Roger Williams, by May Emery Hall—A Project Gutenberg eBook CHAPTER XVI 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. Roger Williams’ pocket-compass and sun-dial with cover. This photograph was taken at the rooms of the Rhode Island Historical Society. 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.”