USA > Massachusetts > Berkshire County > Stockbridge > Stockbridge, 1739-1939; a chronicle > Part 2
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farming and commercial activities of the Dutch, so that they came, more and more, to frequent this wild tract of land, their former hunting ground. Here, perhaps, in these lonely hills, they would be free of the white man and the compli- cations of civilization.
From the east, however, the English were pushing inland as fast as they could. The trading post of Westfield was already within the Indian territory. As the Indians expressed it: "Clean across this extent of country, our grandfather [the Delawares] had a long house, with a door at each end, one door being at Patehammoc [Potomac] and the other at Gasch- tenick [Albany]; which doors were always open to all nations united with them. To this house the nations from ever so far off used to resort, and smoke the pipe of peace with their grandfather. The white people coming over the great water, unfortunately, landed at each end of this long house of our grandfather's, and it was not long before they started to pull down the same at both ends. Our grandfather still kept repairing the same, although obliged to make it from time to time shorter, until at length the white people, who had by this time grown very powerful, assisted the common enemy, the Maqua [Mohawks] in erecting a strong house on the ruins of their grandfather."
Pushed east by the Dutch and west by the English, the tribe still held this Housatonic country untouched by the white man up to the year 1722, twelve years before Ebenezer's baptism. Here the old Indian way of life went on unham- pered. Rich in ceremony and ritual, it was an elaborate and serious game. On entering a wigwam an Indian never spoke before eating. Belts of wampum passed solemnly between them in confirmation of treaties, or to accompany messages. Silent and dignified, they would sit around their chief, with visiting members of some other tribe, and pass the pipe of peace from hand to hand. The women were expected to do
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the work. They cleared the land, felling the trees by burn- ing them through their bases, and then cultivated their simple crops. "Men," the Indians said, "were made for war and hunting. Women and hedgehogs to scratch the earth." And a favorite saying among them was, "The Great Spirit gave the white man a plough and the red man a bow and arrow and sent them into the world by different paths, each to get a living in his own way."
With the outbreak of King Philip's War in 1675, the west- ward expansion had come to an abrupt halt at the Connec- ticut River and, for almost fifty years, Springfield, Hatfield, Deerfield, Northampton and Hadley had been outposts dotting the frontier in the wilderness. The bloody history of these years explains why the Berkshires remained so long undisturbed. One marvels, not at the lack of enterprise that kept the English from pushing farther west, but at the tenacity with which they clung to the already settled line of the frontier.
The story of the repeated massacres of Deerfield is, in a lesser degree, the story of all these towns. With half of the population deported to Canada, many others the victims of the scalping knife, and their buildings razed to the ground, men feared to go into the fields to gather their crops. The Indian war whoop-a sound once heard never to be for- gotten-was the prelude to a multitude of screaming maniacs descending upon a town to demolish it. Life was lived in breathless anticipation of the next blow. For the Indians played their deadly game by rules that no Englishman could understand and always managed to catch the settlers off their guard. Then, as the English gathered themselves together to retaliate and pursue them, the Indians would melt silently
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and completely back into the forest, of which they seemed as much a part as the trees.
In 1722, there was a breathing space. Peace, compara- tively speaking, had existed since 1713. The moment seemed opportune for the English to cross the barrier of the Hoosac mountains and to inquire of the Indians what price they put on this last lovely strip of land which separated Massachusetts from New York, and which is known today as Berkshire County. The bold thought of settling this region originated in the head of John Stoddard, who was at this time, and for many years, the master mind of the Connecticut Valley.
Stoddard was one of a series of self-appointed autocrats who grew up in the Connecticut Valley during the eighteenth century. Boston was far away, and the problems which confronted these pioneering towns had to be dealt with ener- getically and immediately. The River Gods, as they were called, held virtual sway over western Massachusetts. Up to the time of the Revolution, when the two sections of the state became welded together in a common cause, western Massa- chusetts was like a separate little kingdom, and in 1722 every- thing that was done, while receiving the official sanction of the Governor in Boston, was planned in the fertile brain of John Stoddard. He pointed out to his less enterprising neighbors that it was highly desirable to extend the English settlements to the west. The boundary line between New York and Massachusetts, he said, was about to be run, and as possession is nine points of the law, the farther west their settlements lay, the better bargain they would make in the final adjustment. Fortunately he did not know that the authorities in both states were to wrangle over this line down to the year 1784.
