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A    B  OO  K 

OF 

NEW  ENGLAND  LEGENDS 

AND 

FOLKLORE 


i3g  \\)t  Same  Sutljor 

HISTORIC  MANSIONS  AND  HIGH- 
WAYS AROUND  liOSTON.  New  and 
Revised  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     J2.50, 

OI.D  LANDMARKS  AND  HISTORIC 
PERSONAGES  OF  BOSTON.  New 
Edition.     $2. 50. 

AROUND  THE  HUB.  Square  i6njo.  fi.25. 


^  ^ 


A    BOOK 


OF 


NEW  ENGLAND  LEGENDS 

AND 

FOLK    LORE 

Cn  II rose  anti  Portrg 
By   SAMUEL    ADAMS    DRAKE 

Author  of  '■'■Historic  Mansions  and  Highways  around  Boston,''''   "Nooks  and 
Cor  tiers  of  the  Nciv  England  Coast, ^'  etc. 

NEW  AND   REVISED   EDITION 


Utf)  Numerous  illustrations 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1901 


C<r|»Aji  ^ 


THP  LIBRARY  OF 
CONGRES& 

Two  Copies  Received 

SEP.  27    1901 

„CopvniQHT  Eimrv 

CLASS  (i'-^XXa  No. 
/7  7  ^6 
COPY  A.  I 


Copyright  1SS3,  1901, 
By  Samuel  Adams  Drake. 


UNIVERSITY   PRESS      •     JOHN    WILSON 
AND    SON      •       CAMBRIDGE,     U.S.A. 


introductio:n^ 

TO    THE    FIEST    EDITION. 


THE  recovery  of  many  scattered  legendary  waifs  that  not 
only  have  a  really  important  bearing  upon  the  early  history 
of  our  country,  but  that  also  shed  mucli  light  upon  the  spirit  of 
its  ancient  laws  and  upon  the  domestic  lives  of  its  people,  has 
seemed  to  me  a  laudable  undertaking.  This  purpose  has  now 
taken  form  in  the  following  collection  of  New-England  Legends. 

As  in  a  majority  of  instances  these  tales  go  far  beyond  the 
time  when  the  interior  was  settled,  they  naturally  cluster  about 
the  seaboard  ;  and  it  would  scarcely  be  overstepping  the  limit 
separating  exaggeration  from  truth  to  say  that  every  league  of 
the  New-England  coast  has  its  story  or  its  legend. 

Disowned  in  an  age  of  scepticism,  there  was  once  —  and 
the  time  is  not  so  far  remote  —  no  part  of  the  body  politic  over 
which  wliat  we  now  vaguely  term  the  legendary  did  not  exer- 
cise tlie  strongest  influence ;  so  that,  far  from  being  merely  a 
record  of  amusing  fables,  these  tales,  which  are  largely  founded 
on  fact,  disclose  the  secret  springs  by  wJiicli  society  was  moved 
and  history  made.  One  looks  beneath  every  mechanical  con- 
trivance for  tlie  true  origin  of  power.  That  is  to  assume  that 
the  beliefs  of  a  people  are  the  key  to  its  social  and  political 
movements,  and  that  history,  taken  in  its  broadest  sense,  cannot 
be  truly  written  without  having  regard  to  such  beliefs.  Had 
the  conviction  that  witches  existed  not  been  universal,  public 


VI  PREFACE    TO    REVISED    EDITION 

sentiment  would  never  have  countenanced  the  executions  tliat 
took  place  in  New  England. 

It  may  be  said,  then,  that  while  History  has  its  truth,  the 
Legend  has  its  own;  both  taking  for  their  end  the  portrayal 
of  Man  as  he  has  existed  in  every  age,  —  a  creature  in  whom 
the  imagination  is  supreme,  and  who  performs  deeds  terrible 
or  heroic  according  as  it  may  be  aroused  into  action. 

No  apology  need  be  made  for  the  prevalence  of  superstition 
among  our  ancestors.  Our  century  is  not  the  judge  of  its  prede- 
cessors. It  was  a  superstitious  age.  King  Charles  I.  inherited 
all  the  popular  beliefs.  He  kept,  as  an  attache  of  his  court,  an 
astrologer,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  consult  before  enter- 
ing upon  any  important  or  hazardous  undertaking.  Laud,  the 
higliest  prelate  in  England,  the  implaca])le  persecutor  of  our 
Puritan  ancestors,  was  a  man  haunted  by  the  fear  of  omens. 
Indeed,  the  most  exalted  personages  in  Church  and  State  yielded 
full  credence  to  all  those  marvels,  the  bare  mention  of  which 
now  calls  up  a  smile  of  incredulity  or  of  pity.  New  England 
was  tlui  child  of  a  superstitious  mother. 


PKEFACE   TO   REVISED   EDITION. 

nnilE  term  "legend"  is  so  loosely  and  so  indiscriminately  ap- 
-*-  pUed  as  to  suggest  a  few  words  of  explanation.  To  some  it  is 
the  offspring  of  pure  fancy,  to  others  the  result  of  mere  lialluciiia- 
tion,  while  a  few,  perhaps  better  informed,  regard  the  legend  as 
essentially  a  vital  part  and  parcel  of  the  history  of  its  time,  and  tliere- 
fore  indispensable  to  a  full  and  impartial  view  of  the  whole  field. 
There  are  several  kinds  of  New-England  legends.  Those 
tliere  are  which,  like  Mr.  Hawthorne's  "  Legends  of  the  Prov- 
ince House,"  have  no  other  foundation  than  in  the  fertile  brains 


PREFACE    TO    REVISED    EDITION  Vll 

of  their  authors,  yet  nevertlieless  ac([uirc  a  certain  air  of  [jn^lxi- 
bility  througli  the  introduction  of  real  pei'sonages,  who  talk  or 
move  about  at  the  word  of  command.  Doubtless  this  is  what 
8ir  Walter  Scott  meant  by  saying  that  nothing  is  easier  than  to 
create  a  legend.  I  am  of  the  opinion,  however,  that  history  and 
fiction,  like  oil  and  water,  do  not  readily  mix,  or,  in  other  words, 
that  fiction  and  fable  have  no  place  in  history.  In  that  con- 
viction, I  have  omitted  purely  fictitious  tales  from  this  col- 
lection of,  for  the  most  part,  historical  legends. 

Moreover,  I  have  always  noticed  that  writers  of  fiction.  Sir 
Walter  always  excepted,  as  a  class  profess  great  indifference  to 
history,  some  indeed  comparing  it  to  a  gazette,  others  to  an 
almanac,  while  some  others  even  go  so  far  as  to  call  history  a 
mere  record  of  crime.  Be  it  so.  No  fault  can  be  found  witli 
an  honest  opinion  consistently  adhered  to.  But  when  holding 
such  views,  the  taking  of  historical  characters  or  events  for  the 
ground-work,  in  order  to  give  body  and  substance  to  their  tales, 
is  the  unconscious  tribute  pure  invention  pays  to  solid  truth. 

Another  form  of  the  New-England  legend,  the  one,  perhaps, 
with  which  we  are  most  familiar,  is  really  founded  on  fact,  yet 
is  so  manipulated  to  give  the  freest  scope  to  the  writer's  flights 
of  fiincy,  or  to  serve  the  purposes  of  his  art,  as  to  make  it  difiicult 
to  tell  what  is  fact  and  what  fiction.  In  this  class  may  be 
included  much,  if  not  all,  of  our  legendary  poetry.  The  great 
use  made  of  these  versified  tales  in  the  public  schools  has  caused 
them  to  be  widely  accepted  as  true  versions,  regardless  of  the 
fact  that  poetic  license  is  so  often  only  another  name  for  poetic 
invention.  It  would,  however,  be  an  unpardonable  indiscretion 
so  much  as  even  to  hint  that  poets,  as  a  rule,  do  not  make 
reliable  historians. 

Yet  is  truth  still  stranger  than  fiction.  There  is  still  another 
description  of  New-England  legend,  simple  and  true,  bitter  as 
truth  sometimes  is,  yet  bone  of  the  bone,  and  flesh  of  the  flesh 
of  the  generation  which  gave  it  birth.  This  is  the  homely  prose 
legend  as  it  fell  from  the  lips,  or  was  recorded  by  the  pens,  of 


Viu  PREFACE   TO    REVISED    EDITION 

eye  or  ear  witnesses  to  what  tliey  liave  related.  This  is  authen- 
tic, and  it  tells  us  just  what  we  most  wish  tt>  know.  Witli 
entire  ini,fenuousuess  it  admits  us  to  those  singular  licliils  wliifh 
so  niuuldcd  the  opinions,  swayed  the  consciences,  and  unbalanced 
the  judgments  of  living  men  and  women,  who,  indeed,  had 
both  human  and  divine  law  for  their  support  and  gui<le  in 
giving  the  fullest  faith  to  those  beliefs. 

It  was  these  considerations  which  first  gave  me  the  idea  of 
bringing  the  versified  and  the  pi'ose  New-England  legends 
together,  side  by  side,  in  order  that  those  interested  in  the  sub- 
ject, more  especially  teachers,  might  have  as  ready  access  to  the 
trutli,  as  hitherto  they  have  had  to  the  romance  of  history. 

To  make  tlie  collection  as  complete  as  possible,  several  tales 
have  been  added  which  do  not  ap[iear  in  the  earlier  editions  of 
New-England  Legends.  It  will  also  be  noticed  that  the  oppor- 
tunity has  been  availed  of  to  add  tn  the  nundn.'r,  as  well  as  to 
greatly  improve  the  quality  of  tlic  ilhistnitions,  actual  subjects 
being  substituted,  in  most  cases,  for  tlie  ideal,  so  that  with  these 
new  features  New-England  Legends  is,  to  all  intents,  what  it 
purports  to  be,  a  new  and  revised  work,  a  more  vigorous  growth 

from  the  parent  stock. 

S.  A.  D. 

Boston,  1901. 


BOSTON  LEGENDS. 


Page 

The  Solitary  of  Shawmut.—./.  L.  J/o//fy 3 

Boston  Common.  —  0.  W.  Holmes 10 

ilistre.^^s  Auue  Ilutcliinson 11 

The  Death  of  Rainsborough 'I'l 

The  Case  of  Mistress  Ann  IIil)l.ins 28 

^lary  Dyer 36 

The  King's  Missive 46 

The  Quaker  Prophetess 56 

lu  the  Okl  South  Church.  — J.  r;.   Whittler 59 

More  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World 60 

Calef  in  Boston.— J.G.  IF/i/«/e)- 65 

Nix's  Mate .66 

The  Duel  on  tlic  Common        .....  .69 

Due  <rAiivilIe's  Descent ...     71 

A  Ballad  of  tlie  French  Fleet. — //.   \V.  fjmg fellow  75 


X  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Christ  Church.  —  ICdmn  B.  Russell 77 

Paul  lit'vcre's  Hide 78 

Peter  IJugg. —  William  Austin       90 

A  Legend  oi  the  Old  TAm. —  /siiiir  M,M/(ni,Jr 105 

Hoxbury  I'uddiug-Stonc ,111 

The  Dorchester  Gi:mt.  —  0.  W.  Ilolnas Ill 


CAMBRIDGE  LEGENDS. 

The  Wasliiiiiitou  IClm 115 

The  Last  of  the  Iiii;hwayiiieu 119 

Tlie  Eliot  Oak 121 

The  Huguenot  Exiles 124 


LYKN  AND  NAHANT  LEGENDS. 

The  IJridal  of  Peunacook 128 

The  Pirate's  Glen 132 

Moll  Pitcher 137 

Higli  Piock. — Elizabeth  F.  Merrill 141 

Naliaiit 148 

Tlie  Sea-Serpeut 156 

The  Floure  of  Souveuauc.e 159 

Swampscott  Beach 162 


SALEM  LEGENDS. 

'^■■y\em 167 

Tlie  Escape  of  Philip  English 1 76 

iMulicott  and  tlie  IJed  Cross ISO 

Cassandra  Southwick 1 83 

The  Witchcraft  Tragedy 1 S8 

Giles  Corey  tlie  AVizard 104 

The  Bell  Tavern  Mystery 1 96 

How  George  Burroughs  Bode  to  liis  Dm  nil    .     , 201 


CONTENTS,  Xi 

MA11BLEHEA.D  LEGENDS. 

Page 

Marbleliead  :  The  Town 20.") 

Tlie  Sliriekiut;  Woiiiau 211 

The  Strange  Adventures  ol'  I'liilip  Ashtou 212 

Agnes,  the  Maid  of  the  Inn 221 

Skipper  Iresou's  Ride 227 

A  Plea  for  Flood  Iresou.  —  C/iarles  T.  /jrooLs 232 

Half- Way  Kock 233 


CAPE -ANN    LEGENDS. 

Cape  Ann 237 

Captain  John  Smith 243 

Thaclier's  Island 244 

Autlion}'  Tiiacher's  Shipwreck 245 

The  Swan  Song  of  Parson  Avery.  —  J.  G.  Whittier 2.52 

The  Spectre  Leaguers 253 

The  Garrison  of  Cape  Ann. — J.  G.   Whittier 258 

Old  Meg,  the  Witch 259 

An  Escape  from  Pirates 261 

Norman's  Woe 263 

Hannah  Binding  Shoes.  —  Lucy  Larcom 267 

The  Phantom  Boat.  —  E.  Norman  Gunnison 269 


IPSWICH  AND   NEWBURV   LEGENDS. 

Ipswich 273 

Old  Ijiswich  Town.  —  Appleton  ^^orqrln 277 

Heartl)reak  Hill 279 

Newhurvport 284 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter 292 

The  Old  Elm  of  Newbury 301 

The  Prophecy  of  Samuel  Sewall 304 

The  Double-Headed  Snake 307 

Thomas  Macy,  the  Exile 310 

Telling  the  Bees 314 

The  Strange  Case  of  Goodman  Morse 315 


Xll  CONTENTS. 


HAMPTON  AND   PORTSMOUTH  LEGENDS. 

Page 

Hampton 319 

Jonuthau  Moultoa  ami  the  Devil 322 

Goody  Cole 328 

'Vhe^Yl■e^:konli\ormonth.— J.  G.   Whittier 329 

Portsmouth 331 

'I'he  Stone-throwing-  Devil 333 

Lady  Wentworth 337 

The  Devil's  Den. —J.  G.   Whiltier 342 


YORK,   ISLES-OF-SnOALS,   AND   BOON-ISLAND 
LEGENDS. 

Isles  of  Shoals 345 

On  Star  Island. — Sarah  0.  Jeirrft 348 

A  Lo^rend  of  Ulackbeanl 350 

Tiie  Spanish  Wreck 352 

Tiie  Spaniards'  Graves.  —  Cdin  Tluixtcr 354 

Boon  Island 355 

Tiie  Watch  of  Boon  Island.  —  Celia  Thaxter 356 

-The  Grave  of  Champernowne 357 

Agameuticiis  (York,  Maine) 358 

Mount  Agamenticus 359 

Saint  Aspenquid. — John  Alhec 3G0 


OLD-COLONY   LEGKNDS. 

Hanging  by  Proxy 365 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket. Sannifl  Woodirorlh 370 

Destruction  of  Miuot's  Light 375 

.Minot's  Ledge.  —  Fltz-Jnmas  0' liripn 377 

Legends  of  Plymouth  Hock 378 

Mary  Chilton.  —  (Heorr/e  Bancrol't  Griffith 380 

The  Courtship  of  Myles  Standish 383 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers.  —  Perciml,  Piir/iont,  /fevians,  S/irai/ue  .     .     .  389 


CONTENTS.  Xlli 

miODE-ISLANI)  LEGENDS. 

Page 

The  Skeleton  iu  Armor 39.3 

Tlie  Newport  Towor. — ./.  (i.  Brainaid,  L.  11.  Sifjonmey     ....  401 

Block  Islaud 403 

The  Bucciiuecr 409 

Tlie  Pulatine. — ./.  G.  Whiitier 413 

The  Last  of  the  Wampauoags 414 


CONNECTICUT  LEGENDS. 

The  Pliantom  Ship 417 

The  Cliarter  Oak 421 

Tlie  Charter  Oak  (/;oe/;i)-  —  ^--  ^T  S/)/ni(nicij 426 

Tlie  Place  of  Noises 427 

Matcliit  Moodiis  — ,/.  (•'.  Bminanl 429 

The  Spauisli  Galleon 431 

The  Money-Diggers. — J.  G.  Brainard 435 

The  Great  Windham  Scare 436 

The  Black  Fox  of  Salmon  River. — J.  G.  Draincird 439 


NANTUCKET   AND  OTHER  LEGENDS. 

Nantucket  Legends 441 

The  Alarmed  Ski])per. — James  T.  Fields 447 

The  Unknown  Champion 449 

The  Dead  Shipof  HarpswelL— ./■.  6'.  ir//;<</e;- 4.57 

Tlie  Veiled  Minister 459 


WHITE  MOUNTAIN   AND   OTHER  LEGENDS. 

The  Great  Carbuncle 461 

The  Silver  Image  of  St.  Franci.s 464 

The  Story  of  Nancy's  Brook 467 

Chocorua's  Curse 469 

A  Legend  of  Ticonderoga 472 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

The  Old  Elm,  Newbury,  Massa- 
chusetts     Frontisiiiece 

liobinson,  Stevenson,  and  Mary 

Dyer  going  to  Execution    .     .  1 

Vignette,  Puritan  Hats      ...  3 

The  Solitary  of  Sliawnuit  ...  6 

Hanging-Lamp 11 

Site  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  House  15 

Tiie  Deatli  of  Kainsborougli  .     .  2(j 

Night-Watciiman      .....  28 

The  Mall,  Boston  Common     .     .  32 

The  Old  Elm 34 

Scourging  a  (Juaker      ....  37 

Hand-Reel        42 

Endicott    receiving    the    King's 

Order 48 

Liberty  Tree 50 

Ancient  Houses,  North  End  .     .  58 
Candlestick,    Bible,    and    Spec- 
tacles         G2 

Tomb  of  the  Mathers     ....  64 

Tiie  Duel  on  the  Common       .     .  70 

Old  South  Church 71 

Christ  Church 77 

Boston,  from  Breed's  Hill       .     .  80 

Sign  of  the  Green  Dragon      .     .  81 

Grenadier,  1775 83 

Kevere  arousing  the  Minute-lNLin  8(5 
I'eter  Rugg   and    the   Thunder- 
storm         92 

I'-questrians 94 

Hackney-Coach 95 

Market-Woman 100 


Page 

Boston  Truck 103 

Chaise,  1776 H)7 

The  JIoney-Digger 109 

Old  Milestone,  Dorchester      .     .  Ill 

Old  Fire-Dogs 112 

Longfellow  at  the  Age  of  35  .     .  113 

Vignette,  Wine,  and  Hour  Glasses  115 

The  Washington  Elm   ....  IIG 

The  Eliot  Oak,  Brighton    .     .     .  122 

Vignette,  Symbols  of  Witchcraft  127 

The  Devil's  Pulpit.  Nahant,  Mass.  129 

Moll  Pitcher 138 

Moll  Pitcher's  Cottage  ....  143 

Egg  Rock  and  the  Sea-Serpent  .  157 

Forget-me-nots 159 

The  Beach,  Swampscott,  Mass.  .  164 

Old  Court  House,  Salem,  in  1789  165 

Vignette.  The  Witches'  Ride  .     .  167 

Piiilip  English's  House,  Salem    .  177 

Condemned  to  be  sold    ....  184 

The  Parsonage,  Salem  Village    .  191 

The  Bell,  from  an  Old  Print  .  .  199 
Marblehead   Harbor,  Jlassaclni- 

setts 203 

Endicott's    Sun -Dial  ;      Designs 

from  Old  Money 205 

Low's  Pirate  Flag 212 

Alone  on  the  Desert  Island     .     .  217 

Love  at  First  Sight 222 

Old  Powder  House,  Marblehead, 

Mass 229 

Twin  Lights,  Thachor's  Island    .  235 

Vignette,  Pewter  Dishes    .     .     .  237 


XVI 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRxVTIONS. 


Paoe 

The  Magnolia 237 

The  Shipwreck 246 

A  Sortie  upon  the  Demons     .     .  255 

Norman's  Woe  Rock     ....  264 

Poor  lone  Hannah 268 

Interior  of  Old  South,  Newbury- 

port,  Mass 271 

Vig-nette,  The  Cabalistic  Nine     .  273 

radlock  and  Key,  Ipswich  Jail  .  275 

Ipswich  Heads 278 

Men  of  Mark 280 

Whipple  House,  Ipswich,  Mass.  281 

Beacon,  Salisbury  Point     .     .     .  285 

Rev.  George  Whitefield,  aged  29  200 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter's  Mansion  293 

Warming-I'an 298 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter  ....  299 
Floating    Island,    Newburyport, 

Mass ."    .     .  302 

Ye  Double-Headed  Snake       .     .  308 

Escape  of  Goodman  Macy       .     .  312 

Vignette,  Bats 319 

Jonathan  Moulton  and  ye  Devil  323 
Governor     Wentworth      House, 

Newcastle,  N.  H 340 

Gosport  Church,  Isles  of  Shoals  351 

Plymouth,  Mass.,  in  1812  .     .     .  3G3 

Vignette,  Mayflowers    ....  365 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket      ...  372 


Page 

The  First  Minot's  Lighthouse      .  375 

Mar_v  Chilton's  Leap     ....  37'.' 

Ancient  Gravestone,  Burial  Hill  381 
Monument      over      Forefathers' 

Rock,  Plymouth 382 

Slandish  House,  Duxbury  .  .  384 
"  Prithee,  John,  why  don't  you 

speak  for  jourself  V "      .     .     .  387 

Old  Stone  Mill,  Newport,  R.  I.    .  391 

Helmets,  Puritan  Time      ...  393 

Dighton  Rock,  Mass 394 

Ancient  Windmill,  Block  Island  405 

Lee  on  the  Spectre  Horse  .  .  .  411 
Old  Stone   Parsonage,  Guilford, 

Conn 415 

Vignette,  Hairdresser's  Shop      .  417 

The  Phantom  Ship 419 

The  Charter  Oak 423 

Old  Warehouses,  New  London   .  432 

Ancient  Mill,  New  London     .     .  433 

Vignette,  Quaker  Heads  .  .  .  441 
Bass  Rocks,   Gay  Head,  Cuttj-- 

hunk 442 

Goffe  rallying  the  Settlers  .  .  453 
Graves  of  the  Regicides,   New 

Haven 456 

Chocorua  Mountain    and   Lake, 

N.  H 471 


^urtjors:  rttcti  in  ^rosc* 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 
John  L.  Motley. 
William  Austin. 
Isaac  McLellan,  Jr. 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 
Joseph  Besse. 
Charles  Lamb. 
Joseph  Story. 


Bayard  Taylor. 
Anthony  Thacher. 
Cotton  Mather. 
Oliver  Cromwell. 
Thomas  Morton. 
Alonzo  Lewis. 
Benjamin  Trumbulu 
Richard  Hakluyt- 


'Eutjjors  citel3  in  Poctrn, 


O.  W.  Holmes. 
H.  W.  Longfellow, 
James  R.  Lowell. 
Lucy  Larcoji. 
J.  G.  Whittier. 
J.  G.  Brainard. 
Samuel  Butler. 
Charles  T.  Brooks. 
Edwin  B.  Russell. 
Lydia  H.  Sigourney. 
Elizabeth  F.  Merrill. 
W.  W.  Story. 
R.  H.  Dana. 
Celia  Thaxter. 
Jonathan  Plummer. 


ApPLETON   MoRGAlt. 

Hannah  F.  Gould. 
Sarah  0.  Jewett. 
Harriet  P.  Spofford. 
John  Elwyn. 
John  Albee. 
Samuel  Woodworth. 
Fitz-.James  O'Brien. 
George  Bancroft  Griffith 
John  Pierpont. 
Charles  Sprague. 
James  G.  Percival. 
Felicia  Hemans. 
James  T.  Fields. 
Robert  Southev. 


THE   SOLITARY   OF   SHAWMUT. 


BY   J.   L.    MOTLEY. 
1628. 


A  SOLITARY  figure  sat  upon  the  summit  of  Shawmut. 
He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty  years  of  age,  somewhat 
above  the  middle  height,  slender  in  form,  with  a  pale,  thought- 
ful lace.  He  wore  a  confused  dark-colored,  half-canonical  dress, 
with  a  gray  broad-leaved  hat  strung  with  shells,  like  an  ancient 
palmer's,  and  slouched  back  from  his  pensive  brow,  around 
which  his  prematurely  gray  hair  fell  in  heavy  curls  far  down 
upon  his  neck.  He  had  a  wallet  at  his  side,  a  hammer  in  his 
girdle,  and  a  long  staif  in  his  hand.  The  hermit  of  Shawmut 
looked  out  upon  a  scene  of  Avinning  beauty.  The  promontory 
resembled  rather  two  islands  than  a  peninsula,  although  it  was 
anchored  to  the  continent  by  a  long  slender  thread  of  land 
which  seemed  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 
cliff's  of  the  peninsula  ;  upon  the  southeast,  and  A^ery  near  him, 
rose  another  hill  of  lesser  height  and  more  rounded  form  ;  and 
upon  the  other  side,  and  toward  the  north,  a  third  craggy  jieak 
presented  its  bold  and  elevated  front  to  the  ocean.  Thus  th(^ 
Avhole  peninsula  was  made  up  of  three  lofty  crags.      It  Av\as  frniu 


4  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

this  triple  conformation  of  the  promontory  of  Shawnuit  that  was 
derived  the  appellation  of  Trimoimtain,  or  Tremont,  Avhieh  it 
soon  afterwards  received. 

The  vast  conical  shadows  were  projected  eastwardly,  as  the 
hermit,  with  his  back  to  the  declining  sun,  looked  out  u})on  the 
sea. 

The  bay  was  spread  out  at  his  feet  in  a  broad  semicircle,  with 
its  extreme  headlands  vanishing  in  the  hazy  distance,  while 
beyond  rolled  the  vast  expanse  of  ocean,  with  no  spot  of  habi- 
table earth  bej'ond  those  outermost  barriers  and  that  far  distant 
fatherland  which  the  exile  had  left  forever.  Not  a  solitaiy  sail 
whitened  those  purple  waves,  and  saving  the  wing  of  the  sea- 
gull, which  now  and  then  flashed  in  the  sunshine  or  gleamed 
across  the  dimness  of  the  eastern  horizon,  the  sulitude  Avas  at  the 
moment  unbroken  by  a  single  movement  of  animated  nature. 
An  intense  and  breathless  silence  enwrapped  the  sceue  with  a 
vast  and  mystic  veil.  The  bay  presented  a  spectacle  of  great 
beauty.  It  was  not  that  the  outlines  of  the  coast  around  it  were 
broken  into  those  jagged  and  cloud-like  masses, —  that  pictu- 
resque and  startling  scenery  Avhere  precipitous  crag,  infinite 
abyss,  and  roaring  surge  unite  to  awaken  stern  and  sublime 
emotions  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  gentle  loveliness  of  this  trans- 
atlantic scene  inspired  a  soothing  melancholy  more  congenial  to 
the  contemplative  character  of  its  solitary  occupant.  The  bay, 
secluded  within  its  forest- crowned  hills,  decorated  with  its  neck- 
lace of  emerald  islands,  with  its  dark-blue  waters  gilded  witli 
the  rays  of  the  western  sun,  and  its  shadowy  forests  of  unknown 
antiquity  expanding  into  infinite  depths  around,  was  an  image 
of  fresh  and  virgin  beauty,  a  fitting  type  of  a  new  world  im- 
adorned  by  art,  unploughed  by  industry,  unscathed  by  Avar, 
Avearing  none  of  the  thousand  priceless  jewels  of  ciA'ilizatiou, 
and  unpolluted  by  its  thousand  crimes,  —  springing,  as  it  Avere, 
from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean,  cool,  dripping,  sparkling,  and 
fresh  from  the  hand  of  its  Creator. 

On  the  left,  as  the  ])ilgrim  sat  with  liis  face  to  the  east,  the 
outlines  of  the  coast  Avere  c<>iii]);iraliv('ly  IdW,  but  broken  into 


THE    SOLITARY   OF   SirAWMFT.  5 

gentle  and  pleasing  forms.  Innneiliately  at  liis  feet  lay  a  larger 
islanel,  in  extent  nearly  equal  to  the  peninsula  of  Shawmut, 
covered  with  miglity  forest-trees,  ami  at  that  day  untenanted 
by  a  human  being,  although  but  a  short  time  afterwards  it 
became  the  residence  of  a  distinguished  pioneer.  Outside  this 
bulwark  a  chain  of  thickly  wooded  islets  stretched  across  from 
shore  to  shore,  with  but  one  or  two  narrow  channels  between, 
presenting  a  picturesque  and  effectual  barrier  to  the  boisterous 
storms  of  ocean.  They  seemed  like  naiads,  those  islets  lifting 
above  the  billows  their  gentle  heads,  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  bound 
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  ridge  called  the  Massachu- 
setts, or  Mount  Arrow  Head,  by  the  natives,  and  by  the  first 
English  discoverer  baptized  the  Cheviot  Hills.  On  their  left, 
and  within  the  deep  curve  of  the  coast,  were  the  slightly  ele- 
vated heights  of  Passanogessit,  or  Merry  Mount,  and  on  their 
right  stretched  the  broad  forest,  hill  beyond  hill,  away.  Towards 
the  west  and  northwest,  the  eye  wandered  over  a  vast  undu- 
lating panorama  of  gently  rolling  heights,  upon  whose  summits 
the  gigantic  pine-forests,  with  their  towering  tops  piercing  the 
clouds,  were  darklj^  shadowed  upon  the  western  sky,  while  in 
the  dim  distance,  far  above  and  beyond  the  whole,  visible  only 
through  a  cloudless  atmosphere,  rose  the  airy  summits  of  the 
Wachusett,  Watatick,  and  Monadnock  Mountains.  Upon  the 
inland  side,  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  the  Quinobequin  Eiver, 
which  Smith  liad  already  christened  with  the  royal  name  of 
his  unhappy  patron,  Charles,  might  be  seen  writhing  in  its 
slow  and  tortuous  course,  like  a  wounded  serpent,  till  it  lost 
itself  in  the  blue  and  beautiful  cove  which  spread  around  the 
whole  western  edge  of  the  peninsula  ;  and  within  the  same 
basin,  directly  opposite  the  northern  peak  of  Shawmut,  advanced 


b  NEW-EN(!LANI)    LEGENDS. 

the  bold  ami  craggy  promontory  of  Mishawum,  where  Walford, 
the  solitary  smith,  had  built  his  thatched  and  palisaded  house. 
The  blue  thread  of  the  River  Mystic,  -which  here  mingled  its 


THE    SOLITARY    OF   SHAWMUT. 


waters  with  the  Charles,  gleamed  for  a  moment  beyond  the 
heights  of  Mishawum,  and  then  vanished  into  the  frowning 
forest. 

