Roger Williams, by May Emery Hall—A Project Gutenberg eBook CHAPTER III NEW NEIGHBORS We have seen that by the time Roger Williams had made up his mind to emigrate to America, the most important colonies in New England were Plymouth and the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Plymouth was Separatist and the Bay Colony Puritan, but every day growing farther and farther from the English Church. We would expect Roger Williams to decide upon the Plymouth settlement as a home, as its people held similar views to his own and it was the more liberal colony of the two. Why, instead, he chose to live in Massachusetts Bay Colony cannot be easily explained. Possibly in far-away England he did not rightly understand just how matters stood in New England. However, there was great rejoicing when the young minister and his wife first appeared in Boston. The talented stranger was hailed as a “godly minister” and a welcome addition to the little colony. Far different language was used a few years later when he was turned out of that same colony, a homeless fugitive, disgraced and forbidden ever to return! The friendship between Roger Williams and the Bay authorities lasted only until each had an opportunity to get better acquainted with the other. At first, the future loomed bright and promising to Roger Williams. Hundreds of miles behind him were tyrannical king, heartless bishop, and all that had made life on English soil a burden. Ahead were long years of peace, freedom and usefulness among new neighbors who were his own people. How different was to be the future from what he imagined! He had yet to learn that here, in the wilds of New England, was a tyranny, in some respects as narrow as that of King Charles. Here, too, was unjust persecution very much like that from which he had fled. The Massachusetts Puritans who had left the mother country because they could not worship according to their consciences now refused to let others worship according to their consciences. They who had been made to suffer for thinking as they pleased now caused their neighbors to suffer for the same reason. They held that while they had objected to the corruptions of the established church, now that a purer form of worship had taken its place, it must and should be supported. They had bitterly criticized the English Church, but nobody must criticize theirs! The accepted law was the Ten Commandments. These were divided into “two tables.” The first four, or those which summed up man’s duty to God, were the “first table,” while the remaining six, which covered the duties of man to man, were the “second table.” A person guilty of breaking any one of the Commandments was liable to be punished by the magistrates. The government of the colony was based upon the old Mosaic Law. Severe and heartless were the penalties meted out to offenders—often more severe and more heartless than those of England. Naturally the world had progressed during the hundreds of years that had elapsed since the rigid code of the Hebrew law-giver was in force. Into this narrow body of believers came Roger Williams, who was to become the “apostle of soul liberty.” From the very start, he was looked upon as a troublemaker. A Boston clergyman, Cotton Mather, writing about this period some years later, said that Roger Williams had a windmill in his head. “In the year 1654, a certain windmill in the Low Countries, whirling round with extraordinary violence, by reason of a violent storm then blowing, the stone at length by its rapid motion became so intensely hot as to fire the mill, from whence the flames, being dispersed by the high winds, did set a whole town on fire. But I can tell my reader that, about twenty years before this, there was a whole country in America like to be set on fire by the rapid motion of a windmill, in the head of one particular man.” Immediately upon his arrival, the earnest young minister was given a chance to preach in a Boston church, but he refused for two reasons. First, the church members were an “unseparated people” and would not confess they were sorry for having had communion with English churches. Now it would seem that, on this first point, Roger Williams was quite as narrow as his neighbors. Yet he was at least consistent. Here were his fellow-fugitives who had suffered abuse and persecution for protesting against the “corruptions” of the established church. For the sake of their convictions they had given up home and friends in the Old World to face the trials and hardships of the New. Yet they still persisted in clinging fondly to the old church. What Roger Williams practically said to them was: “You have left the old life behind and have started in on the new. You have been given a chance to found a church after your own heart. Why, then, are you not a separated people? I cannot preach to you, for I have broken away forever from the church that has persecuted me.” Roger Williams’ second objection to preaching in the Boston pulpit was that the magistrates were allowed to punish sins of the “first table.” This foreshadowed the principle of soul liberty, which denied the right of civil power to interfere in spiritual matters. The whole trouble arose from the Puritans confusing church and state. They could not comprehend that the two should be separate, independent bodies. In the spring of 1631, they passed a law providing that only church members should have the privilege of citizenship. They believed that the magistrates had just as much right to punish for spiritual offences as for civil offences, or those which disturbed the well-being of the community. When Roger Williams had carried his views on the subject to a logical conclusion years later, he made them clear in the form of a parable. He said that the State was like an immense ship carrying all kinds of passengers. Among them are Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Turks. Their different religions are, of course, very unlike and the captain should be sensible enough to understand this and let each one worship as he pleases, according to his own peculiar custom. This is only fair, as long as the passengers remain peaceful and orderly. If, however, any one of them refuses to pay for his passage or disturbs the peace, then and then only has the captain a right to step in and punish the offender. But he does not interfere because the culprit is a Jew or a Catholic or a Protestant, but because he has not respected the rights of others. In the same way, the State has a right to see that its citizens are well-behaved, but should leave their religion alone. From the very beginning, then, there was trouble for Roger Williams. Not many months passed before he received an appointment as assistant to the Reverend Samuel Skelton of Salem. The General Court of Massachusetts did not like the choice of the Salem people and wrote a letter to that effect. Nevertheless, the sentiment in favor of the outspoken minister was such that he was allowed to take his charge without difficulty. At this settlement, matters progressed more smoothly. Roger Williams’ congregation was well pleased with him and showed their affection for him after he ceased being their minister, as we shall see. He was not permitted, however, to remain here more than a few months, for the authorities could not leave any man alone who was believed to be such a mischief-maker. By the close of summer, he was obliged to move to Plymouth. For two years he led a fairly peaceful life in his new home, but it was not an easy existence. “At Plymouth,” he wrote, “I spake on the Lord’s days and week days and wrought hard at the hoe for my bread.” During his ministry, Governor Winthrop of Massachusetts, in company with others, went to Plymouth for a little visit, going afoot the latter part of the journey. They were met outside the town, escorted to the governor’s house, and royally entertained at different homes in the days that followed. On Sunday, they attended church, of course. Roger Williams was the preacher, although the Plymouth governor, elders and guests also took part in the service. The peaceful Sabbath afternoon stands out in strange contrast to the stormy scenes that came after. During this period, a little daughter was born, to whom was given the name of her mother, Mary. While Roger Williams was not persecuted at Plymouth, he was very ready to return to Salem and the good friends he had left there when the opportunity came. Receiving a second call from the Salem church, probably in the summer of 1633, he gave up his ministry in Plymouth and made preparations to go back to his old parish. Some of his congregation were loath to have him go—in fact, so closely had he endeared them to him that several followed him to Salem. Before taking up Roger Williams’ history in that town, let us pause for a moment to see who some of the men were who had already come in contact with the vigorous preacher or who were to shape his future course. Such a grim portrait gallery of unflinching old Puritans they represent! As we look at some of the stern, forbidding faces, we cannot help being grateful that we are living in the twentieth century instead of the age of Roger Williams. Occupying a central place on the dark canvas is a Puritan of the Puritans—intellectual, proud, superior. There is no mistaking him—John Cotton, of whom we have had a glimpse before. His mouth seems about to open, so eager is he for a learned argument. He is the exact opposite of Roger Williams and the two men are to be pitted against each other all their lives. The title of “unmitered pope of New England” will be given him by future generations. Like his opponent, he follows what he believes to be the path of right, but whereas with Roger Williams it leads to liberty, with John Cotton it leads to persecution. We pass to the next portrait with a sigh of relief. Thomas Hooker, also the friend of early days, comes next. Milder, less learned, perhaps, than John Cotton, he still has a reputation for able argument. He is to labor long and earnestly to make the mischief-maker see the