Even the original settlement, usually a prosy affair, was brought about
by the chance letter of a victorious soldier. On the 26th of June, 1637,
a company of wealthy English immigrants sailed into Boston harbor,
undecided as to its final destination. It was led and directed by
Reverend John Davenport, a Non-conformist clergyman of London, and
Theophilus Eaton, a retired merchant of the same town, who had once
represented the British crown at the court of Denmark. The company had
thought to settle near Boston, but a theological controversy that
threatened to envelop the whole jurisdiction led to a change of plan,
and for several months the party remained at Boston in a state of
indecision.
Meanwhile, the Pequod war was raging along the coast of Long Island
Sound, and as the beaten braves were being driven westward toward the
valley of the Hudson, their pursuers came upon a spot of surprising
beauty. Its charms detained them long enough to note its details. There
was a broad wooded plain skirted with green and fertile meadows, bounded
on either side by a gently flowing river, and guarded on the north by
giant cliffs. Here and there the smoke of Indian camp-fires curled
gracefully above the tree-tops, and bark-canoes darted swiftly about in
the placid waters of the bay. The place was occupied by friendly
natives, anxious for protection against their tribal enemies. Game
abounded in the forests; the streams were alive with fish; and the piles
of oyster-shells along the shore told of bivalvian riches beneath the
glistening waves. The English officers, elated with victory and
delighted with the newly discovered land, wrote enthusiastic
descriptions to their friends at Boston. As one with an eye to the
material advantages expressed it: “It hath a fair river, fit for
harboring of ships, and abounds with rich and goodly meadows.”
The immigrants at once determined to
[Illustration: TEMPLE STREET.]
investigate, and Eaton, taking a small vessel, sailed down the coast and
into the harbor of Quinnipiac. He and his companions lost no time in
deciding as to their future home. He left seven men to spend the winter
with the Indians, and returned to Boston. Those who remained lived in a
hut near the shore, and before spring came, one of them died. His name
was Beecher, and he has been claimed as the ancestor of the Beecher
family in this country. His wife and children came with the main party
when the cold weather had passed. A few rods to the west of this first
hut stood, in after years, the forge of Lyman Beecher’s father.
It is uncertain just what name the Indians applied to the town. The
early spelling varied so much that nearly forty different combinations
of letters have come down to us, as representing it. It is apparent that
the settlers were unable to acquire the aboriginal pronunciation, or to
correctly express it in English. They finally adopted “Quinnipiac” as
being more euphonious than “Quilillioak” “Quillipiage” and “Queenapiok.”
It was with feelings not easily described that the newcomers sailed into
the harbor and looked upon their future home. There they were to spend
the rest of their lives, there they would be laid to rest when their
earthly labors were done, and there would dwell their posterity, to
represent the principles for which they had sought a new world. In the
land of their birth they could not worship as they chose. Unless they
followed the rule set down by others, they were not only called heretics
and emissaries of the devil, but were imprisoned and fined, and
subjected to great personal indignity. They felt that they were being
deprived of a natural right, and despairing of better times at home,
came to find a place where they could enjoy uninterrupted the free
exercise of conscience.
[Illustration: JOHN DAVENPORT.
FROM A PORTRAIT IN POSSESSION OF YALE COLLEGE.]
They were obliged for a time to live on the boat in which the voyage had
been made. The first Sunday morning all came ashore to worship under the
branches of an oak-tree which stood on the bank of a small stream that
emptied into the bay. It was in the month of April, 1638, and the leaves
were not far forth, but under that canopy the first sermon ever heard in
that region was preached. This famous tree stood for more than a hundred
years after, and when it fell a tablet was placed on a near-by building
to show succeeding generations where the forefathers first met for
public worship.
A compact was made with the Indians, and the town was laid out by John
Brockett, a civil engineer, whose love of a Puritan maiden had led him
to abandon brilliant prospects of preferment and cross the seas. First,
a large tract was apportioned for a market-place, then the streets were
plotted in regular squares surrounding it. The dwellings ranged from
mere huts to mansions of grand proportions. Eaton’s house contained
nineteen fireplaces, and was one of the few houses in the country where
sufficient books were found to form a library.
