THE main incidents in the history of New Haven have a flavor of romance. 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
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.
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.