University of Virginia Library

May ye 16th.

This place is in what is called the Narraganset
Countrie, and about twenty miles from Mr. Williams'
Town of Providence, a place of noe 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 neighbourhood, Anabaptists,

Quakers, New Lights, Brownists, Antinomians, and
Socinians — nay, I am told there be Papists also. Mr.
Williams is a Baptist, and holdeth mainlie 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 noe 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 ladye-like a person as I
have seen for many a day. Both her father and herself
doe 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 goe 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 companie while I tarry in
these Parts, as I am soe soon to depart for home, where
a great Ocean will separate us, it may be for manie
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 courtesie, he being

a man of substance, having a great Plantation, with
Orchards and Gardens, and a statelie House on an hill
overlooking 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 familie 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 faire, 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 Chrystal. 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 soe 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
sayst 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 warme 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 formerlie 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 merriement
of the Birds in the trees, and admiring the green
banks, which were besprinkled with white and yellow
Flowers. I called to mind that sweet fancie 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 the 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:
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 Crie, 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.
Soe he kindlie 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 happie 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 goe 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.