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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre reproduites en un seul clichd sont filmdes d partir de Tangle sup^rieure gauche, de gauche d droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mdthode : 1 2 3 rata >elure. J 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 o 'X. c e- cs y. c a p: o f E- m 'A O t-i A 15 () () K \KW I-NGLAVl) f.KGENDS 1 ULK. l.t.>R t Sa pcrtsf 4n& 'j^dttrv f»V ,*;-• fH'.-.i ■ -\ ^i ■'■' T '(<;\ ^i' ■..(.AS. ■. .. \ST'' .■ \.', '.' '"A', J /-^/^ f . i it ;• ;«.r-.i.-s',, /><; Oi p B K H i^ *l ifiv f > T H K R S ■*,> pr- r ^ / ■tUv »; ■ '^- .^jtM.lMJ^^r'? .« ...'•■"•^fc^Vr" il>' '% ''A ---v-Ifc ■... •.4 #5: iS. ■^ifiSfc^-^'" T-v> \ '^im CiS P % 'A i?fc..-:.fa^"&Miff7 ''-fni-i - T A BOOK OF New England Legends ANIJ Folk Lore In f roise anb poetrti BY SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE AUTHOR OK " NOOKS AND CORNERS OF THE NEW HNGLAM) COAST," "old LANDMARKS OF UOSTON,'' ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY F. T. MERRILL BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1884 P7^ 14480:; Copyright, JSS3, By Samuel Adams Drake. Camfiriligf : PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, UNIVERSITY I'KIiSS. i i TNTROnuCTION. rpi It r covery „, „,„„j, ,,,tl,.vei log™,I„ry ,v„ift that not -L o„lv mvo » ,,,,lly „„p„,ta„t bearii,;. „,,„„ the early l,i,st„ry ■I "".■ com, ,y, b„t tl,„t al,s„ .he, „„eh li,l,t „,,„„ the spirit 'r .t. a„e,e„t laws and „,,„„ tl,o dc,n,estic lives ,.r its ,,e,n 1,. !„„, seemed to me a la,„l„,,le „„de,taki„,.. This „„,,„» i, „ ^ taken .„„„ ,„ the following collection of KewKniand Lcen, As „, a majority „f instance, these tales go ftr beyond 'l |« when .he interio,. was settled, they naturally el Z h heseahonnl; and it wonid scarcely h„ overstepping th W P»rut,n« exaggeration fn™ trnth to say that ILy 1 „ the New-l..,.g|„nd coast has its story „r k legend. ^ Disowned m an age of scepticism, the,, was once _ „„d I . what we now v.agnely tern, the legendary did not ever- « i,e strongest n.u.cnee ; so that, far from hein.- ,nm 1 v , or^ o am„sn,g fables, these fdes. which .are largrivh, ed fdrselose the sect springs by which societv- ,;,, „„, J f;-rtr°- ■" '"""^ '"■"''^"- "'■">■ ■"«■'"'■"«" ""■ VI INTKOnUCTION. It iiiiiy bo said, tliuii, tliut whilo History 1ms its truth, tlio Logt'ud lius its own; both taking,' lor tlicir I'lul tin' portniyul of Man an he has ex'sted in every age, — a (.'reatiiru in whom the imagination is suprenie, and who pfrlornis dcuda tenibli' or heruii; aLcording as it may be arousiid into action. No apohjgy need be made i'or the prevalence ul' superstition among our ancestors. Our century is not the judge of its predti- cessors. It was a superstitious age. King Charles 1. inherited all the popular beliefs. He kept, as an uttacho of his court, an astrologer, whom he was accustomed to c(jnsult before enter- ing upon any important or hazardous undertaking. Laud, the highest prelate in England, the implacal)le i)ersecutor of our Puritan ancestors, was a man haunted by the i't;ar of omens. Indeed the most exalted pers(jnages in (Jhurch and State yiehhid full credenco to all those marvels, the bare mention of which now calls up a smile of incretlulity or of pity. New England was the child of a superstitious mother. Since the assertion is so often made that this is a jjractical age, owing no alhigiance whatever to the degrading thraldom of ancient superstition, but coldly rejecting everything that cannot be fully accounted for upon rational grounds, I have thought it worth while to cite a few of those popular beliefs which neither the sceptical tendencies of the age we live in, nor its wonder-working achievements, have been able to eradicate. They belong exclusively to no class, and have been transmitted from generation to generation through the medium of an unwritten language, to which the natural impulse of the human mind toward the supernatural is the common interpreter. While religion itself works through this mysterious channel of the Unknown and the Unseen, one need not .stop to argue a fact that has such high sanction. So long as these beliefs shall continue to exert a control over the every-day actions of n)en, it would be useless to deny to them a place in the movements regulating society ; and so long as the twin mysteries of life and death confront us with their unsolved problems, it is certain that where reason cannot pass beyond, the imagination iNTitonrcTioN. vu will still strive to [K'tiotnilt! witliiii, the harrier si'iianitiii^' us from the iiivisil)lo world. Thi.s iiivisihle worlil is the realm of the suporiiiitural. Vdii will seldom see a iiuui so iiiiieh in a hurry that he will not stop to pick up ii horseshoe. One sees this aiieient (;harm a;,'ainst evil spirits in every household. In fact this ]iiece of bent iron has hoconie the popular syud)ol fur gooil luck. 'I'hruw- iny an old shoe after a departing friend is as common a practice to-day as it over was. Very few maidens neglect the opportu- nity to got a i»eep at the new moon over the right slu.ulder ; and the old couplet, — See the moon through the glass, Vou 'U liavc trouMe while it LiFsts — is still extant. I know people who could not !>(■ induced to sit with thirteen at the table, who consider sj)illing the salt as uiducky, and who put faith in dreams ! With Oat holies the belief in the etiicacy of charms and of relics is a part of their religion. It is not long since a person adver- tised in a i)ublic journal for a caul ; while among ignorant people charms against sickness, or drowning, or evil spirits are still much worn. Iiut their use is not wholly coidined to this class; for I have myself known intelligent men who were in the habit of carrying a potato in their pocket, or of wearing a horse-chestnut suspended from the neck, as a cure for the rheumatism. Sailors retain unimpaired most of their old superstitions con- cerning things lucky or unlucky. Farmers are invariably a superstitious folk, — at least in those places where they have lived from generation to generation. The pn^tty and touching custom of telling the bees of a death in the famil}' is, as I have reason to know, a practice still adhered to in some parts of the country. The familiar legend of the hedgehog remains a trusted indication of an early or a late spring. Farmers have many super- stitions that have been domesticated among them for centuries. For instance, it is a common belief that if a creature loses its cud the animal will die unless one is obtained for it by dividing f VI 11 INTUODUCTION. tijo cud of auotlitu- bpu.st. A sick cow will rocovor by liuviiij^ ii live froj,' pass tlirouj^h her ; hut tlio fro;,' must ho living, or tlio clianu will not work. II' a dog is seen eating grass, it is a sign of wot wcatlii-'r ; so it is it' llio grass is spotted with what is vul- garly called frogs' spittle. 'Dk! girls heliove that if you ean form a wish while a meteor is falling, t!ie wish will he fi. Hilled ; they will not phiek the eomimin wd lield-lily, for fear it will make them heconu! freekled. In tin; country tliere ate still found persons plying tile trade of fortune-telling, wliih; tlu; numher of hau.iited houses is notal)ly inereasing. The " lueky-hono " of a codhsh ami tiie " wishing-bone " of a chicken are things of wide reput(!. Plants and ilowers — those beautiful emblems of immortality — have from iniUKiUiorial time possessed their pe(.'uliar attributes or virtues. There are the mystic plants, and there are the symbolical ones, like the evergreens used in church-deeoration and in comi^teries. Where is the maiden who has not diligently searched up and down the lielils for the bashful fourdeaved clover] How ujany books enclose within their leaves this little token of some unspoken wish ! The (jracle of the Mar- guerite in (Joetlie's "Faust," — II m'liime ; II lu'aiine beaucoup ; A la I'olie ; Pas du tout, — may oftener be consulted to-day than many a fair questioner of Fate would be willing to admit. Let those who will, say that all tiiis is less than nothing; yet I much doubt if the saying will bring conviction to the heart of womankind. Precious stones continue to hold in the popular mind some- thing of their old power to work good or evil to the wearer. A dealer in gems tells me that the sale of certain stones is mate- rially affected by the superstitions concerning them. It will be seen that some of these superstitious attach to the most im- portant concerns of life. My friend the dealer, who is quite as well versed in his calling as Mr. Isaacs was, says that the « V ' I INTRODUCTION. IX opiil is tilt! gem that in most ricquiintly spokoii of us unlucky, and tliut the salu of tho opiil of lato years has been very slow on liiat accdiint. " It seems," he eoutinues, "as if many ladies ri'ally believed that it would bring them misfortune to wear or even to own an opal ; and we freijuently hear ladies say that they would n(jt accept one as a gift." Some writers attribute this uiii)oi)ularity to Scott's "Aniic of (ieierstein." 'Jiii.s, at least, is a nioilern sui)er.stitiou ; for tho opul was ouco cousiden-d a talisman of rare virtue. An old jeweller tells me that ho frequently sells a moonstone as a "lucky stone." It is of little pecuniary value, but ho says that it is worn in rings and charms as bringing good luck. 'J'he moonstone has furnished VVilkie (Jollins with tho themo for cue of his weird tales. My informant goes on to say that "a line turquoise is of a beautiful blue, — al)out the color of a robin's egg. For some reason not perfectly understood it changes from blue to green, and sometimes to white. I own a tunjuoise myself, which 1 am sure changes color, sometimes looking green, and sometimes blue. This change of color gave rise to the belief that tho color of a tunpioise varied with the health of tlio wearer, being blue when the wearer was in good health, and white or green in case of ill-health. The emerald is said to be the symbol of jeakiusy, — ' the green-eyed nKJUster.' For this reason it is not considered as being suitable for an engagement-ring. I don't know that I c'ver heard of one being offered as an engagement- gift ; and if a young gentleman should ask my advice in regard to buying an emerald ring for this purpose, I shoidd dissuade him, on the ground that the young lady might look upon it as a bad omen." This feeling or superstition is used in Black's story of " The Three Feathers," in which a marriage is pre- vented by the gift of an emerald ring; "for," says tho novelist, " how could any two people marry who had engaged themselves with an emerald ring?" A sapphire, on the contrary, given by another admirer, brings matters to a hapjjy conclusion ; once more fullilling the i)rophecy of an old rhyme, — INTJiODUCTION. Oh, green's Ibrsakeii, And yellow '« f'orswnrn, Antl blue 's the sweete.st Color that 's worn ! There certainly is a diU'erence in the way that all those be- liefs are received, — some people snbsoribiug to tlieni fully and frankly, while others, who do not like to be laughed at by their scei)tical neighbors, speaking of tlieui as trifles. IJut such doubters may l)e hotter judged hy their acts than by their pro- fessions, — at least so long as they are willing to try the potency of this or that cliarm, "just to see how it will come out." To return to the legendary pieces that compose this volume, it is proper to state that only certain poetic versions liave hither- to been accessible to the public, and that consequently impres- sions havo been formed that these versions were good and valid narratives ; while the fact is that the poems are not so much designed to teach history or its truth, as to illustrate its spirit in an effective and picturesque manner. Yet in most cases they do deal Avith real personages and events, and they stand for faithful relations. It was this fact that first gave me the idea of bringing the prose and poetic versions together, in order that those interested, more especially teachers, might have as ready access to the truth, as hitherto they have had to the romance, of history. For enabling me to carry out this idea my thanks are espe- cially due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., who promptly granted me their jjermission to use the several extracts taken from the poems of Longfellow, "Whittier, and Holmes; and I beg all those literary friends who have extended the like courtesy to accept the like acknowledgment. S. A. D. Melrose, Mass., Oct. 1883. Part JFfrst. BOSTON LEGENDS. The Solitary otfihawmnt.— J. L.Mot/r,/. . . . ''*°^ Boston Common. — 0. W. Holmes . '^ Mistress Anne Hutchinson ' " '^ The Death of Raiusborougli .... ^ ' The Case of Mistress Ann Hibbius "^ Mary Dyer -^ The King's Missive ^^ The Qualver Prophetess ^^ In the Old South Church. -./.'air/uW.i- " " " ' f More Wonders of the Invisible World CalefinBoston.— X a IFtoiVr. ^^ Nix's Mate ^^ The Duel on the Common . . . . , ^^ Due d'Anville's Descent ^^ .V Ballad ofthe French Fleet. -^.ir.'Ao^.^"/-,//,,,; '. . \ \ ', \ l\ XU CONTENTS. Christ Clmn-h. — Kilirin B. Russell '"77 I'aul Keveie's Ivitlc -^ I'etcr Ihigg. — William Auntiii y,, A lMttaxCii. CAMBRIDGE LEGENDS. The Washington Elm jl5 'I'hc Last of tlie Highwaymen ny The Eliot Oak I2i Part 2C^irU. LYNN AND NAHANT LEGENDS. The Bridal of Peniiacook 128 Tiie Pirate's Glen j3o Moll ritc'lier 137 lUghUofk. — Elizabeth F. Merrill 141 Xaliant l^g Tlie Sea-Serpent 15(j The Floure of Souvenance I59 Swampscott Beach 162 Part Jourtfj. SALEM LEGENDS. f^'ilem 167 The Escape of Philip Englisli 176 Endicott and the Red Cross IgO Cassandra Sonthwick 183 The Witchcraft Tragedy ! . 188 Giles Corey the Wizard I94 The Bell Tavern Mystery 196 CONTENTS. XIU ^art iFiftfj. MARBLEIIEAD LEGENDS. ^larliJchoarl : Tlio Town . . '"•^'^'^ The Sliriekiug Woiuau . . ' ^"•"' The Strange Adventures of Philip Ashton "" Agiiew, the .Maiil of the Ian . . . "'- Skipper Ireson's Kide . . --' Al'leaforrioodIre.son.-r/,«,/e. y.iiroo/'- ." .' ■.".■■■■ JJ.' Part &ixt^. CAPE-ANN LEGENDS. r'apo Ann ( 'aptain John Smith Thaclier's Island Anthony Thaeher's Shi])wreck . . ' The Swan Song of Parson Avery.— ./.V/. ' ' " Tlie Spectre Leaguers . . . . ' The Garrison of Cape Ann.-./. G. \v/aft'i,r Old Meg, the Witdi An Escape from Pirates Norman's Woe Hannah binding Shoes. -/.,;.// V.r'ovo,;/ Whither 2.37 24.'t 244 24.5 2.52 25.'} 2r)8 2.59 261 2()3 267 ?fart ^EbfUtfj. IPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. Ipswich Ohl Ipswich Town. _vl/,^/,M«'l/on;a« fJ- Heartl)reak Hill ' -'_' Newl)urvport ^''^ Lord Timothy Dexter "^"^ The Old Elm'of Newhurv . \ ^'''^ The Prophecy of Samuci Se^vaU ^^^ The Double-Headed Snake 1 homas Macv, the Exile ^'^^ Telling the Bees . . ^^^ 314 XIV CONTENTS. Part lEigljtf). HAMrTON AND PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. PA(JK lliiinptoii ,'J1'.» .'()iiiitli:iii Moultoii and tlie Devil 322 (."ooily <'(il(' 328 The Wri'ck i)f liivcnnmitli.— ./. (J. Whiltlrr 32!) I'ort.imoutli 331 TIic, Stoiio-tlirowiiig Devil 333 Jiiuly Weiitworth 337 Part Nintfj. YORK, ISLES-OF-SIIOALS, AND B00\" -ISLAND LEGENDS. Isles i)f Shoiils 345 On St.ir Islauil. — Sarah O. Jcwitt 348 A Legend of Blackboard 3r)() The Spanisli Wreik 352 Tiie >Sj)auiards' (Jravos. — C'plia Thaxter 354 Boon Island 355 The Watch of Boon Islanoe/«). — L. II. SirjouriKi/ 426 Tlie Place of Noises 407 .Mateliit Mooiius. — J. (/. BniiiKinl 429 Tlie ISjiaiiish (ialleon 43j The Money-Diggers. — J . G. Bruinard 435 Tlie Norwieli Kliiis. — L. II. Sujonnwy 435 Part 9rf)irte;nt1^. NANTUCKET AND OTHER LEGENDS. Nantucket Legends 441 Tlie Alarnieil Skipper.— Jamts y. Field.t 447 'I'lie Unknown Clianipiou 449 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. VJ 2fi ■2H ;j2 PAGE Kol)iiis()ii, Stovpnsnn, and Mary ^ I >ytTg.,iii- to |;xi.ciiti„ii, rroiit apiece Vigiii'tte, riiritau Hats ... 3 The Solitary of Sliawimit ... Haiigiiig-Lainp n .Situ (if Mrs. lliit<.'liiiiMiirs Mouse 15 Trial of Mrs. Hiitcliiiisoii . Tlu; Death of IJainshorougli Nijjht-Watchniaii . . . KxccutioM of Mrs. Uibbiiis The ( )l(l llhn ;j4 Scourging a Quaker .... ,37 I land-Reel 4^ Kndiiott receiving the King's Order 4|ij Liberty Tree Ancient Houses, North Knd . <'andlesticlv, Bible, and Spec, tacles Tomb of the .^fathers .... Xix'.^Mate The Due! on the Common . . Old South Church < 'hrist Church Hoston, from Breed's Hill Sign of the Green Dragon . . 372 375 37!) 381 382 :;84 387 390 393 394 397 405 411 417 419 423 432 433 441 442 453 4r)(» 457 ■'~4 ,# Part first. BOSTOx>T LEGENDS. ■& W I i TTIE SOLITARY OF SIIAWMUT. ItV ,1. I.. MOTM'.Y. 1628. ASOLTTAIi'V fij,'un' siit »ii)()n tlic summit nf Shawmut. lie was a man of almut thirty years of a.i^c, sdiin^wliat ubdVc till' middli liL'iylit, .slender in luiiu, Avilli a pale, tliDU.'ulit- ful i'ac(,'. lie \v(uv a cunfu.sed dark-culorcil, ludl'-eanonieal dress, with a L^ray lirdad-leaveil hat stiiin;;- with shells, iil( Shawmiit looked out upon a scene of winning heauty. The promontory rGseml)led rather two islamls than a peninsula, although it wa.s anchored to the continent hy a long slender thread of land M'hich i^eemed hardly to restrain it from floating out to join its sister islands, which were thickly strewn about the bay. The peak upon which the hermit .sat Avas the highest of the three cliffs of the peninsula; upon the somheast, and A'ery near him, rose another hill of le.sser height and )!iore rounded form ; and npon the other side, and toward the north, a third craggy peak jiresented its hold and elevated front to the ocean. Thu ^ the Avholo peninsula was made up of three lofty crags. It was from w NEW-KNULANI) LK»;ENI)«. litis triplij cont'nriiKitiiMi ul'thi' ])i'(iiniiiitiiry ol' Shtiwinut tlial wud (liM-ivud tilt! iippi'lhitiDii til' TriuitjuiiUiii, ur Truiuuiil, whiuli it Mtinii iil'tuiwurtlH rt(Cfivt,'il. Tilt- viiHt conii'iil hIuhIdwh woro pi'DJcctoil eiiMtwardly, u« tli»! In'i'iiiil, willi iiis liiit'k to thu ilucliiiin^ uuUf Itjokuil tml u|ii)ii ihtt Sl'il. 'I'ho buy was spreatl out at hi.s I'cet in a l)rt)ail stiiuicircli:, with its Dxtromo huaiUautls vani.sliiii;^ in this hnzy diata. ;■•••, whiln lu'yuntl rnllt'il thi) viwt expanse of ocean, with nt) spot uf huhi- tabltt earth lieyoiul those tjutttrniost harritii's ami that far ilistant fathtrland which the t-xih^ had left furfVi-r. Not a solitary sail whiteni'il Ihosis purple wavfs, ami saving' tht) wing of tht; sea- gull, which now and then Hashetl in thtt siinshine or glfametl across the tlininess of the eastern horizon, the solitude was at the luoiuent unhrokt'n l)y a single niovomeiit of animateil nature. An intense antl breathless siltnn^o enwrappetl the scene with a vast ami mystic veil. The bay presfntinl a spectacle of great bt'auty. It was nut that the outlines of the enast art)und it wero broken Mitn those jaggtitl antl eloutllike masses, — that pietu- restjue and ':tartling scenery where precipitous crag, infinite abyss, and roaring surge unite to awaken stern and sub" .e emotions ; on the contrary, thi! gentle loveliness of this trans- atlantic scene inspired a soothing melancholy mcjre congenial to the contemplative' chaiacti^r of its solitary occupant. The l)uy, soclutleil within its forest- crowned hills, tlticoratctl with its neck- lace of emerald islanils, with its dark-blue waters gildetl with the rays t)f the western sun, ami its shadowy forests of unknown antitjuity i^xpanding into infinite depths around, was an imago of fresh and virgin beauty, a fitting tyjjc of a new world un- adorned by art, unploughed by industry, unscathed by war, wearing none of the thousand priceless jewels of civilization, and unpolluted by its thou.saud crimes, — springing, as it wero, from the bosom of the ocean, cool, dripping, sparkling, and fresh from the hand of its Create:. On the left, as the pilgrim sat with his face to the east, the outlines of the coast were comparatively low, but broken into THK 80LITAKY OK HIIAWMIT. ^ontlo and plcusing forms. Ininu'tliatcly iit liis fi'ct lay iv largc-r islaml, ill extent nearly e<[iial to the peninsula nl' Sliuwniut, covered with mighty fon'st-trei's, and at that day untenanted liy a liuniati heiiij,', although hut a short time afterwards it hecamo tho residence of a distinguished pioneer. Outside this bulwark a chain of thickly N.uodeil isleta stretched across from Hhore to sliore, with hut one or two narrow channels hetweeii, presenting a piitures(|Ue and etlectual harrier to the hoisteroiis storms of ocean. They seemed like naiads, those islets lifting above the billows their gentle heaths, crowned with the budding garlands of the spring, and circling hand in hand, like protective deities, about the scene. On the south, beyond the narrow tongue of land which bouml the peninsula to the main, and which was so slender that the spray from the eastern side was often dashed across it into the calmer cove of the west, rose in the immediate distance that long, boldly broken purple-colored ri image, that gnntlo exih' in hi.s silvan soHtudc. It was a siniph' hut suh- limi' tliDUglit, which placed him and sustained him in his lone retreat. In all ages there seem to exist men who have no • Mointed place in the world. They are l)et(in' their age in their aspirations, above it in their contemplation, but behind it in their capacity for action. Keen to detei;t the follies and the inconsistencies which surround them, shrinking from the contact and the friction of the rough and l)oi.sterous world without, and building within the .solitude of their meditatioiis the airy fabric of a regenerated and puritied existence, they pass their nights in unproductive study, and their days in dreams. With intelligence bright and copious enough to illuminate and to warm the chill atmosphere of the surrounding world, if the scattered rays Avere concentrated, but with an inability or dis- inclination to impress themselves upon other minds, they i)ass their lives without obtaijiing a result, and their characters, dwarfed l)y their distance from the actual universe, ac(juire an apparent indistinctness and feeljleuess which in reality does not belong to them. The impending revolution in Church and State which hung like a gathering thunder-cloud above England's devoted head, was exciting to the stronger spirits, whether of mischief or of virtue, who rejoiced to mingle in the elemental war and to plunge into the rolling surge of the world's events ; ■while to tlie timid, t^'e hesitating, and the languid, it rose like a dark and threatening phantom, scaring them into solituile, or urging them to seek repose and safety in oljscurity. Thus there may be men whose spirits are in advance of their age, while still the current of the world Hows rapidly past them. Of such men, and of su(di instincts, was the solitary who sat on the clills of 8hawnmt. Forswearing the country of his birth and early manhood, where there seemed, in the present .state of her affairs, no possibility that minds like his could develop or sustain themselves, — dropping, as it were, like a premature and unripened fruit from the bough where 8 NEW-ENOLANI) LEGENDS. its blossoms had first luifoldcil, — lie hud wandered into vol- untary exile witli hardly a reyret. Debarred from ministering tit the altar to which he had consecrated his youth, because unable to comply willi munnucry at which his soul revolted, lie had becdiuc a high priest of nature, and had reared a ])ure and solitary altar in the wilderness. Ho hail dwelt in this solitude for three or four years, and had found in the con- templation of nature, in the liberty of conscience, in solitary study and self-communing, a solace for the ills he had suffered, and a recompense for the world he had turned his back upon forever. His spirit Avas a prophetic spirit, and his virtues belonged not to his times. In an age which regarded toleration as a crime, he had the courage to cultivate it as a virtue. Tn an age in which liberty of conscience was cr at. Thoro in, hoAvevcr, little; (loul)t tiiut tlit; attachment of one for the other was mutually lasting and sincere, in si)ito of the sore trials to which their married life was exposed. But allowing that he was eclipsed Ijy the superior hrilliancy of his wife, there is (^uito enough evidence to prove that William Hutchinson was a man of sterling character and worth. He i)lay('il a .secondary, but no ignoble, part in the events we have to narrate. It happened that the Hutchinsons were parishioners of the Kev. John Cotton when that celebrated divine was minister of the Church of JJoston, in Lincolnshire. For him and his abili- ties Mrs. Hutchinson had the highest respect and esteem. And when Cotton iled to New England, as he like so many others was at Icsngth compelled to do, in order to escape from the tyranny of tho bishops, the Hutchinsons also resolved to emi- grate thither, and presently the whole family did so. It is proper to be mentioned here that Mrs. Hutchinson's daughttir had married the IJev. John AVheelwriglit, another mini.ster of Lincolnshire, who was also deprived for nonconformitj', and who also came to New England iu consequence of the perse- cutions of Archbishop Laud. The long interval that elapsed between the date of her mar- riage and that of her removal to America is very imperfectly filled out in the notices we have of Mrs. Hutchinson's life. Wo are not made acquainted with any of those formative processes by which she became so well equipped for the mental and spirit- ual conflict that she was soon to enter upon with an adversary who could neither learn nor forget. A family had now grown up around her. Besides the daughter, the ^Irs. Wheelwright already mentioned, there were three sons ; so that it was no young, sentimental, or unbalanced novice, but a middle-aged, matured, and experienced woman of the world who embarked in the autumn of 1G34 for New England, looking eagerly there to obtain and enjoy liberty of conscience among those who L the earth could, to know ipposed, if any people its value. 14 NKW-KN( 1 1, A X I > LF,( ; K N I iS. DiM'iiiL,' tin- vnyii;4(' she ciilcicil iiitu discussions with somn Puntiin iiiiiiistcrs who were ii1m> j^'oiii;,' mil to New l'ji;^fliui(l, ll|inli sllrll alislrUS(! jMiilils iis wllill were tlllM'viilrllct'S of jiisti- iicatinii, ami she limailly liiiitcil lli:il wlicn tlify sluniM iii'riv<' at tiifii' ilivsliiuitiuu llii'y iiii;^lit ('Xjioct Id liour iiHU'c rroiii luT. Fniiii those thiiij,'s, trivial in themselves, it is (dear that Mrs. Hutchinson considered herselt' to have a mission to deliver to the people and churches of New Knglaml. She avowtul her entire Itelief in direct revelations made to the elect, moreover declaring,' that never had anythin<,' of im]»ortanee happened to her Avhich had not been revealed to her beforehand. The vessel made her port on (he IcSth of Sei)teml)er, l(!."{k Its appearance Avas so mean and so uninviting', that one of her fellow passengers, supixxsinj,' it to have depres.seil her spirits, commented upon it, in ortU-r, as it appeared, to draw her out. l!ut she denied that the meanness of the place hud in any way alfectetl her, because, as she said, "slu; knew that tlu; bounds of her habitation M'ere alieady determined." I'poii their ariival, .Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson made their application to bo receivt'd as members of the clnu'ch. This step was indispensable to admit them into Christian fellowship anil him to the privileges of a citizen. He was ailmitteil in Octo- ber, but in conseipience of the reports already spread concerning Iier extravagant o[iinions, !Mrs. Hutchinson was sulijected to a searching examination before her request was granted. She, however, passed through the ordeal safely, the examining min- isters, one of whom was her old and beloved pastor, Mr. Cotton, declaring themselves satisfied with her answers. She entered the Boston church in November, For some time onward we hear very little of Mrs. Hutchinson, except that she was treated with i)articular respect and attention by Mr, (Jotton and others. The getting settled in a new home probably occupi<'d her to the exclusion of everything else. Her husband took a house in Boston, and being duly admitted a freeman of the Colony, ho was immediately called upon to bear his part in business of public concern, vvdiich he did Avillingly MISTKKSH ANXK IIITCIIINSOX. 15 mill I'aitlilully. lie rcccivrd a ;4MUit tif lainl,-, in Draiiiticc iVoiii llic ( icIU'lal ( 'nlll't. Ill' was clccti'd tn, ailil Sfl'Vi'il i'lil' several telllis a^ a ilepllty ill, this limly, il being, Miliuulallv elinllMh. Ilis t'nrluiu' to sit a.s ii nieiulier when Kn'^er Williams was lirnii^'lit to the liar, tried lor liis heretical (i|iiiii()iis, ami Iiaiiisheil hy it • mt (if till' Colnliy. Tlio year Ki.'Wl was destined (o wilni'ss one (jf the ''VcJitost r('Ii;;i()iis I'liiiiiiiotidiis that have ever |)U//.led ihi' unlearned or seri- ously called in nuestioii the wi-.doin of the founders of the Colony. 'I'lie more it is stiulied the more ine\]ilicalile it a|i|iear.s. SITI', OF MltS, urrcilINSON S llolSK. A young man of liheral views, who liiid not 1)e(Mi hardened l)y jiersocution, was then governor of the Colony, and, for the moment, the popular idol. This was Harry Vane, who after- wards died on the scalfold. He with Mr. Cotton took much notice of ]\rrs. Hutchinson, and their example was (piickly fol- lowed by the leading and intlueiitial peoples of the town, who treated her with mucdi consideration and respect. Already her benevolence toward the sulfering or the needy had won for her *r 16 NKW-ENGLANI) LKCKNDH. nmny frionds, wliilc licr inticpidity of .soul ami linr fiapiutity I'or ilciiliiij,' with tlio.so intt.Tusliii},' (|ue.stioii.s iVoiii tip' tli.sciissiou (if which tlii-y were i'X('lii(h;cl, k-d imuiy of her own sox to look up to her not only us u person whose opinions wi-ni wortii rcyiii'iliiig, l)ut also with aiUnirution amounting; to honiaj;i'. Ailoptinj4 an rstalilishuil custom of tlit; town, Mrs. Hutchinson helil in hi*i' own hoiisi^ two weekly luuutin^s, — one for men ami women, uml one exclusively for women, — at which she was the orai'le. TliL'so nieetin;^'s wore for no other jiurpose than to hear read and to discuss the sermons of the pi'evious Sahltath, and for ^'eneral reli^jiuus conversation and edilication. They were what would b(! calletl in our own day a club. The l)rinj,dnf,' women together in any way for independent thouy;ht and action was a most Ijold and novel innovation, recpiirin;^' much moral couraj^'c on the part of the mover. Her manner and atMress, her really wit, her thorough mastery of her subject, the strong purpcse she displayed, established her ascendency in these dis- cassions, and were fast gaining for her a popularity that, spread- ing from lier house as a centre, alarmed the ministers for their own bold upon the publi(' mind, ami so determined them to cull her and her doctrines seriously to account. That Mrs. Hutchinson's conversations were not at first con- sidered to be dangerous either in themselves or in their elleris, is clear from the fact that tlie most eminent ministei-s and magistrates, attracted by her fame, came from all ipiarters to bear and dis|)uto witli her. Such was her ready command of ►Scripture authorities and her skill in using all the weajwn: of argument, that the strongest beads in the colony found them- selves unable to cope witb her successfully upon her chosen ground. She was impassioned, she was adroit ; she was an enthusiast, and yet she was sulitle, logical, and deep : she was a woman who believed liersolf inspired to do a certain Avork, and who bad the courage of lier convictions. Could any other have brought such men as Cotton, Vane, Wheelwright, Codding- ton, completely to embrace her views, or have sent one like Winthrop to his closet, wrestling with himself, yet more than MISTUKSS ANNK IIUTCIIIN.SON. 17 lialf pcratiiulud] To ciill such ii woiiiiiii an lulvonturcsM, a tt;r- ma;,'aiit, ur a "Jr/oln'l," is a ^'lavo it'llcLtioii upuii tho uudcr- atuiulin^' of moiik! of tho Iwst minds in tho Colony. Aniu! Hutchinson's doctrines wore, in jihiin Kn^lish, these : She held and advocated as the highest truth that a person could ho justilied only by an adual and iiiaiiifcst revelation of tlio spirit to him personally. There could be, .she said, no other evidence of grace. She repudiated a doctrine of works, and she donietl that holiness of living alono could ho recoivcul as «3vidonco of rogoneration, since hypocrites might live outwanlly as pure lives as tho .mints do. The I'uritun churches hold that .sanctilication l)y tho will was evidence of juslilii'ation. For a time people of every condition wen^ drawn into tho ilisputo about these suhtleties. Tho Boston church divided upon it, the greater numl)er, however, siding with Mr. Cotton, whoso views were understood to agree with those maintained by Mrs. Hutchinson. From IJoston it rapidly spread into tiio country, but thcu'c, removed from llie potent personal magnetism of Mrs. Hutchinson, the clergy were better able to withstand the move- ment that it may be truly .said had carried Boston by storm. In announcing these opinions of hers, Mrs. JIutchinson freely criticised those ministers who preached a covenant of works. This end)ittereil them toward her. Fjnlxddened l)y the in- creasing numlier of her followers, .she became more and more aggres.sivo, so that tho number of her enemies was increasing in proportion to that of hv.v pro.selytes. Tho breach that coolness and moderation might easily have bridged soon widened into a gulf tliat could not be crossed. Unsuspicious of any danger, or that what was said in the privacy of her own house was being carefully treasured up against her, ])oor Mrs. Hutchinson was led into speaking her mind more freely as to doctrines and persons than was consistcmt with jjrudenco or foresight, so that before she was aware of it what had so far been a harmless war of words, now becoming an unreconcilable feud, burst fortli into n war of iactions. Events then marched rapidly on. Governor Winthrop and Mr. AVilsou, the pastor of the church, 2 18 NKW-KN(iI.ANIi I.KCIKNKH. I led III ' oppuxitioii ill rxi.Htoii, 'I'Ik; liiiitli r wan firAt liroiii^ht beforu tlie (iciiiTiil Coinl ii|inii a Hcrniuii jiivaclu'il by Mr. Wliuel- wi'i),'lit, anil ill this liody tliu roiintry was aMr In make licad aj,'aiii.st the liiwii. A iicrHonal stru^'ylc I'liritU'd hctwct'ii Wiiillirii|) and \'ani', in whidi tlic fniiiu'r was victoiiiais. Vani? tlicii Idl llic {iiiintry in ilis;4iist. 'I'lic party li.ivin^' as it wtTi' lost its licad, made iin iliirorfncL' with Mrs. Ilutcliinsdii. She I'onlinuid lur lirtuivs, nndisturlicd liy llif si;,'iis ni' the approacliiiij,' «tnrni, until all the (Iiiirclics could he siinininniMl to;-. j^TUcral .synod, wliicli a.sM'iiiiilcd in ;,'ifat Kol('innit\ at ('anil)rid,!4c, to .sit in jnd;^iiiciit niion tin; new and starllin;^ l'"aiiiilisti(! doctiiiirti. 'I'liis was llic lirst synod held in tho western li('nii:iiiliciv. li,> dililii rations wm; im-ccdcd liy a day of I'a.liip^ and prayir I liroiiL!,lioiii llii> ('(ilmiy. What it tlocriicd Would Im' .'^n.staiuod hy tho civil power. Th( convocation was a stormy one. Tlirci^ weeks wero spent in di.sciissiiig the ermrs that were rornnilated in tlu^ indictment presunt(!d to it, I'eici'ivin,^ the ilril't toward j)orsocntion, some of tlie nieniliei's I'nr Iloston withdrew in dis^'u.st. The Syiidd llnislic'd liy eondeninin;^ as heresies all of the eighty odd point.s covering' tho now opinions, thus hrin;4in<,' them within the ])iile of the law. ^Ir. ('ott(jn was either too weak or too politic to withstand the pressure hrouj^ht to Ijcar upon him, and ho gavo a (jualiiied adhesion to the lU'ocoodin.g.s. Boing tlius hacked hy the whole s[iiritual ]io\ver of tho Colony, tlie "Winthrop party no longer liesitated to use sovore raeasuros. ^fr. Wheelwright was lirst called before the Court, to ho sum- marily sentenced to disfranchisoment and hanishment. No one ])retends that he was not an able, pure, and upright man. Others of ^frs. ITuti'hiiison's adherents received various .sen- tences. Then the priestess and jirophetess hensolf was ixrraigned at the bar as a criminal of the most dangerous kind. The proceedings at this trial are preserved in the '■ History of Massachusetts under thv Colony and Province," of which Gov- ernor Hutchinson, the descendant of the persecuted Anne, is the author. Tlicy are voluminous. Winthro}), who presided, hrst MISTUKSS ANNK IHTCHINSdN. iU ciitiM'liisod hiT. Slic aiLswiTfil liim lidlilly, l>ut with ilij^'tiity. 'I'licii hi'iKl.strrcl, iiiul thou hiulli'V, tlic 4('|iiity-^,'nV('rniir, took turns in trying' to t'xtort from lirT sonio ilunia^'in^,' inliiiissinii. tell Xoitlicjr siK^cuedcd. Govcrnur Wintliroi» allows as much when usiuj,' this cxtnionliuary lau- )•) N KW-KNULAND LEGENDS. again roniovod with hvv I'aiiiily into tlio Dutch territory ol' Now Muthin'huids, settling near wluit is now Xew liochclk'!. During the following yinir her house was suddenly assaulted by hostilo Indians, who, in their revengeful fury, murdered the whole liimily, excepting oidy one daughter, who was carried away into captivity. Mrs. Hutchinson's oil'cnce consisted in using the great intel- lectual powers with which she was undeniably gifted for solving the problem of her own life. Her enemies vanquished, but they could not convince, her. It is not denied that she was a pure woman, an atfectionate wife and mother, to the poor a bene- factor, and to her convictions of Cliristian duty conscientious and faithful to the last. To succeeding generations she is an amazing t;xampk) of the intolerance existing in lier day. THE DEATH OF RAINSBOROUGH. '^1 i ;' in m I >i 1648. THE civil wars in England preceding the dethronemcut and death of Charles I. opened an alluring held for reaping individual renown which many adventurous New Englanders hastened to enter. It was there in New England, if anywhere, that the revolt against the crushing tyranny from Avhich thou- sands had iled should iind its legitimate echo. Moreover, an appeal to arms had become the dream of many of the enthusias- tic young men of this martial age. No sooner, therefore, had the sword boon drawn, than these men of New England, taking their ("Jeneva Bibles and their Spanish rapiers in their hands, enrolled themselves under the banners of the Parliament, and some of them carved with their good blades an enduring record upon the history of the time. Eoremost among these volunteers for the Puritan cause was William Rainsborough, who lived here in 1G39, and was, with THE DEATH OK IIAIXSBOUOUGH. 23 Robert Sedgwick and Israel .Stougliton, then a meiuber of the noiK.rablo Artillery Company of JJuston. Haiusborough had speedily lisen to be colonel of a regiment in the Parliamentary army, in ^vhich this Stoughton was lieutenant-colonel, ^'ehemiah Bourne, a J3ostou shipwright, major, and John Leverett, after- wards governor, a caj.tain ; William Hudson, supposed to be also of Jiuston, was .Misign. A son of ( rovernor Winthrop also served with credit in these same wars, and in New England the having furnished one of (Jliver's soldiers was long one of the most valued of liuuily traditions. Rainsbonuigh owed his rapid advancement to the distinguished gallantry that he displayed in the held, as well i.s to his zeal for the cause, both of which qualilications, so essential in the Puritan soldier, earned for him the warm friendship of Crom- well, with whom lie was thoroughly one in si)irit. Indeerl he appears to have held political sentiments quite as advanced as those of his great huider. We iind him sustaining positions of high trust botli in camp and council, always with ability, and always with credit to himself and his patron. In the memora])le storming of Bristol, then held by Prince Rupert, Rainsburough commanded a brigade whicli was posted in front of the strongest i)art of the enemy's line of defence. The duty of assaulting tliis position fell to liim. ('romwcll tells how it was performed, in an ollicial letter written from Bristol immediately after the surriMider of tlie place. "Colonel Painsborough's post was near to Durham Dc vn, whc'reof the dragoons and three regiments of horse made good >- post upon the Down, h.etween him and the River Avon, on his right hand. And fiom Colonel Painsborough's (luarters to Frooin River, (,n his left, n p;v:'t of Colonel 'Bi.vt/s and tli.; whole of General Skippo„'s regin.jnt were to mi,i itain that post." The signal for storming being given, the Parliamentary troops advanced with great resolution against the enemy's whole line, and were suddenly in possession of the greater portion of it. ■"«H \ I iw.^ 24 NEW-ENGL.\^D LEGENDS. I. . if ! !|*; "During this," suys tho (jli-mTal, "Colonel Kainsbornngh and Colonel Hammond attenqited I'ryor's lliil Fort and le line downward towards I'^room; antl tho major-general's regiment being to storm towards Froom liiver, Colonel Hammond i)os- sessed tlie line immediatel}', and beating tho enemy from it, made way for tlie horse to enter. Colonel Ifainsborough, who had the hardest task of all at Pryor's Hill Fort, attempted it, and fought near three hours for it. And indeed there was great des^)air of earrying the place, it being exceedingly high, a ladder of thirty rountis scarcely reaching tlie top thereof; but his reso- lution was such tliat, notwitljstanding the inaccessibleness and difhculty, lie would not give it over. Tho enemy had four pieces of cannon upon it, which they jilied with round and case shot upon our men ; his lieutenant. Colonel Boweu (Bourne), and others were two hours at push of pike, standing upon tho palisades, but could not enter. But now Colonel Hammond being entered the lino ... by means of this entrance of Colonel Hammond, they did storm th<' f(nt on that part wliich was inward ; and so Colonel Kainsborough's and Colonel Hammond's men entered the fort, and immediately put almost all the men in it to the sword." For his resolute bravery on tliis occasicju Tliiiusborough was one of the otticers deputed by Fairfax to receive tho surrender of the place. Rainsborougli subsequently acted as one of tho connnissioners from the Army, with Ireton and Hannnond, to treat witli the King, and he was also one of the officers who stirred up in the Army that spirit of discontent with tlie half measures of Parlia- ment which, bursting out into open revolt, paved tlie way to its final and humiliating downfall. When the insurrection immediately preceding the second civil war broke out, Eainsborough was in command and on board of the English fleet, and he is then called Admiral Eainsborough. It is well known that tho sailors embraced, almost to a man, the Royalist side. They put their Admiral on shore, and then hoisted sail for Holland and tho young Prince THE DEATH OF HAINSUOUorcni. 25 of Wales. Rainsl)oroiigh then went up to Lonilon, presently receiving orders to go u])on his lust service, into Yorkshire. It was in the year U!48 that the Yorksliire Royalists, who had been living in quiet since tlie lirst war, were again excited by intelligence of Duke Hamilton's intendetl invasion. A i)lan was laid and successfully carried out l)y them to suri)rise Pom- fret Castle (sometimes called Pontefract), tlio greatest and strongest castle in all England, then lield by Colonel Cotterel as governor for tiio Parliament. It was then victualled to with- stand a long siege. The Castle was soon besiegetl by .^ir Edward Phodes and Sir Henry Cholmondley witli five thousand regular troops, but the royal garrison stubbornly held out fur the King. It being likely to prove a tedious affair, General Painsborough was sent from London by the Parliament to put a speedy end to it. He pitched his head(puirters for the moment at I)(jn- caster, twelve miles from Pomfret, with twelve hundred foot and two regiments of horse. The Castle garrison having in some way learned of Hamilton's disastrous defeat at Preston, that he Avas in full retreat for Scot- land, and that Sir IMarmaduke Langdale, who commanded the English in that battle, was a j^risoner, formed tlie bold design of seizing General Painsborough in his camp and liolding him as a liostage for Sir Marmaduke; for it Avas clear enough that the principal actors in this unlucky rising would now be in great lu'ril of losing their heads on tlie charge of higli treason. Tlic scheme seemed all the more feasible because the Gt-neral and his men were under no apprehension of any surprise ; the Castle being twelve miles distant, closely besieged, and being moreover now the only garrison lield for the King in all England. The plan was shrewdly laid, favored by circumstances, and was completely successful, except that instead of l)ringiiig the General off as a prisoner, they killed him. With twenty-two picked men, all bold riders and well mounted. Captain William Paulden penetrated through the besiegers' lines into Doncaster undiscovered. Tlie guards were immediately assaulted and TlIK DKATil OF liAINSROUOUOII. 27 (li.sjior.s(Ml, wliilt) a party of fnui' troupiTs iiiadn direct lor the (Jeiicral's luil;^iii;,'.s. At tin; d.ior tlicy were luct hy his lioiitcniaiit, who, iipou their aiiiiuuiiciuj,' that they had cuino with dt'.s[)atcho.s I'miu (ioneral Cnjinwell, coiiductod thoiu to the diambcr where Ilainsborouj^li was in bed. While tlie (Jciieral was opeiiiii;^' the false desi)atili, which euiitaiiied nothiiig l)iit hlank paper, the Kiii^^'s men told him that he was their |)risoiiei', l)ut that not a hair of his head shonld lie toue]ie(l if he went (piietly aloug with them. They then disarmed his lieutenant, who had so innocently facilitated their desi-n, and Ijioiight both the ( leneral and him out of the house. A horse stood ready .sachllcd, which JJainsborou^di was directed to mount. He at hrst seemed willing' to do .so, and put his foot in the stirrup; l)ut upon look- in;^- about him and .seeing oidy four imemies, while his lieutenant and a sentinel (whom they had not disarmed) were .standing by him, he suddenly [)ulle(l his foot out of the stirrup and cried out, "^lrai.s/ Anus f" Ul)on this, one of his enemies, letting fall his sword and pis- tol, — for tlu! ol)ject was to take the (Jeneral alive, — caught hold of liainsbor(JUgli, Avho grap])lod ficircely with him, and l)oth fell struggling to the ground. The ( ieneral's lieutenant then picked up the trooper's pi.stol, but was instantly run through the body by I'auhU'n's lieutenant while he was in the act of cocking it. A third then stablied L'ainsborough in the neck ; yet the (leneral gained his leet with the trooper's sword, Avith whom he hail been struggling, in his hand. Seeing him detei' mined to die rather than be taken, the lieutenant of the party then passed his sword through his body, when the brave but ill-fated iiainsborough fell dead ujjou the pavement of the courtyard. 28 NEW-E J LEtiENDS. I >: THE CASE OF MISTRESS ANN IIII3B1NS. 1656. " rr^lIE ik'vil is in it 1 " Is iKit this pithy expression, we in- -I- ([uiiv, a surviving inoniento of the dark day of super- stition, when ov(.'rythin<,' that was stranj,'e or inexplieabk) was by common consent referred to the devices of the Kvil One 1 It would be both interesting,' and instructive further to ask if there are still people who regard spillin;^' the salt, beginning a journey on Friday, breaking a looking-glass, or sitting with thirteen at the table, as things of evil omen, to be; scrupulously avoided; or whether they would l)e willing to admit that hanging a charm about ;i child's neck, setting a hen on an odil iHuidjer of eggs, putting trust in a rusty horseshoe, or seeing the moon over a jiarticular shoulder, — to say nothing of dreams, signs, or haunted houses, — are neither more nor less than so many indications of the proneness of our nature to admit the supernatural. Xor is it so long ago since people were living in the rural towns of New England who could remember reputed witches, and what dread they inspired in the minds of the ignorant or the timid. Ujion looking back over the ground that the enlightenment of the age has conquered, one is half inclined to say that, in some form or other, superstition will be about the last thing eradicated from the human mind. It is in order to enable the reader fairly to make the comparison of his NIGUT WATCIIMAX. MIW. ANN 1IIDI3INS. 29 own witli iv rciiioti^ tiiiK' thiit wii cunl iiiii;dly iipnii the stivtch, that was a linking' tfi'i'tir in every liniisehuld, and tliat l»y exi)08- iii;4 tlieiu, as tliey fully l)elieV('(l, to all the crafts and assault-, of tii(! Devil (their own friends and nei;;hliois hein;,' thu \nstiu- nu'Uls), helil their intellect in ahject Iwudaj^o. Against such insidious attacks as these there was no ^odd defunco. lionet) the notion (if a witch was hke that of a SLM'pent in the house whose sting is mortal. No wonder it was the onu thing capable of chasing the color Fieiii cliccks tli;it never cluuigod ill woe, Ainl never lihimiii'il in lear. Tliis case ol' Mrs. lliMiiiis is further interesting as lieing tho second one that the kinieiitahle annals of witchcraft record, that of Margaret doiies, in I'llS, lieing thii hrst. The simple statts- nieiit should suilice to (torrect the belief, more or less preva- lent to-(lay, that the Salcni oii(br(\'\k was the beginning, instead of being the tra.'^ical eml.ofthe (h'lusion in New Englaml. Mrs. Ililtbins's canst! is also nioniorable as the first known instance of tho (Jeiieral Court of the Colony sitting in trial in a case' of lifo and death. The tragoily, theri'foro, lacked Jio olement of sohmi- nity to render it deeply impressive. iMrs. Ann Hibliins was the wife of William lfil)bins, a wealthy and inlluential nienhant of Uoston. Hutchinson says that he was one of the jirincipal mt h luuits in all tho Colony. At this early day in its history bo had served the Colony with credit, ilrst as its agent in England, and again as one of tho assistants, or chief magistrates. These important trusts denote the high esteem in which hv, was hold, and they conlirm his admitted capacity for public all'airs. A series of unlucky events, however, hrought such heavy losses upon him in his old age as seriously MISTIfKSS ANN IIIItlllNH. 31 to iiij(i;ur liis cstiiU' ; Imt wliat was pcrliiips wm-so to bear, thr sudiluii (•haii.^'c iVuiu allluciiri' to a hkhv .sliaitciml way cif liviiij,' its alli'j^cd ii,,t (iiily to have sdiirod his wifo's iiatiirally uiistalilc tcniiHT, Imt tM liavr sn far iiiH.'ttl,.,| Iut iiiii„l that sh.t h.(,aiii.' ill turn so iiK.n.st! and .so .iiiam-lsmnc as \n iciKhr Imt ..dious t(. all her nci-ldinrs. fnslcad ,,f h,.ii,ir Holtmcd hy iiiislortiiiic, slic was hardened mid eiulntteivd hy it. And it is thnuoht that some ..r these nei-hl)()rs were led to denounce Iier as a witch, as presently they did. tliroii-h motives of spito, or in ivvmgo for her malice t(,\vard. or iter almsive treatment of. them. It was a ( redidous ai;e, wdieii tho spirit of perseeutiim was easily aroused. Tlu^ eye of th(^ wh(,le town was presently turiKsd upon Mis. llihhins. There is little r,,„m to ih.uht that she was the uid'nrluiiatc possessor of a sharp ton>,'ue and of a crahhed temper, neither of which was nndcr pK.per restraint. Mo.st unfoitunately inr her, as it fell out, a superior intelli;.'eniv and penetration enabled her to make shrewd giie.s.ses ahout her iiei-idiors and thi'ir alfairs, which the old wives and ,<,'ossips he- lieveil and declared n.. one el.se hut tJic hevil or his imps conhl have known or told ;...,■ of. Fioni o pitilessly ai^'ainst the wife whom he hail sworn at ihi' altar {<> love, elierisli, and protect. If ln'r brt)lli(!r, Kichanl liellin-liam, then holding the .second placo in the Colony, mado any (.'iroit to .save her, that fact nowhere appears. Iler threo .sons, whom .-ilie seems to have loved with the all'e<'tionate teiider- iio.ss of a fond mother, were all ab.sent fidiu the Colony. Alune, fiieiidlos, an object of hatred to her own neighbors, her heart muy well have sunk within her. rndersuch di.stressing circiinistaiKu's wus poor old Dann^ Hil)- bins, who once held her head so hi;^'h, dragyed from her iluiigeon l)efore the Court which was to try her as the worst of criminals known to the law. The jury, however, failed to con\ict her of any overt act of witchcraft. Hut she could not escape thu.s. The people, it, is said, demanded her blood, and nothing short of this would sati;:fy them. So the magistrates, having the jiower to .sot aside the verdict, obeying the pojjular voice, brought her before the bar of the ( Jeneral Court, where, in prcsonco of the a.ssembled wisdom of the Colony, she was again recjuired to plead guilty or not guilty to being a witch. She answered with lirmncss and spirit that she was not guilty, and .said she was willing to be tried by Cod and the Court. The evidence already taken against her was then read, witnesses were Injard, und her I 'M N i;\v-KX( ;l.\ni) legknds. ansM'ers coiisidorcd ; ami the whole case l)ciii;^' llicn subiiiitted ior its (locision, tlie Court by its vote this time I'tiiind hvv yuiUy of witchcraft according tn the tenor of tlii' hill of imlictment. Governor Endicott, rising in liis place, then pronounced in open court the awful sentence of (h-ath upon the (IoouhhI woman for a crime which had no existence save in the imagination of her accusers. The warrant for her execution was made out in due form, the fata) di.y was tixed, and the marshal-general was ■ THE OLD ELM. therein directed to take with him "a Sufficient guard." Then the jioor, infirm, superannuated old woman, as innocent as tlu^ babe unborn, was led back to prison a condemned felon. Then the members of the Great and General Co art, satisfied that they had done God's work in hanging a witch, dispersed in peace to their homes, made more secure, as they believed, by this act of justice. MISTRESS ANN IIIBHIXS. 35 As (1,0 .,.,„,,,.„ ,v„s not ,.;nTi...l into ..llect fnr a whole veu- if ;i';;;.M'Y'''-< 'in. intercession of ft,en^ .•::;. :^.:ft;.-;:,;;::r;,*:-t-;',::;;-^ t JhI J Z'^'nir''"™''''''"'^ ''''■'' "-' ■miKtcd, hut iiuiie were f'oun,] 'ri„> .. <-yJt ,ivs II.,, 1 "'■''■ "■''" "■"'"' ""'"■«>' t" «'« p 36 new-en<;lani) lkcjends. MAKY DYER. 1659. !, ; M IT is a iiiattt'i' (if liislni'v tliat in 1 (!.")() a iiiMiplc. who W)Yr, tlicir hair \oi\'j:, kfjit their hat> nn in the jmljlic assemblies. ^mkI wiin .saiil "thi'c" ami '• tlmu,"' iiistcaii of " Vdii," whrn .uldivss- iiig anuthcr persuii, niailc their iinwclininc a|i|iraiaiici' in New Kn.ulaml. Tiicy were tnrliiwith attarier.severed in to the last, the ('olonyoweil the loss of mo.st of the political privileges that it had hitherto enjoyed, renders it one of tin; stei)ping-stones of history. Nor Jiave the most zealous apologists for the.se acts of the Puritan lathers ever been able to era.se the stain of bhjod from their otherwi.se fair eseutcheun. Let us recount a single startling episode of this lugul)rious history. Two words will e.\i)lain the situation. On both sides of the ocean the Pui'itan cry was '• freedom to worship God as we do." The ])er.secution of (j>uukers had already begun in England under the austere rule of the Puritan Commonwealth. They were treateil as weak fanatics who nceiled whole.some correction, rather than as persons dangerous t., the public weal. After this had been sonu; time in progress, some of the jiersecuted Friends came over to New JCnglanJ for I ! ■■:) I Lriiu*' m.m;v iivi;i;. ■M all asyliii'i, or out oi' the tVvin.Lriiaii into tin' liro. 'I'lic Incul aiitliiiiitics, ur^'i'il (111 liy tin' wliulc Imdy of Ortliodox iniiiistors, ri'solvcd to .strangle this new Iicicsy in its cnidlt'. I'ut they had f'(ii';4iiitrii the sl likjiinds. , 'i| I! 'lil i iiicii (lid. As was iiiovitiiblo, such an alirujil iiiiuiviiUdii u]inii tlio st'ttlcil cniivii'tkiiis (if till' liiiif I't'sjK'cliiiL;' woinaii's place in the duu'clu's and in .Sbvifty, was a lUdial .shuck to the cuniniii iiity which quickly rccuih d uiion the heads o{' the dU'endi is. These inlmdin;4 (i>iiakcrs, having announced themselves as confessors and missionaries of the true faith of (Jhrist, were all presently put under lock and key as persons guilty of promul- gating raidv heresies, and as blasi)heniers, and theii' sectaiiaii books Avere idso seized and conimitteil to the tlames by the connnon hangman. The (,)uakers then became violent and aggressive in their turn. J'hey retaliateil with ]irophesies of evil. They freely denounced the judgments of Heaven upon their oppressors. One wuiuan, seeing ( loveinor Mndicult jiass by the prison, vociferated from her grate(l wiinlow, — " AVoe unto thee ! thou art an oppressor ! " 'i'he lirst comers were all banishe(l, with a stern admonitiim not to return ti) the ("ohjiiy. They were put on shipboard and ordered to dejiart. And this, it was hope(l, would be the last of them. This was, in fact, the easiest way of ridding the coun- try of them and their errors, had these not already taken rout in the soil itself. 'J'hen, as no such law existe(l, one avms made, punishing any Quaker avIio might afterward eonie into t!ie jurisdiction. This law imposed severe jienalties. Yet, though cruelly enforced, it was soon found inadeipiate, the nundicr of Quakers increasing; and so, the antlun'ities l)eing now at tlieir wits' end, another hiw, decreeing death to any of that sect who should presume to retiuii after banishment, was enacted, against strong ojjposition. There was, in fact, a conscience in the Colo- nial l)ody. Ihit the rulers could not now retreat witliout admitting themselves van(|uisli(!d ; and so, pressing the point, the " bloody law " was inscribed upon the statute-book of the Colony. We have now finished the prologue of the drama, aiul it is time to introduce the real actors upon the stage. Mary Dyer, a comely and grave matron, tlien living in llhode Island, was one of those rare spirits who are i)redestinctl to become martyrs and saints to the faith that they profess. I 111 MAHV |)V1:K. :19 Slii; iiiid her hiisliiiuil, Williiiiii DyiT, were uriginally inluibi- tants of Jju-stoii, luid incinbL'r.s ui tin; clninli lliiTf, they having {'.mi,i;rutril from JOii,i,'luii(l to the ('dloiiy in the yvav l(i;5j. From tliesu iiieidt'iits siirruiiiidiiig Mr.s. Oyer's caretir it is clear tliat both she ami hrr husbaml lu'longcd to tbi- Imttor class of emi- grants. She is represented by Hewei, the (,tuak(r Jiislurian, as beiii.tj a person of good I'amily and estate, and liy Winthrop as ca very proper and fair woman, l)iit, as he ile|)recatingly adds, having a " very i)roiid spirit." In her, therefore, we have the portrait of a comely woman of line [uv.seneo, higli .spirit, a fair share of edneation, and po.sse.ssing, moreover, a sonl emlowed with the puiiiose iif an evangelist ')\}, in company with Wilham Rohinson, Marmaduko Steven.son, and Nicholas Davi.'*, Maiy again, and this time with full knowledge of tiie pciil of the act, visited Boston for the puriiose (»f testifying against the iniquitous laws in force there, or, as they declared it themscdves, "to look tiie bloody laws in the face," autl to meet the oppressors v{ her ])eople, as it were, in their own stronghold. Short was the time allowed them. The whole four were quickly made prisoners, and were brought before the Court, which passed sentence of banishnuiut, to which the certain penalty of death now attachcid, should they return again. They were then released, and ordered to depart out of the Colony. Not obeying this mandate, I{(d)inson and Stevenson were soon again appreliended, and were again consigned to prison, where they werc^ used like condemned felons, being chained to the floor of their dungeon. Within a month ^lary also luM'amo, for the second time, an inmate of the same prison, having been recognized and taken while standing in front of it. J'>y thus .setting the law at defiance, the trio wore regarded as rushing upon a iovVs fate. AVith Mary came Ifopo Clifton, also of llhodo Islanch The declared ])urposo of the women was to visit and minister to the Friends then lying in jirison. The settled purpose of the ]»ris- oners to defy the law being known to their friends, and no mercy being expected for them, several of these came to Boston in order to assist in the last act of the tragedy. Ojie even brought linen for the sufferers' shrouds. All this imparts a highly dramatic character to tlu; acts of the resolute martyrs. The three prisoners Avho had thus forfeited their lives to the law were, on the 20th of October, brought before the C(Airt of M.MIV i»vi:i{. 