The Pilgrims of New England - Mrs. J. B. Webb
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Williams was aware of the feeling entertained towards him by the
government of Massachusetts, but he was not thereby deterred from
expressing his opinions in New Plymouth; and so great was his
attachment to the people of Salem, who had first afforded him a home,
that he would again have ventured thither, had he not been detained by
his new friends. They were both numerous and sincere: and, among them,
none were more attached to him than the Maitland family, who agreed
with him in most of his religious and political opinions, and valued
his society on account of his unaffected piety, and the various powers
and accomplishments of his mind. Possibly, it was the attraction that
Roger Williams found in this family that caused him so long to turn a
deaf ear to the repeated solicitations of his old friends at Salem,
that he would again take up his abode among them. Certainly, it was not
fear of the rulers of Boston that kept his undaunted spirit in a
district over which they had no authority; neither was it altogether
the harmony that subsisted between his views and those of the
hospitable Plymouthers. On many points they agreed, but not on all;
and those who differed from him feared that his continued residence
among them might excite a party spirit, and mar that peace which had
hitherto reigned in their community.
Still Roger Williams did continue to dwell at New Plymouth; and still
his visits to the house of Maitland became more and more frequent.[*]
[Footnote: A few liberties are taken with the private life of this
interesting character, in order to connect him more closely with the
events of the narrative. But all the incidents which can be regarded as
important are strictly historical, although the date and order of them
may be slightly altered.]
CHAPTER XIX.
My child, my child, thou leav'st me!--I shall hear
The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear
With its first utterance I shall miss the sound
Of thy light step, amidst the flowers around;
And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close;
And thy "good night," at parting for repose!
----Yet blessings with thee go!
Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's woe
From thy young heart be far!' HEMANS.
At the period when Roger Williams was induced to seek a home among the
Pilgrim Fathers of New Plymouth, Edith Maitland had attained to
womanhood. She was not beautiful, strictly speaking, but she was
possessed of that 'something than beauty dearer,'--that nameless and
indescribable charm that is sometimes seen to surround a person whose
form and features would not satisfy the critical eye of an artist. It
was Edith's character which looked out from her clear hazel eye, and
won the interest and the affection of all who knew her. Gentle and
affectionate in disposition, but at the same time, firm, enduring, and
fall of energy, she combined the characteristic qualities of both her
parents, and added to them an originality all her own. Her education,
in the common acceptation of the term, had necessarily been both
desultory and imperfect; and yet, under its influence, the mind and
character of Edith had strengthened and matured in no common degree.
The very circumstances by which she was surrounded had educated her;
and sorrow--deep, abiding sorrow, for the loss of both her much-loved
brothers--had taught her to look on life in a different point of view,
and with different expectations from those with which it is usually
regarded by the young. Her mother had watched her opening mind and
disposition with much care and anxiety: but she had not sought to check
its interesting peculiarity, or to control the wild exuberance of
thought and feeling that were occasionally manifested by her
intelligent and engaging child. As she grew older, she became more and
more the companion of Helen, who studied her character attentively:
and, if we be allowed such a figure of speech, wisely endeavored to
train it in a right direction, rather than to prune it to any
conventional form. Thus a perfect confidence was established, and ever
subsisted between the mother and daughter; and the natural
thoughtfulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, that belonged to Edith,
were unchecked, and she was allowed to possess an individuality of
character that is, unhappily, too often repressed and destroyed in these
present days of high civilization and uniformity of education.
The courteous manners which both Helen and her husband had acquired in
early life--when they dwelt in comparative affluence in England--were
inherited by their daughter in full measure; and her whole manner and
conduct were marked by a refinement and elegance that seemed little in
keeping with the life of extreme simplicity, and even of hardship, that
she had experienced from her early childhood. While her brothers were
spared to her, she was their constant companion and playfellow; and
except when her mother required her attendance, either as her pupil or
her assistant in domestic occupations, she spent the greatest part of
the day in rambling with them on the sea-shore, or through the adjacent
woods, or else in the active and tasteful cultivation of their garden.