Such  was  the  scene,  upon  a  bright  afternoon  of  spring,  which 
spread  before   the  eyes  of  the   solitary,   William   Blaxton,  the 


THE    SOLITARY    OF    SIIAWMUT.  7 

hermit  of  Shix-wmut.  It  was  a  simple  but  sublime  image,  that 
gentle  exile  in  his  silvan  solitude.  It  was  a  simple  but  sub- 
lime tlidught,  which  placed  him  and  sustained  him  in  his  lone 
retreat.  In  all  ages  there  seem  to  exist  men  who  have  no 
appointed  place  in  the  world.  They  are  before  their  age  in 
their  as})irations,  above  it  in  tlu'ir  contemplation,  but  btihind 
it  in  their  capacity  for  action.  Ketai  to  detect  the  folli(!s  and 
the  inconsistencies  which  surround  them,  shrinking  from  the 
contact  and  the  friction  of  the  rough  and  boisterous  world 
without,  and  building  within  the  solitude  of  their  meditations 
the  airy  fabric  of  a  regenerated  and  puriiied  existence,  they  pass 
tlieir  nights  in  unproductive  study,  and  their  days  in  dreams. 
With  intelligence  bright  and  copious  enough  to  illuminate  and 
to  wanu  the  chill  atmosphere  of  the  surrounding  world,  if  the 
scattered  rays  were  concentrated,  but  with  an  inability  or  dis- 
inclination to  impress  themselves  upon  other  minds,  they  pass 
their  lives  without  obtaining  a  result,  and  their  characters, 
dwarfed  by  their  distance  from  the  actual  universe,  acquire  an 
apparent  indistinctness  and  feebleness  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  roiling  surge  of  the  world's  events ;  while  to 
the  timid,  the  hesitating,  and  the  languid,  it  rose  like  a  dark 
and  threatening  phantom,  scaring  them  into  solitude,  or  urging 
them  to  seek  repose  and  safety  in  obscurity.  Thus  there  may 
be  men  whose  spirits  are  in  advance  of  their  age,  while  still  the 
current  of  the  world  flows  rapidly  past  them. 

Of  such  men,  and  of  such  instincts,  was  the  solitary  who 
sat  on  the  clifts  of  Shawniut.  Forswearing  the  country  of 
his  birth  and  early  manhood,  where  there  seemed,  in  the 
present  state  of  her  aflairs,  no  possiliility  that  minds  like  his 
could  develop  or  sustain  themselves,  —  dropping,  as  it  were, 
like    a  premature   and   unrij)ened  fruit  from   the  bi>ugh  where 


8  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

its  blossoms  had  first  uiifoliltHl,  —  he  had  wandered  into  vol- 
untary exile  with  hardly  a  regret.  ])eharr('d  from  ministering 
at  the  altar  to  which  he  had  consecrated  his  youth,  because 
unable  to  comply  with  nuimmery  at  which  his  soul  revolted, 
lie  had  become  a  high  priest  of  nature,  and  had  reared  a  pure 
aiid  solitary  altar  in  the  wilderness.  He  had  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  was  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.  In  an  age  in 
which  liberty  of  conscience  was  considered  fearful  licentious- 
ness, he  left  his  fatherland  to  obtain  it,  and  was  as  read}^  to 
rebuke  the  intolerant  tyranny  of  the  nonconformist  of  the  wil- 
derness, as  he  had  been  to  resist  the  bigotry  and  persecution 
of  the  prelacy  at  home.  In  short,  the  soul  of  the  gentle  her- 
mit flew  upon  pure  white  wings  before  its  age,  but  it  flew, 
like  the  dove,  to  the  wilderness.  Wanting  both  power  and 
inclination  to  act  upon  others,  he  became  not  a  reformer,  but 
a  recluse.  Having  enjoyed  and  improved  a  classical  education 
at  the  University  of  Cambritlge,  he  was  a  thorough  and  an 
elegant  scholar.  He  was  likewise  a  profound  observer,  and  a 
student  of  nature  in  all  her  external  manifestations,  and  loved 
to  theorize  and  to  dream  in  the  various  Avalks  of  science.  The 
botanical  and  mineralogical  wonders  of  the  New  World  were 
to  him  the  objects  of  unceasing  speculation,  and  he  loved  to 
proceed  from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  and  to  weave  line 
chains  of  thought,  Avhich  to  his  soaring  fancy  served  to  bind 
the  actual  to  the  unseen  and  the  spiritual,  and  upon  which, 
as  upon  the  celestial  ladder  in  the  patriarch's  vision,  he  could 
dream  that  the  angels  of  the  Lord  were  descending  to  earth 
from  heaven. 

The  day  was  fast  declining  as  the  solitary  still  sat  upon  the 


THE    SOLITARY   OF   SllAWMUT.  9 

peak  and  mused.  He  arose  as  the  sun  was  sinking  below  the 
forest-crowned  hills  which  girt  his  silvan  hermitage,  and  gazed 
steadfastly  towards  the  west. 

"Another  day,"  he  said,  "hath  shone  upon  my  lonely  path ; 
another  day  hath  joined  the  buried  ages  which  have  folded  their 
wings  beneath  yon  glowing  west,  leaving  in  their  noiseless  flight 
across  this  virgin  world  no  trace  nor  relic  of  their  passage.  'T  is 
strange,  'tis  fearful,  this  eternal  and  unbroken  silence.  Upon 
what  fitful  and  checkered  scenes  hath  yonder  sun  looked  down 
in  other  lauds,  even  in  the  course  of  this  single  day's  career ! 
Events  as  thickly  studded  as  the  stars  of  heaven  have  clustered 
and  shone  forth  beneath  his  rays,  even  as  his  glowing  chariot- 
wheels  performed  their  daily  course ;  and  here,  in  this  mysterious 
and  speechless  world,  as  if  a  spell  of  enchantment  lay  upon  it, 
the  silence  is  unbroken,  the  whole  fixce  of  nature  still  dewy  and 
fresh.  The  step  of  civilization  hath  not  adorned  nor  polluted  the 
surface  of  this  wilderness.  No  stately  temples  gleam  in  yonder 
valleys,  no  storied  monument  nor  aspiring  shaft  pierces  yonder 
floating  clouds ;  no  mighty  cities,  swarming  with  life,  filled  to 
bursting  with  the  ten  thousand  attendants  of  civilized  humanity, 
luxury  and  want,  pampered  sloth,  struggling  industry,  disease, 
crime,  riot,  pestilence,  death,  all  hotly  pent  within  their  narrow 
precincts,  encumber  yon  sweeping  plains  ;  no  peaceful  villages, 
clinging  to  ancient,  ivy-mantled  churches ;  no  teeming  fields, 
spreading  their  vast  and  nourishing  bosoms  to  the  toiling  thou- 
sands, meet  this  wandering  gaze.  No  cheerful  chime  of  vesper- 
bell,  no  peaceful  low  of  the  returning  kine,  no  watch-dog's  bark, 
no  merry  shout  of  children's  innocent  voices,  no  floating  music 
from  the  shepherd's  pipe,  no  old  familiar  sounds  of  humanity, 
break  on  this  listening  ear.  No  snowy  sail  shines  on  yon  eternal 
ocean,  its  blue  expanse  unruffled  and  unmarred  as  the  azure 
heaven ;  and  ah  !  no  crimson  banners  flout  the  sky,  and  no 
embattled  hosts  shake  with  their  martial  tread  this  silent  earth. 
'T  is  silence  and  mystery  all.  Shall  it  be  ever  thus  1  Shall  this 
green  and  beautiful  Avorld,  which  so  long  hath  slept  invisilily 
at  the  side  of  its  ancient  sister,  still  weave  its  virgin  wreath 


10  NEW-ENCLANl)    LKCENDS. 

uusoiled  by  passion  and  pollution?  Shall  this  now,  vast  page 
in  the  broad  history  of  man  remain  unsullied,  or  shall  it  soon 
liutter  in  the  storm-winds  of  fate,  and  be  stamped  with  tlu;  same 
iron  record,  the  same  drear}'  catalogue  of  misery  and  crime,  which 
tills  the  chronicle  of  the  elder  world?  'Tis  passing  strange,  this 
sudden  apocaly2)se  !  Lo  !  is  it  not  as  if  the  universe,  the  narrijw 
uni^•erse  which  bounded  men's  thoughts  in  ages  past,  had  swung 
open,  as  if  l:)y  an  almighty  liat,  and  spread  wide  its  eastern  and 
western  wings  at  once,  to  shelter  the  myriads  of  the  human 
race  1 " 

The  hermit  arose,  slowly  collected  a  few  simples  which  he 
had  culled  from  the  w'ilderness,  a  few  roots  of  early  spring 
flowers  which  he  destined  for  his  garden,  and  stored  them  in 
Iris  wallet,  and  then,  grasping  his  long  staff,  began  slowly  to 
descend  the  hill. 


BOSTON  COMMON,  — FIRST   PICTURE. 

BY    O.    W.    HOLMES. 

[The  first  of  tlie  poet  Holmes's  "Tliree  Pictures"  depicts  the  same  person 
and  scene  that  we  have  considered  the  most  fitting  introduction  to  our  Legends, 
—  tlie  solitarj-  inhabitant  and  the  solitude  that  his  presence  rendered  still  more 
lonely.  But  jn-eferring  this  to  the  comjjanionship  of  the  "Lord's  brethren," 
as  he  is  said  to  have  called  the  Puritan  settlers  of  Boston,  Blackstone  removed 
into  the  heart  of  the  outlying  wilderness,  where  savages  were  his  only  neigh- 
bors. Plere  he  died.  The  spot  where  his  lonely  cottage  stood  in  Shawmut, 
and  the  place  where  he  is  Iniried,  are  equally  unknown.] 

All  overgrown  with  hush  and  fern, 

And  straggling  clumps  of  tangled  trees, 
With  trunks  that  lean  and  boughs  that  turn, 

Bent  eastward  liy  the  mastering  breeze,  — 
With  spongy  bogs  that  drip  and  fill 

A  yellow  pond  with  nniddj'  rain, 
Beneath  the  shaggy  southern  hill, 

Lies,  wet  and  low,  the  Shawmut  jilain. 


MISTKESS    ANNK    IIL'TCIIINSON. 


11 


And  hark  !  the  troildeii  brandies  crack  ; 

A  crow  flaps  off  with  startled  scream  ; 
A  strayiii_L,f  woodchuck  canters  Lack  ; 

A  bittern  rises  from  the  streani  ; 
Leaps  from  his  Uiir  a  frightened  deer  ; 

All  otter  plunges  in  the  pool  ;  — 
Here  conies  old  Shawmut's  pioneer. 

The  parson  on  his  l)riiidled  bull ! 


MISTRESS   ANNE  HUTCHINSON. 

1634. 

THE  biograpliies  of  Mrs.  Anne  Hutchinson  have,  so  to 
speak,  been  written  by  her  enemies.  Modern  anthers,  in 
writing  of  her,  have  rehearsed  her  story  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
we  live  in  the  twentieth.  But  History 
accepts  no  verdict  that  is  not  founded 
ill  impartial  justice,  and  impartial  justice 
was  the  one  thing  that  Anne  Hutchinson 
could  expect  neither  from  her  accusers 
nor  her  judges.  All  the  errors  imputed 
to  her —  and  they  were  sufficiently  venial 
of  themselves — mere  quibbles,  in  fact  — 
might  and  should,  we  think,  have  been 
settled  w^ithin  the  church  of  which  she 
was  a  member ;  but  the  voice  of  the 
connnunity  in  Avhich  she  lived,  Avhich 
know  and  respected  her  most  for  her 
Christian  virtues  and  her  shining  talents, 
was  silenced  in  the  general  outcry  raised 
from  without,  "Crucify  her,  crucify  her!"  l^.\ip 

and,  weakly  yielding  to  it,  the  civil  arm 
struck  her  down  as  relentlessly  :s  it  wouM  have  done  the  worst 


12  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  criminals  or  the  most  dangerous  enemy  to  public  order.  Mrs. 
Hutcliinson  was  driven  with  ignominy  from  lier  home  into  exile, 
for  maintaining  in  her  own  house  that  a  mere  profession  of  faith 
could  not  evidence  salvation  unless  the  Spirit  hrst  revealed  itself 
from  Avithin.  Her  appeal  is  to  be  heard.  It  is  too  late  to  blot 
out  the  record,  but  there  is  yet  time  to  reverse  the  attainder. 

We  begin  our  sketch  with  a  simple  introduction. 

Anne  Marbury  was  a  daughter  of  Francis  Marbury,  who  was 
first  a  minister  in  Lincolnshire,  and  afterwards  in  London.  This 
fact  should  be  borne  in  mind  wlien  following  her  after  career. 
8he  was  the  daughter  of  a  scholar  and  a  theologian.  Xaturally, 
therefore,  much  of  her  unmarried  as  well  as  her  married  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  society  of  ministers,  whom  she  learned  to 
esteem  more  for  what  they  knew  than  for  what  they  preached. 
The  same  fact,  too,  her  intellectual  gifts  being  considered,  reason- 
ably accounts  for  her  pondering  deeply  the  truths  of  Christian- 
ity and  her  fondness  for  theological  discussion  both  for  its  own 
sake  and  as  involving  the  great  problem  of  her  own  life.  It 
was  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  had  lived  and  moved  and  had 
her  being.  It  aroused  and  quickened  her  intellectual  faculties 
and  perceptions.  She  lived,  too,  in  a  time  of  great  religious 
excitement,  soon  to  become  one  of  active  warfare,  the  period  of 
the  great  Puritan  revolt,  so  that  it  is  easily  seen  how  that 
movement,  which  had  enlisted  some  of  the  noblest  women  in 
England,  should  absorb  such  a  one  as  Anne,  who  was  intel- 
lectually an  enthusiast  and  morally  an  agitator,  -who  had  been 
accustomed  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  adulation,  and  Avho 
was  ambitious,  capable,  and  adroit.  While  still  young,  she  mar- 
ried William  Hutchinson,  a  country  gentleman  of  good  character 
and  estate,  also  of  Lincolnshire.  We  know  very  little  of  him, 
and  that  little  comes  from  Winthrop,  the  bitter  enemy  and  per- 
secutor of  his  wife,  who  indeed  speaks  of  the  husband  in  terms 
approaching  contempt.  But  this  is  also  an  unconscious  tribute 
to  tlie  superior  talents  of  Anne.  Wore  it  all  true,  we  simj)ly 
discover  once  more  the  mutual  yet  unaccountable  sympathy 
existin"  between  a  stronii  woman  and  a  weak  man  which  it  is 


MISTUKSS   ANNE    IirTCHlN.SON.  13 

the  custom  of  the  world  to  satirize  or  to  sneer  at.  There  is, 
however,  littk^  douht  tliat  the  attaclnnent  of  one  for  the  other 
was  mutnally  lasting  and  sincere,  in  spite  of  the  sore  trials  to 
which  their  married  life  was  exposed.  I5ut  allowing  that  ho 
was  eclipsed  by  the  superior  brilliancy  of  his  wife,  there  is  (juite 
enough  evidence  to  prove  that  William  Hutchinson  was  a  man 
of  sterling  character  and  worth.  He  played  a  secondary,  l)ut  no 
ignoble,  })art  in  the  events  we  have  to  narrate 

It  happened  that  the  Hutchinsons  were  parishioners  of  the 
Rev.  John  Cotton  when  that  celebrated  divine  was  minister  of 
the  Church  of  Boston,  in  Lincolnshire.  For  him  and  his  abili- 
ties Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  the  highest  respect  and  esteem.  And 
when  Cotton  tied  to  New  England,  as  he  like  so  many  others 
was  at  length  compelled  to  do,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  bishops,  the  Hutchinsons  also  resolved  to  emi- 
grate thither,  and  presently  the  whole  family  did  so.  It  is 
proper  to  be  mentioned  here  that  Mr.  Hutchinson's  sister  had 
married  the  Ilev.  John  Wheelwright,  another  minister  of  Lin- 
colnshire, who  was  also  deprived  for  nonconformity,  aiid  who 
also  came  to  New  England  in  consequence  of  the  persecutions 
of  Archbishop  Laud. 

The  long  interval  that  elapsed  between  the  date  of  her  mar- 
riage and  that  of  her  removal  to  America  is  very  impeifectly 
filled  out  in  the  notices  we  have  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  life.  We 
are  not  made  acquainted  with  any  of  those  formative  processes 
by  which  she  became  so  well  equipped  for  the  mental  and 
spiritual  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.  Tlie  oldest  children  were  now 
young  men  and  young  women ;  so  that  it  was  no  young, 
sentimental,  or  unbalanced  novice,  but  a  middle-aged,  ma- 
tured, and  experienced  woman  of  the  world  who  embarked 
in  the  autumn  of  1634  for  New  England,  looking  eagerly 
there  to  obtain  and  enjoy  liberty  of  conscience  among  those 
who  might  be  supposed,  if  any  people  on  the  earth  could,  to 
know  its  value. 


14  NEW-ENGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

During  the  voyage  she  entered  into  discussions  with  some 
Puritan  ministers  Avho  were  also  going  out  to  jSfew  England, 
upon  such  abstruse  points  as  what  were  the  evidences  of  justi- 
fication, and  she  broadly  hinted  that  when  they  should  arrive 
at  their  destination  they  might  expect  to  hear  more  from  her. 
From  these  things,  trivial  in  themselves,  it  is  clear  that  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  considered  herself  to  have  a  mission  to  deliver  to 
the  people  and  churches  of  New  England.  She  avowed  her 
entire  belief  in  direct  revelations  made  to  the  elect,  moreover 
declaring  that  never  had  anything  of  importance  hai)peued  to 
her  which  had  not  been  revealed  to  her  beforehand. 

The  vessel  made  her  port  on  the  18th  of  September,  1G34. 
Its  appearance  was  so  mean  and  so  uninviting,  that  one  of  her 
fellow  passengers,  supposing  it  to  have  depressed  her  spirits, 
commented  upon  it,  in  order,  as  it  appeared,  to  draw  her  out. 
But  she  denied  that  the  meanness  of  the  place  had  in  any  way 
aliected  her,  because,  as  she  said,  "  she  knew  that  the  bounds 
of  her  habitation  were  already  determined." 

Upon  their  arrival,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutcliinson  made  their 
application  to  be  received  as  members  of  the  church.  This 
step  was  indispensable  to  admit  them  into  Christian  fellowship 
and  him  to  the  privileges  of  a  citizen.  He  was  admitted  in  Octo- 
ber, but  in  consequence  of  the  reports  already  spread  concerning 
her  extravagant  opinions,  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  subjected  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  witli  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  particular  respect  and  attention 
by  Mr.  Cotton  and  others.  The  getting  settled  in  a  new  home 
probably  occupied  her  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  Her 
husband  took  a  house  in  Boston,  and  lacing  duly  ailniitted  a 
freeman  of  the  Colony,  he  was  immediati'Iy  called  upon  to  bear 
his  part  in  business  of  public  concern,  which  he  did  willingly 


MISTRESS   ANNE   HUTCHINSON. 


15 


and  faithfully.  He  received  a  grant  of  lands  in  Braintree  from 
the  General  Court.  He  was  elected  to,  and  served  for  several 
terms  as  a  deputy  in,  tliis  body,  it  being,  singularly  enough,  his 
fortune  to  sit  as  a  member  when  Roger  Williams  was  brought 
to  the  bar,  tried  for  his  heretical  opinions,  and  banished  by  it 
out  of  the  Colony. 

The  year  1G3G  was  destined  to  witness  one  of  the  greatest 
religious  commotions  that  have  ever  puzzled  the  unlearned  or  seri- 
ously called  in  (|uestion  the  wisdom  of  the  founders  of  the  Colony. 
The  more  it  is  studietl  the  more  inexplicable  it  apj^ears. 


SITE   OF   MRS.    HUTCHINSON  S    HOUSE. 


A  young  man  of  liljcral  views,  who  had  not  been  hardened 
by  persecution,  was  then  governor  of  the  Colony,  and,  for  the 
moment,  the  popular  idol.  This  was  Harry  Yane,  who  after- 
wards died  on  the  scaffold.  He  with  Mr.  Cotton  took  much 
notice  of  ]\Irs.  Hutchinson,  and  their  example  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  the  leading  and  influential  people  of  the  town,  who 
treated  her  with  much  consideration  and  respect.  Already  her 
benevolence  toward  the  suffering  or  the  needy  had  won  for  her 


16  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

many  friends,  "while  her  intrepidity  of  soul  and  her  capacity 
for  dealing  with  those  interesting  questions  from  the  discussion 
of  which  they  were  excluded,  led  many  of  her  own  sex  to  look 
up  to  her  not  only  as  a  person  wdiose  opinions  were  worth 
regarding,  but  also  with  admiration  amounting  to  homage. 

Adopting  an  established  custom  of  the  town,  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
held  in  hw  own  house  two  weekly  meetings,  —  one  for  men  and 
women,  and  one  exclusively  for  women,  —  at  which  she  was  the 
oracle.  These  meetings  were  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  hear 
read  and  to  discuss  the  sermons  of  the  previous  Sabbath,  and 
for  general  religious  conversation  and  edification.  They  were 
what  would  be  called  in  our  own  day  a  club.  The  bringing 
women  together  in  any  way  for  independent  thought  and  action 
was  a  most  bold  and  novel  innovation,  requiring  much  moral 
courage  on  the  part  of  the  mover.  Her  manner  and  addres.s, 
her  ready  wit,  her  thorough  mastery  of  her  subject,  the  strong 
purpose  she  displayed,  established  her  ascendency  in  these  dis- 
cussions, and  were  fast  gaining  for  her  a  popularity  that,  spread- 
ing from  her  house  as  a  centre,  alarmed  the  ministers  for  their 
own  hold  upon  the  public  mind,  and  so  determined  them  to 
call  her  and  her  doctrines  seriously  to  account. 

Tliat  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  conversations  were  not  at  first  con- 
sidered to  be  dangerous  either  in  themselves  or  in  their  effects, 
is  clear  from  the  fact  that  the  most  eminent  ministers  and 
magistrates,  attracted  by  her  fame,  came  from  all  quarters  to 
hear  and  disi)utc  with  her.  Such  was  her  ready  command  of 
Scripture  authorities  and  her  skill  in  using  all  the  Aveapons  of 
argument,  tliat  the  strongest  heads  in  the  colony  found  them- 
selves unable  to  cope  with  her  successfully  upon  her  chosen 
ground.  She  Avas  impassioned,  she  was  adroit ;  she  was  an 
enthusiast,  and  yet  she  was  subtle,  logical,  and  deep  :  she  was 
a  woman  who  believed  herself  inspired  to  do  a  certain  work, 
and  who  had  tlie  courage  of  her  convictions.  Could  any  other 
have  brought  such  men  as  Cotton,  Vane,  Wheelwright,  Codding- 
ton,  completely  to  embrace  her  views,  or  have  sent  one  like 
Winthroj)  to  his  closet,  wrestling  with  himself,  yet  more  than 


MISTRESS    ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  17 

lialf  persuaded  1  To  call  such  a  woman  an  adventuress,  a  ter- 
magant, or  a  "  Jezebel,"  is  a  grave  reflection  u[)on  the  under- 
standing of  some  of  the  best  iniiuls  in  the;  Colony. 

Anne  Hutchinson's  doctrines  were,  in  plain  English,  these  : 
She  held  and  advocated  as  the  highest  truth  that  a  person  could 
be  justitied  only  by  an  actual  and  manifest  revelation  of  the 
spirit  to  him  personally.  There  could  be,  she  said,  no  other 
evidence  of  grace.  She  repudiated  a  dcjctrine  of  works,  and 
she  denied  that  holiness  of  living  alone  could  be  received  as 
evidence  of  regeneration,  since  hypocrites  might  live  outwardly 
as  pure  lives  as  the  saints  do.  The  Puritan  churches  held  that 
sanctification  by  the  will  was  evidence  of  justification. 

For  a  time  people  of  every  condition  were  drawn  into  the 
dispute  about  these  subtleties.  The  Boston  church  divided  upon 
it,  the  greater  number,  however,  siding  with  JNIr.  Cotton,  whose 
views  were  understood  to  agree  with  those  maintained  by  Mrs. 
Hutchinson.  From  Boston  it  rapidly  spread  into  the  country, 
but  there,  removed  from  the  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.  Hutchinson  freely 
criticised  those  ministers  who  preached  a  covenant  of  works. 
This  embittered  them  toward  her.  Emboldened  by  the  in- 
creasing number  of  her  followers,  she  became  njore  and  more 
aggressive,  so  that  the  number  of  her  enemies  was  increasing  in 
proportion  to  that  of  her  proselytes.  The  breach  that  coolness 
and  moderation  might  easily  have  bridged  soon  widened  into 
a  gulf  that  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,  poor  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
was  led  into  speaking  her  mind  more  freely  as  to  doctrines  and 
persons  than  was  consistent  with  prudence  or  foresight,  so  that 
before  she  was  aware  of  it  what  had  so  far  been  a  harmless  war 
of  words,  now  becoming  an  uiuvconcilable  feud,  burst  forth  into 
a  war  of  factions.     Events  then  marched  rapidly  on. 

Governor  Winthrop  and  Mr.  Wilson,  the  pastor  of  the  church. 


18  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

led  the  opposition  in  Boston.  The  matter  was  first  bronglit 
before  the  General  Court  upon  a  sermon  pi'eached  by  j\Ir.  Wheel- 
wright, and  in  this  body  tlie  country  was  able  to  make  head 
against  the  town.  A  persoiud  struggle  ensued  between  "Winthrop 
and  Yane,  in  which  the  former  was  victorious.  Vane  then  left 
the  country  in  disgust. 

The  party  having  as  it  were  lost  its  head,  made  no  difference 
with  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  Slie  continued  her  lectures,  undisturbed 
by  the  signs  of  the  approaching  storm,  until  all  the  churches 
could  be  sunnuoned  to  a  general  synod,  wliicli  assembled  in  great 
solemnity  at  Cambridge,  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  new  and 
startling  Familistic  doctrines.  This  was  the  first  synod  held  in 
the  western  hemisphere.  Its  deliberations  were  preceded  by 
a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer  throughout  the  Colony.  What  it 
decreed  would  be  sustained  by  the  civil  power. 

The  convocation  was  a  stormy  one.  Three  weeks  were  spent 
in  discussing  the  errors  that  were  formulated  in  the  indictment 
presented  to  it.  Perceiving  the  drift  toward  persecution,  some 
of  the  members  for  Boston  withdrew  in  disgust.  The  Synod 
finished  by  condemning  as  heresies  all  of  the  eighty  odd  points 
covering  the  new  opinions,  thus  bringing  them  within  the  pale 
of  the  law.  Mr.  Cotton  w'as  either  too  weak  or  too  politic  to 
withstand  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  hina,  and  he  gave 
a  qualified  adhesion  to  the  proceedings. 

Being  thus  backed  by  the  whole  spiritual  })()wer  of  the  Colon}', 
the  Winthrop  party  no  longer  hesitated  to  use  severe  measures. 
Mr.  Wheelwriglit  was  first  called  before  tlie  Court,  to  be  sum- 
marily sentenced  to  disfranchisement  and  banislnnent.  No 
one  pretends  that  he  Avas  not  an  al)le,  ])ure,  and  upi'iglit  man. 
Others  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  adlierents  received  various  sen- 
tences. Then  the  jiriestess  and  prophetess  herself  was  arraigned 
at  the  bar  as  a  criminal  of  tlie  most  dangerous  kind. 

The  proceedings  at  this  trial  are  preserved  in  the  '•  History  of 
Massachusetts  under  the  Colony  and  Province,"  of  which  Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson,  the  descendant  of  the  persecuted  Anne,  is  the 
author.     Tliey  arc  vohiminous.     Winthrop,  wlio  ])resided,  first 


MISTRESS    ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  19 

catechized  lier.  She  answered  him  boldly,  but  with  dignity. 
Then  Biadstreet,  and  tiien  Dudley,  the  deputy-governor,  took 
turns  in  trying  to  extort  from  her  some  damaging  admission. 
The  following  colloquy,  taken  from  the  records,  will  give  some 
idea  of  the  way  in  which  justice  was  administered  at  that  early 
day  :  — 

Deputy-governor.      "  Let  her  witnesses  be  called." 

Governor.     "  Who  bo  they  %  " 

Mrs.  Uutchiiison.  "Mr.  Leverett,  and  our  teacher,  and  Mr. 
Coggeshall." 

Governor.     "  Mr.  Coggeshall  was  not  present." 

Mr.  Coggeshall.  "  Yes,  but  I  was,  only  I  desired  to  be  silent 
until  I  was  called." 

Governor.  "  Will  you,  Mr.  Coggeshall,  say  that  she  did  not 
say  so]" 

Mr.  Coggeshall.  "  Yes,  I  dare  say  that  she  did  not  say  all 
that  which  they  lay  against  her." 

Mr.  Peters.  "  How  dare  you  look  into  the  court  to  say  such 
a  word  1  " 

Mr.  Coggeshall.  "  Mr.  Peters  takes  upon  him  to  forbid  me. 
I  shall  be  silent." 

As  the  governor  was  about  to  pass  sentence,  Mr.  Coddington 
arose  and  spoke  some  manly  words,  which  did  him  no  less  honor 
because  the  case  was  prejudged. 

Mr.  Coddington.  "  I  do  think  that  you  are  going  to  censure, 
therefore  I  desire  to  speak  a  word." 

Governor.     "I  pray  you  speak." 

Mr.  Coddington.  "  There  is  one  thing  objected  against  the 
meetings.  What  if  she  designed  to  edify  her  own  family  in  her 
own  meetings,  may  none  else  be  present?" 

Governor.  "  If  you  have  nothing  else  to  say  but  that, 
it  is  a  pity,  Mr.  Coddington,  that  you  sliould  interrupt  us  in 
proceeding  to  censure."  Then,  addressing  the  Court,  he 
added : 

"  It  is  well  discerned  to  the  Court  that  ]\Irs.  Hutchinson  can 
tell  when  to  speak  and  when  to  hold  her  tongue.     Upon  the 


20  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

answering  of  a  question  which  wo  desire  her  to  tell  her  thoughts 
of,  she  desires  to  be  pardoned." 

Anno  Hutchinson  did  not  fall  into  the  snare.  She  replied  : 
"  It  is  one  thing  for  me  to  come  before  a  public  luagistracy  and 
there  to  speak  what  they  would  have  me  to  speak,  and  another 
when  a  man  comes  to  me  in  a  way  of  friendship,  privately ; 
there  is  diiference  in  that." 

Six  of  the  foremost  ministers  in  the  Colony,  among  whom 
were  the  Apostle  Eliot  and  the  subsequently  famous  Hugh 
Peters,  then  gave  evidence  that  she  had  told  them  they  were 
not  able  ministers  of  the  Xew  Testament,  and  that  they  jireached 
a  covenant  of  works.  Only  Mr.  Shepard,  of  the  Cambridge 
church,  spoke  of  her  considerately  ;  the  rest  hail  steeled  them- 
selves against  her. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  gave  a  plum])  denial  to  some  things  that 
these  ministers  had  alleged,  and  then  she  prudently  asked  that 
they  might  be  required  to  give  their  evidence  under  oath,  in 
a  case  touching  her  personal  liberty  as  tliis  did.  To  this  the 
Governor  strongly  demurred ;  but  Mrs.  Hutchinson  stoutly  main- 
taining her  riglit,  she  finally  in-evailed.  From  a  score  or  more 
of  accusers,  the  number  of  ministers  who  were  willing  to  swear 
was  thus  reduced  to  three. 

The  only  persons  who  spoke  for  her  were  silenced  by  being 
browbeaten.  Her  fate  was  determined  when  the  Court  assem- 
bled. Mr.  Cotton  defended  her  weakly  and  equivocally.  Mr. 
Coddington  most  valiantly,  but  to  as  little  purpose.  Seeing 
how  the  case  was  going  against  her,  he  spoke  up  hotly  while 
smarting  under  the  rebuke  just  administered  by  tlie  President : 

"  I  beseech  you  do  not  speak  so  to  force  things  along,  for  I 
do  not,  for  my  own  part,  see  any  equity  in  all  your  proceedings. 
Here  is  no  law  of  Cod  that  she  hath  broken,  nor  any  law  of  the 
country,  and  therefore  deserves  no  censure.  And  if  she  say  that 
the  elders  preach,  as  the  apostles  did  (before  the  Ascension),  why 
they  preached  a  covenant  of  grace,  and  what  wrong  is  that  to 
them?" 

