the deceased; listening to the bravado of the soldiers mixed with the fear in peoples’ voices of the savagery of the enemy, of the barbarism, of how they treated defenseless children and women, though they learned their lesson when they captured the likes of Hannah Duston during King William’s War, who paid them back fully, taking their scalps and bringing the bloody trophies to Haverhill. Indians and French attacked the town again in Queen Ann’s War, just a dozen years before Little’s birth. Other towns besides Haverhill—such as Deerfield, Dover, Oyster River, Salmon Falls, York—in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine, experienced the silent incursions of the enemy, the killing of the innocent, the capture of women and children. The people of the time considered the Indians worse than dogs. Ministers in the pulpit condemned them as agents of the Enemy. They were a silent, nefarious force of evil, unexpected, merciless.
The warriors Little saw, if he got a good look, were scantily clad save for a breech-cloth and moccasins and leggings reaching to the upper thigh, but nothing about the stomach and chest. They were strong, tattooed, their head shaved except for a scalp-lock. They were armed with bow and arrow, or a musket, and a war ax with a stone or iron head. The minister crawled along the narrow tidal channels that marked the marshland, which allowed him to go undetected. He made his way in a westerly direction for a long time until he no longer heard the sounds of men, and feeling that he had escaped the immediate danger, quickly rushed back to the parsonage, paralleling the road, fearing the worst, praying for the best.
Little found that all was well. Indeed the raiders had apparently come and gone without attacking anyone; all in the community were saved. But something had changed in the mind of the pastor. The peace that he had felt before the incident had vanished with the raiders. Little kept his possessions, family, friends, and life, but not his peace. There was now a blot on contentment. The presence of evil, Little knew from the Bible, is constant, ubiquitous—but hitherto he had rarely known it. Evil was theoretical, something to be talked about, a theological concept, like Adam and Eve’s sin, a distant reality that never quite penetrated the body and mind. Evil, like God, transcends the moment, and though Little was aware of its existence, he had never felt it overwhelm the present. Until now. Evil is present, possible at any moment.
He could never rid himself of the sound of the whistle.
Daniel Little became, within twenty years, the Apostle of the East—so-called by his contemporaries and admirers for his many journeys along Maine’s eastern frontier to minister to the Indians and English settlers particularly of the Penobscot valley. Little made repeated journeys before and after America’s War for Independence. He was a restless adventurer, a messenger for Christ. So many of his ilk, the hundreds of Protestant clergymen of small New England towns, never ventured forth; they were content to stay put, to battle sin among their own neighbors, to shepherd the flock in the daily cares of life, to administer the sacraments of baptism and communion, to teach and preach, counsel and condole. Little did all of these as well during his long tenure as pastor of the Second Parish of Wells, Maine—what became the first parish of Kennebunk. He served the people for over fifty years. But all of this activity as a pastor, the responsibilities of a large family, the intellectual demands on a Christian minister, were insufficient. Little felt compelled to do more.[1]
Some few among New England Congregationalists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries felt this same call of Daniel Little. His predecessors in time but not in commitment, energy, and spirit, included Eleazar Wheelock, John Sergeant, Experience Mayhew, Thomas Prince, John Eliot, and Roger Williams. Congregationalist Roger Williams, who came to know the Narragansett Indians of Rhode Island, was one of a number of European and American scientists who were fascinated by the Native Americans, their customs, and their origins. Of the many speculations on the origins of the American Indians, one of the more sophisticated were ruminations of Williams published in A Key into the Language of America (1643), in which he argued that the language and customs of the Indians bespoke a heritage not unlike the ancient Hebrews. “First,” he wrote, “others (and my selfe) have conceived some of their words to hold affinities with the Hebrew. Secondly, they constantly annoint their heads as the Jewes did. Thirdly, they give Dowries for their wives, as the Jewes did. Fourthly (and which I have not so observed amongst other Nations as amongst the Jewes, and these🙂 they constantly separate their Women (during the time of their monthly sicknesse) in a little house along by themselves foure or five dayes.”[2]