41 >r;ij^istriitos. TIio inc(irriii)lililc Imt iiiiiil!xc;il)lo Endimtl prc- si(I<"(l. TIk! iiicu keciiiug their hats uii, Kii\ a snr;;in^' ami uxcili'd throiiLr, llie prisoners walked liand in hand all the way to the scatlold, su))])oitin,i,' and com- l'urlin;4 each lUhcr in this niost^ tryiiiLf moment with u suhlinic fortitude. The luutal marslud, seeing; this, said .siieerin>;ly to Mary : " An; you not asiiamed, you, to walk thus hand in hand hetween two youiiy men (" rnmoved liy the taunt, she replied ; " \o ; this is to me an hour of the j;i('atest joy I cuuhl have in this world." The fiir/ri/c Iiavini,' at length reached the place; of exocution, it havinu marched hy a roundabout way, — -foi'fcar, it is said, that a rescue mi-ht b(; attempted, — Mary and her follow sidl'orcrs bill each other a last farewell. Kobinson lirst a.scende(l tiie fatal iadiler. While uttering bis dyin,^■ wonls, predictin.i,' a visitation of divine wrath to come ujjuii bis slayers, a harsh voice in the crowd cried out: "Hold thy tongue! Thou art going to die with a lie in thy mouth ! " Stevenson's last Words wei'c tbese : '• He it known unto all, this day, that wi; suH'er iiot as evil-docis, but for conscience' sake." It w;'s now Mary's turn. Her two dear friends wore hanging dead 1 • ue bcr eyes. Fearlessly she mounted the fatal ladder, and fcarles.sly .she .submitted herself to the hangman's hands. She Avas then ]iinioneil, blindfoldeih and the fatal nooso i)laced about lier neck. All being then ready, the crowd awaited the la.st act in breathless suspense, when in the distance a voice was lieard crying out, " Stop I She is reprieved I " Tiie agitation of the spo(;tators is something that wi; can only faintly conceive. ]]ut Mary, it is said, remained calm and unmoved through it all. '' Tier feet being loosed," says Sowel, I 44 NKW-KNCLANh LKCKNUS. •• lliuy l)iiik) licr cniuc dciwii. Hiil she, wliosc iniiul wiis iilnudy as it wi'i'c ill licavcii, .stood still, and said siu' was liicrc willing' to sull'tT as \'vv liivtlnvii ilid, uiilcsa tlicy woidd annul tlicir wicki'd law." She was then taken down IVoiii tlu^ scidl'old and re-coiiducti'd to juison, wlicro Iut huh, who waH an.viously await- in^t,' lit!!' I'ctnin, endtrart'd lior as one ri.-he uietiitate.l this fatal step, her liusiiaii.l wmle l,i tiie (leueral (\)urt of Massachusetts, ouet; more iinpliTiiij,' its i leineiiey. His entroatiud wnul.l have ninvetl a sloiic in pity. Ihit it vas IKiW too late. Oil the lirst (lay "\' .luUe the ^olelUll eerellK.ui 'S ><[' the previous October were repeateil. The si:atl'nl.| was urecteil on Boston CoUiUioii a hmad area of unoccupied laml aiijoiniu',' the town, then usimI hy tiie iiihahitants in comiiiona,i,'e, and on muster-days us ii trainin-'lield, a.- well as fnr the place of liuhlic execiitiiiii. At tho appoiiite.l hour the manshal came fur hor, and eiiter- iii.t^ without eeivliioiiy the cell where she was, he r()U;4hly hade hur make haste. Muy, speaking to him mihlly, asked a few momonts' ilelay, saying that she wuuhl he ready presently. lUit he rudely and unfeelingly retorted that it was her place to wait upon him, and not his upon lii'r. 'riieii one of the female pris- oiKU's, with the instinct of hor sex, ventured to exjiostulate with this l)rutal functionary, when he turned upon her liercely, and with threats and abuse silenced her. In fact, the C^uakerivs.ses wore treated like vagabonds and outea.st.s. The authorities having reason to fear a jiopular tumult, tho prisoner was taken strongly guarde.il over a circuitous route to the fatal spot, and again her voice was silenced by the rattle of drums before and Ijehind lu'r. With the birds innocently twit- tering aliove her heatl, unco more Mary ascended tho scall'old with a lirm stop. Pity was not wholly extinct. Some of tho people; present made a last ollort to .save her, but :Mary would "T M 46 NKW-KNi»aivil, lliti ulliccr ('niimiaiuliii;,' tlic aniii'il fscnit rmi^lily rcturtcil that sliu was ;4iiilly ol' lici' own lilood. " Nay," sill' rrplicd, " I caiin' In Uit|i l)l(Mjd;,'iiikiiii'ss I'miii ynii, dcsiriiij,' ydii \n ir|pral till' uiiii.;liti'iiiis and iinjii.^l law ni idi' a>;aiii>t tlio innocent servants of the Lord." Mr. Wilson, nnnister nf liostim, allendi il her nn the s.all'nld in her last moments, not to oiler consdlaii'in, hut tn exhort iter to rei-ant. "Maty Jiyer," he e\rlainied, "nh, repent! i>\\, repent! lie not so deluded ami earried aw.iy liy the deet-its of the I )cvil ! " Slie answi'reil him in terms ol' mild ri'iinml': "Nay, man, I am not now to repent. " \ colloiiuy liy whiih her last ninmeuls were eudiittered was kept Up on the seailnld. she was reproached for saying' that she had heeii in |para.lise. She reiterated it. " Ves," said this undaunted woman. "I have hecii in paradise; several days." The executioner then iierloruieil his ollice. TIIK KING'S MISSIVE. 1661. " CiiARi,r;s J{. "Trusty and Welllieluved, we j,'reet yon well. Having,' l)een informed that several of our Sulpjects anion:,' you, called (^)iiakers, have lieen and aie impiisoned hy you, whereit' some have lieen exe- cuted, and others (as liatli heeu rcpiesented imto us) are in I)aiij,'er to undergo the Like : We have tliou^'lit fit to si^'iMl'v our I'leiisuru in that llelialf for the future, and do HMiuiro, that if there he any of those jK'oplc called Quakers amou,L;st yo\i, now already condenmed to suffer Death, or other Corporal I'unisliuieiil, or liiat aie imprisoned, or ohuoxious to the like rouilemnatiou, you aic to forliear to ])roceed any farther, hut that ycai foitiiwith send tlu' said I'ersoiis (whether Tin: KINiiS MISHIVK. 47 I nill.lclillllil 111 illl|lli-Ml|,c|) n\rV |<> Ihi^ • Ki||;;il,,||i ,,1' I'Jl^^lallll, tiiHiili.r Willi ilirir iispcdiw <'iiiii<-ini()ir,.|irtw liiiil ii, ili.iiCliaiM,', to till- Kml Hiicli CniiiH- imiv !..• liikni willi tiM-iii li.n, us ^Imll !..■ n^fiv alil.' li. ..Ill- Liiws ami llnir D.'iinTit-. AikI \nv >.. .h.iiii.'. |l|,.,.e (llll• l.rii.'i- .-li.ill Im' ymir siilli, inii W^ninl ainl Disclmi-f. (;ivcii "' "III <'"tiii ill Wliiirli.ill. Ill,' :ttli .|,i\ 111 Sr|.|,iiilM.r. KKtl. ill llii> llliltrrlUll VlMT i>\' (illf llci-ll. '•Siil>Miil,r.l, T 1- 'I'liiMy ami W. Illn|,,vid .Inlm Kn.li,.,!, |>,|.; ami to all md rwi y uih, i ijin (lovciiKmr <>r ( Jdvitihiiiim (.1' mir j'laii- taliuli .,r Nr\v-Kli-lall(|, an I n)' I lie (',,!,, uirs tllrlclllitu ln'ioli^'ill;,', lllllt iiMwair, „r lirnafirr >.liall l„. : Ami l,. all ami .•vciy lli.^ Miiii>|,.|s ami (Ulicns of ,,iir siiil I'laiitatioii ami Colnnk's wliahvcr. uiiliin till' ( 'i)iiiiii(iil (ij N'i'U -Kii;;!aml. •' ily His Majesty's ( 'niiiiiiaii(l. '•Wii,. Moulds." rpiIlS was no (-oiiiin.)ii Ictt.-r wlii.li in N.,VfiiiI,i.r, jfini. f,.)! _L likr a lidirihslicll into (lie \vi(l<.il tuwu ..1' llostDii. Jt was cfitaiiily ill) alariiiiii- iiiaiiircsto. It lifoii-lit a pnaid and si'ii- .sitivr iicnpl,., uli,, |,a,l cfasiMl to pay ivs|(cct i,> loyalty, and had almost for-nitcii its tnniis, (.nee imnv rmlcly to tlnir knees. And tliey wciv^a stern race, fearing (;o(l more than tln'V hoiioivd th.> Kin- r.ii't they I'elt the shock that hauaker.s were on their part strongly roused to make renewed etl'ort, too, by the news they received of (ho execution red into lie presence-chamber his lirst words were, — " Sire, there is a vein of innocent blootl opened in your Majesty's dominions which, if not stopjied, may overrun all." " I will stop that vein," said the King, shortly. Hurroughs then laid before tlie King a detailed account of what had been done in New England. After he had listened to the catalogue of scourgings, brandings, crijpped ears, banish- ments upon pain of death, and lastly of the execution of four THE KINllS MlSrilVK. 4!) persons of this .sih-: Ibr iircsuiuiiix to ictiini t(j the Colony wliun ibi'biclth'ii to do so, tlic suilnr, turning accuser, tlien presented tlie Kin;^- wilii tlie pi(jois tliat liie New Kn.nhmd autlioriti(;s liad rel'ust'd to allow tlie (^hiakers an appeal to Knj^land vlu'n they had demanded it. His .Majesty is leixirtcd tu have taken great notice- ul' tliis particular item of the indictment, calling out to the lords who were with him tu licar it, and thuu excluiming ironically, — " i.o : thes(i are my good sul)j(,'cts of ^'ew England." He then in(]uircd when a ship would bo ready to sail for Now England, and upon ])eing iidbrmod, dismissed burroughs, -with the i)rumise that ho should presently hear from him througii the Lord Chancellor. This promise Charles punctually kept. The mandatory letter which [)rec(!des our account was duly prepared, and then — bitterest pill of all for the ilisloyal colonists to swal- low !— Avhom should the King's minister select to bo the bearer of it, but Samuel Shattuck, an exiled Quaker, and one who had given the Ntnv England magistrates no end of trouble, he lieing linally l)a]iished liy them from the Colony upon i)ain uf death. It will thus 1(0 ^ivn that nothing had been omitted that could render the humiliation complete. The London Friends, immediately this was done, cliartered a vessel, of which Ralph CJoldsmith, another (.Quaker, was cap- tain, to carry tlie King's order and his messenger to Hoston. In six weeks the ship arrived at her destination. It being tho Sal)bath, all the comj)any romainod (piietly on board. Seeing a vessel, with an English ensign at her peak, cast anchor in their road, some of the selectmen of th(! town hastened on board to learn the news, little dreaming it, how(;vor, to lie of so much personal interest to themselves. They eagerly asked the cajitain if he hail l)rought any letters; for, as may be imag- iued, intelligence of the events then taking place in England was awaited with the utmost anxiety and impatience. Tho master replied that he had, but he would not deliver them on that day ; and so his visitors got into their boat and wont on shore again as wise as they came. But in tho meantime some of them 4 ■p 60 np:\v-en(;lani) legends. l;l liJiviii.L,' recognized Sliiittuck ami others on board as being (jhiiikcrs, tliey spread tlie report tliat " Sluittuek and tlie devil and all hail eoiue back again." The next morning, arniod with the King's mandate, Shattuck came on shore accompanied by (loldsmith, the master, and they two, after sending their boat back to the ship, went directly through the town to ( Jovernor Endicott's house, passing in their LlBEllTY TREE, PLANTED 1646. IJUILUING ERECTED 1666. way the market-place where so niany of their friends had been mercilessly whipped, and the jail in which many were still con- fined. A few steps more would bring them face to face with their worst enemy. They knew that they were bearding the lion when they knocked at Governor Endicott's door. The servant who opened it asked what was their business with his master. They bid him say that, being charged with IS THE KINU S MISSIVE. 51 the conuiiunils of his Majesty the King, they shoukl ileUver their message iuto none l»ut tlie (lovenior's own hands. I'liey were tlien a(huitte(l witliout further (juestioning, and presently the redoubted Clovernur came in to them ; but u])on jtereeivin" (hat .Shattuck kejit his liat on, he commanded it to l)e taken off, -winch was done. Then having received the deputation and the pajiers, the Oovernor formally acknowledged its ofhcial char- acter by removing his own hat, and ordering that of Shattuck to be given to him again. Yet the man who now stood before him (;njoying his moral degrailation while protected by an in- violable safeguard, was the same one whom he had formerly sentenced to stripes and banishment. The draught was a bitter one, but Knilicott bore himself with dignity. After this by- play indicating the homage due to royalty and its representative, the ( Governor read the letter, and bidding -Shattuck and (!old- suiith to folh)w him, then went to the Deputy-Governor's house, which stood near his own, and laid the papers before Belling- ham. Having held some conference with the Deputy, the nature of wiiich may easily be imagined from the se(juel, the (Governor turned to the messengers and said briefly and with dignity, — " We shall obey his Majesty's command." After this interview was ended, (ioldsmith gave liberty to all his pass(!ngers to come on shore, which they did, and afterward publicly held a religious meeting with those of their faith in the town, "returning thanks to (Jod for his mercy manifested in this most wonderful deliverance." All such assemblies as this having been unlawful, this act announced the King's active intervention in their allairs to the people. An order 'soon after issued, releas- ing all Quakers then in custody. The scene between Endicott and Bellingham is imagined by Mr. Longfellow in his " Xew England Tragedies." lie there endeavors to depict the characters of the chief actors, and to show the spirit of these extraordinary times. In this par- ticular field he has therefore preceded Mr. Whitticr, whoso "King's Missive," prepared for the "Memorial History of Bos- CT 52 NEW-ENGLANU LEi;E>'DS. ton," deals exclusively with tliu events surrounding the order of Clituius II. 'J'lii3 two pieces utl'er, however, a striking ciHitrast in metliod as W(;ll as in style, one being a consecutive and iumio- geneuus narrative, while the other is made up of se[)arateil inci- dents, selected here and there I'ur their dramatic (pudity rutlier than thi'ir coherence or historical setpience. iJoth, ln)wever, have tlie same purjiose — eternally to set the seal of condem- nation on a great wrong by exliibiting tlie (,)uakers in the light oi' martyrs. To this end Mr. Longfellow takes for las heroine a young girl, Edith Christison by name, who is brutally scourged from town to town, is then releasetl, and driven forth into tlie wilderness. .Such was the law, and such things actually occurred. Singularly en()Ugli, this is also the motive of Mr. Whittier's " Cassandra Soulhwick." In both cases the youtli, beauty, constancy, and heroism of the sulferers strongly ajipeal to our sympathies, and are supposed deeply to m(jve the actual spectators. Jiut with a deeper insight into the human heart Mr. Longfellow makes the sou of IJovernor Endicott himself fall in love with Edith, wdiose martyrdom he has witnessed, thus bringing straight home to the stern father the consecpiences of his own evil acts. The King's imperious mandate wounds his pride ; his son's conduct strikes at the heart, and this wound is mortal. Thus it is no less strange than true that, under favor of one of the most prolligate and irreligious of monarchs, the beneiicent era of religious toleration began its unpromising dawning in Now England. It is to be noted that whenever they can do so, Mr. Long- fellow's characters speak in the actual language of history. Lideed, the tragedy is not a creation, like " Ernani," but a frag- ment of sober liistory, taken from existing records, into which a ])oetic feeling is infused, and whose episodical parts aflbrd occasional glimpses of the author'^ genius shining like pure gold in the rough metid. t . THK king's MlasiVK. 53 {From Longfellows " Xe^v Enrjland Tragedies:') ScKNi: ni. Th,: (unrrnnr's /'rimh- /Imm. /'ajirrs upon the tabic. Endicott (Old JiKLiaXGHAM. KNDICOTT. Thi's tlio old tyranny icviv(.'s again ! Its ai'iii is lull,!,' eiidu^'li to itNU'li us licrc, As ydii will si-e. Fov, nioiv insulting' still Tiian llannting in our i'accs dead luun's shrouds, Ifore is the King's Mandamus, taking IVoni us, Fro!u tiiis day forth, all power to iiunish yuakers. HKI.I.INdllAM. That takes from us all iiowcr ; we are but puppets, And can no longer execute our laws. ENDICOTT. Ojmts Ihr Mandamm ami hand.o it h. Hi:i.i in.jha.m ; and u-hile he is reading, KNDIfoTT ir,dh:-i „p „nd duvn llir nmiii. Here, read it lor yourself; you see liis words Are pleasant words — eiiiisiderate — not rei)roachful — >*othing eould be more gentle — or more royal ; But then the meaning underneath the words, Mark that. He says all people known as Quakers Among us, now condemned to sutler death Or any corporal punisiiment whatever, A\ ho are imprisoned, or may be obnoxious To the like condemnation, shall be sent Forth willi to England, to be dealt with there In such wise as shall be agreealile Unto the English law and their demerits. Is it not so ? BELLINGHAM {returning the paper). Ay, so the paper says. « r < i| 54 NEW-ENtlLAND LEGENDS. S! RNDICOTT. I tell Vdii, Richard Belliii^haiu, — I tell you, Tliat tliis is the hegiiiniiig ol' a struggle or which no mortal can foresee the end. i .*hall not live to tight the liattle for you, I iiiu a man disgraced in every way ; Th s order takes from me my self-respect And the resjiect of others. 'T is my doom, Yes, my death-warrant, — l)ut must be obeyed ! Take it, and see that it is executed So far as this, that all be set at large ; But see that none of them be sent to England To l)ear false witness, and to spread reports That might be prejudicial to ourselves, [l-!xit BellINGHAM. Tliere 's a dull pain keeps knocking at my lieart, Dolefully saying, " Set thy house in order. For thou shalt surely ilie, and shalt not live ! " For me the shadow on the dial-])late Goeth not back, but on into the dark ! [Ejiit. ]\rr. Whittier'.s poem presents the events we have recordiMl in a harmonious and remarkably i)icturestjue narrative. He is conscientiously faithful both to the spirit anil letter of tlie subject itself, while to tlie imi)lacable spirit of persecution, personified here by Kudicott, he is a generous and impartial judge. We Avrite it, nevertheless, as a fact, that the poem caused much discussion on its iirst appearance, — a discussion fully vindicating the (Quaker poijt's adherence to tlie truth of history. But the prose; and i)oetic versions are now before the reader for his decision. THE KING'S MISSIVE. Under the great hill sloping bare To cove and meadow and Conunon lot, In his council chamber and oaken chair Sat the worshipful Governor Endicott, — t.i, TIIK KINC'S MISSIVE. A grave, stiiiiij,' man, wlio know no [)i;ev III till' pilgrim land where lie ruled in fear Of (lud, not man, and for good oi' ill Held Iiis trust willi an iron will. He had shorn with his swoid the cross from out The Ihy, and eloven the May-pole down, Harried the heathen round uhout, And whipjied the Quakers iiom town to town. Eainest and honest, a man at need To Kuru like a torch for his own iiarsh creed, Jlc kv[>[ with the ilaiinng Inand of his zeal The gatt! of the liolv commonweal. 55 The door swung ojieu, and Rawson the Clerk Entered and whispered undeilncath : " Then; waits below for the hangman's work A fellow liani.-iied on pain of death, — Shattuck of Salem, unhealed of the whip, I'rought over in Master (ioldsinith's ship. At anchor heie in a Christian port With freight of the Devil and all his s(nt ! " Twice ami thrice on his ihamher lluor Striding liercely from wall to wall, " The Lord do so to me and more," The (Jovernor cried, " if I hang not at all ! Bring hither the Quaker." Calm, sedate. With the look of a man at ease with fate, Inf(( that presence grim and dread Came Samuel Shattuck with hat on head, "Off with the knave's hat ! " An angry hand Smote down the olFeiioe ; hut the wearer said, With a quiet smile : " iJy tlie King's command I bear his message and stand in his stead." In the (ioveriior's hand a missive lie laid With tlie Royal arms on its seal dis])laved, And the proud man spake as he gazed thereat, Uncovering, " Give Mr. Shattuck his hat." 56 N'KV.'-KycLAMi LKdKNUS. ITc tnnifil to till' (i)iiiik('r, liowiiii^ low : "The Kin;; ('stc(l, she hcinrj then, as he deposed, "in tho shape i^f a devil." She was sentenced to l)o whipped up and down the town at the ciirt's tail, which cruel order was carried into effect a few days later. This event, as well it ]ni,<,dit, newly brought the affairs of tho Friends to a crisis. The lirst feeling of exasperation demanded its victims. But this having spent itself, the Quakers, taking courage, assenibli'd in tlieir houses of worship in such formidable nund)ers that the multitude of offenders became their safe- truard. IN TUK OLD SUL'TH CllUltClI. r>9 IN THE OLD SOUTFI ClfTlK'H. .1. hi.'s ;,'ia • ; She sii.nil ill the liiuad aisK', sti'an;,'i) and woifd As a M>ul at the Jud^'nu'iif-day. And the niinistfi' ]iauscd in his sciinoii's niiilst, And the |ic(i])li' held ihi'ir lucatli, I'\ii' thi'sc were the WDids the maiden said ThrdU.^h lips as pale as death : — " Tims saith the Lmd : ' With uipial feet All iniMi my cduils shall tread, And piiest ami ruler no more shall eat My people Up like Ineadl ' " Repent ! repent ! ere the Lord shall speak Tn thuiiiler and hreakin;,' seals I Let all sduls \v(irship him in the way His lij^'ht within reveals ! " She sliook the dust from her naked feet, And her sackcloth closely drew, And into the porch of the awe-hushed church She passed like a ^diost from view. ^i 60 N K\V-KN( ; L\ N 1 1 L IK I KA'DS. *'M()I{K WONDKRS or Till-: INVISim.K WOKI.D." 1693. TO itno will) is not iMiiiiliiir with all tli(^ |iliascs wliidi tli5in;,' tlu! i)rivile},'e of j,'enius, hv. has (duferri'd upon the liuml)le trade.sman a patent of iiohility. Our own generation, ai)plaud- in;,' tlici act, hastens to inscrihe the namo of Calif amon^' the Vonefactors of his a.Lje. The },'eiu'ral siihject of witchcraft, indudili}^ liio settled Ixi- liefs toui;hinj,' it, is .set forth in another ))liicc in all its defor- mity. The active agency of Satan in human allairs l)cing a thing admitted, it became the hounden duty of the godly nunis- ters to meet his insidious attacks upon the churches, and they, as men deeply learned in such things, were naturally ajipealed to by magistrates and judges for holi) and guidance, 'i'hey at once put on all the armor of righteousness. Solemn fasting and prayer were resorted to as things most ellicaiinus in the emer- gency. It was declared from the pulpit that the Devil was mak- ing a mo.st determined eilort to root ojit the Christian religion in Kew England, and the (Joveriuuent was advised vigorously to pro.ecute the ca.ses of witchcraft before it. In all the subse- quent proceedings the ministers took a prominent ])art. They assisted in framing the ([uestions to be jnit in such a way as to entrap the .sui)posed witches, and they attended and took minutes of the examinations. They visited tho accused persona " MnUE WiiNhKKS «t|- TIIK INVlHIItLK WoltLh." i;i ill prison wlnt wt'ii' hcliivi'il tu l»c in itjii^'iu) with Sutaii, tliiin pultiiij,' ill |irii(ti(c tli(( piiiu'iplt! that, — Tin' ;,'i"ily may allt'j,'f For aiiytliinv,' their iiiivilfj,'t', AikI to till' |)i vil hiiiiHi-lt' limy ^'n, If tlicy havf iiintiviM tlH'icuiilo , For a« tiii'M' i-i a war lirtwi'iMi Thf Dt'V M aiiil ihtiii, il is no ^iu If they, hy Huhtlu strata^iiiii, Alakf use of him as iu' docs tiicm. Cotton >ratht'r was the t'orfinost (•lt'rj,'yiiiiiii ot" that thirk (hiy. lie (lircctcil all hi.s j^rrat ahilitics ami Icaniiii^t,' t'iii'r;;fti('ally tu extfrminatc tin- "ilcvil.s" \\lii), as Ik! tolls us in his '* W'omlcis," wort' walking' about the stivt'ts '* with h'li^'thciu'd chains, miking' a ilroiull'ul noiso ; ami l)rimstono (cvon without a m('ta|ihor) was mukin|,'a horriil ami hollish stench" in imu's nostrils. Loanicd, cltMiucnt, and [n'l'suasivc, a man of groat pi'i'sonal maojictism and lar^o I'ollowiny, his inihicncc was suro to ho potential on whiidi- ovlt side it mi;^ht he east. It was now thrown with all its force, not to avert, hut to stronotheii, the delusion, therL!l)y age;ru- vatino its eahiniitous eonsecpiences. Sumo writers, indeed, have found it eu.sy to douht his sincerity. Mr. Whittier, it will he seen, writes in full accord with this leelini,'. I>ut the same chariot! nii,L(ht with e([ual I'airncsa inclmlo all the (,'hristian ministers uf .Nhithur's time. Against ^Mather, tho ncigliLor, adviser, and bosom friend of (lovernor Sir AVilliam I'hips, the acknowledi^'ed head of the >.'ew Enj,dand clergy in its liighest spiritual estate, a man having ancient and modern lore at liis tongue's end, and withal gifted ■with a lluency, vivacity, and readiness in composing and writing that might make a bolder man hesitate to attack him, now entered tho lists, like another David, llobert Calef, a simple clothier, unknown outside of his own obscure neighborhood. The controversy began in this wise. Calef addressed some let- ters to Dr. Mather, in which he arraigned not only the witchcraft proceedings, but the delusion itself, the occasion being one Mar- 02 NKW-KXCILANI) L.:(iENI»S. 1r: I garct Rule, a youiif,' woman of Mather's own congrogation, whoso singular aOlictions had just been published to the world by liim. under the startling caption of "Another JJrand pluckt t'min the J'lurning." According to Mather, this young woman was liaunt(!d by no fewer than eight malignajit spectres, led on by a jirincipal demon, who upon her refusal to enter into a bund with him, continually i»ul her in excruciating bodily torture l)y ])incliing, scorching, and sticking pins into her llesh, thmwing Ikt into convulsions, lilting her bodily oil the bed, and the like, wherein, 1 ;i ; I i. ; II CANULKSTICK, BIBLK, AXU SPECTACLES. m says ^father, she languislu 1 " for just six weeks together." And we are also told that at times the .. ators of her miseries would be nearly choked with the fumes of brimstone rising in the chamber. Taking the alarm, which many no doubt ecpially sharetl, dread- ing a new outl)reak of the delusion whose endiers, unquenched by blood, were still smouldering, Calef also seems to have dis- trusted either the integrity or the wisdom of his learned adver- sary, whom he now oppo.sed in behalf of religion nnd of public policy, not only with ability and vigor, but with a surprisingly well-eq'uipped arsenal of scriptural learning. In vain Mather sneeringly spoke of him as " the weaver turned minister," Calef MOKE WOXDEUS OF THE INVISir-j; WOULD.' 03 only plied him the moro jiointrMlly. At the ciul of the ooii- tt'ovei'sy the ik'q)ist'il clothier tuiiicd out to be one of those men whose reason is never overthrown by panic, and wlio do not recede- a sin<;le inch. Mather l)ef,'an with the mistake of under- rating him as an antagonist. After Mather's story of Margaret K'ule had been maile public, ( "alef ;dso drew up and circulated one, taken from the iiu)uths of other eye-witnesses, which is a protest against the methods used by Mather to ilraw out extravagant ami incoherent statements from the aniicted girl. This proceeding gave great offence to the reverend author of "The Wonilers." He retorted with abu- sive epithets, and threatened Calef with an action for slander. Calef was, in fact, arrested on a warrant fur uttering " scandalous libels," and was bound over for trial j but no prosecutor appear- ing, the case was ilismissed. Instead of being silenced, Calef pursued with unremitting pertinacity his purpose to prevent a new access of the dismal frenzy of the [ireoeding year, which he terms, with strong feel- ing, " the sorest allliction and greatest blenush to religion that ever befell this country." Later on Mather condescended to rei)ly ; but it is evident that the reaction had now set in, and that those who had been the most forward in abetting the witch- craft proceedings were anxi(.usly considering how best to excul- pate themselves both to their own and to the newly awakened public conscience, ^[athcr was no exception. Favored l)y this reaction, Calef continued to press him hard. Cotton Mather's story of Margaret Rule is, in fact, a plea and an apology for the past. In it he asks, " Why, after all my unwearied cares and pains to rescue the miserable from the lions antl bears of hell, which had seized them, and after all my studies to disappoint the devils in their designs to confound my neighborhood, must I be driven to the nece~sity of an apology]" This language shows how hard a thing it was for him to be forced to descend from his high pedestal. And again he naively says : " And now I suppose that some of our learned witlings of the coffee-house, for fear lest th proofs ,--* 64 NEW-EN( i L A N I ) L VA I EN 1 )S. of iin liivisil)l(i World .slumM .s[Miil .some of ihvAv ,s[)()rl, will endciavor to turn ll'cin all into .si)oi't ; for wliich bull'iidnciy tliuir (Mily proti'iicc Avill lie : ' They i;uii"t lUidcrslaiKl liow .such things a:: these could Ijc done.'" JIc has become exi|uisil('ly sensitive to ridicule. lint witclicraft had now iutleed i^'ot to the length of its blood- corroded chain, and while the Ijelief si ill ])revailed almost as strongly as ever, few men (iould be found Ixild eiKiUgh openly to advocate it. The sickening reflection tliat th(! judges liad decreed the (U'atli of a .scon; of innocent lu-rsuns n]ii)n a mis- take ])aralyzed men's tongues, unless, like ( 'alef, they spoke in obedience to the coiumaml of con.science. In 1700 lie collected and had printeil in J^oiuhm all the jiieees relating to his controversy Avitli ('utton .Mather, tn which were added an '•Impartial Acccuinl " of the Salem outbreak, and a review of Mather's life of Sir A\'il- .^ijllfililjq-j^ TOMB 01" TiiK :m.vtiii:us, topr's nii.L. liam J'hips. To this he gave tlu! title ol' "^lor(; Wonders of the Invisilile World." >i'o prin- tt'r could b(! found in llos' i or in the Colony willing to undertake the publication, or expose it for sale. It was pul)licly burneil in the College- yard at Canibi'idge by order of tlie president, whom its exposures reaeh( 1 through his near iv.l- ative. To l)reak its force, a vindication was prepared and printed ; but there were no more denunciations made for witch- craft, or courts assembled to hang innocent people. Calef in- deed felt the resentment of the ]Mathers, but he had saved the cause. This is the subject to which Mr. AVhittier addresses bis verses entitled " Calef in Boston." The allusion to pu])pet-i)ky is drawn from the account of tin; Tiule case, wherein ! is related by ]\Iather that the demons who tormented the girl had i)Ui)pets into which they would tlirust pins whenever they wislied to t OALEF IN BOSTON. G5 Iiurt lior. This was u piece of uldou superstition which as- sumed Unit by making an imago in wax or clay of the person she niiglit hohl a grudge against, a witch could put that person to the same tortui'e that she did, in a mimic way, the image. CALEV IX JiOSTON. J. G. WIIITTIKU. In the solenni days of old Two men met in Boston town, One a tradesman frank and l)old. One a preacher of n-nown. Crit'd the last, in Ijitici' tone : " Poisoner of the wells of truth ! Satan's hireling, thou hast sown With his tares the heart o\' youth 1" Spake the simple tradesnuui then ; '•(!o(l 1)1' ju, 171S; hut it is exasperatingly silent (•(incerning any incident that was likely to produce a coinmemu- rutive Iiallad. The otiiei' K'gi.'nd is the true stnry of the oii;;in of the name long ago given to the submerged islet ealle(t Nix's Male, over which a jondy ol)cli.>k rises out of the tlowiiig tides, not for a memorial of dark and bloody dee(ls, as some people siip|piise, but as a guiding landmark to warn ships to steer clear of the dangerous reef beneath. No spot within a wide range of the coast is the subject of more eager curiosity to sailors or lands- men, or ol more exaggerated conjecture, precisely because to this day its true history remains an enigma. But such as it is the legend is given for what it may be woith. Following the repulsive custom of erecting the public gilibet at the entrance to a town or a village, ■where the stark bodies of condemned malefactors wen; the lir.st objects seen liy all who passed in or out, it was usual to hang in chains conciemned pirates at the entrance to a port, to signal a like warning to tho.se who followed the sea as their highway. Long custom liad sanctioned this po^t-ynarteiii .sentence. The laws allowed it and the people approved it. It followed that the stranger who pas.sed underneath one of these ensigns of terror could have no doubt that he had entered a Christian land, since the administration of justice according to its most civilized forms coidVouted him upon its very threshold. The sunken reef now known as Nix's Mate was once an islet containing several acres of land, and it was at a very early day the j)roperty of a ceitaiii .John ( lallup, from whom the adjacent island is named. Tlie sea has destroye i everj- vestige of it, exceiiting oidy the blackened bouMers that lie exposed at low tide, over which the monument stands guard. Yet not more certainly has the islet perished thrcagh the action of destroying currents than has the memory of Nix or his Mate been swept 68 N KVV-ENGLAND LEOKND.S. i! i ^ 1 ii ^l :I) l| I ■ m • away into oblivion ])y tlu' tides of tiiuo. Still tho naniu is a fact entered upon the puldie records of th(^ Colony as a tiling of general knowledge ; and we therefore ('(MitiniU! to call the reef Nix's Mat(! without in the least knowing why wc do so. Tlie only other fact giving authority to the; tradition connected with the islet is the certainty that it was more or less used in times past as a place of ex(MMition for condemned pirates, s(!veral of whom finishiMl here a (;areer of crime, the bare recital of which makes one's blood run cold. The name of Nix only is wanted to complete the black calendar. Every trace of the soil to which the bones of the victims were consigned has disappeared, and only the solitary monument indicates this graveyard of tlie sea, which the waves have kindly levelled and blotted out for(>ver. It has, however, been handed down from generation to gener- ation, — and M'e have yet to find the individual bold enough to disi)Ute it, — that one of these freebooters persisted to the last in declaring his innocence of the crimes for whi(di he Avas to suffer death at the hangman's hands ; and he protested witli his latest breath, before giving uj) the ghost, that in proof of the truth of his dying asstirtion the island would be destroyed. In effect, the waves having done their work unhindered by any artificial obstruction, the superstitious have always seen in this a decree of Fate, and Nix's ]\Iate is supposed by them to have suffered unjustly. But knowing as we do that the disapjiear- ance of the island is due to natural causes, we .are unaljle satis- factorily to establish the connection between the ])redictiou and its fulfilment. In any case, the verification of innocence, if such it shall be accounted, came too late by a century t(j save Nix's Mate from the halter. I !' TIIK DUEL ON TIFK COMMON. 69 THE DUEL ON THE COMMON. 1728. A SSOr-IATEI) with the vicinity „f the Groat Elm, is an X_L. ,,p,s,„ie not only of ,loq,e.st tra<,McaI intc-irst, Ixit one still further remarkable as .lisproving f„r the thousandth time the popular falla.;y that " murder will out." In New En-dand there had been no need of e.licts a-ainst duellin- The pnu'tico ■ was universally looked upon as b..in- nc. whit b..tter than murder, and that feeling wa,s voiced by Franklin, truly, thou.'h in language more pungent than ,,olito, in his memorable reidy to a demand for .satisfaction il la mode. A combat of words began. After two or thre., passe.s, the philosopher easily dis- armed his adversary with his usual weapon, hard logic, of which he was a consummate master. Our story is a brief one. On the morning of July 4, 1728, at daybreak, the' l)ody of Benjamin Wood])ridge, a young merchant of the town was found lying in a pool of bloo.l in a deserted part of the Common. He had been dead some liours of a sword-thrust. In fact, the weapon had passed completely through the unfo)- tunate young man. No one can l)egin to imagine the consternation excited by the discovery ; and the feeling was not allayed when it tran- spired that Woodbridge had fallen in a duel with another young gentleman of the town named Phillips. Doth of the princii.als were of the highest respectability. The affair was con.lucted without secon.ls, and the victor, after seeing his adversary fall had fled. It was evidently a duel to the death. This has proved one of the best-kept family secrets that ever ballled a scandal-loving generation. To this day the real cause of the singular and fatal nocturnal combat remains shrouded in mystery. It is indeed alleged that the quarrel originated over a game of cards at the public-house; but this supposition is 70 NEW-K\<;|.AN1) LKdKNDS. liiiidly coiisisUnit witli tln^ sccnji'V, llic iihsi'iicc nf all witnesses, and the (leailly [xirpose with whieh the duel was ciUKlucltMl. The parties hiul met (sarly uii the previous evening at tiie Unyal Exeliaiige, arranged the meeting, ami immediately repairc^d to tho rendezvous which one of tlieni was destiiieil never to leave alive. Positively nothing, then, is known of tlu origin of the aii'air. Still, it is evident that no common and vulgar ipiarrd over diet; or cards, when one or hoth had maile too free with "the 'I'us- can grape," could have so eternally sealed the lips of those to whom tlio real cause of this singular aii'air of honor must have been revealed. Phillips was hurried away on Ixiard a ship hy \\^af^^i^U:;:^ f. r\' THE DUEL ON TIIE COMMON. Iff': his friends, and died miserably in exile. The iiupicst elicited nothing of moment beyonil the barren facts here narrated. Jus- tice was completely bailled. The headstone in the old (Jranary, where, in the language of the day, ]ioor Woodhridge was "de- cently and handsomely interred," is silent. Satan, who had the arranging of this lugubrious combat, thrust home with young Phillips. Ignorant as we are of the real cause, wo are yet irre- sistibly led to conclude that these misguided youths crossed swords not in a moment of passion, but at the instigation of some offence over which the grave itselt^must close. The grave has closed over it. DUG D ANVILLES UESCtiNT. DUG D'ANVILLE'S DESCENT. 1746. HA\'1N(J rc<^'ar(l, possihly, to tlu' iiiaxiia that a tlaiij^'cr cscapocl is a (Um<;('i' no loiij^cr, the historians liavi' in j^riicral tn-atcd tho th'scent of Aihiiiral d'Anville with easy iiiiliU'i'R'ncL'. Yet tho staitHnj,' I'ai't rouiains that so lon^' as liis lleut rode the seas in safety, th(; fate of New Eng- laml treiiililed in tho halanee. We ])0'^ tlie reader's eiiiisicU'ration nf the st(iry fmni this point of view. Tlie taking of Louis- hurg in 174;'), a piece LKCKXDS. 1 I • I I!" I'll' liii of till- I''rfiicli coldiiiiil ('m|iii'(!. Imi^LiikI whs now pathoiin;^ Ikt Bti'oii^tli to I'orot; it luuui'. On tlio otlior hiuul, it so inconsod tlio Froiich Court, then froah frniii its lirilliant victories in the Low Conntrics, that orders were j,'iven for tlie iiuinefliate eiiuippin^', at Mrest, of a fornii- (lal)le land and sea arnianient, wliicli it was meant siionld nut oidy r^iMVcM' wiiat liad l)een lost, liut carry tlu^ war enerj^'etieally to the enemy's own doors. To ^'uarantee the seeurity of your possessions by reeallinf? your enemy to tlio defenc:(! of his own, is a military maxim so old that the Cal)inet nf Versailles eould not be safidy assumed to lie ij^norant of it. This dduhle-shottod idea iimmiscd results lii;,ddy important to thoeolonial sehemes, as well as to the waning; presti;^'e, of France. So also did it give fjood promise of success ; for at Paris, thanks to r.ritish parsimony, it was well known that the Ilritisli Ameri- can seajiorts were no Louisburj,'s. Since, therefore, to ravage the New England sea-coast was a thing jterfectly feasible to dti. Count Maurepas resolved to do it. And he meant to do it effectually. The preparations at Brest being (piickly kmiwii in London, the two ancient gladiators began once more to strip I'm the approach- ing condwt. Pursuing its own plans, the English Ministry was at the same time collecting ships, men, and materials of war at I'orts- mouth, f(jr the invasion of Canada. (Jrders were sent out to the Cohuiies to hasten the raising of troops for the same pur- ])ose. Then, the destination of the French fleet not being quite clear, the Ministry sent a squadron to blockade it in Brest ; but the French Admiral, eluding the vigilance of the British cruisers, slipped out and got to sea notwithstanding. Such was the situ- ation in the midsummer of 174(). The fleet now on the sea numbered eleven ships of the line and twenty frigates, carrying 814 guns and 7000 .sailors, to which were joined thirty-four transports having on board five battalions of the veteran troops of France. The fleet was com- manded by M. do la Rochefoucauld, Due d'Anville, a man of illustrious descent, in the prime of life, to whom the fortunes of IMO l» ANVILLK H I»K«CKNT. I •> tlio cxpoditioii had Ih'oii coniinittctl with fiillost oonlitloticc in hiH uliility to cxociitc ills (inlcrs to thr IrttiT. Those onlrrs were to rctiikn I,oui.sliiir;^'aii4 diMiiiiiiillo its I'ortiliciitioiiM, recujitiirc Aiiiiii|i- olis and <,'urrison it, and then to hum and destroy lioston, and lay waste with lirn and sword the \\ hole const as far as Florichu iJoston, the pliiee where the plans for capturing,' Lnui.sl)ur;,' had ori.L;iiiateil, the brain and heart of ilu! l'',M^,'lish ("olonies, the centre of Kn;^lish aj,'^'ression, tin- perpetual nienaet^ to French tloniinion in ( 'anaihi, was to he especially V \ \ 1^ ^9) \ A"' # ^% 6^ <^. % ^^ <> " 1? 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 L

Scotia coast hy four heavy ships of war. 'I'liey re(piired him to pilot them into Chehucto, which was the designatiMl rendezvous for D'Anvillc's tlcet. While lyiu,:,' t(i under the ^j)layed The signal, " Steer .southwest." For this Admiral d'Auville Had sworn by cross and crown To ravage witli fire and steel Our helpless Boston town. There were rumors in the street. In the houses there was fear Of tl.i coming of tlie fleet. And the danger hovering near; I 76 'i^ NEW-EN(iLANIi LKdE XDS. And wliilc! IVoiii iiinutli to mouth Spread the tidiii^'s df di.snuiy, I stood ill till' Old South, Sayiiij,' liumlily, " Let us pfuy ' "O Jiord ! wo would not advise j But if in tliy pi'ovidL'Uce A toinpost sliould arise To drive tlie Frciudi licet hence, And scatter it far and wide, Or siidi it in the sea, We sliould be satisfied, And thine the .t^dory he." This was the prayer 1 made, Kor my soul was all on ilamo ; And even as I pi'ayed, Tiie answerin,i,f tempest came, — It canu! witii a mighty power, Shakiiif,' the windows and walls, And tollini,' tlie hull in the tower As it tolls at funerals. " • • • • The fleet it overtook. And tile hroad sails in the van Like tlie tents of ("ushan shook, Or the curtains of Midian. Down on the reeliiiL,^ decks Crashed the oVrwIielniiu^i,' seas; Ah ! never were there wrecks So pitiful as lliese ! Tike u potter's vessel broke The <,'reat ships of tlie line ; They were carried away as a smoke, Or sank like lead in the brine. Lord ! before thy path They vanished, a!id ceased to be, When thou didst walk in wrath With thine horses through the sea ! ; *ll; pi In I CIIKIST CllL'KGlI. 77 CHRIST CHURCH. EDWIN B. RUSSELL, Gray si)iie, tlmt I'loiii the iiucii'iit street Tliu eyes ut' reverent pilgrims jjjieet, As by thy bells their steps ure led, CHKIST CHURCH. Thou liftest up thy voice to-day, Silvery and sweet, yet strong as aye, Above the livin'' and the dead. 78 NEW-ENtiLAND LEGENDS. i t I Bi.| i I I 1 f Beiiuath tliy InwiT, how vast tliu throng That ihovimI tluoiigh-iMiirli and aisle along Tliu lioly fane, the galleried height; As years came in, and years went ont, With s()l> (if woe, or joyfnl slionl. Witli reiinieni rest, or anlheni Ijriglit. Old faees haunt tlie anciiut i>ew. And in tlie organdoft renew Tlie sacred stiain of earlier times, Wiien kniglit and dame in worshij) lient, And from their lii)s tlie homage sent Tliat mingled with the answering chimes. And licre the patriot hung liis light. Which shone thntugii all that anxious night, To eager eyes of I'aul Revere. There, in the dark chnrchyard below. The dead Past wakened not, to know liow changed the wcnld, that night of fear. The angels on thy gallery soai', The Saviour's face thine altar o'er Is there, as in the elder tlay. The royal silver yet doth shine, And holds the pledge of love divine, That cannot change, nor pass away. 1^ if: If-' m PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 1775. IX Boston the first inquiry that every stranger makes is for Bunker Hill ; the next is to be directed to the old churcli where the lanterns were hung out on the night before the battles of Lexington and Conconl. At nearly every hour of the day some one may be seen in tlie now unfrequented street looking up at the lofty spire Avith an I'AUL UKVEKES [HUE. 7'J ('.\l»i'es.si(iii of ileop Kiiti.siUctioii, us if .suuii' loiig-cliemliod wi.-sli had 111 lu8t lieoii accoiuijlislictl. \\ liilu lie is (Miili'iiVdi'iii.L,' to iuiiuvss tiio appearance of the vciuTulilc slnicluiv updu liis memory, the [lilgrim to liistoric siiriiu's s(!cs that u tablet, with an inscription cnt upon it, is inihcihlcd in tin; old, but still suliil, masonry of tlie tower front. Sal( ni Sirtcl is so nari'ow that Iw. has no dillicidty whatever in rcadiii-- ii In.m tin, curlistone across tlu! way, winch he does slowly and attentively. iJostonians all know it by heart. Thus it riuis : — THE SKJNAL I,ANTKUNS OK I'.vrr, i;i:vKUi;, l>ISl'l,AVi:i» IN TUK STKKIM.K OK TJIIS ( IU-I!('U, Al'Itll, 18, 177.-;, WAUNKI) TUE COlNTirV or TJIK MAIU'U OK TUK liltlTlSlI TUOOI'S TO I.K\IN(;roN AM) COXCOlil). This inscription, then, has constituted Christ Church, in elfect, a monument to Paul lievere and his famous exj.loit. The poet Longfellow has given him anotiier. No stranger enters this neighborhood who does not get the impression that he has somewii /re, unknown to himself, walked out of the 2sineteenth Century into the Eighteenth. The whole neighborhood is in a languishing state, thougii (piito in kt'cping with the softened feeling that always conies over one in such retired corners. For here ho has full liberty to lose him- self, undisturhed either liy noise or hustle, and he can ipuetly enjoy the seclusion needful forgetth'g into a frame of mind proper to the associations of the spot. Yet, strange as it now seems, this was once a fashionahh; quarter of the town, althougli that was long ago, and traces of the old-timis gentility an; still api)arent here and there to the eye of the wanderer up and doAvn the de- serted thoroughfares. In point of fact, iiotwithstanding it is one of the oldest divisions of the old city, the whole North End has lagged full half a century behind the other .sections, — so far, indeed, that it is doubtful whether it will ever overtake them. This old church, with its venerable chimes, the armorial tomb- in 80 Ni:W-ENGLANl) LEUENDS. II r, i stones on Copp's Hill abovo it, ami suudry antiquated inansiona in anticpiuti'il lanes, arc tlio silent witnostjus tu thu fact that the uoigiiborhuncl has really seen better days. We have devoted so much space to the locality because it was the birthplace and home of Paul lievere. At the time df his memoralde ride, Paul lievere was forty years old, and was living in the neighborhood where he M'as burn. Though he was brought up to the tiuile of a goldsmith, Pevere was one of those skilful mechanics who can turn their hands to many things, and havijig already l(!arned to engrave on silver, he took up and soon began to be kuDwn as an engraver ri .i'l> m 1 BOSTON TROM ■niiEEn's UII.I., nsi. on copper-plate, in which art he accpiinnl a rude jiroficicncy. Eevcre, like most of his class, went heart and soul with the Whigs when the troubles with the mothei- country drew men to one or the other side ; and ho very soon became one of the most active and daring spirits of a secret organization, composed of men like himself, who had sworn on the Bible not to betray each other, and whose purpose was to spy out and defeat the measures of the British Governor-General, cost what it might. These men knew nothing and cared nothing about the tricks of diplomacy. They were simply anxious to decide all outstanding questions by blows, the sooner the better. Their meetings were li^d and their plans concerted at the I'AUL i;i:vki;k s ihdk. 81 (Jri'cii l)ra,^'()ii Tiiverii in Vwum Slroul. Tliisy woro directud liiiw to act I'ur the interests of the eomiuon cause by Adams llaiicuck, Warren, and one or twu others of the aekuowh;d^'ei leaders. Uetweon Warren and Revere th(!ro yrow up a syni patliy so especially close an LWiKXDs. t=i 1,1 hcsitati-'l to act. NrithiT iiaity Wdiilil recede an iiidi, yet i>n both sitlod tlio coinniissioii ni' an overt act whiili any iiuiiiieiit nii,L;lit iirecipitate war was awaited in the utmost suspeiiso and dread. At lengtli (Jeneral LK(;KNI)S. i known to the ivlids. Their (litticiilty now wiis to irnnsiiiit tlin nnws scasonivlilv, tn prrvcnt tlic Inss of tin' provincial nia^azint'.s. Tliorc, wore only two modes of ('j,'rcs.s from the town, one licjn;,' by till' old fciTy 1o Cliarlcslown, the other hy tlie ih'cU conncctin.L,' iioslon with the maiidand, whirh was only wide enoni^h I'or a sin;4le road. The ieny-laiidin^' was kei»t hy a sulialtem's ^'uard, and it was commaiideil liy the halteries of a frii^ate anijioivil oir in the stream. The road was Mocked l>y a i'oitress extend- ing across it, the gates of which were shnt at a certain honr, aft(^r which no one could pass in or out except by order of the (ienoral liimself. To jirovide against this, Revere, only a day or two earlier, had concerted signals whidi should apprise his friends in Charles- towu whenever a movement of troops was actually taking jjlace. When these signals sliould he displayed, the ■watchful patriots there knew what they had to do. The signals agreed upon were lights to he shown from the hclfry of the North Church: two if the troops went out hy water, and one if by land. The redcoats had scarcely got into their boats, when Warren sent in great haste fin* Paul Itevere and AVilliam Dawes. He knew that the crisis had now come. Telling lliein in two words that the soldiers had .started, and that he feared they meant to seize the patriot leaders, Hancock and Adams, he desj)atchcd Revere by the way of Charlestown, and Dawes by the great high-road over the Xeck. In this way, sliould one bo sto])ped, the other ndght elude t;he vigi- lance of the sentinels and succeed in getting through th(! lines. With the jiarting injunction in their ears, not to lo.se a moment, the two patriots started on the most momentous errand of the century. Revere first went to a friend ami requested him to show the signal, one lantern in the (diurch belfry. He then went home, hurried on his riding-boots and surtout, and having picked up two friends and a boat, the three stealthily rowed across the river, passing v iseen under the muzzles of the frigate's guns that guarded the ferry. I'AII, lIKVKIiHS IMUK. 85 L('ii[miL,' nil sliorc, li'cvoiv Ifiuiii'tl tliut liis sij^'tial Ii;nl lucn accii mill muli'i'slnod. At that very iiioini'iit its waiiiiiig Ihmius sh(tiii) tVoin lliti ilistaiit tdwcr. A llci't Imrsc was (luickly sadiUud ami ln'iillcil I'lii'liiiii to iiiniint. IJcvitc si'I/imI the l)iiilli', juiii|m'(1 iiitii till' .NiiUllt', ami .sptirifd dil' al the U>\< nl' his speed I'm' l-cx- iii^tnii, U'li miles away, wIu'Iv llaiicdek ami Adams, uiieoiisciiuis nt" daii,i;er, were then asleep in tiicir lieds. |)aWL'S, tun, had f'ur- tuiiaU'ly succeeded in evadini,' the sentinels, so that the two were How, ill the dead of niyht, ^MJlopiii;^' on like iiiesscngia's of fato, not sparing' citlicr whip or spur, and each nerveil by thi' iniini- iient J 1 ol' the muuioiit to do or dare everythin;^' lor the, sal- vation ol' friuiuls and country. Keven^ had hardly got idear of Charlestown when u horseman suddenly barreil his passage. Another rodo up, then a third, lie had ridden headlong into the midst of the lUilish patrol! They closed in upon hiui. But llevorc was not the man to he thus taken in a 1114) without a struggle, lie ([uiekly pulled up, turm:d his horse's hi'ad, dug the spurs into his Hanks, and dashed oil' into a hy-road with the ])atrol iit his heels. IJeing the better mounted, he soon ilistanced his pursuers, and in te'i minutes more rode into Medford, shout- ing like a niudmau at every house he came to, " T''p and arm ! rp and arm! The regulars are out! The regulars are out'" He awoke the rajitain of the minute-men, told his startling story in a lireath, and before the shrill neighing of the excited steed or the shouts of tlit; rider had grown faint in tlio distance, the iMed- ford bells began to ring out their wild alarm. When Iievere en- tered it, the town was as still as the grave ; he left it in an uproar. The regulars were indeed out ; but where ? By tliis time they should have been well advanced on their march, had not an excess of caution ruined at the outset every chance of surprising the Provincials. Possibly to prevent the expedition's getting wind, instead of furnishing the troo[)S with rations befiM-e start- ing, they had been cooked on Ixiard the fleet, and jiut into the boats furnished by the different ships of war. After landing upon the Cambridge marshes, and after flounilering through water up to the kn(;e, to the shore, the royal troops were kept m so I;! ' ': :( in: IT: NKW-KNGLAND LE("1P:NDS. drawn up in a dirty l)y-M)ad until two o'clock in tlu; nioi'ning, waiting for their provisions to bo Ijronylit from th(! bouts and distributed. 'J'o lose hours when minutes counted for hours was fatal. The tluec; tiius idled away decided the fate of the 1 'diticm. TIk; Ih'itish grenadiers were .ilill shivering on tl'.e spot where they disctmliarkiHl, when llevre, after raising the country in arms, rode into Lexington. It was just midnight when he dismounted at the iloor where iiaiicock and Adams were asleep. He saw that he was in \ time. A patriot _ A^ '■■r. KKVKKK AROUSING TTTK MINUTE-MAN. guard was statiijned outside. The drowsy sergeant sliarply admonitl^od Revere to make less noise, or he would disturb the PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 87 liousuh..l(l. " :soise ! " exclaimed the thoroughly nxcited ];(>- vere; " you ':i have noise enough before long. The regulars are t)ut ! " He was then admitted. In the course of half an liour the other express arrived, and the two rebel leaders being now fully ('(jnvinced that Concord was tlu! Ihreuteiied point, after allowing the bokUiders the time to swallow a few mouthfuls, hurried them on to Concord. Adams did not believe that Cage would send an army merely to take two men [.risoners. To him the true object was very clear. Jievere, Dawes, and young Dr. Prescott of Concord, who had j.,.itish man-ol'-war ; A phantom shij,, with each mast an'd myself Tn a moment after he pas.sed us, the horses' ears were up, an.l bent themselves forward so that they nearly met " Who is that man ? " .said I ; " he .seems in greltt trouble " "Nobody knows who he is ; but his person an.l the chil.l are fann bar to me. 1 have met him more than a luindred tin.es, and have been .so often asked the way to Boston by that man even when he was travelling directly from that town, that of late I have refused any communi.-ation with him ; and that is the reason he gave me such a fixed look." i o H in Q a e o a Pi H I'KTKK KltiC, TIIK .MISSIN(; MAN. 93 ; " IJllt (Iocs lie Mcvcr slnji aiiywlu'l't' / ' " I liiivc never kiKiwii liiiu to stoi) anywlicru loiiytT tlu'ii to iiiijiiire the wiiy to llnstoii. Ami let liiiu be wliero lie may, he will tt 11 yoii he eiuiiiot .stay a luoinent, i'or he must reach JJostoii thai, iii-ht." We \vt!i'(i iKJW asceiiiliiig a hi;^li hill in Walpole, ; and as we had u fair view of the. heavens, I was ratlier disposed to Jeer the driver for thinking of his surtoiit, as not a ehmd us hig as a marblu could l)c discerned. "Do you look," said he, "in the direction -wheneo the man came ; that is the place to look. The .storm never meets him. it follows him." Wo ])resently apin'oached another hill ; and when at the lieight the driver pointeil out in an eastern direction a little black .speck about as big as a hat, — "There," said lie, "is tlu; seed storm ; avc may ])os.siljly reach I'olley's before it reaches us, Init the wanderer and his child will go to P"ovidenco through rain, tluuidor, and lightning." And now the horses, as though tauglit by instinct, }iastene(l with increased speed. The little l)lack cloud cauK! on rolling over the turnpike, and doubled and trel)led itself in all direc- tions. The appearance of this cloud attracted the notice of all tlie passengers ; for after it had spread itscdf to a great bulk, it suddeidy became more limited in circumference, grew more compact, dark, and consolidated. And now the successive flashes of chain lightning caused the whole cloud to appear like a sort of irregular network, and displayed a thousand fantastic iniag(is. The driver bespoke my attention to a remarkable configuration in the cloud; ho said every flash of lightning near its centre discovered to him distinctly the form of a man sitting in an open carriage drawn liy a black horse. lUit in truth I sa\v no such thing. The man's fancy was doubtless at fault. It is a very common thing for the imagination to paint for the sejises, both in the visible and invisible world. In the moan time the distant thunder gave notice of a shower at hand; and just as we reached Policy's tavern the rain poured 1 T - 04 NKW-I;N(!LANI) lkcends. |:»; ;f ! I (liiwii ill tiiiTcnts. It was sdoii dvcr, the (.'loiid pussinj,' in llio (lircctiuii of till' tiini|iik(! tnwiinl I'mviilfiicc, In a few nidinciils aftrr, ii rL'spcL'tiiblc-ldokiiig man in a cliiiiHC Ktopiu'd at tlic (lour. 