May 2

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_ Mr. John Easton, a man of some note in the Providence Plantations, having occasion to visit Boston yesterday, brought me a message from my brother, to the effect that he was now married and settled, and did greatly desire me to make the journey to his house in the company of his friend, John Easton, and his wife's sister. I feared to break the matter to my uncle, but Rebecca hath done so for me, and he hath, to my great joy, consented thereto; for, indeed, he refuseth nothing to her. My aunt fears for me, that I shall suffer from the cold, as the weather is by no means settled, although the season is forward, as compared with the last; but I shall take good care as to clothing; and John Easton saith we shall be but two nights on the way.

THE PLANTATIONS, May 10, 1679.

We left Boston on the 4th, at about sunrise, and rode on at a brisk trot, until we came to the banks of the river, along which we went near a mile before we found a suitable ford, and even there the water was so deep that we only did escape a wetting by drawing our feet up to the saddle-trees. About noon, we stopped at a farmer's house, in the hope of getting a dinner; but the room was dirty as an Indian wigwam, with two children in it, sick with the measles, and the woman herself in a poor way, and we were glad to leave as soon as possible, and get into the fresh air again. Aunt had provided me with some cakes, and Mr. Easton, who is an old traveller, had with him a roasted fowl and a good loaf of Indian bread; so, coming to a spring of excellent water, we got off our horses, and, spreading our napkins on the grass and dry leaves, had a comfortable dinner. John's sister is a widow, a lively, merry woman, and proved rare company for me. Afterwards we rode until the sun was nigh setting, when we came to a little hut on the shore of a broad lake at a place called Massapog. It had been dwelt in by a white family formerly, but it was now empty, and much decayed in the roof, and as we did ride up to it we saw a wild animal of some sort leap out of one of its windows, and run into the pines. Here Mr. Easton said we must make shift to tarry through the night, as it was many miles to the house of a white man. So, getting off our horses, we went into the hut, which had but one room, with loose boards for a floor; and as we sat there in the twilight, it looked dismal enough; but presently Mr. Easton, coming in with a great load of dried boughs, struck a light in the stone fireplace, and we soon had a roaring fire. His sister broke off some hemlock boughs near the door, and made a broom of them, with which she swept up the floor, so that when we sat down on blocks by the hearth, eating our poor supper, we thought ourselves quite comfortable and tidy. It was a wonderful clear night, the moon rising, as we judged, about eight of the clock, over the tops of the hills on the easterly side of the lake, and shining brightly on the water in a long line of light, as if a silver bridge had been laid across it. Looking out into the forest, we could see the beams of the moon, falling here and there through the thick tops of the pines and hemlocks, and showing their tall trunks, like so many pillars in a church or temple. There was a westerly wind blowing, not steadily, but in long gusts, which, sounding from a great distance through the pine leaves, did make a solemn and not unpleasing music, to which I listened at the door until the cold drove me in for shelter. Our horses having been fed with corn, which Mr. Easton took with him, were tied at the back of the building, under the cover of a thick growth of hemlocks, which served to break off the night wind. The widow and I had a comfortable bed in the corner of the room, which we made of small hemlock sprigs, having our cloaks to cover us, and our saddlebags for pillows. My companions were soon asleep, but the exceeding strangeness of my situation did keep me a long time awake. For, as I lay there looking upward, I could see the stars shining down a great hole in the roof, and the moonlight streaming through the seams of the logs, and mingling with the red glow of the coals on the hearth. I could hear the horses stamping, just outside, and the sound of the water on the lake shore, the cry of wild animals in the depth of the woods, and, over all, the long and very wonderful murmur of the pines in the wind. At last, being sore weary, I fell asleep, and waked not until I felt the warm sun shining in my face, and heard the voice of Mr. Easton bidding me rise, as the horses were ready.

