BACK TO THE SHADOWS
After King Philip’s War, Roger Williams, now an old man, gradually
disappeared from public view. Only now and then do we obtain fleeting
glimpses of these last years. We know that at one time he was elected
assistant, but declined to serve. This by no means meant that his
interest in the colony had ceased, but rather that the burden of years
and physical ills had reduced his strength and endurance. He still
followed closely the course of events and whenever a word from him
could further the cause of right, his voice was heard with all its
old-time vigor.
One of the last acts of his life was to write an earnest letter to
the town of Providence upholding the just levying of taxes. Clearly,
logically, he explained to the inhabitants the necessity of supporting
government and order, as they tended to the peace and good of mankind.
He also reminded them how fortunate they were to live under such a
charter as they possessed, for, said he, “Our charter excels all in New
England, or in the world, as to the souls of men.”
Again, when the people of Providence proposed to divide certain common
lands among themselves, he pleaded that they be left untouched for the
use of future new-comers who might have to flee from persecution. To
the very last, soul liberty was dear to his heart.
“I have only one motion and petition,” were his stirring words, “which
I earnestly pray the town to lay to heart, as ever they look for a
blessing from God on the town, on your families, your corn and cattle,
and your children after you, it is this, that after you have got over
the black brook of soul bondage yourselves, you tear not down the
bridge after you, by leaving no small pittance for distressed souls
that may come after you.”
Both before and after the war, he spent considerable time preaching
to the English dwellers in the Narragansett country and it is very
probable that he had Indian congregations also. Once a month, for many
years, he journeyed back and forth, between his own home at Providence
and Mr. Smith’s at Narragansett, for this purpose. It is remarkable
that a man of his advanced age, handicapped by lameness and illness,
could have carried on such a work as long as he did.
When he was finally forced to give up active life, he then turned to
profitable occupation indoors. He valued time and made the most of it.
“One grain of its inestimable sand,” he once said, “is worth a golden
mountain.” After such a long life of faithful service, he could have
been excused had he chosen to sit still in the twilight of his life
with folded hands. Instead, by the home fireside he put together the
sermons he had preached with an idea of having them published. He
never saw them in print. The fact that he had to apply to those of his
friends in his own colony, Massachusetts, Connecticut and Plymouth
“who hath a shilling and a heart to countenance such a work” to meet
the expenses of publication, shows that he must have been poor at
this time. The written pages numbered but thirty and the cost of their
printing could not have been an exorbitant sum.
There is every reason to think, in fact, that Roger Williams and his
wife were partly dependent upon their son Daniel toward the close of
their lives. And he cared for them with true filial devotion, too.
“I judge,” he said in the quaint language of that age, “they wanted
nothing that was convenient for ancient people.” Instead of saving for
the proverbial rainy day, the open-hearted founder of Rhode Island had
generously disposed of the best of his worldly possessions for the good
of others. Give, give, give! It had been the motto of his life. Said
this same son, “He gave away his lands and other estate to them that
he thought were most in want, until he gave away all, so that he had
nothing to help himself.... If a covetous man had that opportunity as
he had, most of this town would have been his tenants, I believe.”
The humble home in which Roger Williams spent his Providence days was
very likely much like that of his neighbors. They were truly primitive
dwellings--those early houses--usually consisting of a single large
room down stairs, one end of which was taken up by a generous stone
chimney, and a half-story loft above, reached by a steep, ladder-like
flight of stairs. As family needs increased, a “lean-to” was added to
the main structure. Even so, there must have been scarcity of elbow
room in those days of sizable families and free hospitality.
Neither the exact day nor month of Roger Williams’ death is known.
Like the date of his birth, it remains a mystery. The nearest we can
come to it is that it must have been some time between January 16th
and May 10th, 1683. No reliable record has ever been found, and the
only facts that have come down to us regarding the close of this noble,
self-sacrificing life consist of two mere fragments of information. The
one, a brief extract from a letter written by one John Thornton from
Providence to his friend, Samuel Hubbard, at Newport, the other, a line
from a Colonial historian, are as follows:
“The Lord hath arrested by death our ancient and approved friend, Mr.
Roger Williams.”
“He was buried with all the solemnity the colony was able to show.”
Out of the shadows he came, back to the shadows he returned. The death
of the Apostle of Soul Liberty was nothing more than the slightest
ripple on the surface of the life of the community. The people with
whom Roger Williams lived had no conception of his real greatness. It
remained for a later age to appreciate him and his work.
Yet there is an interesting tradition which would seem to show that
nature at least did her best to save him from oblivion. He was buried
in the family plot at the rear of his dwelling on the slope of the hill
which led up from the bubbling spring where he first landed. When,
in the rapid growth of the city, it became necessary to remove the
graves of the early settlers, there was found in Roger Williams’ last
resting-place only the spreading root of an apple tree which, in the
passing years, had taken on a curious resemblance to the human form.
The personal belongings of Roger Williams at the close of his life must
have been few and, for the most part, of no great value. Still at least
two priceless relics may be seen to-day which have survived the wear
and tear of time. One of these--a pocket-compass--he used to “steer his
course” on that momentous journey from unfriendly Massachusetts Bay to
the shores of Narragansett. At the base of the instrument are the usual
pivoted needle and points of the compass. There is a sun-dial above,
the shadows being thrown upon hours cut in the brass rim around the
edge of the case. The compass was mentioned in an inventory made by
Providence Williams in 1686. It became a treasured family heirloom in
the years that followed until it found a permanent home in the rooms of
the Rhode Island Historical Society.