Romance soon gave place to tragedy. An Englishman was found murdered in
the neighboring woods, and an Indian so near as to invite suspicion. He
was arrested and brought to the market-place. No laws had been framed,
but an agreement had been made soon after landing, that all disputes
should be settled according to Scripture. An inquiry established the
Indians guilt, but there was doubt as to the Scriptural text to apply.
The Old Testament rule, “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his
blood be shed,” made the outlook gloomy for the prisoner, while he saw
hope in the more recent dispensation, “Go and sin no more.” The Puritan
forefathers leaned to the conservative view of the case, laid the Indian
over a log, chopped off his head, and “pitched it upon a pole in the
market-place.”
The first public building to be erected, as might have been expected,
was a meeting-house. This was built near the centre of the market-place,
and the present edifice stands to-day on nearly the same spot. The
meeting-house was not merely a place for public worship, but town-hall,
voting-booth, court-room and forum as well. In summer it was a pleasant
place in which to sit, with bird-songs and odor-laden breezes floating
in through the open windows, and the long-drawn, monotonous drone of the
parson’s voice lulling to dreamy drowsiness. But in winter, with the
mercury twenty degrees below zero; with tingling ears and aching nose;
with shivering frames and feet like cakes of ice, and every man’s breath
showing white on the frosty air, hell-fire seemed less terrible than the
preacher would have it appear.
There were means, however, of getting periodically thawed. Those who
lived in town could repair to their homes at the intermission, while the
farmers sought their “sabbada-housen” (Sabbath-day houses). These were
small huts, each containing a chimney and rude fireplace, and were
grouped irregularly about the meeting-house. Here the stiffened limbs
were rubbed and toasted, and the creature comforts of pies and cakes and
home-brewed ale were enjoyed. Stern times were those, and many a mother
saw her tender child laid away in the little burying-ground, chilled to
death by the bitter cold of the meeting-house.
While the hearts of these early Puritans beat warmly, their rigid views
of life and duty sometimes led to acts of great severity. Public
whipping was resorted to, not only as a punishment supposed to be fit
for the culprit, but as a warning and a deterrent. It is hard
[Illustration: ROGER SHERMAN.
PHOTOGRAPHED FROM STATUE ON THE EAST FRONT OF THE CAPITOL AT HARTFORD.]
to imagine a father handing a child over to the courts for public
humiliation, yet Richard Malbon, a magistrate, sat at the trial of his
daughter Martha, and condemned her to be flogged at the whipping-post.
The shameful performance took place on the northwest corner of the
market-place, close by the schoolhouse, so that the youthful mind need
not fail to understand that the way of the transgressor was hard.
The “Witch Trial” created some excitement in the early days. Elizabeth
Godman was the town scold, and kept her neighbors in a state of
perpetual worry. Her chief delight was in creating and perpetuating
feuds. She had been warned by the magistrates that her way of life was
objectionable and might lead to trouble. One day, in spite of the
judicial warning, she called at Mistress Hooke’s and asked for
home-brewed beer. A mug was given her, but she used only part of it. The
next day the whole barrel of “beare” was found to be sour. Here were
symptoms of witchcraft! Soon after one of Goody Thorpe’s chickens died,
and when they opened it they found its gizzard full of water and worms!
Suspicion began to turn to certainty. This led to a quarrel between
Elizabeth Godman and Mistress Bishop, and in consequence the latter’s
baby was born dead. To cap the climax, Mr. Nash’s boy had a fit of
sickness that puzzled the doctors, and it was thought best, in order to
prevent further calamities, to have Elizabeth Godman arrested and tried
as a witch. In good old Salem her chances of escape might have been
narrow; but while her judges believed in witchcraft and were ready to
punish it by death, she was triumphantly acquitted, and wagged her
spiteful tongue unmolested the rest of her life.
The most dramatic event in the early history of the colony was the
coming of the regicides. Major-Generals Edward Whalley and William
Goffe, distinguished leaders in the parliamentary army, had sat on the
commission that had condemned Charles I. to the block. Both men stood
close to Cromwell during the period of the protectorate, Whalley being
Cromwell’s cousin, and Goffe a son-in-law of Whalley. Both acted as
shire governors and were close personal advisers of the Lord Protector.