And when successive calamities deprived her of these cherished objects
of her early affection, she still continued to wander to the spots
where they had played and conversed together, under the guardianship of
the faithful Fingal; and, with no companion but the powerful and
sagacious animal, she was even permitted to ramble through the woods as
far as the Wampanoge village, and divert her sorrowful thoughts in the
society of Apannow, and her lively little son Nepea.
But after the sad day when Edith wept on the lifeless body of her
favorite Fingal, and saw him laid in the grave that was dug for him
beneath the great tulip-tree, she seemed to concentrate her affections
on the bower that Henrich had erected, and the plants that he and
Ludovico had transplanted from the forest to cover its trellised walls,
and to decorate the garden that surrounded it. Many of these were again
removed, and planted on Fingal's grave; and there--on a seat that her
brother had constructed--would Edith sit, hour after hour, either buried
in contemplations of the past and the future, or else devouring with
avidity the few books that her parents possessed, or that she could
procure from their friends and neighbors. She formed no intimacy with
any of her own young countrywomen. They were too unlike herself--they
had generally known no sorrow: or, if it had fallen on them, its
strokes had not made a like impression on their characters; and Edith
could find no consolation or pleasure in their society. So she lived
alone with her own spirit, and indulged her own high aspirations; and
none but Helen was the confidant of any of her thoughts and imaginings.
Many of them she kept within her own breast, for she felt that it would
distress her mother to know how little charm remained to her in life,
and how often she looked up into the blue depths of heaven, and wished
that she had 'the wings of a dove, and could flee away' from this cold
world, 'and be at rest' where Henrich and Ludovico dwelt.
And yet Edith was not unhappy. As she grew up, and became a more equal
and rational companion to her parents, the cares and business of life
necessarily occupied more of her time and thoughts, and gave her less
leisure for solitary meditation; and her daily increasing sense of the
duties and responsibilities of a Christian, led her to regard as
selfishness that indulgence of her own thoughts and feelings in which
she had so much delighted. She was therefore cheerful, and even gay, at
home; but she desired no pleasures beyond those that her home afforded,
and that were perfectly consistent with the self denying views and
principles of her Puritan fellow-countrymen.
In all the doctrines of her sect; Edith was thoroughly well-informed;
and to all those that were really scriptural, she gave a sincere and
heart-felt assent. But the stern severity of Puritan principles and
Puritan bigotry found no response in her gentle nature, and the narrow-
minded intolerance of the Boston Church aroused both her contempt and
indignation. She was, therefore, quite prepared to regard with
interest and favor the free-minded young minister who had made himself
obnoxious to their laws end customs, and had sought a refuge among the
more liberal and kindly Pilgrims of New Plymouth.
The acquaintance of Roger Williams was soon made by the Maitlands; and,
once begun, it quickly ripened into intimacy and friendship. In
Rodolph he found a sound and able adviser; in Helen, a kind friend and
a well-informed companion; but in Edith he found a kindred spirit to
his own--one who could understand and sympathize in his yearnings for
freedom of thought and action, and in his strong sense of the injustice
of his oppressors. In all their tastes and pursuits they were,
likewise, as well agreed as in their religious and social opinions.
Edith's passionate love of natural beauty was fully shared by the young
refugee; and many an hour passed swiftly away while he instructed his
quick and willing scholar in the mysteries of sketching, in which
pleasant art he was himself a proficient. Edith loved music also, and
frequently accompanied her own rich voice with the simple notes of the
mandolin, while she sang the old songs of her fatherland.
Hitherto, her mother had been her only instructor in this most refined
and refining of all human pleasures; but now she found an able and very
ready teacher in Roger Williams: and it was a matter of astonishment to
her father when he observed the rapid progress she made both in the
science and the practice of music, from the time the interesting
stranger undertook to give her lessons. His deep, manly voice
harmonized perfectly with her sweet tones; and they often brought tears
to the eyes of Helen, and called forth a sigh from the breast of
Rodolph, as they sang together some ancient English ballad, or united
their voices in the chants and anthems that were dear to the hearts of
the exiles, and recalled days of youth and happiness long passed away,
and never to return.
