SETTLEMENT OF CONNECTICUT.
The Connecticut river was discovered about the same time both by the
Dutch and the English, who both claim the honour, which is supposed by
some writers to be due to the Dutch; the English, however, were the
first settlers on its banks. In 1651, Wahquimacut, the sachem of one of
the Indian tribes which inhabited the Connecticut valley, being pressed
by his enemies the Pequods on the east, and the Mohawks on the west,
made his appearance in Boston, and afterwards in Plymouth, to invite a
settlement in his country, the beauty and fertility of which he
described in glowing colours. The Plymouth colony, which had declined
the invitation of Lord Baltimore into the milder region of Maryland,
listened more willingly to that of the Indian sachem, and Governor
Winslow himself visited the valley, and found it no less attractive than
had been represented.
The report of this new and delightful region, lying on a river which
offered every facility for an advantageous trade with the Indians, soon
reached England, and the council for New England granted a patent of the
Connecticut valley to the Earl of Warwick, a puritan nobleman and a
friend and disciple of Hooker, who had already emigrated. This grant,
however, was soon after transferred to Lord Say and Seal, Lord Brooke
and others; and John Winthrop, son of Governor Winthrop of
Massachusetts, a man whose excellent endowments, high religious
character and great learning, made him universally loved and respected,
being at that time in England on the business of Massachusetts, returned
to the New World, as agent of the noble patentees and their friends,
with a commission to build a fort at the mouth of the Connecticut,
together with houses suitable not only for emigrants in general, but for
persons of wealth and condition. This grant included the whole extent of
the country “from the Narragansett river, 120 miles in a straight line
near the shore, towards the south-west, as the coast lies towards
Virginia, from the Atlantic Ocean _to the South Sea_;” it being still
supposed that the continent of America was narrow, and that the South,
or Pacific Sea, was easily attainable from the Atlantic shore.
But before Winthrop reached America with his commission, settlements had
already been made on the Connecticut. The people of Plymouth, following
the advice of the friendly sachem, built a trading house at a place
called Windsor, and commenced a traffic with the Indians in furs; and
the Dutch, jealous of the English, had sent a colony from Manhattan, and
established what they called the House of Good Hope somewhat lower down
the river. A more important movement, however, than either of these had
set in towards the valley of the Connecticut, of which we must speak
more in detail.
Vast numbers of the persecuted still continuing to pour in from England,
the older settlements were presently found to be too narrow for their
occupants, and, as in the full hive at midsummer, a spirit of diffusion
urged them abroad. The people of Dorchester, New Town and Watertown felt
the first impulse, and lured by the intelligence of fine pasture land on
the banks of the Connecticut, many of them determined to remove thither.
In the month of October, 1635, a company of sixty persons, men, women
and children, set out on a second pilgrimage through the forests, which
were yet pathless save to the Indians, driving their cattle before them,
and taking with them merely provisions for the journey, further
supplies, together with their household possessions, having been sent
forward by sea. The American autumn is generally fine and steady, and,
late as it was in the season, no danger was apprehended. But dangers and
difficulties met them; the winter set in unusually early and with
unexampled severity; and to add to their misfortunes, the vessels which
were to supply them with necessaries were, some delayed by storms, and
others wrecked. The history of their suffering is appalling; a few
weathered out the terrible season, sustained by mast and acorns, and
others reached the sea-shore, where, finding a vessel, they returned to
Massachusetts. Their cattle fared as hardly as themselves, numbers of
them perished, and the remainder picked up a scanty subsistence in the
woods. It was a fearful beginning; but the Pilgrims, inured to
hardships, were not daunted by that which would have quailed the courage
of ordinary men. The next spring, they who had escaped with their lives
to Massachusetts were ready to return to Connecticut, only to be
followed by a much larger and more important emigration.
In the meantime Winthrop, who had arrived from England with his
commission, commenced to build the projected fort at the mouth of the
Connecticut, when a Dutch vessel appeared to take possession, but, as in
the case of the first settlement of the English at Windsor, the place
had been held in defiance of the Dutch, so now, having two pieces of
cannon, Winthrop prevented their landing, and completed the fort without
further molestation, which he named Saybrooke, after the two noble
patentees.
