Herman Melville

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One drawing for every page of Moby Dick

Monday, June 14th, 2010

Moby Dick‘s probably my favorite book. I waffle sometimes, bringing in The Confidence Man, or Blood Meridian, but when it comes down to what purely gets my juices flowing, what I keep re-reading, what makes my blood pump, it’s Moby Dick.

And, so, imagine my excitement when I saw this: One Drawing for Every Page of Moby Dick. They’re wonderful in a way that these projects aren’t always. Surprising, interrogatory, and irreverent in a way I think Melville would have approved. I can’t pick a favorite — they’re all wonderful — but here’s one I just really liked:

Page 005 : …this, the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way…

And this:

Page 035 : What deadly voids and unbidden infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and refuse resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a grave.

And this:

Page 044 : “And ever, as the white moon shows her affrighted face from the steep gullies in the blackness overhead…”

Daniel Boone

Sunday, April 4th, 2010

I’ve got a running theory about Herman Melville’s Confidence Man and American frontiersmen like Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, Buffalo Bill, etc., that also feeds into Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. At it’s core, it’s not very complicated. It begins with a quote from Richard Slotkin that I’m rather fond of:

In American mythogenesis the founding fathers were not those eighteenth-century gentlemen who composed a nation at Philadelphia. Rather, they were those who (to paraphrase Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!) tore violently a nation from the implacable and opulent wilderness — the rogues, adventurers, and land-boomers; the Indian fighters, traders, missionaries, explorers, and hunters who killed and were killed until they had mastered the wilderness; the settlers who came after, suffering hardship and Indian warfare for the sake of a sacred mission or a simple desire for land; and the Indians themselves, both as they were and as they appeared to the settlers, for whom they were the special demonic personification of the American wilderness. Their concerns, their hopes, their terrors, their violence, and their justifications of themselves, as expressed in literature, are the foundation stones of the mythology that informs our history.

What I think Melville attempts to underscore is that those who “tore violently a nation from the implacable and opulent wilderness,” at least those who we best remember for doing that work, were about %95 huckster. Half the game was butchery, sure, but the other half was the long con. It had to be, to do the work of expansion. That’s most clear with the obvious confidence men like John Smith, Davy Crockett, or Andrew Jackson, but if dig you deep enough, it’s been my experience that you’ll find the same in any of them.

Boone, the latest big biography of Daniel Boone, which I just finished, did nothing to disabuse me of this suspicion. I knew Boone’s legendary status as a frontiersman was largely the creation of John Filson in his glorified land-grab brochure, and I also knew of Boone’s part in the illegal and idiotic Transylvania Land Company, but I didn’t know much about Boone’s occupation as a land surveyor. I knew that he dabbled in land surveying, and I knew that he wasn’t very good at it, but most biographies of Boone gloss over this aspect of his life, and dismiss his constantly being sued as the result of either bad luck or a wilderness-minded temperament that can’t be bothered with details.

Robert Morgan, the author Boone, tries that line, but it comes across pretty clearly that Boone’s practice was more fraudulent than not. The best Morgan can say about Boone is that he was probably no less honest than any other land surveyor. All of the land he surveyed for himself was litigated out of his own hands, and most that he surveyed for others — others whom he charged a hefty sum for his services — was also lost. On at least one occasion, he was actually caught red-handed trying to fake surveying marks on property-line landmarks.

I guess what I find most interesting is that this was his primary occupation. Yes, he hunted, at times commercially. And he did some exploring and trail-blazing. But land surveying was what he did most of his life for money. When he attained wealth and respectability, they were the result of wealth earned by surveying land. As it was, of course, when he lost the both, and was, time and time again driven further West by lawsuits and creditors as the result of his continuing land fraud schemes.