Edith's bower was the usual scene of these domestic concerts; and there
the long, sweet summer evenings glided away in happiness, that the
'queen of that bower '--as Henrich had named her--had never known since
the last evening that she spent there with her brother. She began to
wonder why she had hitherto associated none but melancholy ideas with
the lovely spot; and to find that it was possible to feel even gay and
light-hearted while surrounded by Henrich's flowers, and looking on
Fingal's grave. How strange it seemed--and yet, how pleasant! A new
existence seemed opening before Edith's soul; and life no longer
appeared a dreary pilgrimage, which duty alone could render
interesting. The powers of her mind also received a fresh impulse from
the society of the cultivated Englishman, and was drawn out in a manner
as agreeable as it was new. Roger had brought from his native land a
collection of books, which, though small in number, seemed to Edith a
perfect library; and all were offered for her perusal. Several of them
were, of course, on controversial and doctrinal subjects; and these she
was able to understand and to appreciate: but among these graver and
more abstruse treatises, were some of a more attractive nature--some
volumes of foreign travel, and ancient legends, and heart-stirring
poetry, in which the soul of Edith reveled, as in a garden of new and
fragrant flowers.
It was a fresh, and a very rich enjoyment to one who had known so few
literary pleasures, to pore over these volumes, and find her own vivid
thoughts and wild imaginings set before her in all the captivating
colors of poetry and fiction; or to follow the wanderings of travelers
through the civilized and enlightened countries of the old continent,
and learn from books those manners and customs of refined life, which,
in all human probability, it would never be her lot to witness. But
this enjoyment was more than doubled when Roger took the book, and--as
he often did--read to her and her mother while they sat at their work
in Edith's bower in the heat of the day; and if the younger listener
did occasionally pause in her occupation, and forget to ply her needle
while she looked up at the fine expressive countenance of the reader,
she may be pardoned; for the voice and the expression were in such
perfect unison, that the one added greatly to the effect of the other.
Perhaps these days of peaceful intercourse, and growing, but
unacknowledged, affection, were among the happiest of Edith's checkered
life: certain it is that, in after days of trial and difficulty, she
looked back upon them as on some green and sunny spot in the varied
field of memory.
But they could not last for ever. Days and weeks passed by, and Edith
was too happy in the present to occupy herself much about the future.
But her parents thought of it for her; and Roger thought of it for her,
and for himself. Her graceful manners and appearance had attracted him
on his first acquaintance with her, and the favorable impression had
been strengthened from day to day, as he acquired a more intimate
knowledge of her thoughtful character and amiable temper: and it was
not long ere he felt that his future happiness in life depended on her
returning those sentiments with which she had inspired him.
Had he been possessed of much vanity, he would not long have
entertained any doubt on this interesting point; for Edith was too open
and ingenuous, and too little in the habit of disguising her feelings,
to pretend an indifference that her heart soon denied. But the very
admiration and respect with which she inspired Roger prevented him from
'laying the flattering unction to his soul'; and caused him, for some
time, to suppose that the very evident pleasure she felt in his society
arose from the solitary life she had hitherto led, and the natural
enjoyment of an intelligent mind in conversing with one who could enter
into her feelings and tastes, and impart some fresh ideas to give food
to her thoughts and imagination.
Helen, however, was not under this misconception with regard to her
daughter's feelings, and she felt much anxiety as to the result of her
acquaintance with the young clergyman. The remarkable transparency of
Edith's character rendered it easy for a parent's eye to discover the
deep impression that Roger's fascinating manners, and rare
accomplishments, had made both on her fancy and her heart; and it was
equally easy to perceive that his affections were entirely gained, and
that he was not a man to draw back in this, or any other pursuit in
which his feelings were deeply engaged. There was a simple earnestness
of manner in every thing that he said or did that irresistibly won both
confidence and love; and Helen and her husband entertained not the
slightest doubt of the sincerity of his attachment to their child, or
of his full intention to offer his hand to her, as soon as he could
feel any certainty of its being accepted. Neither did they doubt his
power to make her happy; for it was evident that their tastes and
dispositions were admirably suited, and their characters marked to a
great degree by the same peculiarities. But it was these very
peculiarities in which they so well agreed, and which each would
probably strengthen and confirm in the other, that gave rise to the
anxious thoughts that dwelt in Helen's mind, and which she communicated
to Rudolph.