Governor  Winthro})  then  pronounced  sentence  of  banishment 


MISTKESS    ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  21 

against  the  'wunian  who,  as  Cocklingtou  truly  said,  "  had  hrukon 
no  law  either  of  (Jod  or  of  man." 

This  mockery  of  a  trial,  in  which  the  judges  expounded 
theok)gy  insteatl  of  hiw,  and  in  which  no  rule  of  evidence  was 
resjiected  until  the  prosecutors  wore  shamed  into  allowing  the 
prisoner's  demand  that  her  accusers  should  be  sworn,  was  now 
ended.  Pending  the  further  order  of  the  Court,  Mrs.  Hutchin- 
son was  delivered  into  the  custody  of  Mr.  Joseph  Weld,  of 
Roxbury.  She  had  still  another,  probably  a  harder,  trial  to  go 
through  with,  when  the  Boston  church  of  which  she  was  a 
member,  and  which  had  so  lately  applauded  and  caressed  her, 
sat  in  judgment  upon  her  and  excommunicated  her.  Her  hus- 
band then  sold  all  his  property,  and  removed  with  his  family 
to  the  Island  of  Aquidneck,  as  did  many  others  whose  opinions 
had  brought  them  under  the  censure  of  the  governing  powers. 
Mr.  Hutchinson  nobly  stood  by  his  wife  to  the  last.  When  a 
committee  of  the  Boston  church  went  to  Ehode  Island  for  the 
purpose  of  endeavoring  to  bring  these  lost  sheep  back  into  the 
fold,  he  told  them  that  he  accounted  his  wife  "a  dear  saint 
and  servant  of  God." 

The  triumphant  opposition  now  carried  matters  with  a  heavy 
hand.  AVinthrop  strenuously  exerted  himself  to  crush  Mrs. 
Hiitchinson's  followers.  In  consequence  of  this  a  great  number 
of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  Boston  who  had  become  involved 
in  these  troubles,  and  who  were  now  deprived  of  their  political 
privileges  as  a  i)unishment  therefor,  also  removed  to  Ehode 
Island.  Of  these  Coddington  and  Duuimer  had  been  assist- 
ants or  counsellors;  Hutchinson,  Coggeshall,  and  Aspinwall  were 
representatives.  Rainsford,  Sanford,  Savage,  Eliot,  Easton,  Ben- 
dall,  and  Denison,  were  all  persons  of  distinction.  About  sixty 
others  were  disarmed.  These  exiles,  having  purchased  the  island 
of  the  Indians,  were  the  first  to  found  a  civil  government  there. 
And  thus  did  the  stone  which  the  builders  rejected  become  the 
head  of  the  corner. 

The  rest  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  history  is  briefly  told.  After 
the  death  of  her  husband,  which  happened  five  years  later,  she 


22  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

again  removed  with  her  family  into  the  Dutch  territory  of  New 
Netherlands,  settling  near  what  is  now  New  Eochelle.  During 
the  following  year  her  house  was  suddenly  assaulted  by  hostile 
Indians,  who,  in  their  revengeful  fury,  murdered  the  whole 
family,  excepting  only  one  daughter,  who  was  carried  away  into 
captivity. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson's  offence  consisted  in  using  the  great  intel- 
lectual powers  with  which  she  was  undeniably  gifted  for  solving 
the  problem  of  her  own  life.  Her  enemies  A'anquished,  but  they 
could  not  convince,  her.  It  is  not  denied  that  she  was  a  pure 
woman,  an  affectionate  wife  and  mother,  to  the  poor  a  bene- 
factor, and  to  her  convictions  of  Christian  duty  conscientious 
and  faithful  to  the  last.  To  succeeding  generations  she  is  an 
amazing  example  of  the  intolerance  existing  in  her  day. 


THE  DEATH   OF   RAINSBOROUGH. 

1648. 

THE  civil  wars  in  England  preceding  the  dethronement  and 
death  of  Charles  I.  opened  an  alluring  field  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  wliich  thou- 
sands had  fled  should  find  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  been  drawn,  than  these  men  of  New  England,  taking 
their  Geneva  Bibles  and  their  Spanisli  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. 

Foremost  among  these  volunteers  for  the  Puritan  cause  was 
William  Ptainsborough,  who  lived  here  in  1639,  and  was,  with 


THE    PEATH    OF    EAINSBOKOUGII.  23 

Robert  Sedgwick  aud  Israel  Stoughton,  then  a  member  of  the 
Honorable  Artillery  Company  of  Boston.  Rainsborough  had 
speedily  risen  to  be  colonel  of  a  regiment  in  the  Parliamentary 
army,  in  which  this  Stoughton  Avas  lieutenant-colonel,  Nehemiah 
Bourne,  a  Boston  sliipwright,  major,  and  John  Leverett,  after- 
wards governor,  a  captain  ;  William  Hudson,  supposed  to  be 
also  of  Boston,  was  ensign.  A  son  of  Governor  Winthrop  also 
served  Avith  credit  in  these  same  wars,  and  in  New  England 
tlie  having  furnished  one  of  Oliver's  soldiers  was  long  one  of 
the  most  valued  of  family  traditions. 

Rainsborough  owed  his  rapid  advancement  to  the  distinguished 
gallantry  that  he  displayed  in  the  held,  as  well  as  to  his  zeal 
for  the  cause,  both  of  which  qualifications,  so  essential  in  the 
Puritan  soldier,  earned  for  him  the  warm  friendship  of  Crom- 
well, with  whom  he  was  thoroughly  one  in  spirit.  Indeed  he 
appears  to  have  lield  political  sentiments  quite  as  advanced  as 
those  of  his  great  leader.  We  find  him  sustaining  positions  of 
high  trust  both  in  camp  and  council,  always  with  ability,  and 
always  with  credit  to  himself  and  his  patron. 

In  the  memorable  storming  of  Bristol,  then  held  by  Prince 
Rupert,  Rainsborough  commanded  a  brigade  which  was  posted 
in  front  of  the  strongest  part  of  the  enemy's  line  of  defence. 
The  duty  of  assaulting  this  position  fell  to  him.  Cromwell  tells 
how  it  was  performed,  in  an  official  letter  written  from  Bristol 
immediately  after  the  surrender  of  the  place. 

"  Colonel  Eainsborough's  post  was  near  to  Durham  Down, 
whereof  the  dragoons  and  three  regiments  of  horse  made  good  a 
post  upon  the  Down,  between  him  and  the  River  Avon,  on  his 
right  hand.  And  from  Colonel  Eainsborough's  quarters  to 
Froom  River,  on  his  left,  a  part  of  Colonel  Birch's  and  tlie 
whole  of  General  Skippon's  regiment  were  to  maintain  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. 


24  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"During  tliis,"  says  the  Geueral,  "Colonel  Eainsborough  and 
Colonel  Hammond  attempted  Pryor's  Hill  Furt  and  tlic  line 
ilownward  towards  Froom ;  and  the  major-general's  regiment 
being  to  storm  towards  Froom  Kiver,  Colonel  Hammond  pos- 
sessed the  line  immediately,  and  beating  the  enemy  I'rom  it, 
made  way  for  the  horse  to  enter.  Colonel  Eainsborough,  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 
despair  of  carrying  the  place,  it  being  exceedingly  high,  a  ladder 
of  thirty  rounds  scarcely  reaching  the  top  thereof;  but  his  reso- 
lution was  such  that,  notwithstanding  the  inaccessibleness  and 
difficulty,  ho  would  not  give  it  over.  The  enemy  had  four 
pieces  of  cannon  upon  it,  which  they  plied  with  round  and  case 
shot  upon  our  men;  his  lieutenant.  Colonel  Bowen  (Bourne), 
and  others  were  two  hours  at  push  of  pike,  standing  upon  the 
palisades,  but  could  not  enter.  But  now  Colonel  Hammond 
being  entered  the  line  ...  by  means  of  this  entrance  of  Colonel 
Hammond,  they  did  storm  the  fort  on  that  })art  which  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  this  occasion  Tiaiusborough  was 
one  of  the  officers  deputed  by  Fairfax  to  receive  the  surrender 
of  the  place. 

Eainsborough  subsequently  acted  as  one  of  the  commissioners 
from  the  Army,  with  Ireton  and  Hannnond,  to  treat  with  the 
King,  and  he  was  also  one  of  the  officers  wlio  stirred  up  in  the 
Army  that  spirit  of  discontent  witli  the  half  measures  of  Parlia- 
ment which,  bursting  out  into  open  revolt,  paved  the  way  to  its 
final  and  lunniliating  downfall. 

When  the  insurrection  immediately  preceding  the  second 
civil  war  broke  out,  Eainsljorough  was  in  command  and  on 
board  of  the  English  fleet,  and  he  is  then  called  Admiral 
Eainsborough.  It  is  well  known  that  the  sailors  eml)raced, 
almost  to  a  man,  the  Eoyalist  side.  They  put  their  Admiral  on 
shore,  and  then  hoisted  sail  for  Holland  and  the  young  Prince 


THE    DEATH    OF    RAINSBOROUGII.  25 

of  Wales.     Rainsborough  then  went  up  to  London,   presently 
receiving  orders  to  go  upon  his  last  service,  into  Yorksliirc. 

It  was  in  the  year  1(148  that  the  Yorkshire  Royalists,  who 
had  been  living  in  quiet  since  the  first  war,  were  again  excited 
by  intelligence  of  Duke  Hamilton's  intended  invasion.  A  plan 
was  laid  and  successfully  carried  out  l)y  them  to  surprise  Pom- 
fret  Castle  (sometimes  called  l\jntefract),  the  greatest  and 
strongest  castle  in  all  England,  then  held  by  Colonel  Cotterel  as 
governor  for  the  Parliament.  It  Avas  then  victualled  to  with- 
stand a  long  siege.  The  Castle  was  soon  besieged  by  Sir  Edward 
Rhodes  and  Sir  Henry  Cholmondley  with  five  tliousand  regular 
troops,  but  the  royal  garrison  stubbornly  held  out  for  tlie 
King. 

It  being  likely  to  prove  a  tedious  affixir,  General  Rainsborough 
was  sent  from  London  by  the  Parliament  to  put  a  speedy  end 
to  it.  He  pitched  his  head(piarters  for  the  moment  at  Don- 
caster,  twelve  miles  from  PomfVet,  with  twelve  hundred  foot 
and  two  regiments  of  horse. 

The  Castle  garrison  having  in  sume  way  learned  of  Hamilton's 
disastrous  defeat  at  Preston,  that  lie  was  in  full  retreat  for  Scot- 
land, and  that  Sir  Marmaduke  Langdale,  who  commanded  the 
English  in  that  battle,  was  a  prisoner,  formed  the  bold  design 
of  seizing  General  Rainsborough  in  his  camp  and  holding  him 
as  a  liostage  for  Sir  Marmaduke;  for  it  was  clear  enough  that  the 
principal  actors  in  this  unlucky  rising  would  now  be  in  great 
peril  of  losing  their  heads  on  the  charge  of  high  treason.  The 
scheme  seemed  all  the  more  feasible  because  the  General  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  held  for  the  King  in  all  England, 

The  plan  was  shrewdly  laid,  favored  by  circumstances,  and 
was  completely  successful,  except  that  instead  of  bringing  the 
General  off  as  a  prisoner,  they  killed  liim.  With  twenty-two 
picked  men,  all  bold  riders  and  well  mounted,  Captain  William 
Paulden  penetrated  through  the  besiegers'  lines  into  Doncaster 
undiscovered.      The   guards   were   immediately    assaulted    and 


THE   DKATII    OF   JtAIN'SIiOKOUGII.  27 

disjiersed,  wliilo  a  party  df  lour  truopcrs  made  direct  for  the 
General's  lodgings.  At  the  door  they  were  met  by  his  lieutenant, 
who,  upon  their  announcing  tliat  they  had  come  with  despatches 
from  General  Cromwell,  conducted  them  to  the  chamber  wdicre 
Rainsborough  was  in  bed.  While  the  General  was  opening 
the  false  despatch,  which  contained  nothing  but  blank  paper, 
the  King's  nuni  told  him  that  he  was  their  prisoner,  but  that 
not  a  hair  oi  his  head  should  be  touched  if  he  went  quietly 
along  with  tliem.  They  then  disarmed  his  lieutenant,  who  had 
so  innocently  facilitated  their  design,  and  brought  both  the 
General  and  him  out  of  the  house.  A  horse  stood  ready  saddled, 
which  Eainsborough  was  directed  to  mount.  He  at  first  seemed 
willing  to  do  so,  and  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup ;  but  upon  look- 
ing about  him  and  seeing  only  four  enemies,  while  his  lieutenant 
and  a  sentinel  (whom  they  liad  not  disarmed)  were  standing  by 
liim,  he  suddenly  pulled  his  foot  out  of  the  stirrup  and  cried 
out,  "Arms  !  Arms  !  " 

Upon  this,  one  of  his  enemies,  letting  fall  his  sword  and  pis- 
tol, —  for  the  object  was  to  take  the  General  alive,  —  caught 
hold  of  Kainsborough,  who  grappled  fiercely  with  him,  and  both 
fell  struggling  to  the  ground.  The  General's  lieutenant  then 
picked  up  the  trooper's  pistol,  but  w^as  instantly  run  through 
the  body  by  Paulden's  lieutenant  while  he  was  in  the  act  of 
cocking  it.  A  third  then  stabbed  Rainsborough  in  the  neck  ; 
yet  the  General  gained  his  feet  with  the  troo})er's  sword,  with 
whom  he  had  been  struggling,  in  his  hand.  Seeing  liim  deter- 
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  Rainsborough  fell  dead  upon  the  pavement  of  the 
courtyard. 


28 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE  CASE   OF  MISTRESS   ANN  HIBBINS. 

1656. 

"rinHE  devil  is  in  it !  "      Is  not  this  pithy  expression,  ^Ye  in- 
-L      quire,  a  surviving  memento  of  the  dark  day  of  super- 
stition, when  everything  that  was  strange  or  inexplicable  was  by 
common  cunsent  referred  to  the  devices  of  the  Evil  One  1 

It  would  be  both  interesting  and  instructive  further  to  ask 
if  there  are  still  people  who  regard 
spilling  the  salt,  beginning  a  journey 
on  Fridav,  breaking  a  looking-glass,  or 
sitting  with  thirteen  at  the  table,  as 
things  of  evil  omen,  to  be  scrupulously 
avoided ;  or  whether  they  would  be 
willing  to  admit  that  hanging  a  charm 
alxiut  a  child's  neck,  setting  a  hen  on 
an  odd  number  of  eggs,  putting  trust 
in  a  rusty  horsesboe,  or  seeing  the 
moon  over  a  particular  sboulder, — 
to  say  notliing  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.  Nor  is  it  so  long 
ago  since  people  were  living  in  the 
rural  towns  of  Xow  England  who  could  remember  reputed 
witches,  and  what  dread  they  inspired  in  the  minds  of  tlie 
ignorant  or  the  timid.  Upon  looking  back  over  the  ground 
that  the  enligbtcnment  of  the  age  has  conquered,  one  is  half 
inclined  to  say  tliat,  in  some  form  or  other,  superstition  will  be 
al)out  the  last  thing  eradicated  from  the  human  mind.  It  is  in 
order  to  enable  the  reader  fairly  to  make  the  comjiarison  of  his 


XIGUT    WATCHMAN. 


MRS.    ANN    IIIBBINS.  29 

own  with  a  remote  time  tiiat  we  oti'er  him  these  hiuts  before 
bei;iniiiii;j,'  our  story  about  Mrs.  Hibbins. 

The  little  that  can  be  recovered  concerning  this  most  unfor- 
tunate woman,  of  whom  we  woukl  gladly  know  more  than  we 
do,  puts  any  connected  account  of  her  out  of  the  question. 
Our  curiosity  is  strongly  piqued,  only  to  be  unsatisfied  at  last 
by  a  perusal  of  the  few  meagre  scraps  that  have  the  seal  of 
authenticity  upon  them.  Nor  is  it  at  all  probable  that  it  ever 
will  be  satislied. 

We  simply  know  that  Mrs.  Ann  Hibbins,  the  aged  widow  of 
a  merchant  of  note,  the  reputed  sister  of  the  Deputy-Governor 
of  the  Colony,  was  tried,  convicted,  and  suti'ered  death  at  Boston 
in  the  year  1G56  for  being  a  witch.  This  relationship  by  blood 
and  marriage  announces  a  person  of  superior  condition  in  life, 
and  not  some  wretched  and  friendless  liag  such  as  is  associated 
with  the  popular  idea  of  a  witch.  It  supposes  her  to  have  had 
connections  powerful  enough  to  jirotect  her  in  such  an  extremity 
as  that  of  life  or  death  in  which  she  was  placed.  But  in  her 
case  it  is  clear  that  they  were  powerless  to  stay  the  final  execu- 
tion of  the  horrid  sentence,  which  was  carried  into  effect,  with 
all  its  revolting  details,  according  to  the  decree  of  the  Court. 

To  be  censorious  is  easy  here.  Such  a  tale  of  horror  is  in 
fiict  a  shock  to  all  our  preconceived  notions  of  the  solid  wis- 
dom and  well-balanced  judgments  characterizing  our  ancient 
lawgivers.  Still,  when  kings  wrote  learned  treatises,  ministers 
preached,  and  poets  rhymed  about  it,  —  when  the  penal  statutes 
of  all  civilized  States  recognized  and  punished  it  as  a  crime,  — 
people  of  every  condition  may  well  be  pardoned  for  putting  full 
faith  in  witchcraft  as  a  thing  belonging  to  the  category  of  in- 
contestable fiicts,  admitted  by  the  wisest  and  holiest  men,  and 
punished  as  such  by  the  ordinances  of  God  and  man.  What  is  the 
wonder,  then,  that  they  dealt  with  it  as  a  fact  1  For  our  own 
part,  in  oriler  that  we  may  understand  this  deplorable  tragedy, 
ami  that  full  justice  may  be  done  to  the  actors  therein,  it  is 
indispensable  first  candidly  to  admit  all  that  this  strange  be- 
lief in  witchcraft  implied  from  their  point  of  view.     AVe  may 


30  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

lament  their  ignorance,  but  we  should  be  slow  to  condemn  them 
for  being  no  wiser  than  their  own  generation. 

Sucli  a  state  of  things  being  imagined,  one  easily  sees  why 
the  men  who  were  wisest  and  strongest  in  every  other  emer- 
gency simply  lost  their  heads  when  confronting  this  terrible 
bugbear  that  kept  the  imagination  continually  upon  tlie  stretch, 
that  was  a  lurking  terror  in  every  houseliold,  and  that  by  expos- 
ing them,  as  they  fully  believed,  to  all  the  crafts  and  assaults  of 
the  Devil  (their  own  friends  and  neighbors  being  the  instru- 
ments), held  their  intellect  in  abject  bondage.  Against  such 
insidious  attacks  as  these  there  was  no  good  defence.  Hence 
the  notion  of  a  witch  was  like  that  of  a  serpent  in  the  house 
whose  sting  is  mortal.  No  wonder  it  was  the  one  thing  capable 
of  chasing  the  color 

From  cheeks  that  never  changed  in  woe, 
And  never  bUmched  iu  fear. 

This  case  of  Mrs.  Hibbins  is  further  interesting  as  being  the 
second  one  that  the  lamentable  annals  of  witchcraft  record,  that 
of  Margaret  Jones,  in  1648,  being  the  first.  The  simple  state- 
ment should  suffice  to  correct  the  belief,  more  or  less  preva- 
lent to-day,  that  the  Salem  outbreak  was  the  beginning,  instead 
of  being  the  tragical  end,  of  the  delusion  in  New  England.  Mrs. 
Hibbins's  cause  is  also  memorable  as  the  first  known  instance  of 
the  General  Court  of  the  Colony  sitting  in  trial  in  a  case  of  life 
and  death.  The  tragedy,  therefore,  lacked  no  element  of  solem- 
nity to  render  it  deeply  impressive. 

Mrs.  Ann  Hibbins  was  the  wife  of  Wilham  Hibbins,  a  wealthy 
and  influential  merchant  of  Boston.  Hutcliinson  says  that  he 
was  one  of  the  principal  merchants  in  all  the  Colony.  At  this 
early  day  in  its  history  he  had  served  the  Colony  with  credit, 
first  as  its  agent  in  England,  and  again  as  one  of  the  assistants, 
or  chief  magistrates.  These  important  trusts  denote  the  high 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held,  and  they  confirm  his  admitted 
capacity  for  public  affairs.  A  series  of  unlucky  events,  however, 
brought  such  heavy  losses  upon  him  in  his  old  age  as  seriously 


MISTRESS   ANN    IIIIir.INS.  31 

to  impair  his  estate ;  but  what  was  iJerhaps  worse  to  bear,  the 
siuUlt'ii  change  from  aflluence  to  a  more  slraiteried  way  of  Uviiig 
is  alleged  uot  only  to  have  soured  Ids  wife's  naturally  unstable 
temper,  but  to  have  so  far  unsettled  her  mind  that  she  became 
in  turn  so  morose  and  so  (piarrelsomo  as  to  render  her  odiuus 
to  all  her  neighbors.  Instead  of  being  softened  by  ndsfortune, 
she  was  hardened  and  embittered  by  it.  And  it  is  thuught  that 
some  of  these  neighbors  were  led  to  denounce  lier  as  a  witch,  as 
presently  they  did,  through  motives  of  spite,  or  in  revenge  for 
her  malice  toward,  or  her  abusive  treatment  of,  them. 

It  was  a  credulous  age,  when  the  spirit  of  persecution  was 
easily  aroused.  The  eye  of  the  whole  town  was  presently  turned 
upon  Mrs.  Hibbins.  There  is  little  room  to  doubt  that  she  was 
the  unfortunate  possessor  of  a  sharp  tongue  and  of  a  crabbed 
temper,  neither  of  which  was  under  proper  restraint.  Most 
unfortunately  for  her,  as  it  fell  out,  a  superior  intelligence  and 
penetration  enabled  her  to  make  shrewd  guesses  about  her 
neighbors  and  their  affairs,  which  the  old  wives  and  gossips  be- 
lieved and  declared  no  one  else  but  the  Devil  or  his  imps  could 
have  knowji  or  told  her  of.  From  dislike  they  advanced  to 
hatred,  then  to  fear,  and  then  it  no  doubt  began  to  be  freely 
whispei'ed  about  that  she  was  a  witch.  Such  a  reputation  would 
naturally  cast  a  fatal  blight  over  her  life.  No  wife  or  mother 
believed  herself  or  her  infont  for  one  moment  safe  from  the 
witch's  detestable  arts,  since  she  might  take  any  form  she 
pleased  to  afflict  them.  Presently,  the  idle  gossip  of  a  neigh- 
borhood grew  into  a  formal  accusation.  How  much  could  be 
made  in  those  days  of  a  little,  or  how  dangerous  it  then  was  to 
exercise  any  gift  like  that  of  clairvoyance  or  mind-reading,  the 
following  fragment  will  make  clear  to  the  reader's  mind.  Upon 
this  point  Mr.  Beach,  a  minister  in  Jamaica,  writes  to  Dr.  Increase 
Mather  as  follows  :  — 

"You  may  remember  what  I  have  sometimes  told  you  your  famous 
Mr.  Norton  once  said  at  his  own  table,  before  Mr.  Wilson  the  pastor, 
Elder  Penn,  and  myself  and  Avife,  etc.,  who  had  the  honour  to  be  hit 
guests, — that  one  of  your  magistrates' wives,  as  I   remember,  was 


A'*,**        t 


V. 


w     *> 


M 


MISTKESS    ANN    II  Hi  BIN'S.  33 

hanged  for  a  witch,  only  lor  having  more  wit  than  her  iieighljours. 
It  was  his  very  ex2)ression,  she  having,  as  he  expkined  it,  unliajipily 
guessed  that  two  of  lier  persecutors,  whom  she  saw  talking  in  the 
street,  were  tallying  of  her  ;  wliich,  proving  true,  cost  her  her  life, 
notwithstanding  all  he  could  do  to  the  contrary,  as  he  himself  told 
us." 

One  can  lianlly  read  this  fragment  without  shuddering. 

The  increasing  feeling  of  detestation  and  fear  liaving  now 
broken  out  into  a  popular  clamor  for  justice  upon  the  witch, 
Mrs.  Hibbins  was  first  publicly  expelled  from  the  communion  of 
her  church,  and  then  publicly  accused  and  thrown  into  prison. 
Wlien  the  prison  door  closed  behind  lier,  her  doom  was  sealed. 

Fortunateh'',  perhaps,  for  him,  for  be  died  a  year  before  this 
bitter  disgrace  sullied  his  good  name,  the  husband  was  not 
alive  to  meet  the  terrible  accusation  or  to  stem  the  tide  setting  so 
strongl}'  and  so  pitilessly  against  the  wife  whom  he  had  sworn  at 
the  altar  to  love,  cherish,  and  jn'otect.  If  her  brother,  liichard 
Bellingham,  then  liolding  the  second  place  in  the  Colony,  made 
any  effort  to  save  her,  that  fact  nowliere  appears.  Her  three 
sons,  whom  she  seems  to  have  loved  with  the  affectionate  tender- 
ness of  a  fond  mother,  were  all  absent  from  the  Colony.  Alone, 
friendless,  an  object  of  hatred  to  her  own  neighbors,  her  heart 
may  well  have  sunk  within  her. 

Under  such  distressing  circumstances  was  poor  old  Dame  Hib- 
bins, who  once  held  her  head  so  high,  dragged  from  her  dungeon 
before  the  Court  which  was  to  try  her  as  the  worst  of  criminals 
known  to  the  law.  The  jury,  however,  failed  to  convict  her  of 
any  overt  act  of  witchcraft.  Lut  she  could  not  escape  thus. 
The  people,  it  is  said,  demanded  her  blood,  and  nothing  short  of 
this  would  satisfy  them.  So  the  magistrates,  having  the  power 
to  set  aside  the  verdict,  obeying  the  popular  voice,  brought 
her  before  the  bar  of  the  General  Court,  where,  in  presence  of 
the  assembled  wisdom  of  the  Colony,  she  was  again  required  to 
plead  guilty  or  not  guilty  to  being  a  witch.  She  answered  with 
tirmness  and  spirit  that  she  was  not  guilty,  and  said  she  was 
willing  to  be  tried  by  God  and  the  Court.  The  evidence  already 
taken  against  her  was  then  read,  witnesses  were  heard,  and  her 

3 


34 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


answers  considered  ;  and  the  whole  case  being  then  submitted  for 
its  decision,  the  Court  by  its  vote  this  time  found  her  guihy 
of  witchcraft  according  to  the  tenor  of  the  bid  uf  indictment. 
Governor  Endicott,  rising  in  his  jilace,  then  pronounced  in  open 
court  the  awful  sentence  of  death  upon  the  doomed  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    fatal    day    was    fixed,  and   the    marslial-geueral  was 


THE    01,11    Kl.M. 


therein  directed  to  take  witli  him  "a  sufficient  guard."  Then 
the  poor,  infirm,  superannuated  old  woman,  us  innocent  as  tlie 
babe  unborn,  was  led  back  to  prison  a  condemned  felon.  Then 
tlie  members  of  the  Great  and  General  Court,  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    HIBBINS.  35 

As  the  sentence  was  not  carried  into  eifcct  for  a  whole  ye;ir,  it 
is  probable  that  the  intercession  of  friends  may  have  procured 
for  the  condemned  woman  this  reprieve.  But  it  could  not  avert 
her  final  doom,  however  it  might  delay  it.  That  was  sealed. 
On  the  day  that  she  was  to  suffer  she  made  and  executed  in 
prison  a  codicil  to  her  will,  clearly  disposing  of  all  her  property. 
She  was  then  taken  to  the  usual  place  of  execution,  and  there, 
hanged. 

The  "usual  place  of  execution"  being  the  Common,  it  is  a 
tradition  that  Mrs.  Hibbins,  as  well  as  others  who  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  the  public  executioner,  was  launched  into  eternity 
from  the  branch  of  the  Great  Elm  Tree  that  stood,  until  withiL'. 
a  few  years,  a  commanding  and  venerated  relic  of  the  past,  near 
the  centre  of  this  beautiful  park.  Her  remains  were  shamefully 
violated.  A  search  was  immediately  made  upon  the  dead  body 
of  the  poor  woman  for  the  distinguishing  marks  that  all  witches 
were  supposed  to  have  on  their  persons.  Her  chests  and  boxes 
were  also  ransacked  for  the  puppets  or  images  by  which  their 
victims  were  afflicted,  but  none  were  found.  The  remains. 
were  then  probably  thrust  into  some  obscure  hole,  for  the  suf- 
ferer, being  excommunicated  and  a  condemned  witch,  would  not 
be  entitled  to  Christian  burial,  although  she  earnestly  begged 
this  poor  boon  in  her  will.  Hubbard,  who  writes  nearest  to  the 
event,  says  that  they  who  were  most  forward  to  condemn  Mrs. 
Hibbins  were  afterward  observed  to  be  special  marks  for  the 
judgments  of  Divine  Providence. 

And  all  this  really  happened  in  the  good  town  of  Boston  in 
the  year  1656  ! 


36  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


MARY  DYER. 

1659. 

IT  is  a  matter  of  history  that  in  IGoG  a  people  who  wore  their 
liair  long,  kept  their  hats  on  in  the  puhlie  assemblies,  and 
who  said  "thee"  and  "thou,"  instead  of  "  3'ou,"  when  address- 
ing another  person,  made  their  unwelcome  appearance  in  New 
England.  They  were  forthwith  attacked  with  all  the  energy  of 
a  bitter  persecution. 

When  called  upon  to  speak  out  in  defence  of  their  cruel 
proceedings,  the  Puritan  authorities  declared  their  creed  to  be 
this  :  They  having  established  themselves  in  a  wilderness  in 
order  to  enjoy  undisturbed  their  own  religious  convictions,  held 
it  right  to  exclude  all  others  who  might  seek  to  introduce  dif- 
ferent opinions,  and  therefore  discord,  among  them.  From  this 
it  is  plain  to  see  that  the  idea  of  tolei'ation  had  not  yet  been 
born.  The  further  fact  that  to  this  cruel  and  seltish  policy, 
sternly  persevered  in  to  the  last,  the  Colony  owed  the  loss  o{ 
most  of  the  political  privileges  that  it  had  hitherto  enjoyed, 
renders  it  one  of  the  stepping-stones  of  history.  Nor  have  the 
most  zealous  apologists  for  these  acts  of  the  Puritan  fathers  ever 
been  able  to  erase  the  stain  of  blood  from  their  otherwise  fair 
escutcheon. 

Let  us  recount  a  single  startling  episode  of  this  lugubrious 
history.     Two  words  will  explain  the  situation. 

On  both  sides  of  the  ocean  the  Puritan  cry  was  "  freedom  to 
worship  God  as  Ave  do."  The  persecution  of  Quakers  had 
already  begun  in  England  under  the  austere  rule  of  the  Puritan 
Commonwealth.  They  were  treated  as  weak  fanatics  who 
needed  wholesome  correction,  rather  than  as  persons  dangerous 
to  the  public  weal.  After  this  had  been  some  time  in  progress, 
some  of  tlie  persecuted  Friends  came  over  to  New  England  for 


MAKV    nYER. 