After riding about two hours we came upon an Indian camp, in the midst of a thick wood of maples. Here were six spacious wigwams; but the men were away, except two very old and infirm ones. There were five or six women, and perhaps twice as many children, who all came out to see us. They brought us some dried meat, as hard nigh upon as chips of wood, and which, although hungry, I could feel no stomach for; but I bought of one of the squaws two great cakes of sugar, made from the sap of the maples which abound there, very pure and sweet, and which served me instead of their unsavory meat and cakes of pounded corn, of which Mr. Easton and his sister did not scruple to partake. Leaving them, we had a long and hard ride to a place called Winnicinnit, where, to my great joy, we found a comfortable house and Christian people, with whom we tarried. The next day we got to the Plantations; and about noon, from the top of a hill, Mr. Easton pointed out the settlement where my brother dwelt,-- a fair, pleasant valley, through which ran a small river, with the houses of the planters on either side. Shortly after, we came to a new frame house, with a great oak-tree left standing on each side of the gate, and a broad meadow before it, stretching down to the water. Here Mr. Easton stopped; and now, who should come hastening down to us but my new sister, Margaret, in her plain but comely dress, kindly welcoming me; and soon my brother came up from the meadow, where he was busy with his men. It was indeed a joyful meeting.

The next day being the Sabhath, I went with my brother and his wife to the meeting, which was held in a large house of one of their Quaker neighbors. About a score of grave, decent people did meet there, sitting still and quiet for a pretty while, when one of their number, a venerable man, spake a few words, mostly Scripture; then a young woman, who, I did afterwards learn, had been hardly treated by the Plymouth people, did offer a few words of encouragement and exhortation from this portion of the 34th Psalm: "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them." When the meeting was over, some of the ancient women came and spake kindly to me, inviting me to their houses. In the evening certain of these people came to my brother's, and were kind and loving towards me. There was, nevertheless, a gravity and a certain staidness of deportment which I could but ill conform unto, and I was not sorry when they took leave. My Uncle Rawson need not fear my joining with them; for, although I do judge them to be a worthy and pious people, I like not their manner of worship, and their great gravity and soberness do little accord with my natural temper and spirits.

May 16.

This place is in what is called the Narragansett country, and about twenty miles from Mr. Williams's town of Providence, a place of no small note. Mr. Williams, who is now an aged man, more than fourscore, was the founder of the Province, and is held in great esteem by the people, who be of all sects and persuasions, as the Government doth not molest any in worshipping according to conscience; and hence you will see in the same neighborhood Anabaptists, Quakers, New Lights, Brownists, Antinomians, and Socinians,--nay, I am told there be Papists also. Mr. Williams is a Baptist, and holdeth mainly with Calvin and Beza, as respects the decrees, and hath been a bitter reviler of the Quakers, although he hath ofttimes sheltered them from the rigor of the Massachusetts Bay magistrates, who he saith have no warrant to deal in matters of conscience and religion, as they have done.

Yesterday came the Governor of the Rhode Island, Nicholas Easton, the father of John, with his youngest daughter Mary, as fair and as ladylike a person as I have seen for many a day. Both her father and herself do meet with the "Friends," as they call themselves, at their great house on the Island, and the Governor sometimes speaks therein, having, as one of the elders here saith of him, "a pretty gift in the ministry." Mary, who is about the age of my brother's wife, would fain persuade us to go back with them on the morrow to the Island, but Leonard's business will not allow it, and I would by no means lose his company while I tarry in these parts, as I am so soon to depart for home, where a great ocean will separate us, it may be for many years. Margaret, who hath been to the Island, saith that the Governor's house is open to all new-comers, who are there entertained with rare courtesy, he being a man of substance, having a great plantation, with orchards and gardens, and a stately house on an hill over-looking the sea on either hand, where, six years ago, when the famous George Fox was on the Island, he did entertain and lodge no less than fourscore persons, beside his own family and servants.

Governor Easton, who is a pleasant talker, told a story of a magistrate who had been a great persecutor of his people. On one occasion, after he had cast a worthy Friend into jail, he dreamed a dream in this wise: He thought he was in a fair, delightsome place, where were sweet springs of water and green meadows, and rare fruit-trees and vines with ripe clusters thereon, and in the midst thereof flowed a river whose waters were clearer than crystal. Moreover, he did behold a great multitude walking on the river's bank, or sitting lovingly in the shade of the trees which grew thereby. Now, while he stood marvelling at all this, he beheld in his dream the man he had cast into prison sitting with his hat on, side by side with a minister then dead, whom the magistrate had held in great esteem while living; whereat, feeling his anger stirred within him, he went straight and bade the man take off his hat in the presence of his betters. Howbeit the twain did give no heed to his words, but did continue to talk lovingly together as before; whereupon he waxed exceeding wroth, and would have laid hands upon the man. But, hearing a voice calling upon him to forbear, he did look about him, and behold one, with a shining countenance, and clad in raiment so white that it did dazzle his eyes to look upon it, stood before him. And the shape said, "Dost thou well to be angry?" Then said the magistrate, "Yonder is a Quaker with his hat on talking to a godly minister." "Nay," quoth the shape, "thou seest but after the manner of the world and with the eyes of flesh. Look yonder, and tell me what thou seest." So he looked again, and lo! two men in shining raiment, like him who talked with him, sat under the tree. "Tell me," said the shape, "if thou canst, which of the twain is the Quaker and which is the Priest?" And when he could not, but stood in amazement confessing he did see neither of them, the shape said, "Thou sayest well, for here be neither Priest nor Quaker, Jew nor Gentile, but all are one in the Lord." Then he awoke, and pondered long upon his dream, and when it was morning he went straightway to the jail, and ordered the man to be set free, and hath ever since carried himself lovingly towards the Quakers.