Other Congregationalists agreed. John Eliot, minister at Roxbury, Massachusetts, for example, thought some Algonquian dialects so like the Hebrew that it made sense to teach these people the Hebrew Bible. In time he changed his opinion, opting instead to embrace the onerous project of translating the Bible into the indigenous Algonquian language. The problem was that Algonquian had no syllabary, no systematic grammar, was a spoken language, concrete rather than abstract. Eliot became such an expert in Algonquian that his first sermon preached to the natives in 1646 was in their own language. On his missionary visits, Eliot would “offer a short prayer in Indian, . . . recite and explain the Ten Commandments, . . . describe the character, work, and offices of christ as Saviour and Judge, . . . tell his hearers about the creation, fall, and redemption of man, and . . . persuade them to repentance.”[3] Eliot believed like most messengers that embracing Christianity was insufficient without also embracing the civilized accoutrements that accompanied the faith. He believed that the way of Jesuit and Franciscan missionaries, to live among the Indians and adopt their ways as a stimulus to conversion, was inappropriate. “I find it absolutely necessary to carry on civility with religion,” he wrote.[4] He sought true and committed converts, which included “strict observance of the Sabbath, family prayer, grace at meals, Bible-reading, a conviction of their sinful and lost state, spiritual experience of renewal, and a sincere purpose to lead a godly, consistent life.”[5] Eliot followed in the wake of his missionary forebears in journeying to reach distant peoples to bring the message of the Gospel. Hearing of the great sachem of the Penacooks, Passaconaway, a shaman who reputedly had mastered the dark arts (in Eliot’s mind) to convince his people of his great power over nature, Eliot traveled up the Merrimack River, and met with Passaconaway. Some traditions claim that the great leader converted, though perhaps not. The Penacook Confederation was at this time in the mid-seventeenth century caught between expanding English power in Northern New England, expanding French power in the St Lawrence River valley and tributaries to the south, and the power of Mohawks (Iroquois) to the west, south. and east of Lake Ontario. Passaconaway and his son and successor Wannalancet tried to negotiate with all of the competing forces to preserve their power along the Merrimack River. In this they failed, and Wannalancet took his people upriver to the Pemigewasset, and eventually further north of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Reputedly he was a Christian by this time, converted by John Eliot.[6]
Eliot was part of a missionary society inspired by Englishmen such as the scientist Robert Boyle and chartered in the 1660s in New England: hence its name, the New England Company, initially called the Society for Propagation of the Gospel in New England. Like most such societies it collected and invested funds, from which it supported and paid missionaries and schoolteachers and supplied them with books, sermons, and Bibles by which to convert and teach the Indians. They believed that conversion was necessarily long and drawn out because of the inability of the Indians to read the Word. One novel idea in this regard was to select intelligent boys and send them to Harvard; five Indian boys learned Latin at Harvard in the 1650s. A building called the Indian College was built for the purpose, but the experiment in the end failed, and the idea conceived by some members of the New England Company to educate Indians as missionaries to their own kind was abandoned.[7]
One of Eliot’s great accomplishments was publishing the Indian Bible. He believed that it would be difficult enough for the Indians to learn about Christianity in their own language, much less to learn a new language as well. Eliot learned the language from war captives and his servants. “He secured from time to time what he calls the more ‘nimble-witted’ natives, young or grown, to live with him in Roxbury, and to accompany him on his visits” to the Indians, “to interchange with him words and ideas.”[8] One of his first students, who helped with translating, was a Long Island Indian named Job Nesutan.[9] The New England Company and Commissioners of the United Colonies of New England (New England Confederation) paid to print Eliot’s efforts, such as his Indian Primer or Catechism. His first translation of Genesis was an interlinear English translation. His first attempt at translating the New Testament was the Gospel of Matthew. His complete translation of the New Testament was published in 1661, followed by the Old Testament in 1663. He published a book on logic called The Logic Primer to teach reasoning to the Indians. The Indian Dialogues was to teach missionary work among them.[10]
The New England Company also supported the work of Eleazar Wheelock, who founded Moor’s Indian Charity School, a boarding school for Indians, in Connecticut. Wheelock had some influential students, such as Samson Occom, a Mohegan convert during the Great Awakening; Occom eventually was a missionary to Long Island Indians and the Oneida Indians of upstate New York. Another was the Mohawk convert Anglican Joseph Brant, who attended Dartmouth, Wheelock’s college founded along the Upper Connecticut River in New Hampshire.[11]
Congregational messengers to the Algonquians and other Indians during the eighteenth century increasingly believed that the natives should, once they gained the basics of Christianity in their own language, embrace English ways: language, culture, customs, Bible, and worship. This was a lofty aim, especially on the frontier, and particular where Roman Catholic missionaries had come before the Protestant messengers.