And now, but not without great dissatisfaction to the colony of
Massachusetts, the great emigration commenced to the attractive valley
of Connecticut. The whole narrative reads like a chapter of patriarchal
life or a beautiful Arcadian poem. “In the month of June,” says
Bancroft, “the principal caravan began its march, led by Thomas Hooker,
‘the light of the western churches.’ There were of the company about one
hundred souls; many of them were persons accustomed to affluence and the
ease of European life. They drove before them numerous herds of cattle;
and thus they traversed on foot the pathless forests of Massachusetts,
Mrs. Hooker, who was at the time in delicate health, being borne in a
litter; advancing merely ten miles a day through the tangled woods,
across swamps and numerous streams and over the highlands that separated
the several intervening valleys; subsisting, as they slowly wandered
along, on the milk of the kine which browsed on the fresh leaves and
early shoots; having no guide through the nearly untrodden wilderness
but the compass, and no pillow for their nightly rest but heaps of
stones. How did the hills echo to the unwonted lowing of the herds; how
were the forests enlivened by the loud and fervent piety of Hooker.
Never again was there such a pilgrimage from the sea-side to the
delightful banks of the Connecticut.” Well might Massachusetts oppose
this “severing of the commonwealth;” well might she remind them that
“the removing of a candlestick was a great judgment in the church;” for
this hand of Pilgrims which was leaving her infant towns “was gathered
from among the most valued citizens, the earliest settlers and the
oldest churches of the bay.” There was John Haynes, who had been
governor of Massachusetts, and “Hooker, who had no rival in the public
estimation as a preacher, excepting Cotton, whom he far surpassed in
character, together with many others. They were in fact the civil and
religious fathers of Massachusetts who were now leaving her.” Hooker, it
is said, immediately on his arrival in the New World, where he was
welcomed by his flock, who had preceded him from England, determined on
removing them to a new ground. There were yet numbers of his persecuted
friends ready to come over for his sake, and he wished for these, as
well as for himself, more room than the older colony could afford him.
The affluent and beautiful valley of the Connecticut promised him all
that he required.
The Pilgrims reached the place of their destination in safety, and fixed
upon the locality for their town, which they called Hartford. At once
they began to build and to cultivate. The miseries of the former year
had to be guarded against, houses to be built, and the forest felled
before the land could be planted; and through that summer and the whole
of the year their labours were arduous and unremitting. The fatigues and
hardships of labour were not, however, all that they had to contend
against. They had enemies in the Dutch, who saw with jealousy and hatred
the steady advance of the English on their borders; the country, unlike
Massachusetts, was thickly populated by native tribes of a fierce and
warlike character. The Pequods, occupying the country to the eastward,
mustered 700 warriors, whilst the settlers themselves scarcely amounted
to 200. It was by this bold and relentless tribe that that league of
extermination with the Mohegans and Narragansetts was formed, which, as
we have related, was revealed and prevented by Roger Williams. But
although the Narragansetts and Mohegans gave in their adherence to the
English, the Pequods remained not the less inveterate. Injuries and
murders were of daily occurrence, and at length the settlers of the
three colonies agreed to unite together to suppress the common enemy.
Uncas, sachem of the Mohegans, was their ally, and after solemn prayer
and religious exercises, the command was given to John Mason, an old
soldier of the Netherlands, who conducted himself so much to the
satisfaction of all, that “an inheritance was given to him in that part
of the country as a reward of his faithful service.” “After nearly a
whole night,” says Bancroft, “spent at the request of the soldiers in
importunate prayer, by the very learned and godly Stone, who accompanied
them as chaplain, about sixty men, one-third of the whole colony, aided
by John Underhill and twenty gallant recruits, whom the forethought of
Vane had sent from Massachusetts, sailed up the Pequod river, now called
the Thames, on the banks of which dwelt the enemy; and designing to
reach the Pequod fort unobserved, entered a harbour in Narragansett Bay.
The next day was the Sabbath, sacred to religion and rest.” Religion was
mixed up in every circumstance of life among the New England settlers,
even when, to our view, the very circumstances lacked somewhat of the
Christian spirit; as, for instance, it is recorded, probably on a
Sabbath, that while Stone was earnestly praying for some token of love
which might confirm to them the fidelity of their Indian allies, of whom
they had doubts, these allies came in with five Pequod scalps and a
prisoner, which was considered as Heaven’s answer to their prayer.
On Monday the captains of the expedition repaired to the court of
Canonicus, the patriarch and ruler of the Narragansetts, where the young
and fiery Miantonomoh, with the chief men of the tribe, about 200 in
number, were solemnly assembled for consultation. The English informed
them, “that God assisting, they were going to revenge the blood shed by
their mutual enemies.” “Your design,” said Miantonomoh, “is good, but
your numbers are too weak to brave the Pequods, who have mighty
chieftains, and are skilful in battle.”
On the Tuesday they began their march toward the Pequod country,
accompanied by a considerable number of Indian allies, 200 being
furnished by Miantonomoh, who all boasted of their bravery, despising
the English as “men who would not dare to look a Pequod in the face.”