My brother's lines have indeed fallen unto him in a pleasant, place. His house is on a warm slope of a hill, looking to the southeast, with a great wood of oaks and walnuts behind it, and before it many acres of open land, where formerly the Indians did plant their corn, much of which is now ploughed and seeded. From the top of the hill one can see the waters of the great Bay; at the foot of it runs a small river noisily over the rocks, making a continual murmur. Going thither this morning, I found a great rock hanging over the water, on which I sat down, listening to the noise of the stream and the merriment of the birds in the trees, and admiring the green banks, which were besprinkled with white and yellow flowers. I call to mind that sweet fancy of the lamented Anne Broadstreet, the wife of the new Governor of Massachusetts, in a little piece which she nameth "Contemplations," being written on the banks of a stream, like unto the one whereby I was then sitting, in which the writer first describeth the beauties of the wood, and the flowing water, with the bright fishes therein, and then the songs of birds in the boughs over her head, in this sweet and pleasing verse, which I have often heard repeated by Cousin Rebecca:--

"While musing thus, with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
A sweet-tongued songster perched above my head,
And chanted forth her most melodious strain;
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,
I judged my hearing better than my sight,
And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight.

"O merry bird! said I, that fears no snares,
That neither toils nor hoards up in the barn,
Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares,
To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm.
Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere,
Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear,
Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear.

"The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent,
Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew,
So each one tunes his pretty instrument,
And, warbling out the old, begins the new.
And thus they pass their youth in summer season,
Then follow thee unto a better region,
Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion."

Now, while I did ponder these lines, hearing a step in the leaves, I looked up, and behold there was an old Indian close beside me; and, being much affrighted, I gave a loud cry, and ran towards the house. The old man laughed at this, and, calling after me, said he would not harm me; and Leonard, hearing my cries, now coming up, bade me never fear the Indian, for he was a harmless creature, who was well known to him. So he kindly saluted the old man, asking me to shake hands with him, which I did, when he struck across the field to a little cleared spot on the side of the hill. My brother bidding me note his actions, I saw him stoop down on his knees, with his head to the ground, for some space of time, and then, getting up, he stretched out his hands towards the southwest, as if imploring some one whom I could not see. This he repeated for nigh upon half an hour, when he came back to the house, where he got some beer and bread to eat, and a great loaf to carry away. He said but little until he rose to depart, when he told my brother that he had been to see the graves of his father and his mother, and that he was glad to find them as he did leave them the last year; for he knew that the spirits of the dead would be sore grieved, if the white man's hoe touched their bones.

My brother promised him that the burial-place of his people should not be disturbed, and that he would find it as now, when he did again visit it.

"Me never come again," said the old Indian. "No. Umpachee is very old. He has no squaw; he has no young men who call him father. Umpachee is like that tree;" and he pointed, as he spoke, to a birch, which stood apart in the field, from which the bark had fallen, and which did show no leaf nor bud.

My brother hereupon spake to him of the great Father of both white and red men, and of his love towards them, and of the measure of light which he had given unto all men, whereby they might know good from evil, and by living in obedience to which they might be happy in this life and in that to come; exhorting him to put his trust in God, who was able to comfort and sustain him in his old age, and not to follow after lying Powahs, who did deceive and mislead him.