What I’d like to see is a biography that focuses on Boone’s role as a land surveyor, and that relegates the mythological role concocted by John Filson to the secondary place where it belongs. But that’s probably never gonna happen. Even Morgan, who provides us with an entire litany of evidence as to Boone’s illegality and dishonesty, can’t keep from repeating ad-nauseum that Boone was the most honest of men. What Melville understood a hundred and fifty years ago, that the “westering holocaust” (as McCarthy put it) of Westward expansion was driven by cheap hucksterism, seems still beyond the grasp of most who deal with the history of Westward expansion now.

Which is a shame, because the mythogenesis Slotkin writes of created a nation with a hell of an appetite for both holocaust and hucksterism, with no end in sight.

John Smith, Pocahontas, and Cormac McCarthy

Monday, January 11th, 2010

(The beginning of some notes on Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian as promised here. )

This one takes a little patience, but one of the most fruitful ways to track the judge’s representation of Indians is tease out the historical representations of Indians that lead to Blood Meridian. To do that, however, we have to start with one assumption. That is: judge Holden is the book, Blood Meridian.  Meaning, the representation of Indians in Blood Meridian is the judge’s representation. They are inseparable, and the judge’s Indians, Blood Meridian‘s Indians, are the squalid, bloodstained, warlike savages of nineteenth-century pulp fiction, wandering the fringes of civilization, barely eking a living out of a tortured and hostile landscape. I’ll have more on exactly why I argue that the judge is the book in a later post.

So, who was John Smith? And what does he have to do with the judge? Well, to most people, he was Pocahontas’ love-smitten beau in any number of fictionalizations of his life, from Disney’s Pocahontas to Terrence Malick’s thematically identical The New World. In reality, he was a mercenary. The first English colony in the New World was a get-rich-quick scheme, established in Jamestowne, Virginia in 1607, to procure gold and gems for the colony’s backers. As such, at least half of the colonists were English aristocrats who disdained common labor. They weren’t a very hardy folk, to put it mildly, and they weren’t very good at most of the things colonists typically should be, if they are to survive: i.e., growing food, foraging, building shelter, hunting, fishing, etc. And so, they died like flies of starvation.

The Indians they met, however, were exceedingly good at surviving. They were agricultural peoples, and decidedly better at agriculture than the English. Which leads us to John Smith’s contribution to the colony. More than likely all of the Virginia colonists would have starved had it not been for Smith, who took on the roll of strongarm artist, extorting and plundering food from the Indians. His tactics were simple: intimidation, boastful threat, and, when necessary, sudden and overwhelming violence. For instance, when one village of Indians refused to open their granaries, Smith’s men raked them with shot and burnt their lodges down. When another refused, Smith took their leader, put a gun to his chest, and promised to kill him if he didn’t come up with twenty tons of corn.

Needless to say, much of the food he took from the local Indians was sorely missed. Often it was food meant to be stored for the winter. As such, Indians started dying like flies of starvation.

These tactics continued with and without John Smith right up until 1622, when the Virginia colonists finally managed to provoke the Indians into open warfare, which made the colonists ecstatic. See, the Virginians were still unable and unwilling to eke a living from the land, and warfare with the Indians meant the plundering of their cultivated land and crops. As Virginia colonist Edward Waterhouse wrote:

[W]e, who hitherto have had possession of no more ground than their waste, and our purchase at valuable consideration to their owne contentment, gained; may now by right of Warre, and law of Nations, invade their Country, and destroy them who sought to destroy us: whereby wee shall enjoy their cultivated places, turning the laborious Mattocke into the victorious Sword (wherein there is more both ease, benefit, and glory) and possessing the fruits of others labours. Now the cleared grounds in all their villages (which are situate in in the fruitfullest places of the land) shall be inhabited by us, whereas heretofore the grubbing of woods was the greatest labour.

It also meant another boon to the colony.  It meant slaves.

Because the Indians, who before were used as friends, may now most justly be compelled to servitude and drudgery, and supply the room of men that labour, whereby even the meanest of the Plantation may imploy themselves more entirely in their arts and Occupations, which are more generous, whilest Savages performe their inferiour workes of digging in mynes, and the like . . .