Such was Daniel Little’s experience. Little became a member of the Society for Propagating the Gospel Among the Indians and Others in North America, founded by New England clergy in the 1780s. Like many of the members of this missionary organization, Little tended toward a liberal Protestant theology in which he reached out to others through good works more than theological prescriptions. After the defeat of France in 1763, there was a religious and power vacuum in the Penobscot valley; the native Penobscot tribe, like many Maine Algonquians, had been converted by the French Catholics. Little, impatient with what he considered to be the flimsy theology of the Papists, wanted to bring to the Penobscots a love and devotion for the Gospel. At the same time, English settlers of the eastern frontier generally lacked contact with Gospel ministers, and were hungry for the rich milk of the Word. Both of these groups, Indians and frontier settlers, living in religious limbo, required not just the Gospel but the accoutrements of religious society as well. Little, not a religious theoretician, rather a practical preacher, sought as a pastor and missionary to spread a pastoral Christianity fit for an agrarian people.
Daniel Little like many of his contemporaries combined the roles of clergyman and scientist; his particular interests were in the physical and life sciences and metallurgy. Little’s simple piety in a God who blesses all of the Creation led him to move increasingly away from New England Calvinism to a more Universalist mindset. Feeling that anyone can be saved spurred Little on to bring the Good News to the ignorant, the wayward, the Catholic, the Indian.
Little’s interest in natural history encouraged him to keep journals of his travels, in which he recorded his itinerary, those with whom he met, the landscape in which he traveled, and his observations of the remarkable of nature and humankind. He made six extensive journeys, of which he kept detailed diaries of five, which provides a window into a past time when the settlements of the eastern frontier and Penobscot valley were rustic and few and far between. Daniel Little revealed the same jubilation and wonder on his several journeys during the 1770s and 1780s to Penobscot Bay and up the Penobscot River. As a pastor and a missionary Rev. Little focused on the practical means to achieve a happy existence. He knew there were many white settlers along the eastern Maine coast with no religious instruction, and the morals of their communities reflected it. To help, Little journeyed in 1772 to the Penobscot, founding a missionary church at Blue Hill on a peninsula that separates Penobscot Bay and Blue Hill Bay. During the War for Independence, he traveled up the Penobscot to present Bangor, at the confluence of the Penobscot and the Kenduskeag River. Little baptized children and instructed settlers and Indians on Christian morality and the Bible. When preaching to the Abenakis, he read portions from Rev. John Eliot’s Indian Bible, created over a century before. But finding that the natives could not understand the language, Little followed Eliot’s example and transcribed a Penobscot dialect and translated portions of the Bible accordingly.[12]
One manuscript journal, Minutes of the Progressive Growth, and Maturity of the most useful Vegetables at Penobscot, &c, describes his observations made on a journey in 1785 up the Penobscot River to “Indian Old Town, . . . ten miles above the Head of the Tide” and “70 miles north from the Entrance of Penobscot Bay.” Of the vegetation of the Penobscot region he wrote: “Passing thro corridor adjoining to Penobscot Bay in [the] Month of June I observed a Young Growth of Oaks and maples for Several Acres together which . . . upon Examination found Worms who were just finishing their Harvest. The People say they are hatched from the Eggs of a Caterpillar which are laid on the Smooth Bark of trees in the month of Sept to which they adhere and are hatched by the Heat of the Sun, the May following. They are one Inch in length, of a dark brown Colour. The Leaves of other Trees adjoining and intermixed, remains untouched, in full Verdure.” Of the Penobscot Indians at Old Town, Little wrote: “On an island in the River on the lower Point of which stand the Indian Houses in 2 Ranges, in very exact Order, of the Same Dimensions and Materials, around which they plant their Corn. . . . Their Manure [is] Alewives, of which they cover with Earth. . . . The Children of this Tribe numerous–they appear very easy and contented–no signs of Envy, very grateful and sometimes a little gay.”[13]
Daniel Little, in short, braved mountains, rivers, foggy bays, isolated islands, barrenness and loneliness, and inhospitable conditions of nature and humans for the sake of the Great Commission, his own personal redemption, and knowledge. What motivates a person to pursue the Great Commission? What led Daniel Little on his restless pursuit into the wilderness of nature and the mind? Perhaps he wished to conform to Christ’s commandment to spread the Word to all nations, as recorded in the Gospel of Matthew. Perhaps he believed in bringing the Word to the whole creation, hence to all places, even the most sparsely inhabited, as recorded in the Gospel of Mark. Perhaps his personal sense of sin and redemption demanded that he show others a similar way to peace and life. Perhaps it was distant memory, a whistle from the past, an urge to return to a time when he had peace of mind, when he knew little fear, when Evil did not taunt him with the possibility of shattered expectations. To bring Christianity to the original source of fear was the means to expiate it, come to terms with foreboding and end the anguish of the spirit.