'I'lic man and child in tliu chair having,' excited sunns little syni- jiathy anionj,' the jiasscngcrs, the <,'cntU'nian was asked il' he had ohseived t' cm. lliisaid he had met them; that the man KQIESTRIANS. seemed hewildcrod, and in(|uirod the way to Boston ; that he was driving at gn;at speed, as though he expected to outstrip the tempest ; that the moment he had passed liim, a thunder- clap broke directly over the man's head, and seemed to envelop both man and cliild, horse and carriage. " I stopped," said the gentleman, " supposing the lightning had struck liim ; but the horse only seemed to loom iip and increase his speed ; and as 1 i I'KTKU UL'(;G, TllK MiSSINd MAN. i)5 Well US I ('ouUl jiul^^c, li(! tmvi'llutl jiiit as t'aat us Uii Llumder- AVliilt! this iiiim was spcakiii;,', a iiciUar willi a cart of tin mLTcliaiidisc caiiu' ui) all (Irippiiix' ; and on lii'ni;^ ([iK'stuincil, 1k' said 111' had met that nuiii and carriage, within a lnitni-ht, in I'lHir dili'civnt States ; that at each time he had in([uin;d the way it) pMistun, and that a thnnder-slmwer, like the present, had ea( h tinii; deluded his wa;^nu and his wares, setting' his tin puts, etc., iUloat, so that ho had determined to e^t marine insur- ance dune for the future. Uut that which excited his surprise UKJst was the stran;4e cDiiduct ol' his horse; for that lon.L,' hefore lie (!ould distinj;insh the man in the chair, his own horse stood still ill the roail, and llun;^ back his ears. '• In short," saiil the pedlar, " 1 wish never to see that man and horse again ; they ijo not hmk to me as thiiuuh they be- longed to this world." This was all I could learn at tluit time ; and the nceurronce soon after would have hecome with UK! " like one of those things which had Jiever happened," had [ not, as I stood recently on the doorstep of Bennett's Hotel in Hartford, heard a man say, "There goes Peter liugg and his child I He looks wet ami weary, and farther from l)Oslou than ever." I was .satislied it was the same man I had seen more than three years before; for whoever has once seen Peter Pugg can never after be deceived as to his identity. " Peter Pugg !" said I; "and who is Peter Pugg?" " That," said the stranger, " is more tlian any one can tell exactly. lie is a famous traveller, held in light esteem by all I1A( KM;V-((I.V(!I. 96 NKW-KNULANI) LKOENIW. iiiii-liolilors, for lin never Htnj)s to i-iit, ili'iiik, ov shtop. I WDiuhir why till! lliiviii'iiiiiciit (Idc.H lint <'iii|iliiv liiin tu (uirry tliu inail." "Ay," wiitl 11 Ity.stiindcr ; " llmt is n tliuu^lit bri;,'lit only on iiiu* wiilc. lltiw lung wtiuld it Vakf. in tliat ciisti to semi a letter to iJoston'? — for J'eter has uhemly, to my kimwledge, been uiure than twenty years truvillin;,' to tliat iihicc" " lUit," said 1, "does the man never stop anywhere I Poes he never converse with any one] 1 saw the same man more than three years sinee near I'rovidence, and I heard a str.iiii^c story ubout him. I'ray, sir, j^'ive me some acconnt of thi.-> man." "Sir," said the stran^'cr, "those wlin know the mo*t respect- ing' that man say tlie liMst. I have heard it asserted that Heaven .Sometimes sets a maik on a man either for jud;.,'ment or a trial. I'nder which I'eler i!n^'^' now Ial)ors, I cannot say ; therefore I am rather inclined to jiity than to jiid^'c!." " Vou speak like a humane man," saiil I ; " and if you have known him so lon^', 1 pray y(»u will .i^ive me some account of him. Ihis his appearance much altered in that time <" "Why, yes ; he looks as thou^di he never ate, dr.ink, or slept ; and his child looks older than himself ; and he looks like time broken oif from eternity, and anxious to fjain a resting-place." " And how does his horse look?" said 1. " As for his horse, lie looks fatter autl gayer, and show.s more animation and courage, than he did twenty ye;»;N iigo. The last time liugg spoke ttj me he iiicjuired how far it was to Jjoston. t told him just one liundred miles. " 'AVhy,' .said he, ' how can you deceive me so] It is ciiud to inislead a traveller. I have lost my way ; pray direct me the neanist way to Boston.' " 1 repeated, it was one hundreil miles. "' How can you say soC said he; '1 was told last evening it was but fifty, and I have travelled all night.' " * But,' said I, ' you are now travelling from Boston. You must turn back.' " ' Alas ! ' said he, ' it is all turn back ! Boston shifts with the wind, and plays all around the compass. One man tells riiTKK uicc;, Tin: MisaiNo man. 97 iiK! it i:i to tlio cast, anotlicr to ilio wi-mI ; mid tlic miide-jiOHtj), Li»o, tlivy all point tliu wruiij,' way.' " ' Uiit will yoii iidt stiip and rest/' .said I; ' ynii .scorn wot and wiMiy.' *' ' Vu.s,' .said lie ; ' it lias hem iuul wcatliur Hincu 1 left linnic' "'.Sl(i|i, then, ami rctVcsh yourself.' '"I inii.'^t not stiiii ; I niust ivucli lioini.' to-ni;^'ht. il' [lussihlc ; thoii;;li 1 think you must he nii-staken in the di.stanco t^ ]}ost,Ml.' " lie then ;^ave the reins Lo his Ikuvsc, whicli he rijstiaincd with diflicnlty, and di.sappuared in a iiKinn'nt. \ lew days afterward I met the man a little thi.s side <<[' Cluremnnl. wimlin.L; around the hills in I'nity, at the rate, I l.elieve, of twelve miles an hour." '• Is I'eler \l\v^'^ hi.s real name, or has hi' aeeiilentally gained that name (" "1 kiinw nut, hut presume he will nut deny his name; you can asl< him — foi' see, he has lamed his Imrse, and is [)assiiig this way.'" In a moment a dark-eolore(l, hi;4h-s]iirited Uorse ajjiirdaehed, anil wnuld have passed without stoppin;^ ; hut I had rcsolveii to spi;ak to I'eter iJu-u', or whdi^ver the man nii,nhl^ he. Aecord- ingly I sle]ipe(l into the stretst, ami as the horse approac lied, 1 made a feint of slopping him, Thu man immodiatcily reined in his hor.se. " .Sir," said I, "may I bo .so hohl as to impiire if you ari! not Mr. Hugg? — for I think I have seen you Iiefore." " My naiuo is Peter liugg," said he : " I have unfortunately lost my way. I am wet and weary, ami will take it kindly of you to direct me to J»o.ston." " You live in IJoston, do you ? — and in what street I " " In Middle .Street." " Wli(;n ilid you leave IJo.stonl" " I cannot tell precisely ; it seems a coiisideraljlo time." "But how did you and your child become .so wot ( It has not rained here to-day." " It has just rained a heavy shower up tlie river. But I shall 7 98 NKW-F.NfiLAND LK(iKNIiH. iifit rciuli I'.ostun to-iii^;lit if I tarry. Would you uilvisi- tih' to tiiki' till' dill roiul, nr tlui tiirnpiki' t " " Why, till' nlil iniiil is dill' liiiiKlrL'ii ami .si'Vuntecii miles, and the tiiriii»iko is niiioty-Hoveii." "lli)W(;an you «iiy bo? Vuu impose mi inr I [t i-. wroiii,' to trilli' witli a traveller. Ymi kimw it is Imt I'orty mih-s IVnm Ni'wliiuyiiort to nostinj." " Hut tliis is not Nowbiiiyiimt ; this is llarirord." "l)o not ilcccivi' nio, 8ir. Is not this town Nt'whuryipoit, and Ihf riviT tliat I liavo been t'ollo\vin|4 tlu; Mi'irimac?" "No, sir; this is Hartford, and tho river tlu' ('onm rliiiit." He wnin^' his hands and looknl imu'cdidous. " llavi' till' rivers, too, ehan;,'ed their eoiirses, as the cities liave chan^'cil places / But see I tho clouds are yalherin^' in the south, and wo shall havo a rainy iii<,dit. .ih, that fatal oath !" lie would tarry no lon^^er. His impatient horse leaped oil', his hind Hanks rising liko winj^s ; he •leemed to ilev(jur all liefore him, and to scorn all behind. I had now, as I tlmu.^dit, discovered a dew to the history of I'eter liU^% and I determined, the ne.\t timo my business called me to Hoston, to make a further iiiijuiry. Soon after, I was enabled to collect the following particulars from .Mrs. (^roft, an aged lady in .Middle Street, who has resided in lioston during the la.st twenty years. Her narration is this ; The hist summer, a person, just at twilight, stopped at the door of tho lato Mrs. Ilugg. Mrs. Croft, on coming to tho (hutr, ])orceived a stranger, with a child by his side, in an old weather- beaten carriage, with a l)lack horse. The .stranger asked for Mrs. I'ugg, and was informed that Mrs. Ifugg had died in a good old ago more than twenty years ln'fore that time. The, stranger replied, " IIow can you deceive me sol Do ask Mrs. Rugg to step to tho door." " Sir, I assure you Mrs. Rugg has not lived liore these nine- teen years ; no one live.s here but myself, and my name is Betsey Croft." The stranger paused, and looked up and down the street, and I'KTKk ULCiC, TIIK MlHHlNO MAN. 99 tuud : "TIioukIi tho paintiiij^ in ratlicr FiuIimI, ilijs lodks like ray hoiis(\" " VfH," Hiiiil tho cliil.l ; " llial is lli.i .sluiic l.oluio tliii (l.uii lliat I ii^i'il to sit uii tn cut my hn-ail and milk." " Hut," Hiiul till! stmiif,'t'r, "it huuiiks to be on the wn.ii;' iitl(* (if till) Htrect. Imlml I'Vcrytliiiig Iuto hiu'Ius to lie misiiluccd. TIk! Htivi'ts aro all fhan^'cd, tin- people iiro all diaip^'eil, tlie town seeiiiH cliaii^'ed ; atid, wliat is stnui.^est ol' all, ( 'atlieriiie Rii^'i,' liaH deserted tier liusliainl and iliild. I'imv,"' <'oiitiiiued the stran"t'r, " lias .loliii |'"(iy eorue lioilie IVom .^ea ( lie Went a Inii'^' Voya;L,'e ; he is my kinsman. If I coiUd sue him, lie etndd ;;ive me some necuiint of Mis. Ii'u-l;." "Sir," said .Mrs. ('rol't. " I never heanl of John l''oy. Where did he live f" ".Inst ahove here, in Oraiij^^e Tree Lane." "There is no slleh phiei' in this iiei^^iilioiiiniid." " What do you tell me? .Vre the streets ),'one ? OraiiK*' '''reo LaiK! is at the head of Hanover Street, near IVmherton's Hill." " There is iiu .such lane iiow." "Madam! you eaniiot lie .serious. iJnt you douLtle.ss know my lirotiier, William Iiu-;.'. lie, lives in lloyal Kxcluuigo Lane, near Kin,i,' Street." " I know of no such lane, and I am sure there is no sueh street as KiiiL,' Street in this town." "Xo.sueh .street as Kinj< Street! Why, woman, you nio.'k me ! Vou may as well tell mo there is no Kinj,' (leor^e ! How- over, mailam, you see I am wet and weary ; I must find a restinj,'- placo. I will f,'o to Hart's tavern, near tlie market." " Whieh market, sir? — (or you .seem perple.\ed ; we have several markets." " You know there is but one market, — near the Town dock." "Oh, the old market; Init no sueh person has kept there the.sG twenty years." Here the stran^'cr .seemed disconcerted, and uttered to him.self quite audibly: "Strange mistake! H the pave- ment with his fore-feet. The stranger seemed a little bewildered, and said, " Xo home to-night ; " and giving the reins to his horse, passed up the street, and I saw no more of him. I'ETEK KUCKi, THE MISSING MAN. 101 Ft wa-s evident that tlio generation to which Peter ilugg belonged had passed away. This was all the account of Peter Pugg I could obtain from Mrs. Croft ; but she tlirectcil me to an elderly man, ^Ir. James Felt, who lived near her, and wno had kei)t a record of the prin- cipal occurrences for the last lifty years. At my re(iuest she sent for him ; and after I had related to liim the object of my inquiry, jNIr. Felt told me he had known Kugg iu his youth ; that his disappearance had caused some surprise ; but as it sometimes happens that men run away, sometimes to l)e rid of others, and sometimes to be rid of themselves; and Kugg took his child with him, and his own horse and chair ; and as it did not appear that any creditors made a stir, — the occurrence soon mingled itself in the stream of oblivion, and Pugg and his child, horse and chair, were soon forgotten. " Ft is true," said Mr. F(.'lt, "sundry stories grew out of Pugg's all'air, — whether true or false I cannot tell ; but stranger things have happened in my day, without even a newspaper notice." " Sir," said 1, " Peter liugg is now living ; I have lately seen Peter Pugg and his child, horse, and chair. Therefore 1 jiray you to relate to me all you know or ever heard of him." "Why, my friend," said James Indt, "that Peter Pugg is now a living man, 1 will not deny; but that you have seen Peter Pugg and his child is impossible, if you mean a small child ; for Jenny Rugg, if living, must be i;t least — let me see — ^ Boston Massacre, 1770 — Jenny Pugg was about ten years old. Why, sir, Jenny Pugg, if living, must be more than sixty years of age. That Peter Rugg is living, is highly probable, as he was only ten years older than myself, and I was only eighty last ..rch ; and I am as likely to live twenty years longer as any man." Here I perceived that Mr. Felt was in liis dotage; and I despaired of gaining any intelligence from him on which I could depend. I took my leave of Mrs. Croft, and proceeded to my lodgings at the Marlborough Hotel. 102 XK\V-KN(iLANl) LEdKNDS. '1^ If Peter Rugg, thought I, has lieeii travelling since the Boston Massacre, there is no reas{jn why he should not travel to the end of time. If the prest^nt generation know little of him, the next will know less ; and I'litcr anil his child will have no hoM on this world. In the course of the evening I related my ailvenlure in .Middle Street. "Ha!" said one of the company, smiling, "do you really think you have .seen Peter Pugg] 1 have heanl my grandfather sj)eak of him as though he scu'iously helieveil his own story." "Sir," said I, "pray let us compare your grandfather's .story of Mr. Rugg with my own. " " Peter Rugg, sir, if my grandfather was worthy of cretlit, once lived in Middle Street, in this city. He was a man in comfortable circumstances, had a wife and one daughter, iind was generally esteemed for his sober lif(; and manners. Put, unhappily, his temper at times was altogether ungovernable j and then his language was terrible. In these lits of passion, if a door stood in his way, he would never do less than kick a panel through. He would sometimes throw his heels over his h(.'ad and come down on his feet, uttering oaths in a circle; and thus in a rag(i he was the first who performed a somerset, and did what others have since learned to do for merriment and money. Once Rugg was seen to bite a tenpenny nail in halves. In those days everyl)ody, both men and boys, wore wigs ; and Peter, at these moments of violent passion, would bec(jme so profane that his wig would rise up from his head. Some said it was on account of his terrible language ; others accounted for it in a more philosophical way, and said it was caused by the e.\i)ansion of his scalp, — as violent passion, we know, will swell the veins and expand the head. "While these lits were on him Rugg had no res])ect for heaven or earth. Except this infirmity, all agreed that Rugg was a good sort of man ; for when his fits wiire over, nobody Avas so ready to commend a placid temper as Peter. " It was late in autumn, one morning, that Rugg, in his own PETKU UUOd, THE MISSING MAN. 103 chiiir, with a fine large liay horse, took hi.s (hiughter and pro- eeeiicil to ( 'oneonl. Un liis ri'tnrn a violent storm overtook him. At ilarlc lie stoppnl in Menotomy, now W(!.st ( 'aml)ri(lgo, at the door of a Mr. Cutter, a friend of his, who urged him to tarry t!ie night. On Uugg's declining to .stop, Mr. Cutter urged iiini vrlnMucntly. ' Wliy, Mr. ilugg,' .said Cutter, 'the storm is overwlu'lniiiig you: the night is exceeding dark: your little daughter will jjerish : you are in an open eluiir, and the tempest is increasing.' 'Let the storm Incredsc,'' said liugg, with a fearful oath ; ' / vAll see home tunijht, in sjntc of the /r Ii'ugg did not reach home that night, or the next; nor, when he became a missing man, could he ever be traced bej^ond Mr. Cutter's in Menotomy. " For a long time after, on every dark and stormy night, the wife of Peter Kugg would fancy she heard the crack of a whii), and the tleet tread of a horse, and the rattling of a carriage passing her door. The neighhors, too, heard the same noises ; and some said they knew it was IJugg's horse, the tread on tlie ])avement was perfectly familiar to them. This occurred so repeatedly, that at length the neighlxu's watched with lanterus, and saw the real Peter Rugg, with his own horse and chair, and child sitting beside him, ])ass directly before his own door, his head turned toward his house, and himself making every eifort to stop his horse, but in vain. T' lill 104 NEW-ENGLAN]) LEGENDS. " Tlif next (lay tlio friends of Mrs. Uw^'^ pxortod them?'' t'j litid her Imsljand and cliild. Tlii'V iiniiiircil at every imnin- house ami stalile in town ; Init it ilid not appear that JJuf,'g made any stay in Huston. No one, after KiigK' l"i'l passed hi.s own door, could give any account of him ; though it was asserted by some that the clatter of JJugg's horse and carriages f)ver the liavem^"*"- shook tlus houses on both sides of the streets. And this is 1 , if indeed Rugg's horse and carriage did pass on that nigliL, /or at this day, in many of the streets, a loaded truck or team in passing will shake the houses like an earth- ([uake. However, Rugg's neighbors never afterward watched ; some of them treated it all as a delusion, and thought no more of it. Others, of a dilferent opinion, shook their heads and said nothing. " Thus Rugg and his child, liorse and chair, were soon for- gotten, and probably many in the neighborhood never heard a word on the subject. "There was, indeed, a rumor that Itugg afterward was seen in Connecticut, between Sufheld and Hartford, passing through the country with headlong speed. This gave occasion to Rugg's friends to make further inquiry. Jkit the more they inquired, the more they were baflled. If they heijrd of Rugg one day in Connecticut, the next they heard of him winding round the hills in New Hampshire ; and soon after, a man in a chair with a small child, exactly answering the description of Peter Rugg, would be seen in K'hode Island inquiring the way to Boston. " But that which chiolly gave a color of mystery to the story of Peter Rugg was the affair at Charlestown 15ridge. The toll- gatherer asserted that sometimes on the darkest and most stormy nights, when no object could be discerned, about the time Rugg was missing, a horse and wheel carriage, with a noise equal to a troop, would at midnight, in utter contempt of the rates of toll, pass over the bridge. This occurred so frequently, that the toll-gatherer resolved to attempt a discovery. Soon after, at the usual time, apparently the same horse and carriage approached the bridge from Charlestown Square. The toU- ■^ i I lit' A LEOKN'I) OK THE OLD ELM. lOf) gatherer, prepared, U, Mike was onjoyin^' liis eustoinary hoiisuliold ((unlnrts, his can and l>ipc. in the little hack parloi' dI' his dwollin.L;, Numlior — , ^I'orth End, Ix'iiig the house next to that occui)iod Ly Mr. IVtor Rn,L;i:-, famous in story. Tho night was dark without as th(! " throat of tho Llack wolf," and as turbulent as that animal whou a long snow-storm upon tho hills has driven him mail with famine. This obscure chamljor was the thoatro of his earthly felicity. It was here tliat he counti'd over his accumulating gains, with every returning night ; imlulgo(l in the precious remembrance of past success, and rioted in tlu; golden visions of future pros- perity. Therefore with this njuiu W(!ro associatt'd all tho pleas- ing recollections of his life. It was the only green spot in his memory, — the refreshing oasis in the barren desert of his ail'ections. it was there alone that the solitary gleam of consolation touched and melted tho ice of his soul. It was natural, then, considering his sellish nature, that he shouhl keep it sacred and inviolate. The foot of wife or child was nin^er pernnttod to invade this sanctum. Sucli approach on their part would have boon doomed high treason, and ])unisht'(l as such without " benefit of clergy." Such intrusion by a neighbor wimld have boon deemed a decda- ration of hostilities, and would have been warmly repelled. It wore, indeed, safer to have bearded the lion in his den or the puissant Douglas in his hall ; for Mike possessed all those phys- ical virtues which caTi ke(>p the head from barm, if at any time the absence of better qualities provoke assault. The besom of tho thrifty housewife never disturbed the ven- erable dust and cobwebs that supplied its only tapestry. From generation to generation the spider had reigned unmolested in the corners and crevices of the wall ; and so long had the terri- tory i)een held and transmitted from sire to son, that if a title A I.KCFXD 0|.' Tlir, ii|,l) i;i,M. ]()7 1)y ])ro.sr!i'i])tion cniild I'vrr uviiil aLjaiiist llir pmctical iii';.';iiiiii'iit (if the liliMilil, tlicrc was little Irar III' ;l pl'iiccss dl' cjiM'tlllcllt. As flic (ilil laiiip at tilt' j,Mti! cri.'ilkcil ilismally, ami tlio rrazy sluiltfrs dl' ills chaiijlit'i' rattled still iiiore noisily in the wind, the iiienairy of Mike's spirits rose hi'j;her, — -a physieal pheiioni- ciiiiii not easily explained. Perhaps, as the elemental war t^i'ew shaiper, his own nature urew more Ih'IiI'jii in the conscionsness that 11 secure shelter was intcrposc(i hetwecn his own head and the elements. The la.st drojis of good liijuor had disappeareil from Mike's sil- ver tankard, the last wa V e r i n g wreath of >moke had tlissolved in the air, and the dull endicrs of his hearth were fast dying away in the white ash- es, Avhen Mike, upon raising his eyes suddeidy, was much startled to oh.serve tliat he had (;ompany in his solitude. Ih^ rubhed his eyes and shook himself, to a.seertain his personal identity ; hut still the large, strong hgure of a man was .seated in the (dd leat her chair directly opposite to him. Whence he came, hy what means he hail entereil, what were his purposes, were nij'.steries too deep for 3Iikt-'s faculties at that tim(! to fathom. There he sat, however, niolionless as a statue, with his arms foliled, and a jtair of large, lustrous Idack eyes fastened full upon him. There was a complete fa.scination in that glance, which sent a thrill through his Avhole frame, and lield him as with an iron chain to his chair. ( UAISK, ITTti. TT ' ■ ■ ' ' 1 ' 1 108 NK\V-KN(;i,AM» LK(ii;NItS. Miki', like ;i ^kkI ^'cihm'uI, soon rullicil liis rmiti'd facultios, rciiiiiinatcil his lii^'itive tliou^Hits, niid ivsolvcd, IIkpuhIi |i(psscss- iii^' 11 I'liiiit liciU't, to sliow ii liold t'i'oiit, — ii (dical dl'tcii |iru('- tiscd I»y better tiicticiaiis. Ilo thereiiiioii plucked U|i lieroisiii, and soon ascertained that his visitor was of very atl'ahle and hiuii^'tiant beuriM;,'. lie eoniiiinni(!ated Ids l)usiness brielly, in winch virtue of liievity we shall cipiidescend to he an imitator. He revealed that hi! was indeed of unearthly nature, — a disenihodie(l spii'lt, and that duriii,^' his earthly sojourn he had secreted a most precious treasure, which had been unlawfully ac(|uired, under the ()ld Kim 'free in the centre of the Connnon. lb; could not rest (piietly in the grave until he had imparted the secret to s(uue human bidng ; ami as Mike was a man after his own heart, he had selecti'd him as the object of his bounty. Mike thauketl him sincerely for the compliment and kindness, ;iiid promis(Ml to go forth without delay in search of the treasure, lie sallie(l forth with his "spiritual guide," his mind intoxicated with the thought of till! heavy ingots, and the bars of gold, and the rich foreign coin which he believed would be shortly his own. The night was black and rainy : the scattei'cd sleet swept furiously along the. streets, pursued by the screaming winil ; but the wrath of tlut elements was disarmed by the glorious visicm of riches and honor which possessed him. They arrived at length, after much wading and tribulation, at the Old Elm, now the trysting-pku'e of young ])eoplo on the days of Election festivity. In those days it was sometimes used as a gallows, for want of a better; and it is said, at this very day, that on dark and tempestuous nights the ghosts of those who perished on its branches are seen swinging ami heard creaking in the wind, still struggling in the last throe and torment of dissolution, in expiation of crimes committed long ago. "When Mike paused at the roots of tlio old tree, he requested his guide to designate the jjarticular spot that contained the treasure ; but receiving no response to this very natural in(piiry. A l,i:(ii;M» OK TIIH I'M) r.l.M. ()<» lir looknl vn\m\ iiiid suw th:it liis -^i'MWH liiul viinislicd "into til.' ;iir," i-niljuhly liko Muola'tli's witdit-s. II.! wus ii..t t.) bu .lish.'iiitcin'.l ..!• (liuint.Ml, liowuver ; .s.j In-, msolutely i;(.niiin!nml (k'lviii,L'. with tin- /.'al nl' an anl.'Ut inoiicy- ilij,'^.'!'. II.' tiiiiit'il up many u ^.x^'l m""! of snil without uKM'tiii.L,' 111.' lufci.jus ore-, whi'ii his I'.'ars g.it, the lietl.T of liirf ili.s- (•ic'tioii, iiu.l lii.s fsiiK'y liusily iiciiilcl tht3 obs('ure tops uirI limbs of tlu' oM trc! with all THE MONEY-DIGGER. boring nioiistors, and be fanci(j(l that the evil spirits of de- parted malefactors were celebrating their festival orgies, and making merry with their infernal dances around him. no N'F.W-F.NdLAND LE(iKN'I»S. liii h His fear had ijicrcasctl to a,L;(iiiy. Tlic .spadi' (Inipiu'd I'nuii liis |i()\v('ili'ss liaml, his hair luistlcd with terror, and Ins ^Tcat ('y«'s iK'arly U'uihhI t'roiu lii.«i head in ins endeavor to penetrate tlie <,dooni that .siirroiiinh'd hiiu. Once more liis mysterious guide stood hel'ori' him ; hut on(! ^dance of ids awl'ully alteri'd face eomph'ted the climax of his fright. 'I'liosc lar^^i" hlaek, histrous eyes iiuw kiiuUeil like two l)alls t)f llamo ; and as their liendish histre ;,dare(l iipon iiini, Ik! shrank hack as troiii ii scondnn^' llame. A nose, fuormous and rul)ii'uiid as the car- hunele of tiie Kast, protrudcul many a rood from the face of liis evil spirit, and immense whiskers, roii;4h and sha^^'v as tho lion's innue, llowed around his visa^'e. 'i'iui j^old-nionstcr eon- tinui'd to frown upon lum fearfully, till at length the hewilderrd eyes of Mike could look no longer, and he fell to the earlli utterly senseless. When Mike awoki', the morning,' sun was looking,' cheerfully into his own chandier window, and the; hirds that make nieriy in every hrij^lit summer morning were singing g.'iyly on the* house-eaves ahove his head. lie ruhhed his eyes in astonish- ment, and was in douht whether he had not lost his .senses, or whether the visit(jr, the money, the walk of nudidght, and tho horrihle gohlin, were not all the mere creations of a dream. While lost in these douhts and dilHculties, a neighhor oppor- tunely stepped in, to whom he related the whole scene, adtling at the .same time suitahle (Muhellishments to the appearance of the lienddike apparition which had haunted him. His friend heard him for some time expatiate on the miracu- lous adventure, hut at length could preserve his gravity no longer, and hurst forth in a loud ha ! ha ! ha ! When he had recovered sufficient breath to articidate, he confessed to the electritied Mike that his visitor was no other than himself, and that he had jiractised the hoax in order to decide a wager with mine host of the l>oar's Head, who had bet a dozen of his choicest bin that no one could get the better of shrewd Mike Wild of the North End. UOXUL'UY rUDDlNli-STONE. II UUXDIUV PIIDDIXG-STONK. IN tl.nsc |.U'asiiiit .suliurltiiii dislricU nf Uostini thiit wcro Inlllicrlv tll>' towns 111' li'nxlilliy iiinl DdiclK'stcr, till' rni'k cviTywIiciv Keen ill tllc Idiulsidf Wulls lllnl (HittT(>|i|iiii.i; Iciljrcs is till' very curi- (iiis coip^luiiicnitt' liimiliarly kimwu as iiU(l(liiiLi;stnii(' ; so called, no duulit, nil aci'nlllit (if tlir pclililcs that an; inihi'ddod so solidly within the cooled mass as now to form a jiart of it. Kejeetiii;^ all scieiitilic hypotheses in favor of a le^'oiid, the genial l)r. Holmes arrouilts for the i^'eologieal phenomenon in his own felicitous way in the "Dorches- ter (iiant," thus enahlin;^ us to conclude our historical pieces with the customary geological tiescription. OLD MII,i;-STONi;. TIIK DORCHESTKU (IIANT. uLivKit wi;ni)i:i,i, holmes. TnEUK was a (Jiant in time of old, A nii;,'lity one was lie ; He liiid a wile, hut she was a scold, So he kejit her shut in his mauiuioth fold ; Anf lovud onus iloii\f,' now, The wilt; ami cliililrun wadV Oh, they are in ii terriiilc mul, Siircuinini,' ami throwing,' tlicir pmldin^' about, Acting as tluy were mad. They Ihuij,' it over to Hoxbury hills, Tiicv Hum;; it over tiie jiiain, Ami all over Milton and Dorchester too, Great luni[tH of puddiuj; tlie ; iaiits threw. They tunihled as tluik as rain. And if, some pleasant afternoon, Von '11 ask me out to ride, Tile wliole of the story 1 will lell, And you may see where tlic laiddings fell, Ami pay for the jiuneh beside. I part :f^cconD. CAMIUaDGK LEGENDS. m THE WASHINGTON ELM. THIS patriarch among trees is one of those perishable his- toric objects we can still point to with a feeling of satis- faction that it C(jntinues in the enjoyment of a vigorous old age. Long live the Washington Elm ! It has survived the renowned Charter Oak, it outlives its vcntTated neighbor, the Boston Elm ; and. thou'di much shattered '' alow and alcjft," it bids fair to round the century with head proudly erect, as the living link joining the settlement o^ the country with tao era of its greatest prosperity. The historic elm-tree stands in the public highway, by the side of the ComuKni, in the city of Cambridge. The Common was the trainingtiidd of the first republican army, formed almost as if by magic, in the years '75 and '76, of glorious memory. Beyond the elm of renown, on the other side, are the (juaint old College buildings, which then served as barracks for tliis army ; while scattered round about the neighborhood are many of the residences that the chances of war turned into (juarters for the officers when tliey were vacated in a hurry by their Tory owners. So that many vestiges of those stirring times remain to attract the visitor to one of the most historic places of the Commonwealth. Many pilgrims wend their way to the spot where the massive old tree-trunk — the Washington Elm — shakes out its annual 116 NEW-MXCLANI) LKtiKNDS. I |: I fdliarff., that is like tlu; ivy clinging and clustering about a ruin. As a tree, it would lu; sure to coiiiiujind atteidion on accuunt of its ajtparcnt great age ; hut it is something more than a tree. Silent witness to all the scenes that have Iteeii enacted here since the white men lirst foreecl their way through the thickets covering the surrounding plain, it is as much an ol)ject of ven- eration to the citizens as if it were really ahle to impart what 0M^M'L.'' 1 ; ij ji I 1 THE WASUIJTGTGN ELM. it had seen. May its shadow never be less ! It saw the mus- tering of the raw Provincial levies for the seven years' march to Yorktown ; it has been blackened by cannon-smoke, has seen the glittering circle of camivfires lighting the long line of an investing army steadily tightening its coils about the beleaguered capital. Ihit one thing, above others, invests it with a grandeur inseparable from him who was the noblest Roman of them all. I! ; It 1 ■ 'I THE WASIIINC.TON ELM. 117 The inscrijition placed at tlio base of tlic tree tells tlu! whole story ; to tliis it is uiiiiocossarv to aihl a siii.udc word : I'NDKU I'llIS TKKK \VAsiiiN(;roN KII!ST TOOK (O.MM.VNl) or TlIK AMKItK AN AHMY, •IlLV •!'■, I77i. THE WASHINGTON ELM. MRS. I,. N. SIGOURN'KY. Words ! worth, oil Tree ! Tli(>i\ hast an asjtect fair, A vigdmus licail, a !n'avcii-asi)iriii,L; tavst ; And sleepless inriiiinirs oi' tliu days that were, Lodge ill tliy hranclies, like the soiij^'-liird's nest. Words ! i^'ive us words ! Methoughl a ^^atliering hkat Mid its <,'reeii leaves hei^aii to niurniur h)W, Shaiiiiij,' its uttfiancc to thi' iiiiidity Past, That hackward caiiu', on i.iiiioiis lloatiiig slow : "The ancient masters ot tlif soil 1 knew, Whose eane-rooi'ed wi.^waiiis flecked the forest-brown ; Their hunter- I'ool steps swept the early dew, And their keen arrow struck the eagle down. •y4 " I heard the bleak Deccnibcr tciniH'st moan When the tossed ' Mayllowcr' moored in Plymouth Bay ; And watched yon classic walls as, stone by stone, Tlie lathers reared them slowly toward the day. " But lo : a mighty t'hiel'taiii 'iieath my shade Drew his bright sword and reared his dauntless head ; And Liberty sjjrang forth from rock and glade. And donned her helmet for the lioui' of dread : f I ■I m] I 118 NKW-KNCLAND LEGKXDS. "While in {\n; Iutu's Ikmm tiicii; d\w\t a prayer Tiiat Heaven's iirnteetiiiL; arm might never cease Tv make his young, eiuhmgered land its caie, Till through the war-cloud looked the angel Peaee. " lie wise, my children," said that ancient Tree, In earnest tone, as though a Mentor sjuike, "And ]irize the hlood-bought hirthright of the (Vee, And iirndy gifard it J'or your countiy's sake." Thanks, thanks. Old Elm ! and for this counsel sage. May Heaven tliy hrow with added heanty grace. Grant richer emeralds to thv crown ofa^'-e. And changeless honors I'rom a future race. TIIK WASHINGTON Kl.M. .IAME.S HUSHELL LOWELL. BENE.vTFi our consecrated elm A century ago he sf(]()d. Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm From colleges, where now the gown To arms had yielded, from the town. Our rude self-summoned levies Hocked to see The new-come chiefs, ;nul wonder which was he. No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, Long trained in nmrder-hrooiling forests lone To bridle others' clamors and his own, Firmly erect, he towered above them all, The incarnate discipline that was to free With iron curb that armed democracy. Musing beneath the legendary tree. The years Ijetween furl off ; I seem to see The sun-fiecks, shaken the stiried foliage through, Dapple with gold his sober buff and bliie, I i III Till-: LAST Ol- TIIH lIKillWAV.MEN. 11 'J Ami wi-avi' iiniplictic iuiivolcs luimd the liisul Thai shines our huacim iiuw, nor (liirkeiis wilh thu dwul. O niun of sik-nt mood, A sliaiiyer anion.\' straii^cis tlien, How ail thini simt.- ifiiowucd the (Jreat, thu Good, Kanuliai as tin- day in all the honius ol' men ! Tile wini^ed years, liial winnow praise and Idume, IjIow many names out ; they liut Ian to llame The seli'-ieiiewim; solendois ol thv lame. TTIK LAST OF THE HIGHAYAYMEN. "A riClIAKL .MAIJTIN, < Captain Liolitfuot, after a -'-'-L checkered career in Iichmd, his native eountry, aiul ill Scotluiul, as a lii-hway rtdii)er, hecaine in 1819 a i'uL;ilive to America. 1I(! liist landed at Salem, where lie obtained I'liiiihiy- iiieiit as u farmdalxirer. Ihil a life of honest toil not Ijciii'^ so cuiigenial to iiim as tluit of a liandit, he again took to his old oeeiipation on the roatl, this time making Canada the scene of his cx2)loits. After committing many robberies there and in Vermont and Xew Hampshire, and always eluding capture, Martin at length arrived in I'xiston. He at once began his bold operations upon the highway ; but here his usual good luck deserted him. His lirst and last victim was ^hxyn- John Bray, of Boston. Martin had somehow found out that His Excellency Governor Brooks intended giving a dinner-itarty at his mansion in :Nredford on a certain afternoon, and he had determined to waylay some of the com])any on their return, shrewdly guessing that they might be '.veil worth the picking. In fact, as Major Bray was driving leisurely homeward in his chaise over the Medford turnpike, he was suddenly stopped by a masked horseman, who presented a pistol and sternly commanded him to deliver up his valuables. 120 NEW-KNGLAM) LKi iKNDS. Tho placo was a lonely (Jiie, luul well cliuson for tht; ro])bi!r's pur- pose. The astouiuled Major haiuled over liLs watch aud his purse. Having hccured Ids booty, thi; lughwayinaii wheeled his horse, gave liini the spur, and galloped oil; while his frightened ai.'d (trestfallen victim, lashing liis horso to a run, raised a hue- and-ciy at tho nearest house. ^Martin fled, lie was hotly pursued, and was taken, after a chase of a hundred miles, asleep in Led at Springfield. The officers brought him back, and lodged him in Kast ('anil)ridge jail t(j await his trial. He was tried at the nc.'xt iissizes for highway robbery, was convicted, and si'nteneiid to be •hanged. Tiiis being the lirst trial occurring undrr the statute punish- ing such an olfeuce, it naturally created a great deal of stir, and wlieii the prisoner was brought to the bar, the court-room was thronged with curious spectators. Throughout the iiroceedings tlie [irisoner was perfectly cool. As tin; pupil of the celebrated Thunderbolt, he had a reputation to maintain ; and wlien tho judge, putting on the ])lack cap, jjniuounced the awful sentence of death, ho dryly observed : " Well, that 's the worst you can do for me." 'J"he doomed man, however, made om; desperate ellort to escape from prison. He had found some way to ])rocure a iile, with which he filed off his irons so tluit he could removt; them whenever he liked ; ami when the turnkey one morning came into tho cell, he being off his guanl, tiie in-isoner, using his irons as a weapon, felled him to tlie ground with a savage blow on the head, aud leaving him stunned and l)leeding uinm the floor of the cell, rushed out of the open door into the prison-yard. The outer walls were too high to Ije scaled, and free passage into the street was barred by ii massive oaken gate. But this did not stop the resolute highwayman, who was a man of herculi'an strength. Dashing himself r('i)eatedly, witli all his force, against it, he at last succeeded in breaking tlie gat(; open, and passing quickly through, he emerged into the street beyond ; but being exhausted by his frantic efforts to escape, afti'r a .short flight his pursuers overtook aud secured him. lie was loaded with TilK KLIUT OAK. 121 iruiis iuul clmimMl to his cell. After this dcspcmto attempt to gain liis lilK'Vty, li<^ was guarded with greater vigilance until the day apiM.iuted lor his execution, when the "Last of the High- paid the penalty (jf his crimes upon the scaflbld. wavmeu THE ELIOT OAK. IN that part of Boston formerly (;onstituting the town t)f ih-ighton, and still farther back forming a precinct of Cam- l,ridge, there is a pleasant locality called Oak S-iuarc. It was so named on account of the old oak-tree which stood tluue, and which is prol.al)ly better known as the Eliot Oak. This gigantic relic of the immeval forest was in its day the larg.'st imd the ..Id.'st tree of its species growing within the lour boiuularies of th(3 ohl T.ay State, and it was oflicially declared to l)e so l)y a scientilic conuuission which was charged witli making a botanical survey of the State. Tlie dcH'laration is made tliat "It had probably passed its prime centuries before th(! lii'st English voice was heard on tlu; shores of jNlassachnsetts Bay." Its circumference at the ground was given at twenty- live feet and nine inches, or two fe(;t more than that of the Great Elm of Boston. Through decay tlie trunk became li- Mow at the base, furnishing a cavity largo enough to serve as a hid- ing-place for the schoolboys who jdayed under the shade of its wide-spreading branches. The en.)rnious weight of these, with their foliage, was at last sui)]iorted by a mere sh(>ll of trunk, and as every gale threatened to lay it low, to the regret of thou- sands, the brave old oak was through a hard neeessity comptaied to bite the dust. By an order of the town it was cut down in May, 18.")5. A little west of this tree was the former site of tin; wigwam of Waban, Chief of the Nonantums, and he must often have rested under its generous shade. The old Indian trail .extended I I .1 ! 111! m li |i il!? \\.i THE KI.IOT OAK, HKIRUTON. KLIOT S OAK. 123 from tliis troo northeast to tlio Cliarles JUvcr, connecting the sottUduciit huro wilh iho (Jollogus at (Jlil Ciimhridgc. TraiUtiuu says tluit tho Ai^jstlo JCliot oi' ylurious meincry pmichud to th(} Indians here nudar tliis oak. Wi; aw, aiuji/.cd to thiuk of it as then l)eing — near two centuries and a half ago — ill \\.> vigorous maturity. This is the incident which the l)oet Loiiglollnw eml)ahus in his sonnet, the scene being, how- ever, tniiisfcrred to N'atick, ^hlssa(•,husotts, where these Indians, hy tlie advice uf Eliot, i'oiinded ono of their Prayiug Towns, and adopted the customs of civilized life. ELIOT'S OAK. II. W. LONGFELLOW. Thou ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves are loud With sounds of unintelligildf speech, Sounds as of sur^'es on a shingly heacli, Or multitudinous niunnnrs of a crowd; With snmc mysterious gift of tongues endowed, Thou speakest a different dialect to each ; To me a language that no man can teach, Of a lost riice, long vanished like a cloud. For underneatli thy sliadc, in days remote, .Seated like Ahraham at eventide Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown Apostle of the Indians, Eh"ot, wrote His Bihle in a lan^'uage that hath died And is forgotten, save by thee alone. , i i I r I I I \ i -L part Ziyitti, T.YNN AND NAIIANT LEPxENDS. 'I I lii I; I il I'l: it! LYNN AND NAIIANT LE(iKNDS. ^piTK vivid ami lifn-liko (lesciii)tioii of the coast scenery of -L anoient .Sanf,'tis, borrowed iVom " Tli.- liridal of iViina- cook," is a most tittiii-,' introduction to our lci,'(!nds; for nowhere could a wilder or more romantic re<,'ion, or on(! omhodyini,' more strikinj,' natural traits, prepari; tlie miml for receivinj,' those weird tales which so truly ju'esent U) it the supcirstitious side of old Now Kn,<,dajul life. A wild and l)r()ken laudscaji"; spiked witli lirs, l{t)U<,'liening the lilcak horizon's nortlicrn ed^'c, Steep, cavernous hillsides, where black hendock spurs And sharp, -^rny s])liiiters of the wind-swept l(.d;,'e Pierced tlie thin-glazed ice, or bristling rose, Where the ccdd rim of the sky sunk down upon the snows. And eastward cold, wide marshes stretched awav. Dull dreary Hats without a biish or tree, O'er-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day Gurgled the waters of the moon-struck sea ; And faint with distance came the stifled roar, The melancholy lapse of waves on that low shore. ■n 128 N I'. \v - 1; N ( ; L A N I » 1. 1',( ; !•: n i »s. THE BUI DAL OF PENXACOOK. it ' !t;: i\ the " I'mdal of l'fiin;ic(Kik," Mr. Wliitticr. who is liiiusflf ill oiu'o tho product iin.l tlio poet of this r.imantic coast, tells us that lio chanced upon the mutivo of the i-oeui while poriu;^ over All old cluoiurle of border wars And Indian histotv. This was uiuUmhteilly Thomas Morton's " \ow Eii-lish ("a- ,i:,a„;'_a l„„,k whi(di the I'uritaiis indi^L^nantly denominated "seanthdous," and for whiidi they imprisoned the author a whole year, then lisniissiug him with a line. I'.ut aside from its merciless ridicude of them and their ways, its value as " Indian history" is duly certihe(l by most competent Judges, ont^ (d" whom says that Morton's description of the Indians "is su- perior to that td' most authors before his time; ; and thouoh he sometimes indulges his imagination, yet this part of his wcjrk is of exceeding great value to impiirers about the primitive inhabi- tants of New England." The poet goes on to relate, that among the ill-assorted collec- tion of books forming his landlord's library lu; found this old chronicle, wherein he read, — A story of the niarriafjc of the (Mupf Of Sauffus to the dusky Wcctaie.oo, Daughter of I'assacunaway, who dwelt In the old time ujion the Merrimack. This is the story as it is n^lated by Morton. Winnepurkit, the son of Nanapasliemet, or the New Moon, was the Sagamore of Saugus, Xaumkeag, and Massabequasdi, — now known as Saugus, Lynn, Salem, and Marhlehead. When he came to man's estate TlIK IIUIHAL Ol' I'KNNACODK. 129 tlii.s yoiin^' Siichoiii, wlio was botli viiliaiit uiul of nol)lti blood, iiiiulr choice l\)r his wit'o of tiic tliuij^litci' of Piissucoiiuway, i]n\ '^nmi chifftaiii of the tribes inhal)itin,L,' the valley of the Merri- mack. Not only was l^issaconaway a mii^'lity chief in war or peace, but ho was also the grt;atest powow, or wizard, of whom AN INDIAN riUXCKSS. WO have any account, liuleod the jjowers attributed to hiiu by the Englisli colonists would almost surr'^'^s ])elief, were they not fully vouched for by the learned and rjvei. ^ chroniclers of that day, who gravely assert that so skilled was iii. in the arts of necromancy, tliat he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, y a" 130 KKW-ENliLAiN'I) LKOENDS. j ] trees to (liiuce, v atcr to burn, aiul tin: liko marvels to appear in the (H)iu'.se of his mystical invocations. Witli the consent and good liking of this redoubtable saga- more, Winnepurkit wooed and married the daughter of Passa- conaway. Uountiful was the entertainment tluit he and his attendants received at her father's hands, iiccording to the cus- tom of his people when celebrating an event of this kiiul, and such as suited the exalted rank of tlie bride and groom. Feasting and revelry succeeded, or rather they made a part of the luiirriago solemnities, as with all ancient peoples. Tin; cere- monies being over, Passaconaway caused a select luunber of his braves to escort his daughter into the territories belonging to her lord and husband, Avhere being safely come, they were, in a like manner, most hospitably entertained by Winnepurkit and his men, and wlien tliey wen; ready to depart, W(U'e generously rewardinl with gifts for their loving care and service. 'Not long afterward the newly wedded princess was seized with a passionate longing to revisit once again her native country, and to behold once more the face of the mighty chief, her father. II(!r lord listened to her prayer, which seemed reasonable enough, and he therefore, in all love and kindness for her welfare, chose a picked body from among his most trusted warriors to conduct his lady to her father, to Avhoin they with great respect presently brought her safe and sound ; and then, after being graciously received and as graciously dismissed, tliey returned to give an account of their errand, leaving their princess to continue among her IViends at her own good will and pleasure. After some stay in her old home by the beautiful mountain river, the lady signi- ii('(l i,cr desire to go back to her husband again, upon which Pas- saconaway sent an embassy to Winnepurkit with order to notify him of this w'sh on her part, ami to request that the Sachem of Saugus, his son-in-law, miglit at once despatch a suitable guard to escort his wife back through the wilderness to her home, T3ut AVinnepurkit, strictly standing for his honor and reputation as a chief, bade the messengers to carry his father-in-law this answer : " That when his wife departed from him, he caused t^ il 1 1 THE BRIDAL OF TENXACOOK. i;u ■J >i his own raon to wait upon lier to lior fiitlier'.s territories, as did become him ; ])iit now that slio had an intent to return, it ilid become her father to send lier back with a convoy of his own people; and that it stood not witli Winnc'purkit's reputation either to make himself or his men so servile as to fetch her again." Thereupon the old sachem, Passaconaway, was niucli incensed at having this curt answer returned to him liy one whom he considered at most only a jK'tty chief and a vassal; and being moreover sadly nettled to think that his son-in-law shoiUd pre- tend to give him, Passaconaway, a lesson in good-breeding, or did not esteem him more highly than to juake this a n)atter for negotiation, sent back this sharp rejjly : " That his daughter's blood and birth deserved more respect than to ])e slighted in such a manner, and therefore if he (W'inuepurkit) would have her company, he were best to send or come for her." The young sachem, not being willing to undervalue himself, and being withal a man of stout spirit, did not hesitate to tell his imlignant father-in-law that he must either send his daughter home in charge of his own escort, or else he might keep her ; since Wiunepurkit was, for his own part, fully determined not to stoop so low. As neither would yield, the poor princess remained with her father, — at least until Morton, the narrator, left the country; but she is supposes to have finally rejoined her haughty spouse, though in what way does not appear in the later relation before us. She was no true »voman, however, if she failed to discover a means to soften the proud heart of Wiunepurkit, who after all was perhaps only too ready to accord to her tears and her entreaties what he had so loftily refused at tlu; instigation of a punctiliousness that was worthy of the days of chivalry. The poet has made a most felicitous use of this story, into which are introduced some descriptions of the scenery of the ;^[errimack of exceeding beauty and grace. The poem has, however, a more dramatic ending than the prose-tale we have just given. In the poem the heart-broken and deserted bride of rr. 132 NEW-ENGLANI) LKdENDS. I.; Pennacook at last dctcnninu.s to brave the perils of tla- swollcni iuul turbid Mei'riiuack aluue, tu seek tlu; wigwam of her dusky husband. Stealing away from her coin].aiuons, she launches her frail canoe upon the bosuni <-)f the torrent, and is instantly swept by it, — Down the vexed centre of that rusliiug tide, The thick lui^^e ice-blocks ihreuteniug either side, T))e i'oaui-white rocks of Anio.skeag in view, Willi arrowv swiftness — Down llie white rapids like a son- h'af whirUid, On tile sharp rocks and itih'd-up ices luuled, Empty and broken, circleil the canoe In the vexed pool below— Ijut where was Weetamoo ? THE PIRATES' GLEN. THE year 1G58 was signalized in New England by a great earthquake, Avhich is mentioned in some of the old cln-on- ieles. Connected with this convulsion, which in the olden time was regarded as a most signal mark of the ilispleasure of Heaven, is the following story. There are, it should be said, two or three circumstances, or rather facts, giving to this legend a color of authenticity, which are of themselves suificient to create a doubt whether, after all, it has not a more substantial foundation than has generally been concede.l to it. We will- ingly give it the lienelit of this doubt ; meanwhile contenting oiu'selvcs with the statement that its first appearance in print, so far as known to the writer, was in Lewis's " History of Lynn." But here is the legend in all its purity. 'Iij[ ' ■ 1 ' 1 ! ■ ; SI V 1 THE I'lKATEs' (;li;n. 133 Some timo previous to tho great o;irtli(iuake, in the twiliglit of ii plciisaiit evciiiiig on tlic coast, a small l)ark was seen to approach the shore, i'url her sails, and drop her anchor near the mouth of Saugus Kiver. A boat was presently lowered from her sidf, which four men got into and rowed silently up the river to where it enters the hills, when they huuled, and plunged into the woods skirting the lianks. These movements had been noticed by only a few individuals ; I)ut in those early times, when the people were surrounded by dangers and wore easily alarmed, such an incident was well calculated to awaken sus- picion, so that in the course of the evening the intelligence had spread from house to house, and many were the conjectures respecting tin; strangers' business. In the morning all eyes were naturally directed towanl the shore, in search of the stranger-vessel : but she was no longer there, and no trace either of her or of her singular crew could be imind. It was af- terward learned, however, that on tlic morning of the vessel's disappearance a workman, upon going to his daily task at the Korge, on the river's bank, had found a paper running to the ell'ect that if a certain quantity of shackles, haudcull's, and other articles named were made, and with secrecy depositeil in a cer- tain place in (lie woods, which was particularly described, an amount of silver e(pial to their fnll value would be found in their stead. The manacles were duly made and secreted, in conformity with the strange directions. On the following morning tliey had been taken away, and the money left accord- ing to the letter of the promi.se ; l)ut notwithstanding the fact that a strict watch had been kept, no sign of a vessel could l)e discovered in the oiling. Some months later tlian this event, which had furnished a fruitful theme for the village gossips, the four men retr.ued, and .selected one of the most secluded and romantic spots in the woods of Saugus for their abode ; and the tale has been further embellished to tluj eflect that the pirate chief brought with him a beautiful woman. The place of their retreat Avas a deep and narrow valley, shut in on two sides by craggy, precipitous rocks, and screenetl on the others i;u N !•: \V- K N ( ; L A N I ) L KC i: N I )S. \ h ':• ■ ! u* 1 ^ \ Ity a thick growth of piin's, hi'iiilocks, lunl cellars. Tliorf was (inly (iiif Kiiiall siKit to which tins rays of the nooiulay sun could pc'iictrati'. rpoii clinihinj^ the ruilo and nearly i)orpenili(;ular steep of the cliU" on tiio ea^U'rn sitlt^ of this j^den, the eye coni- n> 'uletl a noble expanse of sea stretching' far to the south, Ixv- sii i\s a wide extent of the surroundii.„' country. No spot on the coast could have lieen l)ctter chosen for the double purpose of ooncealnient and observation. Even at this day, when th(^ nei;^']iborlioo(l has lieconu; thickly peoided, it is still a lonely and desolates jilace, whose gloomy recesses arc coiiniaratively unknown and unvisiteil. Here thi! pirates built tlaMiiselves a small hut, made a garden, and dug a well, o[ which some traces .still remain. It is suppo.sed that they also buried money here, and search has been made for it at various times, but none has ever been fouml ; and to deepen the mysttu-y, it is .said that the pirate's mistress, who is described as very pale and Iteautiful, having sickened and died, was buried hero in an unknown grave, under tli" thick shade of the pines. After a time the retr(;at of the ])irates became noised about. They were traced to their glen. Three of them were taken to England. — there being at that time no law in the Colony to punish piracy, — where it is sup- ])o.scd that they paid the jienalty for their crimes upon the gib- bet. The thiro tliiit ua it luay, it is ceitiiin that or.o of tin; carlitjst Hcttlrrs, FrunciH lii'j;iills by niuiu', cstiihlislicJ tlic first tannery in all tho colony, and li(.' may tlierofort' bu considiTcd lliu tn^^inator of that Ijranch of industry, in tho steady pursuit of which Lynn has grown to bo both rich and fanmus. When shocmaking was a trade, 1 supj)ose that nearly every man in Lynn was a shoo- MOLI, I'lTCUKR. maker ; but now, when no one person makes a whole boot or a whole shoe, the trade, as a trade, has degenerated. Two of tho noblest men that America has produced have graduated from tho shooniaker's bench. The jjoet Whittier once followed this huniljle calling, until he found his higher vocation ; and the philanthro- ])ist, "William Lloyd Oarrison, once worked at tho l)ench here in Lynn. This ancient handicraft is therefore by no means with- out some very honorable traditions. But Lynn is likely to be celebrated throughout all time as hav- ing been the residence of the most successful fortune-teller of her ■m MOLI, I'lTCIIKK. lay (lay aiul gonoration, — wo mij^'lil ul.su any of whom we Imvo any uccdimt in in\slR';il loiv, ancient or niuilorn. Whilo she livoj HJic was witlKiiil a rival in iicr peculiar art, ami the prophetic words that slio let I'all were ea[)al)le of l)eing transmuted into gold. She it is that one of our native poeta has in mind when he is singing ~ too .'^oon, wt! think, — a re(piiem over the last witch of his native land. Ildw liiis >«'ew England's romance tied, Even as a vision of the morning ! Its rites foredone, — its guardians dead, — Its priestessi's, lierel't of dreail, Waking tlie veriest urchin's scorninj,' .' Gone like the Indian wizard's yell And lire-dance round the ma,!^'ic rock, Forgotten like the Druid's spell At moonrisi: liy his IkiIv oak! No more alun^; the shadowy ^den Glide the dim ^diosts of niurdere(l men ; No more the umpiiet churchyard dead Glimpse upward from their turly l)ed, Startling liie tiaveller, late and lone ; As, on some id^lil of starless weather, They silently conumme together. Each sitting on his own heailstone ! The roofless house, decayed, deserted, Its living tenants all dejiarted, No longer rin^s willi nudnii^lit revel Of witch, or ghost, or j,fi)l)lin evil ; No jiale hlue (lame sends out its flashes Through creviced roof and shattered sashes! — The witch-,L,'rass round the ha/id spring May sharply to the ni.L;lit-air sing. Rut there no more shall witlujred hags Refresh at ease their liroomstick nags, Or taste those hazel-shadowed waters As heverage meet for Satan's daughters ; No more their minuc tones he heard, — The mew of cat, — the chirp of hird, — r 140 nkw-i:N(;lami i,i;(;f.niis. shrill lih'tuliii},' willi llu' h(iar»»i'r liuij^litiT Of till- IVIl i1l-iii()Ii tulldwiii^' al'Utrt Evfii slic-, iiiir Kwii wi'inl hcroiiu', Sole I'vtllii|it-s uf uiicit'llt liVnil, Slicps ciliiily wluic till' liviii;,' laid ber ; Ami the widr realm dl' sorci-rv, lifi'l liy its latest mistress iVee, Math tuuiul no ''rav aiul skilled iiivadur. ir III It was once said (d' Na]i()le(iii that lie lel'i a l'amil\', hut no 8ii(!c('ss(ir. M(dl Pitcher left iKiiii! ill her wtiiiderl'iil ;^iri of t'ons- tcdliiij,' the lilt lire hy practising' palmistry, <»r by simply ga/ing into tlio hottom <>!' a teacup. She was therefore no Si(lro[)hel, Yot even tlie most incredulous were compelled to admit her pro- dictions to be wiiolly unaccountable ; while those who came to laugh went away van([uished, if not fully cuiivinced. What is singular is that her reputation has ratbcr increased than dimin- ished with time. We have no account of her dupes, nor is then; any " Exposure " extant. It follows that the spot where for so many years Moll Pitcher so successfully practised her art is the one to which the stranger lirst asks to l)e directed. .Shoulil he happen to stray a litth- way out of the more crowded part of the city, his attention would at once be arrested by a remarkable diif of dull red porphyry rising bigh above the house-tops, tliat has apparently detached itself from the broken hill-range which skirts the coast, and has elbowed its way into the plain, thrusting the houses aside out (jf its path, until it almo.st divides the city in twain. Tligb Rock, as it is called, is to Lynn what the Citadel is t(j Quebec, — you look down, and see at a glance all the out-iloor life of the plact; ; you look up, and see the blue arch of the sky springing from the rim of the ocean. The following poetical description of the ravishing view of sea and shore unrolled from the summit of High Kock naturally takes precedence of our own : — MOM. riTCIIKU. 141 llKill KOCK. r.I,lZAlil.Tn F. MKUUILL. OvKHi.ooKiNd till' town ot liynn, So I'ar ultDve tliiit llui city'n ltii«ls with tlic licavy mar Of till! bmikiT^ .ilnii-.' till' .iirviii',' .■^liorc, aourreil ami I'urn.wcil ami j,'Lui»!i-Muumi't.l, Back ill the a^,'cs so loii;,' a;,'o, Till' holdcHt i>hilos{iiiliL'r m-viT iln-auiuil To I'oiiiit the fi'iitmic.V fl)l> and How, SlamU a mck with its ^ray oM lace Kiistwaiil. cvir turiuMl to the plm'c Where hrst the rim of the :niii i.s seen, — Whenever the morning' sky is hri^'ht, — Cleavin-,' the ^,'listenini,'. f^'lamin;,' slieen Of the sea with ,'<;eil I'aeu, Or iiestlin,:^' lovin;;ly at his base. Stand on his i'onhead, hare and brown, Send your },'aze o'er the roofs of the town Away to the line so faint and luiuaf,'e laves — What time the Suiiimei's 1,'reeniiess lingers Within thy siniiieil and sheltered n(ji»ks, And the yreeii \iue with twining lingers Creeps u[) and down thy hanging rocks ! Around — the Idue and level main — Above — a sunshine rich, as fell, Lright'ning of old, with golden rain, The isle Ajudlo loved so well ! — And fur olf, dim and beautiful The snow-white sail and graceful hull. Slow, dii)ping to the billow's swell. 15right spot ! — the isles of Greece may share A liowery earth — a gentle air ; — The orange-bough may blossom well In warm Bernuida's sunniest dell ; — But fairer shores and brighter waters, (jiuzed on by purer, lovelier daughters, Beneath the light of kindlier skies, The Avamlerer to the farthest bounil Of peopled Earth hath never found Than thine — New England's Paradise ! h Mrs. Sigouruey follows in tho samo strain of unstinted praise : — NAHANT. Rude rock-bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed. The iron shoulders of thy furrowed cliffs, Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force Resist the scourging wave. Bright summer suns In all the fervor of their noontide heat Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage. 1 ■ ■ ■ ■j 150 ni:\v-i:n(;lani) legends. The Btonu-cloml i> lliy ^luvy. 