At Cromwell’s death Goffe was considered a probable successor, but the
monarchy was restored in the person of Charles II., and all who had
been connected with the trial and execution of the late king were
obliged to flee for their lives. Whalley and Goffe sailed for Boston and
for a time lived there openly, but a royal warrant for their arrest
finally came, and Governor Endicott issued orders for their
apprehension. The only men in the country to whom they could look for
protection were Mr. Davenport, a known sympathizer and a friend of
Cromwell, and William Jones, whose father had been taken as a regicide
and executed in London. The hunted men accordingly started for New Haven
on horseback, arriving on the 7th of March, 1661. They went to the house
of Mr. Davenport and for the next three weeks were concealed there, or
across the street by William Jones. On the 27th, the news of a
proclamation for their arrest reached New Haven, and the two generals
proposed some military tactics to throw possible pursuers off the scent.
They accordingly appeared upon the street the next morning as travellers
just arrived from the north, let their identity be known, made various
inquiries concerning the town, and asked the way to Manhattan. They
departed to the southward and disappeared; but on arriving at Milford,
ten miles below, they entered the woods and returned quietly to the
house of Mr. Davenport. Two weeks later, Kellond and Kirke, two officers
commissioned by Governor Endicott, arrived with a warrant and called
upon Deputy-Governor Leete at Guilford. There were several men in the
Governor’s office when the officers presented their credentials. The
Governor took the papers and began to read aloud, letting out the whole
secret, as he doubtless intended, so that the generals might receive
warning and escape. The officers soon found that both the magistrates
and the people were inclined to shield the regicides, but made desperate
efforts to effect a capture. The fugitives, however, assisted by
Davenport, Jones and others, eluded them at every point. Finally, after
exhausting their patience and ingenuity, the officers gave up the chase
and returned to Massachusetts; but offered large rewards for the
apprehension of the regicides. These rewards stimulated the ambition of
certain persons, and it was even more dangerous for the hunted men to
appear in public, or to let their hiding-place be known. Those who were
befriending them were in equal danger; for by aiding and comforting
“traitors” they were liable to arrest and execution for the crime of
high treason.
The regicides remained in the colony about two years, hiding in the
houses of their friends; in an old mill just outside the boundaries of
the town; in a cave on the side of West Rock; in a pile of rocks on the
top; in a Milford cellar; and other places of more or less doubtful
identity. The best known of these places is the pile of boulders on the
extreme top of West Rock known as “Judges Cave.” It is visited every
year by thousands of people, who regard it as a connecting link between
New Haven and the great tragedy of English history.
About the year 1670 a mysterious gentleman about sixty years old,
calling himself “James Davids,” came to New Haven with the evident
intention of spending the rest of his days in the town. He appeared to
be wealthy, but no one knew anything of his past. He claimed to be a
retired merchant. It is said that one Sunday while Sir Edmund Andros was
attending church on the Green, he noticed a tall, soldierly-looking man
in a neighboring pew, and inquired who he was. “He is a merchant
residing here,” was the reply. “I
[Illustration: JUDGES CAVE.]
know he is not a merchant,” said Sir Edmund; “he has filled a more
responsible position than that!” Governor Andros had not time to follow
up his suspicions, but after the mysterious stranger’s death, twenty
years later, it came to be known that he was Colonel John Dixwell,
another regicide, who had fled from England to escape execution. A
century and a half afterwards, his descendants erected a monument to
his memory behind Center Church on the Green, where it is still an
object of interest to visitors.