Furthermore, it would be a war like nothing the Indians had ever known. Total war, open extermination. As Waterhouse continues:

Because the way of conquering them is much more easie then of civilizing them by faire meanes, for they are a rude, barbarous, and naked people, scattered in small companies, which are helps to Victorie, but hinderances to Civilitie: Besides that, a conquest may be of many, and at once; but civility is in particular, and slow, the effect of long time, and great industry. Moreover, victorie of them may bee gained many waies; by force, by surprize, by famine in burning their Corne, by destroying and burning their Corne, by destroying and burning their Boats, Canoes, and Houses, by breaking their fishing Weares, by assailing them in their huntings, whereby they get the greatest part of their sustenance in Winter, by pursuing and chasing them with out horses, and blood-Hounds to draw after them, and Mastives to teare them, which take this naked, tanned, deformed Savages, for no other then wild beasts, and are so fierce and fell upon them, that they feare them worse then their old Devill which they worship, supposing them to be a new and worse kinde of Devils then their owne. By these and sundry other wayes, as by driving them (when they flye) upon their enemies, who are round about them, and by animating and abetting their enemies against them, may their ruin or subjection be soone effected.

You’ll note the irony here. Waterhouse wants to exterminate the Indians because they have cultivated land and crops; however, his justification for exterminating them is that they are “no other then wild beasts” and “naked, tanned, deformed Savages.” This is a tension that continues throughout the colonization of America, for the simple reason that neither the aforementioned “right of Warre” nor the “law of Nations” specifically did not allow liquidating an Indian population to gain any plot of land a European happened to desire.

In fact, there had already been a series of debates about whether Indians had the right to their own land, probably the most famous of which being those between Bartolome de Las Casas, who wrote A Brief Account of the Destruction of the Indies and Juan Gines de Sepulveda.  And those lead to the sixteenth-century Spanish jurist Franciscus de Vitoria, known as the father of international law, writing several articles detailing the limits of papal and Spanish authority over Indians and their territories. Vitoria concluded that Christians had no right to wage war on Indians simply for being non-Christians, that there were no rights of conquest, and that Indians who owned land were sovereign nations with the right to make treaties, and could not be divested of that land by individual hucksters. Moreover, Pope Paul III had issued Papal Bull Sublimis Deus in 1537, instructing that Indians are to be treated as true humans, and not to be arbitrarily deprived of their property:

In the desire to remedy the evil which has been caused, We hereby decide and declare that the said Indians, as well as any other peoples which Christianity will come to know in the future, must not be deprived of their freedom and their possessions- — regardless of contrary allegations — even if they are not Christians and that, on the contrary, they must be left to enjoy their freedom and their possessions.
Far from our contemporary assumption that Europeans thought they had the right to do whatever they wanted with Indian lives and land, nothing could be further from the truth. There were all kinds of people arguing otherwise, and the opposition to flat-out butchery and land-grabbing was fierce. As such, every one of these liquidations and land grabs had to be justified, usually in retrospect, back to the homeland. Hence, in reports to Europe, Indian peoples who were inarguably superior at most of the things colonists liked to consider as the hallmarks of civilization — agriculture, the development of land, etc. — were described as the exact opposite of what it was about them that made their land so desirable. Suddenly, they were without agriculture, without the capacity to develop their land, and were instead rewritten as nomadic wild beasts in a howling wilderness, as inherently warlike, and impossible to live near with being drawn into wars of extermination.

Which ought to sound familiar to those who’ve read Blood Meridian. These are the judge’s Indians.