'I'lu'ii, tliuii (leck'st Thysuir willi iiiajc'sty, iiiul U> ils liowii And voice ol' thumler, unswercst liuldly hack, Anil IVdui tliy waicli-towcis luur.st thu blinding Hpmy, W'liilc every dark ami linllow cavern sminds ItH Irunipcl lur llic Imllle. \'el t is .sweet Amid thy lissurud rocks to rnniinuU", Marking; tliy ;j;rott()s witli niosiiic paved or i;lilterin^ pebhles, and lliul halm to breathe 'Which ;j;ives the elastic nerves a freer play, And tints the lan^'uid clieel' ' a lines ol' health. The sand-beuch and the sea ! Who can divine Their myslit; interconr.se, that day and iiijj,iiL Surceaseth not / On comes tin; thnadering snrge, Liftinj,' its mountain-head, with menace stern, To whelm the unresist inn^ ; but impelled In all the plenitude ol' kin^dy power To change its purpo.se of authority, Ei'i'aking its wand of might, doth hurry back ; And tlien, repenting, with new wrath return. Yet still that single, silvery line abides, Lowly, and fearless, and immutable. God gives it strength. So may he deign to grant The sand-line oi ouv virtues power to cope With all temptation. When .some secret .snare Doth weave its meshes mund our trembling souls, That in their frailty turn to him alone, So may he give us strength. There is a good road over the Long Beach ; but when tlio tide is nearly down, a liroad esplanade of .sand beckon.s us a.sido from the cmhankmeiit overwhicdi that i.s now built. Tloro is a cour.so such as no liomaii charioteer ever drove upon. Hero the heavy farm-carts that are gathering seaweed leave scarcely a print of their broad-tired wheels. Stamp upon it with the foot, and see n^ NAUANT LKliKNDS. 151 how hard autl liriii it is ; or smile at the li;,'htiiiii^' it t'liiits uiitlcr thu iiuitiK't, — your childliooil's wuihUt. Wi; pass over half an iicru of sand, inoiddcd in the impress of little wavelets that have left their print like cunning,' ehiselling or like masses of sandy hair in crimp. Thero behind a iliimp nf meks crouches a sports- man, who is patiently waitin;,' for twili;^ht to come, when the black ducks and coots ily over ; thosi^ stooping tii^ures auKJii^' the nx'ks are not treasure-seekers, but clam-dii^'^'crs. Having crosseil the Long iJeach, wt! botakt; ourscdvos again to tho road which winds urouiul the shon! (jf Jjiltle Nahant to a second beach, half a mile lotig. Wo again leave this Ijchind, to climb the rocky ascent of the greater jn'omontory, then finding oiu'sidves ill the long street of the village. Nahant is t(Mn]>ting to artist or antiquary, but c'sp(!cially so to tlu; man of roiincd literary tastes, who knows iio greater ciijoynn'iit than to visit the spots consecrated by genius. In Jonathan dohnson's house Longfellow partly wrote " Hiawatha ;" and here, at Nahant, was also the birthplace of the "Hells of Lynn," whicli the poi^t heard, Borne on tlie evening wiiul across tjie ciimsou twilight. And we too hoar their musical vibrations, softened hy the dis- tance, lingering lovingly in the air, and we can see as in our own memories the pictures to which his matchless verse gives life : Tiic fisherman in liisboat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, Bells of Lynn ! Over tlic shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at yom- call, O ]5ells of Lynn ! The distant lighthouse heai.s and with his llaming sij^mal Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn ! And down the darkening coas,, run tlie tumultuous surges, And claj) their hands, and sliout to you, O Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations. Ye summon u]> the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn ! And startlctl at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and then are still, Bells of Lynn! r 152 Ni:\v-r.N(;i,AM) i,K(;i:\iis. Tlic "Laililcr of St. Augustinf" ainl otlu-r of liin lyrics in which the iictiiiil jncsi'iicu of tho hciv in h'lt by thn nvuhfr wore also writtt'ii here iiiiiKm- its iiilhicncc, for Loii<,'ft'li(i\v is alwuys niovcil by it to 11 pilch of iii;^h-\vroii;,'ht cniotioii — to a Icind of s|i((oclih'ss Hpccch — which only tlic iiiiprcssililc naturfs knows. In th« " Dt'dicatiun " to liis Scasithj vorsos ho ^Ivum us this key to thia t'.\(|iiisite spiritual .soii.siliility, — I ; i Tliorcforc T li(i|)(' to Join your s('nsitinj,' with intrusive talk The yraiul, majestic Hymi>honiurt of ocutm. And in tho opening,' stanza of " Tlus Socrot of the Soa" ho fraidy ascending the rise of ground beyond the ILdlow we may see the roof of the cottage where Prescott, who died, like I'etrarch, in his (diuir, worked at *' FM'rdi- nand and Isabella," the "Conquest of :\Ie.\ico," and " Philip II," On the point beyond us, assisted by his gifted wife, Agassiz produced " Prazil." Willis, Curtis, Mrs, Sigourne\', and an admiring host of lesser celebrities who liavc felt its magnetic influence, celebrate Nahant in prose or verse. The residence of such eminent representatives of American literature could hardly fail to impress itself upon the social character of a place ; but it has also made this little peninsula one of the best, remem- bered spots of American ground to scholars of the Old World who have visited it. And the privilege of traversing her rocky :" .t K ^ \ \ N AHA NT LKiiKNDS. ioli I *f 4 I I shores, with Lnnj,'folli i\v or Agassiz for a guiilc, was indeed some- thing to he rcnicniliircil. Tlie Hollow Het-nirt tiiu |iroiu!r stiuidpoint i'or a Itrici' gliinco at the history of Muliiiut, down to tlm tinm wlicii it ht'cunio the retreat of eiilturc, rctinenient, and wciiitli. Naliant (the twins) is a mtisieal Indian name tiint trips liglitly from tlie tougne. On tlie map it loolts like the wyvern of lieraldry, hang- ing to the coast l>y its tail. It was sold ]»y Pocpianiim, a saga- more, in KJ.IO, to the Lynn settlers, who used it in common as a pasture. Pu'ing to all intents an islaml, or rather two ishmds, at liigh tide, it wati named thts FuUerton Isles, in 1G14, hy Captain Smith. It had been granted in 1G22 to Cai)tain iJobert (Jorges ; hut his title seems to have lapsed, and not to have been suc- cessfully revived. Tniltfr the rule of Aiulros, his favorite, Uan- dolph, tried to steal it. The price originally paid for Nahant was a suit of clothes ; it lias now a tax-roll of six and a half millions. In the earlier accounts given of them, the two pen- insulas appctar to have been well wooded ; l)ut, in common with all the coast islands, the natural forest long ago disappeared, and Nahant remained almost treeless, until Thomas II. Perkins, a wealthy Boston merchant, planted several thousand shail(!-trees. His efforts to make Nahant a desirable summer residence were effectively seconded by Frederick Tudor, the ice-king, by Cor- lU'liiis C'ofdidge, and other men of wealth and taste. Its name and fame began to resound abroad. A hotel was built in ISIU, and a steamboat began to ply in the sunnner months Ix'tween Boston and the peninsulas. In 1853 Nahant threw off her alkigiance to Lynn, and became a separate tOM'ii. Her earlier freciuenters were, with few exceptions, wealthy Boston or Salem families, and they continue to possess her choicest territories. Since the great hotel was destroyed by fire in 18G1, there is only the modest hostelry of Mr. Whitney for the reception of casual guests. This was one of five houses the i)eninsula con- tained seventy odd years ago, and was the former homestead of the Breed family, who, with the Hood and Johnson families, were sole lords of the isles. Though there has been an " inva- 1:4 m:\\'-i;n(;i,ani» lkcknus. I Hut .siiiii," tlicri' iii'vcr has bot'ii 11 *'con(|iU'st." Tin' N'almiiU'.sn wlm art( " native liciv, and to the niaiiinr horn," rlin^' to wlial is Id't of their fiiicienl |ialiininiiy with uiiyifMini,' ^'rasp. Wuniler wht'iv thi'v may, tlicy always eoiiic l)ai;k luro to tlie. One of theni, who hail ivl'iiscd teiiiiitiiix oilers fur his laml, saitl to uje, " Ihic I was li(prii, hen^ is my hdiiie, and here I mean to uhide." 'I'lio admiiahly kopt roads leail whert! the most cnga^^iiij^ Hoa-vicws are to he had. Von jcini over a railing ami look down (ii^^hty feel t(j the hottom of 11 eove, where tile sea ripples with- out Itrcaking, and thu dean, Hmootli p(!l)hles chase liaek tlie relhient wavo witii noisy chatter. Tho tiiwny rocks wenr contn of ^ras.s-|,'reen velvet; the porfnnie of sweet-fern and of ej^lantino is in the air. Tho clitfs of tho eaatern headland are very lino. It takes one's lireath away to witness the rush and roar of tho eternal snr^'es anmnj,' tli"ir iron ril)s ; yet the effect seems littlo more than wonld he jirodiiced hy a hnngry lion liekin;,' the bars of his ea|i,'e. In a few instances, such aa Castle Kmk and tho J)evil's I'ulpil notably present, the rocks arise in re;,'ular castel- lated nia.s.ses ; hnt in general they are as nnicli tlir^ expression of chaos of form as we might expect to scm' in tiie broken anhes and colonnades of the earth's foundations. Jleing pilciied about in fantastic yet awful confusion, they present curious ac.\tri'iiii* puiiit of Cii|ii> Ami; of tilt' Solltll Sliniv I'lnlll S(ill|;itc tu lli'stnli I,i;,'llt, U ttlciiilcr, .sliiijicly, ami iiiiiiiUii like tnwi r hcI nn a lialt'-.>iiiliiii* r^^i'il 1('(|;^M> lit tlif i-iitraii('(t to Hii.Htoii ll.irl)or. On a dcai day tliu dii.-iky K>'iiy pillar nf Minot'rt Li;;lit, aiii)iiii' luiU's away, Till' lii;,'lillioii,-v iii^'lit, of doiul l»y ihiy. And cndin;,' — "Sail on !" it says, "sail cm, vc stalely ships ! Ami with your lloatin^,' liriil;,'e the ocean span : I5(,' niine to ;.'iiaiil this li^rjit fioiii all eclipse, lie youis to hrin;^; man nearer unto man ! " Lon<,'i'ello\v'3 summer resiih^nee was upon the soiilhern whore, which is loss precipitous, Imt more sheltered from the hleak winds, tluvu the northern shores are. " It is a honse of uinplo si/e, with wide vi'iainlas, and is surrounde(l with such shnihhery as the unsparing' winds that sweep th(i peninsula alluw," When, lifter the appearance of " Nooks and Corners of the New Klijf- land Coast," the writer called upon him, the puet said, " Ah ! hut why did you leave Nahant out in the ooKU" And he urged him to repair the omission without delay. Preseott also lived on the southern shore, on a rocky point not far from the Swallows' Cave, named by him "Fitful Head." Agassi/.' cottiiK*', on the contrary, is on the north shore. It is a modest, though not unpicturesipie building, all upon the ground, and was probably better suited to tlm groat seientist's simple tastes than were the handsom<^ villas of his eminent literary neigh- bors. Possibly it may have reminded him in some sih;nt way of his fatherland.- -"the beautiful Pays du Vaiid." It is to '( I V ■ 15G NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Agasriiz dead that this touching apustruphc is adih'ossed hy his fi'ioiid LungfuUow, wlio is S(j rarely a (questioner of fate, — I stiuul ngiiin on the I'aniiUar shore, And hear the waves of tlie dislrju'ted sea I'iteousiy (•ailing and lamenting thee, And waiting restless at thy cottage door. Till! roi'ks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor, The willows in the meadow, and the free Wild winds of the Athmtic widcome me ; Then why ahouldst thou 1)e liead, and conic no more i Ah, why shouldst thou he di;ad when common men Are busy with their trivial affairs. Having and holding I Why, when thou hadst read Nature's mysterious maiuiscript, and then Wast ready to reveal the truth it hears. Why art thou silent >, V.liy shouldst thou he dead / THE SEA-SERPENT. Jlayliap jou all liavo heard to tell Of the woiulerful sea-snake. — Oi.n Ballad. rpiIEKE is one topic with which the annals of Xahant are -J- inseparably associated that Ave feel a natural diffiilence in approaching, yet cannot in conscience ignore, and that is the sea-serpent. Words are inadequate to ('escribe the wide-spread consternation -which the apparition of such a monster created among tl. : hardy population of ()ur Xew Englaiul seaboard ; for he was soon perceived to [tossess none of the attributes of a sportive and harmless iish, but to belong strictly to the reptile tribe ! And Avliat a reptile ! The most exaggerated reports of his length prevailed throughout all the fishing towns of Cape Ann, and up and doM-n the length of the coast. One skipper swon that ho was as long as the mainmast of a seventy-four; another would eat him if the steeple of Gloucester' nieetingdiouse THE SKA-.SEKl'ENT. ir.7 could hold a candle to liiiu I'or leiiytli ; still another declarod iipou his solemn " alhdavy " that, having sighted the shaggy head of the snake early in the morning, witli a stilt' six-knot hreeze, and everything full, he had been lialf a glass in overhauling liis snakeship's tail, as he lay motionless along the water. For a time nothing else was talked of but the wonderful sea- snake, which was repeatedly seen in Gloucester Bay in August, 1817, and occasionally also in the waters of Xahant Bay, by hundreds of curious spectators, who ran to the beaches or pushed olF in boats at the first news of his approach. There 1 r-^r EGG KOCK AND THE SEA-SERPENT. wa- not a fishwife along thirty miles of coast who did not shako in her shoes when he was reported i!i the offng. It is needless to say that his snakeship was not molested by any alert customs' officer, but "entered" and "cleared" at each port at his owji good will and pleasure. But as time wore on, and the serpent's pacific, even pusillanimous, disposition became evident, courage revived ; and thougli the fish was a strange one, the fishermen determined, with characteristic boldness, on his capture. Stimidated, also, by the large reward offered for the serpent, alive or dead, vessels Avere fitted out, manned by expert whales- i' { I! ! V 158 NKW-KXCLAN'I) LF.CKN'DS. iiii'ii, wliicli cruised in tln' bay. The ivveime vessel tlien on the station was ordered to keep a vigilant look-out, and .she kept lier giiii.s double-shotted i'or action. Nets Avere also spread in his snakeship's accustomed haunts, and one adventurous I'ellow, who had approached so near as to see the white of his glittering eye, emptied tin; contents of a dnckhig gun into the inon,ster's head. But he seemed to bear a charmed life ; and having easily eluded his pursuers, derisively shook the spray of ^'ahant Bay from his tail ere he disappeared in the tlepths of the ocean. Since this time the gigantic ophidian has from time to time revisited ^'ahant, and strange tidings have lately come of him from other climes. But it is clear that his stutl'ed skin was n(!ver destined to adorn the walls of a museum, and it is doubtful if ho will ever know other jiickle than his native brine. The tradition associating the sea-sevpMit with Nahant is of very early date. John dosselyn, (lent., who was here in 1G38, is the lirst to mention this monster, lie says that one was seen " ([Uoileil up on a rock at Cape Ann " by a passing boat, and that when an Englishman would liave lire" it iiim, an Indian hastily prevented his doing so, saying that it would bring tliem ill luck. It is our privilege to rescue this poetic waif dedicated by the poet Brainard to the wandering nmnster of the deep : — j ] \ if ' i i ■ ^ SONNET TO THE SEA-SERPENT. J. G. IJKAIXAllI). Hugest tliat swims tliu ocean stream. Welter upon the w.aters, mighty one. And stretch thee in the ocean's trough of brine ; Turn thy wet scides up to the wind and sun, And toss the billow from thy flashing tin ; Heave thy deep lireathings to the ocean's din. And b(;und ujion its ridges in thy pride ; Or dive down to its lowest depths, and in . TIJE I'LoritK (IF SorVKNANCK. ir.o The caverns when; its unkiii»\vii ministers liidc, Measiuv thy h'Uglh liencatli the (iu!l' Stieaiii lide Or lest thee oil the uavel (if that sea Where, lliiatiug s. ■ t 3 M V ; ■ >i ^h I I Possessed witli tliis purpose, wliicli liad now becoiuo tlio solo motive of his life, the yoiiiig iniin secured a passajfc in a vessel ■\vliii;li was to sail iu two days for Legiiorii. He then returneil to Nahant in ordta- to spend the few hours reiuaininy to him in the society of his betrothed. It was the last evening, and the young couple were wandering over the l)row of the heailland where they had so often walked before, and whence the long leagues of glittering sea had always seemed so beautiful, and the l)reeze and the billows so invigor- ating and elevating to tliem. Both were silent. Unknown to each other, they were musing upon the (piestiou that has dis- tracted so many minds, — the serpent in their Eden, — Since we are so happy, wliy should we be separated ! But the sullen dash of tlie waves at their feet Avas their only response. They clung to eacli otlier and dreamed on. WJiile standing thus on the edge of the cliff, a strange fancy came into the lover's head. Why it is that in moments of su[)reme trouble the merest trilles should force tliemselves uppermost in our minds, we do not pretend to explain, Tlui young man sutldenly recollected one of the local traditions, run- ning to the etfect that the lady wlio shoukl receive from her lover's hand tlie Floure of Souveuance, or Forget-me-not, grow- ing oidy in one lonely spot on the little island before them, would remain forever constant. " Let me give y(ju one more proof of my love, dear Alice, before we part, and let it be the llower plucked from the summit of yonder rock that lies there before us," he gayly said, feeling that she would divine his puri)ose. '■ I re([uire no new proof of your affection, " she replied ; " Init do as you will." Unobserved by the lovers, tlK sea was steadily rising, and upon the distant coast the rote was growing every moment more ominously distinct. Tlie young man was much too in- tent, liowever, upon his ol)ject to notice these warning signs ; in his present frame of mind he would gladly have braved even greater dangers in order to gratify his mistress. He ran THE FLOUKE OK SOUVENANCE. 101 li,i;hlly ilowii tin; loi.'ks to wliero his bout wii.s auchorod, iiiul in ii moiiiciit iiiiiiv, luiL'dlt.'s.s of the wiirniiii; vdicis ol' a slningor, had soalwl hiiiihoU' at tlu', hehu, and wa.s muuiiling tho iucumiiig waves on his way tu Kj^;,' Kock. '• Wait tor till', next ti(h'," sshoutod the wanuiig voice, " or I will not answer for your safety I" "The next tide," niunuured the yomig man, " will hear me far from her; it is now or luiver," waving his hand to Alice on the clilf. Aliec; watehe(l hini in a kind of stupor; she had heard tho voice. " My (iod ! " sho murmured with white lips, "what have 1 donei" '["he adventurous young man, however, reached the ro(^k in safety, climbed its rugged side, and stood at length on its sum- nut. He was soon .seen to come down to the shore again, to loosen his .sail, unmoor, anil stand bolilly for Nahant. All tliis was seen from the clilf. Alicti had not stirred from tho spot where he had left her. lint from moment to moment tho rising wind and tide, swell- ing in angry chorus, rendered the passag(s more and morii peril- ous. In vain tho intrepid voyager tried to hold Ins course ; the little boat .seemed to lie at their mercy. Now it sank down out of sight, ami now it struggled up again to the summit of a billo rolling heavily in and .shaking th(! foam from its maui'. It soon became unmanageable, drifting helples.sly toward tho rocks. The s(!as drenched it, tho darkness closed around it ; but as it came nearer and nearer, tho lookers-on could see tins young man still grasping the helm as if buoyed up by the hope of steering to some opening among tho rocks Avliere ]u\ might safely land. At one momimt it seemed as if ho would succeed ; but in another tho boat was swallowed up by a breaker that crushed it like an egg-shell against the rocks, at the feet of the si)cctators. Tho next day the body was recovered ; in its clenched and stiifonod baud was the fatal Forget-me-not. 11 p nil i I t ^ I r ; iii r 162 NEVV-ENGLANL) LEGENDS. s SWAMPSCOTT BEACH. WAMPSCOTT i.s a .succossiuii of lianl .saud-boaclios and rocky, picliinvs(iii(' hijadlaiuls, tVirmiii^' M'itli Nuliant, Naliaiil Bay. It was ruriiici'ly, as \vu iviuiiiuhor, a part of Lyiiii ; and so clust'ly avi) tlicy united to-day, that it wotilil ro(|uiii! a siirvcsyor to tell wlicro tli(! OHO ends of tlif, otliia- l)o;j,ius. In niakini,' a lour of tlic shores ono crosses successively King's Ijcacli, Whale J5each, and IMiillips jjeach, — all of whitdiare the summer playground of the niuUitudes who iutiiat season come hero for health or recrea- tion, or for both. The high and glittering shore swe(![)s graceiully around toward the east, far out into the ocean, until it is frittered away in a cluster of foam-crested ledges that lie in treacherous ambuscade at its extreme point. That curving shore is rhillips Point, and the reef is Dri'ad Ledge. There is a handsonus villa or cottage for every eU^vated site along the two mih's of shore. The extremity of Phillips Point is a wicked-looking shore, and Dread Ledge is the synonymo for danger to the mariner. The surrounding waters are thickly sown with half-submerged rocks, ■which in the delirium of a gale seem rooted in hell itself. Here, in January, 1857, the ill-fatt;d 'fcdcsco was swalloM'ed up, with every soul on board ; and such was the mastery of the tempest over things terrestrial, that the disaster was not known in the neighboring village until the following day. Fn that memorable gale the sea inundated the marshes, swept unchecked over its ordinary barriers, and heaped a rampart t)f frozen surf upon the beaches, in Avhich the broken masts of Avrecks were left sticking. Streets and roads were so blocked up by immense snowdrifts, that all travel was suspended for several days. The ponderous anchors of the Tedesco were found lying, wdiere the seas had thrown them, upon the top of a rock ; and they were all that I 1 I I HWAMI'SCOTT nKACH. 163 f I was left to toll the talc, for not a vostign n|' tlic hull iciiKiiiicil. Auolhor vessol was aftenvanl wrrckcd liurc ; hut, hciug (h-ivcii nearer the land, her crew, one by unc, walked to the shore over the l)()Wsprit. Swani|iseott was, and sldl is, a typical Xew-Kngland lisliin,!,'- villa,L,'e ; that is its true estate. 'i"he summer visitors arc mere liinls of iiassa;;-e ; Ijut the men who are native liere pursue tlieir hazardous calliug the whulc year through. Nothing can he more curious than to .see the old life of a place thus preserveil in the midst of the wealth and fashion that have grown up around it and oversliadowed it. iJut in this fact we think lies one great charm of such a jilace. There is no ililUculty wliatever in placing the scene of Haw- thorne's "Village Tucle" here. That sketcli is in truth only a series of pictures of the .surroundings and of the plain lislierfolk, taken from life, to which, from the snug clnmni'y-corner of a fisherman's luunble cottage, the garrulous olil '* Tni'le" adds his own storti of gossip ami of seadore. Hear liim : — "Toss on an armful of tliose dry o:ik-(Iiips, — tlic last relics of tlie ' Mermaid's' knee-timliers, the liones of your namesake, Susan. Higher yet, and clearer, he tlie blaze, till our cottage windows glow llie rud- diest in the village, and the liglil of our hiiu^elinl 1 iniilli liasli far across the bay to Naliaiit. " Xow, Su.san, for a sober picturi' of our village I It was a small collection of dwelliii;.;s that scenu'd to have 1)eeu casl u[i by the .sea, with the rock-weed and marine plants that it vomits after a storm, or to have come ashore among tlie iiijie-slaws and other lundier which had been washed from the deck of an Kastern schooner. There was just space fertile narrow ;ind s.indy street between the beach in front and a precipitous hill that lilte(l its rocky forehead in the rear, atnong a waste of junii)er-bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture. The village was ]M(tures(|U(! in the variety of its edifices, though all were rude, llo'e stood a litth; old hovel, Ijuilt perhaps of driftwood ; there a row of boat-houses ; and beyond them a two-story dwelling of dark and weatherbeaten aspect, — the whole intermi.xed with one or two snug cottages painted white, a sufticiency of pigsties, and a shoe- maker's shop." 16-4 N KVV-ENGL AN I ) LEUK.VDS. J!y tli(! siiiiii) fiiinily n,'st'iiil)liiuco is JMiilip.s Moiicli rocognizod as the scL'Uo (if those waywiirtl rovoiioa, '* Footprints on thu Slu- .shore,"' in whicli this aiitlior thinks uh)ii(l, rather than talks, liclrayin^' the old truant inipulso which occasionally mastered him to <^vt away from that world in which it is tnio ho lived and moved, hut couhl hanlly be said to liave had his being. We lure find him in (jne of his own creation. i •I I I i putt f ourtl). SALEM LEGENDS. I.'l .1 1 t 1 lil^! i I l>^-^i^^*^,,,^ ^ , SALKM LI-XIENDS. I IX Xow Eiifiland no town except Plymouth tiikos pronodonoo of Siilciii ill tlm onlcr of wuttltunont, — a fact of Avliicli licr citizHiis art) iiaturally a.s prouil as an old faiuily is of its pcdi^troo goiiiy hack to tho Conquest, or th(! Creation. And really, in the creation of the J'liritau Coinnionwoalth, one represents tho First Day, and the other the Second. The political and commercial fortunes of Salem have btMin sinijularly alike. TiOf^er Conant. the founder, and li>ader of a forlorn hope, was (;clipsed hy Kndicott, who was in turn over- shadowed by Winthrop, — a man quick to .see that no place mms lar^e enough to contain three <,'overnors, two of them deposed, one in authority, and all ambitious to lead the Puritan van,i,aiard in the 4 % ^-' €^< W- W.r i< C/jL (/. 1.0 I.I 1.25 IIIM 11 2.5 2.0 .8 lA mil 1.6 "/a .V ■^ ^^1. •S^^ •ft &< y>- w. \ 168 new-englanj) legends. wliere there were not ships flying like a swarm of industrious bees to every far sea and clime, — an importance so great, in- (k'cd, that its merchants were called King this and King that, wliilo by reason of the frequent intercourse had with th(jse "far countrees," its society took a tone and color almost Ori- ental ; yet, its greater rival again overshadowing it, most singu- larly converted Salem from a seaport of the iirst rank into a modestly flourishing place of manufactures. That side of the city representing its old eminence is paralyzed ; while the other half, although exhibiting a still vigorous life, lias no such dis- tinctive traits as Avhen Halem was the recognized mart of tiie Indies. In the cabinets of the Peabody Museum the interested visitor sees on all sides a thousand evidences of her ancient com- mercial renown, brought from the four quarters of the globe in her own ships, and the sole proofs to-day that such renown ever existed. Quite recently an embassy from tlic Queen of Madagascar arrived in the United States. In the course of their tour they visited Boston, not for the sake of anything that city could offer as a temp'tation to African cuvios'iy, but because it lay in the route to Siilem. They were particularly anxious to see Salem, wlicli is still supposed by many of the natives of Mada- gascar to be the only port of much importance in America. Story, the sculptor-poet, who, like Hawthorne, is Salein-born, commemorates these well-remembered scenes of his youth, — Ah me, how many an autumn day We watched, with palpitating breast, Some stately ship from India or Cathay, Laden with spicy odors from tlie East, Come sailing up the Bay ! I m\ ( TTnto our youthful hearts elate. What wealth besicU' their real freight Of rich material things they bore I Ours were Arabian cargoes fair. Mysterious, exquisite, and rare. m SALEM LEGENDS. 1G9 And of the old houses, " dark, gloomy, and peculiar," wherein strange things were saiil to lia\i' happened, he says : — How oft, half fearfully, we prowled Around tliosc, gabled houses quaint and old, Whosci legends, grim und terrible, Of witch and ghost that used in them to dwell, Around the twilight fire were told; While liuddled clo:ed in the former machine ; while a feUow-crinunal who had boi- i,er- ously quaffed a health to the King was ctmlined by the K'gs in the latter." But this truly Iludibrastic picture is only the grimly humo- rous ])relu(le to another of a very dillerent nature, u[)oii wliieh is founded that story of sin, remorse, and shame, " The Scarlet Letter." In the throng surrounding the culitrits just sketched for us, " There was likewise a young woman with no mean share of beauty, whose doom it was to wear tlie letter 'A' on tlie In'east of her gown, in the eyes of all the world an, the criminal convicted of incest an T, of heresy an H, and of adultery an A, sewed on the arm or breast ; and this accusing insignia was forbidden to be removetl upon pain of a severer penalty, if such a thing wei?e possible. ^Many a jxjor sinner thus wore his heart upon his sleeve, " for daws to peck ;it." The novelist, by instinct, seized upon one of the most strik- ing episodes of the hard Puritan life. The scene of his tale is laid, not in Salem, but in Boston. As we have said, the sketch of " Endicott and the lied Cross " contains the germ of this story, which afterward became in the author's hands the work generally conceded to be his greatest. Although Hawthorne makes bit slight use of the witchcraft history in constructing his " House of the Seven Gables," the opening chapter of that remarkable story shows him to have 174 NKW-EX( ;LAN'I ) LE( ; ENDS. boeii familiar with it. But iKitwitlistamliiig the fipparcnt acUuT- cnco to truth thoro, contrived with such consumiuatu art as to fix tlio iiiii)rossion in the reader's mind tliat the legend of the old I'yncheou family is derived from some authentii^ source, it will Ije better to regard the author's statement, made in his own characteristic way, " that the reader, according to his own pleas- ure, may either disregard, or allow it to float imperceptibly about tJio characters and events for the sake of picturcs(pie effect." Thus by freely availing himself of the names of actual person- ages whose history is artfully interwoven with occurrences that have really happened, and again by associating these with local descriptions of rare fidelity, the wished-for effect of solid reality is produced, ami the story proceeds on a chain of circumstantial evidence whose strength lies solely in the master-hand that fab- ricated it, link by link, from the materials of his own rich fancy. In the concluding words of his preface, the author, with singular frankness, when his [)urpose is considered, again disenthralls the minds of liis auditors of the effect which he was (piick to see that his peculiar method must inevitably produce therein, Ihit as a preface is always the last thing written, so it notoriously is the last to be read ; and thus has the author's apohigy for intro(lu- cing names which struck his fancy, iind for connecting them with scenes familiar to him from boyhood, so far failed of its pur- pose, that people still persist in prying into the antecedents of a famil}', distinguished in the early annals of New Kngland, on whose escutcheon no stain or stigma is known to rest ! After this cx[)lanation it will be scarcely necessary to observe that the words which are put into the mouth of ^Vfatthew Manlo at the moment he is ascending the M\\\ ladder, a condemned and abhorred wizard, and which form the underlying motive of the " House of the Seven Gables," — the blight of an evil destiny passing from generation to generation, — were as a matter of fact really spoken by Sarah (lood, not to Colonel Pyncheon, but to the Reverend Nicholas Noyes, who most cruelly and wickedly embittered her last moments by telling her that she was a mis- erable witch. And it was to liim she made the memorable i li SALEM LEGENDS. 175 rejily tliat " if lio took away her life, (!ud would give liiia blood to drink. " 'riicns is, howt'Vfi', leason for supjiosiiiy, .sinci! it has been so iiiimitcly described, that the house of the seveu yables was at least suggested by that of Philip English, who was near beeomiu"- a imirtvr to the witchcraft horror himself. "What is clearer still, is that the novelist has laid s('veral of the old C(jlonial houses, both in Salem and Hoston, under contribution for whatever might endjcllish his descripti(ni, which is certainly no invention, l)ut is a true picture of the early architecture even in its minutest details. Dut in such an unreal atmosphere as surrounds it, we are not sure that the house itself may not turn out to be an illusioji of the mirage created by an effort of the weird romancer's will. Its a^jpearance is thus portrayed in the opening Avords of the romance, — " There it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of the street, but in pride, n(jt modesty. Its wliole visil.le exterior was ornamented with (plaint figures, conceivoil in the grotes(|ueness of a Gothic fancy, and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, composed of lime, pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the woodwork of the wdls was overspread. On every side the seven gables pointed sharply towards the sky, and presented the aspect of a whole sisterhood of editices, breatlung through the spiracles of one great chhnuey. The many lattices, with their small, diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sun- light into hall and clwunber, while nevertheless the second story, projecting far over the base, and itself retiring beneath the third, threw a shadowy and thouj^htful gl loni into the lower rooms. Carved globes of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little spiral rod'^ of iron beautified each of the seven peaks. On the trian,sj;ular portion of the gable, that fronted next the street, was a dial, put up that very morning, and on which the sun wns still marking the y)as- sage of the first bright hour in a history that was not destined to be all so bricrht." v-r 1. 176 Ni:W-ENGLANl) LE(iKMDS. THE ESCAPE OF PHILIP ENGLISH. rr^^lIE story uf Philip English and his wile is qnitc us well _1_ worthy a romance as tho house in which thoy lived. Wo can moreover, answer I'or its strict trutli. During the time of the witchcraft delusion at the Village, the victims were in nearly every case i)eoi)le in tiie humblest walk of life. Philip Enghsh of Salem was the lirst person of superior station to be attainted by this i)ersecution, which, like a wolf that is maddeneil by the taste of blood, began to grow bolder in pursuit of its victims. Philip English bad emigrated to America trom the island of Jersey. Having found a home in the family of Mr. William Hollingsworth, a wealthy inhaljitant of Salem, he formed the acquaintance of Mr. HoUingsworth's only child, Susanna, who, as is evident from her history, besides having received from luu' father an education superior to the usual requirements of that day, possessed rare endowments of mind and person. The acquaintance ripened into mutual atfection, and in due time Philip English married the daughter of his friend and patron. He too became in time a rich and eminent mercliant. In April, 1692, the terrible accusation fell like a thuiulerbolt upon this happy home. The wife and mother was the first victim to the credulity or malignity of her neighbors. In the nio-ht the officer entered her bedchamber, read his fatal war- rant, and then surrounded the house with guards, intending to carry her to prison in the morning. Mrs. English gave herself up for lost. With supreme heroism, however, she gathered her stricken family together in the morning to its usual devotions, gave directions for the education of her chihlren, clasped them to her bosom, kissed them, and then, commending them and her- I i TlIK KSUAi'H OK I'llILIl' KNliLISII. 177 soil" to (Ji)il, biult! tlii'in liirowtjU. .Sho Wiis then takiMi by tlic sherill bcfdru the .sittiiiL; iiia^'istrutcs, IliitlioriK' mid Ciiiwi'ii, who coiumitted her tu Suh;iu jail as a svilch. Jloi' linunoss is luoinoralik'. A litlln lat(!i' her liushaiKl wu.s also iiccu.sod hy a pour htMlriihlcn crtuituif. lie concealed hiuiscli' for a time; l)ut ut lenj,'th he. oamo forward, j^ave hinisell' iij), and dt-nianded the. PinUP ENOLISH S HOUSE, SA.LKM. privilo^'e of sharing his wile's fate, 'riie two wero imiiiurod in the same dungiion to await the solemn farce of a trial. The prison being crowded to overflowing, English and liis wife were, throngh the intercession of friends, removed to the jail in Boston, wliere for six weeks they endured the dismal ])ros])ect of dying together upon the scail'old. 12 i ! { ! 17H N K\V-KN( ; LAX I ) LEGKNDS. l!iil I'tM'Uuiatcly fur tlii'iii, and in (■(hiscm (nonce, (((juhtk'.s.s, of th(f fact tliaL Mii^^lisli was a incrcliant nf imijK^rty, and a [icrsdn of known probity, lie and his unfortiinato wife were admitted to liail, lii'iug allowed the piivilei^c; of thi; town hy day, on condition of [mnotually retnrnin;^ {<> the prison at niyht, to \iv loek(!d ni» again until tlie folhtwing nioriiing. Tliough ren deriiig their condition more toIeral)le, this did not make it the less lui[ieless. They were visited in their prison hy some of the most endni'nt clergymen of the town, one of whom, the lie\ci'end Joshua Moody, — peace to his memory! — luaid festod the dee])est interest in their spiritual and temporal wel- fare. This good man, whose sound head refused to adndt the prevailing delusion, while his e(pially souiul heart tit'ed him for deeds of liiercy, like that U[ion which he was now bent, went to tlie prison on the day before JMiglish and his wife were lo be taken back to Salem for trial, and invited them to attend at pub- lic worbliip in his churcli. They went. When he ascended the pul[»it, the clergyman announced as his text this verse. Laving a i)eculiar signilieance to two (jf his hearers : " If they persecuto you in ouo city, llee into another!" In his discour.se, the preacher justified, witli manly courage and directness, any ami every attempt to escape from the forms of justice when justice itself was being violated in them. After the .service was over, the minister again visit<'d the prison- ers in their cell, and asked English pointedly whether he had detected the moaning of his sermon of the morning. English hesitating to commit himself, ]\[r. Moody frankly told him that his (»wn life and that of his wife were in danger, and that he, looking this in the face, ought to provide for an escajie without losing a moment. English could not believe it ; it was too monstrous. " God will not suffer them to hurt me," he said in this convi(!tion. " AVhat," exclaimed his wife, " do you not think that they wlio have suffered already were innocent 1 " « Yes." THK KSUArE OK I'lllLIl' KNGLISII. 179 " Why, tliL'ii, may we nut siifler also? Taki- ^[r. Moody's advice ; let us tly." To make ;iii end of thi.s ind(!ci.si(in, lu'ocecdinj^ [Vom the hnir that llight would he (juiekly construed to mean yuilt, Mr. Moody then unfolded his iilaii. lie tuhl the reluctant English that everything necessary lor his escape had heeu already [UMvided : that the (jiovernor, Sir William l'hi[)s, was in the secret, and countenanced it; that the jailer liad his instructions to open tlie prison doors ; and that, finally, all heing in readiness, at miihiight a conveyance, furnished by friends who were in the jildt, wotdd come to cany tliem away to a place of secuiity. In fact every precaution that prudence could suggest or fore- see, or that iulluence in high places could secure, had heen taken l)y this nol)l(! and self-sacriUcing Christian man in order to prevent the shedding of innocent Idood. lie procured let- ters, under Sir William's own hand and seal, to (Invernur Fletcher of X(!w York, thus j)roviding for the fugitives, lirst a safeguard, and next au inviolable asylum. Finally, he tol(. iMiglish plaiidy tliat if he did not carry his wife oif, he. Moody, would do so himself. The aifair was arranged on the spot. At the appointed time tlie prison doors were unltarred, the prisoners came out, and whiUi the solemn stillness of nndnight brotided over the aiUicted town, they lied r.jiu persecution in one city into another. (Governor Fletcher took the homeless wanderers into his own mansion, where he made them welcome, not as fugitives from justice, but as exiles fleeing from persecution. They were enter- tained as the most honored of gnests. The next year Philip Knglisli returned home. The storm of madness had jnissed by, leaving its terrible marks in many households. His own was (destined to feel its consequences in a way to turn all his joy into sorrow. \Vitliin two years from the time she was .orn from her home to answer the charge of fehmy, Mrs. Eng- lish died of the cruel treatment she had received. Mr. Moody's course was commended by all discerning men, as it deserved ; "^ r .i I ii 180 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. l)ut he I'elt the angry ro.sentnieiit uf tlic multitude, among whom s iiuo pei'sous of high rank wero included. In consecj^uenco of this perdecution he returned to his old charge at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the next year after his successful inleri)0- sition to save Mr. and Mrs. English from the executioner's uids. Sucii is the tradition long preserved in the Englisli family. I'hilip English's granddaughter hecame Susanna Hathorne, — which was the original way of spelling the name subseipiently borne hy the novelist. Nathaniel Hawthorne had thus on one side for an ancestor the implacable persecutor of those to whom he was afterward to be related by intermarriage, tlius furnish- ing the idea he has so ingeniously worked out in the "House of the Seven Gables." Having given an extract from Hawthorne's story of "Endicott anil tlie lied Cross," we may as well tell, with his help, the story itself. ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. IX 1G34 one of the newly arrived ships brought from Eng- land a copy of the commission granted to the two Arch- bishops and ten of the Council to regulate all ])lantations, to call in all patents, to make laws, raise tithes and portions for ministers, to remove and punish governors, and to hear and determine all causes and intlict all punishments, even to the death-penalty. This plenary power, the (Jolouists were advised, was levelled at them ; ships and soldiers were said to be pre- paring in England to bring over a royal governor and to give effect to the much-dreaded commission. A more distasteful piece of intelligence than this could hardly be imagined. It struck at once at the root of all their liberties, and it (juickly 11 ..f ^1 I 4? "^ KNDICOTT AM) TIIK RED CROSS. 181 CUTTING OUT THE CROSS. aroused the spirit of resistance in full vigor. The work of erect- ing fortifications was hastened. A solemn consultation between the magistrates nnd the ministers resulted in the determination to dd'end themselves against these innovations by force if there was a prospect of success, or by tem- porizing if there were none. Oidy in die fourth year of its existence, the Colony now stood on the verg(! of open rebellion ; and while thus in daily appivhension of the total sul)Vcrsion of the govern- ment, an act coming v(!ry little short of treasonable was per- formed. At the .Xovend)er court com- ])laint was made by Richard Brown, of Watertown, that the Colony flag had been defaced at Salem by cuttirig out part of the red cross. Xo action was taken at this court, but at the next, Endicott, the old goveriuu-, was vjalled upon to answer for the defacement. The cause that he alleged for the act was that the cross was the hated (>ndilem and banner of I'opery. Opinion being divided, sonut uplu)lding and others censuring, the cause was again postponed ; and in t]w meantime the newly created militury commission ordered all the ensigns to be laid aside, so that the Colony was now without any tlag at all. At the next court, which was one of election, John Haynes was chosen governor arid Richard IJcllingham deputy-governor. Endicott was left this time out of the muuber of assistant? ; and being agnin called upon to defend his mutilating the ensign, was reprimanded, and disqualilied from holding office for a year. Letters disavowing the act were written to England. To allay the excitement growing out of this affair, it was seriously proposed to substitute the red and white rose for the cross 182 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Hi 1 i! ill tlio colors. The military commission at'torwiird, in the exercise of its powers, left out th(! cross in tlie colors boriio by the Colony troojis, and caused a flag having the King's arms to be raised over the castle in Bostped, and who in the midst of her suifering« — for her tender back has felt the lash -confronts her i)erseeutors with the calm resignation of a (Christian martyr and the siiirit of ii -loan of Arc. \Vc cannot help it if much of the glamour thus thrown around the legendary tale should disappear in master ; ' and will you offer to make slaves of such harmless creatures?' " Thus Butter, notwithstanding his wicked intention, when he could get no opportunity to send them away, the winter being at hand, sent theui home again to shift for themselves." This is the account that is followed Ly Whittier in " Cassan- dra Southwick." The parents were, as we have said, banished. Josiah, who had been whipped from town to town at the cart's tail, fined, imprisoned, and finally banished, went over to Eng- land, there to give testimony against his o])prossors. But while neither the Quaker maiden nor her l)rot]ier was actually sold into bondage, it was only a few months later that the former Avas scourged upon the bare back and again committed to prison. In the poet's hands these incidents are woven into a narra- tive of deepest [)athos and fervor; and though the coloring is heightened, it will be ol)served that the inciilents themselves are nearly all true, the poet liaving arranged them to suit his OAvn fancy. The girl lies on her pallet awaiting tlie fullihnent of the r.o .iice she is to undergo on the morrow. She stands in the market-place in the presence of a gaping crowd. She turns with withering .scorn upon the minister who is whispering counsel or support into Kni.icott's ear. Her innocence, her beauty, and her sufierings plead for her in the hearts of those who have 1 1 1 . ? ; [ i CASSANUUA SOUTIIWICK. 187 como to (li'i'ido, poi'luii).s tu insult, licr. Oiio burst of honest wrath (|iuckly turns the suiilo in lior favor. >»o on(3 will take her away. The iniquitous proceedings arc stopped, and the (^)uak(;r maiden walks away from the spot free, as if by the intervention (jf a miracle. Slow broke the gray cold morning ; again the sunshine fell, Flecked with the shade of har and gralc' within my lonely cell ; The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward from the street Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of passing feet. At length the heavy bolts fell Ijack, my dour was open cast. And slowly at the sherilf's side, up the long street 1 passed ; I heard the munnur round me, and felt, but dared not see, IIow, from every dour and windmv, the people gazetl on me. And there were ancient citizens, cluak-wrapped and grave and cokl, And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and old, And on his horse, with Rawsun, his cruel clerk, at hand, Sat dark and haughty Endicutt, the ruler of the land. Tlien to ihe stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, said, — ' Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid ? In the Isle ol fair Barbadues, or un Virginia's shore, You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor." A weight seemed lifted from my heart, — a pitying friend was nigh, I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his eye ; And when again the sherifl' spoke, that voice, so kind to me. Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the sea, — " Pile my ship with bars of silver, — pack with coins of Spanish gold. From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage ot her hold. By tlie living God who ma says that,— " We are too lia^'ty when wo set down oiu' aucesturs in the gross for fools f(jr the nionstrnus inconsistencies (as tliey seem to us) invulvt'd in their creed of witcliLTal't. In the relations ot this visihle world we find them to have been as rational and shrewd to deti'tt an historic anomaly as ourselves. But when once tlie iM\isi1)le world was sup- posed to be opened, and the lawless agency of bad spirits assumed, what measures of jirolialiility, of decency, of fitness or ]iroportion, — of tliat which distinguishes the likely from the palpable alisurd, — could they have to guide them in the rejection or admission of any particuLir testimony ? That maidens pined away, wasting inwardly as their waxen images consumed before a fire ; that corn \vas lodged and cattle lamed ; lliat whirlwinds u]»tore in diabolic revelry the oaks of the forest ; or that spits and kettles only danced a fearful innocent vagary about some rustic's kitchen when no wind was stir- ring. — were all ecpially probable where no law of agency was und(;r- stood." This is the judgment of a keenly analytical and thoughtful mind, expressed with the large-hearted human sympathy with 'illj; WITCIIUHAFT TUAUEDY. 189 \vliii;li ho was endowed. It deals with the universally prevalent hc'lii 1 in witclieral't. To reiiif'Mi'oo this with tiie view.s di' an able and discriniiiialin^^ Jurist will uul bn deemed out ut' place here. "We may laiiieiil, then," says Judge Stuiy in his Centennial Ad- dress at Halem, "the errors ol' tlic times which led to these 2)rosecu- tions. But surely our ancestors hud no special reasons for shame in a belief which had the universal sanction of their own and all formrr ages ; which counted in its train philosophers as well as enthusiasts ; which was graced liy the learning of pielates as well as the counte- nance of kings ; which the law supported hy its mandates, and the purest judges felt no compunctions in enlurcing. l^et Witch Hill remain forever menioraMe hy this sad catasirniilie, not to ]iei[)etuate our dishonor, but as an alfecting, enduring proof of human inluinity, — a proof that jierfect justice Ijelongs to one judyuient-seat only, — that which is linked to the ihroue of (Jod." What .vas this belief, then, wlueli had such high moral and legal sanction] It was tins, — That the l)evil might and did personally appear to, enter into, and actively direct, the every- day life of men. And he did tliis without the intervention of any of those ]nagiial arts or conjurations such as were once thought imlispensable to induce him to })iit in an appearance. For this there was Scripture authority, chapter and verse. He was sup- posed to come sometimes in one form, sometimes in aiic^ther, to temiit his victims Avith the pronuse that upon their signing a contract to become his, both bod}- and soul, they should want for nothing, and that he would undi'rtake to revenge them upon all their enemies. The traditional witch was usually some de- crepit old village crone, of a sour and malignant temper, who was as thoroughly hated as feared ; but this did not exclude men from sharing in the power of becoming noted wizards, — though from the great number of women who were accused, it would appear that the Arch- Enemy ustially ])refcrred to try his arts upon the weaker and more imj)ressilde sex, 'J'he fatal compact was consummated by the victim registering his or her name in a book or upon a scroll of parchment, and with his own blood. The form of these contracts is nowdiere preserved. Sometimes, m !)0 NKW-HNCLANI) LF.dKN'DS. il as is instanced in tlic iR-gotiatiou between Oliver Cromwell and the Devil butore tlie IJattle of Worcester, llicre was a ^(mmI deal of ba,u',L;Iiii,i,'. The bar^^'ain ljeinj4 concluded, Satan delivered to his nciW recruit an ini]» or familiar spirit, winch soniclinies iiad the form of a cat, at nthers of a mole, of a bird, of a nnllcr-lly, (ir of some other iii!re with all the forms of this most fta-midable and fatal, but yet ntii uiuiccount- able, superstition. In the course of thos;, SALKM VILLAGE. terpriso avoids it, leaving it, as we see it to-day, cold and lifeless. The first appearance of everything is so peaceful, so divested of all hurry or excitement, as to suggest an hereditary calm, — a pastoral continued from generation to generation. Then, as the l)urpose which has brought him hither comes into his mind, the visitor looks about him in doubt whetlier this can really be the localit}'' of that fearful tragedy. Yes^ here are the identical houses that were fetanding when those unheard-of events took place, still solemnly commemorating them, as if doomed to stand eternally. This village street is the same m 192 NK W-ENGLAN I) I,K( i KN DH. ■7 ^^ (iM lii>;li\vay tliroui^li Avliich tlio droadfiil infcctioii sprenil IVoiii house to house unto th(i rtunoto coriiors of thi' ancifut sliin;, until, as we rciiul, tliere were forty men nf Amlover tliiit could niiso the devil as well as any aslmln^iT. Ih'iii loo is the sit(( of tlie old jueetin;,' house, in which those amazing scenes, the witclicraft exami- nations, took place. A littlt^ fai'tlur on wocome to ihe spot of ground, as yet unbuilt upon, wlieie the Parsonage with the lean-to cliamhcr stood. The sunken outlines of the cellar are still to l)e s(!en, and even some relics of the house itself remain in th(^ outbuildings attai'hed to IIk^ Wadswortli mansion, which overlooks tlie " \Vitch-(!round," and which was built in the same year that tlit^ old Parsonage was pulhul down. ]t Avas in this " ]\unistry Ilou.se," as it was then called, that the circle of young girls met, whose denunciations, ei|u.valent to the death-warrant of the accused pers in, soon overspread the land with desolation and woe ; and it was here that the alleged miilnight convocations of witches mot to celebrate USED UY their unholy sacraments, and to renew their sol- jACOHs wuKX i,iiin league and covenant with Satan, in ili'aughts KXKcLTioN "^' ^^^•^*^'^ ''^"^^ ^^y inscribing their names in his fatal book. It makes one sick at hv.ixrt to think of a cliild oidy eleven years old, such as Abigail Williams was, taking away the lives of men and women who had always borne unblemished reputations among their friends and neighbors, l)y identifying them as having attended these meetings, and of having hurt this or that person. These jioor creatures could scarcely umler- stand that they were seriously accused by one so young of a crime made capital by the law. But their doubts were soon removed. Once they Avere accused, every man's hand was against them. Children testified against their own i)arents, husbands against their wives, wives against their husbands, TIIK WITCIICUAFT THACEDY. 193 ii('i;^'lil)nr iii,'iiiiist nci^'liltor. ( )n()'s blmiil altt'iimti'ly Ixdls iind li-cL'/cs M'liili' n-adiii;,' tli(! (liiiiiiiiiig (ividi'iici' ol' tlit; iccditl to tlm I'iitiil iulaliuitidii ut' tlic jiid^'L's, U) lln-ir travesty of jii.sti(;t', to tlicir pitiless persecution of the prisoners at the har, ami to tiie over- mastering terror that silenced tlie voice (jf humanity in this stricken eouinniuity. Panie reigned everywhere supreme. It is an amazing history; but, ineredihhs us i. seems, it is yet all tiuf. AVould that it were not ! The main fi;atures of those trials are so familiar t(» all, that it will village, an seen in the village. It may be easily guessed that the very last place for seclusion or mystery was a Xcw England village of a hun- dred years ago, since the entire population regarded even the presence among them of an unknown person with suspicion ; while any attempt at mystitication Avas in elf(!ct a spur to the curiosity of every idle gossip, far and near. In self-protection the laws of hospitality as to the stranger were reversed. To this spirit of exclusiveness we doubtless owe the national trait of iii- quisitiveness so often ascribed to us. Such, however, Avas the spirit of the laws under which these communities had groAvn uj). It is true that the stranger Avas not required to shoAV his pass- port ; but as he valued his oAvn ease, on no account must he betray any reticence concerning himself or his affairs. At the entrance of each village, as one might say, an invisible but Avatchful sentinel cried out : " "Who comes there ] " Should the stranger happen to have his secret to guard, so much the worse for him. THE BKLL TAVEUN MYSTERY. 199 Tlie unknown guest of the Boll — about whom evorything — her beauty, grace of manner and address, announced her to l)e a person accustomed to the society of peoijle above the ordinary condition of life — desired most of all to bo unno- ticed .md unmolested. She desired this for peculiar reasons. Each day her life steadily darkened ; every hour was Ijring- iug her nearer and nearer to the crisis of her destiny ; every moment was an hour of terror and remorse. It was necessary, however, to give some account of herself, or else suspii^on and calumny would soon be busy with her reputation. .She there- TIIK BELL, FROM AN OI,D PKINT. fore represented that she. was married, and that her husband would soon join her. To help her story — for she, poor soul, fancied that the thin stratagem would make all soem right — she laid a letter, written and atldressed by liorsolf, upon her table, where her inquisitive neighbors woidd be certain to see and to read the superscription. ITcr days were passed at the window watching for some on(^ who did not come. One easily imagines what her nights must have been. Once a man who went througli the village was observed to stop 1)efore the tavern and attentively read the name that the " beautiful strange lady " had r . 