New Haven received her baptism of fire during the Revolution in the form
of an invasion by a detachment of the British army, July 5, 1779. The
apparent purpose of this act was to cause Washington to weaken his force
at West Point in order to defend the Connecticut coast. Washington
attacked Stony Point as a counter-irritant, but this did not affect the
British until after they were through with New Haven, which was then a
village of about eighteen hundred inhabitants. The evening previous
(Sunday), arrangements had been made for a celebration of the third
anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, but at ten o’clock the
town was startled by the boom of a signal-gun in the harbor. All was
confusion during the night, and about five o’clock Monday morning
President Stiles, from the steeple of the college chapel, saw, by the
aid of a spy-glass, the British fleet embarking at West Haven. A company
of students formed and marched to hinder the invaders, while the
beacon-fires that had been lighted during the night on the neighboring
hilltops brought bodies of armed patriots from the surrounding towns. In
spite of determined opposition, the enemy, led by General Garth, entered
the town at noon and proceeded to plunder and destroy. A pitched battle
was fought on the northwest corner of Broadway, but the defenders were
overpowered by superior numbers. The intention of the enemy was to burn
the town, but it was found that this could not be done without
endangering the property of the numerous Tories. An equal number of
troops (1500) landed at Lighthouse Point and approached the town from
the east, the intention being to crush all opposition by a junction of
the two armies, while Sir George Collier was to bombard the town from
his war-ships in the harbor. It having been decided not to apply the
torch, those who had entered from the west slept on the Green during the
night, and toward morning embarked on the boats at the wharf, after
burning much shipping. The eastern division, under General Tryon,
captured Rock Fort (afterwards named Fort Hale), but were unable to
enter the town. The next day they found the patriots collecting in such
numbers that they decided to withdraw and bestow their attentions upon
the little town of Fairfield, which they burned.
A house still standing on the north side of the Green was used by the
British as a hospital. Under a tree in front, Whitefield once preached
to the multitude, and Jonathan Edwards used to court the daughter of the
house.
Colonel Aaron Burr, then twenty-three years old, took an active part in
defending the town.
Out on the Allingtown heights, to the southwest of the town, stands a
monument to the memory of Adjutant-General Campbell of the British army.
This officer showed such a noble spirit of humanity in the discharge of
a disagreeable duty, protecting the helpless and preventing needless
destruction, that the citizens of New Haven erected this stone to
perpetuate his virtues. While on an errand of mercy he was shot by a
young man, and on his monument are inscribed the words:
“Blessed are the Merciful.”
The Dark Day, immortalized by Whittier, was the 19th of May, 1780. The
Legislature was in session in the old State House on the
[Illustration: A HUMANE ENEMY.]
Green when a sudden darkness fell. Many believed the Judgment Day was at
hand. In the midst of the excitement a motion was made to adjourn, when
Colonel Abraham Davenport, great-grandson of John Davenport, rose and
said: “I am against an adjournment. The Day of Judgment is either
approaching, or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause for
adjournment; if it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish,
therefore, that the candles may be brought, and we proceed to business.”
“And there he stands in memory this day,
Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen
Against the background of unnatural dark,
A witness to the ages as they pass,
That simple duty hath no place for fear.”
The foundation of Yale, the “Mother of Colleges,” dates back to the
colonial period, and was due to the foresight of John Davenport. Within
ten years of the settlement of the town, a parcel of land was set aside
and known as “college land,” and as early as 1654 the records of the
General Court show “that there was some notion againe on foote
concerning the setting vp of a Colledg here at Newhaven, Wch, if
attayned, will in all likely-hood prove verey beneficiall to this
place.” In spite of Davenport’s efforts, the project was not carried out
during his lifetime, but in 1664, the Hopkins Grammar School, named in
honor of Governor Hopkins, was organized as a collegiate school. The
work of this school being chiefly of a preparatory nature, ten
Congregational ministers organized a society for
[Illustration: PHELPS HALL.]
the conducting of a college, and, in 1700, this was chartered as “A
Collegiate School in his Majesty’s Colony of Connecticut.” The first
rector, or president, was Reverend Abraham Pierson of Killingworth, and
the first student was Jacob Hemingway. For a time the college was
settled at Saybrook, but in 1716 it was removed to New Haven. Two years
later the name Yale College was adopted in honor of Elihu Yale, at that
time its largest benefactor.
The college library had a unique origin. In 1700, the ten ministers
forming the society met at Branford, and each donated a few volumes,
saying as he laid them down: “I give these books for the founding of a
college in this colony.” Forty books were given, forming the nucleus of
the great University Library.
The first public commencement occurred in 1718, the first building
having been erected the year previous. For nearly a century and a half
the college had to endure a hard struggle for existence, but at the
present day, owing to the donations of its graduates and friends, it
ranks as one of the richest colleges in the country, and possesses some
of the finest and best-equipped buildings in the world. Vanderbilt
Hall, given by Cornelius Vanderbilt; Phelps Hall, in honor of William
Walter Phelps; and Osborn Hall, in memory of Charles J. Osborn, are
notable illustrations of combined utility and art. Vanderbilt Hall is
not only the costliest but the most complete college dormitory in
America.
