Some History

  Long renowned for its scenic surroundings, beautiful margin of sand beach and crystal clear water, Mashapaug -- or Lake Alexander, as it has been called since early in the English settlement -- has served the residents of Killingly and the surrounding area as a place of refreshment and recreation from Indian days to the present. Indeed, so great has been the hold of Lake Mashapaug / Alexander on the folk imagination, that two legends, one of Indian ancestry describing the origin of the pond and the other an English tale about Nell Alexander, after whom the lake was named, have survived to this day.

  As the local Nipmuck Indians told the earliest English settlers, the lands and waters of the Quinebaug valley had always been good to them. They had always found plenty of game in the woods, and fish in the local ponds and rivers. So prosperous had the people become, in fact, that one day the tribal leaders decided they should do something to celebrate their good fortune and to thank the Great Spirit for his benevolence. So after several tribal council meetings, a time was fixed for a general powwow, that peculiar Indian get-together which featured eating, drinking, smoking, singing, dancing and other activities designed to bring pleasure to body or soul.

The spot chosen for the powwow was a sandy hill, or mountain, covered with tall pines, which rose from the place where Lake Alexander now lies. Once the celebration got started, there seemed no stopping it. For four consecutive days the men and women of the tribe powwowed themselves with reckless abandon, hardly pausing to catch a breath, much less get any sleep. But all the time the party roared on, the Great Spirit watched -- with growing concern and indignation over some of the things his earthly subjects were doing. Finally, at the end of the fourth day of celebration, the Indians' god had seen enough. So much lewd and lascivious conduct, he thought, deserved punishment of the severest sort. Accordingly, the Great Spirit found a way to end the orgy with a vengeance.

 While the red people in enormous numbers capered and cavorted on the summit of the sand mountain, suddenly it began to give way beneath them. Slowly at first, then more and more rapidly, the hill sank beneath the surface of the earth to a great depth below. Then from the deep underground rivers, the waters rose, higher and higher, until they covered everything except what had been the highest peak of the former partying place. So, too, did the newborn lake cover all the sinful revelers, except one "good old squaw," who occupied the hilltop still showing above the waters, a place known today as Loon's Island.

Whether or not the Indian tradition has any basis in fact is difficult to say. However, it can be reported that for more than a hundred years after the last Nipmuck disappeared from the Quinebaug valley, if the day were bright and the surface smooth and unruffled, the huge trunks and leafless branches of gigantic pines could occasionally be seen beneath the waters in the deepest part of Lake Alexander. It was always a sight to make people reflect.

The Name Lake Alexander

 The man for whom Lake Alexander (or Alexander's Lake) was named was truly a legendary figure. A poor boy from Scotland who came to America on a ship loaded with a great number of emigrants, Nell Alexander parlayed an extraordinary, not to say legendary piece of good luck into a fortune, before finally settling in Killingly, on the shore of the lake called Mashapaug, in 1720.

 As the traditional story has it, toward the end of the seventeenth century the ship that brought Alexander and the other Scottish emigrants to America landed them all in Boston. They say that just before he left the ship, Nell spied a gold ring lying on the deck, picked it up and put it in his pocket. Although it is said that he made every effort to find the owner of the ring -- he was an honest lad, though poor -- no owner was ever found. At length, Nell claimed finder's rights to the valuable piece of jewelry.

 Since he had been so fortunately and unexpectedly enriched, Nell Alexander's first stop after coming ashore in Boston was a pawn shop. In return for the ring, he obtained from the pawnbroker sufficient funds to purchase a goodly supply of household merchandise -- pots and pans, tinware, clocks, tools and notions -- with which to begin an itinerant sales business through the streets of Boston and Roxbury. As he was an enterprising young man, honest, personable and hard-working, Alexander prospered as an urban peddler to the point where he began to accumulate considerable wealth. Then, of course, he sought to do what so many people with assets have always done: invest in real estate. But before he left Boston to accomplish that goal, Nell Alexander returned to the pawn shop where he had left the golden ring only a few short years before, and redeemed it.

 Now, with his lucky charm in hand, he was ready to move to the state whose name was synonymous with "Yankee peddler" and to pursue his business without threat of financial embarrassment. After a few years of constant activity, he had acquired sufficient funds to purchase a plantation of 3500 acres, more than half the area in the town of Killingly. From the day he moved into his home on the shore of the lake which would bear his name, Nell Alexander brought honor to himself, his home town and the itinerant peddling profession. In an era when Yankee peddlers were widely despised, Alexander must have been a very special person.

 And what of the ring that started Nell Alexander on the road to success? According to historian John Warner Barber, writing in 1838, "The gold ring was transmitted as a sort of talisman, to his only son Nell, who transferred it to his only son Nell; who is now living at an advanced age, and has already placed it in the hands of his grandson Nell; and so it will continue from Nell to Nell, agreeable to the request of the first Nell, until the 'last knell of the race is tolled!'" Or, it could be said, until the last time Nell's story is told.

from Legendary Connecticut by David E. Philips