200 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. ; !. written on lier dtxjr as a moans of recognition. lUit ■when he passed on without entering the house, she was heard to exclaim, "Oh, I am undone !" It will be supposetl that the mysterious recluse of the Bell Tavern soon became the object of intense curiosity to the people of the village. Tliey saw lier sitting at her window, sometimes whiling away the heavy hours with her guitar, or else busily plying her needle " in a mournful muse." When she went out, old and young, attracted Ijy her graceful form and presence, turned to look after her as she walked. But as the months wore on, the secret motive for her seclusion could no longer be concealed. Yet the one whose coming was the single hope left to her despairing soul abandoned her to bear all the odium of her situation alone. In this hour of bitterest trial — of two- fold desertion and ut this pardon should have been his peri)etual remorse. Tliese are the closing lines of some verses the poor girl destined for his eye. It will be seen that her last words w^ere those of forgiveness and undying love : — O tliou ! for whose dear sake I bear A doom so dreadful, so severe. May happy fates thy footsteps guide. And o'er tliy peaceful home preside. Nor let E a'a early tomb Infect thee with its baleful gloom." An unknown hand erected a stone over her grave with this inscription : — THE I51:LL I'AVKiJN' MYSTF.RV, 201 " This humble stone, in memory of Elizaljcth Wliitmiin, is ins(;iil)e(.l by her weepin;,' riien ENUICOTT's sun-dial; UliSlUNS FUOM OLD MONKY. MARBLEHEAD: THE TOWN. "^yEXT to S\vuinp.sc(jtt comes Mavblehciul. C^iiiiiiite.st ami -i-^ most (lilapidiitoil of scajxn'ts, one can hardly knock at any door without oncountcring a legend or a liistcjry. Indeed that idea comes uppermost on kioking around you. Yet the atmosphere is not oppressive, nor are the suggestions ghostly. Far otherwise ; you are sim[)ly on the tiptoe of expectation. Thanks to fortuitous causes, Marblehead retains more of the characteristic flavor of the past than any town in New England. And here one can revel in its memories unchecked, seeing .so little to remind liim of the present. Look at the great body of old houses still cijniposing it ! There is no mistaking the era to which they belong. Once among them, one takes a long stride backward into another century, and is even doubtful if he should stop there. They are as antiquated as the garments our great- grandfathers wore, and as little In accord with modern ideas ; and yet th(>y were very comfortable dwellings in their day, and liave even now a home-like look of solid, thougli unpretending, thiift. They in fixct indicate a republic of eipiality, if Jiot one of high social or intellectual refinement. "SVe ex])ect to see .sailors in pigtails, citizens in periwigs, and women in kerchiefs and liobnail shoes, all speaking an unintelligible jargon, and all laying violent ilfi li 206 N k\v-i;n'( ; la n i » lik ; i:n ds. il tonj,qi('s on tlif King's Kugllsh. We arc conscious of a certiiin in- (iongniity between ourselves and tills denioeracy, wliicli is not at ill! (lisayreoable to us, nor disiiiu'ii.niuL; to tliiit. Thi'y Imvc cuvereil a luirc and uncouth duster of gray Itulgcs witii houses, and called it Marhleliead. Tlioso ledges stick out everywhere ; there is not enougli s(til to cover them decently. The original gullies intersecting these ledges were turned into thoroughfares, wliich meander about after a most lawless and inscrutable fishion. '("he jjrincipal graveyard is situate(l on the toj» of a rocky hill, where iho dead mariners might lie within sound of the sea they loved so well. And wc; learn that it was clioson because it was a " sightly place." I5ut in general the dead fare no better than the living, they being tucked away in odd corners, here on a hill top, there in a hollow, the headstones seeming always a part of the ledges iilxive which tliey rise in straggling groups, stark, gray, and bent with age, intensifying a thousand-fold the pervading feeling of sadness and loneliness associated with such i)laces. One street carries us along with the present ; the other "wliisks us back into the past again. We dive into a lane, and bring up in a blind alley without egress. Does any one know the way here, we question 1 We see a crooked crack separating rows of liouses, and then read on a signboard that it is such or such a street. In an hour we look upon the whole topography of the place as a jest. Now and then the mansion of some Colonial nabob — ]>erhap:: a colonel or a magistrate — has secured for itself a little breath- ing space ; but in general the liouses crowd upon ami elbow each other in ** most admired disorder.'" The wonder is that they built here at all, the site was so unpronnsing; but the harbor was good, there was room to dry fish, and the sailor-settlers looked upon the sea, and not the shore, as being their home. 80 that AUerton's rough fellows, who in 1G33 made their rude cabins on the harbor's edge, were not looking for farms, but for codfish. After looking over the town a while, one comes to the conclu- sion that the first-comers must have tossed up coppers — always MAltlSLKlIKAD- THK TOWN. 207 a favorite- iiastimo hero — I'nr llio chuiw, of building-lots, uiul tlieii liavc mado tlioir selection roj^ardless of surveyor's linos. As a (:onsc(iuenco, Marblehead is piotures(iue, but biiwildorinj^'. It has a plaoid little harbor, indented byiuiniaturo cuvos, lij^'hted by a diminutive lighthouse, and 210 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Everybody who chose iniglit attcrul, and when, at a late hour, tlie guests were ready to depart, the hi'ide and groom being lirst i)ut to bod, the entire company, regardless of the blushes or screams of the bride, marehed round the; nuptial couch, throwing old shoes, stockings, and other missiles of established potency in sucb cases, at the newly wedded coui)le, by way of bringing them good luck. " Stories of phantom ships seen at sea before the loss of a ves- sel, of the ai>pearancc on the water of loved ones who had died at home, of footsteps and voices heard mysteriously in the still hours of the night and coming as warnings from another world, of signs and omens which foretold the approaching death of some member of the family, or prophecies whispered by the winds, tliat those who were away on the mighty deep would find a watery grave," were interwoven with, and allowed to have an active influence upon, the lives of these peoi)le. Such a place would as a matter of course have its part in the "Terror" of 1()92, ^ — -the fatal witchcraft delusion. The witch of Marblehead was an old crone by the name of Wilniot IJedd (or Ji'eed), but more generally known and feared as " ^Mammy Redd, the witcdi." This woman was believed to possess the power of malignant tiuich and sight, and she was able, so it was whispered, to cast a spell over those whom she miglit in her ma- levolence wish to injure. To some she sent sickness and ullou are seduced, And sows of sucking pigs are choused ; Wlicii cattle feel indisposition. And neinl the opinion of i)h ysician ; Wlien murrain reigns in hogs or sheep, And chickens languish of the pip ; When yeast and outward means do fail, And have no jiowcr to work on ale ; When butter does refuse to come, A.nd love proves cross and luiniorsonu'. TIIH SIIUTHKINC WOMAN. 211 Among other diabolical arts, — 01(1 Mammy Redd, Of MarLleheud, Sweet milk couM turn To mould in churn. She could curdle it as it came fresh from the cow's udders, or couhl presently ehange it into "blue wool," which wo take to be another name for blue mould. She was tried and convicted, chiefly on old wives' gabble, and expiated on the gallows the evil fam(! that she had acquired. To this fact of history, in which the actors appear testifying under oath to their own su})erstitious beliefs, we may now add one of those local legends undoubtedly growing out of the frecpient intercourse had with the free rovers of tl;o main. Among these freebooters it was a law, the cruel policy of which is obvious, that every woman who might become their prisoner should sulfer death. The legend is perhaps no more than the echo of one of these trauedies. THE SHRIEKTNCI WOMAN. IT was said that during the latter part of the seventeenth century, a Spaiush ship laden with rich merchandise wa.; captured by pirates, who brought their prize into the Harbor of ^hirblchead. The crew and every person on board the ill-foted ship had been butchered in cold blood at the time of the cap- ture, except a beautiful Engli;--h lady, whom the ruffi. [.,3 brouglit on shore near what is now called Oa'.um Bay, and tl v"^ under cover of the night, most barbarously nrtrdcred her. The few fishermen who iidiabited the phice vvere then absent, and the women and children who remained, could do nothing to prevent the consummation of the fearful crime. The piercing screams |iw- ( ^VHPH 212 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. '!i!f of the victim were most iippalling, uml li(!r cries ol' " Lunl, save mo! Mercy! O Lord Jesus, save lue ' " wore distinctly liea in tiie silence of the iiiglit. The body was buried on the sjjoL where the deed was p''r])etrated, and for over viw hundred and fifty years, on each anniversary of that have admitted their full belief in it ; and one of the most learned Jurists of his time, who was native hcr(>, and to tlie manner born, avern.'d that In; had heard those ill- omened shrieks again and again in the still hours of the night. To this local episode the following narrative of piracy in its palmiest days seems the a])propriate pendant. THE STRANCIE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP A8HT0N. "pillLIP A8HT0X was a young Marblehead iisherman, who, J- with other townsmen of his, was, in the month of June, 1722, quietly pursuing his legitimate calling upon the fishing- grounds lying iA\' Cape Sable. It being Friday, he and his mates hoisted sail and stood in for I'ort lloseway, meaning to harbor there until the Sabbath was over. When their shallop arrived, late in the afternoon, in this harbor, the lish- ermen saw lying peaceably among the fleet of fishing craft a strange brigantine, which they supposed to be an inward-bound West Indiaman. low's flag. 'l STKANdE ADVENTl'UES UF I'llILIl' ASllT(,iX. 213 But after the shallop liiul been at aiiclidr two or tliroe hours, a boat from the brigantiiie caine alouj^'siclc of her, aiul her men, jumping ui)on deek, drew from lUKlenieath their clothing the cutlasses and pistols with which they were armed, and with oaths and menaces demanded of the startled iisheniien the in- stant surrender of themselves and their vessel. Having sus- pected no ilanger, and being thus taken unawares, these poor tishcrmen wi're unaljle to make the least resistance, and they could only yield themselves up in surprise and terror to their assailants. In this manner the brigantine's crew surprised twelve or thirteen more peaceable tishing-vessels that evening. The prisoners vainly asked themselves what it could all mean. When Ashtoii and his comrades were taken on board the brigjintine, their worst fears were more than realized upon lind- ing themselves in the power of the red-handed pirate, Ned Low, whose name alone was a terror to all who followed the sea in lionest ways, and whose ambition it was to outdo the worst cruelties of his infamous predecessors in crime. Low presently sent for Ashton to come aft, where the young lad found himself face to face with the redoubta])le rover, who, according to the pirates' custom, and in their proper dialect, asked him if he wcudd sign their articles and go nhuig with them as one of the l)and. To this Ashton returned a hrm re- fusal ; he was then without ceremony thrust down into the ship's: hold. On the ensuing .Sabbath ^Vshton with others was again brought before the pirate chief, who this time, in a tone that struck far more terror than the pistol he held cocked in his hand, ex- claimed, "Are any of you married men?" Not knowing to what this unexpected question might lead, or what trap might be set for them, the poor fellows were dumb, and they answered not a word ; which so incensed the {lirate, that he put his pistol to Ashton's head, crying out, " You dog, why don't you answer rae 1 " at the same time swearing vehemently that if he did not instantly tell whether he was or was not married, he would shoot him where he stood. To save his life, Ashton, in as loud 214 NEW-ENGLAN I) LK( I KN I )S. a voieo as ho dared to .spouk it, answered tiiat he was siiij^lo ; and so said the rest ut' his companions. To their unspeakabh; disniaj'^ they learned that tliis answer doomed them to the fate I'roni wliieli they were so anxious to eseaj)e, it l)eiiig one of Low's wliims not to force any married man into his service. Wliile the j^reater luimher of the eaptive tishermen were therefore released, Ashton was among tlio.se who were detained close prisoners on board the pirate ship. His .steady refusal to join them .subjected young Asliton to the most brutal treatment at the liands of Low's miscreants, whose continued carousals, mingled witli the mo.st hideous blas- phemy, converted the pirate ship into a \'critable hell afloat. Low (irst bent his destructive course towards Newfoundland. But here his iirsit venture nearly proved to l)e liis last; for liav- ing descried a large ship lying in the llarl)or of St. .1 (din's, he resolved to go in and take her, and so t.; fnrnisli himself willi a larger and a better ship tlian the one he now commandtMl. ^Vith this intention, after concealing the ''reatcr luirt of his crew be- low, tlie pirate .stood boldly in towards his expected prey, mean- ing to run clo.se alongside, and then to carry her by boarding, before his purpo.se should be suspected. Lut here liis jiatron liend served him a good turn at need. For as the buccaneer stealthily drew into tlie harbor, he met a fishing-boat coming out, and having hailed her, learned to liis dismay tliat the ship he was going to take witli his two or three score of (Uit-throats, Avas a large man-of-war, capable of ])lowing him out of the water witli a single broadside. Instead, therefore, of going into the; harljor. Low made all tlie haste he could to put a .safe distance between liim and tlie cruiser, lest he should catcli a Tartar wliere he had looked for an easy conquest. Ho now stretched away farther to the eastward, and entering Conception Bay, put into a small port called Car- bonear, where ha landed his men, who first sacked and then burned the place to the ground. He next made for the Orand Banks, where, after capturing and plundering seven or eight vessels, he sailed away for St. Michael's in the Azores, taking I ' STKANGK ADVENTUKKS OK rillLIl' ASHTON. 215 •\vitli him one oi' hi.s prizes. Wlien oil" this pint l.uw fell in witli and maihi prize of u large Portugiu.'sc; pink loiuleil with wheat ; and finding her to bo a goud sailer, she was manned and turned into a piratical craft, flying the skeleton flag that Low carried at his masthead. To the Canaric'".. to the Cape de Verdi' Ishinds, to Bonavista, the iVeeljooter sailed on, leaving the wreck of imrned and plun- dered ships in his track. Then he ran down the coast of Jha/il, hoping to meet with richer prizes than any he had yet taken ; I)ut from these shores he was driven l»y the fury (jf a gale that nearly proved fatal to him and his fortunes. Escaping this, tiie pirate suddenly ap[)eared in the West Indies ; and after burning, plundering, and sinking to his heart's content, he scoureil the Spaiush .Main for a while with variable suciu'ss. At length, after many perils encountered and escapeil, Low's two vessels entered lioatan Harbor, in the liay of Honduras, in order to heave down and clean their bottoms, ami to get a sup- ply of water. Here at last came the chance whicli Ashtnn had so ardently longed for. Up to this time the j)irates had never allowed him to land with them. More than one welldaid plan to escape out of tliei ■clutches had already Itecn thwarted in a way to crush out all hope for the future. But he resolutely determined to make one more effort to gain his freedom ; for besides being a lad of sense and spirit, Ashton was young and vigorous, and r(!ady to con- front any danger, however grea., that should lie in the way to his deliverance from the j)irate crew. One morning, as Low's longd)oat was passing ])y Ashton's vessel, on her way to the watering-place, the lad hailed her, and entreated to be allowed to go on shore with the men who were taking the water-casks to be filled. After some hesitation, the cooper, Avho had charge of the boat, took him in, little imagining that there was any danger of his running away in so desolate and forl)idding a place as tliis was. Ashton jumped into the boat. When they landed, Ashton was at first very active in helping to get the casks out of the boat. Lut by and by he gradually T 216 NKW-KNdLAM) uS» 11 11 I. 1 li^i J! strolled along the beach, picking ones and shells, and look- ing sharply about huu in sciii'di of ii ])laco suitable I'or iiis purpose. lie had got a gunshot oil", and had Ijeguii to edge up towards the woods, when the cooper, espying him, called out to know where ho was going. The resolute lad shouted back the reply tliat he was seeking for cocoa-nuts ; and pointing to a grove of stately cocoa-|)alnis growing just in front of him, moved on into the friendly shelter of the troi)ical f()rest. As soon as he had lost sight of his conipanitms, he bounded away like a wounded deer into the thick undergrowth, and he ran on until, Judging hiiuself to have gained a safe distance, he threw himself on the ground in the midst of a dense thicket, and awaited in breath- less suspense the issue of his bold dash for liberty. After the men had lilknl their casks, and were ready to go on board, the coojjer called to Ashton to come in ; but this being the last thing this brave lad thought of doing, he mad(! no answer, although he plainly heard the men's voices in his snug retreat. At last they began hallooing to him ; but he was still silent. lie could hear them say, " Tlie dog is lost in the woods, and can't find the way out." Then, after shouting again to as little purpose as before, to Ashton's great joy they put oil' foi' their vessel, leaving him alone on this uniidiabited island, with no other company than his own thoughts, no clothing but a ;'anvas cap to cover his head, a loose tunic, and trousers to protect his body, and notliing else besides his two hands to defend himself from the wild beasts of prey that prowled unmolested about the hideous thickets around him. lie had jumped into the boat just as ho stood, having no time to snatch up even so indis- pensable a thing as a knife, or a Hint and steel to kindle a lire with. Yet he considered this condition preferable to the company he had left. Ashton passed the next live days in watching the pirate vessels, fearing that Low might send a party in pursuit of him ; but at the end of that time he saw them hoist sail and put to sea. Xot until then did he breathe freely. \ ''Yr STUANGE ADVHNTUHES 01' I'lIlLII' ASIITON. 21' 111 onli'.v to find out in what manner lio Avas to live for the fututt', Ashton l)ej,'an to ranL,'(' the island over. He saw no (svi- deiice of any liuniau huhitation, except one walk of lime-trees nearly a mile Iimi^l,', with here and there some fragments of pot- tery strewed al>out the i)lace, liy wliicli si^ns he guessed that ho hiid lighted ui)on sonu; long-deserted residence! of the Indians. 'I'iie island was mouiitaiuous, and the mountains were thickly cov- ered with u scrubby black pine, making them almost inaccessible. The valleys abounded with finit-trces ; but so dense was the tropical undergrowth here, that it was with great didiculty that Ashton could force Ids wav through it, he hav- At.ONK ON THK DESEKT ISLAND. ing neither shoes nor stockings to protect his feet from the sharp thorns that pierced the flesh. There were plenty of cocoa- nuts to be had for the trouble of picking them up ; but as Ashton hail no way of breaking the thick husks, this delicious fruit was of no advantage to him. There were also many other sorts of I ' 1 218 NKW-KN(.t,AN'l) LKCENUS. i fruits han^'ing most tciui)tiii<,'ly Avithiu roach of tho half-starved Ashtuii's hand ; but not knowing what they were, hi; dared not touch any nf tlicni until he saw Ihe wild ho^s freely feeding upon tiieni. ^^nd soim; of them which were really poi.sonotis he often handled, hut luckily refrainetl from eating. He therefore lived fur some time upon the grapes, ligs, and wild beach-plums that grew abundantly everywhere about him, making such a shelter as he could from the copious night-dews that fell, by leaning some fallen branches against a tree-trunk, and then covering this rude framework with a thatch of jialmetto-leaves. In time ho built many of these huts in dillerent parts of his island. There were also upon this island, ami upon the islands adjacent to it, wild deer and hogs. The wootls and waters aboundeil too with duck, teal, curlew, ])elirans, bool)i(>s, pigeons, parrots, and other Itirds lit to l)e eaten. The seas teemed with iisii and the shores with tortoises. But notwithstanding his mouth often watered for a bit of them, Ashton was able to make no use whatever of all this store of beast, lish, and fowl, for want of a knife ami a lire. So in the midst of plenty he was reduceil ev(Mi lower than the savage, — wIkj can at least always make for himself weapons to kill and lire to dress his food. For nine solitary months PJiilij) Ashton lived alone on this island Avithout seeing one iiumau being. The parrots had not learned to talk, so that, compelled as he was to keep silence, Iks sometimes feared that he nnglit lose the pow(>r of speech, or forget the sound of his own voice. To escape from the mosqui- toes, black-ilies, and other insect pests which made his life in- tolerable to him, Ashton formed th(i hal.it of swimming over a narrow channel that separated his island from one of the low- lying keys, where he mostly spent his days. In one of these journeys he narrowly escaped being tlevoured by a shark, which struck him just as he reached the shallow Avater of the shore. Tliis key also gave him a broader and a clearer sea-view ; for it may well be imagined that never during his waking hours did ho intermit his weary watch for a friendly sail. Sometimes he sat STltANCK ADVKNTIKKS OF I'llILIl' ASIITON. •Jl!) with liis l):t^'k a.naiiisl a tret', ami his iiico to tho .sea, tor a wliolo tUiy, wiUiout Stirling; from the spot. Weakened hy uxposiue and the want ut' proper food, iuia!)l(! longer to drag his torn and wouudi'il hmhs about tli(! island, Ashton at last sickeni.'d ; and as his helplessness iuereused, tho prospect of a horrible death stared him in the face. As the days and nights wore away, he fell into a deadly stupor. In this tixtremity he one ilay espied a cauoc, with one man iu it, eom- ing' towards him. When he was near enough, Ashton feebly called out to him. After some hesitation the man landed. Ho proved to l)e an Englishman who, to .save his life, had lied from the Spanish settlements. For throe ilays Ashton had the un- speakable pleasure of a compaiU(ju in his mi.sery ; but at the end of this brief time his solitary visitor, having left him to go upon u huntuig excursion among the islands, was drown(!d in a .s(piall, leaving the hernnt again alone iu his wretchodne.s.s and anguish of body and mind. His condition was, however, somewhat im- proved ; for thanks to his lato companion he now had a knife, a little pork, some gunpowder, and a Hint, and so the means of making a lire, which was to him the greatest of luxuries. lietween two and three months after he had lo.st iiis com- panion, Ashton, in one of his rambles, found a small canoe stranded upon the shore. This enabled him to ext(!nd his ex- cursion.s among tho islands, and in this way gave promise of an escape to some of the di.stant .settlements. How ho made a voyage to tlie Island of Bonacco, and while a.sleep Avas discovered and tired ui)on by a party of Spaniards ; how he made his escape from them, finally reaching his old quarters at Roatan, — are events that we have no time to dwell upon. That he had found civilized beings more cruel than the wild beasts — for these ha a standstill. Tlu'ii tlit! parties hailed cadi other, and after mutual explanations, one man ventured to come to the shore. When he saw thu forlorn and miseralile object of his fear, he stood in s|)e(3chless ama/e- luent ; but at length the two men fell to endiracing each other, and tlien the stranger, taking the emaciated body of Ashton in his arms, carried him to the canoes, wh(>re the others received him kindly and made him welcome among them. Ashton told them his story. Thc^ strangers then infiU'med him that tliey were from the l?ay of Honduras, whence, how- ever, they had been forced to lly, in order to escape from the fury of the Spaniards. With them Ashton lived in comparative ease, until his old enemies, the pirates, discovereil and moile a descent upon them in their chosen retreat. Ashton's dread of again falling into their hands maybe easily conceived. Jle with two or three others succeeded, however, in making good their escape into the woods. The rest were captured ami taken on board the same vessel in which Ashton had served his ajijiren- ticeship as a iiiratc. Two or three months more passed. Ashton M'ith his c'om- panions had got over to the Island of Uonacco again. A gale such as is only known in the tropic seas arose, and blew with great violence for three days, 'i'o Ashton this i)rove(l indeed a friendly gale, for when it had subsideil he descried several ves- sels standing in for the island. Presently one of them anchored near the shore, and sent in her boat for water. This ves.sel proved to be a brigantine 1)elonging to Salem, and in her Ashtou took passage for liorae, where he f.afely arrived on the 1st of May, 172.5, it then being two years ami two months since he hfvd escaped from the pirate ship. AtiNKS, TlIK MAID OK TlIK INN. AIJNES, THE MAID OF THE INN. r I'M lis [lUitty stury, u ronmuco ol' mil lil'f, nmktis u.s ac- .1 miuintoil with two iioblo, ])Ul imimlsivu iiiitinus, whoso destinies first bccainu mtorwovcn in u way (piick. Society he found I'ls its weajions, and can use them, too, without mercy. Society could not justify his leading the girl astray ; but it would I mx^ »im r^ Ali.NK.S, TIIK MAID OF THE INN. 2L>5 have forgiven him now, luul he rlidsm to (lesui't her. JJoston was no longer a pliicc I'm' Agnes or for liini ; su lliul no sooner wa.s ho ostalili.shed in his V^lfu, than an inexorable voice drove iiini forth, lie [)urehasetl an estate and I)nilt an elegant mansion in the pleasant and .secluded inland vilhige of llopkinton, to whi''h he conveyed Agnes, and with her touk U[) iiis resilience there. While they liv(;d here, tlie, hospitality ami luxury of the great house, and the beauty of .Sir Henry's luysteriuus conipani(jn, were the prolific theme in all the ctjuntry round. Sir lleiiiy loved the good old English fashion, ilevoting himself more or less to the care and eml)ellishment of his estate with tlie Eng- lish gentleman's hereditary taste and method. His devolidu to Agnes a[i[)L'ars to have suifered no diminution ; an anguish of her soul in that moment ? She wa.s, indeed, saved; but where was her lord and ])rotectoi' ] Frantic and despairing, but faithful to death, she followed such 15 w 226 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. ill ■I \d I 'K tUiut tmws as in tho cdiifusiuii of that hour could be obtaiiiod, until chance at length led hci' to the spot where he lay, helpless and overwliehued. A line lady ^\uuld have recoiled and fainted dead away ; Agnes Surriage, again the working girl of iMarble- head, instaiuly set to work to rescue her lover from the ruins witli her own hands. In an hour he was extricated from the rubbish. He was still living. .She conveyed him to a i)lace that liad escaped the shock of the earthquake, where she nursed him into healtli and strength again. Vanipushetl by this last supreme proof of her love for him, the knight gave her his hand in return for his life. Antl who can doul)t that with this act there came back to both that peace of miml whiidi alone was wanting to a perfect union of two noble ami loving hearts'? We are obliged to content ourselves with the following extracts from the poem which Holmes has founded upon the story : — A scampering at the Fountain Inn ; A rusli ei' great and small ; With InuTving servants' mingled din, And screaniing matron's call ! Poor Agnes! with her work half done, They caught lier unaware, As, huirdily, like a praying nun, She knelt upon the stair ; Bent o'er the steps, with lowliest nuen She knelt, Imt not to pray,— Her Httli^ hands must keep them clean. And wash their stains away. A foot, an ankle, bare and white, Her girlish sliapes betrayed,— " Ha ! Nymphs and Graces ! " spoke the Knight ; " Look lip, my beauteous Maid ! " She turned, a reddening rose in bud, Its calyx half withdrawn ; Her cheek on fire with damasked blood Of girlhood's glowing dawn ! sKiri'Ki; ikkson's jiidk. He soanihcil lit-r iV-utures through and tliroiigh, As royal lovers look On lowly maidens when they \v(n) Withoiil till! viu<^ and liook. " Conie hither, Fair one ! I [ere, my Sweet ! Nay, pritiiee, looji not (hiwn ! Take tliis to shoe tliose little feet," — He tossed a silver erown. A sudden paleness struck her hrow, — A swifter Hush .succeeds ; It hiinis her eh(!ek ; it kindles now iU'iieatii her goLlen Ijcads. Slut llitted ; l)ut the glittering eye Still sought the lovely face. Who was sheV Wlial, and whence I and why Doomed to sucli menial place .' A skii.per'-. daugliter, — .so they said, — Left oridian hy the gale That cost the fleet of Marblehead And (Jloucester thirty sail. 2-27 SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. /"\XK of the nio.st spirited of Whittier'.s home ballads — cer- V./ tainly the most famous — i.s lii.s "Skipper Ireson's Ride," \vhi(di introduces by way of refrain the arohaic Marblehead di'i- leet that is now ii(>arly, if not (piite, extinct. Like most of this poet's characters, 8kipi)er Ireson is a real personage, whose story, briefly told, is tin's : — Late in the atitumn of the year 1808 the schooner "Betsy," of Marblehead, IJenjainin Ire.soii, master, while bulfeting its 'way towards the home port in the teeth of a trememlous gale, fell in with a wreck drifting at the mercy of the winds and waves. r i I 22 S m;\v-i:n(;lani) lkc.knds. ::h n r! 'I'liis Wiis tlio schooiu'i' " Active, " nt' I'ditlaiiil, that liiul licenoviT- Mit in till) ^alc. It wan tlu'ii iiiidiii^lil, with a tiviiicinhins ,sca runuiii^'. 'I'lie ski|i])ur of tho sinkiii,!,' vi'siscl haih-il the " l>t't>y" ami a.-hcd {<< lie taken oil' the wreck, IVnlli wiiicli eveiy wave inthied threatened tn wash the (Hstrewsed and exhausted crew. Tn tins it is .said that the '• Betsy's " ercw — (ined()t,'.s not like to traihice tlie name l)y calHn^n' tlieni .saihu's — stroiij^ly (hnnuiTeil, alle^dii;^' the danger of making thi; attempt in .sneh a sea in sup port of their cowardly purjiose to abandon the sinking craft to her fate. Some say that ( 'aptain Irooii was himself di.spo.sed to act with humanity, and to lie Iiy the wreck until daylight, ln.t that he was overruled liy the unanimous voice of his men, wIhj selhshly decided not .o risk their own niiserahle lives in order to save others. The 'vUetsy's" course Avas acconlingly shaped for Marhlehead, where she arrived on the following Sunday. Her crew at once spread the news through the town of their having fallen in with a vessel foundering in the Lay, when, to their hoiiur, the Marhlehead people imnieiliately despatidied two ves.sels to her relief. liut the "Active" had then g(jne to the bot- tom of the sea, and the relieving ve.ssels returned from a fiuit- less search, only to increase the resentment already felt against Skipjier Ireson, upon whom his crew had thrown all the blame of their own dastardly conduct. Usually dead nn-n tell no tales; but it so fell out that in this instance a more damning evidence to Ire.son's inhumanity ajipeared, as it were, from the grave itself to confront him. It haj»i)eneil that on the luoniing next following the night of the "JJetsy's" desertion of them, the cai)tain and three others were rescued from the sinking vi'ssel. They soon made public the .story of the cruel conduct of the " Betsy'?" people ; and as ill news travels last, it was not long befort! it reached Marhlehead, throwing that excitable town into a hubbub over the aspersions thus ca.st iipon its good name. It was soon determined to take exemplary vengeance upon the offender. (.)ne bright mooidiglit night Skipper Ireson lieard a knock at his door. Upon opening it he found himsidf in the nervous grasp of a Ijand of resolute men, who silently hurried I! C3 a 230 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 'ti I ■ ■ i; liiiii oil" into a deserted place, — witli what object, liis fears alone could divine. They lirst securely pinioned and then l)esniear('d liiui from head to loot with a coat of tar ami feathers. In the morning tiie whole })o])uliition of the town turned out to wit- ness or assist in this ignoiniiiii)Us j)unishinent, which hiul been l)lanneil l)y some of the Ixildcr spirits, and silently approved by the more timid ones. Ireson in his lilthy disguise was seated in the bottom of a ut to this fact we owe the most idiosyncratic ballad of purely home origin IM|i SKIITEK IUESON's HIDE. 231 in the langinige, althongh it is oiio for which the peoplo of MiU'blclioiul have never fDi-givon the poet. With poetic instinct Whitlier .soizod upon the inindent, using more or h'ss freedom in ])rcs('iiting its (h'limatic side. In tlu; versiliml story we are made lookers on while the strange [)roces- sion, counting its Scores of women, old and young, Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, Wrinkled scolds, with hands on hips. Girls ill bloom of cheek and lips, Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some anti(iue vase, Ihicf of skirt, with ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, — goes surging on through the narrow streets, now echoing to the wild refrain, — " Here 's Find Oirson, for his horrd horit, Torr'd an' futherr'(l an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!" The only liberty that the poet has taken Avith the story is in saying, — Small pity for him ! — He had sailed away From a leaking isliip, in Chaleur Hay, — Sailed away from a sinking wreck, With his own town's-people on her deck ! • The disast(>r really happened oft' the Highlands of Capo Cod, and, so far as is known, there were no Marldehead people on board of the unlucky craft when she went down. lUit in truth such trifling departures from the literal facts are of little moment, 'riie world long ago granted to the jioets complete absolution for such venial sins as these are, seiang that since the days of Homer it has been their proftission to givo all possible enlarge- ment to their subjects. ■■■■■■■■"**" NKW-KNfiLAXn LE(!ENI)S. Assiuninp,' tlic stii^iini upon Iivsoii's iiiciiiory tn l>c an unjust one, the iintiddto sIkiuM iicc(iin|iany the iidison. His rcinitutioii has fount! a viu'tn'ous (U'rcndcr in the versus which follow. A IM.KA l-'oi; 1 ■!,()( )I) IKKSON. ciiAiti.r.s r. i!K()(iKs. ()l,l) L'IoihI Irc-iin I all too louj; Havii ji'cr and jil)c and iil)ald sou},' Done tl)v nu'inorv iiiul wroULT. )! Old Flood Ircson s1ih'1)s in his yravc ; Howls ui a mail niol>, worse tlian llic wavo, (rone is the jiacdv and ;j;ont' the I'Vcv, Yft old h'lofid Iri'snn's ^diost m-day Is liuntcd siill ddwn Time's lii^liwav. •:i Old wife Fame, with a risli-iiorn's hlarn HooliiiL; and tootin;^' the same old air, Dra'^s him aiouL' tiie old tlioron''hl'aiv. Mocked evermore with the old ndVain, Skilhd]\ wron,L;]it to a tuneful strain, Jini^lin.n and joltinLj, he comes a^'ain Over tliat road of old renown. Fair hmad iin-enne leading down Through South Fields to Salem town, Scourged and stung hy the Muse's thong, Mounted high on the car of song. Sight that cries, Lord '. how long Shall Heaven look on and not take part With the poor old man and his fluttering heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart I i SKli'i'i'i; iiMisoN's i;ii»i:. 01(1 I''1()(m1 Iiv.xiii. now wlhii I-'iiiiio Wipes away with tears (il'sliani;' Stains IVom many an injured name, Shall not, in llic inneful line, IJeams (if truth and mercy shine Thnai-!i the cdouds that darken thine > l)ll 1 1 1 ■ i! 11 ' 'i ! ! ' ^ '1^ 1 || ■ ] 1 i I . 1 I 1 ill 1 , : '1 ':i i Part ^irtfi. CAPE ANN LEGENDS. fM 1 1 !lt iUi CAPE ANN. BY cummaiul dl' Nature, (jiu- of llio.se iron-ribluMl lidgos wliich it astoiimls us to sv.a Ibiv.st.s growing and iieoplo living upon, detaches itself from the Essex coast, and advances steadily live leagues out into the. sea. Hailing there, it C(jvers its head with a bristling array of rocky islands and jagged reefs, which, like skirmishers in the. front of battle, now here, now there, announce their presence in the olHng by pull's of water smoke. Au incessant cond)at rages be- tween these rocks and the advan- cing ocean. From the Highlands, at the land's end, it is possible on a clear day to make out the dim white streak of ("ape Coil stretching its emaciated arm from the south coast towards this half-extended and rock-gauntleted one from the north. Hetween the two capes, which really seem to belong to dilh'rent zones, is the entrance to the graml basin of ^Massachusetts Hay, over which, in the darkness, the ])rilliant rays from Thac^her's and Highland lighthouses cross each other liki! ilaming sword-blades. Among the thousands that have passed in or out, one seeks in his nnuuory for oidy one little bark carrying an entire nation. The *' Mayflower" passed here. TllK MAGNOLIA. I 2Sb NKW-ENCiLANI) LEGENDS. I t 1 I n! III 1 1 !,( t Tlio sua, we iidticc, wcIcouil's tlic iutnuliiig hcadlaml with iii- hospitalilc anus; hut at the fxtrciiii' point, whoic the Mck is pierceil and tho sea flows in, then- is a purt of refuge that has j,'rowii to he tlie greatest tishing-nuirt in the Union. At nearly all times, without regard to season, the waters around it are covered with a llight of sails entering or leaving the principal port, reminding one of the restless sea-gulls that circle about their rocky aerie when bringing food to their young. The muscular shoulder of the Cape is occupied by the towns of Ueveily, Wenhani, and Hamilton, the central [lortion by Manchester and Kssex, and the extremity liy Gloucester and lioc'kport. Xearly the whole interior region remains tho same untanuMl wiUh-rness that it was a hundred years ago; for among these ruggcil hills there is little land that is lit for farming, ami that little is found in the hollows, or bordering upon occasional arms itf the sea. There are, howev(,'r, (extensive and valual)le forests of i)ine and (.-eilar covering scattered portions with a per- ennial gre(Ui. The sea having ptiopled it, and the land offering nothing better than stones, timber, and fuel, the tishing-villages were built close to the edge of the shore, where there wore nat- ural harbors likc! that of (iloucoster, or upon tidal creeks or inlets like those of Manchester and Anniscpiara. From these villages sprang a hardy race of sailors renowned in song and story. Cooper's "(.'aptain Barnstable" comes from Chebacco, a precinct of Essex ; Miss Larcom's " Skijjper Ueu " from Beverly. (3ne does not think of these people as having any fixed relation with the land : they are amphibious. Its general and apparently irDclaimable sterility drove tho earliest settlers back upon tho mainland. They tlu'refore aban- doned their rude cabins and their fishing-.stages at the extreme end of tho Cape, and newly began at Mdiat was later on called Salem, which at first included the whole Cape. Yet notwith- standing this desertion, settlements were soon begun at Beverly and Manchester, and (Jloucester was permanently re-occupied on account of the excellence and advantageous position of its har- bor. But for a time these settlements were very humble ones. CAPK ANN. 239 Eoger Conant says that in his time IJovorly was nickiKinif(l "Beggarly." He wished to have it chaii;:c(l to Uudleigh, I'loiii a town iu Uevonsliire, Kiigliuul. Conant sliouhl liml a name stmiewhore on Cape Ann. Thjit would at least h^ad to the iiujuiry ""Who was Conant!" lie remarks that he had no hand in naming Salem, where he hadhuilt the Ih'st iiouse. Xor Avas Blackstone, the first white settler of lloston, or h'uger Wil- liams, who founded Providence, more fortunate iu securing post- humous remend)rauce. IJayaril Taylor wa.s nevertheless extremely taken with the picturesqueness of the interior of (.'ape Ann, anil he was a trav- eller who iiad grown something fastidious iu his jiotious of natu- ral scenery. He speaks of it thus, — " A great charm of the place is the wild wooded scenery of the inland. There are mauv little, vallevs, hrauchin'' and wiiulin'' as if at random, where the forests (jf hr and pine, the great, mossy bowl- ders, the sIkuU' ami coolness and silence, seem to transfer you at once to the heart of some mountain wilderness. The noise of the sea does not invade them ; even the salt od(jr of the air is smothered by the warm, resinous breath of the pines. Here you fiml slemler brooks, pools spangled with pond-lily blossoms, and marshes all in a tangle with wild flowers. After two or three miles of such scenery there is no greater suri)rise than U> find suddeidy a l)lue far deeper than that of the sky between the tree trunk;.;, and to hear the roar of the break- ers a hundred feet below you." While exploring the coast one finds it continually shifting from beaches of hard .sand, strewn with a line dark gravel, to picturescpK! coves bordered all around with rocks shattered into colossal fragments, and bulging out like masses that have sud- ilenly cooled, rusted by s[)ray, worn to glassy smoothness, yet all split and fractured and upheaved by the powerful blows dealt them by the waves. These coves make the most charm- ing summer retreats imaginable ; and some of thein, like Old Kettle Cove, — ■ which under the name of Magnolia has a sweeter sound, — and Pigeon Cove, have turned their primitive solitudes into populoiisness, and their once worthless rocks into pedestals for the scores of beautiful villas that have sprung L'4U NKW-KNCLAM) LK( IKNJ)S. i I i I I n 'II up liki) lli(( work o[' magic upuu thuir liaM ami ()verhan<,'ing 1)1'(1\V,S. In one place, say thai you leave the road in order to walk over a sniootii esplanade of sand, ii]) whose gentle slope panting wave chases jianting waw. unceasingly, while the forest-trees skirting tlu; heail of the beach heml over and watch this fierco play, Avitli all tiieir leaves treml)ling. You look off over the ridged and sparkling sea-foam into the open mouth of ^[arble- head Harbor, whose iron headlands the distance softens to forms of wax. Two or three tretdess islands, behind which a passing vessel lifts its snowy sails, are luxuriously dozing in the sun and sea. This must l)e the haven where the lleet of AVin- tlu'op hrst I'nrled its tatteretl sails after a tempestuous voyage across tilt' .Ntlantic of more than two months. Yes, there is Baker's Isle, and there is Tittle Tsle, within which it anchored. Then it was here that the colonists, of whom he was the M(j.ses, lirst set lV)ot upon the soil of their Promised Land ; and it was here they roamed among the rocky pastures, gathering wild strawberries and roses, examining everything witli eager curi- osity, and jjcrhaps with doubt whether it was all real, and would not vani.sh with the night. From the domain of History we enter that of l'(jetry over the tlu'eshold of Xature. Not many years ago, while he was the guest of the genial and gifted Fields, whose cottage is the (Conspicuous (jl)jeet on the bald brow of Thunderbolt Hill, in ^Manchester, Bayard Taylor Avas taken to visit, in his chosen and secluded retreat, the venei'ablo poet who dated before liynjn, Shelley, and Keats, and who dis- covereil the genius oi Bryant. The host and his guests are now dead; Itut the poet traveller, obeying the habit of a lifetime, jotted down some minutes of his visit, now serving to recall the man and the .scene to our remeiiibrance. lie says : — "Retracing ouv way a nale or so, we took a different road, and approached {lie coast through open, grassy fields, beyond which, on the edge of a lofty hhdl', stood the gray old mansion Each living thing within his lowest deej). And tlKJUgh the land is thronged again, O sea ! Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee. The small bird's ])laiiiing note, tlu! wild, sharj) call, Share thy own sjiirit : it is sadness all ! How (lark and stern upon thy waves looks down Yonder tall clilf— he with the iron crown. And see ! those sable pines along the steep Are come t(j join thy reipiiem, gloomy deep! Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dir^e Over the dead with thy low-beating surge. As wo approach the end of tlie (;a[)e we enter a storied region. Hero is the deep cleft known as Rafe's Oiasni, and the t;uvny (dump of stark ledges wliieli the coa.st throws olf and tlio sea Hies incessantly at, called Xomian's AVoe. Then wo enter tho beautiful islet-studded harbor of Glouee.stor, ami with an inter- est tliat the natural beauties of the .spot enluuice, we fix cur oyea upon the verdurous soutliern sliore j for hero the little 16 J- n !i' ' i : - -|ii 1 '■ 1 24'J NKW-ENOLANr* LEOFNPS. cdloiiy of Iini,'!'!' ('oiiaiit, tlic iiidiii'cr udvcriinr, iiiaiiitiiinoil a stni^yliiii^ L'xislciici', until, liko a garrison wliii.'h can im lunger lidlil (lilt, it I'cU back t(» Salem, newly eliose its j^nmnd, and ai^'ain bravely eoiifruiitcd it.s old enemies, want and iiej^liset. JUit long before liim, tliis cape in tli(^ sea [)icked up many adventur- ous vui/ayeitr.i, one of whom presently demands a word from us. In the heart of the (Iloucester woodlands a most interesting floral phenomenon exists. There, ajipareiitly defying nature's lines and laws, the beautiful magnolia of the South unfolds in secret its snowy llowers and exhales its spicy perfume. Another j)henomenon is the beaidi at Manchester, whose sands emit weird niiisieal tones when crusheil by tho passage of wheels through them. Still another is thi; enormous Moving llock at Sipiam ('omnion, — a lieavy mass of granite; so exactly poised that the pr^;ssnre of a child's linger is snllicient to change its position. This .sterile sea-cape may also lay claim to other and more enduring a.s.sociations than tlu' memories of a .summer passed among its rocky sea-nooks can alio rd. Beverly was the home of Ilobert liantoul, whose epitaph has been written by Wliittier, and of Lucy Larcom ; Hamilton that of Al)igail Dodge ; Kssex, of K'ufns Choate; Gloucester, of K. I'. "Whipple and William Winter. Manchester was Dana's by aihjption, as well as tho summer haunt of Holmes, James and Annie i^'ields, Klizabcth Phelps, and of that ancient landmark of the IJoston I'ulpit, tho Ikoverond Dr. I'.artol. The lamented Dr. E. H. ('hai)in loveil his summer home at Pigeon ('ove; and it was there he .sought relief from the haunting " demon of the study." This was also the favorite haunt of P>ryant and of Starr King ; so that among those who were either native or who were habitually sojourners are many of the men and women most eminent in our 'iterary annals. That fact of itself speaks volumes for the Cape. Tho legends of Capo Ann are indigen(jus, and are mostly sea- legends, as might be expected of a seafaring and .sea-subsisting population, among whom tho marvellous always finds its most congenial soil. Let ua add that no longer ago than last win- ter, in consequence of the prediction that a storm unexami>leil in CAI'TAIN JOHN SMITH. 243 the annals of tho nnitiiry was U, Iniivst ibrtli with (Icstructive fuiy over sea and laii.l upo,, a ,Jy,.n ,lay, nut a vessel of the Cloiices- ter lishin- fleet dared put U. sea. Altlum-h the great " Wig-ins «t..nn " tailed to make its api.earance at the tinu! predicted7tlio losses incurred by reason of the nund)er of lishernien Iving idly fit tlieir nio.uings amounted to many tliousands of dollars.^ The lirst of these legends proper to be introduced —not fornvttin- that DeM.Mits and (,'hauiplain ha.l alrea.ly named this'p,.niu^ suia th.. Cape .,f Islands— is a sort of historieal complement t.. our description. 1 CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. rp IIK following lin<.s from Whittier's beautiful apostroi.ho to X his beloved river, "The Merrimack," introducing his col- lection of legendary pieces, is seen to be commemorative of that prince of explorers and hero <.f many exploits, Captain John Smith, to whom a ix-rverse fortune has ,lenied any share of honor for his etforts to make New England known an.t appreci- ated in the Old World. In the belief that non.^ of thes.. rugged rocks had ever received other baptism than f liat of the wav.^sfhe lirst gave this promontory the name of "Tragabigzanda" f.'.r a perpetual souvenir of a fair Moslem to whom he owed a debt of love and gratitude, while for a memorial of himself he conferred that of the -Three Turks' Heads" upon the three islands. Milk, Thacher's and Straitsmouth, lying off its extreme point, an.l now crowning it with their triple lights. Hut these names wore so quickly superseded that the personal ambition of Smith has no otlier memorial than this : On yonder rocky cape, which 1)iave.s The stormy challenge of the waves, Midst tangled vine and dwartiish wood, The hardy Anglo-Saxon stootl. Planting u[)on the topmost crag The staff of England's battle-flag ; Ill 244 .N i:\V-ENl' LAN I) LEUENDH. And, w liilf Iroia mil its litiavv iold Si. licorgo'.s crimson cross unrolliMl, Midst roll of drum and trumjuit blare, Anil \vc'ajM)ns laandi.-liinj; in air, He gave to tliat lone jnoniontory The sweetest name in all liis stoiy ; Of her, tlie llower oi' Islam's daughters, Whose harems look on Stamlioul's waters, - Who, when the chance of war had liouud The Moslem chain his limbs around, Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain. And fondly to her ynullil'ul slase A dourer gift than freedom gave. THACHER'S ISLAND. TIIACIIEK'S Lslaml is one of the most important light- luuise stations on the -whole coast of tho I'liited States. It coiitaius about eighty acres of gravelly soil thickly strewn with coarse granite bowlders, among which the light-keeiier's cows crop a scanty growth of grass. The westernmost lieailhnul, upon which are some ancient graves, said to be those of the vic- tims of the first recorded shipwreck licre, rescnubles Point Aller- tou, — it being a lofty cliff of gravel intermixed with bowldo-s that vary in si^e, from the smallest pebbles to those weighing many tons. It is continually crumbling aAvay before the wear and tear of the southeast gales. The light-keeper's residence is a comfortable modern brick building of two stories. There is, or rather was, at the time of tho writer's visit to the island, an old stone house staiuling there that was reputed to bo of great ago. The two light-towers, buiit of micut granite, are each one hundred and fifty feet high, and they are furnished with lenses in which a dozen persons might stand erect without inconvenience. The keepers have all 1 I f I'llACIIMRS ISLAND. 245 lbll(i\v('(l tin- si'ii. Only sailors arc capaltlo of a|i]iro('iatiii^' the rt'HjHiiisiliility tliat tlic station iiiipuscs. ()ni' of ih,' kccpc'i-s said to iiKi — and lialiitual care is stamped npoii tlii' faces of these lucn — " W'c' know how eyes may he strained in thick weather at s.'a \o '^vt liold of the liglit; and tliat makes us pain- fully anxious to kcc|) it U[) to its lull jxiwer, especially when frosts or s(uv-scud dims the lantern ; for that is the vmy time when minutes count fur hours on hoard ship." ANTHONY THACIIKR'S SHIPWRECK. TnK story of how Thacher's Ishind came hy its name is one of tragical intta'cst, and is found in a letter written hy Anthony Thacher to his hrolher Peter, lirst printed in Increase Mather's " l\emarkahle Providences." It is also hrieily related in Win- throp's "dotu'nal," where it is entered, under the year of its occurrence, I'i.'Jf), as an incident of the awfid tempest that has thus lu'coini! historical. Thi; historian Iluhliard, writing long after the ewnt, .says that "the like was never in this jilac'c known in the memory of man, hefore or since." On the land iiouses were overturned and unroofed, the corn was ])eaten down to the ground, and the liarvest nearly ruineil, and thousands of trees were torn up hy the roots, liruken in tM'o like pipe-stems, or twisted oif like withes, so that the effects of it were visihle for many years afterwards. At sea its results were no less ter- rihle, the tide rising to twenty feiit on some parts of the coast, and heing then kejit from ehlung in its usual course hy the extriuinliiiary violenci' of the gale. Of tlie many disasters sig- nalizing its presence, that which the letter relates is a most graphic episode. It would h(* an injustice to the reader not to pre.sent .t in all its primitive (piaintness of form and style as a specimen literary composition of the day. Hero it is: — I must turn inyih'owneil pen ami shaking ha^id to imlite tiiis story of .-uch sad news as never hefore this hap]M'ncd ui New England. There was a league of perpetual friendship hutweeu my cousin Averv and mvs(Mf' never to forsake each other to the death, but to he 246 NKW-KNCLAM) LKdKNDS. :■! ipiutiikors of c'lch utlit'i's iiiisciy or wcHan', us also of Iiiiliitutioii, in iIk' siiiuc pliici'. Now u|)oii our aiiival in New ICiij^'laml tlicic was an oIIVt iiiailc unto us, My I'ousin Avciy was invited to Maililc- iiuail to l>t! tln'ii' ])aslor in dui' time ; tlicrc licin.^; no cliunii |il,intcil there us yet, but a town aiipointed lo set up llie trade of lisliin;,'. Ik'caiise many there (the most liein^' iisliermeti) were sonietliin;^' h)ose and remiss in tlieir I'ehavior, my i:ousin Avery was unwillin;; to <^n thither ; and so relusing, we went to Xewherry, intending th(!re to sit ih)wn. IJul lieinj,' solicited so ol'teii l)olii hy tlie men of tlie Till' SUIPWRIU'K. place and hy the ma,L,'istrates, and hy Mr. C'otton, and most of the ministers, wlio alleged what u In-neiit we. mii^'ht )»e to the peoj)!!; tliere, and also to tlie country and commonwealth, at lengtli we emliraced it, and tliither consented to go. They of Marhlehead forthwith sent a ])innaee for us and our goods. We embarked at Ipswich, August 11, iraa, with (mr families and substance, bound for Marblehead, we being in all twenty-three souls, — viz., eleven in my cousin's family, seven in mine, and one Mr. Wil- liam Eliot, sometimes of New Sarum, and four mariners. The next TIIACIIKK.S ISLAM). 247 luoriiiii^', liiiviiif,' (•iiiniiii'iKlril Durstrlvort to (ioil, with cheerful heaitH we hiiistt'd sail. Hut the linnl siiddfiily tiiriieil tiiir iheii riilncss iiiti) iiii mill ins,' and laiiiciitatidii.-. lAir du tin; 1 lih i,[ this Aii^'u>t, ll' w iiid, mir sails, liciiiL,' old and done, were s|dit. The inariiurs, heeaiise that it was iii^ht, would not ])Ut to new sails, but lesolvud to east aiiehor till the nioiiiiii;,'. Hut Ix'l'ore dayliijht it phnised the Lord to si'iid so mij^'hty a slmni, as the like was never kmiwn in New Enf,daiid since the Kii-li>h caiiie, nor in the meinoiy nf any of the Indians. It was so I'uiious, that our anchor came home. Whereiiitoii the mariners let out more cahh', which at last slipped away. Then our saihus knew nut what to do ; hut we were driven liet'oic the wind and waves. My cousin and I perceived our dan,i,'er, [and j solemnly recom- mended ourselves to (jod, tiie Lord both ol' earth anil seas, expeetiiii,' with every wave to be swalhnved up and drenched in tlie deeps. And as my cousin, his wile, and my tender lialies sat coiiirortiii^' ami idieerin,^; one the other in the Ivord against giiastly death, which every jiioiueiit staled us in the line and sat triumphiii;.; upon eacii one's forehead, we were by the vi(dence of tlie waves and fury ol' the winds (by the Lord's ](ermissioii) lifted up ujion a rock lietween two hii^h rocks, yet all was one rock. But it rai,'e(l witli the stroke, whi di came into the pinnace, so as we were presently u\) to our middles in water, as we sat. The waves came I'uriously and xiolcntly over us, and aj,'ainst us; but by reason of the rock's proportion could not lilt us oil", but beat her all to pieces. Now look with me upon our dis- tress, and consider of my misery, who beheld the ship l)roken, the water in her and violently ovei'whelmiiiL,' us, my ljooiIs and jn-ovis- ioiis swimmiiij^ in the seas, my friends almost ilrowned, and mine own i)oor children so untimely (if I may so term it witliout oll'i'iice) before mine eyes drowned, and ready to be swallowed up and dashed to pieces against tlie rocks by the merciless waves, and myself ready to accomjiany tiiem. lint I must go on to an end of this wol'ul relation. In the same room whereas he sat, the master of the ]>iimace, not knowing what to do, our foremast was cut down, our mainmast broken in three pieces, the fore part of tlie ])iiinace beat away, our goods swimming about the seas, my chihlren bewailing me, as not pitying themselves, and myself bemoaning them, poor souls, whom I had occasioned to such an end in their tender years, whenas they could scarce be sensible of death, — and so likewise my cousin, hi.-^ wife, f II T ^ ^ 24S NKW-HNCl.AND IJKIF.MiS. m ami his cliiMrcii ; aiiil Imili (it'ii> IifWitilini,' imcIi (itlior ni our Lonl ami only Saviniir .Icsus Cliiist, in wIkhu mily we liail ((Piurnit and clii'citiiliios : iiisoiniicli tiiiil, IVdiii llic u'lcatfst to llic Ici^l df iis, tlicif was Mot i>ui' scicccji or oiiliTv uiailc ; Imt ;ill, as .-ilcnl slurii, Were coiitiMitiMlly ri'.Hoh'i'tl to (li(! to^'ctluT |o\iii<^'|y, as siufe our a((|uaiiitaiicf v>r iiail livfil to^'ctluT t'lifiidly. Now as I was sittiii;; in tlic calpiii loom door, with inv liodv in the room, uiicn lol om- ot tin' ,>ailois, hy a wave licin;^' waslicd ont ol' tlic pinnaic. was ^'otttai in a;,'ain, and coming,' into the cahiii moni ovi-r my hack, criid out, "We ari' all cast away. Tin; Lord havo iiu-rcy Uliitii us! I liavf iK'cn washed ovcrlmard into thi- sea, and am ^'ottcti ill again." Hi- siuTclics uiadc me look forth. And looking toward thu sea, and seeing' how wc were, I turned myscU' to my cousin and the rest, und spake ihe.se wonls : "() cou.>in, il hath pleased (iod to cast us here hetweeii two rocks, the shore not far from us, for I saw the lops of trees wheu 1 looked forth." Whereupon the master of the pinnace, looking,' up at the scutlle-lude of tlie ([uarter-ileck, went Vio cast, she was some time before she couM ).'et away, hein^' waslieit l>y the waves. .Ml the rest that were in the hark weic ilidwiieil in the merciless seas. We four iiy that w.ive were dean swept away from (ilf the rock also into the sea; tlic! Lord, in one instant of time, dis- posini,' of lifteeii souls of u.i accord iii),' to his ^ 1 plea>uie and will. 1 1 is jileasure and wonderful ;,'reat mercy to me was thus. Stand- iiii,' oil the rock, as hefore voii hianl, with niv eldest dau^diler, my coll sin, ami his eldest son, looking,' upon ami talkiii;,' to them in tl liark, wheiias we were i)v that mena! e.ss wave wastn it o If ti le rocK, as before you heanl, Ood, in his mercy, causeil me to fall, by the stroke of thi^ wa\e. Hat on my face ; for my fai'e was toward tlie sea. Inso- niiicii, that as I was sliding off the rock into the sea, the Lord directed my toes into a joint in the rock's side, as also the tops of some of my liii,i,'ers, with my ri;,dit hand, by mean.s whereof, the wave leavinj,' me, 1 remained so haiigiiij,' on tlu; rock, only my head aliove the water ; when on the left hand I espied a )>oard or plank of the oimiace. And as I \\as reachint; out my left hand to lay hold on it, by another com- ing' o\'er the top (if the rock T was washed away from tlie lock, and liy the violence of the waves was driven hither and thither in the seas a 1,'reat wliile, ami hai(ins, myself cast upon an unknown land, in a wilderness, I knew not TIIACHEU'S ISLAND. 251 wlicrc nor liow to get tliciicc. Then it eaine to my iiiiml how 1 had uccasioiieil the dei'ih of my ehildreii, wlio cuusud them to leave theii' native laud, who might have left them there, yea, and might have sent some ol' them back again, and cost me nothing. These and such like thoughts do press down my heavy heart very nundj. liut 1 must let tliis pass, and will proceed on in the relation of (Jod's go(Klness unto me in that desolate island, on which I was cast. 1 and my wife were ahnust naked, liolh of us, and wet and cold even unto death. 1 found a snajisack cast on the shore, in whiili 1 had a steel, and Hint, and powder-liorn. (Joing farther, 1 found a drowned goat ; then I found a hat, and my son William's coat, l)ot]i which I i)Ut on. My wife found one of her petticoats, which she put on. 1 found also two cheeses and some hutter rance. In the isle lieth buried the bddy of my cousin's eldest daughter, whom I found dead on the shore. On the Tuesday following, in the afternoon, we arrived at ^Marblehead. Sueli an event Avntihl naturally liave its poetics pondaiif. The simple pathos of the prose narrative may now be contrasted witli the chaste beauty of "Wliittier's "Swan Song uf l'ars( ii Avery," wliich turns upon the po])ular fallacy tliat the swan l)our.s forth it.s exjiiring breath in .song. r i 252 nh\v-kn(;lani> lkcjends. T TllK SWAN S()X(J OV PARSON AVERY. ,(. (J. win IT I KR. When the icjiii-n's task was lmkK'cI, and tlii^ suimiicv weariii},' late, Parsdii Avciy sailiMl IVoiu Ncwlmrv, witli his wife and (diildivii ei.i^ht, Dnilipini; down the livtT-harlior in the shallop "Watrliand Wait." All day they saiU'd : at ni^ditiall tlu' ]ilcasant land-l.roo/c iliod, Tlu! bhukciiin- sky, at niidnij^ht, ils starry li;J;llt^ denied, And I'ar and low thf thunder of teuiiiest ]iroiiliesied ! All at once the j^nvat eloud jiarted, liki: a curtain ilrawn aside, To let (low;' the torch of li;j;htninij; on the teiror far and wide ; And the thunch'r and the whirlwind to^'ether smote the tide. There was wailini;' in tin; shallo]), woman's wail and man's despair, A crasli of breaking tindjers on the rocks so sharji and hare, And, through it all, th i -uurmuv of Father Avery's prayer. " In tins lught of death I challenge the promise of thy word '. — Let me see the great salvation of which ndne ears have heard! — Let me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of t'hrist, our Lord I " • . • * . • • Wlu.n the Christian sings his death-song, all the listenhig heavens draw near, And the angels, leainng over the walls of crystal, hear ^ ll.,w tlie notes so faint and hrokeu swell to music in ( lod's ear. The ear of (iod was o]ien to his servant's last recpiest ; As the strong wave swept him downward the sweet hymn upward pressed. And the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its rest. I r:\ i \ T THE Sl'KUTKE LEAGUEUS. 