"My young brother's talk is good," said the old man. "The Great Father sees that his skin is white, and that mine is red. He sees my young brother when he sits in his praying-house, and me when me offer him corn and deer's flesh in the woods, and he says good. Umpachee's people have all gone to one place. If Umpachee go to a praying-house, the Great Father will send him to the white man's place, and his father and his mother and his sons will never see him in their hunting-ground. No. Umpachee is an old beaver that sits in his own house, and swims in his own pond. He will stay where he is, until his Father calls him."

Saying this, the old savage went on his way. As he passed out of the valley, and got to the top of the hill on the other side, we, looking after him, beheld him standing still a moment, as if bidding farewell to the graves of his people.

May 24.

My brother goes with me to-morrow on my way to Boston. I am not a little loath to leave my dear sister Margaret, who hath greatly won upon me by her gentleness and loving deportment, and who doth at all times, even when at work in ordering her household affairs, and amidst the cares and perplexities of her new life, show forth that sweetness of temper and that simplicity wherewith I was charmed when I first saw her. She hath naturally an ingenious mind, and, since her acquaintance with my brother, hath dipped into such of his studies and readings as she had leisure and freedom to engage in, so that her conversation is in no wise beneath her station. Nor doth she, like some of her people, especially the more simple and unlearned, affect a painful and melancholy look and a canting tone of discourse, but lacketh not for cheerfulness and a certain natural ease and grace of demeanor; and the warmth and goodness of her heart doth at times break the usual quiet of her countenance, like to sunshine and wind on a still water, and she hath the sweetest smile I ever saw. I have often thought, since I have been with her, that if Uncle Rawson could see and hear her as I do for a single day, he would confess that my brother might have done worse than to take a Quaker to wife.

BOSTON, May 28, 1679.

Through God's mercy, I got here safe and well, saving great weariness, and grief at parting with my brother and his wife. The first day we went as far as a place they call Rehoboth, where we tarried over night, finding but small comfort therein; for the house was so filled, that Leonard and a friend who came with us were fain to lie all night in the barn, on the mow before their horses; and, for mine own part, I had to choose between lying in the large room, where the man of the house and his wife and two sons, grown men, did lodge, or to climb into the dark loft, where was barely space for a bed,--which last I did make choice of, although the woman thought it strange, and marvelled not a little at my unwillingness to sleep in the same room with her husband and boys, as she called them. In the evening, hearing loud voices in a house near by, we inquired what it meant, and were told that some people from Providence were holding a meeting there, the owner of the house being accounted a Quaker. Whereupon, I went thither with Leonard, and found nigh upon a score of people gathered, and a man with loose hair and beard speaking to them. My brother whispered to me that he was no Friend, but a noted ranter, a noisy, unsettled man. He screamed exceeding loud, and stamped with his feet, and foamed at the mouth, like one possessed with an evil spirit, crying against all order in State or Church, and declaring that the Lord had a controversy with Priests and Magistrates, the prophets who prophesy falsely, and the priests who bear rule by their means, and the people who love to have it so. He spake of the Quakers as a tender and hopeful people in their beginning, and while the arm of the wicked was heavy upon them; but now he said that they, even as the rest, were settled down into a dead order, and heaping up worldly goods, and speaking evil of the Lord's messengers. They were a part of Babylon, and would perish with their idols; they should drink of the wine of God's wrath; the day of their visitation was at hand. After going on thus for a while, up gets a tall, wild-looking woman, as pale as a ghost, and trembling from head to foot, who, stretching out her long arms towards the man who had spoken, bade the people take notice that this was the angel spoken of in Revelation, flying through the midst of heaven, and crying, Woe! woe! to the inhabitants of the earth! with more of the like wicked rant, whereat I was not a little discomposed, and, beckoning my brother, left them to foam out their shame to themselves.

The next morning, we got upon our horses at an early hour, and after a hard and long ride reached Mr. Torrey's at Weymouth, about an hour after dark. Here we found Cousin Torrey in bed with her second child, a boy, whereat her husband is not a little rejoiced. My brother here took his leave of me, going back to the Plantations. My heart is truly sad and heavy with the great grief of parting.

May 30.

Went to the South meeting to-day, to hear the sermon preached before the worshipful Governor, Mr. Broadstreet, and his Majesty's Council, it being the election day. It was a long sermon, from Esther x. 3. Had much to say concerning the duty of Magistrates to support the Gospel and its ministers, and to put an end to schism and heresy. Very pointed, also, against time-serving Magistrates. _

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