I’ll elaborate more on the process of creating this kind of nomadic wild beast next time around with the Puritans, but it’s worth bearing in mind that none of this is new. There was an explosion of books pointing most of it out in the 1960s and 1970s, and many of them dealt directly with Herman Melville’s (McCarthy’s favorite author, according to at least one interview) depiction of Indians as a counter-example to the main. Savagism and Civilization comes to mind, as does The White Man’s Indian, and Regeneration through Violence, which I’ve already mentioned in connection with McCarthy. None of these books are usually read outside of American Indian Studies classes these days, but if McCarthy was interested in representations of American Indians they would have been impossible to miss.

Aside: It’s worth remembering that John Smith is most famous now for one of the more successful confidence games in the history of North America. That would be his story of being saved by Pocahontas when his life was threatened by her father, Powhatan — the story which lead to all the Disney-like mythologies of romance revolving around empty fertile land and, of course, nubile fertile Indian maidens.  As Smith describes the incident in his The Generall Historie of Virginia:

Being ready with their clubs, to beate out his brains, Pocahontas the Kings dearest daughter, when no entreaty could prevaile, got his head in her arms, and laid her owne upon his to save him from death: Whereat the Emperour was contented that he should live.

Interestingly, this is all Smith wrote of being saved by Pocahontas in The Generall Historie of Virginia, and, though he wrote other accounts of his captivity by Powhatan in 1608 and 1612, neither of these mentions anything about Pocahontas saving his life. Indeed, they describe Powhatan favorably. It was not until 1622, when both Powhatan and Pocahontas were dead, that John Smith published the tale of Powhatan’s attempt on his life and his salvation by Pocahontas.

There’s very little about the Pocahontas legend as spun by Euro-Americans that can’t be met with suspicion.  Pocahontas was not even her name.  She had two names: one formal, Matoaka, and one informal, Amonute.  Pocahontas was a nickname given her by her father, which the English vastly preferred because William Bradford liked to translate it as “little wanton,” suggesting in itself the cultural work the legend performs for Euro-Americans. It’s a legend that signifies one culture supplicating itself before the other, that signifies an Indian woman betraying her own people and opening herself to European colonizers as a recognition of them as a superior race. Which is exactly why it’s a story that Euro-Americans still can’t stop telling.

There are two American Indian women, and only two American Indian women, whom every white schoolchild knows: Pocahontas and Sacagawea. Their names are known because they tell the same story.

This narrative of supplication doesn’t begin with Pocahontas, by the way. Christopher Columbus traded in women, as well as slaves and gold. The following comes from the diary of an Italian nobleman who sailed with him:

I captured a very beautiful Carib women, whom the said Lord Admiral gave to me and with whom…I conceived desire to take pleasure. I wanted to put my desire into execution but she did not want it and treated me with her finger nails in such manner that I wished I had never begun. But seeing that, I took a rope and thrashed her well…. Finally we came to an agreement.

The “Lord Admiral” is Columbus.

Five hundred years later, Harvard Historian Samuel Eliot Morison wrote of the same voyage:

In the Bahamas, Cuba and Hispaniola they found young beautiful women, who everywhere were naked, in most places accessible, and presumably complaisant. . . Never again may mortal men hope to recapture the amazement, the wonder, the delight of those October days in 1492, when the new world gracefully yielded her virginity to the conquering Castilians.

Nor does this narrative exclusively target Indian women.  Black women share in it as well.  As literary critic and historian H. Bruce Franklin writes:

The sexual problems characteristic of each stage of our history have been analyzed most keenly in literature by Afro-American “criminals.” There is an unbroken line of development from Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Linda Brent, whose crime was refusing to submit to the perverted sexuality of her master, through that turn-of-the-century Georgia peon whose wife was taken away to service the sexual needs of his masters, through Malcolm X, who worked as a pimp in Harlem, guiding wealthy old white men to ogle and participate in their most diseased sado-masochistic fantasies with Black women and men, to Eldridge Cleaver’s own sexual aberrations, which led, in Soul On Ice, to his incisive exploration of the psychopathology inherent in the stereotyped sexual roles imposed by American culture on the Black man, the white woman, the white man, and the Black woman.