The rare opportunities now offered at Yale for a wide range of study and
original investigation are too well understood to need mention. In 1887,
it was resolved that the college had, in view of the establishment of
the various departments comprised in a university, attained to that
dignity; and since that time it has been known as Yale University.
The Theological Department may be said to have existed from the
beginning, theology having been one of the chief studies for a hundred
years. It has existed as a separate department since 1822, and the Law
Department was established the same year. The Medical Department was
organized in 1812. The Scientific Department originated in 1846 in a
professorship in agricultural chemistry and another in analytical
chemistry, and since 1859 has occupied separate buildings as a distinct
department.
Yale has always been progressive in respect to the Fine Arts. On
receiving the collection of Colonel Trumbull, embracing many pictures of
scenes and participators in the Revolutionary War, a building was
erected for their exhibition on the campus. Lecture courses were given
and interest so far developed that later a large and beautiful building
was erected for the purposes of an art school, which has attained great
success.
Yale shows that she well deserves her reputation by more than doubling
the number of her students within twenty years. The present attendance
is upwards of twenty-five hundred, drawn from all parts of the world.
The only aristocracy at Yale is that of brains and character, and it is
a significant comment on this state of affairs to note that the sons of
millionaires frequently do without the luxuries to which they are
accustomed, to avoid being classed merely as rich men’s sons. The Yale
spirit recognizes manliness and industry as paramount qualities, and
none stands higher among his fellows than the poor boy who courageously
works his way through college, overcoming the obstacles that lie in his
way, and maintaining an honorable rank in his class.
[Illustration: OSBORN HALL.]
New Haven has sought to preserve memories and mementoes of her historic
existence, and the Historical Society building, at the foot of Hillhouse
Avenue, never fails to quicken the pulses of the antiquary. Here he
finds one of Benjamin Franklin’s Leyden jars; Benedict Arnold’s badly
punctuated sign, his account-book, medicine chest, mortar and pestle;
the table on which Noah Webster wrote the Dictionary; a silver spoon
that once belonged to Commodore Isaac Hull (said to have been in his
mouth when he was born); and an almost endless collection of relics,
rare portraits and books.
Of famous houses, many are still standing: two of Benedict Arnold’s; the
dwelling of Roger Sherman, signer of the Declaration of Independence,
the city’s first mayor and a United States Senator; the Trowbridge
house, built in 1642 by an original settler; the Noah Webster house and
others of less interest. One of the “famous spots” is the northwest
corner of Union and Fair Streets, where once stood the house of Isaac
Allerton, a Pilgrim of the _Mayflower_. A tablet has been placed on the
present building bearing the following inscription:
“Isaac Allerton, a Pilgrim of the _Mayflower_, and
the Father of New England Commerce, lived
on this Ground from 1646 till 1659.”
[Illustration: THE ART BUILDING.]
Across the way, on the southeast corner, stands an old house bearing the
announcement that this was the birthplace of Andrew Hull Foote, Rear
Admiral of the United States Navy.
Center Church, near the centre of the Green on Temple Street, stands
over what was formerly a portion of the original burying-ground, and but
a few feet from the site of the first meeting-house. From its historic
associations it is one of the most interesting churches in the country.
Over the principal entrance are these inscriptions:
QUINNIPIAC CHOSEN FOR SETTLEMENT, A.D. 1637.
* * * * *
THE WILDERNESS AND THE SOLITARY PLACE SHALL BE MADE GLAD FOR THEM.
* * * * *
O GOD OF HOSTS LOOK DOWN FROM HEAVEN AND BEHOLD AND VISIT THIS
VINE.
* * * * *
A.D. 1638, A COMPANY OF ENGLISH CHRISTIANS LED BY JOHN DAVENPORT
AND THEOPHILUS EATON WERE THE FOUNDERS OF THIS
CITY. HERE THEIR EARLIEST HOUSE OF WORSHIP WAS
BUILT A.D. 1639.
* * * * *