37 


an  asylum,  ov  out  of  tlic  frying-pan  into  the  fire.  The  local 
authorities,  uvgvd  on  by  the  Avliole  body  of  Orthodox  ministers, 
resolved  to  strangle  this  new  heresy  in  its  cradle.  But  they 
had  forgotten  the  story  of  the  dragon's  teeth.  For  every  Quaker 
tlicy  banislied,  ten  arose  in  his  place. 


SCOUKGING   A   QUAKER. 


Among  the  first  Quakers  to  arrive  in  the  Colony  were  two 
women.  And  it  should  be  observed  that  the  women  all  along 
took  as  active  a  part  in  disseminating  tlu;  new  doctrines  as  the 


38  Is'EW-ENGLAND    LK(iKNl)S. 

uicn  ilid.  As  was  inevitable,  such  an  abrupt  innovation  upon 
the  settled  convictions  of  the  time  respecting  woman's  place  in 
the  churches  and  in  society,  was  a  moral  shock  to  the  commu- 
nity which  quickly  recoiled  upon  the  heads  of  the  offenders. 

These  intruding  (Quakers,  having  announced  themselves  as 
confessors  and  missionaries  of  the  true  faith  of  Christ,  were  all 
presently  put  under  lock  and  key  as  persons  guilty  of  iironiul- 
gating  rank  heresies,  and  as  blasphemers,  and  tlieir  sectarian 
books  were  also  seized  and  committed  to  the  flames  by  the 
common  hangman.  The  (,)uakers  then  became  violent  and 
aggressive  in  their  turn.  They  retaliated  with  prophesies  of 
evil.  They  freely  denounced  the  judgments  of  Heaven  upon 
their  oppressors.  One  woman,  seeing  Governor  Endicutt  pass 
by  the  prison,  vociferated  from  lier  grated  window,  — 

"  AVoe  unto  thee  !   thou  art  an  oppressor  !  " 

The  tirst  comers  were  all  banished,  with  a  stern  admonition 
not  to  return  to  the  Colony.  They  were  put  on  shipboard  and 
ordered  to  depart.  And  tliis,  it  was  hoped,  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  root 
in  the  soil  itself  Then,  as  no  such  law  existed,  one  was  made, 
punishing  any  Quaker  who  might  afterward  come  into  the 
jurisdiction.  This  law  imposed  severe  penalties.  Yet,  though 
cruelly  enforced,  it  was  soon  found  inadequate,  the  number  of 
Quakers  increasing ;  and  so,  the  authorities  being  now  at  their 
wits'  end,  another  law,  decreeing  death  to  any  of  that  sect  who 
should  presume  to  return  after  banishment,  was  enacted,  against 
strong  opposition.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  conscience  in  the  Colo- 
nial body.  But  the  rulers  could  not  now  retreat  without  admitting 
themselves  vanquished ;  and  so,  pressing  the  point,  the  "  bloody 
law  "  was  inscribed  upcjn  the  statute-book  of  the  Colony. 

We  have  now  finished  tlie  prologue  of  the  drama,  and  it  is 
tiiiHi  to  introduce  tlic  real  actors  upon  the  stage. 

Mary  Dyer,  a  comely  and  grave  matron,  then  living  in  Rhode 
Island,  was  one  of  those  rare  spirits  who  are  predestined  to 
become  martyrs  and  saints  to  the  faith  that  they  profess. 


MAKY    DVEK.  39 

Slie  and  her  hushand,  William  Dyer,  Avere  originally  inhabi- 
tants of  Jjoston,  and  nienibers  of  the  church  therc^,  they  having 
emigrated  from  England  to  the  Colony  in  the  year  1035.  From 
these  incidents  surrounding  Mrs.  Dyer's  career  it  is  clear  that 
both  she  and  her  husband  belonged  to  the  better  class  of  emi- 
grants. She  is  represented  by  Sewel,  the  (,>uaker  historian,  as 
being  a  person  of  good  i'amily  and  estate,  and  by  Winthrop  as 
a  very  proper  and  fair  woman,  but,  as  he  ileprecatingly  adds, 
liaving  a  "  very  proud  sinrit."  In  her,  therefore,  we  have  the 
portrait  of  a  comely  woman  of  hue  presence,  high  spirit,  a  fair 
share  of  education,  antl  possessing,  moreover,  a  soul  endowed 
with  the  purpose  of  an  evangelist  or,  at  need,  a  martyr.  Both 
Mrs.  Dyer  and  her  husband  became  early  converts  to  the  pecu- 
liar doctrines  held  by  that  priestess  of  common-sense,  Mrs. 
Anne  Hutchinson,  to  whose  untoward  fortunes  they  continued 
steadfast.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  bond  of  sympathy  between 
tliese  two  women.  When  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  excommuni- 
cated, young  Mrs.  Dyer  walked  out  of  the  church  with  her  in 
presence  of  the  whole  congregation.  When  she  was  banished, 
Mrs.  Dyer  followed  her  to  Rhode  Island.     This  was  in  1G37. 

During  the  excitement  produced  by  the  rapid  spread  of  "Mrs. 
Hutchinson's  opinions,  and  by  her  subsequent  arrest  and  trial  on 
the  charge  of  heresy,  Mrs.  Dyer  gave  premature  birth,  it  was  said, 
to  a  monster,  which  Winthrop  describes  with  nauseating  minute- 
ness. Losing  sight  of  Mrs.  Dyer  for  nearly  twenty  years,  we 
suppose  her  life  to  have  been  an  uneventful  one,  —  perhaps  one 
of  unconscious  preparation  and  of  spiritual  growth  for  the  work 
she  was  to  do  and  the  sulfering  she  was  destined  to  undergo. 
When  we  next  see  her,  the  comely  young  wife  has  become  a 
middle-aged  matron,  who  is  bliniUy  olieying  the  command  of  des- 
tiny. She  now  presents  herself  in  the  garb  of  a  Quakeress,  and 
in  company  with  professing  Quakers,  to  the  people  of  Boston, 
any  one  of  whom,  by  harboring  her  even  for  a  single  night,  or 
ofi'ering  her  a  crust  of  bread,  became  a  breaker  of  the  law,  and 
was  liable  to  a  heavy  penalty  for  so  doing.  She  was  imme- 
diately taken  up   and  thrust  into  the  common  jail,  where  she 


40  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

remaiutHl  in  conliiunneut  until  her  husl)iUKl,  being  apprised  of 
her  arrest,  hastened  to  her  relief.  His  urgent  prayer  for  his 
wife's  release  was  only  granted  ui)on  his  giving  bonds  in  a  large 
sum  to  take  her  away  out  of  the  Colony,  and  even  then  the 
authoritii^s  further  stipulated  that  she  should  be  permitted  to 
speak  with  no  one  during  the  journey.  Upon  these  conditions 
she  was  conducted  under  guard  beyond  the  settlements. 

In  September,  1G59,  in  company  with  AVilliam  Robinson, 
Marmaduke  Stevenson,  and  Nicholas  Davis,  Mary  again,  and 
this  time  with  full  knowledge  of  the  peril  of  the  act,  visited 
Boston  for  the  purpose  of  testifyiiig  against  the  iniquitous  laws 
in  force  there,  or,  as  they  declared  it  themselves,  "  to  look  the 
bloody  laws  in  the  face,"  and  to  meet  the  oppressors  of  her 
people,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  stronghold. 

Short  was  the  time  allowed  them.  'J'he  whole  four  were 
quickly  made  prisoners,  and  M'ere  brought  before  the  Court, 
which  passed  sentence  of  banishment,  to  which  the  certain 
penalty  of  death  now  attached,  should  they  return  again.  They 
were  then  released,  and  ordered  to  depart  out  of  the  Colony.  Not 
obeying  this  mandate,  Robinson  and  Stevenson  were  soon  agiiin 
apprehended,  and  were  again  consigned  to  prison,  where  they  were 
used  like  condemned  felons,  being  chained  to  the  floor  of  their 
dungeon.  "Within  a  month  j\Iary  also  became,  for  the  second 
time,  an  iinuate  of  the  same  prison,  having  been  recognized  and 
taken  while  standing  in  front  of  it.  By  thus  setting  the  law  at 
defiance,  the  trio  were  regarded  as  rushing  upon  a  fool's  fate. 

With  Mary  came  Hope  Clifton,  also  of  lihode  Island.  The 
declared  purpose  of  the  women  was  to  visit  and  minister  to  the 
Friends  then  lying  in  prison.  The  settled  purpose  of  the  pris- 
oners to  defy  tlie  law  l)eing  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.  One  even 
brought  linen  for  the  sufferers'  shrouds.  All  this  imparts  a 
highly  dramatic  character  to  the  acts  of  the  resolute  martyrs. 

The  three  prisoners  who  had  thus  forfeited  their  lives  to  the 
law  were,  on  the  20th  of  October,  brought  before  the  Court  of 


MARY    DWAl.  41 

Magistrates.  Tlie  iucorruptihlo  but  implacable  Eiidicott  pre- 
sided. The  met!  kee[)iiig  their  hats  on,  Endicott  ordered  the 
olHcer  tn  pidl  tlieiii  off.  He  tlieii  tuldressiul  the  prisoners  in  the 
language  of  stern  renionstrantte  and  reproof.  He  told  them  that 
neither  he  nor  the  other  magistrates  then  present  desired  their 
death,  but  that  the  laws  must  be  enforced.  All  three  were  con- 
demned to  be  hanged. 

Mrs.  Dyer  heard  her  doom  pronounced  with  serene  composure, 
simply  saying,  — 

"  The  Lord's  will  be  done  !  " 

"  Take  her  away,  marshal,"  commanded  Endicott,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  I  joyfully  return  to  my  })rison,"  she  rejoined. 

On  her  way  back  to  prison,  filled  with  the  exaltation  of  the 
Spirit,  she  said  to  the  marshal,  or  high-sheriff',  who  was  conduct- 
ing her,  "  Indeed,  you  might  let  me  alone,  for  I  would  go  to  the 
prison  without  you." 

"  I  believe  you,  Mrs.  Dyer,"  the  officer  replied  ;  "  but  my 
orders  are  to  take  you  there,  and  I  must  do  as  I  am  com- 
manded." 

During  the  interval  of  a  week  occurring  between  the  sen- 
tence and  the  day  fixed  for  its  execution,  j\Irs.  Dyer  wrote  an 
"Appeal  to  the  (leneral  Court,"  in  which  she  compares  herself 
with  Queen  Esther,  and  her  mission  with  that  of  the  queen  to 
Ahasuerus  It  is  pervaded  throughout  by  a  simple  and 
touching  dignity.  There  is  not  one  craven  word  in  it,  or  one 
entreating  pardon  or  expressing  a  doubt  of  the  righteousness  of 
her  own  acts.  Calmly  she  rehearses  the  history  of  her  case, 
and  then  concludes  her  appeal,  "  in  love  and  the  spirit  of  meek- 
ness," to  the  justice  and  magnanimity  of  the  Court  which  was 
able  to  set  her  free.  But  if  it  was  heeded,  her  prayer  was 
iinanswered.  The  renewed  and  earnest  intercession  of  Mrs. 
Dyer's  husband  and  son  were  alike  ineffectual ;  the  magistrates 
remained  unmoved.  But  it  is  said  that  the  son,  in  the  hope 
of  yet  saving  her,  passed  the  last  night  in  his  mother's  cell, 
beseeching  her  to  abjure,  or  at  least  so  far  to  retract  her  mis- 


42 


NEW-EXOLAXD   LEGENDS. 


,y,    '  / 


taken  opinions  as  to  give  some  chance  for  liope  that  the  judges 
miglit  3'et  relent,  and  so  commute  her  sentence  of  death  to  ban- 
ishment. History  has  kindly  drawn  the  veil  over  this  scene. 
All  we  know  is  that  the  mother  preferred  death  to  dishonor. 

Nor  were  other  ef- 
forts wanting  to  save 
the  condemned  prison- 
ers. Suitors  who  were 
ahle  to  make  them- 
selves heard  in  the 
council-chamber  and  in 
the  Governor's  closet 
earnestly  labored  to 
prevent  the  consumma- 
tion of  the  crime. 

Oji  Thursday,  the 
27tli  of  October,  in  the 
morning,  according  to 
an  ancient  custom,  the 
drummersof  the  trained 
bands  beat  their  drums 
up  and  down  the 
streets,  to  notify  the 
soldiers  to  get  under 
arms.  This  being  the 
time-honored  lecture- 
day,  which  was  also  the  one  usually  appoint(!d  for  holding  pul)- 
lic  executions,  as  soon  as  the  public  worship  was  over,  the  drums 
were  again  heard,  the  trained  bands  assembled  and  formed  in 
order,  and  were  then  marched  to  the  prison,  where  they  halted. 
Then  the  high-sheriff,  exhibiting  his  warrant,  called  for  the 
bodies  of  the  prisoners  by  name,  their  irons  were  knocked  oif  by 
the  jailer,  and,  after  tenderly  embracing  each  other,  they  were 
led  forth  to  take  their  places  in  the  ranks  of  the  guard,  Mary 
being  placed  between  the  two  men  who  were  to  suffer  with  her. 
A  great  multitude  had  asseiid)](!d  to  witness  these  solemn  pro- 


HAND   REEL. 


MARY   DYER.  43 

ceedings.  The  procession  then  moved,  the  prisoners  on  foot, 
tlie  people  pressing  cdosely  around  them,  in  order  nc^t  to  hjse  a 
word  of  what  they  might  say  ;  but  whenever  the  condemned 
attempted  to  speak,  as  now  and  then  they  did,  the  drummers 
were  ordered  to  beat  their  drums,  and  so  drowned  the  voices  in 
tlie  uproar.  One  sees  here,  as  always,  that  every  tyranny  is 
afraid  of  its  victims.  Hemmed  in  by  armed  men,  and  sur- 
rouniU'd  by  a  surging  and  excited  throng,  the  prisoners  walked 
hand  in  hand  all  the  way  to  the  scafibld,  supporting  and  com- 
forting each  other  in  this  most  trying  moment  with  a  sublime 
fortitude.  The  brutal  marshal,  seeing  this,  said  sneeringly  to 
Mary  :  "  Are  you  not  ashamed,  you,  to  walk  thus  hand  in  liand 
between  two  young  men  1 " 

Unmoved  by  the  taunt,  she  replied  :  "  No ;  this  is  to  me  an 
hour  of  the  greatest  joy  I  could  have  in  this  world." 

The  cortege  having  at  length  reached  the  place  of  execution, 
it  having  marched  by  a  roundabout  way,  — for  fear,  it  is  said, 
that  a  rescue  might  be  attempted,  — Mary  and  her  fellow  sulferers 
bid  each  other  a  last  farewell.  Ilobinson  first  ascended  the  fatal 
ladder.  While  uttering  his  dying  words,  predicting  a  visitation 
of  divine  wrath  to  come  upon  his  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  w^ere  these  :  "  Be  it  known  unto  all, 
this  day,  that  we  suffer  not  as  evil-doers,  but  for  conscience' 
sake." 

It  was  now  Mary's  turn.  Her  two  dear  friends  were  hanging 
dead  before  her  eyes.  Fearlessly  she  mounted  the  fatal  ladder, 
and  fearlessly  she  submitted  herself  to  the  hangman's  hands. 
She  was  then  pinioned,  blindfolded,  and  the  fatal  noose  placed 
about  her  neck.  All  being  then  ready,  the  crowd  awaited  the 
last  act  in  breathless  suspense,  when  in  the  distance  a  voice  was 
heard  crying  out,  "  Stop  !  She  is  reprieved  !  " 

The  agitation  of  the  spectators  is  something  that  Ave  can  only 
faintly  conceive.  But  Mary,  it  is  said,  remained  calm  and 
unmoved  through  it  all.     "  Her  feet  being  loosed,"  says  Sewel, 


44  NEW-EXGLANI)    LEGENDS. 

'•  they  bade  her  cume  down.  But  slie,  whii^e  mind  was  ah'cady 
as  it  were  in  heaven,  stood  still,  ami  said  she  was  tliere  willing 
to  suiler  as  her  brethren  did,  unless  they  would  annul  their 
wicked  law."  She  was  then  taken  down  from  the  scaU'old  and 
re-conducted  to  prison,  where  her  son,  who  w'as  anxiously  await- 
ing her  return,  embraced  her  as  one  risen  from  the  dead.  ( *nly 
then  she  h'arned  that  to  Ins  importunity  with  the  magistrates 
she  owed  her  deliverance  from  the  fate  of  her  brethren.  The 
son  had  saved  his  mother.  The  death-sentence  had  been  com- 
muted to  banishment ;  but  Mary  now  received  a  solemn  warning 
to  the  ell'ect  that  the  extreme  penalty  would  surely  be  exacted 
should  she  again  oifend  against  the  majesty  of  the  law.  She 
was  then  conducted  under  guard  to  the  Colony  frontier,  whence 
she  pursued  her  way  home  to  Rhode  Island. 

But  the  old  im[)ulse  reviving  in  lu'r  in  i'ull  force,  in  ddiance 
of  the  warning  thrice  repeated,  JNlary  again  sought  to  ol)tain  the 
crown  of  martyrdom  to  which  she  was  foreordainiMl.  Burning 
witli  fanatical  zeal,  regardless,  too,  of  the  conditions  which  had 
procured  the  remission  of  her  sentence,  she  deliberately  violated 
the  law  again.  In  May,  16G0,  the  unfortunate  woman  had  so 
little  regard  for  her  personal  safety  as  again  to  come  to  "  the 
bloody  town  of  Boston."  She  was  soon  sunnnoned  before  the 
General  Court.  Swift  was  the  judgment,  swift  the  execution. 
Endicott,  indeed,  —  respect  to  his  niaidiood  for  it!  —  ollcred 
her  a  chance  of  escape  ;  but  her  soul  w^as  too  lofty,  her  purpose 
too  strongly  fixed,  to  avail  herself  of  a  subterfuge  to  save  her 
life.  luitlicott  conducted  her  examination.  lie  was  as  hard  as 
iron,  she  gentle  but  undaunted. 

"  Are  you  the  same  JNlary  Dyer  that  was  here  before  1 "  he  began. 

"  I  am  the  same  Mary  Dyer  tliat  was  here  at  tlie  last  General 
Court,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  you  owni  yourself  a  Quaker,  do  you  not  1 "  said  the 
Governor. 

"  I  own  myself  to  be  reproachfully  called  so." 

Then  the  jailer  spoke  up  and  said  that  Mary  was  a  vaga- 
bond. 


MAKY   DYER.  45 

"  I  must  then  repeat  the  seuteuce  once  before  pronounced 
upon  you,"  said  EuiUcott. 

Mary  quii'tly  rejoiueil :  "  That  is  no  more  tluui  what  thou 
saidst  before." 

"  True,"  said  Kndicott  sternly,  "  but  now  it  is  to  be  executed ; 
tlierefore  prepare  yourself  for  nine  (/clock  to-morrow." 

INIary  then  began  to  speak  of  her  call,  when  the  Governor 
burst  out  with,  — 

"  Away  with  her  !  away  with  her  !  " 

In  great  anguish  of  mind,  he  being  wholly  ignorant  that  she 
meditated  this  fatal  step,  her  husband  wrote  to  the  General 
Court  of  Massachusetts,  once  more  imploring  its  clemency. 
His  entreaties  would  have  moved  a  stone  to  pity.  But  it  was 
now  too  late.  On  the  first  day  of  June  the  solemn  ceremonies 
of  the  previous  October  were  repeated.  The  scafibld  was 
erected  on  Boston  Common,  a  broad  area  of  unoccupied  land 
adjoining  the  town,  then  used  by  the  inhabitants  in  commonage, 
and  on  muster-days  as  a  training-lield,  as  well  as  for  the  place 
of  public  execution. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  marshal  came  for  her,  and  enter- 
ing without  ceremony  the  cell  where  she  was,  he  roughly  bade 
her  make  haste.  Mary,  speaking  to  him  mildly,  asked  a  few 
moments'  delay,  saying  that  she  would  be  ready  presently.  But 
he  rudely  and  unfeelingly  retorted  that  it  was  her  place  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  not  his  upon  her.  Then  one  of  the  female  pris- 
oners, with  the  instinct  of  her  sex,  ventured  to  expostulate  with 
this  brutal  functionary,  when  he  turned  upon  her  fiercely,  and 
with  threats  and  abuse  silenced  her.  In  fact,  the  Quakeresses 
were  treated  like  vagabonds  and  outcasts. 

The  authorities  having  reason  to  fear  a  popular  tumult,  the 
prisoner  was  taken  strongly  guarded  over  a  circuitous  route  to 
the  fatal  spot,  and  again  her  voice  was  silenced  by  the  rattle  of 
drums  before  and  behind  her.  With  the  birds  innocently  twit- 
tering above  her  head,  once  more  Mary  ascended  the  scaffold 
with  a  firm  step.  Pity  was  not  wholly  extinct.  Some  of  the 
people  present  made  a  last  effort  to  save  her,  but  Mary  would 


46  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

not  agree  to  leave  the  country.  To  the  hope  some  expressed 
that  her  life  would  be  again  spared,  the  officer  commanding 
the  armed  escort  roughly  retorted  that  she  was  guilty  of  Ler 
own  blood. 

"  Nay,"  she  replied,  "  I  came  to  keep  bloodguiltiness  from 
you,  desiring  you  to  repeal  the  unrighteous  and  unjust  law  made 
against  the  innocent  servants  of  the  Lord." 

Mr.  Wilson,  minister  of  Boston,  attended  her  on  the  scaffold 
in  her  last  moments,  not  to  offer  consolation,  but  to  exhort  her 
to  recant. 

"Mary  Dyer,"  he  exclaimed,  "oh,  repent!  oh,  repent!  Be 
not  so  deluded  and  carried  away  by  the  deceits  of  the  Devil ! " 

She  answered  him  in  terms  of  mild  reproof:  "Nay,  man,  I  am 
not  now  to  repent." 

A  colloquy  by  which  her  last  moments  were  embittered  was 
kept  up  on  the  scaffold.  She  was  reproached  for  saying  that 
she  had  been  in  paradise.  She  reiterated  it.  "  Yes,"  said  this 
undaunted  woman,  "  I  liave  been  in  paradise  several  days." 

The  executioner  then  performed  his  office. 


THE   KING'S  MISSIVE. 

1661. 

"  Charles  R. 

"Trusty  and  Wellbeloverl,  we  greet  you  well.  Having  been 
informed  tluit  several  of  our  Subjects  among  you,  called  Quakers, 
have  been  and  are  imprisoned  by  you,  whereof  some  have  been  exe- 
cuted, and  others  (as  hath  been  represented  unto  us)  are  in  Danger 
to  undergo  the  Like  :  We  have  thought  fit  to  signify  our  Pleasure 
in  that  Behalf  for  the  future,  and  do  require,  that  if  there  be  any  ot 
those  people  called  Quakers  amongst  you,  now  already  condenmed  to 
suffer  Death,  or  otlier  Corporal  Punisliment,  or  that  are  imprisoned, 
or  obnoxious  to  the  like  Condemnation,  ymi  aru  to  forbear  to  proceed 
any  farther,  but  lliut  you  fortliwitli  send  tlic  said  Persons  (whether 


THE  king's  missive.  47 

condemned,  or  imprisoned)  over  to  this  our  Kingdom  of  EngLind, 
together  with  their  respective  Crimes  or  Oftences  hiid  to  their  Charge, 
to  the  End  such  Course  may  be  taken  with  them  here,  as  sliall  be 
agreeable  to  our  Laws  and  their  Demerits.  And  for  so  doing,  these 
our  Letters  shall  be  your  suihcient  Warrant  and  Discharge.  Given 
al  our  Court  at  Wliitehall,  the  9th  day  of  September,  1661,  in  the 
tliirteenth  Year  of  our  Keigu. 

"  Subscribed,  To  our  Trusty  and  Wellbeloved  John  Endicot,  Escj. ; 
and  to  all  and  every  other  the  Governour  or  Governours  of  our  Plan- 
tation of  New-England,  and  of  the  Colonies  thereunto  Ijelonging,  that 
now  are,  or  hereafter  shall  be  :  And  to  all  and  every  the  Ministers 
and  Officers  of  our  said  Plantation  and  Colonies  whatever,  within 
the  Continent  of  New-England. 

"  By  His  Majesty's  Command. 

"WiL.  Morris." 

T'^HIS  was  no  common  letter  which  in  November,  IGGl,  fell 
like  a  bomhshell  into  the  wicked  town  of  Boston.  It  was 
certainly  an  alarming  manifesto.  It  brought  a  proud  and  sen- 
sitive people,  Avlio  had  ceased  to  pay  respect  to  loyalty,  and 
had  almost  forgotten  its  forms,  once  more  rudely  to  their  knees. 
And  they  were  a  stern  race,  fearing  God  more  than  they  honored 
the  King.  But  they  felt  the  shock  that  had  just  overthrown 
tiie  Puritan  Commonwealth  ;  and  the  voice  which  rose  from 
among  its  ruins,  commanding  them  to  obey,  sounded  at  the 
moment  in  their  ears  very  much  like  the  voice  of  God. 

Continued  encroachment  upon  the  prerogative  of  the  throne 
had  doubtless  much  to  do  with  ordering  their  destiny,  —  possi- 
lily  as  much  as  had  the  cruelties  practised  toward  the  offending 
Quakers,  to  wdiose  prayers  for  redress  the  Parliament  had  paid 
little  attention ;  but  with  the  return  of  the  old  monarchy,  its 
likings  and  its  hatreds,  the  politic  Friends  had  hopes  that  the 
easy-going  Charles  would  lend  a  more  gracious  ear  to  them  in 
the  hour  of  his  great  triumph  over  the  Puritan  cause  ;  nor 
M'ould  he  be  found  unwilling  to  lower  the  pride  of  those 
haughty  Puritan  subjects  of  his  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
who  were  endeavoring  to  carry  on   a  little  commonwealth   of 


48 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


their  own.  The  moment  was  indeed  oi)portune.  Floating  in 
adulation,  Charles  the  king  was  well  disposed  to  clemency 
toward  all  except  those  who  had  kept  him  i'or  twelve  years 
Charles  the  exile.  The  Quakers  were  on  their  part  strongly 
roused  to  make  renewed  elibrt,  too,  by  the  news  they  received 
of  the  execution  of  AYilliam  Leddra  at  Boston.  Then  Edward 
Burroughs,  a  leading  Friend,  and  a  man  of  actit)n,  entreated  and 
obtained  an  audience  of  the  King. 


ENDICOTT   RECEIVlNi;    THK    KING  S   ORDER. 


When  he  was  ushered  into  tlie  presence-chamber  his  hrst 
words  were, — 

"  Sire,  there  is  a  vein  of  innocent  blood  opened  in  your 
Majesty's  dominions  which,  if  not  stopped,  may  overrun  all." 

"  I  will  stop  that  vein,"  said  the  King,  shortly. 

Burrouglis  then  laid  before  the  King  a  detailed  account  of 
what  had  been  done  in  New  England.  After  he  had  listened 
to  the  catalogue  of  scourgin;^8,  brandings,  cropped  ears,  banish- 
ments upon  ])aiii   of  dcalli,  and   lastly  of  the  execution  of  four 


THE    KINCi's   MISSIVE.  49 

persons  of  this  sect  for  presuming  to  return  to  the  Colony  when 
i'orbiilden  to  do  so,  tlie  suitor,  turning  accuser,  then  presented  the 
King  with  tlie  pmofs  tluit  the  ]S'ew  EnghuKl  autliorities  liad 
refused  to  allow  the  C^hiakers  an  appeal  to  England  wdien  they 
had  tlemanded  it.  His  Majesty  is  reported  to  have  taken  great 
notice  of  this  particular  item  of  the  indictment,  calling  out  to 
the  lortls  who  were  with  him  to  hear  it,  and  then  exclaiming 
ironicalh',  — 

"  Lo  !  these  are  my  good  subjects  of  New  England." 

He  then  incpiired  when  a  ship  would  be  ready  to  sail  for  New 
England,  and  upon  being  informed,  dismissed  Burroughs,  with 
the  promise  that  he  should  presently  hear  from  him  through  the 
Lord  Chancellor.  This  promise  Charles  punctually  kept.  The 
mandatory  letter  which  precedes  our  account  was  duly  prepared, 
and  then  —  bitterest  pill  of  all  for  the  disloyal  colonists  to  swal- 
low !  —  whom  should  the  King's  minister  select  to  be  the  bearer 
of  it,  but  Samuel  Shattuck,  an  exiled  Quaker,  and  one  wdio  had 
gi\'en  the  New  England  magistrates  no  end  of  trouble,  he  being 
tinally  lianished  l)y  them  fi'om  the  Colony  upon  pain  of  death. 
It  will  thus  be  seen  that  nothing  had  been  omitted  that  could 
render  the  humiliation  complete. 

The  London  Friemls,  immediately  this  was  done,  chartered 
a  vessel,  of  •which  IJaliih  Goldsmith,  another  Quaker,  was  cap- 
tain, to  carry  the  King's  order  and  his  messenger  to  Boston. 
Li  six  weeks  the  ship  arrived  at  her  destination.  It  being  the 
Sabbath,  all  the  company  remained  quietly  on  board. 

Seeing  a  vessel,  with  an  English  ensign  at  her  peak,  cast 
anchor  in  their  road,  some  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town  hastened 
on  board  to  learn  the  news,  little  dreaming  it,  however,  to  be 
of  so  much  personal  interest  to  themselves.  They  eagerly  asked 
the  captain  if  he  had  brought  any  letters ;  for,  as  may  be  imag- 
ined, intelligence  of  the  events  then  taking  place  in  England  was 
awaited  with  the  utmost  anxiety  and  impatience.  The  master 
replied  that  he  had,  but  he  w'ould  not  deliver  them  on  that  day ; 
and  so  his  visitors  got  into  their  boat  and  went  on  shore  again 
as  wise  as  they  came.      But  in  the  meantime  some  of  them 

4 


50 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


having  recognized  Shattuck  and  others  on  board  as  being 
Quakers,  they  spread  the  report  that  "  Shattuck  and  the  devil 
and  all  had  come  back  again." 

The  next  morning,  armed  with  the  King's  mandate,  Shattuck 
came  on  shore  accompanied  by  Goldsmith,  the  master,  and  they 
two,  after  sending  their  boat  back  to  the  ship,  -svent  directly 
through  the  town  to  Governor  Endicott's  house,  passing  in  their 


LIBEKTY    TKEK,    I'LANTKD    164ii.      ISUILDING    ERECTED    Imti. 


way  the  market-place  wliere  so  many  of  their  fri(>.nds  had  been 
mercilessly  whipped,  and  the  jail  in  wdiich  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  Ijusiness 
with  his  master.      They  bid  him  say  that,  being  charged  with 


THE  king's  missive.  51 

the  commands  of  his  Majesty  the  King,  they  should  deliver 
their  message  into  none  but  the  Cioveruor's  own  hands.  They 
•were  then  admitted  without  further  (j^ue.stioning,  and  presently 
the  redcudited  Governor  came  in  to  them  ;  but  upon  perceiving 
that  Shattuck  kept  his  hat  on,  he  commanded  it  to  be  taken 
off,  wliich  was  done.  Then  having  received  the  deputation  and 
the  papers,  the  Governor  formally  acknowledged  its  olhcial  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  enjoying  his  moral  degradation  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  Endicott  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  Gold- 
smith to  follow  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  which  may  easily  be  imagined  from  the  sequel,  the 
Governor  turned  to  the  messengers  and  said  briefly  and  with 
dignity,  — 

"  We  shall  obey  his  Majesty's  command." 