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The experiences and feelings of Daniel Little—and the other missionaries whose lives and works are evoked and rescued in this book—were akin to the Apostle Paul, the first missionary. Paul’s missionary work was in response to the burden of sin. He was plagued with an “angel of satan,” guilt and the continual need for atonement, which kept Paul dependent upon God’s grace. Even the great Apostle felt ongoing sin and weakness and he called upon God to release him from the torment. But Paul was not ready to be without that constant spur to his faith and obedience. Redemption compelled him to tell others, to replay his own experience over and over, so in a way to reassure himself that he was indeed redeemed.
The experiences of Paul, the psychology of the missionary, are found throughout time, found centuries later in North America among Protestants who were looking for more, were trying to make sense of the Message that they were themselves bringing to others. The messengers to the American Indians were weak, uncertain, and sinful, engaged in a personal journey in the wilderness among unknown peoples, a journey of redemption and atonement. They were responding to Jesus’s commandment, as reported in the Gospel of Mark, to “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation,” and the Gospel of Matthew, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations.” The Great Commission itself engendered confusion and doubt. The world was not entirely known to the Greco-Roman culture in which Jesus and His disciples lived—the Americas, for example, were not known to Old World peoples for centuries. How can the Gospel be taken to places unknown? But Jesus commanded, Mark says, to preach the Gospel to the whole creation. The Greek word, “ktisis,” literally means “creature” or “creation.” How does one preach to all creatures, to the whole creation? Countless individuals responded to the commandment with personal journeys into the unknown of peoples and places. There is already mystery and uncertainty in confronting the everyday, in confronting the newness of experience inherent in the passage of time. But to embrace even further change and uncertainty by exploration into the unknown, bringing the message to unknown others, is to increase anxiety, hence to increase reliance upon God.
Missionaries, in spreading the Gospel, were doing so in part as a response to their own sin, the awareness of which led them to act. There was restless energy felt by the missionaries to expiate and atone for their own transgressions by trying to remove those of others. They were trying to remove the splinter from the eyes of others notwithstanding the huge plank in their own. Daily the weight of personal sin required movement; the air of the wilderness helped the missionary not to suffocate. What else drives a person to do this but atonement? Like Paul reaching out to the Gentiles, American Protestant missionaries reached out to Indians, humans believed to be in a pre-redeemed state, when sin is rampant and before humans have been saved by Christ, when Satan holds sway—a time and state that can recur again and again when temptation brings a person back to an earlier, pre-redeemed state. This id-like part of us, the savage part, is ubiquitous, and if one is not constantly vigilant it will recur. Missionary work is vigilance for one’s own continual redemption.
The origins of Indians fascinated sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth century missionaries because discoverers and colonists of America were confronted with the presence of a people that were not touched by the Great Commission. Missionaries had traveled to most countries of the world by the time of Columbus’s voyage, and it was obvious that even those places touched by the Great Commission could easily return to sin. But what about a people never so touched? It is similar to thinking about oneself before and after any great event of education or civilization or conversion. What was humanity like before then after the Incarnation? American Protestant missionaries were as a result historians of the peculiar experience of America; they were fascinated by the past, both distant and not so distant. and by personal history, that is, their own psychology.
The psychology of the missionary involves the elevated sense of self. How does God appoint a person to be a messenger? For a person to assume such a role is an indication of a measure of self-importance, some hint of self-perceived greatness. Spiritual experience has convinced this person to engage in an arduous, sometimes dangerous role. A sense of selection, or election, which involves a spiritual or mystical experience, exists. What is this but a calling, and what is a calling but a mystical experience—a communication with the divine? This self knowledge, of limitations and possibilities, propels and harbors the messenger going forth in strange lands among strange peoples. Missionaries such as Daniel Little possessed an intuitive strength gained through prayer and religious struggle to know what and who is God and how the messenger relates to God, faith in God’s will, and the continual battle waged against sin and the humility consequent thereon.
