A plain and faithful narrative of the original design, rise, progress and present state of the Indian charity-school at Lebanon, in Connecticut — Reading Companion

A School's Daily Order

Wheelock provides a remarkably precise timetable for the charity school. Students rise for morning prayer, then spend time in the Assembly's Catechism before school begins at nine. The school day runs from nine to twelve, then from two to five, each session bracketed by prayer. Evening prayer occurs before daylight fades, after which students 'apply to their Studies.' On Sundays, a master supervises their behavior between meetings, hearing them read and catechising them. Once or twice a week, they hear a discourse 'calculated to their Capacities.' Wheelock notes that students appear 'perfectly easy and contented' and rarely ask to go home, even for visits, for years at a time. This schedule, presented as evidence of the school's orderly operation, also functions as a reassurance to donors that their money supports disciplined, religiously structured education.

Ledgers of Benevolence

The narrative is punctuated by itemized lists of donations, revealing the school's precarious finances. Wheelock records sums from the Honourable London Commissioners (12l. in 1756, later 20l. annually), a legacy of fifty-nine dollars from Mrs. Ann Bingham, and multiple gifts from the Marquis of Lothian (50l. sterling in July 1761, another 50l. in May 1762). He also notes a bell weighing about 80 lb. from a London gentleman, and a collection of ten guineas from Dr. A. Giffords. The Massachusetts General Court allowed Wheelock to take six children of the Six Nations at 12l. per annum each. These entries, interspersed with theological reflections, make the text as much a financial prospectus as a historical account. Wheelock explicitly frames his own financial risk—'risquing my own private Interest'—as evidence of his commitment, and he trusts in God for 'further Supplies.'

The Rhetoric of Plainness

Wheelock repeatedly emphasizes the 'plain and unfashionable Dress' of his narrative, aligning its simplicity with the sincerity of his cause. He contrasts this plainness with the 'savage, and sordid Habit' of the Indigenous children, a rhetorical move that underscores the civilizing mission while also positioning the text as unadorned truth. The dedication to the Marquis of Lothian employs elaborate flattery—praising his 'Charity and disinterested Care for the Souls of Men'—yet the body of the work is studded with precise figures and schedules. This tension between ornate address and plain accounting reflects the dual audience: wealthy patrons who expect deference and a broader public who need convincing of the school's efficacy. Wheelock's voice oscillates between the supplicant and the administrator, revealing the pressures of running a charitable institution dependent on external goodwill.

Readers should approach this narrative as a primary source that documents not only the early history of Indian education in colonial America but also the rhetorical strategies used to sustain such ventures. Wheelock's careful balancing of spiritual language and financial detail offers insight into how 18th-century missionary institutions presented themselves to transatlantic audiences. The text rewards attention to its silences—what is said about Indigenous students' perspectives, and what is left unsaid.

I finished A Plain and Faithful Narrative and found myself dwelling on how a place can hold so many good intentions and still feel unsettled. It reminded me of that quiet ache in The Story of Chautauqua — Background and Themes, where hopeful beginnings and practical strains sit side by side, neither quite winning. That lingering tension stayed with me long after I closed it.