Approaching, under the guidance of a Pequod deserter, a ford in the
river where it was said these terrible Indians came to fish, a panic
fear overcame the boastful Narragansetts, and they fled; Uncas, however,
and his Indians stood true.
The Pequods had two strongholds, both of which the English wished to
attack at the same time, but on account of the distance between them and
their own small force it was found impracticable. They encamped,
therefore, between two little hills, much wearied with hard travel,
keeping deep silence, lest the Indians in the nearest fort should
perceive their approach. “The night was still and moonlight, and though
the rocks were their pillows,” says Mason, in his quaint narrative,
“their rest was pleasant.” In the night they heard the Indians singing
at their fort, and exulting over the English, who, having been seen to
sail past them a few days before, they believed to be afraid of them.
Long before daybreak the soldiers of Connecticut put themselves in
motion, having first commended themselves and their undertaking to God;
and as the light of morning began to dawn, they made their attack on the
principal fort, which stood in a strong position on the summit of a
hill. “Then, commending themselves to God, they divided their men, there
being two entrances into the fort which they intended to enter at the
same moment, when Mason, leading up to that on the north-east side, a
dog was heard to bark, and an Indian cried out ‘Owannox! Owannox!’ (the
English! the English!)” The assailants leaped within the fort, and the
Indians, thus suddenly awoke from profound sleep, fought desperately.
The Indians were greatly superior in number, and for a moment victory
was dubious, when Mason, exclaiming “We must burn them!” seized a
flaming brand, which he held to the mats of the Indian wigwams. The fire
commenced to the windward, and soon all the wigwams were in flames.
Destruction was now inevitable; the assailants withdrew, and encompassed
the burning village, and shot or cut down with their broadswords all who
attempted to escape. Six hundred men, women, and children, within little
more than one hour’s space, perished in that horrible conflagration and
slaughter. Of the English, two only were killed, and about twenty
wounded.
This is a horrible and lamentable story, the second blot on the noble
page of the history of the puritan settlement in New England; the first
being the spirit of bigotry and intolerance, which introduced
persecution into the haven of rest and peace which God had given them
when the despotism of persecution made them exiles from their native
land. But deploring that bloody stains have darkened what would
otherwise have been a pure and glorious passage in the history of
humanity, we must continue this sad story of the destruction of a whole
race.
In the full light of morning 300 or more Pequod warriors were seen in
the distance advancing from the second village, anticipating the
triumphs of their people. Proudly they advanced, when at once beholding
the terrible scene, they made a stand, tore their hair, stamped on the
ground in a transport of rage, “and then,” says Mason, “came in full
career against us, who, as soon as they were within reach, fired upon
them, many being shot, and the rest, maddened with rage and despair,
kept running to and fro and shooting their arrows at random.”
After this wholesale slaughter a portion of the troops hastened back to
the settlements to be ready for defence in case of a sudden attack, and
the rest made their way to Saybrooke, where they were received with
great triumph. The troops which had been promised by Massachusetts to
aid in this war arrived a few days after it was over, having been
detained in consequence of the excitement which just then prevailed in
the colony regarding Anne Hutchinson and her so-called heresy. Wilson, a
celebrated minister of Boston, attended the troops, who now joining
their friends completed the war of extermination. The feeble remains of
the Pequod nation were hunted from their hiding-places, every wigwam was
burned, and every settlement destroyed.
Sassacus, the chief, being reproached by his people for the misfortunes
which had come upon them, fled to the Mohawks, where he was slain, and
his scalp sent to the English. The last remnants of this once fierce and
formidable race were killed in a dismal swamp, whither they had fled for
safety at nightfall, and into which some of their pursuers plunged also
in their over-haste of slaughter. Horrible was the struggle around the
midnight bog; the old narrative reads like a dreadful nightmare dream.
But we will not relate its horrors. The colonists, as Underhill, the
leader of the Massachusetts forces, declares, “were bereaved of pity and
without compassion,” and the race of the Pequods were annihilated as a
people. Vain had been the prayer of Roger Williams and the advice of old
Canonicus, that the women and children, at least, should be spared. Of
those who yielded, about 200 in number, many were sent to the Bermudas,
and, with grief and shame we write it, were sold into slavery; of the
remainder some were distributed to the English settlements, and the rest
incorporated among the Narragansetts and Mohegans. The lands of the
Pequods were declared to be won by conquest, and the tribe to be extinct
for ever.