Roger Williams was already a marked man, and an object of suspicion and
displeasure to the rising power of Boston. Already he had been
compelled to retire before the persecuting spirit of the Boston Church,
and to seek shelter in the rival and more charitable colony, where his
peculiar opinions were tolerated, even if they were not approved. But
the Maitlands knew that his position at New Plymouth did not satisfy
the yearnings of his earnest and aspiring soul, and that he felt a
strong desire to return to Salem, and minister among those who had been
his first friends, and his first congregation. His reason for so bag
delaying this measure was very evident; and Edith's parents justly
feared that, as soon as the object which now engrossed his whole mind
was attained, and he had won their daughter's heart and band, be would
take her from her present safe and peaceful home, to share with him the
trials and difficulties, and even dangers, which might await him on his
return to the state of Massachusetts, where they felt sure he would
again proclaim the opinions that had already given so much offence.
This was a reasonable cause for anxiety; but it was not a sufficient
ground on which to refuse a connection with such a man as Roger
Williams--a man who might, indeed, by his daring freedom of spirit and
uncompromising opinions, bring earthly trial on himself and any one
whose fate was united to his; but whose lofty piety and steadfast faith
must carry with them a spiritual blessing, and gild and cheer the path,
however dark and thorny, in which he and his partner should be called
to tread.
It was, therefore, with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure that
Helen heard from Edith that Roger had, at length, taken courage to
declare to her his own feelings, and to ask whether she could return
them. Her glowing cheek and glistening eye, as she revealed the
interesting fact, would have left her mother in no doubt as to the
answer she had returned, even if she had not already guessed her
sentiments; and she and Rodolph could but give their consent to her
wishes, and ask a blessing on her choice. The joy and gratitude of
Roger knew no bounds. Now he felt that life lay all bright and clear
before him, and that no outward trials could have power to cloud his
path, so long as Edith walked by his side, to divide his sorrows and
double his joys.
He employed all his eloquence to persuade Rodolph and Helen to consent
to his speedy marriage; for, now that his object in lingering at
Plymouth was attained, all his love for his flock at Salem, and his
desire once more to dwell among them, returned with added force. He was
impatient to resume his spiritual duties where first he had commenced
them in New England; and he was eager, also, to present Edith as his
bride to the friends who had once so kindly received him, and who now
so pressingly invited him to return.
The aspect of affairs in the State of Massachusetts was then peaceable,
and no demonstration of enmity towards Roger had lately been made by
the Boston rulers; so that Rodolph and Helen had no well-grounded
pretext for delaying their daughter's marriage, and her removal to
Salem with her husband. The letter of invitation to Roger Williams from
that community, also contained such alarming accounts of the rapidly
declining health of their pastor, Skelton, that the necessity for the
presence of his intended successor could not be denied. With some
reluctance the Maitlands, therefore, agreed to an early day for the
performance of the simple ceremony that would unite their beloved and
only remaining child to one whom they loved and respected, but whose
fiery zeal inspired them with doubt and anxiety.
No sooner was the happy day fixed, than Roger hastened to dispatch a
trusty messenger to Roxburgh, with a letter to his valued friend and
brother minister, Elliot--who was appointed preacher in that town--to
entreat him to be present at his marriage, and to honor the ceremony by
giving the customary address at its conclusion.
Much to his satisfaction--and that of all the Maitland family--this
request was acceded to, and the 'Prince of Missionaries' arrived at New
Plymouth, accompanied also by his bride. He was betrothed when he left
England, but circumstances had then prevented his intended wife from
accompanying him. But as soon as he was settled at Roxburgh, she
followed him to the land of his exile, and became his faithful and
devoted companion through a long and toilsome life, and his able and
efficient helpmate in all his difficulties.
The chief object of this excellent man, in leaving his own country, was
not so much to escape the persecution that then awaited the ministers
of his sect, as to attempt the conversion of the native heathen. For
this pious and disinterested purpose, he abandoned home and kindred,
and all that was dear to him, and, at the age of twenty-seven, entered
that land of distant promise, to the evangelization of which he had
resolved to devote all the powers of his life, and the faculties of his
energetic mind. So abstemious and self-denying was he, that his mode of
life resembled that of a hermit; and, at the same time, so liberal was
he in relieving the wants of others--whether his own countrymen or the
red Indians--that, if his wife had not been a careful and clever
manager, they must often have been reduced to absolute want. There is
an anecdote recorded of him, so characteristic of the self-forgetting
spirit of the 'Great Apostle of the Indians,' that it ought not to be
omitted here, where we are endeavoring to give a faithful picture of
the manners and the principles of the Pilgrim Fathers, and their
immediate followers.
