"Through
the Niantic section of what is now the town of East Lyme flows Bride's Brook, a
small stream which took its name from an unusual, romantic episode that occurred
sometime in the winter of 1646-1647. At that time, according to tradition, a
young man named Jonathan (sometimes Thomas) Rudd [COMSTOCK
LINE] was in great haste to marry his sweetheart of long standing. For one
reason or another -- some say a blizzard came up, others that the magistrate was
away on business -- the official who was scheduled to perform the wedding
service was not available when Rudd needed him. Since the law then required that
one must wed in his home parish, the eager bridegroom searched the jurisdiction
high and low for a minister or magistrate, but could find none.
"Hearing that John Winthrop, later
Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, was visiting in nearby New London,
Rudd appealed to the man from Massachusetts for resolution of his problem. But
since New London was then under the jurisdiction of the Massachusetts Bay
Colony, Winthrop had no authority to marry the couple outside his zone of
authority. Finally, however, the wise Winthrop saw a way out of the dilemma.
While the bridal party stood on the west bank of the brook known by the Indians
as Sunkapung ("cold water"), in the couple's own parish, Winthrop
stood on the east bank, within his New London jurisdiction, and there, across
the babbling brook he united the happy pair in holy-and legal-matrimony. From
that day forward the stream was called Bride's Brook.
"Interestingly enough, Bride's Brook
later figured in a dispute that inspired some fanciful stories. It all began
when the people of Lyme questioned the legality of the brook as a boundary with
New London. In order to save the expense of an appeal to the courts in Hartford,
it was agreed by both towns that they would abide by the results of a
bare-knuckle fight between two representatives from each town. Since the boys
from Lyme proved more accomplished free-style brawlers than the New Londoners,
the boundary was moved east to the Niantic River."
----------------------------------
Here's
another version:
Jonathan and Mary were
married in the winter of 1647 by John Winthrop of New London, who was acting
under a MA commission. The name of his bride is not given, but the circumstances
attending the marriage have been preserved: "The wedding day was fixed and
a magistrate from up river engaged to perform the ceremony, as there was not
anyone in Saybrook qualified to officiate. But, there falling out at that time a
great snow, so that the magistrate intended to go down thither was hindered by
the depth of the snow. Application was made to Mr. Winthrop to come to Saybrook
to perform the ceremony, but he, deriving his authority from MA, had no legal
right to officiate in CT. He agreed that if the parties would meet at a brook
designated, he would there perform the ceremony, as that was MA territory. The
offer was accepted. On the brink of this little stream, the boundary between the
two colonies, the parties met, Winthrop and his friends from Pequot, and the
bridal train from Saybrook. One group was on one side of the stream and the
others on the opposite. Never perhaps was the rite performed in a situation so
wild and solitary and under circumstances so interesting and peculiar. The
stream received the name of 'Bride Brook' on the spot, and is so known
today."
---------------------------------------------------------------
From "Some Ancestors
and Descendants of Joseph Rudd, Jr., 1740-1818 and his wife, Sarah Story,
1744-1842," by Dorothy Rudd DuMond:
The Bride Brook Wedding - 1646/7
By Charles Boynton Martin,
Descendant of Bride Brook Marriage
In quaint East Lyme there is a stream
That flows from lake to sea
Bride Brooke is its romantic name --
It lives in history.
Between Peqwuot and Old Saybrook
It was the boundry[sic] line
When they were little separate states
In old colonial time.
Young Jonathan Rudd of fair Saybrook
A married man would be
And he would wed 'mid winter's cold
Brook no delay would he.
In snow-bound Saybrook none was found
The nuptial knot to tie;
The Governor of Pequot was asked,
Who sent this kind reply.
"Within the limits of Pequot
I'll gladly marry thee
So meet me at the boundary stream
Where it flows out to sea."
The day was fixed; the parties made;
They all set forth with glee --
But oh! in flood the little brook
A river proved to be.
When hopes are high and lovers young
And hearts are all aquiver,
What shame a marriage to postpone
Justs for a raging river!
The governor pointed up the stream
Where banks were close together
And where the voice could bridge the brook
Through the blustery weather.