After  this  interview  was  ended.  Goldsmith  gave  liberty  to  all 
his  passengers  to  come  on  shore,  which  they  did,  and  afterward 
pubHcly  held  a  religious  meeting  with  those  of  their  faith  in  the 
town,  ''  returning  thanks  to  God  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  affairs  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."  He  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.  Whittier,  whose 
"King's  ISIissive,"  prepared  for  the  "Memorial  History  of  Bos- 


62  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

ton,"  deals  exclusively  with  tlie  events  surrounding  the  order  of 
Charles  II.  The  two  pieces  oiler,  however,  a  striking  contrast 
in  method  as  Avell  as  in  style,  one  being  a  consecutive  and  homo- 
geneous narrative,  while  the  other  is  made  up  of  separated  inci- 
dents, selected  here  and  there  for  their  dramatic  quality  rather 
than  their  coherence  or  historical  sequence,  lioth,  however, 
have  the  same  purpose  —  eternally  to  set  the  seal  of  condem- 
nation on  a  great  wrong  by  exhibiting  the  (Quakers  in  the  light 
of  martyrs.  To  this  end  Mr.  Longfellow  takes  for  his  heroine  a 
young  girl,  Edith  Christison  by  name,  who  is  brutally  scourged 
from  town  to  town,  is  then  released,  and  driven  forth  into 
the  wilderness.  Such  was  the  law,  and  such  things  actually 
occurred.  Singularly  enough,  this  is  also  the  motive  of  Mr. 
Whittier's  "  Cassandra  Southwick."  In  both  cases  the  youth, 
beauty,  constancy,  and  heroism  of  the  suflerers  strongly  appeal 
to  our  sympatliies,  and  are  supposed  deeply  to  move  the  actual 
spectators.  But  with  a  deeper  insight  into  the  human  lieart 
Mr.  Longfellow  makes  the  son  of  Governor  Endicott  himself 
fall  in  love  with  Edith,  whose  martyrdom  he  has  witnessed, 
thus  bringing  straight  home  to  the  stern  father  the  consequences 
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  profligate  and  irreligious  of 
monarchs,  the  beneficent  era  of  religious  toleration  began  its 
unpromising  dawning  in  Ncav  England. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  whenever  they  can  do  so,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's cliaracters  speak  in  the  actual  language  of  history. 
Indeed,  the  tragedy  is  not  a  creation,  like  "  Ernani,"  but  a  frag- 
ment of  sober  history,  taken  from  existing  records,  into  wlii(,'h 
a  poetic  feeling  is  infused,  and  whose  episodical  pnits  afford 
occasional  glimpses  of  the  author's  genius  shining  like  pure 
gold  in  the  rough  metal. 


THE   KING  S   MISSIVE. 


(F7'om  Longfellow^ s  "  Neio  England  Tragedies^) 

Scene  III.    The  Governor's  Private  Room.    Papers  upo7i  the  talk.    Endicott 
a7ui  Bellingham. 


ENDICOTT. 

Thus  the  old  tyranny  revives  again  ! 
Its  arm  is  long  enough  to  reach  us  here, 
As  you  will  see.     For,  more  insulting  still 
Than  flaunting  in  our  faces  dead  men's  shrouds, 
Here  is  the  King's  Man<hinius,  taking  from  us, 
From  this  day  forth,  all  power  to  punish  Quakei's. 

BELLINGHAM. 

That  takes  from  us  all  power  ;  we  are  but  puppets. 
And  can  no  longer  execute  our  laws. 


\)petis  the  Mandamus  and  hands  it  to  Bellingham  ;  and  while  he  is  reading, 
Endicott  walks  tq]  and  doivn  the  room. 

Here,  read  it  for  yourself ;  you  see  his  words 

Are  pleasant  words  —  considerate  —  not  rej)roachful  — 

N  othing  could  be  more  gentle  —  or  more  royal  ; 

But  then  the  meaning  underneatl)  the  words, 

Mark  that.     He  says  all  people  known  as  Quakers 

Among  us,  now  condemned  to  suti'er  death 

Or  any  corporal  punishment  whatever, 

Who  are  imprisoned,  or  may  be  obnoxious 

To  the  like  condemnation,  shall  be  sent 

Fortlnvith  to  England,  to  be  dealt  with  there 

In  such  wise  as  shall  be  agreeable 

Unto  the  English  law  and  their  demerits. 

Is  it  not  so  ? 

BELLINGHAM  {returning  thepajxr). 
Ay,  so  the  paper  says. 


.54  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


ENDICOTT. 

1  tell  you,  Eichard  Belliiigliam,  —  I  tell  you, 

That  this  is  the  beginning  of  a  struggle 

Of  which  no  mortal  can  foresee  the  end. 

I  shall  not  live  to  fight  the  battle  for  you, 

I  am  a  man  disgraced  in  every  way  ; 

This  order  takes  from  me  my  seK-respect 

And  the  respect  of  others.     'T  is  my  doom, 

Yes,  my  death-warrant,  —  but  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  bear  f;ilse  witness,  and  to  spread  reports 

That  might  be  prejudicial  to  ourselves.       [Exit  Bellingham. 

There's  a  dull  pain  keeps  knocking  at  my  heart, 

Dolefully  saying,  "  Set  thy  house  in  order, 

For  thou  shalt  surely  die,  and  shalt  not  live  !  " 

For  me  the  shadow  on  the  dial-plate 

Goeth  not  back,  but  on  into  the  dark !  [Exit. 

Mr.  Wliittier's  poem  presents  the  events  we  have  recorded 
in  a  harmonious  and  remarkably  picturesque  narrative.  He  is 
conscientiously  faithful  both  to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  the 
subject  itself,  while  to  the  implacable  spirit  of  persecution, 
personified  here  by  Endicott,  he  is  a  generous  and  impartial 
judge.  We  write  it,  nevertheless,  as  a  fact,  that  the  poem 
caused  mucli  discussion  on  its  first  appearance,  —  a  discussion 
fully  vindicating  the  Quaker  poet's  adherence  to  tlie  truth  of 
history.  But  the  prose  and  poetic  versions  are  now  before  the 
reader  for  his  decision. 

THE  KING'S   MISSIVE. 

Under  the  great  hill  sloping  bare 

To  cove  and  meadow  and  Common  lot, 

In  his  council  chamber  and  oaken  chair 
Sat  the  worshij)ful  Governor  Endicott,  — 


THE    KINC'S    MISSIVE.  55 

A  grave,  strong  man,  who  knew  no  peer 
In  the  pilgi'ini  hind  wliere  he  ruled  in  fear 
Of  God,  not  man,  and  for  good  or  ill 
Held  his  trust  with  an  iron  will. 

He  had  shorn  with  his  sword  the  cross  from  out 
The  flag,  and  cloven  the  JNIay-pole  down, 

Harried  the  heathen  round  about, 
And  whipped  the  Quakei's  from  town  to  town. 

Earnest  and  honest,  a  man  at  need 

To  burn  like  a  torch  for  his  own  harsh  creed, 

He  kept  with  the  flaming  brand  of  his  zeal 

The  gate  of  the  holy  connnonweal. 


The  door  swung  open,  and  Rawsou  the  Clerk 

Entered  and  whispered  underbreath  • 
"  There  waits  below  for  the  hangman's  work 

A  fellow  banished  on  pain  of  death,  — 
Shattuck  of  Salem,  unhealed  of  the  whip, 
Brought  over  in  Master  Goldsmith's  ship. 
At  anchor  here  in  a  Christian  port 
With  freight  of  the  Devil  and  all  his  sort ! " 

Twice  and  thrice  on  his  chamber  floor 
Striding  fiercely  from  wall  to  wall, 
"  The  Lord  do  so  to  me  and  more," 

The  Governor  cried,  "  if  I  hang  not  all  ! 
Bring  hither  the  Quaker."     Calm,  sedate, 
With  tlie  look  of  a  man  at  ease  with  fate, 
Into  that  presence  grim  and  dread 
Came  Samuel  Shattuck  with  hat  on  head. 

"  Off  with  the  knave's  hat !  "     An  angry  hand 

Smote  down  the  offence ;  but  the  wearer  saidj 
With  a  quiet  smile  :  "  By  the  King's  command 

1  bear  his  message  and  stand  in  his  stead." 
In  the  Governor's  hand  a  missive  he  laid 
With  the  Royal  arms  on  its  seal  displayed. 
And  the  proud  man  spake  as  he  gazed  thereat, 
Uncovering,  "  Give  Mr.  Shattuck  his  hat." 


66  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

He  turned  to  the  Quaker,  bowing  low  : 

"  The  King  comniandeth  your  friends'  release. 
Doubt  not  he  shall  be  obeyed,  although 

To  his  subjects'  sorrow  and  sin's  increase. 
What  he  here  enjoineth  John  Endicott 
His  loyal  servant  questioneth  not. 
You  are  free  !  —  God  grant  the  spirit  you  own 
May  take  you  from  us  to  parts  unknown." 


THE   QUAKER   PROPHETESS. 

1677. 

THE  Old  South  Church  in  Boston  —  not  the  present  build- 
ing, but  the  one  first  erected  upon  the  same  sjiot  —  was 
the  scene  of  an  event  without  a  parallel  in  tlie  annals  of  our 
Puritan  churches,  in  some  of  which,  nevertheless,  remarkable 
scenes  had  o(;curred. 

To  the  simple  and  austei'e  Quaker  manners,  outdoing  even 
Puritan  ideas  of  moral  and  j)hysical  self-restraint,  now  and  then 
comes  the  unexpected  contrast  of  theatrical  climax  in  its  most 
bizarre  forms.  So  the  early  history  of  the  Friends  in  New 
England  shows  the  dominant  principle  of  passive  opposition  to 
persecution  occasionally  giving  way,  all  at  once,  to  an  aggressive 
sfjirifc  that  im[)elled  the  actors  on  through  thorny  ways  towanl 
the  goal  for  which  they  strove  and  struggled.  If,  now  and  then, 
ojie  half  crazed  by  sufl'ering  was  lietrayed  into  some  act  of  folh', 
it  is  surely  not  a  matter  for  astonishment  or  exultation.  Tlieir 
annals  present  the  names  of  no  informers  and  no  apostates. 

Obeying  the  connnand  of  a  hallucination  to  Avhich  she  bowed 
as  if  it  were  a  divine  behest,  the  Quakeress  Deborah  Wilson 
had  walked  naked  through  tlie  streets  of  Salem  "  as  a  sign  of 
spiritual  nakedness  in  town  and  country,"  and  for  so  doing  she 
was  most  uncharitably  whipped  witli  thirty  stripes.  Again, 
Lydia  Wardwell,  who   is   called   "  a  young  and  tender  chaste 


THE   QUAKER   PROPHETESS.  57 

person,"  for  startling  the  congregation  of  Ncw])ury  by  walking 
into  the  meeting-house  there,  unclothed,  in  the  time  of  pul)lic 
worship,  was  tied  up  to  the  fence-post  of  the  tavern  where  the 
court  sat,  at  Ipswich,  to  undergo  a  similar  punishment. 

But  the  case  of  jNIargaret  Brewster  differs  from  these  otliers  in 
that  a  iiuinl)er  of  persons  took  part  in  carrying  out  what  it  was 
expected  would  strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  Leholders,  and 
to  this  end  it  was  conducted  with  studied  attention  to  dramatic 
etiect. 

One  (juiet  Sabbath  morning  in  July,  1G77,  accompanied  by 
several  of  the  most  noted  persons  of  her  sect,  both  male  and 
female,  Margaret  Brewster  presented  herself  at  the  door  of  the 
Old  South  Meeting-house  in  sermon-time,  tlie  strangest  visitor 
that  hail  ever  crossed  its  consecrated  threshold.  She  iirst  took 
off  her  riding-habit  and  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  then 
entered.  In  his  Diary,  which  perhaps  may  become  as  famous 
as  that  of  the  immortal  Pepys,  Judge  Sewall  notes  that  while 
the  congregation  was  listening  to  the  words  of  the  sermon  from 
the  aged  pastor's  lips,  there  suddenly  was  seen  tlie  ajiparition 
of  a  woman  walking  slowly  up  the  broad  aisle  between  two 
men,  while  two  others  walked  behind.  Tlie  woman  was  bare- 
footed, her  head  was  sprinkled  with  ashes,  her  loosened  hair 
straggled  wildly  down  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  her  face 
was  besmeared  with  soot,  and  she  wore  a  sackcloth  gown  loosely 
gathered  around  her  person.  This  appearance,  says  the  indig- 
nant diarist,  ' '  occasioned  the  greatest  and  most  amazing  uproar 
that  ever  I  saw." 

!No  one  has  tuld  us,  but  we  can  imagine  the  congregation 
rising  in  consternation  to  their  feet,  the  sudden  stop  in  the 
sermon,  the  moment  of  silence,  like  the  calm  before  the  storm, 
during  which  the  dark  prophetess  delivered  her  solemn  warning 
of  a  grievous  calamity  shortly  to  signify  to  them  the  displeasure 
of  God.  Then  the  ex(,'ited  voices  of  the  men,  all  talking  and 
gesticulating  at  once,  the  women  shrieking  in  terror  or  dropping 
in  a  dead  faint,  the  surging  to  and  fro  of  a  multitude,  all  occa- 
sioning  "  the  greatest  and   most  amazing  uproar  "  that  was  ever 


58  new-ex(;lani)  legends. 

lieard  inside  these  sacred  walls,  witnessed  to  the  little  central 
grouj)  that  they  had  indeed  created  a  profound  sensation.  The 
offenders  were  all  quickly  taken  into  custody  and  hurried  olf  to 
prison.  When  Margaret  was  arraigned  before  the  court,  the 
constable  declared  himself  av  holly  unable  to  identity  her  as  the 


ANCIENT    UOUSES,    NORTH    END. 


person  he  had  arrested,  she  being  then,  as  he  deposed,  "  in 
the  shape  of  a  devil."  She  was  sentenced  to  be  whipped  up 
and  down  the  town  at  the  cart's  tail,  which  cruel  order  was 
carried  into  effect  a  few  days  later. 

This  event,  as  well  it  might,  newly  brought  the  affairs  of  the 
Friends  to  a  crisis.  The  first  feeling  of  exasp(>ration  demanded 
its  victims.  But  this  having  spent  itself,  the  Quakers,  taking 
courage,  assembled  in  their  houses  of  worship  in  such  formidable 
numbers  that  the  multitude  of  offenders  became  their  safe- 
guard. 


IN   THE   OLD   SOUTH   CHUKCH. 
IN   THE   OLD    SOUTH    CHURCH. 

J.    G.    WIIITTIEU. 

She  came  and  stood  in  tlie  Old  South  Cliurcli, 

A  wonder  and  a  sign, 
With  a  look  the  old-time  sibyls  wore, 

Half  crazed  and  half  divine. 

Save  the  mournful  sackcloth  about  her  wound, 

Unclothed  as  the  primal  mother, 
With  limbs  that  trembled,  and  eyes  that  blazed 

With  a  fire  she  dare  not  smother. 

Loose  on  her  shoulder  fell  her  hair, 

With  sprinkled  ashes  gray  ; 
She  stood  in  the  broad  aisle,  strange  and  weird 

As  a  soul  at  the  judgment-day. 

And  the  minister  paused  in  his  sermon's  midst, 
And  the  people  held  their  breath. 

For  these  were  the  words  the  maiden  said 
Through  lips  as  pale  as  death  :  — 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  :  '  With  et^ual  feet 

All  men  my  courts  shall  tread. 
And  priest  and  ruler  no  more  shall  eat 

My  people  up  like  bread! ' 

"  Repent  !  repent !  ere  the  Lord  shall  speak 

In  thunder  and  breaking  seals  ! 
Let  all  souls  worship  him  in  the  way 

His  light  within  reveals  !  " 

She  shook  the  dust  from  her  naked  ieet, 

And  her  sackcloth  closely  drew, 
And  into  the  porch  of  the  awe-hushed  church 

She  passed  like  a  ghost  from  view. 


60  ISEW-ENGLAKD   LEGENDS. 


"MORE   WONDERS   OF   THE   INVISIBLE 
WORLD." 

1693. 

TO  one  who  is  not  familiar  with  all  the  phases  which  the 
history  of  witchcraft  in  New  England  takes,  Mr.  Whit- 
tier's  jx)ein  entitled  "  Calcf  in  Boston  "  would  doubtless  be  an 
enigma,  although  its  foundation  is  fact  and  its  purpose  distinct. 
For  such  a  champion  of  common-sense  as  Robert  Calef  proved 
himself  to  be  when  he  entered  the  lists  against  this  monstrous 
superstition,  the  poet  has  a  natural  and  unstinted  sympathy,  and, 
using  the  privilege  of  genius,  lie  has  conferred  upon  the  humble 
tradesman  a  patent  of  nobility.  Oar  own  generation,  applaud- 
ing  the  act,  hastens  to  inscribe  the  name  of  Calof  among  the 
benefactors  of  his  age. 

The  general  subject  of  witchcraft,  including  the  settled  be- 
liefs touching  it,  is  set  forth  in  another  place  in  all  its  defor- 
mity. The  active  agency  of  Satan  iu  human  affliirs  being  a 
thing  admitted,  it  became  the  bounden  duty  of  the  godly  minis- 
ters to  meet  liis  insidious  attacks  upon  the  churches,  and  they, 
as  men  deeply  learned  in  such  things,  were  naturally  appealed  to 
by  magistrates  and  judges  for  help  and  guidance.  They  at  once 
put  on  all  the  armor  of  righteousness.  Solemn  ftisting  and 
prayer  were  resorted  to  as  things  most  efficacious  in  the  emer- 
gency. It  was  declared  from  the  pulpit  that  the  Devil  was  mak- 
ing a  most  determiued  effort  to  root  out  the  Christian  religion  in 
New  England,  and  the  Government  was  ailvised  vigorously  to 
prosecute  the  cases  of  witchcraft  before  it.  In  all  the  subse- 
quent proceedings  the  ministers  took  a  prominent  part.  They 
assisted  in  framing  the  questions  to  be  ])ut  in  such  a  way  as 
to  entrap  the  supposed  Avitches,  and  they  attended  and  took 
minutes  of  the  examinations.     They  visited  the  accused  persons 


"MOKE   WONDEKS   OF   THE    INVISIBLE    WUULH."  61 

in  prison  who  were  believed  to  be  in  league  with   Satan,  thus 
putting  in  practice  the  principle  that, — 

The  giiilly  mav  allccfc; 
For  anything  their  privilege, 
And  to  the  Devil  himself  may  go. 
If  they  have  motives  thereunto  ; 
For  as  there  is  a  war  between 
The  Dev  '1  and  them,  it  is  no  sin 
If  they,  by  subtle  stratagem, 
Make  use  of  him  as  he  does  them. 

Cotton  INEathcr  was  the  foremost  clergyman  of  that  dark  day. 
He  directed  all  his  great  abilities  and  learning  energetically  to 
exterminate  the  "devils"  Avho,  as  he  tells  us  in  his  "Wonders," 
were  walking  about  the  streets  "  with  lengthened  chains,  making 
a  dreadful  noise ;  and  brimstone  (even  without  a  metaphor)  was 
making  a  horrid  and  hellish  stench"  in  men's  nostrils.  Learned, 
eloquent,  and  persuasive,  a  man  of  great  personal  magnetism  and 
large  following,  his  influence  was  sure  to  be  potential  on  which- 
ever side  it  might  be  cast.  It  was  now  thrown  with  all  its 
force,  not  to  avert,  but  to  strengthen,  the  delusion,  thereby  aggra- 
vating its  calamitous  consequences.  Some  writers,  indeed,  have 
found  it  easy  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  Mr.  Whittier,  it  will  be 
seen,  writes  in  full  accord  with  this  feeling.  But  the  same  charge 
might  with  equal  fairness  include  all  the  Christian  ministers  of 
Mather's  time. 

Against  Mather,  the  neighbor,  adviser,  and  bosom  friend  of 
Governor  Sir  William  Phips,  the  acknowledged  head  of  the 
New  England  clergy  in  its  highest  spiritual  estate,  a  man  having 
ancient  and  modern  lore  at  his  tongue's  end,  and  withal  gifted 
with  a  fluency,  vivacity,  and  readiness  in  composing  and  writing 
that  might  make  a  bolder  man  hesitate  to  attack  him,  now 
entered  the  lists,  like  another  David,  Robert  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- 


62 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


garet  TJnle,  a  young  woman  of  ISIathor's  own  congregation,  whose 
singular  afflictions  hail  just  been  published  to  the  world  by  him 
under  the  startling  caption  of  "  Another  Brand  pluckt  from 
the  Burning." 

According  to  Mather,  this  young  woman  was  haunted  by 
no  fewer  than  eight  malignant  spectres,  led  on  by  a  principal 
demon,  who  upon  her  refusal  to  enter  into  a  bond  with  him, 
continually  put  her  in  excruciating  bodily  torture  by  pinching, 
scorching,  and  sticking  pins  into  her  flesh,  throwing  her  into 
convulsions,  lifting  her  bodily  off  the  bed,  and  the  like,  wherein. 


CANDLESTICK,    BIBLE,  AND   SPECTACLES. 


says  Mather,  she  languished  "for  just  six  weeks  together."  And 
we  are  also  told  that  at  times  the  spectators  of  her  miseries 
would  be  nearly  choked  Avith  the  fumes  of  brimstone  rising 
in  the  chamber. 

Taking  the  alarm,  which  many  no  doubt  equally  shared,  dread- 
ing a  new  outbreak  of  the  delusion  whose  embers,  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  opposed  in  behalf  of  religion  and  of  public 
policy,  not  only  with  ability  and  vigor,  but  with  a  surprisingly 
well-e(]nipj)ed  arsenal  of  scriptural  learning.  In  vain  Mather 
snceringly  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  weaver  turned  minister,"  Calef 


"MORE   WONDERS   OE   THE    INVISIBLE    WORLD."  63 

ouly  plied  him  the  luoro  ixjiiitedly.  At  the  end  of  the  con- 
troversy tlie  despised  clothier  turned  out  to  bo  one  of  those  men 
wliose  reason  is  never  overthrown  by  panic,  and  who  do  not 
recede  a  single  inch.  INIather  began  with  the  mistake  of  under- 
rating him  as  an  antagonist. 

After  Mather's  story  of  Margaret  Rule  had  been  made  public, 
Calef  also  drew  up  and  circulated  one,  taken  from  the  mouths  of 
other  eye-witnesses,  which  is  a  protest  against  the  methods  used 
by  Mather  to  draw  out  extravagant  and  incoherent  statements 
from  the  afflicted  girl.  This  proceeding  gave  great  offence  to 
the  reverend  author  of  "  The  Wonders."  He  retorted  with  abu- 
sive epithets,  and  threatened  Calef  with  an  action  for  slander. 
Caluf  was,  in  fact,  arrested  on  a  warrant  for  uttering  "  scandalous 
libels,"  and  was  bound  over  for  trial ;  but  no  prosecutor  appear- 
ing, the  case  was  dismissed. 

Instead  of  being  silenced,  Calef  pursued  with  unremitting 
pertinacity  his  purpose  to  prevent  a  new  access  of  the  dismal 
frenzy  of  the  preceding  year,  which  he  terms,  with  strong  feel- 
ing, "  the  sorest  affliction  and  greatest  blemish  to  religion  that 
ever  befell  this  country."  Later  on  Mather  condescended  to 
reply  ;  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  anxiously  considering  how  best  to  excul- 
pate themselves  both  to  their  own  and  to  the  newly  awakened 
public  conscience.  Mather  was  no  exception.  Favored  by  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 
l)ast.  In  it  he  asks,  "  Why,  after  all  my  unwearied  cares  and 
jiains  to  rescue  the  miserable  from  the  lions  and  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  necessity  of  an  apology  1 "  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  these  proofs 


64 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


of  an  Invisible  World  should  spoil  some  of  their  sport,  will 
endeavor  to  turn  theiu  all  into  sport ;  for  which  buti'oonery 
their  only  pretence  will  be  :  '  They  can't  understand  how  such 
things  as  these  could  be  done.' "  He  has  become  exquisitely 
sensitive  to  ridicule. 

But  witchcraft  had  now  indeed  got  to  the  length  of  its  blood- 
corroded  chain,  and  while  the  belief  still  prevailed  almost  as 
strongly  as  ever,  few  men  could  be  found  bold  enough  openly 
to  advocate  it.  The  sickening  reflection  that  the  judges  had 
decreed  tlie  death  of  a  score  of  innocent  persons  upon  a  mis- 
take paralyzed  men's  tongues,  unless,  like  Calef,  they  spoke 
in  obedience  to  the  command  of  conscience.  In  1700  he 
collected  and  had  printed  in  London  all  the  pieces  relating 
to  his  controversy  with  Cotton  Mather,  to  which  were  added 
an  "  Impartial  Account "  of  the  Salem  outbreak,  and  a  review 

of   Mather's    life  of    Sir   Wil- 


TOMB   OF   THE   MATUERS, 
COPP's    HILL. 


liam  Phips.  To  this  he  gave 
the  title  of  "  More  Wonders  of 
the  Invisible  World."  Xo  prin- 
ter could  be  found  in  Boston 
or  in  the  Colony  willing  to 
undertake  the  publication,  or 
expose  it  for  sale.  It  was 
publicly  burned  in  the  College- 
yard  at  Cambridge  by  order  of 
the  president,  whom  its  exposures  reached  through  his  near  rel- 
ative. To  break  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.  Whittier  addresses  his  verses 
entitled  "Calef  in  Boston."  The  allusion  to  puppet-play  is 
drawn  from  the  account  of  the  Rule  case,  wherein  it  is  related 
by  Mather  that  the  demons  who  tormented  the  girl  had  ])uppets 
into  which  they  would  thrust   pins  whenever  they  wished  to 


CALEF   IN    BOSTON.  65 

hurt  her.  This  was  a  pioco  of  oldcu  superstition  which  as- 
sumed that  by  making  an  image  in  wa.x:  or  clay  of  the  person  she 
miglit  hold  a  grudge  against,  a  witch  could  put  that  person  to 
the  same  torture  that  she  did,  in  a  mimic  way,  the  image. 

CALEF    IN    BOSTON. 

J.    G.    WUITTIER. 

In  the  solemn  days  of  old 

Two  men  met  in  Boston  town, 
One  a  tradesman  frank  and  bold, 

One  a  preacher  of  renown. 

Cried  the  last,  in  bitter  tone  : 
"  Poisoner  of  the  wells  of  truth  ! 

Satan's  hireling,  thou  hast  sown 

With  his  tares  the  heart  of  youth  !  " 

Spake  the  simple  tradesman  then  ; 

"  God  be  judge  'twixt  thou  and  I  ; 
All  thou  knowest  of  truth  hath  been 

Unto  men  like  thee  a   lie. 


"  Of  your  spectral  puppet  play 
I  have  traeetl  the  cunning  wires  ; 

Come  what  will,  I  needs  must  say, 
God  is  true,  and  ye  are  liars." 

When  the  thought  of  man  is  free, 
Error  fears  its  lightest  tones ; 

So  the  priest  cried,  "  Sadducee  !  " 
And  the  people  took  up  stones. 

In  the  ancient  burying-ground. 
Side  by  side,  the  twain  now  lie, - 

One  with  humble  grassy  mound, 
One  with  marbles  pale  and  high. 
6 


66  NEW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


NIX'S   MATE. 

THERE  are  two  local  legends,  one  of  disaster  and  one  of 
piracy,  which,  most  unfortunately  for  the  completeness 
of  our  collection,  come  either  in  whole  or  in  part  under  the 
head  of  lost  legends.  The  one  best  known  is  thus  set  forth  in 
rhyme,  for  the  benefit  of  ships  entering  Boston  Harbor : 

"  The  beacon  pass'd,  you  steer  north-west, 
To  pass  by  Nick's  Mate ; 
Who  here  for  crimes  which  all  detest, 
Met  an  unhappy  fate." 

The  other  legend  narrates  the  death  by  drowning  of  Captain 
George  Worthylake,  keeper  of  tlie  first  lighthouse  erected  at  the 
entrance  to  this  port. 

This  sufficiently  simple  incident  derives  its  chief  interest 
from  the  curious  fact  that  it  was  the  subject  of  Benjamin 
Franklin's  earliest,  and  if  we  are  to  believe  him,  misdirected 
effort  to  court  the  Muses  in  a  ballad.  He  says  of  it  that  his 
brother  James,  whose  apprentice  he  then  was,  thinking  that 
he  might  find  his  account  in  printing  them,  had  encoiiraged 
him  to  WTite  two  ballads,  one  called  the  "  Lighthouse  Tragedy," 
containing  an  account  of  the  loss  of  Captain  Worthylake  and 
his  two  daughters,  the  other  a  sailor's  song  on  the  capture  of 
the  noted  pirate,  Blackboard.  "  They  were,"  he  ingenuously 
remarks,  "wretched  verses  in  point  of  style,  mere  blind-men's 
ditties."  When  they  were  struck  off,  his  brother  despatched 
him  to  hawk  them  about  the  town.  The  first  he  assures  us 
had  a  prodigious  run,  because  the  event  was  recent  and  had 
made  a  great  noise.  No  copy  of  this  ballad  is  known  to  exist, 
nor  has  tradition  transmitted  to  us  a  single  line  of  its  verses. 

It  is  easily  learned  from  contemporary  records  that  Captain 
George  Worthylake,  who  lived  upon  Lovell's  Island,  while  on 
his  way  up  the  harbor,  "  took  heaven  by  the  way,"  as  one  writer 
piously  puts  it.     His  wife  Ann  and  his  daugliter  Iluth,  who 


nix's  mate.  67 

accompanied  liim,  also  perished  with  him  by  drowning,  and  the 
three  unfortunates  were  all  buried  in  one  grave  in  the  ancient 
cemetery  of  Copp's  Hill.  The  gravestone  records  the  fact  that 
they  died  November  3,  1718;  but  it  is  exasperatingly  silent 
concerning  any  incident  that  was  likely  to  j^roduce  a  commemo- 
rative ballad. 

The  other  legend  is  the  true  story  of  the  origin  of  the  name 
long  ago  given  to  the  submerged  islet  called  Nix's  Mate,  over 
which  a  lonely  obelisk  rises  out  of  the  flowing  tides,  not  for  a 
memorial  of  dark  and  bloody  deeds,  as  some  people  suppose, 
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  of  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  worth. 

Following  the  repulsive  custom  of  erecting  the  public  gibbet 
at  the  entrance  to  a  town  or  a  village,  where  the  stark  bodies 
of  condemned  malefactors  were  the  first  objects  seen  by  all  who 
passed  in  or  out,  it  was  usual  to  hang  in  chains  condemned 
pirates  at  the  entrance  to  a  port,  to  signal  a  like  warning  to 
those  Avho  followed  the  sea  as  their  highway.  Long  custom 
had  sanctioned  this  post-mortem  sentence.  The  laws  allowed 
it  and  the  people  approved  it.  It  followed  that  the  stranger 
who  passed  underneath  one  of  these  ensigns  of  terror  could 
have  no  doubt  that  he  had  entered  a  Christian  land,  since  tlie 
administration  of  justice  according  to  its  most  civilized  forms 
confronted  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  property  of  a  certain  John  Gallup,  from  whom  the  adjacent 
island  is  named.  The  sea  has  destroyed  every  vestige  of  it, 
excepting  only  the  blackened  boulders  that  lie  exposed  at  low 
tide,  over  which  the  monument  stands  guard.  Yet  not  more 
certainly  has  the  islet  perished  through  the  action  of  destroying 
currents  than  has  the  memory  of  Nix  or  his  Mate  been  swept 


68  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

away  into  oblivion  by  the  tides  of  time.  Still  the  name  is  a 
fact  entered  upon  the  public  records  of  the  Colony  as  a  thing 
of  general  knowledge ;  and  we  therefore  continue  to  call  the 
reef  Nix's  Mate  without  in  the  least  knowing  why  we  do  so. 