253 THE SPECTRE LEAGUERS. ^f'^lIE fatal year 1(!'J2, in wliich the witehcruft torrorism ko _L thoroughly peniu'atwl things uunulane, ha.s one ludicrous cliapter to redeem it from utter fatuity. It is gravely told iu llu; " Magualia Christi "of Cotton Maliier, and on the autliority of tlje Reverend .lohu Emerson, of (Jlou- (•ester, how a number of rollicking apparitions, dressed like gentle- mi'n, in white waistcoats and breeches, ke2)t tliat and the neigh- boring towns in a state of feverish excitement and alarm for a wliole fortnight together. And neither of the reverend persons named seems to have; entertained a doubt that th(!se unaccount- able molestations were caused by the Devil and liis agents in propria persona, who took the human form for the better exe- cution of their deep design. It is not very clear what that de- sign wa.s. The spectres, if such they were, — and as it wouhl be unpardonable iu us to doubt, — appear to have been a luirm- less sort of folk enough, for they did no injury either to the per- sons or the property of the inliabitants, thus layiug their natural propensities under a commendaUe restraint. Eut tlie fact that they were sjiirits, and no ordinary S])irit3 at that, being so con- fidently V(juched for, and by sucli high autliority on such mat- ters as Dr. Cotton Mather, would seem to dispose of all doubt upon the subject. Should any, however, remain iu the reader's nuud after perusing the following account, he is lemiuded tliat what he has read is tlie sworn evidence of men who actually fought with, and on mcn'e than one occasion disgracefully routeiib.s(iii, ii sturdy ycuiiiuii nf Cujiu Ann, with the rest of his llunily, alnKi.^l cvfiy night hfaid noises us if sumo persons wei'o walking or lunning hit her and thither aluiut the Ijouse. He being out Lite one night, when returning home saw two men come out ol' his own (U)or, ami then at sight of him run swiftly from the end of the lunise into the adjoining corniieUl. Going in. he immediately (|ue.stioned his family concerning these strange visitors. I'hey promptly replied that no one at all had been there during iiis absence. Staggered by this denial, but being withal a very resolute, atoutdiearted man, J!abs(ni seized his gun and went out in jjursuit of the intruders. When be had gone a little Ava}' from the house, he saw the same men suddenly start up from behind a log and run into a swamp that was ni'ar by. Hi' also overheard one say to the other, '• 'i'be man of the house is now come, else we might have taken the house." Then he lost sight of them. I'lKUi this, expecting an immediate attack, the whole family rose in consternation, and went with ;dl haste to the nearest garrison, which was only a short distance olf. 'i'hey had only just entered it when they heard heavy footfalls, as if u number of men were trampling on the ground around it. Then Labsou again took his gun and ran out, and he again saw the two men running away down the hill into the swamp. JJy this time no one doubted that they were threatened with an Indian for- ray, that these men were the enemy's scouts, and that the danger was imminent. The next night but oiu', IJabson. for the third time, saw two men, who he thought looked like Frenchmen, one of them hav- ing a bright gun, such as tlit; Frencli Canadians used, slung on his back. Moth of them started towards him at the toj* of their speed ; but Ilabson, taking to his heels, made good his escape into the garrison, and so eluded them. When he had got safely in, the nois(^ of men moving about on the outside was again distinctly heard. Not long after these strange things had taken place, Dabson, with another man, named John Brown, saw three M THE Sl'HUTlJK LKACirEliS. iiicii (Uio miiiilu'i', like Falstall's men in hneknuii, luul now iii- creiiscd to tlu'eej, whom tliey tried \u\vd to get a sliot at, lint did n(jt, owing to the strang(!rs' dodging al)out in so lively a manner that they eould not take aim. For two ov tlii'ee nigjits tln'se men, or devils in tlie i'orm ol' men, continued to appear in the same mysterious way, I'oi' the pui'pose of drawing the Cape men out into a wild-goose eliasi; after them. On didy II, Halison, Ilrowii, and all the garrison s;iw within gunshot (jf them lialf-a- dozeu men, whom they supposed to he reconnoitring, or trying A SORTIK ri'ON THE DEMONS. to decoy thorn into an amhush. The brave garrison at once sallied out in hot pursuit, liahson, who seems to have ever sought the forefront of liattlc, presently overtook two of the skulking vagabonds, took good aim, and pulled the trigger; but his trusty gun missed lire, and they got away and hid them- selves among the bushes. ITe then called out to his comrades, who inimetliately answered, " Here they are I here they are ! " when Ikbson, running to meet them, saw three men stealing out of the swamp side by side. Bringing his gun to his shouhhir, with sure aim this time he lired : when all thn.'c fell as if shot. I i^ J i mi 'loG NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. AluKJst bosiilu liimsell', IJabKoii cried out to his conii)!iuioiis tliut lit' luul kilk'il tlirue. JUit when ho was (toiiic iiuiu'ly up to tho siii)|)osn(l doiid iiu'ii, tlu-y all rose up and ran away, ai)pai'(;ntly willidut hurt or wound oi' any kimh Indeed one al).s()n a shot in return for liis own, the buHet narrowly niiss- in,^' liini, and burying' itself in a tree, from wliich it was after- ward ihig out, and jiresorved as a trophy of the coni])at. liabson thinkinf,' this warm work, took refuge behind a tree and reloaded. Then, his comrades having joineil him, they all charged ti^giither upon the sptit wdiere the fugitives lay concealed. Again the spectres .started up before their (iyes and ran, " every man his way." One, however, they surrounded and hemmed in, and Iiabson, getting a fair .sliot at him, .saw him dro[). liut wlien search was made, the dead boily had vanished. After a fruit- less hunt, during which the stout-hearted Colonists heard a loud talking going on in the swamp, in s(jmo outlandish jargon they could not under.stand a word of, they returned, crestfallen and half dead with fatigue, to the garri.son, in order to report their ill-success. But no sooner were they back there, than they saw more men skulking among the bushes, who prudently kept out of gunshot. What couhl it all mean] The next morning Dabson started to go over to the harbor in order to give the alarm there, for it "was not doubted b}' any one that an attack was imminent. While on his way tliiiher he was waylaid and lired at })y the "unaccountable troubh.Ts," who, strange to say, loaded their guns with real bullets, as jioor liab- son was near finding out to his cost. Having jirocured help, the neighborhood was scoured for traces of the attacking jtarty, two of whom were seen, but not being mortal llesh and blood, could not be harmed by Liad or steel. In the course of a few days UKjre, two of the garrison wont out upon a scout, who saw several men come out of an orchard, in Avhich they seemed to })e ])erforming some strange incanta- tions. They counted eleven of tlitiui. Kichard 1 )olliver raised his gun and lired into the midst of them, where they stood the thickest ; but of course without other eifoct than to make them scatter as before. TIIK srKCTUE LEAGUERS. 257 It now being cleur that tlie strange vi.situr.s b(n'e a ehanuijtl lil'e, antl tliat tlio Cape was in great peril I'roni tlii.s diabolical invasion, the end of which no man could foresee, the aid of the surrounding towns was invoked in this truly alarming crisis. A reinforcement of sixty men from Ipswich, led by Captain Aj)- pleton, coming promptly to the rescue, gave the garrison much encouragement, lieleaguered round as they were by the Powers of Darkness, against which lead and steel were of no more ell'ect than snowballs or rushes would have been. For a fortnight they had l)cen kept in continual alarm, night and day. The infernal visitants showed themselves first in one jilace and then in another, to draw out and harass thorn, until a foeman seemed lurking in every bush. Though repeatedly shot at, none could lie killed. They threw stones, beat ui)ou barns with clubs, and otherwise acted more in the spirit of diabolical revelry than as if actuated by any deadlier purpose. They moved about the swamps without leaving any tracks, like ordinary beings. In short, it was evident that such adversaries as these were, must be fought with other weapons besidi's matchlocks and broad- swords ; conset^uently a strange fear fell uj)on the Cape. Finally they became still more insolently bold, and so far from showing the same cowardly disposition to take to their heels whenever they were chased, they now treated their jiur- suers with open contempt. For instance, seeing throe of tho uidiiiown approaching him one morning, "walking slowly and ap]iarently unmindful of any danger, H.abson ensconced himself behind some hushes to lie in wait for them. He held his fire until they were come within a stone's throw before he ])ulled the trigger. But to his unspeakable dismay his gun Hashed in the pan, though he rejjeatedly snapped it at the phantoms, who took no other notice of him than to give him a disdainful look as they walked by. Yet ho soon afterward sna]){)cd the same yun several times in succession, and it never once missed fire. The goblins had charmed it ! It being settled that these insults proceeded from spectres, and not from beings who were vulnerable to weapons of mortal make, 17 in in -it ill 'J IH 258 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. ;i I.) I !■ the une(iUiil contest was abandoned. When this was ilonc, tho demons' occupation being gone, they too disappeared. It should bo said in conchision, and on the same authority as that to which wc owe the narration, that the most conserva- tive minds regarded these occurrences as a part of the desc(Mit from tiie iuvisible world tlien menacing the p ace of the Colony, and threatening the churches therein with irretrievable disaster. The poetic version of this legend opens witli a glimpse of the scene that is itself worth a whole chapter of descrii)tion. We are then introduced to the Colonial garrison-house, rudely but strongly "huilt, to protect the settlers from their savage foes, and to its valiant defenders, who with their useless arms in their hands await in dread the assault of the demons. Mr. Whittier, be it said, is sehlom happier than when dealing with the legend- ary lore extracted from the old chronicles. In him the spirit of an antiquary and the feeling of the poet exist in as amiable fellowship as they did in Sir AValter Scott, who ransacked the legends of Scotland for his tales in prose or verse. 'i' ■H:tlj THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. J. G. WHITTIER. Where the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, ran. The garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks of Cape Ann ; On its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade. And rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight overlaid. Before the deep-mouthed chinmey, dimly lit by dying brands. Twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands ; On the rou"h-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared. And the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. . . • • But their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear. As they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil near ; Of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun ; Never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mortals v\m ! OLD ME(;, THK VVITCII. 259 Midiii-ht came; from out the forest moved a du.«kv mass that mm r.n-w u, warriors, plume.l and painted, grimly marciiinK i" the jnoon. '(.hosts or witrhes," said the captain, "thus I toil the Kvil (>ne|" And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his -un. " ( Jo.l preserve us ! " sai.l the .'ai.tain ; " never mortal foes were there • Ihey have vanished with their leader, I'nnce and Power of the air • ' Lay aside your useless weapons ; skill and j.rowess naught avail • They who do the Devil's service wear their master's coa"t of mail! " So the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call Roused the score of weary s(ildiers watching round the .lusky hall • And they looked to Hint and priniin;,', and they longed Ibr break of day ; But the captain closed his Bible : " Let us cease from man, and pray I » To the men who went before us, all the unseen powers seemed near, And their steadfast strength of courage struck its roots in holy fear' Every hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed and bare Every stout knee pressed the flagstones, as the capUiin led in prayer. Ceiised thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the wall. But a sound ai.horred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of all L Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after mortal man ' Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the blockhouse of Cape Ann, ILD MEG, THE WITCH. TT/^E can easily bring the age of credulity aa far forward as V V the middle of tlie last century, by means of a local legend in which mediicval superstition respecting witches sur- vives in full vigor. The test of the silver bullet recalls the weird incantation scene in "Der Freischiitz," and all the demon lore associated with the gloomy depths of the Hartz. ^\rr- 200 NKW-KNdLANI) LKCKNDS. Illill,!. II 'I'liiTc was a rcpiilt'd witdi \'\ \\\r name ut' Margaret Wossoii, and I'aiiiiliarly known liy the name nl' -'Old M(%" who onn^ riisidt'il ill (Iloucosti'r. After having buen lor many yuar.s thu ol)joct of superstitious curiosity and dread to tlie inhabitants of the (.'ape, shi! ut length came to he-r end in th(( following strange und mysterious manner. At the time of the eidehralfd victorious siege of lA)uisl)urg by the (,'olonial troops in 1745, two soldiers of the Massachusetts line belonging to (iloucuster happened to have their attention drawn to tin' movements of a crow that kc[)t hovering oviu' them. They threw stones, and then fired tiieir muskets at it, but could neither touch nor terrify it ; the bird still continued Hying round them and cawiiig horribly in their oars. At length it occurred to one of them that it might be Old Meg. lie communicated his suspicions t(j bis comrade; and as nothing but silver was believed tt) have any jiowiir to injure a witch, they cut the silver l)uttons olf from their uni- form coats and discharged them at the crow. The experiment succeedwl. At the lirst shot they broke its leg ; at the second it fell dead at their feet. AVhen they returned to Gloucester, they learned that Old Meg bail broken her leg while walking by the fort in that place at the precise time wlien they had shot and killed the crow live hundreil miles distant ; after lingering for a while in great agony she iliod. And now comes the sin- gular part of the story ; for upon examining her fractured limb, the identical silver buttons which the soldiers had lired from their muskets umlcr the walls of Louisburg were extracted from the flesh. The story of Old Meg was long familiarly told in Gloucester, although the credulity wbi(;li once received it as solijiun truth has nearly, if not quite, passed away, says the IJeverend Charles W. Upliam, who makes the statement so lately as 1832. It has, however, been reproduced among the sober records of fact contained in Mr. Babson's "History of Gloucester." ^i'i AN KHCAI'K I'KOM I'llJATKH. 261 AN KSCAPK FROM PIRATES. A (J('()IM)IN(1 t(i the historiim Tliiicy.lidfs, the (Jiccks wcw ■^-^ the lii'st pinitcs, Tho aiicifut poets loll u.s that tliosi' wlio siiilcd iiloiig the coasts in (lucst of i)rcy wen- evoiywlnTC! accostwl with the (jiuistion, " whether tiioy were pirates," not as a term of reproach, luit nf hdior. So also the vikinj^s of the .Nortli wen; little loss than ('orsairs, whoso valiant doeils of arms, and whose adventurous voyages t„ distant lands, colehrated in their sagas, were, conceived ami performed with no nohlor pur- pose than robl)ory. lint tlu^ modern pirate had iK^ither the rndo sense of honor nor th(! chivalrous notions of warfare distinguishing his anciojit prototype. He was simply a robber and a nuuderer, bidding all honest traders t(. "stand and deliver" like the a(iuatic highway- man that lie was. Kven the mililest-mannered man among them "that ever scuttleil ship or cut a throat" was no more than this ; whih! the majority were beings httod by nature for a career of crime, the Ijare recital of which makes us shudder. During the first (luartor of the eighteenth century our own seas swarmed with these freebooters, whose depredations upon our commerce an^ the theme of some of the most startling epi- sodes preserv.nl in the whole annals of piracy. Blackbeard. Low, and J'hillips stand pre-eminent at the head of this black list. It is with the last that our story has to do. In tho course of his last ])iratical cruise, during which ho swept the coast from Jamaica to Xowfoundland, I'hillips fell in with and cai)tured the slooi) "Dolphin," Anen washed up on the Gloucester shore. One of the lost vessels was named the " Hesperus," and the name of Norman's AVo.^ now met his eye, — porhai)s for the lirst time. The event impressed him so deeply that he deter- mined to write a ballad upon it. Late one night^is he .sat by the fire smoking his pipe, the whole scene came vividly into his mind; and under the absorbing impulse of the moment, taking his pen, he wrote this most graphic of ballads. He then went to bed, iMit, as he tells us, not to sleep ; for new thoughts were run- ning in his head which kept him awake. He rose and added them to the first draught. At three in the morning he had fin- ished the ballad as it stands. Although, in point of fact, no such vessel as the " Hesperus " was wrecked on the reef of Xorman's ^Voe, the poet's versified story is founded ujwn a real incident, to whidi tlie use of these names lends a terriljle interest. In one sense, therefore, this l)alla.l belongs to the legendary ; but by the poet's genius it is now firmly associated with the surf-beaten rock of C^apo Ann, whose name of terror, derived from some unrecorded disaster,' found no reason for its being, until a few strokes of the pen gave it iunnortality. From being merely the scene of a wreck, Norman's Woe has become a spot consecrated by genius, ft is, therefore, no com- mon rock, but a moiuiraont to :\[r. Longfellow far more sug- gestive and enduring than any memorial shaft that the most reverent hands may raise over his honored dust. " The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life," The ballad is, as iMr. Underwood says, written in the quaint S^iBIHS t 2 i. I' ' j h ■lit; i: t: 266 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. old manner ; buf what is more to the purpose, it has tlie genuine ring, nervous action, sonorous rhythm, and unmistakable Havor of the sea throughout. Those stanzas descriptive of the increas- ing fury of the gale have never been surpassed in the language. Colder anil louder Mew the wind, A giile from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, Ami tlir billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. And fast through the nudnight daik and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the ileef of Norman's Woe. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the hleak scni-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fail', Lashed close to a drifting mast. HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 267 HANNAH IJINDING SHOES. "Bevkim.v Faums, Mass., IVc. 22, 1874. "Dear Sir, — xVs to 'llaimairs' lom/r, it is haid to ilctciiiiiiK-. I iiswl to see her at. all llic windows in Bevorlv when I Mas a little child ; bnt I saw her more distiiietly, alxuit twenty years ago, on the road between iVverly and Marhlehead. I think she lived in the latter place ([uite as innch as at the former. You see my lionie was ill Beverly, and we Beverly children were rather ui'raid of tlie Marhle- headers ; they had the reputation of 'rocking' their iieiguhors out of town. I sus])ect, on the whole, that 'Hannah' must have Ix'en a tramp, and hound shoes anywhere she put tip. I\[r. AVood, who painleil her picture, says he was shown her house in Marhleliead, and he ought to know. " But I have honestly told you all I know about her, except as a lodger ill my imagination. "Sincerely ashamed of my ignorance, I am truly yours, "Lucy Larcom." Poor lone Hannah, Sitting at the window binding shoes! Faded, wrinkled. Sitting, stitching in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she When the bloom was on the tree. Spring and winter Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. Not a neighbor Passing nod or answer will refu.se To her whisper : " Is there from the fishers any news ] " Oh, her heart 's adrift with one On an endless voyage gone ! Xight and morning Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 268 lip N K \V - 1'. N ( i L A N I ) L IKI E N I )S. Fair yrniiij,' ir.iniiali I'on, the suii-LiiMit lishcr <,'ayly wooes! Hale and clever, For a williiiLT heart ami iiaiul he sues. rOOE LONE UAUiNAH. May-day skies are all aglow, And the waves are laughing so ! For her wedding, Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. HANNAH BINDING SHOES. May is passing, — Mid tlic apiilc-boiij^'hs a pigeon cones. Hannah sliuddLTs, For th(; wild soir'-wustur niisciiief brews, JJound tin; roL'ks of MailileluMii, Outward itoiuid, a sehuoner spud. Silent, ionesonie, Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 'T is November ; Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. From Newi'oundland Not a sail returning will she lose ; Whispering hoarsely, "Fishermen, Have you, have you heard of Eeu I" Old with watching, Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. Twenty winters Bleach and tear the rugged shore she views ; Twenty seasons ; — Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea. Hopeless, faithful Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 2G9 'i m 1 ! ' 1 n , k 1 i 1 1 S>art «S>ebcntJ). IPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. Ill 1^ irSWlCII LEGENDS. /^LD IPSWICH is ono of tho most deliglitfiil corners into ^^-^ wliicli the artist or tlic unti(iiiary could havo tho good lurtunc to stray, for liore oitlier will liud al.un.lant occupation. Its physiognomy is old, its atmosphere drowsy, its cpiiot un- broken. The best residences are still the oLicst ones, and among them are some very day wended her way wearily to the top of the hill, she saw her lover's vessel making the desperate attempt to gain the i)ort in the height of a violent gale. IJut it drove steadily on among the breakers, and was dashed to pieces iind swallowed up before her eyes. In her poem Mrs. Thaxter adoj)ts the former version, which, if less tragic, appeals in a more subtle way to our symjiathies. In any case the hill has becf)me a monument to faithful affec- tion, and as such is tho favorite resort of lovers in all the country round. Ili-.AUTBItKAK HILL. 283 UK A I! ri5liKAK 11 1 1. L. CKI.IA TllAXTKIl. In Ipswich town, not I'ar liom lln; sea, Kisi's a hill wliirh tlic puoplc cull Ileurtbiviik llili, ami iis liistory Is iui old, old l(;4fnil. known to all. It was a sailor who won tlir lieail Ui'au Indian niaiilcn, lillu,' and yonn;^' ; And siir saw lain ovur ihi; sea di'iiarl, Wlnir swci't in Iut ear his pionnsi' vuw^; For iir I'lii'il, as liu kissed her wet eyes dry, "1 '11 come hack, sweetheart ; keep your iaitii I" She said, " 1 will watcli wliile liie moons ^m i)y." Her love was stronger than life or death. So this ])oor dusk Ariadne kept ]ler watch from the liili-top ruLrged and steep ; Slowly the empty moments crept Wliile she studied the changin,^ lace of the deep, Fastening her eyes upon every sjiei k That crossed the ocean within her ken ; Might not her lover he walking the deck. Surely and swiftly returning again V The Isles of Shoals loomed, lonely uud dim, Tu the northeast distance I'ar and gray, And on tlie horizon's uttermost rim The low rock heap of IJooiie Island lay. Oh, hut the weary, merciless days, With tlie sun above, with the sea afar, — No change in her fixed and wistful ga/e From the morning-red to the evening star! w 284 nk\v-en(;lani) li:(;enijs. Liko ii sIciuliT HtiitiU! carvt'd of stone She sat, with liardly motion or breutli. She; wept no tears ami she iiiaiic no moan, But hur h)ve was stronj,'i'r than lil'e or death. He never came hack ! Vet, I'aithful still, She watched from the hill-top her life away. And the townsl'(dk christened it Heartbreak Hill, And it bears the name to this very day. NEWIU'UYI'OUT LEGENDS. i: L ICT lus stroll a little about the city ol' Mewburyport and its Upon lniivin,t,f Ip.swich the landscape ^tows less austere. The Hat Kowley marshes succeed the rocky pastures and tumbling hills, with their stillly-upright cedars and their shut-in vistas, like a calm alter a storm. Then we glide on among haycocks, stand- ing up out of the inflowing tide, across the beautiful and peace- ful prairie of Old 2sewd)ury, and arc suddenly brought up by a ridge of high land, lifting its green wall between us and the basin of the Merrimack. At thu rigbt, thrust up through the tops of the elm-trees that hiile the villigc, like a spear tipped with gold, springs the village spire With the crest of its cock in the sun afire. That is old Newbury meeting-house. Extending now far along the slopes of the ridge as we approach it, are the city cemeteries, whose mingled gray and white monuments throng the green swells — a multitude of spectators turned into stone. Then, cutting through the ridge, the train plunges into the darkness of a tunnel, soon emerging again upon the farther slope among the city streets from which the broad wliite sheet of the Merrimack is seen moving steadily out to sea. One side h m^'r NEWBUUYl'OllT LKUKNUS. 285 of tlioso heights thou i.s apprui)riiit(Hl hy tlie living, tlio otlier by tho (lead. Tlio luo.st rer.iiii'kable uiul lUsciiutiiig i)l)Je(;t in Ihi' iiuulsoiipe now is tho river. Tho liivor Merriiuiick, when near tlio eml ol' its long course, expiinds into a noble basin enclosed within tho sweep ol' piotur- e-sipiely grouped and broken highlands. It is hero every inch a river, broad, deep, clear, and sparkling. (Jn one side are the 1 •v- ^ BKArON, SALISBURY rOINT. hills of Amesbury and Salisbury, on the other side the city of Newburyport rises from the curved shore to the summit of the ridge, crowned Avith trees and spiked with steeples. Down below the city and toward the sea all this changes. The high shores drop into fens, marshes, and downs. A long, low island thrusts itself half across the channel and blockades it. Beyond this again tho sea breaks heavily on the low bar outt'ide, and the river disappears in a broken line of foam. ' One loving and reverential hand has stamped all this region with the impress of his genius, and so has made all the world •J86 NKW-KNdLANI) LKGKNDH. |iiU'liik('i's ol'liis iiwii I'rcliu^ I'lir the rainiliiir .seniles ho tU'scribcs. Aiiii'sliiiry is Wliitticr's li(tini', i\u: M\\v lieiieath them smilo. I see the winding,' I'ownw loKl The 1,'reeii liill in its Indt nl'^'dld, And I'dlldwiii^' down its wavy line. Its sjiaikliii^' waters lileiid with lliine. There's not a tree upon tliy side, Nor rock which thy returnini,' tide As yet hath left al)ruiit and stark Ahove thy (jveiiiii},' water-mark, • • t • • But lies distinct and full in sij^lit, I'eiiealh this ^'Ush of summer li^'ht. Ill the same spirit, which hy a so/t ol' poetic alchemy seems cupable of eonvortiiig the waste sand.- uf the seashore into grains of gold, Mrs. Spoll'ord has described the njjproaidies to the river through the ihit higuoiis that furnish a circulation to the marshes. We floated in the idle breeze, With all our sails a-shiver : The shining' tide came softly through, And tilled Tlum Island River. ') ■I! .1 And clear the flood of silver swung Between the brimming edges ; And now the depths were dark, and now The boat slid o'er the .sedges. And hero a yellow sand-spit foamed Amid the great sea-iueadows ; And here the .slumberous waters gloomed Lucid in emerald shadows. NKWHUUVl'OItT LKdKNhS. •287 • • I Arouiul tlu; simiiy tlistance rose A Itliic iiiiil lui/y lii^'Iiliiiiil, And wiiiiliii;; diiwii our winding' wny Tim saiul-hills ul' riiim I.sluud. From tho doiHuin (d" poidry wr puss easily into that id" history. Mr. -lohii (iuincy Aduius unco described Siheria as heiii^' cele- brated fur its malefactors and mala. hite. Souks one, in an epi- grammatic vein, has summed up Neud)uryport as hein;,' famous for piety and privateering ; and the analogy .seems established when one turns to the History of Newbury written V)y Whittier's ohl schoolmaster, .Joshua ColUn, and reads there that the pri- vateersmen on putting to sea were accustomed to re.iuest the prayers (d" the; (dmndies for the success of tlu; cruise, — to which petition all those having a share in the voyage respondetl with a hearty amen. Newburyport, then, is a city built upon a hill. One reads its history as he walks. Like Salem, it rose and llourished thr.nigli its coiumerce ; but when tluit failed, the business of the place had to be recast in a wholly diiferent luoiild, and its merchants be- came spinners and weavers, insteatl of shipowners and ship- builders. It now seems trying rather awkwardly to adapt itself to the changes that the last half-century has brought about, — clianges emphasized by the tenacity with which the old peoplo cling to the traditions that are associated with its former pros- perity, and gave it a prestige that mills and factories can no longer maintain. The waterside street begins at a nest of idle shipyards, winds with the river along a line of rusty wharves, where colliers take the place of Indiamen, and ends with the antifiuated suburb of Joppa, — which at least retains some of the flavor of a seaport, it having a population that gets its living by fishing, piloting, or doing such odd jobs as watermen can pick up along shore, Frorn here the sails of a vessel that is nearing the port can be seen gliding along over the sand-drifts of Plum Island or Salis- bury Beach. Joppa is crowded with houses, but it is torpid. !i! 288 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Tlii.s long street leaves us at Okltowu, the parent settlement here, wliose cliurch spire we saw at a distance. It is narrow, irregular, and untidy; but High Street, the avenue laid out along the to]) of the ridge, and extending from Oliltown Green to the Chain Bridge over the Merrimack, is a thorouglifare one does not often see (;(pialled, even if he has travelled far and seen much. Here, upon the cool brow of the ridge, are the stately homes of the wealthy citizens ; here the old merchants, who amassed fortunes in West India rum and sugar in little stuffy counting- rooms on the wharves below, lived like ])rinc('S in the great roomy mansions whose windows overlooked all the town, the silvery course of the river, and the surrounding country for miles up and down. Although they are now sadly out of date, and of such size as to suggest that a blow of the hospitable knocker would fill them with echoes, there is an air of gentility and of good living a])out all these houses v,'hicli makes us feel regret for the generation whose open-han.ded hos])itality Lis passed into a tradition ; whihi tlie mansions themselves, grown venerable, continue to unite two wholly dissimilar eras. Usually there was an observatory on the roof, from which the owner could sweep the offing with his glass of a morning, and could run over in his mind the chance of a voyage long before his vessel had wallowed over the bar outsiile. He might then descend, take his cocked hat and cane from the hall-tablo, order dinner, with an extra cover for liis captain, pull out his shirt-frill, and go down to his counting-house without a wrinkle on his brow or a crease in his silk stockings ; everybody would know that his ship had come in. Sound in head and stomach, bluif of speech, yet with a certain homely tlignity always distinguishing his class, the merchant of the olden time, undoubted autocrat to his immediate circle of dependants, was a man whose like we shall not look upon again. He left no successors. During the two wars with England, a swarm of ])rivateers, I'-s well as some of the most famous vessels of the old, the invin- cible, navy, were launched here. In 1 81 2 the port suflered as long ' y ■« i 11' : NEWBUUVroHT LEGENDS. 289 1 ,» > iuid rigorous a blockade from tlio enemy's cruisers, as it liad before been near!\ paralyzed by Mr. detlerson's embargo. Then the nr reliant had ruin staring him in the face whenever he lev- elled his glass at the two and three deelvcrs exchanging signals in the oiling, or when he paced up and down hi.s grass-grown wharves, where his idle ships rusted ; but if he .lid sometimes shut his glass with an m-gry jerk, or stanip his foot to say, be- tween an oath and a groan, "Our masts take root, bud forth too, and beare akornes I " he was never found wanting in patriotism, nor did he show a inggardly or a craven spirit in the face of his reverses, so that tlu; record t)f the 'I'racys, the Daltons, tlie Browns, is one of which their descendants are Justly ]iroud. Still, it was not thought to be a siidul thing in those days for the clergy to pray that a change of rulers ndght remove the end)argo, or that a stiff gale of wind would raise the blockade, — the means to this cud being left to the wisdom of an over- ruling J'rovidence. For the stranger, however, there are but two things in New- buryport for which he asks the first person he nuiets. One is the tomb of (Jeorge Whitelield, and the other is the mansion of Lord Timothy Dexter. One is in a nt preacher, who wished to (jbtain some relic of liim, gave a commission to a iViend for the; purpose, and tliis friend, it is supposed, procured th(! limb tlirough tlie connivance of the sexton's son. The act of deseeraticMi being, however, discovered, aroused so much indig- nation everywhere, that tlie possessor thought it best to relin- (piish his [)ri/.e ; and he accordingly intrusted it to a shipmaster, ^vith the injunction to see it again safely placed in the vault with his own eyes, — which diretttion was strictly carried out. " And r," finished the sexttm, " have been down in the tomb with the captain who brought that ai' bone back." But this all happened many years ago. This neighborhood is further interesting as being the birth- place of William Lloyd (Jarrison, whose dwelling is the lirst on the left in School Street, while the i;ext is that in which White- field died of an attack of asthma. The extr;t.ordinary religious awakening tliat followed his preaching is one of the traditions common to all our New-England seaboard towns, the houses where he stopi)ed being always pointed out ; so that everywhere AVliiteiield has a monument. A missionary who crossed the ocean fourteen times, an evangelist who preached more than eighteen thousand sermons, and Avhosc audiences were so nume- rous that he was coui[)elled to hold his meetings in the open air, was uo ordinary man. To this exposure of Iiimsclf his death is attributed. It caused a deep sensation ; and so nmch had the pub- lic estimate of hiui changed, that there was even a contention for the lienor of possessing his remains, which now lie in the place where he was stoned when he first attempted to preach in it. Such is the retribution that time brings. "When this cowardly assault nearly struck the Bible from his liand, the man who al- ways had an answer for everything, holding up the book, said ■' rl; n V I 1:1 \ 1 ; 292 :new-englani) legends. with calm dignity, but in a voice that went through his hearers Hke an electric sliuck : " 1 have a warrant from God to j)reacli : his seal is in my liand, and I stand in tlie Kini'' hi' ';way." LORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. TIMOTHY DEXTER was not horn great, neither did lie have greatness thrust upon hiui ; yet so eil'ectually «loes lie seem to have thrust his (juasi-greatness upon Newburyi)ort, tliat even now, after tin; lapse of nearly fourscore yc.'ars, count- ing from the time when he laid his eccentricities in tlie dust, as all lords, sooner or later, must do, tlio stranger visiting Xowbm'y- port asks first to be guided to the spot where the renowned Lord Timothy lived in most unrepublican state. Timothy Dexter Avas not a native of Ncwburyport. Maiden has the honor of being his birthplace; and the family still exists there, a brancli of it liaving occupied one estate for more than two hundred years. Although bred to the tanner's trade, Tiuu.- thy Avas far too shrewd to hide his talents in a vat. He saw easier avenues to wealth opening before him ; and with a forecast Avhich woukl make any merchant's fortune, he bought and sold in the way of trade until he had accuuudated a snug capital for future speculations. Having "put money in his ]iurse," Timothy Dexter became ambitious; believing that a golden key Avould admit him within the circles of the aristocracy. Then, as now, Ncwburyport was the scat of (Culture, refinement, and literature ; and it was there- fore to Ncwburyport that the titled tanner now turned liis eyes. He found in its picturesque jirecincts two mansion houses avail- able for his purpose, and these lu; purchased. He first occui)ied one situated on State Street ; but having soon sold this at a profit, he removed to tlu; well-known estate situated on High Street, thenceforth making it, through an odd ])erversion of its real character*, one of tlie historic mansions of Essex County. fist ■'■i!|||!ii|li' '. . ■i| I! iji" c ■y. 294 NK\V-KN(iLANI) LKi iKNJ)S. ■ir ' I Viiiii to excess, Ik; lonj^vil lor tlit' luliihilioii wliich a cortain da-ss of people are alway.s ready ti^ lavish upon the possessors of great wealth. He now lH',ifaii the woi'k of renovation whieii transfonued the soher mansion of his predecessor into a harleipiinade in wood. J!y his directions the painlei's adorned tlie outside. a briiliant wliite, triniined with ureen. Minarets were built upon the loof, in the centre of wiiich rose a loft}' cupola surmounted by a gilded ea,nle Avith outspread ■\vings. Standing as it did ujion the crown of the hill, the house could bi^ seen for miles around, and soon l)ecanuj a landmark for marin(,'rs. But tlie great and uni(pi(t display was made in thi' garden IVonting tliis Jiouse. There tlieii was working at his trade in the town a skilful ship-carver named Wilson, whom Dexter employed to carve from the solid wood some forty gigantii' st;i,tues of the most celebrated men of tlie jieriod. (lladly did the sculptor accept and exeruli' this order, for it enaliled him to lay tlie foundation of a small fortune, ami to ac(juire a lasting reputation amou"' his townsmen for his workmansiiip. These images were about eight feet in height. With conscientious lidelity to fact and iitni'ss, Uie carved clothing was painted to resenil)le that worn hy the real jiersonages, — blue coats, white shirts, bulf brecndies, and the rest, — altogether making a display wiiich no museum in the country could equal. Over the main entrance to the house, on a beautiful arch, stood George Washington, M'ith John Adams, bareheaded, at his right hand; for Dexter said that no one should stand covered on the right hand of his greatest hero, (leneral Washington. On the left was Thomas .lellerson. iiold- ing in his hand a scroll inscribed "Constitution." P)ut mv Lord T-uiothy, it is said tlie eivility of toucliiug his hat when he passed underneath till' gri.'at Corsican's shadow. In the panels of the entahlaturos of (Nudi of the cohuuns on which thesi; images stood were the names of the characters represented. Among them were (>ov- ernor -Jo) n Langdon of >«'ew Hampsliire, (lovernor Calel) Strong of ^Massi'.chusetts, Kufus King, (General IJutler of South Caro- lina, (ieneral Knox, John day, dohn Hancock, William Pitt, Louis XVL, King (leorgv, Lord Nelson, and the Indian Chief, Corn Planter. There was also one allegorical figure representing Maternal Aifectiou, and another a Travelling I*reacher, besides several enormous lions occupying pedestals. Dexter himself mouijpolized two statues. One of these stood near the door, holding in its hand a placard, whicli was inscril)ed, " 1 am iirst in the East, tlie first in tiie West, and the Greatest Philosoiilier in the known world." The cost of these images, with the col- umns on which they were placed, is said to have been lifteen thousand dollars. This was the only way, however, in wliicli Lord Tnuothy was abh; to lu-ing himself into association with greatness. Society refused him recognition with the same hard obduracy that his own wooden images did, his vulgarity and ignorance being too gross even for all his gold to gild ; and so he lived only among sycophants and parasitica, who cajoled and flattered hirn to his heart's conticnt. Having a house and grounds which he Hattered himself would make his stuck-up neighbors split with envy. Dexter next re- solveel to set up an equipage fit for a lord ; and one suiting his ideas of magnificence was accordingly procured. Some one having told him that the carriages of the noliility were always decorated with a coat of arras, one was composed on demand and painted (ui the panel. The crest may have been a dexter arm brandishing a warnung-pan, with the motto, " Dy this I got ye." !-t I I * I 206 NKW-EN(;LAN1) LEflENHS. In tho mattor of Imrscs Dexter was extromoly fastidious, as well as caiii'ii'idus. As soon as lio gnsw tired of one, color, lio woidd sell those lie iiad just boii;^dit at extrava,L,'aiit priees, and Imy others. His eostly carriage, drawn liy heautii'ul cream-col- ored animals, became one of the sights of the d;iy whenever the owner chose to take an airing; hut to the Itixnry m1' |he ('([tiiiiage tho gaunt and mean face, half l)uried undei'neath an enormous coeked-hat, the; spare tigure sitting holt upright, the hairless dog s(piatted Ix'siths it, offered a contrast as stiikingly ridiculous as diil the coach of the celelirate'd 'I'ittlehat-'i'it mouse, and it ])rovoke(l quite as much laughter when it i)assed through the town, the street urchins shouting ironically, " Clear th<^ way for my lord's carriages ! " In this coach Dexter once drove in state to the cman in the days of chivalry. He would again revive the age of poets and troul)a- dours. Perhaps the most unii[Ui' idea of all was tlu; engage- ment of a poet-laureate to write his praises and to eud)alm his memory in verse. Tliere haiipened to be living in Newbury- port one Jonathan Plummer, an eccentric jxMlhn' of tish, who had a penchant for extempore rhyming which with the igno- rant and illiterate passed for genius. A bargain was forth- with struck with him to serve in the capacity of ])oet-laureate, and as such he was presently installed in Dexter's household. A handsome new livery was ordered, consisting of a tine black broadcloth coat, with stars on the collar and fringe; on the skirts, slioos with large silver buckles, a cocked-hat, and a gold-headed cane. One of Pbunmer's poems to his patron, comprising about fifteen verses, has been preserved entire. The following is a specimen : — ii 1 ■ L(i|;ii TIMOTIIV ItKXTEK. 297 Lord Dcxtur is a man ui' Imiiio, Most (•(■Icliratcd is his iiainc, Moro pii'ciou.s far than gold tluit 's pnro : L()i'icd Iihvi- cxcrtcil a trrcat iiilliiciifo for giidd oviii' tliis cccciiti'ic iiiiia vus a ncf^rcsiri naiin'il I -my l.aii- ('ast(!i', — a I'ciiialr of Aina/iniiaii in'oportiotis, wIki is (Icscrilicii as Ihmii;,' possc'Hsod of uimsiial sliicwdiicss and iiitnMiialioii. JfiT fatlii'i', callod Ca'.sar, was tlio sdii (if an Ai'iiiaii kiiij,', and was itrouj,'Iit til the ('(luntry as a slavi.'. So hi^^ddy was ho estccnit'd, llial oil '• Nij,r;^ror 'Lt't'tion Day " Lucy's father ai'twl as gonciral- issiiii.i, and was entitled to have t\V(dv(i footnien run l>y his si(U', widli^ he ]H'oudly hestro(U) a spii'led horsc! at tlie iirad of the; sooty ])r()(^('s,-iiin. When tlie yellow lVv(r ia,ui'(i in N'ewliuryi'ort in IT'.Mi, Liiry Lancaster proveil iierself indeeil of royal lilood. Strong; and foarless, ftdl of ^^ood works, she di'Votod herstdf day and ni,L,dit to the sick, prineipally in the fandlies of tli(! best i)eople ; Dexter, ainotii^' otheis, liavin-.i' need of hei' servici's. she hecanie a lirm friend and eouiiselldr to the family. Her estimate of J)exter was iiiiicli higher than the eonini n one. and she jj,ave iiim credit for more honesty of purpose than most people did. He needed some ono liko her to adviso him, and she tVeiiuently turneil his attention from mis(diiovous ]iiu'siiits iiy sin^u'cstiiiL,' alterations and improvements to be made in ids house and grounds. This Woman survived l)exter nearly forty years. One of th(! oddest of 1 )exter's freaks was his mock funeral, which was arranged l,y him with all the solemnity of prepara- tion re([uisite for a real inteinient. Tn his garden he had caused to 1)(! l)uilt a spacious tond), while in his house ho hail long kept a costly colliu made of mahogany, richly adorned. With a curiosity perhaps unprecedented in the history of vain man, he wished to secithe eil'ect his funeral would produce. Invi- tations were issued, mourning apparel was ])repared for liis fanuly, some ono was found to olliciate as minister, and the procession was duly formed, and mandied to the vaiUt in the garden. While this farce was perfornnng, Dexter was looking from an upper win- dow, and before the company had dispersed, he was found beat- ing his wife for not shedding tears at his jtretended demise. Of his conjugal relations, it is reported by ono who knew him 1 ill ■i ■ TllH Ul,l) i:i.M OK NKWniJKY. 'Ml wtill, Unit, beoomiiij,' ilLssiitiMlit'd with lii.s wiCe, Im iiiiulo ii l)ar>,'ain with liiT to li'iivt' liiiii, j^iviiij,' Iht u tliousaiid, th ol' ()(;lol)ci', IcSOtl, hurd Doxtcr ditul at liis inaii- sion on llii;li Struot. Jlis luiuMal was an oitcasion wliich it would have pleased him to witness, if such sij^hls could Le per- niilli'd In vain mortals; Ijiit us the town ollicers would not, I'or sanitary reasons, allow liis remains to ho depositeil in Ids ^'urdeii tiuuh, ho was laid away ainonj,' his fellow townsmen in tin; puhlii; hurying-j^'round near the l'ro,!^'-j ond. Not long after his death a gale blow ilown many of the images, and the phico grew dilapidated, .\liout tlu! year 1S4(), while it was being useil as a factory boarding-house, the estate was purchased by K. (1. Kelley, of IS'ewburyport, who pos.sossej wealth and taste, and he proceeded to obliterate as far as jios- sible all traces of his predecessor's follio.s. The throe presidents over tho door were thrown down and domolishod ; tho grounr siiildcii tiic licait cf mail ; and still (ildcr aic (lie corroded stones in tlie village ehurehyard that overlooks the broad estuary of the river, and is ■washed liy the jioiid (d'the iloating isLuul lielow it. Legendary lore rdings around these a^eil houses lik(> tlie mistletoe to the oak, and lends its eharm to llu.' niysteiy that dveishadowtj them. THE OLD ELM OF NEWBfRY. I'^K., THE OLD ELM OF XEWlJl'KY. 303 In a pretty pastoral legend Mi.8 Ilaiuiah (Juuld gives the ongm or the old el.n, and inci.lentally, also, nn engaging picture ot the larm life of those early times with whieh the le-end itself is associated. ° THE OLD ELM OF .XKWLUIiY. li. F. GUULI), Did it ever come in yonr way to ])ass The silvery pond, with its fringe nl' grass, And threading tlie lane harark To take from ins feeling ofjoneliness, An.l make the length .jf ins way seem less. An elm grew close hy the cotta-e's eaves. So lie plucke.! 1dm a twig well clothed with leaves. So, sallying fortli, wiili the supj.lc arm To serve as a talisman parrying harm He felt that, tliou<,di his heart was big, 'T was even stouter for liaving the twig ; For this, he thought, wonid answer tolwitch The horrors away, as he crossed the ditch. ' i I i: ;' i • h i '^' 1 ^•' i ? ; 304 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. The iiieiidinv iiml cup.se, wlieieiii, perchance, Will-u'-lht!-\vi.sp might wickedly dance ; And, wielding it, keep him from having a chill At the menacing sound of "• Wliij)pour\vill!" And his (jesli from creeping Ijcside tlie bog At the harsh hass voice of the viewless frog; In short, ho felt that the switch would be Guard, plaything, business, and company. When lie got safe home, and joyfully found He still was himself, and living, and sound. He planted the twig by his family cot. To stand as a monument, marking the spot It helped him to reach ; and, what was still more, Because it had grown by his I'aii' one's door. The twig took root ; and, as time liew by, Its boughs spread wide, and its head grew high ; While the priest's good service had long l)een done. Which made the youth and the maiden one ; Anil their young scions arose and [dayed Around the tree in its leafy shade. jiii n THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEW ALL. THIS piece, so full of the milk (>f liumaii kindness, was written to disprove the opinion advanced by the Simple Cobbler and others, to whom it is at once a rebuke, and an answer, that it was impossible to subsist in New luighuid by the labor of one's hands alono. It is found in Sewall's " New Heaven upon the New Earth." So (piaiiitly is it expressed, that only the original language can fitly set forth tlie picture of pros- perous abundance that so gladdened tlie good old man's eyes when looking down upon it from the Newbury hills. Retain- r ' THE PllOrirECV OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 805 ing tliis as much us possil)U>, Mr. Whittier lias phrased it in puutic form that is singularly like the i)rose version. This, let us say, is the same Samuel Bewail who, as one of the witchcraft judges, gained a lasting notoriety, and whose marriage to Hannah, the daughter of ]\Iint-master John Hull, originated the tradition that she received her own weight in silver PiucvTreo shillings as a wedding portion. The family has always held a distinguished place in the annals of Colony and State; and Sewall's remarkable "Diary," to which we have before referred, is a storehouse of information coni^ern- ing the events and manners of his time. The prophecy is as follows : — "As lung as Plum Island shall faitld'ully keej) the coinniamU'd Post, Nutwithstanding the hectoring words and hard blows of the proud and boisterous ocean ; As long as any Salmon or Sturgeon shall swim in the streams of Merrimack, or any Perch or Pickeril in Crane Pond ; As long as the Sea Fowl shall know the time of their coming, and not neglect seasonably to visit tlie jtlaces of their acquaint- ance ; As long as any Cattel sludl be fed with the (Jrass growing in the meadows Mhich doe humbly bow themselves before Tuikie Hill ; As long as any Sheep shall walk upon Old-town Hills, and shall from thence pleasantly look down upon the liiver Parker and the fiuitful Marishes lying beneath ; As long as any free and harmless Doves shall find a White Oak or other Tree within tlie township to perch, or feed, or build a careless Nest upon, and shall voluntarily present themselves to perform the othce of Gleaners after Barley Harvest ; As long as Nature shall not ltow old and dote, but sliall constantly remember to give the rows of Indian Corn their education by Pairs, — So long shall Christians be born there ; and being first made meet, shall from thence be translated to be made partakers of the Saints of Light." PROPHECY OF SA:MUEL SEWALL. J. G. WHITTIER. I SEE it all like a chart unrolled, But my thoughts are full of the past ami old ; I hear the tales of my boyhood told, 20 306 NKW-ENGLANI) LEGENDS. Ami the sliiulows iiiid sIimjics df caily days Flit iliiuly by in the vuiliii^' haze, With muasurod moviMiR'nt and rhythmic chime AVcaviiig like shuttles my web of rhyme. I tliiiik of the old man wise and j^'ood Who once on yon misty hillsides stood, (A poet who never measured rhyme, A seer miknowii to his dull-eared time.) And, jiropped on his staff of a,L,'e, looked down, With his boyhood's love, on his native town. Where, written, as if on its hills and plains. His burden of i)rophecy yet remains. For the voices of wood, and wave, and wind To read in the ear of the musing mind : — "As long as Plum Island, to guard the coast. As Ciod a))poiiited, shall keep its post ; As long as a salmon shall haunt the deep Of Merrimack River, or .sturgeon leap ; As long as jjickerel, swift and slim. Or red-backed perch, in Crane Pond swim ; As long as the annual sea-fowl know Their time to come and their time to go ; As long as cattle shall roam at will The green grass meadows l)y Turkey Hill ; As long as sheej) shall look from the side Of Oldtown Hill on marislics wide. And Parker River, and salt-sea tide ; As long as a wandering jiigeon shall search The fields below from his white-oak perch, When the bailey-harvest is ri]ie and .shorn. And the dry husks fall from the standing corn ; As long as Nature shall not grow old, Nor drop her work from her doting hold. And her care for the Indian corn forget. And the yellf)w rows in pairs to set, — So long shall Christians here be born, Grow up and ripen as God's sweet corn, — By the beak of bird, by the breatli of frost, Shall never a holy ear be lost, iter. THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. J5iit, husked liy Death, in the Planter's sight, Be sown a''aiii in the tields of li<'ht I " 307 The Island still is i)uri)le witli plums, U}i the river tlie saluimi comes, The sturgeon leaps, and the wild-fowl feeds On hillside l)erries and marish seeds, — All the 1 leant iful signs remain, From sjiring-time sowing to autumn rain The good man's vision returns again I And let us hope, as well we can, That the Silent Angel who garners man May find some grain as of old he found In the human cornfield ripe and sound. And the Lord of the Harvest deign to dwu The precious seed by the fathers sown ! THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. ONE does not go far into the history of our legendary lore without making tlie discovery that Cotton Mather's study, like tliat of liis father before him, was the congenial receptacle for everything that might happen in New England out of the common. Tpon tliis centre tlie dark tales converged like a flight of bats in the niglit. His fatlier had solicited the New- Kngland ministers to contribute everything of a marvellous (diara(;ter that might come witliin their knowledge or under their observation, to ttie end that the mysterious workings of Providence might if possible be cleared up, and the relation to human affairs, — which it was not for a moment doubted they sustained, — be so adjusted as to ])oint a moral or adorn a tale. To this sagacious foresiglit we owe that singularly interesting book, the " Kemarkable Providences," of Increas.' Mather. To this we also owe the Double-Headcd Snake of Newbury, — a reptile that would certainly have made the fortune of any itiiie- T :ii 11! II i , i ■ i i i 308 NEVV-ENOLAND LEGENDS. rant showman of our own period, luivu put the four-l(>g<;o(l j,'irl (',omi)lotely into tlie .shade, and have caused the devil-tish of Victor Hugo to shed tears of vexation. The account of this M'onderful snake comes in a letter from the Reverend Christoplier Toppan, minister of Newbury, ad- dressed to Cotton Matlier. Considering tliat it emanates from a source so entirely respectable and trustworthy, it is to be hoped that nobody will treat it as an idle village tale. He writes : — "Concerning the Ami)hishfcna, as soon as I received your commands I made diligent enquiry of several persons who saw it alter it was dead. . . . They directed me, for further information, . . . to the per- sons who saw it alive, and killed it, which were two or three lads, :.^^yc.)-y:,^-^o-^^^^!^^^BIi^i-'C? ^^&mm:^m±^f^Ki^^m YK D0UHLE-HEADED SNAKE. about twelve or fourteen ; one of which, a pert, sensible youngster, told me yt one of his mates, runiung towards him, cryed out there was a snake with two heads running after him, upon which he run to him ; and the snake getting into a puddle of water, he with a stick pulled him out, after which it came toward him, and as he went backwards and forward, so the snake Avould doe likewise. After a little time, the snake, upon his striking at him, gathered u]) his whole body into a sort of ([uoil, except botli, heads, whicli kept towards him, and he dis- tinctly saw two mouths and two stinijs (as they are vulgarly called), which stings or tongues it kept putting forth after the usual manner of snakes till he killed it. I I 1 It 1 THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. 309 I i "i'osten><. — Before eiisealiii<,' I .^liokc with the other man who examined the Aniphisbiena (ami he is also ii man of credit), and he assures me yt it had really two heads, one ut each end, two mouths, two stint's, or tongues, and so forth. "Sir, I have nothing more to add, but that he may have a remem- brance in your prayers who is, " Sir, your most humble servant, " Christopher Toppan." THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY. J. G. WUITTIKH. Far away in the twilight time Of every peo])h', in every clime. Dragons and grillins and monsters dire, IJorn of water, and air, and tire, Or nursed, like the Python, in tlic mud And ooze of the old Deucalion Hood, Crawl and wriggle and foam with rage, Through dusk tradition an garnish the story, with here a stieak 01' Latin, and there anotliei' of Greek : And the tales he heard and tlic notes lie took. Behold! are they not in his Wonder- ]it)ok / I TTIO.AIAS MACY, THE EXILE. rp I IE archivos of Massaclnisc^its on(;o more furnish tjie inci- X dent conccrniDg which, as in the " King's Missive," a letter — a mere serap — has suili.;e.l, it bad two stanzas more tlian it now has in the author's collected poems. This ]\racy, tlie hero of the poem, was complained of for hav- ing given .shelter to some "notorious" Quakers, or vagabonds, as the law then termed them, in his own house. This simple act of hospitality b.'ing in violation of tin; law jirohibiting any man to oi)en his door to a (^)unker. no matter liow urgent soever THOMAS MACY, THE EXILE I^ll tho call upon his luiiuiuiity lui^'ht be, Macy, the oH'ciuling cul- prit, was cited forthwith to appear before tho (ieneral Court at IJoston to answer the complaint prefernul aj^^ainst liiin. Instead of complying with the requisition which very few would be found willing in those days to disobey, "alacy wrote an huud)lo, apologetic, and deprecatory letter to the (ieneral Court. 'IMie letter indicates a man of a very ilitl'erent stamp from the antiiiue hero that the poem depicts in the act of cheating the minions of the law of their prey. From it:; tm-ms we have little notion that the " Hold Ma:;y," as he is styled there, was cast in the same stern mould tliat the martyrs are ; but we have a very ..^ i I |i M ) ESCAPE OF OnODMAN MACY. Throe of these men, being preacher.'