The society in England, under whose auspices he had emigrated, allowed
him a salary of L50 a year, a great portion of which, as well as of his
small private resources, was always dedicated to charitable purposes.
It was his custom, when he received his quarterly payment from the
treasurer of the colony, to give away a considerable part of it before
he reached his home, so that _Dame_ Elliot--as she was called--only
received a very small sum, inadequate to the necessary expenses of her
frugal housekeeping. The paymaster knew the good man's peculiarities,
and was aware of the domestic embarrassments that his too-liberal
bounty often occasioned. He therefore tied the money up in a
handkerchief with so many knots, that he was sure the pastor could
never untie them; and gave it to him, saying in jest, 'Now really,
reverend sir, you must this time give it all to your worthy spouse.'
Elliot smiled, and departed: but, before he reached his dwelling, he
remembered an afflicted family who stood in need of his assistance and
consolation; and, on going to visit them, he found them overwhelmed with
unexpected distress. He immediately attempted to open his handkerchief,
but all his efforts were unavailing to loosen the complicated knots.
'Well, well,' he said, at last, 'I see it is the will of the Lord that
you should have the whole.' And, giving them all his wealth, he returned
home penniless.
Dame Elliot never showed any displeasure at these improvident acts of
her husband. She admired and respected his pious motives, and his
beautiful spirit of self-denial: and she only strove the more to limit
her expenses, and to make their home cheerful and comfortable with the
scanty means she possessed, while she willingly conformed to the life
of extreme simplicity which he felt it right to adopt. More than one
dish was never allowed to appear on his table, and water was his only
beverage. If wine was offered him at the house of a friend, he
courteously declined, but never blamed in others the indulgence which
he denied to himself. He used to say, 'Wine is a precious, noble thing,
and we should thank the Lord for it; but to suit me aright, water
should rather be there.'
Such were the Christian pair who came to attend the wedding of Edith
and Roger; and to offer their congratulations on the event, and their
prayers that it might tend to the present and the eternal happiness of
their valued friend and his interesting bride. It could not be
otherwise than that Dame Elliot and Edith should form a speedy and a
lasting friendship. There was a similarity of feeling, and a difference
of character, that rendered them peculiarly agreeable to each other;
and made them mutually rejoice in the prospect of future intercourse
which the strong regard that subsisted between Elliot and Williams, and
the nearness of Salem to Roxburgh, promised to afford them. The young
matron was of a much more calm and subdued temperament than her new
friend. Her early life and education had been very different from
Edith's; and the man on whom she had fixed her affections, and the mode
of life to which her marriage had conducted her, had alike tended to
promote a quiet composure, and steady regulation of mind, rather than
to arouse the enthusiastic feelings and the lively fancies that
distinguished Edith's character, and which had proved so irresistible a
charm to the fervid soul of Williams. But each of the young women was
well adapted to the lot which Providence had assigned them; and each
proved a blessing, and a support through life, to their respective
partners.
But little preparation was required for the Puritan nuptials that were
now about to be celebrated: and little gaiety or display was manifested
on the occasion. According to the custom of the sect, the marriage
ceremony was performed by Bradford, as the chief civil magistrate, and
the personal friend of the family. At that period, marriage was
regarded as a mere civil act; and either the magistrate of the place,
or a commissary appointed for the purpose, was alone required by law to
officiate. If a clergyman chanced to be present, he was generally
requested to offer up a prayer, or even to deliver a suitable discourse
to the, parties; but this was a matter of choice, and not of necessity,
and had no share in the validity of the ceremony. Even the wedding ring
had already begun to be regarded by the Plymouthers as a relic of
Popish corruption and superstition, and was, in many cases, dispensed
with, and some time afterwards formally forbidden. But on this
occasion it was retained, at the wish of both Edith and her mother; who
were accustomed to regard it as a beautiful, and almost a sacred,
symbol of the purity and the duration of the holy tie of marriage.