Historic Towns of New England

by Unknown

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

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.