^, could look for no mercy from tho Puritan anthoritios, who charged them witli going about seducing his Majesty's goosed, And on Xantuc kel's naked ish', Drew up Ids linat at last. And yet that ish; reniaineth A refu^'e ol' the tree, As when tiiie-hearted Macy buladd it IVoin tlie sea. God bless the sea-beat island ! — And grant lor evermore, That charity and freedom dwell As now upon her shore ! TELLING THE BEES. T3 M'SPECTIXG ])('es, oik* very old superstition among others J- \) i.s, as I can strictly affirni, still cherished, surviving, ai)i)ar- ently, through that peculiarity of the mind which, tlie event being uncertain, elects to give; it the benelitof the doubt rather than to TELL INC THE IJEKS. 315 (liscanl it as a cliildisli and moaiiiiii^'less custom. This in tin' I'nui- iiiDii hclii'l' that hui's must hr inado acquainted with tiin (h'atii of any nn'iuhcr of the family, nthcrwise tht.'so intcllij^'t'Ut little, crca- turt's will citlK!!' tk'.surt the hivr in a |)L't, or huivo olf workin;^' and (lit! inside of it. The old way of doin;^' this was for the j^'oodwifo of the house to go and han>; the stand of hives with hlaek, the usual symh(jl of mouvnin;;, she at the same time; suflly humming some doleful tune to hiTsell'. Auntlier way was for tiie master '- f'^ . ^^ to approach tlie hivos and rap K'''>tly ni*"" them. When the bees' attention was thus secured, he would say in a low voice that such or .such a person — mentioning the nanit; — was dead. This pretty and toucliing superstition is the subject of one of Whittier's " Home Ballads." Here is the place ; right over the hill Euiis the path I took ; You can sei' the gaj) in the old wall still, And the ste])ping-stones in the shallow brook. « • • • • There are the beehives raiiLjed in the sun ; And down by the brink Of the brook are her poor Howers, weed o'errun, Pansy and daifotlil, rose and pink. rm f 316 ne\v-e\(;lani» legends. Before them, under the garden-wull, l'" I H I HAMPTON LEGENDS. 321 Haiujiton, fi)riiiei'ly the Indian Winnicuniet, is an ukl bonier scttk'iiu'ut of the J5uy (Julony, tliat was transl'eiTed, through tlie blundering of her agents, to New Hampshire wlien the long dispute about the boundary betwecai the two governments was finally settled. The singular and a])parently eccentric course of this line, resendjling a Virginia fence, is not duo to chance, but to the crookedness of Colonial politics. While this controversy was pending, the legislative bodies of both governments once held a session at Hampton Falls, — which course, it was thought, by bringing tlie rival interests together, miglit end the r, with a deprecating wave of the liand. " C'>me, do we under- stand each other? Is it a bargain, or not?" At the talismanic word " bargain " the General pri(!ked up his ears. He had often been heard to say that neither man nor devil could get the better of him in a trade. He took out Ins jack knife and began to whittle. The Devil took out his, and began to pare his nails. " But what proof have I that you can perform what you promise 1 " demanded !Moulton, pursing up his mouth and con- tracting his bushy eyebrows, like a man who is not to be taken in by mere appearances. The fiend ran his fingers carelessly through his peruke, when a .shower of golden guineas fell to the floor and rolled to the four corners of the room. The General (juickly .stooped to pick JONATHAN MUULTON AND TIIH DKVIL. 325 I U]) one; but no sooner had his fingers closed upon it, tlian iio dropped ii with a yell. It was rod-hot! The l)evil ehuekled ; " Try a,L,'ain," he said. l')Ut .Moultiui shook his head and retreated a steji. "Don't he afraid." ]\Ioulton cautiously touehed a coin ; it was cool, Ifo wein'h(>(l it in his hand, and rung it on tlie table ; it was full \vei<;lit ami true ring. Tlien ho wont down on his hands and knees, and began to gather up the guineas Avith feverish haste. "Are you satisfied?" demanded Satan. "Completely, your Majesty." " Then to business. 15y the way, have you anything to drink in the house?" "There is some Did Jamaica in the cupboard." " Excellent ! I aiu as thirsty as a I'uritan on election-day," said the Devil, seating himself at the table, and negligently flinging his mantle back over his shoulder, so as to show tiio jew(!llod clasps of his doublet. ^foulton brought a decanter and a couple of glasses from the cupboard, filled one, and passed it to his infernal guest, who tasted it, and smacked his lips with the air of a connoisseur. Moulton watched every gesture. " Does your Excellency not find it to your taste?" he ventured to ask; having the secret idea that he might get the Devil drunk, and so outwit hiiu. " H'm, I have drunk worse. But let me show you how to make a salamander," replied Satan, touching the lighted end of the taper to the liquor, which instantly burst into a spectral blue flame. The fiend then r'^i^ed the tankard to the height of his eye, glanced api^rovingly vt the blaze, — which to Moultnn's disordered intellect resembled an adder's forkeil and agile tongue, — nodded, and said, patronizingly, "To our better ac([uaint- ance ! " He then quaffed the contents at a single gulp. Monlton shuddered ; this was not the way he had been used to seeing healths drunk, lie pretended, however, to drink, for fear of giving offence ; but somehow the liquor choked him. The demon set down the tankard, and observed, in a matter-of- w. ^ ¥f 326 NFAV-KNCLANI) LKC.KNDS. 11 !l fixct way that put his li,-;tciii-r in a cohl sweat : " Now that ymi aro conviuecd 1 am abhi to make you tho richest man in ull thu l)rovinee, listen! Have I your uar? It is wijU! In considera- tion of your agreement, duly signed and sealed, to deliver your soul " — here he drew a parchment from his l)reast — " I en;^'aj,n', on my jtart, on the first day of every month, to fill your hoots with golden elephants, like tliese before yon. IJut mark nn' well," said Satan, holdin;^' up a forelin^'er glittering with dia- monds, "if you try to play me any trick, yon will repent it ! 1 know you, .Jonathan Moulton, and shall kei-p my eyi; upon you ; so beware ! " Moulton llinclieil a little at this plain speech; ])ut a tliought seemed to strike iiini, and he brightened up. Satan ojKMied the scroll, smoothed out the crea.ses, dipped a pen in the inkhorn at his girdle, and pointing to a blaidc space, .said, laconically, ■" Sign ! " ^loulton hesitated. *'lf yon are afraid," sneere that Moulton had ran.sackod the vil- lage for the large.st pair to be found, and had finally secured a JONATHAN MOULTUN AND TUK DEVIL. ■6-11 braco of tronijcr's jiick-buots, wliicli cami! nearly up in tho wcai'ci'.s lliij,'li ; but tlm coutiarl meruly oxiu'l'.sswI Ijouts, and tho Devil ilocs not .stand upon tritles. Mdulton rollt'il in woaltli ; tn-isrything prospered, ili.s neigh- bors regarded him iir.st with envy, then with aversion, at last with fear. Xot a lew atliriniMl that \w. had enLereil into a league with the KvilOu . ( )tliers shook their heails, saying, "What does it signify^ — that man wmdd outwit the l)evil himseli'." J5ut one miirning, when tlu! fiend came us usual lu lill tlie boots, what was his astoinshnient to lind that hi; could nut lill them. Ho pounsd in tho guineas, but it was like pouring water into a ratdiole. The more he put in, tho more the (piantity secMued to dinunish. In vain he ])ersisted ; the boots eould not be ilUed. Th(! Devil .scratched his ear. " J nuist hjok into this," he retlected. No sooner .said, than ho attemi)t(Ml to descend ; but in doing .so he found his progress suddenly stopped. A good reason. The chimney was choked up with guineas ! Foaming with rage, tho demon tore the boots from tho crane. The crafty (ieneral had cut otf the soles, leaving only tho legs for the Dovil to lill. Tho chand)er was knee-deep with gold. The Devil gave a horrible grin, and disappeared. Tho same night Hampton House was l)urned to the ground, tho ( loneral only escaping in his shirt. He had been dreaming ho was ilead and in hell. His precious guineas wore secreted in tho wainscot, the ceiling, and other hiding-places known only to himself. He blasjdiotued, wept, and tore his hair. Suddenly ho grew calm. After all, the loss was not irreparable, he reflected, (iold would melt, it is true ; but he would lind it all, — of coiu'se ho woidd, — at daybreak, run into a solid lump in the cellar, — every guinea. That is true of onlinary gold. The General worked with the energy of despair, clearing away the rubbish. He refused all oilers of assistance ; Ik; dared not accept them. But the gold had vanished. Whether it was really consumed, or had passed again into the massy entrails of V W ' ^ IP "Sill I if ■ I UJS NKW-KNCiLAM) l.KtiKNDS. the earth, will ncviv he kiinwii. It is only certain that every vestij^'c of it liail (lisaiiiicarcd. Wlicn the (ienemlilii'(l ami was buried, .strange rumors began t(» eirculate. To ([uiet them, the grave was ('iieiied ; but wlien the h(l was remuveil I'rum the coiUn, it was t'ouml to be empty. Another legend runs to the eflect that upon the death of bis wife under — as evil report would have it — very 8usi)ieious eireunistances, the (leneral paiil his eoiu't to a young won)an who liad been the eompanion of his deceased s[)ousc. They were married. In the niidille of the night the young bridt! awoke with a start. Slie felt an invisible hand trying to take otf from her hnger the wedding-ring that had once belonged to the calm her fears. Candles were lighted and search made for the ring; but as it could never be found again, the ghostly visitor was supposed to have carried it away with her. This story is the same that is told by Whitlier in the "New Wife and the Old." GOODY COLE. GOOnWIFE Eunice Cole, the witch of Hampton, was for a ([uarter of a century or more the terror of the people of that town, who believed her to have sold herself body and soul to the Devil. WIkhu we hate we also fear. The bare mention of her name would, it is .said, hush crying children into silence, or hurry truant boys to .school. Although she was repeatedly thrown into prison, sin; was yet unaccountably suffered to con- tinue to live the life of an outcast, until death finally freed the community from their fears. In IfiSO she was brought before the Quarter Sessions to answer to the charge of being a witch ; and though there was "noe full proof" that she was a witch, yet for the satisfaction of the Court, which "vehemently suspects her 1' TIIH WliKCK (IK UIVKli.MolTIl. 329 Hit to he," and prolialily too of the people, Major Wiildnm, tlie presiding' iiia^'istrate, ordt'ro(l licr to l)e iiiiprisoiicd, with "a lipck kept oil lier le^'," at tlie [ileasiini of the Court. As she was (irst prosecuted as early us IO">(i, .she iiiiist have lieeii a very old woman when this harsh sctit.'nee was proiioimciMl. l-'or suiue years — how many it is not known — (.ioody Coh; lived ainur in a hovel wiiieh stood a little way back from the .spot where I he Academy now stands ; and in this wretclicd hut, without a friend to sootJKi her last moments, she miseral)ly died. Several days ehipsetl helbro iier deatli l^ecame known; and even then, such was the fear licr .supj)used powers had inspire(l, that it rcipiiied a j,'reat deal of coura,i,'e on the part of the inhahitants to force an entrance, into her cahin, where she lay dead. When tliis had heeii done, the body was dragj^^cd outside, a bse unaccountable doings indeed admits that certain sceptical persons persisted in believing that any or all of them might have been the work of human l)eings ; but as every one credits what he wishes to credit, so this ancient writer appears to nusntion tlie lact only with the view of exposing its absurdity. Our own purpose i.s, not to decide between two opinions, but to declare that people in general considered (Jeorgo "Walton to be a victim of suix'rnatural visitation, or, in other words, bewitched ; and to show that the tiMiiper of his day was such, that any occurrence out of the common was sure to be considered according to its character, either as emanating from lieav(;n or from the bottondess pit. There were no such things as accidents ; everything had some design. LADY WKNTWOKTU. 337 LADY WENTWORTH. A KOMAN'CK OF REAL LIFi;. r^ OVERNOR RENNING WENTWORTH, a luan of '« lara- VX ily," in the language of liia day, the owner marry again. 'J'lii! world, had it been consulted in the matter, might have imposed upon him a bride of mature years and experience ; abov(! all, one taken from his own rank, or at least having a ])edigree. But the Governor was not yet too old to be insen- sible to the, charms of youth and beauty ; and ho proceeded to snap bis fat lingers in the foce of society by i)roposing marriage to a ytniiig woman of the town of Portsmouth, who possessed all the personal graces that were re(]uisito in bis (;yes to make her Lady Wontworth. The lady, however, saw nothing but a gouty old man, — who might, it was true, soon leave her a widow ; but this was not the life that she lo(d\ed forward to. She having moreover formed another attachment in her own sphere of life, rejected the Governor, for whom she cared not a button, in favor of a yo\nig mechaidc whom she dearly loved. This double LADY WKNTWOUTII. 339 wound to his love uiul viinity tlio old Governor determined signally to iivenye ; ;uid to this end lie wiekeilly ciuised tlic hriJegrooni to ho kiiliiii[)ped hy ii press-giing and carried oU" to sea. TIio Governor's second matrimonial venture was more fortu- nate. This time his eyes I'ell upon Martha Jlilton, a saucy, red- lippeil gyi)sy tif the town, who is hrsl introducetl to us wliilo she is carrying a pail of water — prohably fresh-drawn from the town |)Uinp yonder — along the street. Her feet are bare, her dress scarcely covers her decently ; yet for all tiiat she belongs to one of tilt! oldest families in tiie i)rovince. liut she is charm- ing, even in tliese mean liabiliments. It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — The slender form, the delicate, thin lace ; The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; The shining feet, the laughter in her eye. The sight of tlie girl in this plight so incenses the sharp- tongued landlady of the Earl of Halifax inn, that she exclaims from her doorway, " You I'at ! you Pat I how ilare you go look- ing so I You ought to be asliamed to be seen in the street ! " The warm blood comes into the maiden's cheeks at this sharp reproof. She gives her head a toss, and haughtily says : " No matter how I look, I shall ride in my chariot yet, ma'am ! " and passes on, leaving Mistress Stavers nailed to her doorstep at such unheard of presumption in a half-dressed slip of a girl, who is carrying water through the public street. Ride in her chariot, indeed ! Like Cinderella, Martha Hilton next makes her appearance in the kitchen of the (i')vernor's mansion at Little Harbor. Ihit she is not to stay here. One day tlic (iovernor gives a splendid banquet. The company is assembled, — He had invited all his friends and jieers, — The Pepperels, the Langdons, and tiie Lears, The Sparliawks, the Penhallows, and the rest ; For why repeat tlie name of every guest ? m ' ■'• fmm lii m '.-f/^ J SIIAU. KlDi; IN MY ( 1IAHIOT YET, Ma'AM." LADY WKNTWOUTH. 341 aTid among tho rod coats of tlio quality is tho black ono of tho Ucvei'c'iul Arthur IJruwu, rector of the Kpiscopal church, — Willi siiiiiin^' face He sat beside tlif (J viTiiur and said grace. The dinner is served; the wine cireidates freely round tho board; antl tho yuests, having dined well, liavo reached the mo- ment of supromc, content following, avIkmi the Clovernor whis- pers something to a servant, who bows and goes out. Presently there is a little bustle at the door, and then Martha Hilton, blushing like lire, walks into the room and takes her stand in front of tho lireplace. Can this be Maitlia Ilihnn > It nnist be ! Yes, Martha HiUon, ami nn otiierslie! Dowered witli tiie lieauty of lier twenty years, How ladylike, how (lUecuHke, she appears! She is now richly dressed ; and would hardly ])e recognized as tho same person whom wo saw in the street not long ago. Conversa- tion ceases ; all tho guests look up to aihnire tho beautiful woman. The Governor rises from his chair, goes over to where ]Martha is struggling to maintain her self-possession, and then, address- ing himself to the clergyman, while all the guests stare, lie says ; "Mr. Brown, I wish you to marry me." "To whom 1 " asks the bewildered rector. "To this lady," replies the CJovernor, taking Martha's hand in his. As tho dumfoundod rector remained speechless, tho irascible old Governor became imperative. "Sir," he said, "as tho Governor of his Majesty's province of Now Hampshire, I command you to mr.rry me." The ceremony was then performed ; the maiden of twenty became tho bride of tho gouty old man of sixty ; and thus her saucy answer came true. Mr. Longfellow's poem, founded upon this romance of real life, is also A pretty picture, full of grace, — M ' 342 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. ill wliich tlio social (li.stinctiuiis of Govcmur Wcntworth's day aro (Miipluisizod, in order to show liow easily Lovo laughs at thcsin and at all those safeguards beliiiid which society intrenches itself against a njisalliance. liut here a maiden of twenty marries a man old enough to bo her grandfather. Is it for love] Ho marries his lovely dependant because ho is bmesomc. li ! 1 Part |)intf). YORK, ISLES-OF-SIIOALS, AND BOON- ISLAND LECiENDS. I ' i I \* t 1. { 1 1 i- i ! i '' i t 1 :■ 1 1 t . iW (^^ ISLES-OF-SHOALS LEGENDS. TIIKEE leagu'js ull' tlie couat of New Hainpshiro, huddled tugetiicr in a group, the Isles (jf Shoals rise out of the gray line of old ocean like mountain peaks above a cloud; and, as if disinherited by Nature, nothing grows upon them except a little grass, a few hardy shrul)s, and the yellow lichens that spot the gaunt rocks like the scales of a leper. One soli- tary lightliouse lifts its warning finger upon the outermost rocJc, but, like a monument to the many wreidvs that have happened there, this only signals a rock of danger, and not a haven of saf(!ty for distressed mariners. Treeless, unblessed l)y tlie evidences of cultivation or tlirift, with no other sound tlian tliat of the sea ])reaking heavily against them, and ui> other sign of lil'e than tlie surf whitening their sides of granite and flint, a nioi'e lonidy scene (;an hardly be imagined. Upon landing and looking about him in silent wonder, one is more and more impressed with tlie idea that the sea has bared these iinperisluil)le rocks by its subsidence, and that he is standing on tlu; summit of a submerged moun- tain, emerging from the ocean like oiu! risen f.-om tlic dead. A lieap ol" bare and splintiTy crags Tumbled aliout liy lightning and frost, Witli rifts and cliasms and storni-beat jag-i Tliat wait and ;.^rowi for a slnp to be lost ; No island, but rather (lie skeleton Of a wrecked and vcni-'caiKui-smitten one. NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Away northeast is P;)on-Islaii(l Light ; Yuii iiii,L;lit iiiistaki' it lor a ship, Only it stands loo jihimli up^iylit, And, lilie the; others, (hnss not slip Behind th(! sea's unsteady l>rink. On the mainland you see a misty camp Of mountains pitched tumultuously : Tiiat one hiomin'' so lon;f and lar/e Is Saddleliack ; and that point you see Over yon h)\v and rounded marge;. Like th(! boss of a sleeping giant's targe Laid over his lieart, is Ossipiie: That shadow thei'e may be Kearsarge. There can be little room for doubt that these islands were, from a very early time, the resort of oecasioiial fishing siiips, as they subseniiently became the haunt of smugglers and outlaws, — I mean pirates. The cluster enclosed a tolerable harbor, were uniidiabited, were convenient to the; iishing-grounds, and tliey alforded excellent facilities for curing lish. In later times their isolated position rendered them a secure refuge for the lawless rovers who infested our coasts, and "•)<') could snap tlunr lingers at the Colonial authorities while refitting their ships, disposing of their ill-gotten booty, or inputation, that a Colonial order prohibited women from living on any one of the islands. A legend is of course associated with the record declaring these islands to have been the resort of freebooters. Kidd is supposed to have buried immense treasure here ; and as if to con- firm the story, the ghost of one of his men, who was slain for its protection, was always firmly believed by tlie lishermen to haunt Ai)pledore. At one time nothing would have induced th(! inhabitant of anotlier island to land upon this after night- fall, although there was much search made for the treasure that the spectre was supposed to guard. One i,slander, indeed, had ISLES-OF-SIIOALS LEGENDS. 347 really encountered the grisly shade while; making its solitary round, and he described it us shedding a dindy luminous and uneartidy appearance, like that of a glow-wcjrni, as it walked, and as having a face pale and very dreadful to look upon. For a time, v»diilo the fishery flourished, the islands enjoyed a kind of prosperity ; but tiiose clcrgynire known was the celel)rated C'aiitain Teach, or Jilackbeard, as he was often called. Ho is supposed to have Imried imuuMise treasure here, some of whiidi has ])een dug u[) and appropriated liy th(^ is- lamlers. On one of his cruises, while lying olf the Scottish coast waiting for a rich trader, he was hoarded hy a stranger, who came olf in a small boat from ihe shore. Tlie, new-comer deniandeil to be led before the pirate chitd', in whoso cabin ho remained some time shut up. At length Teach appeared on deck with the stranger, whom he introduced to the crew as a comrade. The vessel they were expecting soon came in sight; and after a bloody oonllict she became the pi'izt.' of rdackbcard. It was determineil by the corsair to man and arm the captured vessel. The uid^nown had fought with nndaunted bravery (hir- ing the battle, and to him was given the command of the prize. The stranger Scot was not long in gaining the bad eminetu-e of being as good a pirate as his renowned commander. His crew thought him invincible, and followed wherever ho led. At last, after his appetite for wealth had been satisfied by the rich booty of the Southern seas, he arrived on the coast of his native land. His boat was manned, and landed him on the beach near an humble dwelling, whence he soon returned, bear- ing in his arms the lifeless form of a woman. The pirate ship immediately set sail for America ; and in due time dropped her anchor in the road of the Isles of Shoals. A LEC.ENI) OK liLACKllKAUl), 351 Kero tlio crow jmssod tlioir tiiiit! in sccrotiiiL,' their riclios and in carousal. Thu coiuniuiuloi's porliun was buriiid on an island CAPTAIN TEACir, OR ELACKniiARD. apart from tho rost. He roamed over the isles with his beautiful companion, forgetful, it would seem, of his fearful trade, until one morning a sail was discovered standing; in for the islands. ■ri 7 352 new-enc;lani) ijxjknds. Iff I I I All was now adivily "H Imanl llio pimtc ; Imt Ixiforo ^'otting uiKlin' way tli(! outlaw caiTiL'd the iiiaidcii to the island wliore lie had l)iiricd liis trcasiiic, and then niadn her take a fearful oath to };uai'd the, spot IVoin mortals until his rctiiiii, were it till Doomsday. He then put to sea. The stran^'e sail proved to Ix' a warlike vessel in search of the frcehootcr. A lon^^ and d^'spcrate battle (Misuod, in whi(di ihe King's cruiser at last silenced her adversary's guns. The vessels were grapj)le(l for a last struggle, when a terrihc (explosion strewed tin; sea with the fragments of hoth. Stung to madness by defeat, and knowing that if taken alive the gibbet awaited liim, (he rover had linnl the magazine, involvuig friend and foe in a common fate. A few mangled wretches succeeded in reaching tlie islands, only to ])erisli niiseral)ly, one by one, iVum cold and hunger. Tlio pirate's mistress remained tru(^ to her oath to the last, or until she also succumbed to want and exjiosure. J>y re])ort, she has been seen more than once on White Islan\ri I he lar sc!i.«, Could 1 l)iit, mIiou yii wlific VDiir (load ii[i(jhc! Could I send tidiiins ,,ii this iicilliciii hrecze, 'I'liat Htioiiy and Mcady IdoWH ! Dear daik-cycd sislcis, you iciuciulu'r yet TIii'sc! you have lost ; lait, you (.'au iw\{ti know One Klaud.s at llicir l.lcak -,'iavos wliosc eyes luv wet With lIiiiikiiiL; of youi' wo I 355 BOON ISLAND. j nVKN tlio Islf's (d' Shoals iiavc llioir (nitlyiiiplunv of the foraous Sir Ferdinando Gorges, and a man of much personal wortli and dis- tinction. (See " Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast." p. 149, and notes.) Thomas de Cambernon for ilastings' field Lett Normandy ; his tower saw him no more ! And no crusader's warhorse, plumed and steeled. Paws the grass now at .Alodbuiy's Idazoned door; No lettered marble nor ancestral shield, — Where all the Atlantic shakes the lonesome -ore, Lies ours f'irgotten : oidy cobble-stones To tell U3 where are Cham])ernowne's poor bones. John Elwyn. III I i 358 iM i I' I i : i ;l i ■1 J; 1 1- '^l ': NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. YORK, MAINE. A G A M E N T 1 C U S. ANONYMOUS. Where rises graiul, iiiMJestlc, tall, As in a drenin, tho towering wall That scorns the restless, surging tide, Once spanned the mart and street and mall, And arched the trees on every side Of this great city, once in ])ride. For hither came, a knightly train From o'er llie sea with gorgeous court ; The mayors, gowned in rohes of state. Held brilliant tonrney on the plain, And massive ships within the port Discharged their load of richest freight. Then when at night, the sun gone down ]]ehind the western hill and tree. The howls were filled, — this toast they crown, " Long live the City by the Sea ! " Now sailless drift the lonely seas, No shallops load at wharves or quays, But hulks are strewn along the shore, — Gaunt skeletons indeed are these That lie enchanted l)y the roar Of ocean wave and sighing trees ! Oh, tell me where the pompous squires, The chant at eve, the matin prayers, The knights in armor ibr the fray ? The mayors, where, and courtly sires, The eager traders with their wares, — How went these people hence away ? And when the evening sun sinks down. Weird voices come from hill and tree, Yet tell no tales, — this toast they crown, " Long live the Spectre by the Sea ! " SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTICUS. 350 SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTICUS. MOUNT Agameiiticus, the locality of tlio following legend, id the commanding landmark for sixty miles up and down tlio neighboring coast. The name has the true martial ring in it. This mountain rears its giant back on the border of Maine, almost at the edge of tin; sea, into which, indeed, it seems advancing. Its form is at once graceful, robust, and imposing. Nature posted it here. It gives a character to tlie whole region that surrounds it, over wliich it stands guard. Nature endowed it with a purpose. It meets the mariner's eye far out to sea, and tells him how to steer safely into his destined port. In his "Pictures from A^jpledore," the poet i^owell makes this reference to the sailor's mountain : — He glowers there to the north of us Wrapt in liis mantle of blue haze, Uucoiivertibly savage, and scorns to take Tlio white man's baptism on his ways. Ilim first on shore the coaster divines Through the early gray, and sees liim shake The morning mist from his scalp-lock of pines : Him Ih'st the skipper makes out in the west. Ere the earliest sunstreak shoots tremulous, Plashing with orange the pa]i)itant lines Of mutable bilhnv, crest after crest, Anil murmurs Agamaticus ! As if it were the name of a saint. The name is in fact a legacy of the Indians who dwelt at its foot, and who always invested the mountain with a sacred char- acter. From this circumstance comes the Indian legend of Saint Aspeuquid, whom some writers have identihed with the patri- arch Passaconaway, the hero of so many wonderful exploits in healing and in necromancy. i i r r !tr-" 3G0 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. According to the little; we are able to recover concerning him, Saint As|)cn(|ui(l was born in loSS, and was nearly one hundred years old when he died. He was converted to Christianity — possibly by the French Jesuits — and baptized by this name when he was about forty years old ; and lie at once set about his long and active ministration among the people of his own race, to whom he became n tutelary saint ami prophet. For forty years he is said to have wandered fioni east to west and from north to south, preaching the gospel to sixty-six ditl'erent na- tions, healing the sick, and performing those miracles which raised him in tlie estimation of his own peoph; to the character of a prophet appoint(!d by Heaven, and in that of the wliites to a being endowed with supernatural jiowers. These wanderings had carried him from the shores of the Atlantic to the Oalifor- iiian Sea. Grown venerable in his good woik, M'arned that he must soon be gathered to his fathers, the saint at last came home to die among his own people. Having called all the sachems of the dilferent tribes together to attend his solemn funeral obse- quies, they carried the body of their patriaich to the summit of Mourit Agamenticus. Previous to performing the rite of sepul- ture, and agreeable to the custom held sacred by these people, the hunters of each tril^e spread themselves throughout the for- ests. A great ninnber of wihl beasts w^ere slaughtered as a sac- rifice to the manes of tlic departed saint. Tradition affirms thot on that day were slain and offered up between six and seven thousand wild animals, — from the bear, the buffalo, and the moose, down to the porcupine, the woodchuck, and the weasel. SAINT ASPENQUID. JOHN ALBEE. The Indian hero, sorcerer, and saint, Known in the land as Passaconaway, And after called the good Suint Aspencpiid, Returning, travel worn and spent with age From vain attempt to reconcile his race I SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTICUS. With ours, Rcut messengers tlirougliout the East To suiiimoii all the blood-liomid trilieM to him ; For that upon the ancient meeting-plaee, The sacred mountain Agamenticus, When next tin; moon should show a new-bent how, He there would celebrate his I'uneral least With sacrifices due and farewell talk. The duskjf people heard and they obeyed j For known was Aspeucpiid in all the camps, — Known was his name where unknown was his face ;. His conjuries, his valor, and liis wit The trackless forests traversed many a year, And made his name a word of omen there. Then gathered they from all the hither land Of wide St. Lawrence and the northern lakes, The warriors of the great Algonkin race. The feast was ended : bird and beast were shun (Three thousand, so the ancient annals say) ; The dance was danced ; and every rite jterforined ; And gathered round the summit of the mount The stately, silent sachems stood intent On Aspencpiid. He over all was tall And straight as ash, (hough ripe with ninety years. He rose majestic on the sovereign top Of his own land, and in that solemn hour He seemed to tower above his wonted height As towers in midmost air the stricken bird. His locks were thin, but raven black and long ;, Nor yet his eyes had lost their s]ilendid dark. But glowed deep set beneath a low, Ijroad brow. Unpinched by age, liis face was firm, and bronzed Like leaves that hang all winter on the oak. 361 " Warriors and braves, come nearer to j-our chief! ^ly eyes, that once could brook the midday sun, And see the eagle ere myself was seen. Are dimmed with age ; and but a pace beyond A misty light seems settled over all. I a^ ' 362 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Come nearer, braves, that I may tViast my eyes On your young limbs, on what myself once was ! My race decays, and I Iwu'e lived too long ; My lind)3 with ninety weary winters' strife Are sjient ; my fathers call me unto them. I go to comfoit their impatient shades, And respite find for all my own mischance. And here once more on Agamenticua, My old ancestral powwow's sacred seat, That saw the waters burn and trees to dance, And winter's withered leaves grow green again, And in dead serpent's skin the living coil, Willie they themselves would change themselves to flame ; And where not less did I myself conjure The mighty magic of my fathers' rites Against my foe, — yet all without effect; The spirits also flee where white men come. I turn to join my kindred sagamores. And fly before the doom I could not change. \ 'l I '• Hi! ^hlU i m Light not the tires of vengeance in your hearts, For sure the llame will turn against yourselves, And you will perish utterly from earth. Nor yet submit too meekly, but maintain The valorous name once ours in happy days. Be prudent, wise, find always slow to strike. Fall back ; seek other shores and hunting-grounds, — I cannot bear you perish utterly ! Though, looking tlirough the melancholy years, I see the end, but turn n.y face away, So heavy are my eyes with unshed tears ; And yours too I would turn, warriors and braves ! And mind not my prophetic vision much, — Th' unhappy gift of him who lives too long ; But mind the counsel many years have taughi, The last I give : lemember it, and live ! " i ^art Cent()» OLD-COLONY LEGENDS. fu^ -\f- I •l HANGING BY PROXY. IN liis " New English Caiuuui," livrit published at London in 1G32, Thomas Morton, the dispossessed and exiled planter of Mount AVollaston, (dian ^lerry Blount, relates the droll doings " Of a Parliament held at Wessaguscus." W(!ssaguseus is now Weymouth, Mass. It was iirst settled l)y a trad- ing company sent out by Thomas Weston, — a London mer- chant with whom the Plymoutli Pilgrims had had sonio dealings, but whose present enterprise they regarded with no particular favor. This ^Morton is a character about whi(!h there are at least two opinions : the one generally received being that ho was a lawless, dissolute, reckless, and able scamp, M'ho hid a vagabond life among vagabond followers ; whence Hubbard styles him "lord of nnsrule." There is no question that the Pilgrims looked up(jn him as a dangerous neighbor, or that he regarded them with unconcealed aversion and disdain. So f\ir as he Avas anything, lu; was a Churchman ; while they were out-and-out Separatists, He used the liook of Common Prayer ; they abhorred and rejected it. He calls them ironically the "Brethren;" they term him "pettifogger" and "atheist." Such opposite views in morals and government were not long connng into collision. Morton was, however, a man of education and ability, — which by no means proves that he was not all the Pilgrims allege him jF-prr 366 NFAV-EN(;i,ANI) J.KCKNDS. •I, V to Ii;iv(; been, - • ;ii» unprincipled adveiiUuiii'. 'riikiny liis " N<;w Kiigli.sli CiUiiiiui " iiH tilt' index (if his elianieter, ou(f reads at every few lines some evidence of liis strong' predilectimi for a life of indolence! and pleasure. His idea was tut to him belongs the honor of having lirst set it down in black and Avhite. He says : — " Master Weston's plantation being settled at. Wessaguscus, his servants, or many of them, being lazy persons that would use no endeavor to take the benefit of the country, some of them fell sick and died. "One among the rest, an able-bodied man that ranginl the forest to see what it would afford him, stumbled by accident on an Indian granary, concealed, as the custom was with those people, under- ground ; and from it he took a capful of corn, and then went his way. The Indian owner, finding by the footprint that the tliief was an Englishman, came and made his complaint at the plantation. llAN«IN(i IJY PitOXY. 367 "'I'Ik! chid" coiiiinmidcr of iht' coinpaiiy iinmcdiutcly called td- gotlici' .'1 iiailiiuiiciit ol' all Um^v. wlm wcic iiol sick, to hear and (letcriiiinc tiic cuiisi! ol' cotniilainl. And wisclv iidw," coiitiiuics Morton, with playful irony, "they sliuuld consult njion this hu,L;i! complaint, that a knih' or a string' of heads would well cnou^di have dispoHCMl ol', Edward .lohnson hcini,' made; a special ,jud;4e ol' this husiness. The I'act was there in repetition, constiudion made that it was 11 felony, and hy tin- laws of Kneland punished with death ; and this in exc^cution nuist he put for an exaniph', and likewise to ap[)ea!se the savage ; when strai^^htway one arose, nioveil as it weie with some eompassion, and said he could not well gainsay liie former sentence, yet la; had conceived within the comi)asrt of his brain an Einhrion (an iinhorn child) that was of Rj)ecial conseciuence to be delivered and cherished. He 8aid that it would most aptly serve to pacify the savage's complaint, and save tiie lile of one that mi,i;hl (if ne(Ml should he) stand them in some go(jd stead, hein,^' young and strong, lit for resistance against an enemy, which might come un- expected for anything they knew. "This (jration was liked liy every one; and the orator was en- treated to show how this end might lie reached, lie went on: — " Says he, ' Vou all agree that one must die, and oni; shall die. This young man's clothes we will take oil', and put upon one that is old and impotent, — a sickly person that cannot escape (iviiig slain, III lime 111" iiuiicc, an liuliaii, Not (lilt of iiialici', hut iii(!re zotil, Ik'caiisc Ik; was an inlidcl, Tlu; iiiiglity Toltipottinioy Sent to uiir fldi'is an t'lnoy, Coiniiluinin,:,' sorely ol'tlie hreacli One:igiU', lield forth by brother I'atcli, A,^uinst th(! articles in i'orce Between both churehes, his and ours. But they niutiireiv haviu!^ wei'diM They iiad no more but liiiii o' tli' trade, A iiiaii tliat serv'd them in a doubhj Capacity to tea( Ii and coblile, ResoivM to >iiaie him ; yet to do The Indian Jio^han iIoL,dian too Inqiartial Justice, in iiis stead did lian,!^- an ohl weaver tliat was lie(hid. In the author's notes to the early editions ol' "Hudibras" the story is asserted t(j l)e true, llulthard repeats it witli the quali- fication that the liaiiying was only pretended, although he .had seen the ('xtraet we have j^iven I'roin IJradl'ord ; and he had also road and enjoy(!d tin; manner " witli which the merry gon- th'inan that wrote ' Jludihras ' did in his poetical fancy make so mncli sport." That ill (jiie Inrin or another the story now hecame current as true, is no h»nger a matter of doiihl. We next discover it in a dilfereiit ilress, relati'd with much gust(j liy (loveriuu' Diidlev to Captain Uring, and [irinted at lengtli in the latt(n''s "Voyages." It will be seen that the anecdote has lost nothing by passin,"' from mouth to mouth. This i.s Ooveriior Dudley's version : "One day, while a carpenter was cutting (h)wn a tree, and a crowd of Indians stood around, watching Wi'vy Idow with the greatest attention, the tree fell on one of them wiio did not get out of the way, killing him on the spot. The other Indians set up a great howling over tlie dead l.ody, while the frightened carpenter ran and hid himself to escape their veiigeaiuic ; for they foolishly thou LEGENDS. il rests upon this one stroke of geniud. He never wrote unytliing better than this beautiful lyric, wliich is capable of husliing the most boisterous assemblies into silence, — such is the Immago that all instinctively pay to the jjurest and lioliest of human associations. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. SAMUEL WOODWORTH. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childliood, Wheu fcind Recollection presents tlieni to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwo(«l, And every loved spot which my infancy knew, — The widc-spreadiiii^' pinid, and the mill which stood hy it, The liridgv, and tiic vm-k where the cataract i'eli ; The cot of my latln-r, the dairydiouse iii^Ji it. And e'en the riidc bucket which liimg in the well, — The old oaken bucket, the iron-l)ouiid bucket, The moss-covered Imcket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often, at noon, when returned IVom the field, I fcnnid it the source of an ex([uisite pleasure, — The purest and sweetest that uiilure can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing ! And (piick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it ivso from the well, — The (jld oaken bucket, the inm-lxumd bucket. The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a fidl bbisliiiiLr gol)l('t could tempt me to leave it, Though lilleil with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, hn- removed i'rom the loved situation, The tear of Regret will intrusively swell, As T" reverts to my father's plantation, And siglis for the Ijucket wdiich hangs in the well, — The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket wduch hangs in the well. DESTHUCTION OF MINOT's LUaiT. DESTRUCTION OF MINOT'S LIGHT. 375 TUIK dangerous Cohassc.'t, so separate rock looks reef stretching far out into tlie sea from shaggy with kelp and rockweed that each like the head of a monster rising to take breath, has aetjuired a fatal celebrity. Many a good ship's bones lie buried in the treacherous sands, or whitening among the sharp rocks in the oil- ing. In tli(^ autumnal gal(! of 184!), fully one hundred lives were sacriliced to its fury u[)on this coast. In that gale tlie ill- fated "St. dohn's," an emigrant ship, struc, here on Cohasset liocks, when within sight of lier pmt, and became a total wreck. Twenty-seven botlies were recovered, and buried in the village THK FIRST MINOT S LIGUTUOLSE. w M iTrl M i D 370 NEW-ENGLAND LECENDS. gruvoyiinl. Tho.so who liiivo visitcil tlio Miiiot'.s Lij^'litliouso only on a summer's day can fnintly imaj^inc the fury of a wintry storm, rr the power witli wliicli the seas tlien dash themselves high over the lantern of th.; tower. The place haon tlusm was built the keeper's house and lantern, the lloor of the dwelling being thus elevated fully forty feet above; the seas which rolled beneath it. Wiien the great storm of April 14, IS;")!, to wliicli people long referred with a slnulder, begiin, iJennet, the keeper, was on shore, tho lighthouse being then in charge of two assistants. The storm steadily increased to a tremendous gale from the northea.st, that continued with unabated fury throughout the two succeeding days. V>y this time grave; apprehensions began to l)e felt for the security of the structure. Tlio last time that the lighthouse was seen standing was shortly after three o'clock on "Wednesday, the third day of the gale. The weather tlien became too thick to distinguish it; but the lantern was not lighted, as usual, during that night, or if lighted, it could not be made out from t!ie shore. At an early hour on the following morning the keeper, while making his round, found fragments of the resi- dence strewed along tin; beach. The lighthouse with all it con- tained had been swept away during that nigiit of fear, anr 1 I i 'I i! Hi ' 382 NEW-EN(JLAXD LKtiKNDS. witlioiit lirst visiting woiiiu holy shrine, and imploring this aid or ])nilecUiin nl' their patron saint. In liicso later times men have, repaired I'or inspiration to this roek as tli(!y would to a shrine, and they ]ia\'e not l)i'en aslianied to ecjniess that tliey i'ouiid it a Living h'ock, nerving tliem to patriotic ellort, or moving them to ins[)ired utterances in l.)ehaU' ot mankinil. When in 1774 all the land was in a ilame, the sj)irit of the Old Colony having risen to fever heat, it was determined newly to consecrate the rock to tlie divine spirit of Liberty. Un tiie appointed day all the. rcjads lead- ing into Plymouth were throngeil. Four thousand frticmen had assembled with- in the town ])y I oou- day on the 5th of Octol)er. They were met to phnlge them- selves to each other against the ojjpres- siou of the mother country. All were animated by the con- sciousness of acting in a rightful cause that moved them as one man ; all were burning with patrioti(; zi^al. They first re quired all the Tory j)artisans of the Crown to make a public recantation. This l)eing done, tb'.iy proceeded to the spot where their ancestors had landed, with the purpo.se of removing Fore- fathers' Ro('k to the public .square in the centre of the village. But while it was being raised from its primitive bed, and as if to oppose the act of desecration, the rock suddenly split in two. MONUMENT OVKR FOnEKATMERs' llOCK., VLYMOITM. THE COUHTSnil' OF MYLES STANDISH. 383 This accident, which to many socmod a warning, so dashed the Sj^irit of tlio actors, that thi; procwHlings wore; near coming to an abrupt end ; but some quick-witted spectator liaving declared it to presage the violent sund<;ring of the en![)ir(! in twain, it was accepted as a good omen, the upper liall" was drawn in triumph to the open space i frijiit of the meetiiiu-house, and there dc- jiosited, at the foot of tlie liberty-pole, from whieli a ilag l)eariiig the legend, " J.iberty or Death," was Ihuig to the lireeze. And thus the rock was made to jday an active jjart in tlie great controversy. This is tlie portion of Forefathers' Jiock that so many tliou- sand curious pilgrims liave seen lying on the grass plat in front of Pilgrim Hail; while a monument, Iniilt in tlie form of a shrine, enclosed, at the edge of the beacli, the original spot wlience it was talcen, the lowei- fragment of the roek, and the bones that a pious care had rec(jvered i'rom tlie earliijst hurial- place of the Pilgrims, hard by on (Jole Mill, in 1S81, after a separation of one hundred and six years, tlie up|)er half was replaced upon the lower. What Cod has joined together let no man put asunder ! THE COURTSHIP OF MYLES STANDISH. OF all our New- England legends, one of the most popular, as well as one of the most picturescpie, is the story of the courtship of Myles Standish, which is the subject of Longfellow's poem of that name. Tlie action centres in three persons. First there is the mar- tial figure of the redoubted captain of Plymouth, the rude but tried soldier, the man of manly virtues, with all a soldier's con- tempt for courtly graces, the owner of a noble name whicli lie had made more illustrious by his deeds,' — brusipie, quick-tem- pered, brave to rashness, but wearing the heart of a lion in his I m I 384 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. lit .1 little, uiidnisized body, though his hoad might sometimes bo hot ami unsteady in council, — in short, a man to be admired, feared, trusted, but not, alas ! always lnvi'd, nor born to woo. Such was Myles Standish, th(! Captain of I'lymiuith. Though dis- iniun'itod by fraud, and sclt'-cxih'd, this soldier of ibrtune yet l)ossos.sed a title to distinction tliat elevates him upon a pedestal above the sober and industrious artisans with whom he had loyally cast his lot, although it is doubtful if he belonged to their communion. To this hard Puritan soldier, wliose wife had died during the .'W^- ^1 #.- S^--"'""?W, ^'i sTANoisn nousE, nuxnuuY. (ir.st dreadful winter oi their pilgrimage, enters the stripling John Alden, who is assertcnl to b(^ the same person that first leaped upon the world-renowned l{'>ek when thesi; e.xiles landed from the "Mayflower" on that December day. He was only twe.nty-two ; but in the eyes of two persons, at least, this con- stituted no defect. These persons wen> Priscilla MuUins, the Puritan maiden, an. 1000. Tiitiy arc said to have sailed from Iceland, and to have [(asscd a winter in New England. The terms of these sagas are so and)i;;uoiis, e\'en should they be accounted true relations, as to render any serious attempt to trace tlie voyages they narrate, with the purpose of fitting them to our own coasts or harhors, a lost labor. That Danish anticjua- ries would be deejily interested in establishing the, validity of the elaini on the part of their countrymen to a di.scovery jireceding by nearly five centuries that of Colund)us, was only natural ; for should they succeed it would prove the most brilliant jewel in the crown of their nation. The relations themselves, however, amounted to little ; and without stronger evidence the reputable historian would probably content himself merely with mention- ing them, lie would certainly hesitate long, and examine criti cally, before installing the vague and the veritable side by side. II t 1 \>' 1 '■It i i! 1 ! 39-i NKW-ENGLANl) LF.UENDS. Should ho positively dcchiri' Aiiicricii to have boon discovnrod by the Noitiiineii in tht; year lOOO, he imist lirst withdraw the aHsertioii luudc in favor of the illustrious (Jenoeso to u discovery in ltl)2. Several things contributed to produce in the public mind an effect favorable to the .Scandinavian claim. 1'hc most important OLD WINDMILL, NEWrORT. of tliesc were the alleged evidences then existing of an occupa- tion of the country by the Norse voyagers in question. Let us run over them. There was, and still is, at Newport, in Pihodc Island, an old windmill of peculiar, and for New England unique, construc- tion, which Time has left a picturesque ruin. The main struc- ture, being of stone, presents the appearance of a round tower I THE SKELETON IN AUMOU. 395 thirty feet liip^li, suppDrtcd by massive stone eoliimna, also romid ; for the woodwork liaviii;,' lUllcii iiway, notliiiig l)iit tlu^ l)aro walls ri'iiiaiii to idiMilit'y its ori^'iiial f'onii or piirixiM'. It Htaiid.s on tlio lici^dits overlooking the harbor; find until 'i'inie's changes hid it IVoiii view, was always a conspicuous object when ihe city was approached IVoni the sea. This structure had liccii so long un- used, that little importance need lus attached U) the tact that the purpose for which it was (M'iginally btnll liad gradually died out of th(! memory of th(! oldest inhuliitiUit. The natural growth of tlu! town was certain in tiuK; to bring this result about. Its proper functions then having so long ccaseil, no one regarded it except with a feeble curiosity, nor was there even a local tradi- tion concerning it. For a centr"y and a half it had stood on the same spot without a question arising as to its origin ; it was completely ignored. liut at length .some one di.scovered a resemblance to Scandinavian architecture. The Danish savans at once claimed the winilnuil as the work of their countrymen centuries before the arrival of the Englisli. There was also on the shore of Taunton River, — a tidal stream that flows into Narragans(;tt Bay, and might therefore be easily ascended by an exploring vessel, — a moderately largo bowlder, one face of which, being smooth, was completely covered with mysterious hieroglyphics which no one had been able to deci[)her. The strange characters had originally been deeply cut into the perpendicular face toward the channel; but in the course of years, and owing to the rock itself being partly sul> merged at high tide, the continual abrasion of water and ice has nearly obliterated them ; so that it is now scarcely possible to identify these marks as the work of human hands. The bowlder received the name of Dighton Rock becau.sc the shore where it lay imbedded was within tlu; limits of the town of Dighton. Here now was a veritable relic of antiquity. Uidike the windmill, this had always Ix^en the subject of eager curiosity and discus- sion, — so much .so, that copies of the inscription had been transmitted by Cotton blather to the learned societies of London as a worthy and valuable contribution to the purposes and aims I u Hri Hill ^1 3'J6 N i: W-K N ( ; L A M ) L KV, V. N 1 )&. of ai'chtrological rcsoiucli ; wliilc the wiiKliiiill, notwitlistaiuling its allcyud j)t^L'iiliurity of cou.sti'uctioii, and tlu; clear prcbsiuiiiitioii that it luiif^t have lu'uii a most ])oigiiaiit -spur to curiosity, as [>rov- ing tho resilience hert; of Kuro[)eans so long ago, was not thought to be worthy of a single word, and no one of the thousands to wh(jin it was a familiar ol.ject so much as hinted that it had any title to such consideration. The sculpturetl rock remained, how- ever, an unsolved enigma. A vagut^ local trailitioii oidy leii- dered it all the more perplexing. It is true that many who were ac(piainted with their rude commemorative, drawings, which those of the rock greatly resembh'd, believed tliat tho Indians liad at some time cut the unknnwn characters. This very natural solution of the mystery became the subject of e(jn- troversy. The Danish antiijuaries, better instructed, immedi- ately declared Dighton Rock to bt; the im[)erishable recort] of the anrtuni'ly nccurring, by investing it with the glamour of romance, scnu'ed f(]r the new theory a certain an.iount of sympathy, — thus giving it a strength of a wholly dillerent kind in the popular mind. Hitherto the new idea had taken less with the general public than with scholars; the materials were now found for a verital)le con/) ilc thedtre. There was exhumed at Fall Uivei' the skidetoii of a man whose l)reast — whether for oi'iiament or defence is uncertain — was protected l)y an oval plate of lirass, and on whose fleshless thighs still loosely hung a belt of curious workmanship, made of hollow tubes of Itrass much corroded, and lifted together in the manner of the bandoliers worn when lirearms were in their in- fancy. There were also found lying near the skeleton somo arrow-heads made of the same metal. It is true that tho l)ody had l)een l)uried in a sitting jtosture, with its arms and orna- ments, agreeable to the funeral customs of the In-r Wd NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. f I aro still produotivo, ami tlio iiiliaMtants, contrary to tho gcnenvl hi'llcf, j^'ct tlit'ir living' cliiclly hy the .soil. 'I'liose who wcrtj not l'iiriiK'r.s wltii fislieriiR'ii. Tliu .suas arouiul the island teemed with the eod, the niiickiMid, and the blue lish, besides other valuable .species, — thus furnishing sul)sistenee to another class, who toiled with net and line, and who built tln'ir rude cabins and Hakes by the .shore. l!ut the island having no gdixl harbor, lishing and trading went on by l)oats in the oM [)riniitiv(! way. Somehow, the reputation o|' the island was never good. .Sail- ors always shook their beads when they spoke of Block Island. A bail lee shore, a place of no good hap for th(! uiducky mariner who might be driven upon it, were jjrevailing notions, — and lirmly I'ooted ones, — which dark hints, and still darker tradi- tions, concerning shi[)wrecked crews and valuable cargoes, give a certain color ami consistency. " 1 would rather be wrecked anywhere ilian upon l)lo('k Island," became a common and sig- iiilicant saying in the forecasth^ or the midnight watch, when the dark mass of tlu; islantl heaved in sight. Ihit all this refers to long ago ; for though tlu're are still wreckers, — and they are universally hekl by sailors to be but one remove from pirates, — their work now proceeds with som(! regard for the saving of life and the lawful claims of the owners. In " the good old tim(\s" the wreckers stri[)ped a ship, and divided her cargo u])on the principle that to the tinders belongs the spoil. "Everything is lish," .said they, "that comes to our net." Like all islanders, these 2>oople were generally hardy, sober, and industriou.s. But a dill'erence is to be observed between tin- farmers and the lishennen, — a name often .synonymous with that of wreckers or smugglers. So isolated were they from tli(5 rest of the world, that the intermarriage of vhose more or le.ss related by blooil was a thing of con,vnon occurrence. Tho result was naturally unfavorable to th(! physical condition of tho islanders. Indeed, one instance is mentioned of a woman who left three deaf-and-dund) sons at her death. Dana's "Buccaneers" and Whittier's "PalatiiKi" are the BLOCK ISLAND. 407 k!fj;i*iiii!it(! outcdiiu! of a stiito of tilings which so natiinilly ttllbrds materials fur roiiianuu ; and both are also the outyrowth of a singular li^gi.'nd, whose, very obscurity lends it a weird fascination. Some time during the last century — even the year is unc(!r- tain — an emigrant ship bound for Philadel[)hia came upon the American coast, only to l)e driven oil' to si'a again by stress of weather. The emigrants were sulistantial and tliril'ty Uulch people of the better class, who had liroughl all their property along with them to their new home, whither many of their coun- trymen had preceded them. .Some of them are even alleged to have been wealthy. It was in the dark and dreary season of midwinter, when the voyage, already long, was thus disas- trously lengthened. With the coast in sight, but unable to gain her port, the ship, Ijulleling the frozen .seas, was driven north- ward far out of her course ; wliile scenes wi're being enacted on board, the bare thought <:)f which makes the blood run cold. The captain had died, or had ln'cii iuurdereil, at sea, before the vessel came in sight of the land. All discipline was at an end ; and the ship's crew then began a system of cold-blooded rob- bery, tt) which the act of l)old'y hoisting the black Hag and of cutting the throats of their miseralile victims would have Ijeeu nu;rcy indeed. The wretches armed themselves ; and having taken possession of the water and provisions, with a refined cruelty demanded from the famishing emigrants twenty guilders for a cup of water, and hfty rix-dollars for a biscuit. To save their lives the poor passengers were obliged to beggar theuLselves. Those who could not or would not comply with the atrocious demand were allowed to starve, and their ema- ciated boilies weie coolly thrown into the sea. The ship soon became a iloating hell. Having plundered their victims of everything that they possessed of value, the inhuman crew linally took to the boats ; and deserting the stricken ship, they left her to the mercy of the winds and waves. With no one left on board to navigate her, the doomed ship drifted on. Days of despair were succeeded by nights of horror. She was 408 NEW-EN(iLANlJ LKCENDS. i ■' ' I now a madliousp, tenanted only \>y maniacs nr tlie unburi(Ml corpses of those wlio lia,';,'( 'd their slmul- ders iis tlicy ix'inteil to the unerriiif,' eertainty with which it mippnared, the faithfulnoss with which every detail of tlie cnn- flaj^'ration repeated itself, and the niysterious way in which tlio vessel first came on shore. Till". BUCCANKKi:. Dana'h tragic story of the " lluccaneer" would liardly he recognized for the same that we have related, Avere not its leading incidents firmly associatcul with I'.lock Island. ITe niak(!S Leo, the "hnccaneer" of the poem, iiativi! liere. Lee i.s a man fitted hy nature for leadership in a career of crime, — a monster from wliom w(^ turn in alihoricnco, and for whose e\il destiny even the poet's art can hardly make us feel one loudi nf compassion. The graudeur of the design of the jioem is in fact marred hy the hideousness of the central iigure. Lee is a wretch without one redeeming trait, — he is simply a cutthroat. The poem opens with Lee's ship lying in a port of Spain. He has grown weary of the life of a ])eaceful trader, and has re- solved to turn pirate. While the ves.sel is Ixnng rejitted for sea a Spanish lady seeks a passage in her to America. Her hushand has fallen in the wars, and she is scarcely wedded hefore she is a widow and an exile from her native land. Lee receives her with well-affected sympathy, and tenders her a jiassagc in his ship. The hereaved lady unsuspectingly jmts herself, her at- tendants, and all that she possesses in the coi.sair's jiower. Her rich jewels and her gold inflame the rapacity of Lee, — who, however, is crafty enough to hide his time. The Sehora has a strange attachment for a favorite milk-white Arabian horse : this too is brought on hoard, and then the ship sets sail. She is no sooner out of .sight of land, than the crew, at a signal from Leo, stab the lady's servants in llioir sleep. They then, with a deadlier purpose, break into her cabin : — M 'Iff m i;«i ^'IH II I :ii^i ' !l! I 1! 