He dwelt upon the friendliness of the Indians who lived across the mountains and how important it was to conciliate them and to maintain them as allies in the war. Finally he
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appealed to that fallacy in men's minds which urges them always forward into the next blueberry patch. One hundred and seventy-seven bold hearts were found eager for adventure under the leadership of Joseph Parsons and Thomas Nash, and to them the first grant of land in the present Berkshire County was made in 1722.
The domain consisted of two contiguous towns, the upper and lower Housatonic townships, as they were called, of seven square miles each, running north and south along the Housa- tonic River. The Connecticut line formed the boundary to the south, the New York line (wherever that was to be) to the west, a line four miles east of the Housatonic River to the east, and the Great Mountain to the north, which was prob- ably Rattlesnake Hill in Stockbridge.
The price which Konkapot asked for the extinction of the Indian title to this land was £460 legal tender, three barrels of cider and thirty quarts of rum. The Indians kept for them- selves only two small reservations-one on the northern boundary of the lower Housatonic township, which they called Skatehook, and the other, beyond the mountain, Wnahtakook, later to become the town of Stockbridge. Here Konkapot lived, his group of neighbors including the rum dispensing Van Valkenburgh, while below at Skatehook, Umpachene, second in command of the tribe, maintained the Great Wigwam, a tent sixty feet long, where all their import- ant conferences and ceremonies took place.
As the lower Housatonic township sprouted into the town of Sheffield, the Indians looked at the large and thriving fami- lies of the English, and then back at their own depleted numbers with growing feeling of self-distrust. Perhaps if they embraced this curious and rigid religion of the white man, and learned to live as he did, they would be saved from extinction. Certainly this English settlement looked neat and prosperous enough, with the church and the schoolhouse,
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and the little frame houses set in rows. As Ebenezer sagely remarked, "The Indians continue in their Heathenism not- withstanding the Gospel has been bro't so near them, and they are greatly diminished; so that since my remembrance there were ten Indians, where there is now One. But the Christians greatly increase and multiply and spread over the Land; let us, therefore leave our former Courses and become Christians." Konkapot gave ear to this advice, although he objected that if they became Christians, they would probably be disowned not only by the rest of their own tribe, but by all the related tribes. Also, reflecting probably on his neighbor Van Valkenburgh, he said he was struck with the "ill conver- sation of the Christians." However, he was seriously disposed to consider the idea, and he sent word to Stoddard that he would be glad to discuss it with him.
Stoddard and his friends among the clergy of the neighbor- hood were genuinely concerned over the plight of this pathetic remnant of a great nation stranded in the rising tide of white civilization. Nehemiah Bull of Westfield, Stephen Williams of Springfield and Samuel Hopkins of West Spring- field gathered together to consider how they could best effect the salvation of the souls of these heathen brethren. Gover- nor Belcher was about to confer military titles of Captain and Lieutenant upon Konkapot and Umpachene for services rendered to the English. This honor would please them and would provide a ceremony, always attractive to the Indians. At Stoddard's suggestion, the clergymen agreed to meet the Indians at Springfield, where the titles would be given, and there they could discuss the matter.
The gentlemen also decided to write to the Commissioners in Boston, who were the representatives in this country for The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts. This organization which had its headquarters in London ,had been the result of the great interest which had
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sprung up in 1643 after the publication of John Eliot's book, The First Fruits of New England, in which he told of his mis- sionary work among the Indians. This movement had grown, money had been raised, and now the agents appointed for the missionary work in this country, with Governor Belcher at their head, were anxious to accomplish great things. Missionaries had been sent out to different trading posts and forts to which the Indians came with their furs, but the atmosphere of trade had not proved conducive to the preaching of the gospel, and they had soon ceased their efforts. However, when the commissioners heard of this tribe at Housatonic, who were at least not hostile to the idea of Christianity, they felt that here might be their opportunity. The conversion of this tribe might be the door through which they might reach all the various tribes connected with them, the Delawares and even the important and powerful Six Nations. This was a result devoutly to be hoped for, not alone from religious, but also from political, motives.