The aforementioned Herman Melville was very well aware of the work done by this narrative, by the way. His satirical masterpiece,The Confidence Man, which could have been dedicated in part to John Smith, includes the sublime line: “When I think of Pocahontas, I am ready to love Indians.”

It’s worth remembering that John Smith is most famous now for one of the more successful confidence games in the history of North American. That would be his story of being saved by Pocahontas when his life was threatened by her father, Powhatan, which lead to all the Disney-like mythologies of romance revolving around empty fertile land and, of course, virginal, nubile Indian maidens.  As Smith describes the incident in his The Generall Historie of Virginia:
Being ready with their clubs, to beate out his brains, Pocahontas the Kings dearest daughter, when no entreaty could prevaile, got his head in her arms, and laid her owne upon his to save him from death: Whereat the Emperour was contented that he should live.
Interestingly, this is all Smith wrote of being saved by Pocahontas in The Generall Historie of Virginia, and, though he wrote other accounts of his captivity by Powhatan in 1608 and 1612, neither of these mentions anything about Pocahontas saving his life, and, in fact, describe Powhatan favorably. It was not until 1622, when both Powhatan and Pocahontas were dead, that John Smith published the tale of Powhatan’s attempt on his life and his salvation by Pocahontas.
There’s very little about the Pocahontas legend as spun by Euro-Americans that can’t be met with suspicion.  Pocahontas was not even her name.  She had two names.  One formal, Matoaka, and one informal, Amonute.  Pocahontas was a nickname given her by her father, which the English vastly preferred as William Bradford liked to translate it into “little wanton,” which suggests the cultural work the legend performs for Euro-Americans. It’s a legend that signifies one culture supplicating itself before the other.  An Indian woman being willing to open her body and betray her people in the face of a superior race, which is exactly why it’s a story that Euro-Americans still can’t stop telling.
There are two American Indian women, and only two American Indian women, whom every white schoolchild knows: Pocahontas and Sacagawea.
Their names are known because they tell the same story.
This narrative of supplication doesn’t begin with Pocahontas, by the way.  Christopher Columbus traded in women, as well as slaves and gold.  The following comes from the diary of an Italian nobleman who sailed with Columbus:
I captured a very beautiful Carib women, whom the said Lord Admiral gave to me and with whom…I conceived desire to take pleasure. I wanted to put my desire into execution but she did not want it and treated me with her finger nails in such manner that I wished I had never begun. But seeing that, I took a rope and thrashed her well…. Finally we came to an agreement.
The “Lord Admiral” is Columbus.
Five hundred years later, Harvard Historian Samuel Eliot Morison wrote of the same voyage:
In the Bahamas, Cuba and Hispaniola they found young beautiful women, who everywhere were naked, in most places accessible, and presumably complaisant. . . Never again may mortal men hope to recapture the amazement, the wonder, the delight of those October days in 1492, when the new world gracefully yielded her virginity to the conquering Castilians.
Nor does this narrative exclusively target Indian women.  Black women share in it as well.  As literary critic and historian H. Bruce Franklin writes:
The sexual problems characteristic of each stage of our history have been analyzed most keenly in literature by Afro-American “criminals.” There is an unbroken line of development from Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Linda Brent, whose crime was refusing to submit to the perverted sexuality of her master, through that turn-of-the-century Georgia peon whose wife was taken away to service the sexual needs of his masters, through Malcolm X, who worked as a pimp in Harlem, guiding wealthy old white men to ogle and participate in their most diseased sado-masochistic fantasies with Black women and men, to Eldridge Cleaver’s own sexual aberrations, which led, in Soul On Ice, to his incisive exploration of the psychopathology inherent in the stereotyped sexual roles imposed by American culture on the Black man, the white woman, the white man, and the Black woman.
The aforementioned Herman Melville was very well aware of the work done by this narrative. His satirical masterpiece, The Confidence Man, which could have been dedicated in part to John Smith, includes the sublime line: “When I think of Pocahontas, I am ready to love Indians.”