The determined spirit of vengeance which had been displayed in this war
filled the natives both with terror and respect, and a long season of
peace ensued. A general day of solemn thanksgiving was held throughout
all New England, to commemorate this event.
Peace being established, and prosperity prevailing through the infant
settlements of Connecticut, the first act of the year 1639 was to form
themselves into a body-politic and frame a constitution. “This
constitution,” says Bancroft, “was of unexampled liberality.” The
elective franchise belonged to all the members of the towns who had
taken the oath of allegiance to the commonwealth, irrespective of church
membership, which was only insisted upon in the case of the governor.
The magistrates and legislature were chosen annually by ballot, and the
representatives were proportioned to the amount of population. So wise
and judicious was the constitution then framed, that, spite of the
advance which the human mind and the social condition have made since
then, there has been no reason found to alter materially the frame of
government then formed. No jurisdiction of England or the English
monarch was acknowledged; it was a simple body-politic, formed by
voluntary association; the principle of which was, “to maintain the
purity of the gospel, the discipline of the churches, and in all civil
affairs to be governed by the constitution which should be adopted.” The
legislators of Connecticut were Hooker and Haynes.
A second puritan colony had already sprung up in Connecticut, equally
independent with that of Hartford.
In 1637, two friends, “the Moses and Aaron of New Haven,” as they have
been called, with a number of puritan associates all of the strictly
Calvinistic form, arrived at Boston. These were Theophilus Eaton and
John Davenport; the former a man of wealth, who had been English
ambassador in Denmark, and son-in-law to the Bishop of Chester; the
latter, an eminent minister of London. Davenport, a friend of Cotton,
who had already emigrated to Massachusetts, and who had by him been
converted to puritanism, believing that the Reformation in England had
only half accomplished its purpose, and that “it was impossible to
reform an imperfect reformation,” earnestly desired to establish a
perfectly organised church. When Cotton, therefore, wrote to him from
New England that the order there established “brought to his mind the
new heavens and the new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness,” he
resolved also to remove to the New World, where an opportunity might be
afforded him of accomplishing his long-desired purpose.
In all his plans and hopes, Davenport associated his friend Eaton; and
the two, now accompanied by a number of persons like-minded with
themselves, many of them being of the congregation of Davenport, arrived
in Massachusetts. This was an advent very welcome to the churches there;
but the new-comers, like Hooker and his party, required more space. They
had large views of a commercial station, as well as of a select church;
and after carefully exploring the coast southward, they fixed upon
Quinnipiack, afterwards called New Haven, south of the settlement of
Saybrooke, where they removed the following year. A strict sense of
justice regulated the conduct of this excellent colony as regarded the
Indians. Wishing to form a large settlement, and to maintain peace with
the natives, the land was purchased by treaty with them, the new-comers
covenanting to protect them against their enemies the Mohawks.
A day or two after their arrival, they celebrated their first Sabbath
under a large, spreading oak. It was on the 18th of April; nature had
not yet arrayed the forests in verdure, and the preacher, suiting his
sermon to the circumstances of his hearers, took for his subject the
temptations of Christ in the wilderness.[3]
Spite of the provision which the colonists had made for their early
wants, the sufferings and anxieties for several months were great. The
winter was long and severe, and the early corn rotted in the ground, so
that the process of sowing had to be repeated several times. They were
alarmed by fears of famine; at length the warm season came on, and the
rapid and exuberant vegetation seemed like the visible blessing of God
in answer to their prayers.
“Soon after their arrival at Quinnipiack, at the close of a day of
fasting and prayer, they entered into what they termed a plantation
covenant. By this they solemnly bound themselves ‘that, as in matters
that concerned the gathering and ordering of a church, so also in all
public offices which concerned civil order, they would all be governed
by the rules which the Scriptures held forth to them.’”
A committee of twelve persons was appointed, who chose seven men of
piety to organise the government. Eaton, Davenport, and five others,
constituted the seven pillars of the House of Wisdom; church members
were alone allowed to exercise the elective franchise; their first
constituent assembly was held in a barn.
These settlers of New Haven were the most opulent company which had
arrived in New England. Eaton had been deputy-governor of the East India
Company, and had himself been in the East, as well as English ambassador
to Denmark, and brought over with him much money; tradition to this day
speaks of his great amount of valuable plate, and of a ewer and basin
weighing sixty pounds, double gilt and curiously wrought in gold, with
which the East India Company had presented his wife.
Thus affluent, and favoured by Providence from the commencement of the
settlement, towns sprung up around them and along the shore, “each
being, like the parent New Haven, a House of Wisdom resting on its seven
pillars, and aspiring to be illuminated by the Eternal Light.”