With the glittering military titles of Captain and Lieuten- ant as bait, Konkapot and Umpachene were induced to come to Springfield, accompanied by Van Valkenburgh. Here they sat down with Stephen Williams, Nehemiah Bull and John Stoddard to discuss, through the reluctant medium of Van Valkenburgh, the Indians' interest in the Christian faith. Bull and Williams readily agreed to Konkapot's suggestion to make a trip to the banks of the Housatonic, where they would explain to the whole tribe this scheme for the regeneration of their souls. This meeting had taken place in Umpachene's Great Wigwam in the July preceding Ebenezer's baptism. After four days of anxious consultation, the Indians had agreed that their souls should be saved and that a missionary should come to live among them.
John Sergeant had been the choice of the Commissioners at Boston, and he and Nehemiah Bull took their way over the
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mountains that brilliant October day of Ebenezer's baptism. As they rode along he may well have pondered on the diffi- culties of his situation. The trip itself was "thro' a most doleful wilderness and the worst road, perhaps, that ever was rid," and he reflected that after the snow fell it would be impossible to find the way, and "his Majesties' subjects living in these parts of the Province" would be completely cut off and unable to supply themselves with the necessary "foreign commodities."
He was young, only twenty-four, his courage was high and he was by nature peculiarly fitted for the task which he was undertaking. He was, indeed, the perfect combination of pioneer and man of God desirable in a missionary. Short, sturdy and compact of build, with lively black eyes, he had "a beautiful countenance and goodly to look to."
At this time he was engaged in tutoring at Yale where "the comeliness of his person, the sweetness of his temper, the decency of his behavior, the agreeableness of his conversation" made him extremely popular. In his early youth he had received a cut in the muscles of his left hand, while scything in a meadow, which had incapacitated him for an active life and had thrown him perforce into a life of study. Although already absorbed in the spiritual life, he could not feel that God called him to the studious and sedentary career of a clergyman in one of the many expanding towns about him. Such a life would satisfy neither his burning desire to serve God in some extraordinary way nor the boundless energy which he felt within him.
The tragedy of the Indians had always touched his heart and he had often prayed God to send him among them. In his journal he wrote: "I told the gentlemen that I was so far from being unwilling to devote myself to the service of God in so good a cause, that I was rather desirous, if none better qualify'd could be found, to improve what abilities I had in
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such an undertaking; tho' I was sensible I must not only lose a great many agreeable amusements of life, especially in leav- ing my business at College, which was the most agreeable to me that could be, but also expose myself to many fatigues and hardships, and I know not what dangers, among a barbarous people. For indeed I should be asham'd to own myself a Christian, or even a Man, and yet utterly refuse doing what lay in my power to cultivate humanity among a people natur- ally ingenious enough, but for want of instruction living so much below the Dignity of human nature
Sergeant had the singlemindedness that leads to success. No thought of the advantage to the English cause of convert- ing the Indians crossed his mind, nor did he consider the possibilities of attaining riches for himself in opening up a new and fertile country. He thought of nothing but the darkness in which these heathen lived and his own opportun- ity for leading them to the light. His faith was simple and unquestioning, and given to action rather than contempla- tion. Although he studied under Jonathan Edwards at Yale and greatly admired him, it was the spirit of Edwards, not the mind, he followed. Sergeant was in no sense an intellectual, but had a mind which matched his physique-bright, ener- getic and practical. A vigorous little saint, he turned his back at the age of twenty-four on all worldly prospects.