And there the wedding was performed
Across the boundry[sic] river
While cakes of ice were floating by
'Mid cold that made them shiver.
The snow flakes wove the bridal veil
Her train - the drifting snow
The winds played in the pine tree tops
A march both sweet and low.
The wild fowl flying overhead
The Indians lurking nigh
Were witness of their plighted troth
Beneath the vaulted sky.
The prayer by John Winthrop offered up
The vows that there were made
Are written in the books above
Where records never face.
And Winthrop at that time and place
Gave to that little river
The name of Bride Brooke as its own
Which it will keep forever.
And lovers linger on its banks
And talk in voices low
Of lovers true who there were wed
In days of long ago.
------------------------------------
The Bingham Genealogy's
account included a 22-verse poem describing the Bride Brook wedding written by
George Parsons Lathrop and published in the Atlantic Monthly for April, 1876.
BRIDE BROOK
Wide as the sky Time spreads his hand,
And blindly over us there blows
A swarm of years that fill the land,
Then fade, and are as fallen snows.
Behold, the flakes rush thick and fast;
Or are they years, that come between,--
When, peering back into the past,
I search the legendary scene?
Nay. Marshaled down the open coast,
Fearless of that low rampart's frown,
The winter's white-winged, footless host
Beleaguers ancient Saybrook town.
And when the settlers wake they stare
On woods half-buried, white and green,
A smothered world, an empty air:
Never had such deep drifts been seen!
But "Snow lies light upon my heart!
An thou," said merry Jonathan Rudd,
"Wilt wed me, winter shall depart,
And love like spring for us shall bud."
"Nay, how," said Mary, "may
that be?
No minister nor magistrate
Is here, to join us solemnly;
And snow-banks bar us, every gate."
"Winthrop at Pequot Harbor lies,"
He laughed. And with the morrow's sun
He faced the deputy's dark eyes:
"How soon, sir, may the rite be done?"
"At Saybrook? There the power's not
mine,"
Said he. "But at the brook we'll meet,
That ripples down the boundary line;
There you may wed, and Heaven shall see't."
Forth went, next day, the bridal train
Through vistas dreamy with gray light.
The waiting woods, the open plain,
Arrayed in consecrated white,
Received and ushered them, along.
The very beasts before them fled,
Charmed by the spell of inward song
These lovers' hearts around them spread.
Four men with netted foot-gear shod
Bore the maid's carrying-chair aloft;
She swayed above, as roses nod
On the lithe stem their bloom-weight soft.
At last beside the brook they stood,
With Winthrop and his followers;
The maid in flake-embroidered hood,
The magistrate well cloaked in furs,
That, parting, showed a glimpse beneath
Of ample, throat-encircling ruff
As white as some wind-gathered wreath
Of snow quilled into plait and puff.
A few grave words, a question asked;
Eyelids that with the answer fell
Like falling petals;--form that tasked
Brief time;--and so was wrought the spell!
Then "Brooklet," Winthrop smiled and
said,
"Frost's finger on thy lip makes dumb
The voice wherewith thou shouldst have sped
These lovers on their way. But, come,
"Henceforth forever be thou known
By memory of this day's fair bride:
So shall thy slender music's moan
Sweeter into the ocean glide!"
Then laughed they all, and sudden beams
Of sunshine quivered through the sky.
Below the ice, the unheard stream's
Clear heart thrilled on in ecstasy;
And lo, a visionary blush
Stole warmly o'er the voiceless wild;
And in her rapt and wintry hush
The lonely face of Nature smiled.
Ah, Time, what wilt thou? Vanished quite
Is all that tender vision now;
And, like lost snow-flakes in the night,
Mute are the lovers as their vow.
And O thou little, careless brook,
Hast thou thy tender trust forgot?
Her modest memory forsook,
Whose name, known once, thou utterest not?
Spring wakes the rill's blithe minstrelsy;
In willow bough or alder bush
Birds sing, o'er golden filigree
Of pebbles 'neath the flood's clear gush;
But none can tell us of that name
More than the "Mary." Men still say
"Bride Brook" in honor of her fame;
But all the rest has passed away.
