Volume 1 No. 1 November, 2000

By Jane H. Maxson

Rebecca sat on the hard wooden plank in the shallop holding her five-year-old son on her lap while she sheltered her daughter who sat next to her. The sky that October day was a brilliant blue and a brisk breeze blew out of the west. But Rebecca wasn't thinking about the weather, she was watching the shoreline of Dutch Freiland where she and her husband, Richard, had begun clearing the land for house and garden.

The previous night, Indians had attacked their little settlement and the families had been fortunate to escape in two small boats before they were discovered. This morning some of the men had gone ashore to try to retrieve their tools and some food from the burned out houses. Richard and their elder son had joined the expedition. Rebecca watched and waited.

One of the women in the shallop whispered in alarm, "Pequots!" She pointed toward the ruins of the settlement. Rebecca's heart seemed to stop beating when she saw the savages and heard the cries of the men and their attackers. The Indians had surprised the men and boys, killing all who had gone ashore.

"Hoist the sail!" ordered one of the older men who had remained to protect the women.

"No!" wailed a woman. "My husband and son are there. Maybe some have survived. Can we wait and see if there are any who escaped?" "Hush, Mary, they might hear you and come after us. We have to protect our babies," Rebecca whispered urgently.

The sail was hauled into place, caught the westerly breeze and began to make headway to the east. The women sat silently, tears streaming down their faces as they sailed away leaving the massacred bodies of their husbands and sons on the shore. "Can't we return tonight to give our men a decent burial?" Mary asked. "Not if you want to stay alive," one of the men replied. "They will be watching for us to return."

The long voyag to Aquidneck Island began. The shallop sailed east, tacking to take advantage of the prevailing winds. It was crowded with the two men, four women and six children. There was little food and water for the refugees and the children became restless and fussy. The mothers gave up their small rations of food and water to their children.

In the dark hours of her sleepless nights, Rebecca recalled that fateful day nine years ago when Richard stood at the door of their home in England and said "Goodwife, prepare to leave this house for we are going to the New World with other members of our faith."

Rebecca remembered the fear and excitement of the journey to the New World, the harbor at Boston with its few crude houses on a hillside surrounded by wilderness. They remained in that town for only four years before Richard again announced, "Goodwife, prepare to move to Aquidneck with our fellow believers. The leaders here call us heretics and will imprison us if we stay."

This past summer, the little group had moved again, this time to Freiland where the Dutch allowed the English dissenters to settle. Now they were leaving the Dutch colony and returning to the island without their husbands and older sons.

It became colder and began to rain. The women in the open boat were drenched, but suffered in silence, protecting their children from the worst of the downpours as much as possible. The voyage seemed never-ending, but finally the little boat rounded Point Judith and entered Newport harbor.

The survivors were taken in and sheltered by family and friends. Life went on.

A Note from the Author

"According to Maxson family tradition, our ancestor, Richard, was killed by Indians at Throggs Neck, New York. His wife and two of his three children escaped with others in a shallop (an open boat) to return to Newport. This led me to imagine what Rebecca and the others must have faced in the days following the supposed massacre. My story is complete fiction."

Note:

Descendants, family, and interested persons are encouraged to join The Maxson Family Association. Information can be obtained on the main page of our website. A copy of our quarterly newsletter will be sent to all members.