His agreement with the Commissioners at Boston was that he should go to Housatonic as soon as possible and spend a few months on trial. Then he would return to Yale College to finish out the year with the pupils he was then engaged in tutoring, and, if his trial expedition had proved successful, he would return the following summer as a permanent mission- ary to the Mahican Indians, at a salary of £100 a year.
The offering of the deer, made in such good faith before his eyes, showed him that in spite of Ebenezer's protestations, the Indians grasped little of the meaning of Christianity, and
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Sergeant set about preaching to them immediately. He talked to them long and earnestly through Ebenezer. Some- times he was obliged to call upon Van Valkenburgh's aid, although the Dutchman continued to look upon the pro- ceedings with great disfavor. For if the Indians stopped drinking rum, where would his business be?
Whether it was Sergeant's eloquence or the goodness of his countenance that moved them, one cannot say, but by the end of October they were building a house between the two settlements. This was to serve them as meetinghouse and schoolhouse. Around it they put up their wigwams during the winter months, although they had to move at the end of February, for then the sugar season began and they all dis- persed into the woods. This was one of the joys of their life-the ease with which they could move about the country- side. They roamed as naturally as deer through the forest. A wigwam was taken down in ten minutes and they were gone, leaving little trace behind them. This they were to be taught was wrong. They must build houses and stay in them, and till the ground, and live like the white man.
It was now the middle of December, and Sergeant had to return to his pupils at Yale. So great had been his success that the Commissioners in Boston had sent up another young man, Timothy Woodbridge, to take charge of the school while he was away. By this time both Umpachene and Konkapot placed such confidence in Sergeant that they allowed him to take their two sons back with him to New Haven. This would be of great advantage to him, as well as to them, because he would thus be enabled to lay the founda- tion of a knowledge of the Indian language. He was to find great difficulty with it, for being composed almost entirely of gutterals it was unlike any European language. He thought it more like Hebrew than anything else. But by becoming conversant with this uncouth tongue, he became aware of the
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John Sergeant
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way in which the minds of the Indians worked and he learned to express himself in a way which they could understand. Like all primitive people, they made constant use of simple and beautiful metaphor. Their speech clung very close to the soil and spoke in terms of the most ordinary human experience. Sergeant's letters to them, written from New Haven that winter, might have been written by an Indian.
"Knowledge is certainly good," he wrote. "It is to the mind what light is to the eye. You would think them your greatest enemies that should endeavor to put out your eyes, especially if you were traveling a difficult road. This world is like a thick and intangled Wilderness and why should not you, as well as other people, enjoy the benefit of light?" Again he wrote, "My heart is with you, tho' I am so far from you; but the greatest pleasure of all is, that you have it yet in your hearts to become Christians . . . it is more pleasing to me than cold water to a thirsty man in the heat of summer, or a plentiful meal to one almost starv'd with hunger, or good success to one who has hunted a great while in vain."
Sergeant had now definitely decided to spend his life as missionary to these Indians, and he realized, when he returned to Housatonic in the spring, that he must receive his ordi- nation as soon as possible. Ebenezer had been baptized, Konkapot and his family were ready for baptism, and some of the others soon would be. It was important to act quickly with the Indians and he wished to follow up their enthusiasm which had been manifested in building a meetinghouse, by enrolling them as active members of the church of Christ. Appreciating the effect that ceremony and display of any kind had upon them, he further suggested, when he wrote to the Commissioners, that his ordination might take place, if possible, somewhere in their neighborhood so that they could be present. It would not only be an ordination, but a dedi- cation of his life to the Indians.
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It so happened that this could be arranged most con- veniently. The Governor, with an imposing array of members of his Majesty's Council and House of Representa- tives, was going to Deerfield on August 25th to meet a delegation of the Six Nations and arrange an important treaty with them. This powerful confederation of tribes was in very different circumstances from their ancient enemies, the Mahicans. By banding together, they made a group com- manding the respect of both the English and the French, and neither side was ever sure which way they were going to jump. They carefully pursued this ambiguous line of conduct throughout the weary length of the French and Indian wars, thus obtaining the benefits of the friendship of both parties. At this date, they appeared to lean to the English cause, and everything was being done to conciliate them. There would be several days of negotiations, with all the usual procedure of presents exchanged, wampum passed, and quantities of rum consumed. The Indians never committed themselves easily under the best of circumstances, and this treaty was of such importance to the English that neither time nor money would be spared. It would be a magnificent sight, the Indians in full tribal regalia, and the Governor and his suite in their most imposing uniforms. And it would be an excellent opportunity for Sergeant to impress his flock with the friend- liness of government toward them.