410 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. Acrusli! Tlicy force the door ; uiul then Oiiu Ion;,', loiii,', .slirill, aiul piercing sci'eam Coine.s Uirillini,' l)ove the growl ol' men ! 'T is liers ! O God, ledeeni From worse than deatli thy Hutl'ering, helplcsH child ! That dreadful shriek again, — sharp, sharp and wild ! It ceased : with si)eed o' tli' lightning's Hash A loose-robed form, with streanung iiair, Shoots hy ; a leap, — u (piii L, short sjjlash ! 'T is gone! and nothing there! The waves have swept away the hublding tide, — Bright-crested waves, how cuhnly on they ride ! Witii a Itnital je.st on his lips, J.ee then orders tlie horse to be thrown alive into the, sea ; the men obey. .Such sound to mortal far ne'er came As rang lar o'er the waters wide ; It shook with l\'ny the stoutest I'rame, — The horse is mi liir tide ! As the waves leave, or lilt him uj), his cry Conies lowtu' now, and now is near and high. The ill-fated lady's gold is then divided ; but a quarrel spring- ing up over it, Lee stabs one uf his men to the heart. When the sliij) is near the land, she is abandoned and set on tire. Lee with his cut-throats gains tlie shores of Block Island. They drown remorse in driidc, and silence suspicion by scattering their ill-gotten gold right and left. At length the lugbt of their iior- rid anniversary (;oim's round. The buccaneers are celebrating it by ;v carousal, when a sudden glare, lighting up the sea, brings the orgy to a pause. Not bigger than a star it seems ; And now 't is like the bloody moon ; And now it shoots in hairy streams ! It moves ! — 't will reach us soon I A ship! and all on Are ! —hull, yard, and mast! Her sails are sheets of flame ! — she 's nearing fast ! Tu£ BUCUANEKll. 411 And what comes up above: the wave do ghastly while '. A sptxtral head I A horse'.s liead ! (May Heaven .save Those looking on the dead, — The waking dead !) Tlieie on the sea hi; stands, — The Spectre IJorse! He moves! He gains tlie sands ! The spectre lioi-de gall()j)s like the wind up tu tlio door-stone, and stumls witii his bmiiing eyes iixeil on Lee. A power ho cannot resist coiu})els the villain to mount the dreadful steed, LEE 0\ THE SPEfTRE IIORSK. which instantly dashes oti" with his Hder to the? highest (dilF of the island, from which Lee sees not only the ship on fire, Imt beholds in the depths it lights the bodies of those whom \u'. had slain. At dawn the spr.ire vanishes, leaving him rooted to the spot. Lee's doom lias ')egn.. thencefortli he is accursed. All shun him, all turn from liim w> h fe, r and loathing; for all i\\ ■ il I Ml i; Hi fill i!l i w ^-— i^ Itf: ! ; ! iiiii 412 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. have scon the spectre ship. Weary of hfe, yet afraid to die, tlie outcast wanders about the shores of the island, — a broken, hopeless wreck of his former self. They ask liini why he Wiindcrj^ so, From (lay to day, the uneven strand. " 1 wisli — I wish that I might go ! But I would go by land ! And there 's no way that I can find ; I 've tried All day and night ! " He seaward looked and sighed. At last the fatal summons comes. The fireship again bears i'ew Jhiven. Among those who saileil in her were live fir six of the most emi- nent persons in that colony. The ship was new, but so " walty," that Lamlierton, her master, often said that she would prove the grave of passengers ami crew. It was in the heart of winter; the harbor was frozen over, and a way was cut through the ice, through which the sliip slowly passed on her voyage, wliile tho Keverend Mr. Davmipoi't, besides many other friends who wit- 27 '"' r^'\\J] I KIM k. i \ ^ i-lm Wi- 418 NKW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. nosst'tl her (k'partiire, accompanied hor with their prayers ami tc^ars until .she was lo.st to view. An ill-oui(!iieil ^loom overspread tlie scene, to which the i)rayer of the pastor lent an enii)liasis of its own. They Avho were de- parting heard these solemn words of invocation, wafted like a prayer for the dead to their ears: "Lord, if it be thy plea.suro to bury these our friends in the bottom of the .sea, take them ; they are thine : save them ! " When, in the following spring, the ships arriving from Kng- land Ijrought no tidingb either of ship or company, " New- Haven's heart began to fail her." This, says tlie narrative, " put the godly people upon much prayer, both public and pri- vate, that the Lord would — if it was his pleasure — let them iiear what he had done with their dear friends, and prepare them with a suitable submission to his holy will." ( )ne afternoon in June a great thunderstorm arose out of the northwest. After it had spent itself, — after this gi'and overture had ceased, — the black cloiuls rolled away in the distance, and the skies again became serene and bright. All at once, al)out an hour before sunset, the people saw a large ship, with all her sails spread and her colors Hying, ct)ming gallantly up from the harbor's mouth. But such a ship as that had never l)efore been .seen ; for notwithstanding the wind is blowing dead against her from the land, she moved steadiiy on against it as if her sails were filled with a fresh and favoi'able gale. The people looked on in wonder and in awe. The strange vessel seemed floating in air ; there was no ripple at her bow, nor on her deck any of the bustle denoting preparation to anchor. All those who had assemliled to witness the strange sight gazed in stu- pefaction. The children clajiped their hands and cried out, "There's a brave ship!" while up the harbor she sailed, stem- ming wind and tide, and every moment looming larger and more distinct. At length, crowding up as far as there is depth of water suffi- cient for such a vessel, — in fact so near to the spectators that the figure of a man standing on her poop, with a naked sword, which TIIK I'llANTOM SlIII', 419 THE I'UANTOil SHIP. he point(Ml soaward, was distinctly seen,— siul- dc'uly and noiselessly, as if struck hy a s(juall, her maintop soeiued blown away, and, falling in a wr(>ck, hung entangled in the shrouds; then her mizzen-top, and then all her masts, spars, and sails blew away from her decks, and vanished like ' "W] ■i' 'U i :]: i 1 1 I'l 1' i 'i j : ■ J (lis T 420 NKW-KNULAiNl) LEGENDS. tliistli'dowu, Iciiviiig only a (lisiuantlod hulk iloiitiiig in tho quii't luiven. As if yit'ldiiig now to iiu invisibk; but ivsi.stles.s foirc, this; too began to cai'CL'ii duiigi'rousily iiioif and more, until it wont down bcl'oro tho oyos of tin? beholders in a mist like cloud, which after a Hull' lime melted away, leavin.g' the space lately occupied l)y the ['iiaiitnui Shiii, as everywhere else, clear and nnolistructed. 'I'iio wonder-struck lookers-on, while this weird couiiteri'cii i.|' a wreck at sea was enacting bei'on; their eyes, could so far distin- guish th(! peculiar form and rigging of the Spectre Ship as to be able to say that "'riiis was the very mould of our ship, and thus was her tragic end." The learned and devout Mr. Daven- ])ort also declared publicly, "That (iod had condescended, for tlic ([uititing of their alllicted spirits, this extraordinary account of his sovereign disposal of those for whom so many fervent prayers were made continually." Mr. Bryant, writing to tho poet Dana in 1S24, saj's that lie had formed tho idea of constructing a narrative poem on this subject ; but upon finding that the legend had already been made use of by Irving, he abandoned tlu; i)urpose, which Longfellow subsequently carried out, with dramatic elfect, as follows : — A ship sailed from New Haven ; And the keen and frosty airs, That fdled her sails at parting, Were heavy with good men's prayera. But Master Lamherton nnittered. And under his breath said he, " This ship is so crank and walty, I fear our grave she will be ! " And at last their prayers were answered : — It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon. TIIK OIIAkTKK (»AK. When, stt'fidily stcciin^,' landward, A Kliip was seen Ix'low, And they knew il was LanilMMton, Master, Wllci sailed s(i loM;^' a^'d. On she eanie, witli a (l.md (d' canvas, l{i,:;lit a:ainsl the wind that ld(;w, Until the eye coiiid dislin^^niish The laces (it' the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts, Haii-in,!,' tailzied in the shnaids. And her sails were lix.sened and lifted, And Mown away like chuids. And the masts, with all their ri-^'itig. Fell ^luwly, 1 THE CHARTER OAK. TT^KKK an American .schoolboy to he aske.l to name the V V most celebrated tree of hi.story, he would undoubte.lly mention the Charter Oak. Other trees are locally famous; but tins tree may be said to have a nati,)nal reputation. It is now not .,uite thirty years since the sturdy oak itself went down before one of those terrific storms tliat^ it had for centuries refused to bud-e an inch to; but so firmly had it become rooted in the event of history which first drew con- spicuous attention to it, that this will be as soon foraretl to have lost its upper trunk during some battle with lightning or gale, so that many others of its species of more recent growth surpassed it in height : but the acc'ident had also enormously strengthened the lower trunk, and extended the spread and thickness of the limbs, whiidi rontiiuied to Haunt li'! 424 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. defiance in Ihe face (if the elements that were surely destroy- iirj; tliem piecemeal. In time tiie tree had recovered its old synnnctry of form, wlule its I'oliajic was still romarkuhly rich and exuherant. Y'ear hy year it heeaiiu.' more and more closely im[)riso!ied within the walls of the ,L(rowiiig city, until it stood a solitary, though not unregarded, survivor of its race and lune, rill There is another relic intimately associated with tin; Charter Oak for which the ])coi»le of Connecticut have a great regard. Hanging up in the oilice of the Secretary of State, in the State Capitol, in a frame made of the Charter Oak, is the venerable original charter of the. Colony, hearing not only the autograph, hut the po trail of King Cliarles II. It is tiie genuine world- renowned document wliose mysterious disappearance one even- ing, about two centuries ago, eau.sed su(di a hubbub to lie raised throughout tlu! ("dlonies ; and it is, therefore, of all the his- torical treasure.^ of the State the most vahied. The story of how tlie (Jolonial charter was savc.'d from the clutches of Sir Edmund Andros is a stirring episode of those stir- ring times, when Tyranny, bohlly unmasking, began o[)enly to threaten New Englard with tlie lo.ss of ull her time-honoi'e(l fran- chi.ses. In contempt of tlieir chartered rights. King dame.s II. had appointed Sir Edmund governor over all the Xew-England Colonics. Neither the wishes, the interests, nor the happiness of the jieople were to be for a moment considered. It was to lie a rule of iron, and a man of iron was chosen for it. The lirst step was to seize and declare void the old charters. IMas- sachusetts ha! it vanislii'd from his sight, And sudden ilarkness fidl like idght. While, halllcd still, in wrath and ]iain. He, groping, sought the jtrize in vain ; For a lirave hand, in trust to me. Had given that germ of liberty ; And like our relative of old Who clasped his arms, serenely bold, THE I'LACE OF XOISKS. Arouiid tlie eiulaiii^'ered prince wlio iled The scafl'dld wiieiu hi.-- fatlier bli-d, I hid it, sail' IVoiu storm and l)last, Until thc! days of (head whto past ; And tluMi my I'aitld'ul hrcast ivstored The treasure to its ri^iillul lord. For tliis do pilgrims seek my side, And artists sketch my varying pride ; And far away o'er oeean'.s brine, An aeoru or a leal' of nune, I hear, are st(-)red as relies rich 111 anti([uariau's classic niche. 42- THE PLACE OF NOISES. WE take the following weird tale partly from the historian Trunil)ull, and partly from tlio [xjet liraiiiard. History (uul romance arc thus amiealily blended, — eacdi elucidating according to its own spirit the singular phenomenon which so long disturbed the good jHioplo of East lladdam. "The Indian name of tlie town was Machemoodus, which in English is the fltce of noises, — a name given witli the utmost pro- priety to the i)lace. Tlie accounts given of the noises and ([u; kings there are very remarka1)le. Were it not that the jicople are accus- tomed to them, they would occasion great ahu-m. The Reverend Mr. Hosmer, in a letter to Mr. Prince, of Boston, written August ISth, 1729, gives this account of them : 'As to the earth.iuakes, I have something consideralde and awful to tell you. Earth(iuake.s liave been here (and nowhere but in tiiis precinct, as can be discerned. — - that is, they seem to have their centre, rise, and origin among us), as has Iteen observed for more than thirty years. I have been in- formed that in this jdace, before the English settlements, tliere were great numbers of Indian inliabitants, and that it was a ]>lacc of ex- traordinary Indian })awaws, — or, in short, that it was a place where n f jr u i ■ ■ * 428 m;\v-i:n(;i,ami i,i:(ir.Ni).s. Ilic liioetic. version of the story is intro(hiee(l liy tiie t'ojlnwin^ aeeouilt in prose, for the truth (d' wliioli the poet voueiu's. We will only add to it the statement that tlu; carhnncle was liit,dily prized by our ancestors for its supposed powi'r to protect the wearer from the dangei' of infection ; but it was only to be found in inaccessible jtlaees, like tiie bowels of tbe earth or unviolated mountain peaks. '*A traveller who accidentally passed throu,L,'h East iladdam made several incpiiries as to the MoadiiK /kk'w.s that are peculiar to that part of the country. Many particulars were related to him of their severity and efl'ects. and of the means that had betii taken to ascertain their cause and |>revent their recuneiice. He was told that the .simple and terrified inhabit.mts. i;, the early settlement of the town, a])plied to a book-learned and erudite man frotn Enj,'land, by tlu! name of Doctor Steele, who undertook by nnigic to allay their terrors ; and for this jiurpose took the sole charge of a black- MATGIIIT MOOD US. 42! I smitir.s slin,,, in wl.icli 1,0 worked by niglit, and fron. wl.irl, h,. ex- du.l.-d allarhuis.ion, li,:,ditly stoppin- and .larkenin.^' tlu- plmr, t,, p.r- vent, any piym- niriosiiy IVum intuiffiiii- will, his ,»■,-, ill n,.,.,,.,ti,.ii.. He, however, so I'ar explained tiie eaiise ol ih.'se noises as t,, sav thai they wereouin-to a earlnm.le whirl, ,„i,sl have nr„„ i, i,, a' ■■ital, si/e in the bowels of ihe nuks, and that ij' it eonld be removed'^ the noises would eease unlil aiiollaa' should -row in its phiee. Tl,.- nnises cease.1; the doetordeiiarted,and has iievei' b.rn heaid of sin,-,.. || ua, suppose.l that he took the earbunele will, hii... Thus lar was aulhen- tic. A httle -irl who had anxiously i„.timl the eoiirse .d' tiu: travel- ler's inipiiries sun- lor his i urther odiliuation the lollowin- ballad." MATCHIT lAKXJDUS. J. (i. liliAix \i;i). Skh you upoi, the lonely moor A crazy building' rise ? No hand dares venture to open the dooi' ; No Ibotslep treads its dan<,'eriais lloor ; No eye in its secrets jiries. Now why is eaeh crevice stopped .so tij,'ht ? 8ay why the liolted door .' Why ,i,diniiners at niidni!.dit the forge's light I All day is the anvil at rest ; but at night The llaines of the ruruace roar. I Is it to arm the horse's heel That the miilnight anvil rii,gs i Is it to mould the ])louglisI, are's steel, Or is it to guard the wagon's wheel, That the smith's sledge-hammer swiiig.s ? The iron is bent, and the erucible .stands With alcliemy boiling up ; Its contents were mixed by unknown hands, And no mortal fire e'er kindled the brunda That heated that <'ornered cup. f M iil^ PI 430 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. O'er Moodus River u light hus glanced, On Moodus Hills it shone ; On the granite I'oi'ks the I'ays have danced, And upward those creeping lights advanced, Till they met on the highest stone. Oh, that is the very wizard place. And now is the wizard houi', By the light that was conjured up to trace, Ere the star that falls can run its race, The seat of the earth([uake's power. By that unearthly light I see A lignre strange ahnie ; With magic circlet on his knee, And decked with Satan's symbols, he Seeks I'or the hidden stone. Now upward goes that gray old man, With mattock, liar, and spade : The summit is gained, and the toil begun. And deep by the rock where the wild lights run. The magic trench is made. Loud and yet louder was the groan That sounded wiile and far ; And deep and hollow was the moan That rolled around the bedded stone Where the workman plied his l)ar. Then upward streamed the brilliant's light, — It streamed o'er crag and stone ; Dim looked the stais and the inoon that night ; But when morning came in her glory bright. The man and the jewel were gone. But wo to the bark in wliich he flew From Moodus' rocky shore ; Wo to the captain, and wo to the crew That ever the breath of life they drew When that dreadful freight they bore. THE SPANISH GALLEON. The cailnuicle lii's in the dei'i), deep sea, lieiieiilh the mighty wave ; But the light sliincs upward so yh>ri()Usly That the isailur Iduks jiale, and Ibigets his glee, When he tTosst's the wizard's grave. 431 THE SPANISH GALLEON. " "T"T is a fact," writes the poet Druinard, " tliat avo men from -1- Vermont are now (.July lltli, 1827) working by the side of one of the wharves in Saw London, for buried money, by the advice and recommendation of an ohl woman of that State, who assured them tiiat she could distinctly see a box of dollars packed edgewise. The locality was pointc(l out to an inch ; and her only way of discovering the treasure was by looking through a stone, — whii'h to ordinary optics was hartlly translucent. For the .story of the Spanish galleon that left so much l)ullion in and about Xcw London, see Trumlndl's ' History of Connecti- cut ; ' and for Kidd, inquire of the okhist lady you can find." The story related by Truml)ull is this : — "About this time [lloli] an unhappy event took place, dis- honorable to tlie Colony, injurious to foreigners, and wliich occa- sioned a groat and general uneasiness, and many uid'riendly suspicions and imputations with respect to some of the jjrinci- pal characters in the Colony. A Spanish ship, coming into the port of New London in distress, ran upon a reef of rocks, and so ilaniagetl the vessel that it Avas necessary to uidade her and put lier freiglit into stores at Xew London. The cargo was delivered into the custody of Jo.seph Hill, Ks(j., collect(jr of the port of Xew London. The supercargo was Don Joseph Migmd de St. Juan. That he might sail with his cargo early in tlie spring, he obtained a ship of about two hundred tons, and was ready to sail in April. lUit when he had sliipped part of his r h 'ill ii 1 I: : i! i !l I It: '., 4;y2 m;\v-kni;lani) li/^knus. cargo, (itlicr parts of it wito witlilioldcii I'nuii him ny |.ist, and coiilil not liy any niran.-j nf his be rt'cuvuruil. As hccuiilil ulilain no M'lii't', and was (h'tcrniini'd not to sail witlioiit thi; n-cov ury ot his (.argo or sonic iii(h'ninilicalion i'or the loss ol' it, he. waited until Octohcr, and then invl'cirfd a iiirmoiial to tho AsMndily, rci)ri'si'nliiig his arrival in the suow -St. Joscjih and OLD WAUKHOUSES, NEW LONDON. St. Helena' from Havana, bonnd to Cadiz, at the port of Now Lomhm ; and that he liad stored his cargo there, in the cnstody of Joseph Hill, Es([., the collector; and that when he had pro- cured a vessel in April, and recjuired his cargo, that it might he reshipped, a considerable ])art of it had been withholden, lost, and embezzled ; and praying for relief, or that he might reland that part of his cargo which remained, and secure it at their ex- pense ; and also that his men might be discharged. Till", SPANISH (iALLKON. 433 "Tho AssiMiihly, al'lur liiiirin^' ami delil)orating on the meiiiu- rial, rcs(ilvi'(l, That wliatevcr losses ht; had .siistaiuod, it was either liy means tu them unknown, or which thoy wen) by no means al»le t(j prevent. ... It was (h-clared, That the reijuosLs of the i)etiti()n(!r were unreasonable, and thert'i'uro cuuld not bo ANCIENT MILL, NEW LONDON. granted; but that .'.s protection and assistance were due to a foreigner cast among them, tlie Assembly did ailvisc the (Jover- nor to grant all ilue p"otection and relief to the said J)oi) Miguel, according to the laws of trade, nature, and nations. The (Jov- ernor was also desired and empowenid, in case the said Joseph Miguel should desire it, to direct a full searcli after any part of his cargo which might have been embezzled or lost, and to 28 i ll'^ '! \i'\i\ ■ m ne\v-knc;land legends. take all such reasonable measures therein as should be necessary to ilo justice in said case. " before the meeting of the freemen in April, it was generally known tliat the Spaniards had been robbed, or at least that an important part of a rieli and very valuable cargo had been stolen, embezzled, or by some mtuins lost or kept back from the owners; and it occasioned a great ferment through the (,'olony. It was iniagiiuHl that it might involve the L\ilony in great ditti- culties ; that it might be obliged to indemnify the owners, and that it would bring a heavy debt upon it ; or that it might ell'ect a rui)ture, and hostilities between the two nations. Others were moved with a sense of honor, sympathy, and justice. They were ashamed and grieved that, when foreigners in distress had cast themselves upon not only a civilized, but Christian people, they had been plundered as though they had fallen among hea- thens, thieves, and robbers. All the feelings of covetonsriess, lionor, sympathy, and justice, were touched. Great blame was imputed to some of the principal characters in the Colony, espe- cially to Governor Wolcott. It \vas imagined by many that he had not taken such care and adopted such measures to secure the property of those foreigners, and to save them harmh.-ss, as lie ought to have done. Whether there was any just founda- tion for faulting hhu or not, it so disatlected the freemen that, notwithstanding his former popularity, he lost their suifrages, and Thomas Fitch, Esq., was chosen governor in his place. Mr. Hill did not escape a share of blame, among others. How such a ([uantity of stores of various kinds should be lost or embezzled without his knowdedge or privity, and that no thor- ough search should be made for them in so many months, is very unaccountable. But Avliere the fault lay, or wdiat became of the lost goods, never came to ]niblic view. Nor does it ap- pear that the Colony was ever put to any extraordinary expense or trouble on that account. The war was now commencing, and private concerns were neglected and forgotten, while national interests of greater moment and more general concern engrossed the public mind both in Europe and America." THK MONKY-l)l(;(iKkS. 43i TI.K M()XKV-I)I(i(;EI{s. .1. (1. lilfAINAIUt. Tuts sjiitli the- Mook : " IVriiiit no witch to live !" lluiu't' Miissacliiisctts iiiitli cxiicIUmI the, ra iiiid dickiT tliiivc, Allowed not to their foot a re.stiiig-place. With iiioie of hardihood and less of "race Veriiioiit receives tiie sisters <,'ray iiiid lean, Allows each witcli her airy broomstick race, O'er iniLjiity rocks and mountains dark with j^reeii, ^^ here tempot.s wake theii' voice, and torrents roar between. And one there was anion-; that wicked crew To whom tile enemy a pelihle gave, Throuj,di which, at long-ofi' distance, she mi,i,'lit view AH treasures of the fathomable wave; And where the Thames' bright billows gently lave The grass-grown jiiles that flank the ruined wharf, She sent them forth, tliose two adventurers lirave, Where greasy citizens their lieverage ([ualF, Jeering at enterjirise, aye ready with u laugh. They came, those straight-haired, honest-meaning men, Nor ([uestion asked they, nor reply did make, Albeit their locks were lifted like as when Young Hamlet saw his father; and the shake Of knocking knees, and jaws that seemed to lireak, Told a wild tale of undertaking bold. While as the oyster-tongs the chiels did take. Dim gi'ew the siglit, and every blood-dnjp cold. As knights in scarce roinant sung by the bards of old. For not in daylight were their rites performed ; When nightcapped heads were on their pillow hud, Sleep-freed from biting care, by thought unharmed, Snoring e'er w^ord was spoke or prayer was said, — ^T I ! 436 NFW-KNOLANl) LEUKNDB. 'T was thi'ii the mattock niul tlic Imsy spuile, The pump, tlic luickct, iiiul the wiii(lla.ss-r(}i»e, In Im.sy silciicc plicil the mvstii; trmli-, While llesuliition, heikttiu'd on by llniic, Did Bweut and ugonize the soiij^lit-l'or diest to ope. Beneatli the Wiive tlie iron chest is liol, Deej) growls aiv heard, and itddening eyes are seen ; Yet of the black ilog nhe had told thini not, Noi' ol' tile gray wild geese with eyes ol' green, That screamed antl yelled and hovered ciost! between The buried gold and the rapacious hand. Here should she be, though mountains intervene. To scatter, with her crooked witch-lia/el wand. The wave-born sprites that keep tlieir tieasure Ironi the land, She cannot, may not come. The rotten wliarl' Of mouldering planks and rusty spikes is there ; And he who owned a <|Uarter or an half Is disappointed ; and tiie witc'Ii is, — where ( Veiinont still harbors her, (lo, seek hei' there, The grandani of .loe Strickland ; find her nest Where summer icicU's and snowballs are, Where black swans paddle and wln're jietrels rest ! Synnues be your trusty guiile, and Robert Kidd your guest ! THE NORWICH ELMS. L. II. SIGOURNEY. I DO remember me Of two old Elm-Trees' shade, With mosses sprinkled at their feet, Whei'e my young childhood ])layed ; THK NOIiWlCII KLMH. While the rocks uImjvc their lnad Frowned out so .stem aii'l >^riiy, And the litth' crvstid streamlets \Veut leapiiij,' on llieii' way. There, side by side, they lifted Their intertwininj,' down, And llnonj.,'!! their i)riiad enihraciii;,' arms The (jueenly Moon lool^ed dnwn ; And meth(.uj,dil, as there I Iinj,'ered, A ninsiii;,r ,.liil,| al,„„.^ She lain my secret heart wonjd read From her bright silver throne, T do renienilier me Ol' all their wealtli of leaves, When Snmmer in her radiant loom The bnrning solstice weaves ; And how, with firm endnrance, They ijraved an adverse sky, Like lielisarins doomed to meet His country's wintry eye;. I 've roamed through varied regions. Where stranger-streamlets run ; And where the ])roud magnolia flaunts Heneath a Southern sun ; And where the sparse and stunted pine Puts forth its sombre form, — A vassal to tlu' Arctic cloud And to the tyrant storm ; And where the pure unruflled lakes In plac'id wavelets roll, Or where sublime Niagara shakes The wonder-stricken soul ; I've seen the temple's sculptured pile. The pencil's glorious art, — Yet still those old green trees I wore Depicted on my heart. 437 i » i h . If h I iS T 438 N^vV-ENGLAM) LEGENDS. Years lied : my iiiitivc viilc; 1 s(nij,'hf, Wlicic those tall Eliii-Tree.s wuvu ; ]*>iit many a cnhiiuii of its trust Lay liiokeii in tlie i,'ra\'e. The amieiit ami tlie white-liaired iiieii, Wliose "•is(h)m was its stay, Fur tin-Ill I asked ; and Echo's voice Made answer, '' Where are they ? " I soiij,dit the thrifty matron \\'hose liiisy wlieel was lieard Wlieii the early i., ams of moriiiii}^ Awoke the chirping; hird : Straiij^fe faces from lier window looked, Strange voices tilled her cot ; And 'iieath the very vine she trained, Ifer memory is for^'ot. I lei't a yontliful mother, Her children round her knee : These habe: had risen into men, And coldly L)oked on lue ; Ijut she, with all her l)h)oni and ,L,'race, Did ill the churchyard lie, While still those changeless Elms ui)l)oro Their kingly canopy. Though we, who 'ueath tlicir lofty scr ■ Pursued our childish play. May show amid our sunny locks Some lurking tints of gray. And though the village of our love Doth many a change betide. Still do these sacred Elm-Trees stand In all their strength and pride. $>art ^l^irtccntf). NANTUCKET AND OTHER LEGENDS. irT"^' i i i !' I rii^i 111 NANTUCKET LEGENDS. rp HE island, uf Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard, and of the -L Khzabetli .ronp all possess more or less legendary lore of the kind that surrounds the.u with a peculiar fascination. Onel.y one these islands have emerged from the sea into the ight history, and have taken a place upon the map. Little by little and with caution were their inhospitable coasts and foaming reefs explored by the early navigators, and step by step did Christian nussionaries approach the fierce islanders who inhabited them in happy ignorance that any other world than the neighl)oring mainland existed. In the order of chronology it is the Elizabeth Islands that should l)e the first mentioned, since it was there tliat the bold att..npt to found in New England a colony of Europeans was made. One cannot Ibrbear a smile at its futility. Vaguely con- ceived, not half matured, and feebly executed, it was abandoned as so many enterprises of "great pith an.l moment" have b.-on' in the very hour that should most fully test the mettle of th.jse who were conducting it ; and it is now mem.n-able only because 1 was the lirst serious endeavor to naturalize Englishmen upon the sod let although these men left only a perishable foot- print behind them, they did bestow enduring names upon the various capes and headlands that successivelv rose out of the sea to greet them. So far as is known, however, not one is a ■k fmfm^ ; ! :' i' Is M I ■" I! li i I l:. 'M I (Ml 442 NEW-ENCLANI) l,r.< SENDS. niemonto o. f lionisolvo.s ; iiovcrtlit'lcss it is thoso. naino.s thrown at raiuldin in j-assiiig wliicli lias roiulureJ tlio voyanc ul' Captain Hartlioloniow (Jds- nuld a fact wcnlh preserving j other- wise it is a cipher. In the whol". *w- • A \ cdniiJaiiy who set sail with him from Fal- n ontli there, were only CUTTYHUNK. thlrtj-two persons; of whom but twelve, the Apostolic numlier, purposed remaining in the country as actual settlers. It would be dilhcult to conceive of an empire with its millions dating its origin from this hand- HANTUCKKT LEGENDS. 443 fill, had they hueu the fortunate ones to leave us the duty of inscribing their nanierf at the head of the illustrious roll of founders; but tlii'ir personality having no gu'uter sulwtance than their enterj)rise, tliey, with the exception of a few whose names the care of Hakluyt has i)reserveu, have all vanished. From Falmouth, then, on the L'.lth of March, U)02, tlie "Con- cord" put to sea. On the l-tth of May, the day being Friay and the open sea, — a broken, but still magnificent barrier. One of these he called Martha's Vineyard, thinking so little of the matter that ho left nothing to satisfy the curiosity of another age respecting the jH'rson he had meant to honor, either in token of remembrance, or j)erhaps as a i/i(;/e d\imour. The knowledge, therepjre, died with the giver ; and so Martha's Vineyard remains a monument with an incomplete inscription which nolxxly is able to comjdete. Eleven days after sighting the coast the adventurers landed up- on Cuttyhunk Island, to which Gosnold gave t.ie name of Eliza- beth, the t^hieen, — a name that has since been a])plicd to the whole group. They decided to make this islitud their residence. ! , !'■ I- 1'. 1 'I [1 iij |i i' '1 j 'l 1 1 i; 444 NK\V-EN(iLAND LECIENDS. Having great foar of tho savages, Gosuold's men set to work building a iort, in which thoy dwelt until they had procured a cargo of sassafras iur their ship, when they hurriedly de- camped and set sail for England ; but upon the grand scheme of colonization of which this was to be the entering wedge, this voyage had no further result than to act as a spur to tho lords-proprietors, who impoverished themselves in fruitless efforts, until the year 1G20 of happy memory showed them what might be done without other resources than courage, per- sistency, and a lirm reliance on the assistance of Heaven. Gosnold also saw and named the remarkable promontory of Gay Head, — probably so called from its brilliant and variegated coloring when the sun shone full upon it. Tho structure of this lofty headland bears upon it certain evidences of its volcanic origin. Four or five craters are more or less distinctly traced. The most ancient of these, long since overgrown with grass, and called the Devil's Den, measures twenty rods across at the top fourteen at the bottom, and is one hundred and thirty feet ileep at the sides, except upon the one next the sea, which is open. The most fantastic stories continued to pass current respecting this wizard spot until the beginning of the present century ; for here, as fame rejiorts, was one of the residences of ^laushope, the Indian giant, tho tutelary genius of all the tribes inhabiting these islands, as well as the adjacent mainland of Cape Cod. I.iko Fingal, Maushopo was in tho habit of wading across the Sound when tiie humor took possession of him. Here he broiled the whale on coals made from the largest trees, which he pulled up by the roots. After separating No-man's Land from Gay Head, metamorphosing his children into fishes, and throwing his wife on Seconnet Point, where she now lies, a misshapen rock, he broke up housekeeping and left for parts imknown. The fishermen used to say that it was a common thing to see a light upon Gay Head in the night-time, and it was handed down as a matter undisputed among them that the whalemen were in the habit of guiding themselves at night by the lights that were seen glancing upon Gay Head. When they appeared flickering NANTUCKET LEGENDS. 445 m the darkness tlie sailors would suy, "Old Maushopo is at it again ! " JJut the l)eacon-lights wore held to bo friendly ones • lor, like the stars, they showed the l.elateil mariner what course to steer. The sea has encroached greatly upon the clay clifls m the course of centuries. The harmless descendants "of the warlike race still inhabit the place ; but the light of a powerful Presnel sinning from a massive tower has superseded the mi,i- night orgies of the wandering Maushope. J.ike the Eastern wizards, IMaushoj.,! was capable of raisin-' mists whenever he wished ; but that his was wholly an ori-Mmd method will appear from the following traditional account of the discovery of Nantucket, which is presented verbatim. "In former times, a great many moons ago, a bird, extraonlinarv lo)' Its size, use.l often to visit the soutli shore of Cape Co.! and cany from thence in its talons a vast number of small cliildn-n. Mau- slu.pe, who was an Imlian giant, as fame leports, resided in ti.ese parts. iMiragcd at tiie havoc among tlie chiMren. |je on a c.-rtain time waded into the sea in pursuit of the bir.l, till he lia.l crosse.l the Sound an,l ivached Nantucket. Before Maushope forded the Sound tlie island was unknown to the red men. Maushope found (he bones of the children in a heap under a large tree. He then, wishing to smoke a pipe, ransacked the island inr tobacc, ; but linding n.me" he filled his j.ipe with poke, — a weed which tlie Indians s,.in.;Umes lised as a substitute. Ever .«ince the above memorable events fogs have been freipient at Nantucket and on the Cape. In allusi.,n"to this tradition, when the aborigines observed a fog rising, they would say, 'There comes old Maushope's smoke ! ' This tradition has been related in another way : that an eagle having seizt-d and carried off a^pajwose, the parents followed him in their eaiioe I ill thev came to Nantucket, where they found the bones of their chil.l dropped by the eagle. There is another Indian traditi(m, that Nantucket wa's formed by Maushope bv emptying the ashes fn.m his pipe after he had done smoking. The two tribes on the island were hostile to each other. Tradition has preserved a j)lcasing instance of the power of love. The western tribe having determined to surprise and atta<-k the eastern tribe, a young man of the former, whose mistress belonged to the latter, being an.\ious for her safety, as soon as he was concealed by the shades of night, ran to the beach, (lew along the shore below 446 NEW-EN(!LANI) LECiENDS. If : f m tlio limit of lii,L;h water, saw his mistress a moment, {:;nvo the alarm, ami returned iiy tlie same route before dayljreaiv ; tlie risiii},' tide washed away the traces of his feet. The luixt morning he accom- panied theotlier warriors of the tribe to the attaclc : the enemy was found pri'iiariMl, and no impression couUl be made on tliem. He ri'maiiu'd un(U'tc(ted till, several years after, peaci- Ix'iiig restoreil lietween the twotrilies, and the young man having nmrri jd the girl, the truth came to light." Wo have elsewhere I'elatod tho circumstance tliat led to tlio settlement of Nantucket by the whites. The (i)uaker element long continued to be the dominant one in the social life of the island, as well as of its religion and government. Here, free from persecution, these much-abuseil I'oUowers of George; Fox were supposed to have founil their Arcadia. They established a pa- triarchal government. Instead of laws, they had usages which were obeyed as laws. It was nearly the liapi)y ideal coiulition, where men live without (piarrels, without crime, and without the enforcement of law. They were husbandmen and shepherds. They hslied, planted, ami traded in peace. Although some of them amassed wealth, everything about them contiimed to \vear the appearance of a primitive economy ; they lived on inde- pendently and prosperously. But notwithstanding a natural predilection for the land — and wo can hardly think of Quakers as making good sailors — there was the sea continually calling, continually asserting itself, at their doors. I]y a transition as curious as it is absolute, these peaceful shepherds became the most noted sailors of our (!ontinent and the most renowned whalemen of the world. With this cliange the native Indians doubtless had much to do ; for in their primitive way they too were expert in taking those monsters of tho deep. The Xan- tucket whale-fishery began in the waters immediately surround- ing the island, and in boats. The whaleman finished his career andd the Arctic ice, where he quietly made for himself a route long before Governments entered into tho disastrous contest with King Frost in which so many valuable lives have been lost. Had there been certain indications that whales were to be Al NANTUCKET LI-XiENDS. 447 tV.uiul at the Vnh, tl.o Xai.tuckct wl.alomou would have dis- covered it. Tlio .s(.a-aniKil.s of Nantucket are consequently very numer- ous ; and as tliey chieJly relate to stubborn conflicts with whales they are very interesting. But as we now get our oil upon the la.i.i, the industry wldch brought Nantucket iuto world-wide notice has no longer any existence there. There is, however .'i "nuseuu.. u. which are preserved many evidences to the fact' n. the sau.e manner that Halem preserves the memorials of her departed Eastdndian trad... Alas! one cannot but regret these cliauges. The whaledishery gave t(.. the nation a rac; of in- trepid sadors, who might have become at need her def.mders • the petroleum discovery has given us some millionnaires. It IS well known that sailors are able to discover tlieir where- ubouts, even in thick weather, by making an exanunati..n of the soundings tiiat the lead has brought up from the bottom. ISantucket skippers, it would seem from the followin.- ballad are able to go even farther than this, and to tell with their eyes shut in what neighborhood they are : — m THE ALARMED SKIPPEK. JAMES T. FIELDS. Many a long, long year ago, Nantucket skippers had a plan Of finding out, thougli "lying low,'' How near New York their schooners ran. They greased the lead before it fell, And tlien, by sounding through the night. Knowing (l,e soil tliat stuck, so well, Ihey alwa^'s guessed their reckoning right. A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim. Could tell, by tnsfiiui, Just the spot ; And so below he'd "dowse the glim," — After, of course, his " something hot." 'fl,'^ il' ,J 448 NEVV-KNULAND LKGENUS. Snuj,' in liis berth, at ci},'lit o'clock, This ancient skipper niiglit bu found. No matter how his craft wouhl rock, He sle})t ; foi- skippers' naps are sound I The watch on deck would now and then Run down and wake him, with the lead ; He M up and taste, and tell the men How many miles they went ahead. OiH! night 't was Jotham Marden's watch, A curious wag, — the pedler's son ; And so he mused (the wanton wretch !) : " To-night I '11 have a grain of fun ! " We 're all a set of stu])id fools To think the skipper knows by tasting What ground he 's on, — Nantucket schools Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting !" And so he took the well-greased lead And rubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood (jn deck, — a parsni|)-bed ; And then he sought the skippei''s berth. " Whore are we now, sir / Please to taste." The skipper yawned, put out his tongue ; Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste. And then upon the floor he sprung ! The skipper stoi-med and tore his hair, Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden : " Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett's garden ! " THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 449 ^ THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. TTTHKX Charles I. u-^.s about to lay hi. loyul hcail upon tho Y V l.lock, lio took his 81. (;,.oi-o frum his neck and han.K.l It to iJi.shop Juxou, saying as hu did so, " Uonicnihur ! " Tliis wasth. last word utt.n l,y the, royal n.aityr; Ibr a moment later the axe f..ll. According U> llunn'., after the execution was over, tho Council of Stato called Juxon before them, and de- manded to know what this command of tho King signilied. Juxon replied that on the day before his " «^. s s,.. V w. V Ua :/. 1.0 I.I 1.25 IM 12,2 ililli6 2.0 1111= iA 11.6 Photographic Sciences Cornoration '^ iV '^N> ^^' 6^ ^^^ ^ ■\r .^ ^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 145 80 (716) 872-4503 ^. :«'ew Haven, (jloll'e and Wlialley lied uj) the valley to Hadley, which was then one of the remote frontier i)lantations. Every precaution was takiMi to render the journey a profound secret. Upon arri\ing there tluiy were hospitably received, given shelter, and carefully guarded i'roni all intrusi(jn u])on their ])riv- acy by the minister of the place, the Revereml John IJussell, — whose house thenceforth became their abode for fifteen or sixteen years, until death released one of them foriiver from the ennuty of men and kings. Only a few, whose fidelity could be depended upon, were admitted into the secret ; and for greater security it was given out that the regicides had fled to New York, with the purpose of again crossing the seas and taking refuge in Holland. Behold these two outcasts, behiml whom " stalked the heads- man," finally immured within the four walls of an humble fron- tier dwelling, like men who have forever taken leave of the world and its concerns, but whom the world still vindictively pursues. The same ruthless spirit of revenge; that had violated the senseless l)odies of Cromwell and Ireton was now abroad in New England ; and her people, willing though they might be, dared not openly resist the hard logic of events. That spirit was the vengeance of a king ; that logic, the restoration of (Jharles Stuart to the throne. Eleven years had rolled over the heads of the exiles. One by one their hopes had fallen to the ground and withered away. "Whalley had become decrepit; Goife indeed retained some of THE UNKNOWN CIIAMI'TON. 451 lie old hre h. had shown when, at th. h.-ad of Cromwell's Ironsides he clun.<,ed at Dunbar, and turn..! the doubtlul issue of that nlurious day. This hrings us t(. the year l(i7;> The^yeaa' 1G75 ushere.l in the gigautic stru-l. with Philip, the great .^ urragansett ehiei'tain. X.ver h..f„re had sueh a storm of war assailed poor New England. ( ■alamity fnllou-.d ealamitv An adversary M-ho concentrated in his own nlld..lie person all the hatred, the sul)tlety, the thirst for vc-ngeanee of his race, suddenly rose, the majestic and fatel'u] liguiv of the hour. Philip ivi..^ of Pokanoket, had proclaimed M-ar,-.war in its most i.vvC ble aspect, - war to the knife. Philip the leader had aroused ns people imm th.ir deadly h.thargy of iorty years tn n.akc one last cue supnMue cilorl. It was now a struggle lor hn. or death, and as such had to be met. The nienaced Colonies hastened to put forth their utmost ellorts in ord.r to meet the eme.v,ency, whose gravity incivase.l every iiour. A g.meral insunv,;! inn of all the tribes was I'hilip's hr^pe and .\ew England's f..ar. dohn Lever..tt, a soldi,.- of ..romwell, was then at the head of allairs ; and he, rising to the crisis, now show.Ml all th.- energy that might be expected from a scholar who had served his apprenticeship un.ler so abl.. a master. Put at first the ,.cale of victory inclined In-avilv in Philip's favor. Instead of coml^ats we ivad only of massurres • instead of victories, the record shows disaster upon disaster. ' Driv.m at length from his own stronghold, Philip, ut th(> Jiead of a small band of his warriors, ivtire.l into the heart ot the .Nipmuck Country, which then extended, a wilderness of •swamps, thickets, and mountain-defiles, between the seaboard settlements aii.l tho.se lying in the lovely Connecticut Valley A single road traveivsed it. A s..litary outpost, around which a ieeble settlement had grown up, wa,s planted in the midst of this solitude; this was Brooklield. The sanguinary struggh; was here renewed ; and here some of the best blood in the Colony was uselessly shed. Upon this isolated post Philip's confiuleratcs, the crafty Nipmu. s, fell witli fury. Soon after this they were joined by Philip in' per- 'I m I •152 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. SOU. He now ainiod at iiotliiug less than tlio total destruction of the isolated vallry-scttleuients. The Colonial forces that had been sent for the relief of ]>rook(ield, after .^uilering severely in several bloody encounters, succeeded in driving the exasperated enemy back upon the Connecticut settlements, which thus speedily became the battle-ground of the combatants. Hei'e, alas ! the bones of many a stout soldier moulder in unknown graves. There were several tri])es living at peace with the whites in tins valley whom the ncnvs of Philip's succes.ses now threw into u fever of excitement ; his agents did the rest. These tribes had received his wami)um, and were secretly .sharpening their hatchets. The white people, taking the alarui, and being more- over warned of- what they might presently expect from such dangerous neighbors, attempted to disarm them ; but the attempt resulted in these Indians going over to Philip in a body. They were pursued, overtaken, and brought to bay near Sugar-Jioaf Mountain, in Deertield ; but they succeeded after a sharp light in making good their retreat. This occurred on the 2oth of August. On the 27th the Englisli were defeated at Xorthfield, and fled in confusion back as far as Hadley before they rallied again. On the 1st day of September the enemy made a bold onslaught upon Deerlield, and nearly destroyed the whole settlement. Thus for a whole week the inhabitants of this part of the valley had been constantly harried and beset. With the enemy always at their doors ; with the war-whoop sounding hourly in their ears ; with the hurrying to and fro of armed men and of fugitives, — one does not ask whether the inhabitants were in a state of perpetual alarm. Such was the condition of the little counuunity, among whom the regicides lay concealed, on the 1st of September, 1G75. liieir lives were now doubly threatened. We will now let an eminent historian and novelist take up the narrative. The dramatic power of the simple incident needed no attempt at embellishment, and none is made. THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 4-3 Til Sir Walter Scott's " Peveril relates this story : — tlio Peak" Bridgeiiorth " I was by chance at a small villai^^e in the woods uunv. than thii'ty miles from Boston, and in a situation exceedingly lontdy, and surrounded hy thickets. Nevertheless there was no idea ol'any dan- ger from tlie Indians at that time ; for men trusted in tlie protection of a considerable body of troops who had taken the held I'or tlie protec- tion of the frontiei's, and who lay, or were supposed to lit', Ijutwixt the hamlet and the enemy's country. But tliey had to do with a foe whom the Devil himself had inspired with cunning and cruelty. It > i» K.'-A'nVr'.'L 0Ol'l"E K.VLLVlMi TMK SETTLIOUS. was on a Sabbath morning, when we liad assembled to take sweet counsel in tlie Lord's housi'. ... An excellent worthy, who now Bleeps in the Lord, Nehemiah Solsgrace, had just begun to wrestle in prayer, when a woiuan with disordered looks and ng heard of the same color. ' Men and hivthren,' he .said, in a voice like that which turns back the llight, ' why sink your hearts I and why are j'on tlui.s di.sipueted I Fear ye that the God we serve will give ye up to yonder heathen (hjgs t Follow me ; and ye shall sec that this day there is a captain in Israel ! ' lie uttered a few brief but distinct orders, in the tone of one who was accustomed to com- mand; and such was the influence of his appearance, his mien, his language, and his presence of mind, that hi' was implicitly ol)cy(>d by men who had never seen him until that moment. We were hastily disided by his orders into two bodies, — one; ol' which maintained the defence of the village with more coui'age than ever, convinced that the unknown was .sent by God to our rescue. At his command they assumed the best and most .sheltered iiositions for exchanging their deadly tire with the Indians ; while under cover of the smoke the stranger .sallied from the town at the head of the other division of the New-England men, and fetching a circuit, attacked the red warriors in the rear. The surprise, as is usual anumg Indians, had complete elfect ; for they doubted not that they were assailed in thiiir turn, and placed betwixt two hostile parties by the icturn of a detachment from the jirovincial army. The heathens iled in confu- sion, abandoning the half- won village, and leaving behind them such a number of their warriors that the irib( hath never recovered their loss. Xever shall I forget the figure of our venerable leader, when our men, and not they only, but the women and children of the vil- lage, rescued from the tomahawk and scalping-knife, stood ci'owded around hiui, yet scarce venturing to approach his per.son, and luoro THE UNKXOWN CHAMPION. 455 mmlc-l, pe.-l,ai.s, to worsl.ip hi.u as a .K-scendea ang.l tl.an to tlu.nk I>"u as a ,eUow-,uortal. ' Not unto n.e be .I,e .L,,,-/ be sai 'l urn but an ,n,.l..nK.nt IVail as yourselves in the hand of Hi, i,,.' s stro,^ o dehve, B,.in, nu. a eup of .ate,, that I n,av all ■ nj nost due. Sudun, on his knees, and signing ns to obev hi.n Z "1 tlic battle, u-hich, pronounced with a voiee loud and clear as a war nnnpet, thrilled through the Joints and n.arrow of the k^Z^ up, but our .lehverer wa.s no lunger auiongst us, nor wa. he ever aguni seen in the land which he Imd rescued/' lo tins faithful nuidoring of the tradition from thn nuttchloss pen of the ^^.ard of the Xorth is pendant .Southey's unl " ished poen. o " Oliver Xewnuu,."- a w„rk intended to reali.o this authors long-meditated purpose oi' writing an An-do- \nier ican epic. The story of GolR.'. appearance alnong tie , . stncken settlers at Iladley so strongly impressed hin, tlL e -Wrnuned t. make it the n.ain inci.lent of an historical poem, ^^h cd. unfor unate y for the world, never advanced bevonll the fir.t stn.es of developnuuit. The characters are introduced, and t,e ac urn begins, ~ when the curtain tails, leaving ns, indeed, .th the programme in our hands, in the lorn, of notes, hut with the sense ot irreparable loss to us and to our historic annals. As 1 to compe the admiration due to genius, Southey makes one of despisec sect of Quakers his hero, who, from i double sens auty and ihal love, has crossed the ocean in search of his proscribed and fugitive parent. This remarkable tradilion did not escape the ,uick recogni- tion o our own master of ron.ance. It is accordingly the sub- ject of one of Hawthorne's earliest tales, entitled ''The cZ Champion. It is true that the action is transferred to Boston hat the time is brought forward ten years, and that the autl^; seeks to produce a moral rather than a physical effec-t in his <^limax. But the incideut is still the same. The Cray Cham- I ii i' H I 456 NFAV-ENGLAND LEGENDS. pion who siuldonly confronts Sir Edimnid Andros and his rn- tiiiuo in tlio stroi'ts of Boston luid bids them "stand," is no other than the fugitive regicide; and his purpose is still to exalt the spirit of the i»eo[)lo by tlie timely display of the superiority of moral over mere jdiysieal jMnver on the side of tlie rightful cause. Sueh is the tradition. Dr. Dwight relates that Mr. liUssell's house had been pulled down some years previous to liis visit to the si)ot in 179G, but GRAVES OP THE REGICIDES, NEW HAVEN. that Mr. Gaylord, the owner of tlie estate, gave, him the following fact concerning it. "When the workmen were demolishing the building they discovered, just outside the cellar wall, a crypt built of solid masonry and covered with hewn flagstones. Within this tomb were found the bones of "Whalley. After "Whnlley's death Goffo quitted Hadley, living sometimes in one place and sometimes in another, under various disguises and aliases that have given rise to other ](\gendary tales concerning him or the places that became his asylum. By a hyperbole, exaggerated perhaps, but still pardonable in a people who traced everything in man or nature to the active intervention of the Most High, the unknown savior of Hadley THE UNKNOWN CIIAMI'ION. 4,-, 7 was long spoken of as an angel sent fur tl.eir .Iclivorance His sudden appearance among them, his strange ^arb and Zh ^uty and authority of his n.anner, ancffi^ ^ '^: r able disappearance in the moment of victory mav v^ -I^^M-intheirmindstoasupornatlLr^^^^^^^ Charles would have (lo(.ni>itr,f,.,l fi,„ • • 1 ° ° martyr wl,„„ „,,„„ t|,„ ,„„(f„,,,_ „ ^^ _^^^ ^^J^ ^"^ _^^^"- "'Jal 1 N D E X. Ada.ms, SiiMiiicI, 84. AKJiiiiciKiciis, .Mdiiiit, ;j;i|. Anji^siz, Louis, l.')-). Aldcii, .loliii, ;j7(). Aldcn, lUv. Tiiiiiilliv, .-tr!). Amlros, I i„ly, .-iS^; Sir K.limin.l, Anviilc, Duel', 71. AriiiiM, (iovrrii,,!- IJciiclict .-Jii.s Ashtrill, I'liiiip. •_)12. ' AvLTv, ,)„>,.|,h,o.t,-,. Avcrv's Tall, Haiiso.v, KhciitziT, 2.-)4. liai-iiani, l.'cv. ,l,,liii, ooV jii'lliM.nliani, l;i,.|iMni, .■J.i'jl J)ei)ai's Head, :',2-2. "ostoM id,.al .l..s,ri,,tioii of, ;i-(i; "''U, 14: III 1770, iii,. nnidtoni, U'illiaiii, .'UIS iraiiiani, .!.(;., 427, 4:il, 4.!-,. Ifivwslcr, Mai-arc't, :,7. lii'i'C'k, K'cv. .Idjiii, .•i47 jfrowii, lU'v. Artliiii-, ;i4] "litter, EdwanI, I8(i. <,'ai.i;i.-, I{„|),.it, (!(). J-jipi' Ami, dc'scrijitioii of, 2;J7 < lamiieniowiio, |.Vaiiris, .157" thai-tiT Oak, Th,., 421. <'!i(-'c.siiiaii, I'.dward. 2(!-> (.liiltoii, .Man-, .XSO. '-'IHoil, Hope, 40 ' 'illiii, Jdsluia, 287. *'<'li', EiiinVe, ;i28 •/"laiit, Koj,r,.,.. if;7_ ' iHdid-c, Coriiplius, 153. < "I't'.v, (iiles, U»4. t'Ottoii, Kev. Joliii, i;j. Uana, R. Fr., 240. 40.3 424. 2.-)0. Jii ( Ravis, Xicludas, 40 I ['awes. \Villiain, 84*. IV.xtir, 'riiiiotli\-, 2!)2. I'IkIiIoii liock, ;'i!i.5~' " I'iiiioiid, ,l(j|iii, 144] l>otil,l,-li,_.ad,.d .Siia'ke, ;J07. l>iidliy, I Ik, mas, 1;J7. "iiii^voii j;,,ck, l;J4 I'yiT, Man-, 'M. i:<.«; liocK, J48, 101. '■■Iiijt, .loliii, 20, 123 '•-li"t, William, 240.' l-li"t Oak, 121. 1'"a.vi(.i.st Coiitrovi.i-sv . , . J'Micliiii.soM. •' ' ''' '^""e Firlds, .lames T •)4o -v-. ( .- ''"■'""•", .1011,1,201' '^^'• I'ltfli, Tlioiiijis, 4.J4 '•'•'I'l^liM, IVrnjami,,, .;,;. ' '• O.YiK,(;(.ii,.ral Thomas, 81. Jjalliip, .Jo||||.(j7. ^'"!:!''-7,'.,'^\'illia„, i.lov.l, I.iS. f-ort,., ( oloiud William, 441). <:'i>ldsmitli, l.'alph, 4!) I (^"iiM, Hamiali, .io:). ' ^• <,'>;0. Salem, description of, 107. Salem Village, 191. Scarlet I,ctt<'r, 171, 172. Scott, Sir Walter, 453. Sea-ser]ient, 150. Sewall, Samuel, 57, 304. Shattiick, Samuel, 49, .50, 51. Shawmut ; sec lioston. Shirley, William, 73. SigdUi-ney, I,. II.; see "Contents." Skeleton in Armor, 397. Smith, Captain John, 153, 243. Soulhcy. Robert, 455. Southwick, Cassandra, 184; Daniel, 185 ; .losiah, 185; Laurence, 185; Provided, 185. Spofford, Harriet P., 280. Stanilish, Jlylcs. 383. Stevenson, Marmaduke, 40, 312. Storv. .Tdseph. 189. Story. W. W.. 108. Surriap', Agnes, 223. Swanipscott, 1(J2. Tavi-oi!, Payard, 239. Thacher, Anthonv. 245. Thacher's Island," 244. Thaxter, Celia, 355. Toppan, Rev. Clnistopher, 308. Trimountain; see Jioston. Trumbull. Henjamin, 427, 431. Tucke, Rev. J.ihn, 347. Tudor, Frederick, 153. INDEX. .'.l'.'""".,l'''v.(|,,,,|...s\v'^0 VANK,SirHo„n, 15, 18. vealf, Ilioiiia.M, l;j4. W'adsw \\"l"r, -V. ]'. 148 \\.'l>oii, D.l.oral,, 5(J. >• MiMc|)iirlii(, l:.'s, \\'ill>loW, .;„|||| ";.^(,_ \\nilliro,,. ,i„|„| i7_o) .14,, wT-tt ,'.''''' '.V''''^! "'■i''^'-".-'- ""•Mhvorili, Saiiirirl .-itm ... ■••. ■ aininl, .-Jro. "'■nhvljik,., (;,.,,,■,.■,, JVvllys, S.-injIicl. 4->> , W. Pnlvorsity Press; J^Uu^i^l^^^TS^y^iii^i.g, :| > i ' 1 f i if 1 i 1 THE WRITINGS OF SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE, i AROUND THE HUB. A BOY'S BOOK ABOUT BOSTON. Boston i.n i^'ji. "Of the Ijuoks on Ijostun, .Mr. Samuel Drake's 'Around the Hub' is much the best. The author ha.s written a boolv about Boston — Boston in the old time — for boys. From the davs when — as the second chapter has it — 'the I'uritans hung up their hats ' in the iIkii small town of Shawmut, down to its expansion into the Boston of a hundred years ago, they were stirring times, indeed. Mr. Dralce tells how the first settlers in ]5oston managed to settle with their Indian neighbors. He draws for us grai)hically accurate pictures of the old Puritan homes and customs. Then we get to the time when the withdrawal of the King's (.Charter caused the Bostonians to rise in arms, and how sturdily they stuck to their rights is told in a style that (juite secures one's sympathies. The history of the American struggle for inde- jiendence could not be written without the men of Boston well in the fore- ground, and as the narrative i^rogrcsses, we are taken through the thick of the moral and actual lighting until the famous chapter of history gains a new reality from the vivid .style of the narrator. Although some parts of the book make an Englishman wince, it is just the sort of historic story-telling to do boys real good. Capital illustrations are scattered through the volume, increasing the realism of the old-time scenes so well depicted." — TAe London Bookseller. One volume. Square i2mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.50. Sold by all Booksellers. by the Publishers, Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, ROBERTS liR OTHERS, Boston. THE WRITINGS OF SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE. it?, li' Gld Landmarks and Historic Person- ages of Boston, One Volume. Square l2mo. 100 Illustrations. Price S2.00. Old Landmarks ajid Historic Fields of Middlesex, One Volume. Square l2nio. Fully Illustrated. Price $2.00. "Your Old Landmarks of Boston is a perfect storehouse of information." — Henry W. Longfellow. " I .im simply amazed at the extent and accuracy of its information." — John G. Palfrey. "Historic Fields and Mansions of Middlesex is a book after my own heart." — Benson J. Lossing. Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, BosroN. KE. ^son- ^Ids -John irt." — Wice, TON,