The  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  execution  for  condemned  pirates,  several 
of  whom  finished  here  a  career  of  crime,  the  bare  recital  of  which 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold.  The  name  of  Kix  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  the  sea, 
which  the  Avaves  have  kindly  levelled  and  blotted  out  forever. 

It  has,  however,  been  handed  down  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation, —  and  we  have  yet  to  find  the  individual  bold  enough  to 
dispute  it, — that  one  of  these  freebooters  persisted  to  the  last 
in  declaring  his  innocence  of  the  crimes  for  which  he  was  to 
suffer  deatli  at  the  hangman's  hands ;  and  he  protested  with  his 
latest  breath,  before  giving  up  the  ghost,  that  in  proof  of  the 
truth  of  his  dying  assertion  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  Mate  is  supposed  by  them  to  have 
suflTered  unjustly.  But  knowing  as  we  do  that  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  island  is  due  to  natural  causes,  we  are  unable  satis- 
factorily to  establish  the  connection  between  the  prediction  and 
its  fulfilment.  In  any  case,  the  verification  of  innocence,  if  such 
it  shall  be  accounted,  came  too  late  by  a  century  to  save  Nix's 
Mate  from  the  halter. 


THE   DUEL   ON   THE   COMMON.  69 

THE  DUEL   ON   THE   COMMON. 

1728. 

ASSOCIATED  with  the  vicinity  of  the  Great  Elm,  is  an 
episode  not  only  of  deepest  tragical  interest,  but  one 
still  further  remarkable  as  disproving  for  the  thousandth  time 
the  popular  fallacy  that  "  murder  will  out."  In  New  England 
there  had  been  no  need  of  edicts  against  duelling.  The  practice 
was  universally  looked  upon  as  being  no  whit  better  than 
murder,  and  that  feeling  was  voiced  by  Franklin,  truly,  though 
in  language  more  pungent  than  polite,  in  his  memorable  reply 
to  a  demand  for  satisfaction  d  la  mode.  A  combat  of  words 
began.  After  two  or  three  passes,  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  body  of 
Benjamin  Woodbridge,  a  young  merchant  of  the  town,  was 
found  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood  in  a  deserted  part  of  the 
Common.  He  had  been  dead  some  hours  of  a  sword-thrust. 
In  fixct,  the  weapon  had  passed  completely  through  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man. 

No  one  can  begin  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 
getitleman  of  the  town  named  Phillips.  Both  of  the  principals 
were  of  the  highest  respectability.  The  affair  was  conducted 
without  seconds,  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 
baffled  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-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


hardly  consistent  with  the  secrecy,  the  absence  of  all  witnesses, 
and  the  deadly  purpose  with  whicli  the  duel  was  conducted. 
The  parties  had  met  early  on  the  previous  evening  at  the  Royal 
Exchange,  arranged  the  meeting,  and  immediately  repaired  to  the 
rendezvous  which  one  of  them  was  destined  never  to  leave  alive. 

Positively  nothing,  then,  is  known  of  the  origin  of  the  affair. 
Still,  it  is  evident  that  no  common  and  vulgar  (piarrel  over  dice 
or  cards,  when  one  or  both  had  made  too  free  with  "  the  Tus- 
can grape,"  could  have  so  eternally  sealed  the  lips  of  those  to 
whom  the  real  cause  of  this  singular  affair  of  honor  must  have 
been  revealed.     Phillips  was  hurried  away  on  board  a  ship  by 


THE    DUEL   ON   THE    COMMON. 


his  friends,  and  died  miserably  in  exile.  The  inquest  elicited 
nothing  of  moment  beyond  the  barren  facts  here  narrated.  Jus- 
tice was  completely  baffled.  The  headstone  in  the  old  Granary, 
where,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  poor  Woodbridge  was  "  de- 
cently and  handsomely  interred,"  is  silent.  Satan,  who  had  the 
arranging  of  this  lugubrious  combat,  thrust  home  witli  young 
Phillips.  Ignorant  as  we  arc  of  tlie  real  cause,  we  are  yet  irre- 
sistibly led  to  conclude  that  tlicse  misguided  youths  crossed 
swords  not  in  a  moment  of  passion,  but  at  the  instigation  of 
some  offence  over  which  the  grave  itself  must  close.  The  grave 
has  closed  over  it. 


DUG   1)  ANVILLES   DESCENT. 


71 


DUG   D'ANVILLE'S   DESCENT. 


1746. 

HAVING  regard,  possibly,  to  the  maxim  that  a  danger 
escaped  is  a  danger  no  longer,  the  historians  have  in 
general  treated  the  descent  of  Admiral  d'Anville  with  easy 
indifference.  Yet  the 
startling  fact  remains 
that  so  long  as  his  fleet 
rode  the  seas  in  safety, 
the  fate  of  New  Eng- 
land trembled  in  the 
balance.  We  beg  the 
reader's  consideration 
of  the  story  from  this 
point  of  view. 

The  taking  of  Louis- 
burg  in  1745,  a  piece 
of  audacity  at  Avhich 
France  first  stood  aghast, 
and  then  went  into  a 
towering  rage  over  it, 
came  near  being  the 
prelude  to  a  struggle 
involving  nothing  less 
than  the  destinies  of 
England's  American 
colonies.  By  opening 
new  and  alluring  vistas 

of  conquest  to  British  statesmen,  it  set  them  upon  fresh  schemes 
for  the  conquest  of  Canada  which  they  were  secretly  preparing 
to  put  in  execution.  In  fact,  by  this  mettled  achievement. 
New  England  had  driven  the  entering  wedge  into  the  very  heart 


OLD   SOUTH    CnURCU,    1S72. 


72  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  the  French  colonial  empire.  England  was  now  gathering  her 
strength  to  force  it  home. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  so  incensed  the  French  Court,  then  fresh 
from  its  brilliant  victories  in  the  Low  Countries,  that  orders 
were  given  for  the  immediate  equipping,  at  Brest,  of  a  formi- 
dable land  and  sea  armament,  which  it  was  meant  should  not 
only  recover  what  had  been  lost,  but  carry  the  war  energetically 
to  the  enemy's  own  doors.  To  guarantee  the  security  of  your 
possessions  by  recalling  your  enemy  to  the  defence  of  his  own, 
is  a  military  maxim  so  old  that  the  Cabinet  of  Versailles  could 
not  be  safely  assumed  to  be  ignorant  of  it. 

This  double-shotted  idea  promised  results  highly  important  to 
the  colonial  schemes,  as  well  as  to  the  waning  prestige,  of  France. 
So  also  did  it  give  good  promise  of  success  ;  for  at  Paris,  thanks 
to  British  parsimony,  it  was  well  known  that  the  British  Ameri- 
can seaports  were  no  Louisburgs.  Since,  therefore,  to  ravage  the 
New  England  sea-coast  was  a  thing  perfectly  feasible  to  do,  Count 
Maurepas  resolved  to  do  it.  And  he  meant  to  do  it  effectually. 
The  preparations  at  Brest  being  quickly  known  in  London,  the 
two  ancient  gladiators  began  once  more  to  strip  for  the  approach- 
ing combat. 

Pursuing  its  own  plans,  the  English  Ministry  was  at  the 
same  time  collecting  ships,  men,  and  materials  of  war  at  Ports- 
mouth, for  the  invasion  of  Canada.  Orders  were  sent  out  to 
the  Colonies  to  hasten  the  raising  of  troops  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. 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  1746. 

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.  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  Due  d'Anville,  a  man  of 
illustrious  descent,  in  the  prime  of  life,  to  whom  the  fortunes  of 


DUG    D'aXVILLE'S    DESCENT.  73 

the  expedition  had  ])eeu  committed  with  fullest  confidence  in  his 
ahility  to  execute  his  orders  to  the  letter.  Those  orders  were  to 
retake  Louishurg  and  dismantle  its  fortilications,  recapture  Annap- 
olis and  garrison  it,  and  then  to  burn  and  destroy  Boston,  and 
lay  waste  with  fire  and  sword  the  whole  coast  as  far  as  Florida. 

Boston,  the  place  where  the  plans  for  capturing  Louishurg 
had  originated,  tlie  brain  and  heart  of  the  English  Colonies,  the 
centre  of  English  aggression,  the  perpetual  menace  to  French 
dominion  in  Canada,  was  to  be  especially  distinguished  by 
the  vengeance  of  the  Cabinet  of  Versailles.  Boston  was  to  be 
destroyed.  Indeed,  her  defenceless  condition  invited  an  attack. 
Her  oidy  fortress  had  been  stripped  of  its  cannon  to  enable 
Pepperell  to  batter  down  Louishurg.  There  was  no  British 
squadron  to  defend  it,  and  there  was  not  a  single  British  sol- 
dier in  the  whole  province. 

All  these  circumstances  being  appreciated,  it  is  impossible  to 
exaggerate  the  consternation  with  which  the  certain  intelligence 
of  the  escape  of  D'Anville  was  received  at  Boston.  People  stood 
aghast.  The  danger  was  indeed  imminent.  He  might  at  any 
moment  be  exjjected  to  announce  his  arrival  upon  the  coast 
Avith  his  cannon.  England,  says  Hutchinson,  was  not  more 
alarmed  with  the  Spanish  Armada,  than  were  Boston  and  the 
other  Xorth  American  seaports  by  the  hourly  expectation  of  this 
truly  formidable  flotilla.  Brave  man  that  he  was.  Governor 
Shirley  prepared  to  meet  the  emergency  with  such  means  as  he 
had.  But  there  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  He  instantly  called 
out  a  levy  en  masse.  The  scenes  preceding  the  Louishurg  expe- 
dition were  repeated  on  a  larger  scale.  Couriers  spurred  in  every 
direction  bearing  the  summons  to  arms,  and  everywhere  tlie 
brave  yeomanry  responded  witli  eager  promptitude  to  the  call. 
At  night  the  hills  blazed  with  bonfires.  By  day  the  roads 
swarmed  with  armed  men  hastening  toward  Boston.  The  Com- 
mon became  a  camp.  All  business  except  that  of  repelling  the 
invader  was  at  an  end,  and  nothing  else  was  talked  of.  Li  this 
activity  the  people  a  little  recovered  from  the  panic  into  Avhich 
they  had  at  first  been  thrown. 


74  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

While  the  people  were  awaiting  in  feverish  anxiety  further 
news  of  the  fleet,  a  fisherman  came  in  from  sea,  who  said  that  he 
had  been  brought  to  on  the  Nova  Scotia  coast  by  four  heavy 
sliips  of  war.  They  required  him  to  pilot  them  into  Chebucto, 
which  was  the  designated  rendezvous  for  D'Anville's  fleet.  While 
lying  to  under  the  guns  of  one  of  these  ships,  he  read  on  her 
stern  the  name  "  Le  Terrible."  Tlien,  a  fog  having  suddenly 
shut  them  in,  he  had  succeeded  in  making  good  his  escape,  and 
had  steered  directly  for  Boston  with  the  news. 

But  the  splendid  fleet  of  D'Anville  was  destined  to  encounter 
a  series  of  disasters  hardly  paralleled  in  the  naval  annals  of 
France.  An  evil  destiny  pursued  it.  When  it  was  ofl"  Cape 
Sable,  it  experienced  violent  storms  that  scattered  aiid  dispersed 
it  beyond  the  power  of  reassembling.  Conflans  with  four  ships 
made  sail  for  France  ;  others  steered  for  the  West  Indies  ;  and 
still  others  were  drifting,  disabled  wrecks,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
winds  and  waves.  Finally  the  Duke  succeeded  in  getting  to  the 
rendezvous  with  two  or  three  ships  only  of  all  the  magnificent 
squadron  that  had  sailed  from  Brest.  Within  a  week  he  died, 
it  is  hinted  from  the  effect  of  poison  administered  by  himself, 
he  choosing  death  rather  than  to  survive  the  disgrace  which  had 
so  suddenly  overwhelmed  him.  The  Vice- Admiral  then  pro- 
posed that  the  remains  of  the  fleet  should  return  to  France. 
La  Jonqui^re,  Governor-General  of  Canada,  being  present  at  the 
Council,  warmly  opposed  this,  urging  that  the  fleet,  now  aug- 
mented by  the  arrival  of  three  more  ships,  and  strengthened  by 
the  recovery  of  the  sick,  ought  to  strike  one  blow  for  the  lionor 
of  France.  He  begged  the  Vice- Admiral  to  attempt  at  least  the 
carrying  out  of  a  part  of  his  instructions.  These  arguments 
prevailing  with  tlie  Council,  D'Estournelles,  the  Vice-Atlmiral, 
finding  himself  opposed  and  thwarted,  lost  his  head,  became 
delirious,  and  presently  put  an  end  to  his  life  by  falling  on  his 
own  sword.  The  command  then  devolved  on  La  Jonquiere. 
The  troops  that  had  been  landed  were  re-embarked,  and  the 
fleet  sailed  to  attack  Annapolis;  but  it  again  meeting  with  a  dis- 
abling storm,  this  enterprise  was  also  abandoned,  and  the  shat- 


A  BALLAD  OP  THK  FRENCH  FLEET.         75 

tered  remnant  of  D'Anville's  armada  steered  for  France.  Upon 
this  the  French  Canadian  forces  then  invading  Nova  Scotia 
broke  up  their  camps  and  retreated.  The  hopes  of  the  Freucli 
Ministry  had  thus  been  every  whei'e  wrecked. 

When  these  events  became  known  in  Boston,  the  great  weight 
tliat  had  oppressed  the  minds  of  the  people  was  so  suddenly 
lifted  off,  that  at  first  they  could  scarcely  realize  the  change. 
When  they  did,  the  universal  joy  showed  itself,  not  in  noisy 
demonstrations,  but,  in  the  true  Puritan  spirit,  in  prayer  and 
tlianksgiving.  Prayers  of  gratitude  went  up  from  all  the  pul- 
pits ;  for  in  the  utter  destruction  of  D'Anville's  proud  fleet  by 
the  winds  and  waves  alone  was  seen,  on  every  side,  the  hand 
of  God  once  more  manifesting  itself,  as  in  the  old  days,  to  his 
people. 

In  this  spirit,  and  taking  these  truly  picturesque  incidents 
for  his  theme,  Longfellow  supposes  the  Rev.  Thomas  Prince, 
then  pastor  of  the  Old  South  Church  in  Boston,  to  be  recounting 
tliem  to  his  congregation,  ascribing  to  the  power  of  prayer  the 
destruction  that  overtook  the  fleet  of  France. 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FRENCH  FLEET. 

OCTOBER,  1746. 

Mr.  Thomas  Prince  (loquitur). 

A  FLEET  with  flags  arrayed 

Sailed  from  the  port  of  Brest, 
And  the  Admiral's  ship  displayed 

The  signal,  "  Steer  southwest." 
For  this  Admiral  d'Anville 

Had  sworn  by  cross  and  crown 
To  ravage  with  fire  and  steel 

Our  helpless  Boston  town. 

There  were  rumors  in  the  street, 

In  the  houses  there  was  fear 
Of  the  coming  of  the  fleet. 

And  the  danger  hovering  near; 


76 1  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

And  while  from  mouth  to  mouth 
Spread  tlie  tidings  of  dismay, 

I  stood  in  the  Old  South, 
Saying  humbly,  "  Let  us  pray  ! 

"  O  Lord  !  -we  would  not  advise ; 

But  if  in  thy  providence 
A  tempest  should  ai'ise 

To  drive  the  French  fleet  hence, 
And  scatter  it  far  and  wide, 

Or  sink  it  in  the  sea, 
We  should  be  satisfied, 

Antl  thine  the  glory  he." 

This  was  the  prayer  I  made, 

For  my  soul  was  all  on  flame  ; 
And  even  as  I  prayed, 

The  answering  tempest  came,  — 
It  came  with  a  mighty  power, 

Shaking  the  windows  and  Avalla 
And  tolling  the  bell  in  the  tower 

As  it  tolls  at  funerals. 


The  fleet  it  overtook. 

And  the  broad  sails  in  the  van 
Like  the  tents  of  Cushan  shook. 

Or  the  curtains  of  Midian. 
Down  on  the  reeling  decks 

Crashed  the  o'erwhelraing  seas ; 
Ah  !  never  were  there  wrecks 

So  pitiful  as  these  ! 

Like  a  potter's  vessel  broke 

The  great  ships  of  tlie  line  ; 
They  were  carried  away  as  a  smoke, 

Or  sank  like  lead  in  the  brine. 
0  Lord !  befoi-e  thy  path 

They  vanished,  and  ceased  to  be. 
When  thou  didst  walk  in  wrath 

With  thine  horses  tlirou^h  the  sea  ! 


CHRIST  CHURCH. 


77 


CHRIST    CHURCH. 

EDWIN   B.    RUSSELL. 

Gray  8piie,  that  from  tlii'  ancient  street 
The  eyes  of  reverent  pilgrims  greet, 
As  by  thy  bells  their  steps  are  led, 


CHRIST   CHUKCH. 


Thou  liftest  up  thy  voice  to-day, 
Silvery  and  sweet,  yet  strong  as  aye^, 
Above  the  living  and  the  dead. 


78  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Beneath  thy  tower,  how  vast  the  throng 
That  moved  through  porch  and  aisle  along 

The  holy  fane,  the  galleried  height ; 
As  years  came  in,  and  years  went  out, 
With  sob  of  woe,  or  joyful  shout, 

With  re(|uiem  rest,  or  aiitlicui  bright. 

Old  faces  haunt  the  ancient  pew. 
And  in  the  organ-loft  renew 

The  sacred  strain  of  earlier  times. 
When  knight  and  dame  in  worship  bent, 
And  from  their  lips  the  homage  sent 

That  mingled  with  the  answering  chimes. 

And  Iiere  the  patriot  hung  his  light, 
Which  shone  through  all  that  anxious  night. 

To  eager  eyes  of  Paul  Eevere. 
There,  in  the  dark  churchyard  below, 
The  dead  Past  wakened  not,  to  know 

How  changed  the  world,  that  night  of  feai 

The  angels  on  thy  gallery  soar, 
The  Saviour's  face  thine  altar  o'er 

Is  there,  as  in  the  elder  day. 
The  royal  silver  yet  doth  shine, 
And  liolds  the  pledge  of  love  divine. 

That  cannot  change,  nor  pass  away. 


PAUL  REVERE'S   RIDE. 

1775. 

IN  Boston  the  first  inquiry  that  every  stranger  makes  is  for 
Bunker  Hill ;  the  next  is  to  be  directed  to  the  old  church 
wliere  the  lanterns  were  hung  out  on  the  night  before  the  battles 
of  Lexington  and  Concord. 

At  nearly  every  hour  of  the  day  some  one  may  be  seen  in  tlie 
now  unfrequented  street  looking  up  at  the   lofty  spire  with  an 


PAUL  keveke's  kide.  79 

expression  of  deep  satisfaction,  as  if  some  long-cherished  wish 
liad  at  last  been  accomplished. 

While  he  is  endeavoring  to  impress  the  appearance  of  the 
venerable  structure  u})oii  his  memory,  the  pilgrim  to  historic 
shrines  sees  that  a  tablet,  with  an  inscription  cut  upon  it,  is 
iuibedded  in  the  old,  but  still  solid,  masonry  of  tlie  tower  front. 
Salem  Street  is  so  narrow  that  he  has  nu  dilliculty  whatever  in 
reatling  it  from  the  curbstone  across  the  way,  which  he  does 
slowly  and  attentively.  Bostonians  all  know  it  by  heart.  Thus 
it  runs  :  — 

THE  SiaXAL  LANTERNS  OF 

PAUL   UEVEKE, 

DISPLAYED  IN  THE   STEEI'LE  OP  THIS  CHUKCH, 

Al'UIL   18,   1775, 

WARNED  THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  MARCH 

OF   THE   HRITISH   TROOPS 

TO  LEXINGTON  AND  CONCORD. 

This  inscription,  then,  has  constituted  Christ  Church,  in  eliect, 
a  monument  to  Paul  Eevere  and  his  famous  exploit.  The  poet 
Longfellow  has  given  him  another. 

No  stranger  enters  this  neighborhood  who  does  not  get  the 
impression  that  he  has  somewhere,  unknown  to  himself,  walked 
out  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  into  the  Eigliteenth. 

The  whole  neighborhood  is  in  a  languishing  state,  though  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  softened  feeling  that  always  comes  over  one 
in  such  retired  corners.  For  here  he  has  full  liberty  to  lose  him- 
self, undisturbed  either  by  noise  or  bustle,  and  he  can  quietly 
enjoy  the  seclusion  needful  for  getting  into  a  frame  of  mind  proper 
to  the  associations  of  the  spot.  Yet,  strange  as  it  now  seems, 
this  was  once  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town,  although  that 
was  long  ago,  and  traces  of  the  old-time  gentility  are  still  apparent 
here  and  there  to  the  eye  of  the  wanderer  up  and  down  the  de- 
serted thoroughfares.  In  point  of  fact,  notwithstanding  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- 


80 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


stoues  on  Copp's  Hill  above  it,  and  sundry  antiquated  mansions 
in  anti(iuated  lanes,  are  the  silent  witnesses  to  the  fact  that  the 
neighborhood  has  really  seen  better  days. 

We  have  devoted  so  much  space  to  the  locality  because  it  was 
Uie  birthplace  and  home  of  Paul  Eevere. 

At  the  time  of  his  memorable  ride,  Paul  lievere  was  forty 
years  old,  and  was  living  in  the  neighborhood  where  he  was 
born.  Though  he  was  brought  up  to  the  trade  of  a  goldsmith, 
lievere  was  one  of  those  skilful  mechanics  who  can  turn  their 
hands  to  many  things,  and  having  already  learned  to  engrave  on 
silver,  he  took  up  and  soon  began  to  be  known  as  an  en'-raver 


BOSTON   FROM    BKEKli's    UILL,    1791. 

on  copper-plate,  in  which  art  he  acquired  a  rude  proficiency. 
Revere,  like  most  of  bis  class,  went  heart  and  soul  with  the 
Whigs  when  the  troubles  witli  the  mother  country  drew  men  to 
one  or  the  other  side  ;  and  he  very  soon  became  one  of  the  most 
active  and  daring  spirits  of  a  secret  organization,  composed  of 
men  like  himself,  Avho  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  held  untl  their  plans  concerted  at  the 


PAUL   REVERE  S   RIDE. 


81 


(Jreeu  Dragon  Tavern  in  Union  Street.  They  were  directed 
liow  to  act  for  the  interests  of  tlie  common  cause  by  Adams, 
IJancock,  Warren,  and  one  or  two  others  of  the  acknowledged 
leaders.  Between  Warren  and  Eevere  there  grew  up  a  sym- 
pathy so  especially  close  and  intimate,  that  when  Adams  ami 
Hancock  left  it,  and  Warren  alone  remained  to  observe  and 
direct  events  in  the  town,  Eevere  became  his  chosen  lieutenant. 
This  brings  us  to  the  event  recorded  in  the  inscription. 

The  Province  of  ]\Iassachusetts  was  on  the  verge  of  open  re- 
volt.   It  had  formed  an  army,  commissioned  its  officers,  and  pro- 


SIGN   OF   THE    GREEN   DKAGON. 


mulgated  orders  as  if  there  were  no  such  person  as  George  III.  It 
was  collecting  stores,  cannon,  and  muskets,  in  anticipation  of  the 
moment  when  this  army  should  take  the  field.  It  had,  moreover, 
given  due  notice  to  the  British  general-in-chief,  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  mankind,  that  the  first  movement  into  the  country  made 
by  the  royal  troops  in  force  would  be  considered  as  an  act  of  hos- 
tility and  treated  as  such.  If  this  was  not  raising  the  standard 
of  open  rebellion,  it  certainly  was  something  very  like  it. 

The  King  had  sent  General  Gage  to  Boston  to  put  down  the 
rebellion  there,  and  he  had  promised  to  do  it  with  four  bat- 
talions.    He  was  now  in  Boston  with  a  small  army.     Yet  he 

6 


82  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

hesitated  to  act.  Neither  party  would  recede  an  inch,  yet  on 
both  sides  the  commission  of  an  overt  act  which  any  moment 
might  precipitate  war  was  awaited  in  the  utmost  suspense  and 
dread. 

At  length  General  Gage  resolved  to  strike  a  crippling  blow, 
and  if  possible  to  do  it  without  bloodshed. 

The  principal  depot  of  the  patriots  was  forming  at  Concord, 
in  the  County  of  Middlesex,  about  twenty  miles  from  Boston, 
where  it  was  considered  quite  safe  from  any  sudden  dash  by  the 
royal  troops.  General  Gage  was  kept  thoroughly  informed  by 
his  spies  of  what  was  going  on,  and  he  determined  to  send  a 
secret  expedition  to  destroy  those  stores.  The  patriots,  on  their 
side,  knew  that  something  was  in  agitation,  and  it  was  no  diffi- 
cult matter  for  them  to  guess  what  was  its  real  purport  and  aim. 
Still,  so  long  as  these  remained  in  doubt,  they  were  anxious 
and  fearfvd  and  restless.  They,  however,  redoubled  their  vigi- 
lance. All  the  landing-places  of  the  town,  the  soldiers'  bar- 
racks, and  even  the  Province  House  itself,  were  closely  watched, 
while  guards  were  regularly  kept  in  all  tlie  surrounding  towns, 
I)romi)tly  to  give  the  alarm  whenever  the  head  of  a  British  col- 
umn should  appear.  General  Gage  held  the  capital  of  tlie  prov- 
ince, but  outside  of  its  gates  his  orders  could  be  executed  only 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

Fully  appreciating  the  importance  of  secrecy.  General  Gage 
quietly  got  ready  eight  hundred  picked  troops,  which  he  meant 
to  convey  under  cover  of  the  night  across  the  west  bay,  and 
to  land  on  the  Cambridge  side,  thus  baffling  the  vigilance  of 
the  townspeople,  and  at  the  same  time  considerably  shortening 
the  distance  his  troops  would  have  to  march.  So  much  pains 
was  taken  to  keep  their  actual  destination  a  profound  secret,  that 
even  the  officer  who  was  selected  for  the  command  only  received 
an  order  notifying  him  to  hold  himself  in  readiness.  The  guards 
in  the  town  were  doubled,  and,  in  order  to  intercept  any  couriers 
who  might  slip  through  them,  at  the  proper  moment  mounted 
patrols  were  sent  out  on  the  roads  leading  to  Concord.  Having 
done  what  he  could  to  prevent  intelligence  from  reaching  the 


PAUL   liEVEllE  S    KIDE. 


83 


country,  and  to  keep  the  towu  quiet,  tho  British  General  gave 
his  orders  lor  the  enibai'kation  ; 
and  at  between  ten  and  eleven 
of  the  night  of  April  18th  the 
troops  destined  for  this  service 
were  taken  across  the  hay  in 
boats  to  the  Cambridge  side 
of  the  river.  At  this  hour  his 
pickets  were  guarding  the  de- 
serted roads  leading  into  the 
country,  and  up  to  this  moment 
no  patriot  courier  had  gone  out. 
The  General  had  thus  got  a  long 
start  of  tlie  patriots.  But  their 
vigilance  detected  the  move- 
ment as  soon  as  it  was  made. 
As  Lord  Percy  was  returning 
from  an  interview  with  Gen- 
eral Gage,  ho  met  groups  of  tlie 
townspeople  talking  excitedly 
together,  and  upon  going  near 
enough  to  overhear  the  subject 
of  conversation,  one  of  them 
said  to  him  defiantly :  "  The 
British  troops  have  marched, 
but  they  will  miss  their  aim." 

"What    aimr'    asked    the 
Earl. 

"  The  cannon   at   Concord," 
was  the  reply. 

Percy  instantly  retraced  his 
steps  to  the   Province   House. 
After  listening  in  silence  to  his 
report,  the  General  broke  out  with,  "Then  I  have  been  betrayed ! " 

It  is  now  believed  that  a  member  of  the  General's  own  house- 
hold was   the  medium  through  which  his    secret  had  become 


GRENADIER,  1775. 


84  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

known  to  the  rebels.  Their  difficulty  now  was  to  transmit  the 
news  seasonably,  to  prevent  the  loss  of  the  provincial  niagazin(;s. 
There  were  only  two  modes  of  egress  from  the  town,  one  being  by 
the  old  ferry  to  Charlestown,  the  other  by  the  neck  connecting 
Boston  "with  the  mainland,  which  was  only  wide  enough  for  a 
single  road.  The  ferry -landing  w^as  kept  by  a  subaltern's  guar  J, 
and  it  was  commanded  by  the  batteries  of  a  frigate  anchored 
off  in  the  stream.  The  road  was  blocked  by  a  fortress  extend- 
ing across  it,  the  gates  of  which  were  shut  at  a  certain  hour, 
after  which  no  one  could  pass  in  or  out  except  by  order  of  the 
General  himself. 

To  provide  against  this,  Revere,  only  a  day  or  two  earlier,  had 
concerted  signals  which  should  apprise  his  friends  in  Charles- 
town  whenever  a  movement  of  troops  was  actually  taking  place. 
When  these  signals  should  be  displayed,  the  watchful  patriots 
there  knew  what  they  had  to  do. 

The  signals  agreed  upon  were  lights  to  be  shown  froui  the 
belfry  of  the  North  Church :  two  if  the  troops  Aveut  out  by 
water,  and  one  if  by  land.  The  redcoats  had  scarcely  got  into 
their  boats,  when  Warren  sent  in  great  haste  for  Paul  Revere 
and  William  Dawes.  He  knew  that  the  crisis  had  now  come. 
Telling  them  in  two  words  that  the  soldiers  had  started,  and 
that  he  feared  they  meant  to  seize  the  patriot  leaders,  Hancock 
and  Adams,  he  despatched  Revere  by  the  way  of  Charlestown, 
and  Dawes  by  the  great  high-road  over  the  Neck.  In  this 
way,  should  one  be  stopped,  the  other  might  elude  the  vigi- 
lance of  the  sentinels  and  succeed  in  getting  through  the  lines. 
With  the  parting  injunction  in  their  ears,  not  to  lose  a  moment, 
the  two  patriots  started  on  the  most  momentous  errand  of  the 
century. 