The Governor's party was to spend the week in Deerfield and Sergeant's ordination was to be the climax of the pro- ceedings. When the time came, Sergeant was unable to travel, as he was stricken with the fever which seems to have afflicted all newcomers to the valley. The Indians appeared at the appointed time and greatly enjoyed the show, and Sergeant joined them in time for his ordination. Succinctly he notes in his journal, "Lord's Day, August 31, 1735. I was ordained at Deerfield," which does little to give a picture of
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the scene in the Deerfield meetinghouse that August day. Fortunately there are other sidelights. The service opened with a sermon of generous length by the Reverend Nathaniel Appleton, who had come from Cambridge for the purpose. The text was appropriate to the occasion: Acts 9:15-"But the Lord said unto him Go thy way: for he is a chosen vessel unto me to bear my name before the Gentiles . .. "
After the sermon, William Williams, who acted as "moder- ator," asked the Governor if it was his pleasure that Sergeant should be set apart for this work. When he signified his approval, Sergeant was asked if he wished to consecrate his life to the mission as a minister to the Indians, to which he replied, "I do." Finally the Indians were asked, through an interpreter, if they were desirous of having Mr. Sergeant for their minister, and that if they were they would show "some Sign or Manifestation thereof: Whereupon they all rose up by one Consent and with grave as well as Cheerful Countenances, signified their full, and hearty Acceptance of him." It was a sort of marriage between John Sergeant and the Mahican Indians.
All the protagonists in the struggle between the Indians and English were represented in the meetinghouse at Deer- field that day and the hopeless division between the two races was shown up in a series of dramatic contrasts. Some of these contrasts were quite deliberate. The showy paint and feathers and gay blankets of the Six Nations were a definite indication to the English of the arrogance of the Indians in the wily game they were playing between the English and the French. The English, on their side, were doing everything in the way of full regimentals in scarlet and gold to impress the Six Nations with what a powerful hand they held in this game. Over against this brilliance was set the assembled clergy of the district, dressed in the black and white of their order, come to witness the solemn contract between the
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Housatonic Indians and Sergeant, the important conse- quences of which none of them overlooked. And finally the half-clad Mahicans, looking hopefully into John Sergeant's face, believed that here was a holy man who could guide them in a changing and puzzling world.
They proudly returned to Housatonic with their minister and the work of spreading the gospel began. Sergeant preached, baptized, and married people all that winter. Konkapot and Umpachene became John and Aaron, and their wives, Mary and Hannah. Ebenezer, who always seems to have taken the first step in these matters, was the first to be married. This was a very radical step to Indian eyes. Men and women lived together and parted casually, few couples continuing together until they were old. In the case of separation, the woman kept the children and all mutual possessions, except the gun, with which the man would wander off again into the forest to seek his fortune. All this, of course, had to be changed, but it was a slow and laborious process with many backslidings and a considerable amount of drinking.
Van Valkenburgh and other Dutch traders encouraged the Indians' transgressions, for they were now becoming seriously alarmed. Van Valkenburgh's exploitation of these Indians had hitherto been highly successful and he had no intention of abandoning his position without a struggle. The Indians' passion for strong drink was the one to which he could most easily appeal, and he assured them that Sergeant was infring- ing upon their liberties when he told them not to drink, and that they were being used as dogs and slaves. If they wished to test the length of their chain and show their independence, they would drink. This it was not hard to persuade them to do, and a number of drunken "frolicks" disturbed the peace of this winter. They would drink themselves into insensi- bility and then fling themselves down in the snow to sleep it.
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