Dopey Dick: The Pink Whale

Monday, August 10th, 2009

Also via the KR Blog.


Moby Dick

Monday, August 10th, 2009

By Guy Ben-Ner, via the KR Blog.

Part one:


Part two:


The Voyage of the Pequod

Wednesday, July 15th, 2009

maps_fig147

Magnifiable map here. It is being shown in a Wattis Institute exhibition devoted to Moby Dick.

Harold Bloom on Cormac McCarthy

Wednesday, June 17th, 2009

One of the smartest comments ever made about Cormac McCarthy, by Harold Bloom in a discussion about Blood Meridian (via Maud Newton): “He tends to carry his influences on the surface, quite honestly.”

That’s about the long and the short of it, whether McCarthy’s pulling lines straight from William Faulkner, Kris Kristofferson, and Waylon Jennings, or exploding the tropes of nineteenth-century scientific imperialism, his books are great pastiche amalgamations of their sources.

Of course, then Bloom goes on to say one of the dumber things he’s ever said in his career: “I don’t think McCarthy was interested, at least at that point in his career, in moral judgments, any more than Melville was involved in moral judgments.”

Melville wasn’t interested in moral judgments? Has Bloom ever read Typee? Omoo? Certainly not White Jacket, which was instrumental in changing the navy’s policy on flogging. That’s a profoundly stupid thing to say, and it negates the majority of those influences to which Blood Meridian owes itself: the literature and propaganda of the declaredly imperial US western expansion. The reason this is never brought up vis-à-vis Blood Meridian isn’t because it isn’t there, or, as Bloom meaninglessly opines, “Blood Meridian is too grand for that” — whatever the hell that means — it’s because there are very few literary scholars who know much about the subject. Unlike McCarthy.

This isn’t to reduce Blood Meridian to some kind of anti-imperialist tsk-tsking, but McCarthy does wear his sources on his sleeve,and there’s no way of disentangling those sources from a commentary on imperialism. An example? Here’s a big one: Regeneration Through Violence, the first volume of literary historian Richard Slotkin’s frontier history trilogy. It was published in 1973, and unless Cormac McCarthy is directly channeling Slotkin’s worldview through some metaphysical means, he read it. Hell, the title’s even evoked by Michael Herr in the blurb that’s graced the front cover of the Vintage International Edition for as long as I’ve been aware of the book: “A classic American novel of regeneration through violence.”

I’ll post more on this later. If you’re seriously bored in the meantime, I have a review of The Road over at The Modern Word which touches on some of the pastiche stuff. I’ll also have an essay about Blood Meridian in this book about art and genocide sometime in the fall.

Update: A big RIGHT THE FUCK ON to the Onion for their discussion of Cormac McCarthy, by the way. Best news on the planet, and some of the best books coverage, too.

Update II: For more on this, start here.

Blood Meridian discussion

Tuesday, June 9th, 2009

Via Maud Newton, there’s a discussion going at the A.V. Club about Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian that I keep thinking I might jump into, but I probably won’t. Once upon a time, I taught a class about the representation of American Indians in American Literature, and Blood Meridian is what I ended with. It seems to me that this discussion is missing something so critical that sticking my nose in would necessitate a complete overhaul. That is: other American writings about expansion, colonization, and Indians.

The judge didn’t come out of nowhere, and it’s striking that there are only three references to Melville in the comments — all of them to Moby Dick – and none in the main article. There is no mention at all of Melville’s The Confidence Man, which is far more important than Moby Dick vis-a-vis Blood Meridian, and none that I could find of any of the other long list of American novelists, historians, and scientific writers who also deal with American expansion and colonization, and who McCarthy is drawing from.