What thrilling stories the little compass might tell if it could only
speak--of New England woods bowed down with their mantle of snow
through which the weary traveler plodded his way, of days and days
when the wintry sun made no record upon the sun-dial face, of
lurking savages whose suspicion was changed to glad greeting once they
recognized the fugitive, of welcome wigwams where the fare was crude
but hospitably offered.
[Illustration:
Roger Williams’ pocket-compass and sun-dial with cover. This
photograph was taken at the rooms of the Rhode Island Historical
Society.]
[Illustration:
Roger Williams’ watch. It is now kept at Fraunces Tavern, New York
City, but is the personal property of Mr. Henry Russell Drowne, whose
family received it from a lineal descendant of Roger Williams.]
The other Roger Williams relic is an odd, old-fashioned silver watch,
with works of Dutch, and case of French, manufacture. It is heavy and
cumbrous, measuring an inch and a half in thickness, with rock crystal
in place of glass. The carved silver face has hands of gold and the day
of the month, which changes every twenty-four hours. The exterior case
(for it is a double-case watch) represents the familiar scene from the
“Iliad,” where Hector takes an affectionate farewell of Andromache and
their small son Astyanax:
“Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy
Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse’s breast,
Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child,
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound,
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground.”
It is believed that Roger Williams’ wife and children survived him, but
incidents of Mrs. Williams’ life are tantalizingly meagre. There were
six children--the oldest daughter Mary, born in Plymouth, Freeborn,
born in Salem, Providence, the first male child in the new colony, a
third daughter Mercy, and two other sons, Daniel and Joseph.
Of the oldest child Mary--the little maid of Plymouth and the first
who came to gladden her mother’s and father’s heart--almost nothing is
known.
Fortunately, Freeborn’s history is less mysterious. She married a young
shipmaster by the name of Hart and made her home in Newport with her
four children. After her husband’s death, she had the courage to marry
Walter Clarke, who had been twice a widower and was the father of seven
children.
Providence, a shop-keeper and shipmaster of Newport, never married.
Mercy Williams became the wife of Resolved Waterman and the mother of
five children. She was married a second time to Samuel Winsor. Their
son Samuel became minister of the Baptist Church in Providence. In one
point he agreed heartily with his grandfather Roger--that ministers
should receive no pay for their services. With something of his
kinsman’s spirit, he refused invitations to Sunday dinners “for fear
they should be considerations for Sunday sermons.”
Daniel Williams married Rebecca Power, a widow whose husband had
been killed in the “Great Swamp Fight.” It fell to Roger Williams’
lot to record the marriage, for he was then town clerk. He described
it as “the first marriage since God mercifully restored the town of
Providence.” Daniel’s children numbered five sons.
Joseph Williams, the youngest child, married Lydia Olney, who survived
him only three weeks. They had three sons. In Roger Williams Park,
Providence, may be seen the old family burial plot of Joseph Williams
and his descendants, containing weather-beaten stones bearing
old-fashioned inscriptions. That of the head of the family is quaint
enough to be given a place here:
“In King Philip’s War he courageously went through,
And the native Indians he bravely did subdue;
And now he’s gone down to the grave and he will be no more,
Until it please Almighty God his body to restore
Into some proper shape as he thinks fit to be,
Perhaps like a grain of wheat, as Paul sets forth, you see.”
In all probability Joseph Williams did his duty during the terrible
Indian scourge, yet we prefer to dwell upon those earlier, pleasanter
days when the friendship of the red man had not turned to distrust and
hatred.
Roger Williams Park recalls that period, for it was formerly the
woodland and fields given by Canonicus and Miantonomo to the white
neighbor and friend they always loved and respected. In time it became
the possession of Miss Betsy Williams, who bequeathed it to the city in
memory of her famous and well-beloved ancestor. The hundred acres have
since been beautified and added to until to-day the picturesque stretch
of park-land is one of the most attractive in the United States--a
fitting and beautiful memorial to the great man whose name it bears.
Miss Williams attached one condition to her gift--that a statue of
Roger Williams should be erected by Providence. The condition was met
and to Mr. Franklin Simmons of Rome was entrusted the important but
difficult task of trying to express in granite and bronze something of
the nobility of one of the greatest of Americans.
Roger Williams has also been awarded a niche in the “Hall of Fame for
Great Americans” at New York University. He is one of an illustrious
company of wonderful characters who have made America--and the
world--better for their having lived.
But, after all, it is in the hearts of all true Americans that Roger
Williams should be given the most cherished place. The principles
for which he stood have so long been recognized and accepted by the
world that we are apt to forget there ever was a time when they were
new and startling. All the more honor, then, is due him for having
had the courage of his convictions when it meant unpopularity,
misunderstanding and suffering.
“Aye, let the Muse of History write
On a white stone his honored name,
Loyal to liberty and light,
First on Rhode Island’s roll of fame.
“While Church and State would ‘hold the fort’
With sword and scourge and penal fires,
His faith a broader haven sought,
The faith that welcomes and aspires.
“While credal watchwords rise and fall,
His banner to the winds unfurled,
Proclaimed on Freedom’s outer wall,
Peace and Good-will to all the world.
“Well may the Muse of History place
Foremost among the just and free,
His honored name, wherein we trace
The soul of Law and Liberty.”
Transcriber’s Notes
In the caption on the illustration between pages 46 and 57, “Seekenk
River” changed to “Seekonk River”.
Page 121: “tweny-four” changed to “twenty-four”
Page 192: “the Narrangansetts” changed to “the Narragansetts”