The messengers of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries were the intellectuals, the scientists and historians, of their time. They combined a scientific interest in Indians—their origins, history, customs, and culture—with the personal religious zeal of a missionary. The commandment to spread the Gospel to the entire creation implied that missionaries would be students of nature, natural theologians, amateur scientists. The missionaries described in this book knew that God’s providence existed; hence they were students of time, of history, both natural and human. As Edward Young proclaimed:
‘T is elder Scripture, writ by God’s own hand,¾
Scripture authentic! Uncorrupt by man.
All that the missionary learns of God’s creation, natural and human, serves to increase knowledge, that is, to penetrate a bit of what God is the sum of. Faith in God yields faith in self, which increases faith in God. God is the unyielding source of power and strength, the food that continually feeds, the drive that never ceases, the love that never forsakes. Love of God yields love for all of God’s creation, including love for self, love for nature, love for humankind. Love of self is the propeller for action to move in time according to a set purpose. When one feels God’s love one feels love itself, toward oneself and toward others. Perfect love knows no fear.
God’s love is really the key to the work of American Protestant missionaries. To spread God’s love is to feel it, to know it in oneself, and to recognize it in all God’s works. This is the essence of the piety of the missionary, to feel overwhelming love for God because of awareness of all God’s gifts of knowledge, life, security, purpose. What God has given is awe-inspiring. The pious scientist studies natural and human history to achieve this awareness. Natural and human history, seeing God’s works over time and the wonderful intricate patterns and consistency of it all, yields continual piety, awe, in God’s plan and God’s creation. The scientist who examines cause and effect, patterns, explanations for phenomena in human and natural history, when finding said patterns, consistency, regularity, and order, senses therefore the origins and reasons behind it all, and discovers the source is God.
This is what Paul meant in his Epistle to the Romans, chapter two. Our lives in time seem so isolated, disjointed, lonely, purposeless, meaningless, that when we see meaning, purpose, pattern, order, harmony, consistency, in nature, in human existence, being reflected in our own existence, we are looking upon something that appears transcendent, and that which transcends time, movement, the momentary, the isolated, is truth, or at least it appears as a truth beyond our normal experience. Therefore when a person goes outside oneself, examines experience other than oneself, the experience of other humans, the experience of other life in nature, then this willingness to examine what exists outside self is the route to know God. Movement, action, travel, experience, study, history, science—all these tend to a greater awareness of what is, which we call God. We are movement, we are continual becoming, but when we find the still, the unchanging, the final, the ultimate, that which is, being, this is God, this is love.
Missionaries such as Daniel Little, Jeremy Belknap, Jedidiah Morse, John Ogilvie, John Stuart, Robert Addison, Samuel Andrews, William Case, Peter Jacobs, Peter Jones, Isaac McCoy, Charles Journeycake, Joseph Murrow, Almon Bacone, Robert Hamilton, Mary P. Jayne, George Hicks, and Lucy Hicks were people reaching out to different cultures to come together in peace rather than conflict, to discover common human feelings, experiences, drives, and characteristics such as love, fear, inquisitiveness, the demand to survive, and the common need to discover constancy out of the randomness of the singular moment. These people discovered and evoked common human experiences, and a bond grew, that is, the basics of love, and the more the common bond was formed the more love was fueled. Awareness of common experiences fueled awareness and knowledge of order, harmony, and consistency that yielded piety in the source of all that is unchanging and constant. Missionaries transcended the boundaries of space but in the process found the transcendent truth common to all cultures. These missionaries were messengers of order, harmony, constancy, peace, truth, and love.
[1] Sources of information for Daniel Little’s life, work, and writings include the Daniel Little Papers, Brickstore Museum, Kennebunk, Maine; Records of the First Parish Church of Kennebunk at the Maine Historical Society; and scattered sources at the Massachusetts Historical Society.
[2] Williams, A Key into the Language of North America.
[3] Justin Winsor, The Memorial History of Boston, vol. 1 (Boston: Osgood, 1881), 262.
[4] Ibid., 263.
[5] Ibid., 265.
[6] For more information, see Russell M. Lawson, Passaconaway’s Realm: Captain John Evans and the Exploration of Mount Washington (Hanover: University Press of New England, 2002).
[7] William Kellaway, The New England Company, 1649-1776: Missionary Society to the American Indians (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1961).
[8] Winsor, Memorial History, 261.
[9] Ibid., 271.
[10] Kellaway, New England Company.
[11] Ibid.
[12] Daniel Little Papers, Brickstore Museum.
[13] Belknap Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society.
The American Plutarch 