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Week of 13 March 1998 Vol. I, No. 23 Feature Article King Philip's War, 1675-1677 BU professor's book explores New England's forgotten war by Brian Fitzgerald "Words about war are slippery," writes Jill Lepore, an assistant professor of history at CAS, "and war itself may be the slipperiest of all." Her recently published book is about King Philip's War, a conflict that raged in New England in the 17th century, but is barely mentioned in history books. The Name of War: King Philip's War and the Origins of American Identity so far has earned rave reviews from the New York Times and the Boston Globe. In addition, the history of American civilization department at Harvard University selected Lepore as one of the nation's top 10 "Young Americanists" (Ph.D. recipients since 1995 in American history, American literature, or American studies). "What was King Philip's War? Many historians don't know what to call the hostilities between English settlers and the Algonquian peoples of New England between 1675 and 1677. King Philip was the name colonists gave to Indian leader Metacom, the youngest son of Massasoit, who had helped save the Pilgrims from starvation during their early years in Plymouth. Relations between the colonists and the native tribes deteriorated, making this "short, vicious war," as Lepore calls it, almost inevitable. But for some, the extreme cruelty during this struggle doesn't even deserve the label war. Puritan minister William Hubbard referred to Indians' acts as "barbarous inhumane outrages." Still, the story of King Philip's War is one of the Puritans' conquest, and their level of brutality equaled that of their enemy. Today's eastern American Indian tribes say that massacre and ethnic cleansing might be better terms. Indeed, what is war? "War is hell," said General William T. Sherman. "War is a contagion," in the words of Franklin D. Roosevelt. These leaders were referring to the most brutal conflicts of the 19th and 20th centuries for this country in terms of American deaths. In the Civil War there were more than half a million casualties, and almost as many U.S. soldiers died in World War II. However, Lepore points out that in proportion to population, King Philip's War was by far America's deadliest conflict. It was also one of the most merciless. In her book, and in an interview as we drive west on Route 20, Lepore details the devastation of the war -- and what sense we have made of it over the years. Assistant Professor of History Jill Lepore next to two colonists' graves in Old Sudbury Cemetery, where many victims of King Philip's War are buried. Photo by Michael B. Shavelson It was a war in which both sides killed women and children, tortured captives, and mutilated the dead. The death toll is disputed: the English lost thousands, amounting to one out of every ten. "Indian losses were far greater," says Lepore, "and many of the survivors were executed, sold into slavery, or imprisoned on Deer Island and other islands in Boston Harbor." In fact, at present the tribes' descendants are pressing the U.S. Park Service to honor the islands as burial grounds, where even nonhostile Christianized Algonquians were left to freeze and starve in 1675 because so-called "praying" Indians were feared as potential preying Indians. The fighting ended with an unambiguous colonial victory, but it was by no means assured until late in the war. In March of 1676, when Indians first attacked the town of Sudbury, the colonists thought that they might have to flee to those very Boston Harbor islands and await rescue ships. "King Philip's War had nearly forced the colonists to abandon New England entirely," Lepore says. Springfield was burned. Providence was destroyed. Deerfield and Brookfield were abandoned. "One has to remember that 25 towns -- more than half of their settlements -- had been ruined," she adds. "The colonists were pushed back almost to the coast of Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Boston was considered the place of final retreat. Everything west of Concord was destroyed." As we drive to Sudbury, which borders Concord on its north side, it is easy to see why the colonists were fearful -- it doesn't take us long to reach the town, which is less than 20 miles west of Boston. And although skirmishes occurred as close to Boston as Dedham, a particularly disturbing account exists of the second Sudbury battle, where between 30 and 60 colonists were killed during a raid by 500 Nipmuck warriors in April 1676. A letter printed in London described one death in detail: a weaponless elderly man who fled into a swamp was overtaken by an Indian, while another colonist hid in a bush and listened as "the Indian insulted over him with that blasphemous expression, 'Come Lord Jesus, save this poor Englishman if thou canst, whom I am now about to kill.' " "The incident tells us a lot about the war," says Lepore. "The Algonquians, some of whom were converted to Christianity, were afraid of losing their 'Indianness,' and the colonists wanted to free themselves of doubts about their own Englishness -- especially the ones whose settlements were farthest from Boston and not far from Indian villages. They were afraid they were becoming more like the Indians. Church membership and attendance had declined. Until the war, trade and friendly contact between the two groups had been increasing." Accordingly, there was symbolism in much of the violence: the Indians mutilated cattle, which had been tromping and chomping on their farmland. The Algonquian practice of decapitating enemies had religious significance. "Narragansetts believed that the soul (Cowwewonck) resided in the brain," writes Lepore. After death, the Cowwewonck traveled to "a land of perpetual prosperity -- good weather, good harvests, good death. To separate a head from its body was to deny the soul entrance to . . . a blissful afterlife." Indians even dug up English corpses specifically to decapitate them. But, "much as the English expressed their horror at the barbarity of these practices, they practiced many of them themselves. When English soldiers came upon English heads on poles, they often took them down and put Indian heads in their place." We arrive at our destination, King Philip's Reservation in Sudbury. "King Philip signs are a dime a dozen," points out Lepore. But unlike many sites named after the Indian sachem -- including King Philip Inn in Bristol, R.I., with its Iron Horse Lounge, and nearby King Philip Motors -- one can sense that there is a real history here. It's not far from the site where a number of English war victims are buried. King Philip was killed on August 12, 1676, in Mount Hope, R.I., by Alderman, one of a group of Indian soldiers fighting for the English. Battles continued for another year, but the war was effectively over with his death. Philip's skull was impaled on a post in Plymouth, and years later clergyman Cotton Mather removed its jawbone. Why? "It was a perfect metaphor," says Lepore. "He wanted to put an end to his blasphemy, to shut him up." But the story of the war begs to be told, and Lepore's book is drawing favorable reviews. Lepore, who earned her Ph.D. at Yale in 1995 and has been teaching at BU since 1996, will be signing copies of The Name of War at Barnes & Noble at BU on March 19. (For more information, see Calendar, page 9.)