Revere  first  went  to  a  friend  and  recjuested  him  to  show  the 
signal,  one  lantern  in  the  church  belfry.  He  then  went  home, 
hurried  on  his  riding-boots  and  surtout,  and  having  picked  uj) 
two  friends  and  a  boat,  the  three  stealthily  rowed  across  the 
river,  passing  unseen  under  the  muzzles  of  the  frigate's  guns 
that  guarded  the  ferry. 


r.vuL  ekvehe's  mde,  85 

LeapiiiL,'  on  shore,  IJeverc  learned  that  his  signal  had  ])een 
seen  and  understood.  At  that  very  moiuent  its  warning  beams 
shone  from  the  distant  tower.  A  fleet  horse  was  quickly  saddled 
and  bridled  for  him  to  mount.  Kevere  seized  the  bridle,  jumjjed 
into  the  saddle,  and  spurred  off  at  the  top  of  his  speed  for  Lex- 
ington, ten  miles  away,  where  Hancock  and  Adams,  unconscious 
of  danger,  were  then  asleep  in  their  beds.  Dawes,  too,  had  for- 
tunately succeeded  in  evading  tlie  sentinels,  so  tliat  the  two  were 
now,  in  the  dead  of  night,  galloping  on  like  messengers  of  fate, 
not  sparing  either  whip  or  spur,  and  each  nerved  by  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  the  moment  to  do  or  dare  everj^thing  for  the  sal- 
vation of  friends  and  country.  Revere  had  hardly  got  clear  of 
Charlestown  when  a  horseman  suddenly  barred  his  passage. 
Another  rode  up,  then  a  third.  He  had  ridden  headlong  into 
the  midst  of  the  British  patrol!  They  closed  in  upon  him. 
But  Revere  was  not  the  man  to  be  thus  taken  in  a  trap  without 
a  struggle.  He  quickly  pulled  up,  turned  his  horse's  head,  dug 
the  spurs  into  his  flanks,  and  dashed  off  into  a  by-road  with  the 
patrol  at  his  heels.  Being  the  better  mounted,  he  soon  distanced 
his  pursuers,  and  in  ten  minutes  more  rode  into  Medford,  shout- 
ing like  a  madman  at  every  house  he  came  to,  "  Up  and  arm  ! 
Up  and  arm  !  The  regulars  are  out !  The  regulars  are  out !  " 
He  awoke  the  captain  of  the  minute-men,  told  his  startling  story 
in  a  breath,  and  before  the  shrill  neighing  of  the  excited  steed  or 
the  shouts  of  the  rider  had  grown  faint  in  the  distance,  the  Med- 
ford bells  began  to  ring  out  their  wild  alarm.  When  Eevere  en- 
tered it,  the  town  was  as  still  as  the  grave  ;  he  left  it  in  an  uproar. 

The  regulars  were  indeed  out ;  but  where  1  By  this  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  troops  with  rations  before  start- 
ing, they  had  been  cooked  on  board  the  fleet,  and  put  into  the 
boats  furnished  by  the  different  ships  of  Avar.  After  landing 
upon  the  Cambridge  marshes,  and  after  floundering  through 
water  up  to  the  knee,  to  the  shore,  the  royal  troops  were  kept 


86 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


dra^yn  up  in  a  dirty  by-road  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 

waiting  for  their  provisions  to  be  brought 

from  the  boats  and  distributed.     To  lose 

liours  when  minutes  counted  for  hours 

was  fatal.     The  three  thus  idled  away 

decided  the  fate  of  the  expedition.    The 

British  grenadiers  were  still  shivering 

on   the  spot  where  they  disembarked, 

when  Revere,  after  raising  the  country 

in  arms,  rode  into  Lexington.     It  was 

just  midnight  when  he  dismounted  at 

the  door  where  Hancock  and 

Adams  were  asleep.     He  saw 

that  he  was  in  \   ~^ 

time.   A  patriot 


REVEKE   AROUSING   THE    MINUTE-MAN. 


guard    was   stationed   outside.      Tlie  drowsy  sergeant    sharply 
admonished  Revere  to  make  less  noise,  or  he  would  disturb  the 


PAUL  revere's  ride.  87 

household.  "  Noise  !  "  exclaimecl  the  thoroughly  excited  IJo- 
vere ;  "  you  '11  have  iioiso  enougli  before  long.  The  regulars 
are  out !  "     He  was  theu  admitted. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  other  express  arrived,  and  the 
two  rebel  leaders  being  now  fully  convinced  that  Concord  was 
the  threatened  point,  after  allowing  the  bold  riders  the  time  to 
swallow  a  few  mouthfuls,  hurried  them  on  to  Concord.  Adams 
did  not  believe  that  Gage  would  send  an  army  merely  to  take 
two  men  prisoners.     To  him  the  true  object  was  very  clear. 

Eevere,  Dawes,  and  young  Dr.  Prescott  of  Concord,  who  had 
joined  them,  had  got  over  half  the  distance,  when  at  a  sudden 
turning  they  saw  in  the  gray  light  a  group  of  dusky  figures 
filling  the  road ;  at  the  same  instant  they  heard  the  sharp  com- 
mand to  halt.  It  was  a  second  patrol,  armed  to  the  teeth. 
Prescott  leaped  his  horse  over  the  roadside  wall,  and  so  escaped 
across  the  fields  to  Concord.  Revere,  seeing  the  muzzle  of  a 
pistol  covering  him  with  sure  aim,  gave  himself  up,  with  the 
better  grace  now  that  one  of  the  party  had  got  clear.  Dawes  did 
the  same  thing.  An  officer  then  put  his  cocked  pistol  to  Re- 
vere's head,  telling  him  that  he  would  scatter  his  brains  in  the 
road  if  he  did  not  make  true  answers.  His  business  on  the 
road  at  that  hour  was  then  demanded.  He  was  told,  in  return, 
to  listen ;  when,  through  the  still  morning  air,  coming  distinct 
and  threatening,  the  distant  booming  of  the  alarm-bells,  peal 
upon  peal,  was  borne  to  their  ears.  Revere  then  boldly  avowed 
his  errand  to  be  what  it  was,  significantly  adding  that  the  coun- 
try below  was  up  in  arms.  Another  prisoner  told  the  patrol  that 
they  were  all  dead  men.  It  was  the  Britons  who  were  now  un- 
easy. One  of  the  rebel  couriers  had  escaped  them  ;  tlie  country 
below  them  was  up  ;  and  there  was  no  news  of  the  troops.  Order- 
ing the  prisoners  to  follow  them,  the  troop  rode  off  at  a  gallop 
toward  Lexington,  and  when  they  were  at  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage Revere  was  told  to  dismount,  and  was  then  left  to  shift  for 
himself.  He  ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him  across  the 
pastures,  back  to  the  parsonage,  to  report  his  misadventure,  while 
the  patrol  galloped  off  toward  Boston  to  anncjunce  theirs. 


88  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

By  this  time  the  ininute-inen  uf  Lexington  had  rallied  to  op- 
pose the  march  of  the  troops.  At  this  hour  the  alarm  luul  spread 
throughout  the  surrounding  country  ;  and  it  was  still  resound- 
ing, still  extending  on  every  side,  and  multiplying  itself  like  a 
destroying  couHagration  swept  onward  by  the  winds.  In  two 
hours  more  the  whole  Province  was  in  flames.  Thanks  to  the  in- 
trepidity of  Paul  Revere  the  goldsmith,  instead  of  surjirising  the 
rebels  iu  their  beds,  the  redcoats  found  them  marshalled  on  Lex- 
ington Green,  at  Concord  Bridge,  in  front,  flank,  and  rear,  armed 
and  ready  to  dispute  their  march  to  the  bitter  end. 

At  five  in  the  morning  his  Majesty's  troops  by  command  iired 
upon  and  killed  a  number  of  the  citizen  soldiers  at  Lexington  ; 
they  then  gave  three  loud  and  triumphant  cheers  for  the  vic- 
tory. At  five  in  the  evening  General  Gage  knew  that  this 
volley  had  been  discharged  over  the  grave  of  his  master's  Ameri- 
can empire,  Avhich  he  had  promised  to  preserve  with  four  bat- 
talions ;  the  yeomanry  of  one  county  only  had  chased  six  of 
them  back  to  their  quarters. 

From  this  narration  it  appears  that  it  was  not  the  signal,  but 
Eevere  himself  who  "  warned  the  country  of  the  march  of  the 
Britisli  troops."  Yet  had  he  failed,  the  result  would  pr(il)ab]y 
have  been  the  same,  thanks  to  his  promptitude  and  his  invention 
in  this  historic  emergency.  INIr.  Longfellow  iu  his  famous  ballad 
so  arranges  the  scene  as  to  make  Eevere  impatiently  watching  for 
the  signal-light  to  appear.     Eevere  himself  was  the  signal. 


PAUL   EEVERE'8    BIDE. 

Listen,  my  children,  and  yim  sliall  hear 

Of  the  midnight   ride  of  Paul   lu'Verc, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five  ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  reniendiers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  tlic  JSi'itisli  marcli 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-inght, 


PAUL  kkvkuh's  kidr.  89 

Hang  a  lantern  alol't  in  the  belfry  arch 

Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light, — 

One,  il'  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea; 

And    1   on  tlie  opposite  shore  will  be, 

liLMily  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 

Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  lo  aim." 

Then  he  said  "Good  night!"  and  with  muliled  oar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  aa  the  moon  rose  over  tlic  liay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  nidoriugs  lay 

The  "  Somerset,"  British  man-of-war  ; 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnitieil 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride. 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stritle 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side. 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near. 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth, 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth  ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns  1 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet  : 

That  was  all  I     And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light, 


90  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 


It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Graze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 


You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read. 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball. 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  redcoats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 


PETER  RUGG,   THE  MISSING   MAN. 

BY  WILLIAM   AUSTIN. 

{From  Jonathan  Dumcell  of  New  York  to  Mr.  Herman  Krauff.) 

SIIv, — ^  Agreeably  to  my  promise,  I  now  relate  to  you  all 
the  particulars  of  the  lost  man  and  child  which  I  have 
been  able  to  collect.  It  is  entirely  owing  to  the  humane  inter- 
est you  seemed  to  take  in  the  report  that  I  have  pursued  the 
inquiry  to  the  following  result. 


PETER    RUGG,   THE    MISSING   MAN.  91 

You  may  remember  that  business  called  me  to  Boston  in  the 
summer  of  1820.  1  sailed  in  the  packet  to  Providence;  and 
when  I  arrived  there,  1  learned  that  every  seat  in  the  stage  was 
engaged.  I  was  thus  obliged  either  to  wait  a  few  hours,  or  ac- 
cept a  seat  with  the  driver,  who  civilly  ollered  me  that  accom- 
modation. Accordingly  I  took  my  seat  by  liis  side,  and  soon 
found  him  intelligent  and  communicative.  When  we  had  trav- 
elled about  ten  miles,  the  horses  suddenly  threw  their  ears  on 
their  necks  as  flat  as  a  hare's.  Said  the  driver,  "  Have  you  a 
surtout  with  you  1 " 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  why  do  you  ask  1 " 

"  You  will  want  one  soon,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  observe  the 
ears  of  all  the  horses  1 " 

"  Yes  ;"  and  was  just  about  to  ask  the  reason. 

"  They  see  the  storm-breeder,  and  we  shall  see  him  soon." 

At  this  moment  there  was  not  a  cloud  visible  in  the  firma- 
ment ;  soon  after  a  small  speck  appeared  in  the  road. 

"  There,"  said  my  companion,  "  comes  the  storm-breeder ; 
he  always  leaves  a  Scotch  mist  behind  him.  By  many  a  wet 
jacket  do  I  remember  him.  I  suppose  the  poor  fellow  sufi"ers 
much  himself — much  more  than  is  known  to  the  world." 

Presently  a  man  with  a  child  beside  him,  with  a  large  black 
horse  and  a  weather-beaten  chair,  once  built  for  a  chaise-body, 
passed  in  great  haste,  apparently  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour.  He  seemed  to  grasp  the  reins  of  his  horse  with  firmness, 
and  appeared  to  anticipate  his  speed.  He  seemed  dejected,  and 
looked  anxiously  at  the  passengers,  particularly  at  the  stage-driver 
and  myself.  In  a  moment  after  he  passed  us,  the  horses'  ears 
were  up,  and  bent  themselves  forward  so  that  they  nearly  met. 

"  Who  is  that  man  1 "  said  I ;  "he  seems  in  great  trouble." 

"  Nobody  knows  who  he  is  ;  but  his  person  and  the  child  are 
familiar  to  me.  I  have  met  him  more  tlian  a  hundred  times, 
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  communication  with  him ;  and  that  is 
the  reason  he  c^ave  me  such  a  fixed  look." 


PETER   RUaG,   THE   MISSING   MAN.  93 

"  But  does  he  never  stop  anywhere  1 " 

**  I  have  never  known  him  to  stop  anywhere  longer  than  to 
inquire  the  way  to  Boston.  And  let  hiiu  be  where  he  may,  he 
will  tell  you  ho  cannot  stay  a  moment,  for  he  must  reach  Boston 
that  night" 

We  were  now  ascending  a  high  hill  in  Walpole ;  and  as  we 
had  a  fiiir  view  of  the  heavens,  I  Avas  rather  disposed  to  jeer 
the  driver  for  thinking  of  his  surtout,  as  not  a  cloud  as  big  as 
a  marble  could  be  discerned. 

"  Do  you  look,"  said  he,  "  in  the  direction  whence  the  man 
came ;  that  is  the  place  to  look.  The  storm  never  meets  him, 
it  follows  him." 

We  presently  approached  another  hill ;  and  when  at  the 
height  the  driver  pointed  out  in  an  eastern  direction  a  little 
black  speck  about  as  big  as  a  hat,  —  "There,"  said  he,  "is  the 
seed  storm ;  we  may  possibly  reach  Polley's  before  it  reaches 
us,  but  the  wvanderer  and  his  child  will  go  to  Providence 
through  raiu,  thunder,  and  lightning." 

And  now  the  horses,  as  though  taught  by  instinct,  hastened 
with  increased  speed.  The  little  black  cloud  came  on  rolling 
over  the  turnpike,  and  doubled  and  trebled  itself  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  appearance  of  this  cloud  attracted  the  notice  of  all 
the  passengers ;  for  after  it  had  spread  itself  to  a  great  bulk, 
it  suddenly  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  images. 
The  driver  bespoke  my  attention  to  a  remarkable  configuration 
in  the  cloud ;  he  said  every  flash  of  lightning  near  its  centre 
discovered  to  him  distinctly  the  form  of  a  man  sitting  in  an 
open  carriage  drawn  by  a  black  horse.  But  in  truth  I  saw  no 
such  thing.  The  man's  fancy  was  doubtless  at  fault.  It  is  a 
very  common  thing  for  the  imagination  to  paint  for  the  senses, 
both  in  the  visible  and  invisible  world. 

In  the  mean  time  the  distant  thunder  gave  notice  of  a  shower 
at  hand ;  and  just  as  we  reached  Polley's  tavern  the  rain  poured 


94 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


down  in  torrents.  It  was  soon  over,  the  cloud  passing  in  the 
direction  of  the  turnpike  toward  Providence.  In  a  few  moments 
after,  a  respectable-looking  man  in  a  chaise  stopped  at  the  door. 
The  man  and  child  in  the  chair  having  excited  some  little  sym- 
pathy among  the  passengers,  the  gentleman  was  asked  if  he 
had  observed  them.     He  said  ho  had  met  them ;  that  tlie  man 


Kol  J'.MiaANS. 


seemed  bewildered,  and  in(]uircd  the  way  to  Boston ;  that  he 
was  driving  at  great  speed,  as  though  he  expected  to  outstrip 
the  tempest ;  that  the  moment  he  had  passed  him,  a  thunder- 
clap broke  directly  over  the  man's  head,  and  seemetl  to  envelop 
both  man  and  child,  horse  and  carriage.  "  I  stopped,"  said  the 
gentleman,  "  supposing  the  lightning  had  struck  liim  ;  but  the 
horse  only  seemed  to  loom  up  and  increase  his  speed  ;  and  as 


PETER   KUGG,   THE   MISSING   MAN. 


95 


well  as  T  could  judge,  he  travi'Ued  just  as  fast  as  the  thunder- 
cloud." 

While  this  luan  was  speaking,  a  pedlar  with  a  cart  of  tin 
merchandise  came  up  all  dripping ;  and  on  being  questioned, 
he  said  he  had  met  that  man  and  carriage,  within  a  fortnight, 
in  four  different  States ;  that  at  each  time  he  had  inquired  the 
way  to  Boston,  and  that  a  thunder-shower,  like  the  present, 
had  each  time  deluged  his  Avagon  and  his  wares,  setting  his  tin 
pots,  etc.,  afloat,  so  that  he  had  determined  to  get  marine  insur- 
ance done  for  the  future.  But  that  whicli  excited  his  surprise 
most  was  the  strange  conduct  of  his  horse ;  for  that  long  before 
he  could  distinguish  tlie 
man  in  the  chair,  his  own 
horse  stood  still  in  the 
road,  and  flung  back  his 
ears.  "  In  short,"  said  the 
pedlar,  "  I  wish  nev^er  to 
see  that  man  and  horse 
again ;  they  do  not  look 
to  me  as  thougli  they  be- 
longed to  this  world." 

This  was  all  I  could 
learn  at  that  time ;  and 
the  occurrence  soon  after 
would  have  become  with 
me    "  like   one   of  those 

things  which  had  never  happened,"  had  I  not,  as  I  stood  recently 
on  the  doorstep  of  Bennett's  Hotel  in  Hartford,  heard  a  man 
say,  "  There  goes  Peter  Eugg  and  his  child  !  He  looks  wet  and 
weary,  and  farther  from  Boston  than  ever."  I  was  satisfied  it 
was  the  same  man  I  had  seen  more  than  three  years  before ;  for 
whoever  has  once  seen  Peter  Rugg  can  never  after  be  deceived 
as  to  his  identity. 

"  Peter  Eugg  !  "  said  I ;  "  and  who  is  Peter  Eugg  1 " 

"  That,"  said  the  stranger,  *'  is  more  than  any  one  can  tell 
exactly.     He  is  a  famous  traveller,  held  in  light  esteem  by  all 


HACKNEY-COACU. 


96  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

iiin-liolders,  for  lie  never  stops  to  eat,  drink,  or  sleep.  I  wonder 
Avhy  the  Government  does  not  employ  liim  to  carry  the  mail." 

"Ay,"  said  a  bystander;  "that  is  a  thought  briglit  only  on 
one  side.  How  long  would  it  take  in  that  case  to  send  a  letter 
to  Boston  1  —  for  Peter  has  alreatly,  to  my  knowledge,  been  more 
than  tweniy  years  travelling  to  that  place." 

"But,"  said  I,  "does  the  man  never  stop  anywhere?  Does  he 
never  converse  with  any  onel  I  saw  the  same  man  more  than 
three  years  since  near  Providence,  and  I  heard  a  strange  story 
about  him.     Pray,  sir,  give  me  some  account  of  this  man." 

"Sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "those  who  know  the  most  respect- 
ing that  man  say  the  least.  I  have  heard  it  asserted  that 
Heaven  sometimes  sets  a  mark  on  a  man  either  for  judgment 
or  a  trial.  Under  which  Peter  Rugg  now  labors,  I  cannot  say  ; 
therefore  I  am  rather  inclined  to  pity  than  to  judge." 

"  You  speak  like  a  humane  man,"  said  I ;  "  and  if  you  have 
known  him  so  long,  I  pray  you  will  give  me  some  account  of 
him.     Has  his  appearance  much  altered  in  that  timel" 

"  "Why,  yes  ;  he  looks  as  though  he  never  ate,  drank,  or  slept ; 
and  his  child  looks  older  than  himself;  and  lie  looks  like  time 
broken  off  from  eternity,  and  anxious  to  gain  a  resting-place." 

"  And  how  does  his  horse  look  1 "  said  I. 

"  As  for  his  horse,  he  looks  fatter  and  gayer,  and  shows  more 
animation  and  courage,  than  he  did  twenty  years  ago.  The  last 
time  Pugg  spoke  to  me  he  inquired  how  far  it  was  to  Boston. 
I  told  him  just  one  hundred  miles. 

"  'Why,'  said  he,  '  how  can  you  deceive  me  so"?  It  is  cruel 
to  mislead  a  traveller.  I  have  lost  my  way  ;  pray  direct  me  the 
nearest  way  to  Boston.' 

"  I  repeated,  it  was  one  hundred  miles. 

"'How  can  you  say  sol'  said  he;  'I  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 


PETER    RUGG,   THE    MISSING    MAN.  97 

me  it  is  to  the  east,  another  to  the  west ;  and  the  gni de-posts, 
too,  they  all  point  the  wrong  way.' 

"  '  But  will  you  not  stop  and  rest  ? '  said  I ;  '  you  seem  wet 
and  weary.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  he  ;  '  it  has  been  foul  weather  since  I  leit  home.' 

"  *  Stop,  then,  and  refresh  yourself.' 

"  '  I  must  not  stop  ;  I  must  reach  home  to-night,  if  possible  ; 
tliough  I  think  you  must  be  mistaken  in  the  distance  to 
Boston.' 

"  He  then  gave  the  reins  to  his  horse,  which  he  restrained  with 
difficulty,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment.  A  few  days  afterward 
I  met  tlie  man  a  little  this  side  of  Claremont,  winding  around 
the  hills  in  Unity,  at  the  rate,  I  believe,  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour." 

"  Is  Peter  Rugg  his  real  name,  or  has  he  accidentally  gained 
that  name  1 " 

"  I  know  not,  but  presiime  he  will  not  deny  his  name ;  you 
can  ask  him  —  for  see,  he  has  turned  his  horse,  and  is  passing 
this  way." 

In  a  moment  a  dark-colored,  high-spirited  horse  approached, 
and  would  have  passed  Avithout  stopping ;  but  I  had  resolved  to 
speak  to  Peter  Rugg,  or  whoever  the  man  might  be.  Accord- 
ingly I  stepped  into  the  street,  and  as  the  horse  approached,  I 
made  a  feint  of  stopping  him.  The  man  immediately  reined  in 
his  horse.  "Sir,"  said  I,  "may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire  if 
you  are  not  Mr.  Rugg  1  —  for  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before." 

"My  name  is  Peter  Rugg,"  said  he:  "I  have  unfortunately 
lost  my  way.  I  am  wet  and  weary,  and  will  take  it  kindly  of 
you  to  direct  me  to  Boston." 

"  You  live  in  Boston,  do  you?  —  and  in  what  street  1 " 

"  In  Middle  Street." 

"  When  did  you  leave  Boston  1 " 

"  I  cannot  tell  precisely  ;  it  seems  a  considerable  time." 

"  But  how  did  you  and  your  child  become  so  wet  1  It  has 
not  rained  here  to-day." 

"  It  has  just  rained  a  heavy  shower  up  the  river.     But  I  shall 

7 


98  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

not  reach  Boston  to-night  if  I  tarry.  Would  you  advise  me  to 
take  the  old  road,  or  the  turnpike  ? " 

"  Why,  the  old  road  is  one  hundred  and  seventeen  miles,  and 
the  turnpike  is  ninety -seven." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  1  You  impose  on  me  !  It  is  wrong 
to  trifle  with  a  traveller.  You  know  it  is  but  forty  miles  from 
Newburyport  to  Boston." 

"  But  this  is  not  Xewburyport ;  this  is  Hartford." 

"  Do  not  deceive  me,  sir.  Is  not  this  town  NeAvburyport, 
and  the  river  that  I  have  been  following  the  Merrimac  ] " 

"  No,  sir ;  this  is  Hartford,  and  the  river  the  Connecticut." 

He  wrung  his  hands  and  looked  incredulous. 

"  Have  the  rivers,  too,  changed  their  courses,  as  the  cities 
have  changed  places  1  But  see  !  the  clouds  are  gathering  in  the 
south,  and  we  shall  have  a  rainy  night.     Ah,  that  fatal  oath  ! " 

He  would  tarry  no  longer.  His  impatient  horse  leaped  off, 
his  hind  flanks  rising  like  wings;  he  seemed  to  devour  all 
before  him,  and  to  scorn  all  behind. 

I  had  now,  as  I  thought,  discovered  a  clew  to  the  history  of 
Peter  Rugg,  and  I  determined,  the  next  time  my  business  called 
me  to  Boston,  to  make  a  further  inquiry.  Soon  after,  I  w;is 
enabled  to  collect  the  following  particulars  from  Mrs.  Croft,  an 
aged  lady  in  Middle  Street,  who  has  resided  in  Boston  during 
the  last  twenty  years.     Her  narration  is  this  : 

The  last  summer,  a  person,  just  at  twilight,  stopped  at  the 
door  of  the  late  Mrs.  Rugg.  Mrs.  Croft,  on  coming  to  the  door, 
perceived  a  stranger,  with  a  child  by  his  side,  in  an  old  weather- 
beaten  carriage,  witli  a  black  horse.  The  stranger  asked  for  Mrs. 
Rugg,  and  was  informed  that  Mrs.  Rugg  had  died  in  a  good  old 
age  more  than  twenty  years  before  that  time. 

The  stranger  replied,  "  How  can  you  deceive  me  sol  Do  ask 
Mrs.  Rugg  to  step  to  the  door." 

"  Sir,  I  assure  you  Mrs.  Rugg  has  not  lived  here  these  nine- 
teen years ;  no  one  lives  here  but  myself,  and  my  name  is 
Betsey  Croft." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 


PETEK   liUGG,    THE   MISSING   MAN.  99 

said  :  "  Though  the  painting  is  rather  faded,  this  looks  Hke  my 
house." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child  ;  "  tliat  is  the  stoue  before  the  door  that 
I  used  to  sit  on  to  eat  uiy  broad  antl  milk." 

"  But,"  said  the  stranger,  "  it  seems  to  be  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  street.  Indeed  everything  here  seems  to  be  misplaced. 
The  streets  are  all  changed,  the  people  are  all  changed,  the  town 
seems  changed  ;  and,  what  is  strangest  of  all,  Catherine  Rugg  has 
deserted  her  husband  and  child.  Pray,"  continued  the  stranger, 
"  has  John  Foy  come  home  from  sea  1  He  went  a  long  voyage ; 
he  is  my  kinsman.  If  I  could  see  him,  he  could  give  me  some 
account  of  Mrs.  Eugg." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Croft,  "  I  never  heard  of  John  Foy.  Where 
did  he  live  1 " 

"  Just  above  here,  in  Orange  Tree  Lane." 

"  There  is  no  such  place  in  this  neighborhood." 

"  What  do  you  tell  me  1  Are  the  streets  gone  1  Orange  Tree 
Lane  is  at  the  head  of  Hanover  Street,  near  Pemberton's  Hill." 

"  There  is  no  such  lane  now." 

"  Madam  !  you  cannot  be  serious.  But  you  doubtless  know 
my  brother,  William  Rugg.  He  lives  in  Royal  Exchange  Lane, 
near  King  Street." 

"  I  know  of  no  such  lane,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  no  such 
street  as  King  Street  in  this  town." 

"  1^0  such  street  as  King  Street !  Why,  woman,  you  mock 
me  !  You  may  as  well  tell  me  there  is  no  King  George  !  How- 
ever, madam,  you  see  I  am  wet  and  weary  ;  I  must  find  a  resting- 
place.     I  will  go  to  Hart's  tavern,  near  the  market." 

"  Which  market,  sir  1  —  for  you  seem  perplexed  ;  we  have 
several  markets." 

"You  know  there  is  but  one  market,  —  near  the  Town  dock." 

"Oh,  the  old  market;  but  no  such  jjerson  has  kept  there 
these  twenty  years." 

Here  the  stranger  seemed  disconcerted,  and  uttered  to  himself 
quite  audibly  :  "  Strange  mistake!  How  much  this  looks  like 
the  town  of  Boston  !     It  certainly  has  a  great  resemblance  to 


100 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


it ;  but  I  perceive  my  mistake  now.  Some  other  Mrs.  Rugg, 
some  other  Middle  Street." 

"Theu,"  said  he,  "madam,  can  you  direct  me  to  Boston]" 

"  Why,  this  is  Boston,  the  city  of  Boston.  I  know  of  no 
other  Boston." 

"  City  of  Boston  it  may  be ;  but  it  is  not  the  Boston  where 
I  live.  I  recollect  now,  I  came  over  a  bridge  instead  of  a  ferry. 
Pray  what  bridge  is  that  I  just  came  over  1 " 

"  It  is  Charles  River  Bridge." 

"  I  perceive  my  mistake  ;  there  is  a  ferry  between  Boston  and 
Charlestown ;  there  is  no  bridge.     Ah,  I  perceive  my  mistake. 


MAKKET-WOMAN. 


If  I  were  in  Boston  my  horse  woulil  carry  me  directly  to  my 
own  door.  But  my  horse  shows  by  his  impatience  that  he  is 
in  a  strange  ])lace.  Absurd,  that  I  should  have  mistaken  this 
])lace  for  the  old  town  of  Boston  !  Tt  is  a  much  finer  cit}'^  than 
tlie  town  of  Boston.  It  has  been  built  long  since  Boston.  T 
fancy  it  must  lie  at  a  distance  from  this  city,  as  the  good  woman 
seems  ignorant  of  it." 

At  these  words  his  horse  began  to  chafe  and  strike  the  pave- 
ment with  his  fore-feet.  The  stranger  seemed  a  little  bewildered, 
and  said,  "  No  home  to-night  ;  "  and  giving  the  reins  to  his  horse, 
passed  up  the  street,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him. 


PETER   KUGG,    THE    MISSING   MAN.  101 

It  was  evident  tlmt  tlie  generation  to  which  Peter  Eugg 
belonged  had  passed  away. 

This  was  all  the  accrnint  of  Peter  Rugg  I  could  obtain  from 
Mrs.  Croft ;  but  she  directed  me  to  an  elderly  man,  Mr.  James 
Felt,  who  lived  near  her,  and  who  had  kept  a  record  of  the  prin- 
cipal occurrences  for  the  last  lifty  years.  At  my  request  she  sent 
for  him  ;  and  after  I  liad  related  to  him  the  object  of  my  inquiry, 
Mr.  Felt  told  me  he  had  known  Rugg  in  his  youth ;  that  his 
disappearance  had  caused  some  surprise ;  but  as  it  sometimes 
happens  that  men  run  away,  sometimes  to  be  rid  of  others,  and 
sometimes  to  be  rid  of  themselves ;  and  Rugg  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  Rugg  and  his 
child,  horse  and  chair,  were  soon  forgotten. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Felt,  "  sundry  stories  grew  out  of  Rugg's 
affair,  —  whether  true  or  false  I  cannot  tell ;  but  stranger  things 
have  happened  in  my  day,  without  even  a  newspaper  notice." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  Peter  Rugg  is  now  living;  I  have  lately  seen 
Peter  Rugg  and  his  child,  horse,  and  chair.  Therefore  I  pray 
you  to  relate  to  me  all  you  know  or  ever  heard  of  him." 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  James  Felt,  "that  Peter  Rugg  is 
now  a  living  man,  I  will  not  deny;  but  that  you  have  seen 
Peter  Rugg  and  his  child  is  impossible,  if  you  mean  a  small 
child  ;  for  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  at  least  —  let  me  see 
—  Boston  Massacre,  1770  —  Jenny  Rugg  was  about  ten  years 
old.  "Why,  sir,  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  more  tlian  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  March  ;  and  I  am  as  likely  to  live  twenty  years  longer  as  any 
man." 

Here  I  perceived  that  Mr.  Felt  was  in  his  dotage;  and  1 
despaired  of  gaining  any  intelligence  from  him  on  which  1 
could  depend. 

I  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Croft,  and  proceeded  to  my  lodgings 
at  the  Marlborough  Hotel. 


102  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

If  Peter  Rugg,  thought  I,  has  been  travelling  since  the  Boston 
Massacre,  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  travel  to  the 
end  of  time.  If  the  present  generation  know  little  of  him,  the 
next  will  know  less  ;  and  Peter  and  his  child  will  have  no  huld 
on  this  world. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  I  related  my  adventure  in 
Middle  Street. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  one  of  the  company,  smiling,  "  do  you  really 
think  you  have  seen  Peter  Pugg]  1  have  heard  my  grandfather 
speak  of  him  as  though  he  seriously  believed  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  Avorthy  of  credit, 
once  lived  in  Middle  Street,  in  this  city.  He  was  a  man  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  had  a  wife  and  one  daughter,  and 
was  generally  esteemed  for  his  sober  life  and  manners.  But, 
unhappily,  his  temper  at  times  was  altogether  ungovernable; 
and  then  his  language  was  terrible.  In  these  fits  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  head  and  come  down  on  his  feet,  uttering  oaths  in  a  circle; 
and  thus  in  a  rage  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  everybody,  both  men  and  boys,  wore  wigs  ;  and 
Peter,  at  these  moments  of  violent  passion,  would  become  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  expansion  of  his  scalp,  —  as  violent  passion,  we  know,  will 
swell  the  veins  and  expand  the  head.  While  these  fits  were 
on  him  Rugg  had  no  respect  for  heaven  or  earth.  Except  this 
infirmity,  all  agreed  that  Rugg  was  a  good  sort  of  man  ;  for 
when  his  fits  were  over,  nobody  was  so  ready  to  commend  a 
placid  temper  as  Peter. 