error of his ways. Governor Bradford of Mayflower fame, dignified and scholarly, comes next in order. There is nothing of the tyrant in his make-up. While believing Roger Williams “unsettled in judgment,” he is just enough to say that he is “a man godly and zealous, having many precious parts.” Though he does not entirely approve of him, he is “thankful to him, even for his sharpest admonitions and reproofs so far as they agree with truth.” We linger long upon the next portrait—a kindly face, that of a good friend. It is another governor of Plymouth, Edward Winslow. Fortunate, indeed, is Roger Williams to have this “great and pious soul” interested in him. Dark days are ahead and his friendship—not to mention a welcome piece of gold for needed family provisions—will not come amiss. We hardly believe that Elder Brewster, the next in line, could bring himself to do so gracious a deed. His conscience is too sensitive. Thankful enough is he that the call to the Salem church will prevent the further spreading of “dangerous” doctrine in Plymouth. It is the part of prudence to bid Roger Williams Godspeed. Who is that eager, restless person who occupies the next place—whose flashing eyes and open face tell as plainly as words that he is the creature of impulse? He is always doing hasty things, being sorry for them, and then doing the next hasty thing that presents itself! Big-hearted, reckless, courageous, narrow John Endicott! It is no wonder he is often in disgrace. Let us not forget that more than once he champions the cause of Roger Williams. The finest Puritan of them all comes last, Governor John Winthrop of the Bay Colony. A splendid, noble face is his. He is every inch a gentleman. He has brought the best of old England into the crude life of New England and is helping to build up so sturdy a race that the generations which follow will be proud of their descent from him and Puritans like him. He does not agree with Roger Williams, but a life-long friendship springs up between the two. “Mr. John Winthrop,” said the younger man, “tenderly loved me to his last breath.” Many of the quaint, old-fashioned letters addressed to the Bay governor have come down to us. “I sometimes fear,” says the writer, “that my lines are as thick and over-busy as the mosquitoes.” He discusses religious questions, talks over Indian troubles and asks Winthrop’s advice, because, says he, “of the frequent experience of your loving ear, ready and open toward me.” These, then, were a few of Roger Williams’ neighbors. There were still other neighbors, who were friends as well. These were the New England Indians. From the very beginning of his new life in America, Roger Williams had taken a deep interest in them. For one thing, he held that as they were the first-comers, the land belonged to them and could not be rightly owned by others, except by purchase. It is true that most of the colonists did pay for the territory they occupied whatever the natives thought it was worth, yet as soon as Roger Williams gave his opinion on the subject, he was accused of disloyalty. It was one thing to bargain with the savages, quite another to announce boldly that James, who granted the first New England charter, was not “sovereign lord” of the whole continent, and that those who claimed land merely by royal grant had no title to it whatever. In spite of opposition, Roger Williams had the courage of his convictions. He wrote a treatise on the subject which he sent to the governor and council of Plymouth. No portion of Roger Williams’ life is more interesting than that which deals with the red men. The Wampanoags or Pokanokets, whose chief was Massasoit, occupied the Plymouth territory, while to the west were the powerful Narragansetts, whose sachems were Canonicus and Miantonomo. To gain the friendship of the Indians, Roger Williams endured all kinds of hard and unpleasant experiences, for his “soul’s desire was to do the natives good.” He visited them, he encouraged their visiting him, he patiently studied their language. To quote his own words: “God was pleased to give me a painful, patient spirit to lodge with them in their filthy, smoky holes (even while I lived at Plymouth and Salem) to gain their tongue.” It was a fortunate thing for the colonists that Roger Williams took this trouble. Otherwise he would not have been able to act as interpreter and peacemaker in after years, when Indian uprisings threatened the settlements. It is not an exaggeration to say that no one man prevented more bloodshed in early New England than Roger Williams. The Indians, often suspicious and untrustworthy where other men were concerned, always showed a child-like confidence in their best friend. This was not because he “took sides” with them. Often he told them they were in the wrong and urged them to do the right thing by their white neighbors. It was the absolute justice and sincerity of Roger Williams that won their admiration. He could tell no lie. Of that they felt sure, so they accepted what he told them without argument or denial.