Instead, the obvious, and, I’d argue, not-too-useful stuff: the Bible and Faulkner.  Which seems to be what people come up with when they’re talking about Blood Meridian and they want to sound smart, but don’t know a whole hell of  a lot about the subject matter.

Update: For more on this, start here.

The Mystic massacre

Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009

I missed this, but last week was the anniversary of the first extermination campaign launched by Puritans. On May 26, 1637, New Hampshire founder John Mason, professional mercenary John Underhill, 90 Puritans, and 70 Narragansett and Mohegan allies, advanced on the Pequot village of Mystic. The warriors were away, the town was inhabited by women, children, and elders.

The Puritans formed a circle around the town, set the town on fire, and gunned down everyone who tried to escape. According to John Mason, they killed 700 noncombatants. Only seven escaped, and seven more were taken prisoner. The Puritans then sold those seven into slavery, and hunted down every Pequot left alive. Those they didn’t kill outright, they also sold into slavery.

When there was no one left to own the name of Pequot, they renamed every landmark which bore their name. They then outlawed the word Pequot. They weren’t content to wipe the Pequot from the face of the Earth, they wiped them from human memory.

The name resurfaced two hundred years later in Melville’s Moby Dick as the name of his ship of state, the Pequod, described as “a cannibal of a craft, tricking herself forth in the chased bones of her enemies”.

John Mason’s description of the Mystic massacre in A Brief History of the Pequot War:

And indeed such a dreadful Terror did the Almighty let fall upon their Spirits, that they would fly from us and run into the very flames, where many of them perished…(And) God was above them, who laughed his Enemies and the Enemies of his People to Scorn, making them as a fiery Oven: Thus were the Stouth Hearted spoiled, having slept their last Sleep, and none of their Men could find their Hands: Thus did the Lord judge among the Heathen, filling the Place with dead Bodies!

William Bradford’s, from the History of the Plymouth Plantation:

Those that scraped the fire were slaine with the sword; some hewed to peeces, others rune throw with their rapiers, so as they were quickly dispatchte, and very few escapted. It was conceived they thus destroyed about 400 at this time. It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fyer, and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stincke and sente there of, but the victory seemed a sweete sacrifice, and they gave the prayers thereof to God, who had wrought so wonderfully for them, thus to inclose their enemise in their hands, and give them so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enimie.

John Underhill’s from Newes from America:

Down fell men, women, and children. Those that ‘scaped us, fell into the hands of the Indians that were in the rear of us. Not above five of them ‘scaped out of our hands. Our Indians came us and greatly admired the manner of Englishmen’s fight, but cried “Mach it, mach it!” – that is, “It is naught, it is naught, because it is too furious, and slays too many men.” Great and doleful was the bloody sight to the view of young soldiers that never had been in war, to see so many souls lie gasping on the ground, so thick, in some places, that you could hardly pass along.

The day after the massacre John Winthrop ordered a day of Thanksgiving in celebration.

The Mystic massacre of 1637 fundamentally changed Puritan discourse about Indians. After the massacre, there was very little further talk of learning to live with the Indians. Instead, Indians were more and more presented as bloodthirsty savages for which there was no solution but extermination. As Francis Jennings writes in The Invasion of America:

The invaders also anticipated, correctly, that other Europeans would question the morality of their enterprise.  They therefore made preparations of two sorts: guns and munitions to over power Indian resistance and quantities of propaganda to overpower their countrymen’s scruples.  The propaganda gradually took standard form as an ideology with conventional assumptions and semantics.  We live with it still.

One interesting point: the motive for this extermination wasn’t solely land. Jean Baudrillard posits a more pathological drive in Simulacra and Simulation:

We are fascinated by Rameses as Renaissance Christians were by the American Indians: those (human?) beings who had never known the word of Christ. Thus, at the beginning of colonisation, there was a moment of stupor and amazement before the very possibility of escaping the universal law of the Gospel. There were two possible responses: either to admit that this law was not universal, or to exterminate the Indians so as to remove the evidence.