"  It  was  late  in  autumn,  one  morning,  that  liugg,  in  his  own 


PETEK   RUGG,   THE    MISSING   MAN. 


103 


chair,  with  a  line  large  bay  horse,  took  his  daughter  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Concord.  On  his  return  a  violent  storm  overtook 
him.  At  dark  he  sto})pcd  in  Menotomy,  now  West  Cambridge, 
at  the  door  of  a  Mr.  Cutter,  a  friend  of  his,  who  urged  him 
to  tarry  the  night.  On  Uugg's  declining  to  stop,  Mr.  Cutter 
urged  him  vehemently.  '  Why,  Mr.  Rugg,'  said  Cutter,  '  the 
storm  is  overwhelming  you  :  the  night  is  exceeding  dark  :  your 
little  daughter  will  perish  :  you  are  in  an  open  chair,  and  the 
tempest  is  increasing.'  'Let  the  storm  increase,''  said  Eugg,  with 
a  fearful  oath  ;  '  /  will  see  home  to-night,  in  spite  of  the  last  tem- 
pest, or  may  I  never  see  home  I '  At  these  words  he  gave  his 
whip  to  his  high-spirited  horse,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment. 


BOSTON    TRUCK. 


But  Peter  Eugg  did  not  reach  home  that  night,  or  the  next ; 
nor,  when  he  became  a  missing  man,  could  he  ever  be  traced 
beyond  Mr.  Cutter's  in  Menotomy. 

"  For  a  long  time  after,  on  every  dark  and  stormy  night,  the 
wife  of  Peter  Eugg  would  fancy  she  heard  the  crack  of  a  whip, 
and  the  fleet  tread  of  a  horse,  and  the  rattling  of  a  carriage 
passing  her  door.  The  neighbors,  too,  heard  the  same  noises ; 
and  some  said  they  knew  it  was  Eugg's  horse,  the  tread  on 
the  pavement  was  perfectly  familiar  to  them.  This  occurred  so 
repeatedly,  that  at  length  the  neighbors  watched  with  lanterns, 
and  saw  the  real  Peter  Eugg,  with  his  own  horse  and  chair, 
and  child  sitting  beside  him,  pass  directly  before  his  own  door, 
his  head  turned  toward  his  house,  and  himself  making  every 
effort  to  stop  his  horse,  but  in  vain. 


104  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  The  next  day  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Engg  exerted  themselves 
to  find  her  husband  and  child.  They  inquired  at  every  public- 
house  and  stable  in  town  ;  but  it  did  not  appear  that  Eugg 
made  anj^  stay  in  Boston.  No  one,  after  liugg  had  passed  his 
own  door,  could  give  any  account  of  him  ;  though  it  was  asserted 
by  some  that  the  clatter  of  Eugg's  horse  and  carriage  over  the 
pavements  shook  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the  streets.  And 
this  is  credible,  if  indeed  Eugg's  horse  and  carriage  did  pass  on 
that  night.  For  at  thi^  day,  in  many  of  the  streets,  a  loaded 
truck  or  team  in  passing  will  sliake  the  houses  like  an  earth- 
quake. However,  Eugg's  neighbors  never  afterward  watched  ; 
some  of  them  treated  it  all  as  a  delusion,  and  thought  no  more 
of  it.  Others,  of  a  different  opinion,  shook  their  heads  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Thus  Eugg  and  his  child,  horse  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  Eugg  afterward  was  seen 
in  Connecticut,  between  Suffield  and  Hartford,  passing  through 
the  country  with  headlong  speed.  This  gave  occasion  to  Eugg's 
friends  to  make  further  inquiry.  But  tlie  more  they  inquired, 
the  more  they  were  baffled.  If  they  heard  of  Eugg  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  chdd,  exactly  answering  the  description  of  Peter  Eugg, 
would  be  seen  in  Ehode  Island  inquiring  the  way  to  Boston. 

"  But  that  which  chiefly  gave  a  color  of  mystery  to  the  story 
of  Peter  Eugg  was  the  alfair  at  Charlestown  Bridge.  The  toll- 
gatherer  asserted  that  sometimes  on  the  darkest  and  most  stormy 
nights,  when  no  object  could  be  discerned,  about  the  time  Eugg 
was  missing,  a  horse  and  wheel  carriage,  Avith  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  toll- 


A   LEGEND   OF   THE   OLD    ELM.  105 

gatherer,  prepared,  took  liis  stand  as  near  the  middle  of  the 
bridge  as  he  dared,  witli  a  large  three-legged  stool  in  his  hand. 
As  the  appearance  passed,  he  threw  the  stool  at  the  horse,  but 
heard  nothing,  except  the  noise  of  the  stool  skipping  across  the 
bridge.  The  toll-gatherer,  on  the  next  day,  asserted  that  the 
stool  went  directly  through  the  body  of  the  horse ;  and  he  per- 
sisted in  that  belief  ever  after.  Whether  Rugg,  or  whoever  the 
person  was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the  toll-gatherer  would 
never  tell ;  and  when  questioned,  seemed  anxious  to  waive  the 
subject.  And  thus  Peter  Eugg  and  his  child,  horse  and  car- 
riage, remain  a  mystery  to  this  day." 

This,  sir,  is  all  that  I  could  learn  of  Peter  liugg  in  Boston. 


A  LEGEND   OF  THE   OLD   ELM. 

BY   ISAAC   McLELLAN,    Jr. 

MIKE  WILD  was  a  substantial  grocer,  and  flourished  in 
the  good  old  days  of  Boston.  He  has  for  many  years 
been  peacefully  gathered  to  his  fathers,  as  a  small  gray  tablet, 
very  much  defaced  by  the  hand  of  time  and  the  idle  schoolboy, 
will  testify.  This  memorial  of  Mr.  Wild's  mortality  may  be 
seen  by  the  curious  antiquary  in  the  Old  Granary  Churchyard, 
bearing  a  pithy  inscription,  which  denotes  the  years  and  days  of 
Mike's  mortal  career,  and  is  disfigured  by  the  customary  cherub 
and  seraph  of  churchyard  sculpture. 

Mike  was  known  to  be  a  hard  man,  miserly  and  penurious  ; 
but  it  was  never  clearly  proved  that  he  was  dishonest.  If  his 
crafty  and  calculating  spirit  could  discriminate  nicely  between 
a  sure  and  a  doubtful  speculation,  it  could  determine  with  equal 
accuracy  how  far  to  overreach  his  neighbor,  and  yet  escape  the 
hazard  of  becoming  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  fraud.  But  he 
valued  himself  most  upon  his  shrewdness  and  caution,  profess- 
ing to  hold  in  utter  contempt  the  folly  of  credulity  ;  and  when 


106  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

he  read  or  heard  of  any  im})osition  practised  upon  his  neigh- 
bors, he  used  to  say  :  "  Folks  must  be  up  betimes  to  overreach 
Mike  Wild." 

One  stormy  evening,  about  the  close  of  the  autumn  of  1776, 
Mike  was  enjoying  his  customary  household  comforts,  his  can 
and  pipe,  in  the  little  back  parlor  of  his  dwelling,  Number  — , 
Xorth  End,  being  the  house  next  to  that  occupied  by  Mr. 
Peter  Rugg,  famous  in  story.  The  night  was  dark  without  as 
the  "  throat  of  the  black  wolf,"  and  as  turbulent  as  that  animal 
when  a  long  snow-storm  upon  the  hills  has  driven  him  mad 
with  famine. 

This  obscure  chamber  was  the  theatre  of  his  earthly  felicity. 
It  was  here  that  he  counted  over  his  accumulating  gains,  with 
every  returning  night ;  indulged  in  the  precious  remembrance 
of  j)ast  success,  and  rioted  in  the  golden  visions  of  future  pros- 
perity. Therefore  with  this  room  were  associated  all  the  pleas- 
ing recollections  of  his  life. 

It  was  the  ordy  green  spot  in  his  memory,  —  the  refreshing 
oasis  in  the  barren  desert  of  his  affections.  It  was  there  alone 
that  the  solitary  gleam  of  consolation  touched  and  melted  the 
ice  of  his  soul.  It  was  natural,  then,  considering  his  selfish 
nature,  that  he  should  keep  it  sacred  and  inviolate.  The  foot 
of  wife  or  child  was  never  permitted  to  invade  this  sanctum. 
Such  approach  on  their  part  would  have  been  deemed  high 
treason,  and  punished  as  such  without  "  benefit  of  clergy." 
Such  intrusion  by  a  neighbor  would  have  been  deemed  a  decla- 
ration of  hostilities,  and  would  have  been  warmly  repelled.  It 
were,  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  Avhich  can  keep  the  head  from  harm,  if  at  any  time 
the  absence  of  better  qualities  provoke  assault. 

The  besom  of  the  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 been  held  and  transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  that  if  a  title 


A   LEGEND    OF   THE    OLD    ELM. 


107 


by  prescription  could  ever  avail  against  the  practical  argument 
of  the  broom,  there  was  little  fear  of  a  process  of  ejectment. 

As  the  old  lamp  at  the  gate  creaked  dismally,  and  the  crazy 
shutters  of  his  chamber  rattled  still  more  noisily  in  the  wind, 
the  mercury  of  Mike's  spirits  rose  higher,  —  a  physical  phenom- 
enon not  easily  explained.  Perhaps,  as  the  elemental  war  grew 
sharper,  his  own  nature  grew  more  benign  in  the  consciousness 
that  a  secure  shelter  was  interposed  between  his  own  head  and 
the  elements. 

The  last  drops  ai^^UUXS^<  'A 

of  good  liquor 
had  disappeared 
from  Mike's  sil- 
ver tankard,  the 
last  wavering 
wreath  of  smoke 
had  dissolved  in 
the  air,  and  the 
dull  embers  of 
his  hearth  were 
fast  dying  away 
in  the  Avhite  ash- 
es, when  Mike, 
upon  raising  his 
eyes       suddenly, 

was  much  startled  to  observe  tliat  he  had  company  in  his  solitude. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  shook  himself,  to  ascertain  his  personal 
identity  ;  but  still  the  large,  strong  figure  of  a  man  was  seated  in 
the  old  leather  chair  directly  opposite  to  him.  Whence  he  came, 
by  what  means  he  had  entered,  what  Avere  his  purposes,  were 
mysteries  too  deep  for  Mike's  faculties  at  that  time  to  fathom. 
There  he  sat,  however,  motioidess  as  a  statue,  with  his  arms 
folded,  and  a  pair  of  large,  lustrous  black  eyes  fastened  full 
upon  him.  There  was  a  complete  fascination  in  that  glance, 
which  sent  a  thrill  through  his  whole  frame,  and  held  him  as 
with  an  iron  chain  to  his  chair. 


CHAISE,  me. 


108  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Mike,  like  a  good  general,  soon  rallied  his  routed  faculties, 
reanimated  his  fugitive  thoughts,  and  resolved,  though  possess- 
ing a  faint  heart,  to  show  a  bold  front,  —  a  cheat  often  prac- 
tised by  better  tacticians.  He  thereupon  plucked  up  heroism, 
and  soon  ascertained  that  his  visitor  vras  of  very  affable  and 
benignant  bearing. 

He  communicated  his  business  brieliy,  in  which  virtue  of 
brevity  we  shall  condescend  to  be  an  imitator.  He  revealed 
that  he  was  indeed  of  unearthly  nature,  —  a  disembodied  spirit, 
and  that  during  his  earthly  sojourn  he  had  secreted  a  most 
precious  treasure,  which  had  been  unlawfully  acquired,  under 
the  Old  Elm  Tree  in  the  centre  of  the  Common.  He  could  not 
rest  quietly  in  the  grave  until  he  had  imparted  the  secret  to 
some  human  being ;  and  as  Mike  was  a  man  after  his  own  heart, 
he  had  selected  hiin  as  the  object  of  his  bounty.  ]\like  thanked 
him  sincerely  for  the  compliment  and  kindness,  and  promised 
to  go  forth  without  delay  in  search  of  the  treasure.  He  sallied 
forth  with  his  "  spiritual  guide,"  his  mind  intoxicated  with  the 
thought  of  the  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  scattered  sleet  swept  furiously 
along  the  streets,  pursued  by  the  screaming  wind  ;  but  the 
wrath  of  the  elements  was  disarmed  by  the  glorious  vision  of 
riches  and  honor  which  possessed  him. 

They  arrived  at  length,  after  much  wading  and  tribulation, 
at  the  Old  Elm,  now  the  trysting-place  of  young  people  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  and  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  the  old  tree,  he  requested 
his  guide  to  designate  the  particular  spot  that  contained  the 
treasure ;  but  receiving  no  response  to  this  very  natural  inquiry, 


A   LEGEND    OF   THE    OLD    ELM. 


109 


lie  looked  round  and  saw  tliat  his  genius  had  vanished  "  into 
the  air,"  prohably  like  Macboth's  witches,     lie  was  not  to  be 
dishearteneel  or  daunted,  h(5wever  ;  so  he  resolutely  commenced 
delving,  with  the  zeal  of  an  ardent  money- 
digger.     He  turned  up  many  a  good  rood       ' 
"»f  soil  without   meeting  the  precious  ore, 
when  his  fears  got  the  better  of  his  dis- 
cretion, and  his  fancy  busilv  peopled  the 
obhcure  tops  and  limbs  ol   tlie  old  tiec  AMth 
all   maiinii   oi    giote^(iue   bliapeb  and  t;ib- 


THE   MONEY-DIGGER. 


bering  monsters,  and  he  fancied  that  the  evil  spirits  of  de- 
parted malefactors  were  celebrating  their  festival  orgies,  and 
making  merry  with  their  infernal  dances  around  him. 


110  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

His  fear  had  increased  to  agony.  Tlie  spade  dropped  from 
his  powerless  hand,  his  hair  bristled  with  terror,  and  his  great 
eyes  nearly  leaped  from  liis  head  in  his  endeavor  to  penetrate 
the  gloom  that  surronnded  him.  Once  more  his  mysterious 
guide  stood  before  him  ;  but  one  glance  of  his  awfully  altered 
face  completed  the  climax  of  his  fright.  Those  large  black, 
lustrous  eyes  now  kindled  like  two  balls  of  flame ;  and  as  their 
fiendish  lustre  glared  upon  him,  he  shrank  back  as  from  a 
scorching  flame.  A  nose,  enormous  and  rubicund  as  the  car- 
buncle of  the  East,  protruded  many  a  rood  from  the  face  of 
his  evil  spirit,  and  immense  whiskers,  rough  and  shaggy  as  the 
lion's  mane,  flowed  around  his  visage.  The  gold-monster  con- 
tinued to  frown  upon  him  fearfully,  till  at  length  the  bewildered 
eyes  of  Mike  could  look  no  longer,  and  he  fell  to  the  earth 
utterly  senseless. 

When  Mike  awoke,  the  morning  sun  was  looking  cheerfully 
into  his  own  chamber  window,  and  the  birds  that  make  merry 
in  every  bright  summer  morning  were  singing  gayly  on  the 
house-eaves  above  his  head.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment, and  was  in  doubt  whether  he  had  not  lost  liis  senses,  or 
whether  the  visitor,  the  money,  the  walk  of  midnight,  and  the 
horrible  goblin,  were  not  all  the  mere  creations  of  a  dream. 

While  lost  in  these  doubts  and  difficulties,  a  neighbor  oppor- 
tunely stepped  in,  to  whom  he  related  the  whole  scene,  adding 
at  the  same  time  suitable  embellishments  to  the  appearance  of 
the  fiend-like  apparition  which  had  haunted  him. 

His  friend  heard  him  for  some  time  expatiate  on  the  miracu- 
lous adventure,  but  at  length  could  preserve  his  gravity  no 
longer,  and  burst  forth  in  a  loud  lia  !  ha  !  ha  !  When  he  had 
recovered  sufficient  breath  to  articulate,  he  confessed  to  the 
electrified  Mike  that  his  visitor  was  no  other  than  himself,  and 
that  he  had  practised  the  hoax  in  order  to  decide  a  wager  with 
mine  host  of  the  Boar'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. 


ROXBUliY    rUDDING-STONE. 


Ill 


ROXBURY   PUDDING-STONE. 


IN"  those  pleasant  suburban  districts 
formerly  the  towns  of  lloxbury 
and  Dorchester,  the  rock  everywhere 
seen  in  the  roadside  walls  and 
outcropping  ledges  is  the  very  curi- 
ous conglomerate  familiarly  known 
as  pudding-stone ;  so  called,  no 
doubt,  on  account  of  the  pebbles 
that  are  imbedded  so  solidly  within 
the  cooled  mass  as  now  to  form  a 
part  of  it.  Eejecting  all  scientific 
hypotheses  in  favor  of  a  legend, 
the  genial  Dr.  Holmes  accounts  for 
the  geological  phenomenon  in  his 
own  felicitous  way  in  the  "Dorches- 
ter Giant,"  thus  enabling  us  to  conclude 
with  the  customary  geological  description. 


of   Boston   that  were 


f>     'I,    Ul) 


OLD    MILK-STONE. 

our   historical  pieces 


THE   DORCHESTER   GIANT. 

OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES, 

There  was  a  Giant  in  time  of  old, 

A  miglity  one  was  he  ; 
He  had  a  wife,  but  she  was  a  scold, 
So  he  kept  her  shut  in  his  mammoth  fold  ; 

And  he  had  children  three. 


Then  the  Giant  took  his  children  three, 

And  fastened  them  in  the  pen  ; 
The  children  roared  ;  quoth  the  Giant,  "  Be  still ! '' 
And  Dorchester  Heights  and  Milton  Hill 

Rolled  hack  the  sound  again. 


112 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Then  lie  brought  them  a  puddhig  stuffed  with  plums, 

As  big  as  the  State-House  dome  ; 
Quoth  he,  "  There 's  something  for  you  to  eat ; 
So  stop  your  mouths  with  your  'lection  treat, 

And  wait  till  your  dad  comes  home." 


What  are  those  loved  ones  doing  now, 

The  wife  and  children  sad? 
Oh,  they  are  in  a  terrible  rout, 
Screaming  and  throwing  their  pudding  alx)ut, 

Acting  as  they  were  mad. 

They  flung  it  over  to  Koxbury  hills, 

They  fluiig  it  over  the  plain. 
And  all  over  Milton  and  Dorchester  too. 
Great  lumps  of  pudding  the  giants  threw, 

They  tumbled  as  thick  as  rain. 

And  if,  some  pleasant  afternoon, 

You  '11  ask  me  out  to  ride. 
The  whole  of  the  story  I  wall  tell. 
And  you  may  see  where  the  puddings  fell, 

And  pay  for  the  punch  beside. 


Henuv  W.  Longfellow,  at  the  Age  of  35  Years. 


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  continues  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  vigorous  old  age. 
Long  live  the  Washington  Elm !  It  has  survived  the  renowned 
Charter  Oak,  it  outlives  its  venerated  neighbor,  the  Boston  Elm  ; 
and,  though  much  shattered  "  alow  and  aloft,"  it  bids  fair  to 
round  the  century  with  head  proudly  erect,  as  the  living  link 
joining  the  settlement  of  the  country  with  the  era  of  its  greatest 
prosperity. 

The  historic  elm-tree  stands  in  the  public  highway,  by  the 
side  of  the  Common,  in  the  city  of  Cambridge.  The  Common 
Avas  the  training-field  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  quaint 
old  College  buildings,  which  then  served  as  barracks  for  this 
army  ;  while  scattered  round  about  the  neighborhood  are  many 
of  the  residences  that  the  chances  of  war  turned  into  quarters 
for  the  officers  when  they  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  AVashington  Elm  —  shakes  out  its  annual 


116 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


foliage,  so  like  to  the  ivy  clinging  and  clustering  about  a  ruin. 
As  a  tree,  it  would  be  sure  to  command  attention  on  account  of 
its  apparent  great  age;  but  it  is  something  more  than  a  tree. 
Silent  witness  to  all  the  scenes  that  have  been  enacted  here 
since  the  white  men  first  forced  their  way  through  the  thickets 
covering  the  surrounding  plain,  it  is  as  much  an  object  of  ven- 
eration to  the  citizens  as  if  it  were  really  able  to  impart  what 


THE    WASHINGTON   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  camp-fires  lighting  the  long  line  of  an 
investing  army  steadily  tightening  its  coils  about  the  beleaguered 
capital,  lint  one  thing,  above  others,  invests  it  with  a  grandeur 
inseparable  from  him  who  was  the  noblest  Koman  of  them  all. 


THE   WASHINGTON   ELM.  117 

The  inscription  placed  at  the  base  of  tlie  trcci  tells  the  whole 
story  ;  to  this  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  a  single  word  : 

UXOEK  THIS  TREE 

WASIMNCTON 

FIRST  TOOK  COMMAND 

OF  THE 

AMERICAN  ARMY, 

JULY  3",   1776. 


THE  WASHINGTON"  ELM. 

MRS.    L.    N.    SIGOURNEY. 

Words  !  words,  Old  Tree  !     Thou  hast  an  aspect  fair, 

A  vigorous  heart,  a  heaven-aspiring  crest  ; 
And  sleepless  memories  of  the  days  that  were, 

Lodge  in  thy  hranches,  like  the  song-bird's  nest. 

Words !  give  us  words  !     Methought  a  gathering  blast 
Mid  its  green  leaves  began  to  nnirmur  low, 

Shaping  its  utterance  to  the  nnghty  Past, 

That  backward  came,  on  pinions  floating  slow  : 

"  The  ancient  masters  of  the  soil  I  knew, 

Whose  cane-roofed  wigwams  flecked  the  forest-brown  ; 
Their  hunter-footsteps  swept  the  early  dew, 

And  their  keen  arrow  struck  the  eagle  down. 

"  I  heard  the  bleak  December  tempest  moan 

When  the  tossed  '  Mayflower '  moored  in  Plymouth  Bay  ; 
And  watched  yon  classic  walls  as,  stone  by  stone, 

The  fathers  reared  them  slowly  toward  the  day. 

"  But  lo  !  a  mighty  Chieftain  'neath  my  shade 
Drew  his  bright  sword  and  reared  his  dauntless  head ; 

And  Liberty  sprang  forth  from  rock  and  glade, 
And  donned  her  helmet  for  the  hour  of  dread  : 


118  NEW-ENGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

AVhile  in  the  hero's  heart  there  dwelt  a  prayer 
That  Heaven's  protecting  arm  might  never  cease 

To  make  his  young,  endangered  land  its  care, 

Till  through  the  war-cloud  looked  the  angel  Peace. 

"  Be  wise,  my  children,"  said  that  ancient  Tree, 
In  earnest  tone,  as  though  a  Mentor  spake, 

"  And  prize  the  blood-bought  birthright  of  the  free. 
And  fu-nily  guard  it  for  your  country's  sake.'' 

Thanks,  thanks.  Old  Elm  !  and  for  this  counsel  sage, 
May  Heaven  thy  brow  with  added  beauty  grace, 

Grant  richer  emeralds  to  thy  crown  of  age. 
And  changeless  honors  from  a  future  race. 


THE   WASHINGTON   ELM. 

JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL. 

Beneath  our  consecrated  elm 

A  century  ago  he  stood, 

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  tlie  gown 

To  arms  had  yielded,  from  the  town, 

Our  rude  self-summoned  levies  flocked  to  see 

The  new-come  chiefs,  and  wonder  which  was  he. 

No  need  to  question  long  ;  close-lipped  and  tall. 

Long  trained  in  murder-brooding  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  bL'neath  the  legendary  tree, 

The  years  between  furl  off  ;  I  seem  to  see 

The  sun-flecks,  shaken  the  stirred  foliage  througli. 

Dapple  with  gold  his  sober  buff  and  blue. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   IIIGHWAVMEN.  119 

And  weave  prophetic  aureoles  round  the  head 

That  shines  our  beacon  now,  nor  darkens  with  the  dead. 

O  man  of  silent  mood, 

A  stranger  among  strangers  then, 

How  art  thou  since  renowned  the  Great,  the  Good, 

Familiar  as  the  day  in  all  the  homes  of  men  ! 

The  winged  years,  that  winnow  praise  and  Ijlame, 

Blow  many  names  out  ;  they  but  fan  to  flame 

The  self-renewing  splendors  of  thy  fame. 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   HIGHWAYMEN. 

MICHAEL  MAETIN,  alias  Captain  Lightfoot,  after  a 
checkered  career  in  Ireland,  his  native  country,  and 
in  Scotland,  as  a  highway  robber,  became  in  1819  a  fugitive  to 
America.  He  first  landed  at  Salem,  where  he  obtained  employ- 
ment as  a  fiirm-laborer.  But  a  life  of  honest  toil  not  being  so 
congenial  to  hin^  as  that  of  a  bandit,  he  again  took  to  his  old 
occupation  on  the  road,  this  time  making  Canada  the  scene  of 
his  exploits. 

After  committing  many  robberies  there  and  in  Vermont  and 
Xew  Hampshire,  and  always  eluding  capture,  Martin  at  length 
arrived  in  Boston.  He  at  once  began  his  bold  operations  upon 
the  highway ;  but  here  his  usual  good  luck  deserted  him.  His 
first  and  last  victim  was  IMajm^  John  Bray,  of  Boston.  Martin 
had  somehow  found  out  that  His  Excellency  Governor  Brooks 
intended  giving  a  dinner-party  at  his  mansion  in  Medford  on  a 
certain  afternoon,  and  he  had  determined  to  waylay  some  of 
the  company  on  their  return,  shrewdly  guessing  that  they  might 
be  well  worth  the  picking.  In  fact,  as  Major  Bray  was  driving 
leisurely  homeward  in  Ins  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-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  place  was  a  lonely  one,  aud  well  chosen  for  the  robber's  pur- 
pose. The  astounded  Major  handed  over  his  watch  and  his 
purse.  Having  secured  his  booty,  the  highwayman  wheeled  his 
horse,  gave  him  the  spur,  and  galloped  off;  Avhile  his  frightened 
and  crestfallen  victim,  lashing  his  horse  to  a  run,  raised  a  hue- 
and-cry  at  the  nearest  house. 

Martin  fled.  He  was  hotly  jiursued,  and  was  taken,  after  a 
chase  of  a  hundred  miles,  asleep  in  bed  at  Springfield.  The 
officers  brought  him  back,  and  lodged  him  in  East  Cambridge 
jail  to  await  his  trial.  He  was  tried  at  the  next  assizes  for 
highway  robbery,  Avas  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 
This  being  the  first  trial  occurring  under  the  statute  punish- 
ing such  an  offence,  it  naturally  created  a  great  deal  of  stir,  aud 
when  the  prisoner  was  brought  to  the  bar,  the  court-room  was 
thronged  with  curious  spectators.  Throughout  the  y)roceedings 
the  prisoner  was  perfectly  cool.  As  the  pupil  of  the  celebrated 
Thunderbolt,  he  had  a  reputation  to  maintain  ;  and  when  tlie 
judge,  putting  on  the  black  cap,  pronounced  the  awful  sentence 
of  death,  he  dryly  observed  :  "  Well,  that 's  the  worst  you  can  do 
for  me." 

The  doomed  man,  however,  made  one  desperate  efl"ort  to 
escape  from  prison.  He  had  founil  some  way  to  ])rocure  a  file, 
with  which  he  filed  off  his  iruns  so  that  he  could  remove  them 
wherever  he  liked  ;  aud  wlien  the  turnkey  one  morning  came 
into  the  cell,  he  being  off  his  guard,  th(;  prisoner,  using  his  irons 
as  a  weapon,  felled  him  to  the  ground  with  a  savage  l)lo\v  on 
the  head,  aud  leaving  him  stunned  and  ])leeding  upon  the  floor 
of  the  cell,  rushed  out  of  the  open  door  into  the  prison-yard. 
The  outer  Avails  Averc  too  higli  to  be  scaled,  and  free  passage 
into  the  street  Avas  barred  by  a  massive  oaken  gate.  But  this  did 
not  stop  the  resolute  highwayman,  avIio  was  a  man  of  herculean 
strength.  Dashing  himself  repeatedly,  with  all  his  force,  against 
it,  he  at  last  succeeded  in  breaking  the  gate  open,  and  passing 
quickly  through,  he  emerged  into  the  street  beyond  ;  but  being 
exhausted  by  his  frantic  efforts  to  escape,  after  a  short  flight 
his  pursuers  overtook  and  secured  him.     He  was  loaded  Avith 


THE    ELIOT   OAK.  121 

irons  and  cliaiued  to  his  cell.  After  this  desperate  attempt  to 
gain  his  liberty,  he  was  guarded  with  greater  vigilance  until  the 
day  appointed  for  his  execution,  when  the  "  Last  of  the  High- 
waymen "  paid  the  penalty  of  his  crimes  upon  the  scaffold. 


THE   ELIOT   OAK. 

IN  that  part  of  Boston  formerly  constituting  the  town  of 
Brighton,  and  still  farther  back  forming  a  precinct  of  Cam- 
bridge, there  is  a  pleasant  locality  called  Oak  Square.  It  was 
so  named  on  account  of  the  old  oak-tree  which  stood  there, 
and  which  is  probably  better  known  as  the  Eliot  Oak. 

This  gigantic  relic  of  the  primeval  forest  was  in  its  day  the 
largest  and  the  oldest  tree  of  its  species  growing  within  the  four 
boundaries  of  the  old  Bay  State,  and  it  was  officially  declared 
to  be  so  by  a  scientific  commission  which  was  charged  with 
making  a  botanical  survey  of  the  State.  The  declaration  is 
made  that  "It  had  probably  passed  its  prime  centuries  before 
the  first  English  voice  was  heard  on  the  shores  of  Massachusetts 
Bay."  Its  circumference  at  the  ground  was  given  at  twenty- 
live  feet  and  nine  inches,  or  two  feet  more  than  that  of  the 
Great  Elm  of  Boston.  Through  decay  the  trunk  became  hollow 
at  the  base,  furnishing  a  cavity  large  enough  to  serve  as  a  hid- 
ing-place for  the  schoolboys  who  played  under  the  shade  of  its 
wide-spreading  branches.  The  enormous  weight  of  these,  with 
their  foliage,  Avas  at  last  supported  by  a  mere  shell  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  necessity  compelled 
to  bite  the  dust.  By  an  order  of  the  town  it  was  cut  down  in 
May,  1855. 

A  little  west  of  this  tree  was  the  former  site  of  the  wigwam 
of  Waban,  Chief  of  the  Nonantums,  and  he  must  often  have 
rested  under  its  generous  shade.     The  old  Indian  trail  extended 


THE   ELIOT   OAK,    BKIGHTON. 


kliot's  oak.  123 

from   this  tree  northeast  to  the  Charles  River,  connecting  the 
settlement  here  with  the  Colleges  at  Old  Cambridge. 

Tradition  says  that  the  Apostle  Eliot  of  glorious  memory 
preached  to  the  Indians  under  this  very  oak.  We  are  amazed 
to  think  of  it  as  then  being  —  quite  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago 
—  in  its  vigorous  maturity.  This  is  the  incident  which  the 
poet  Longfellow  embalms  in  his  sonnet,  the  scene  being,  how- 
ever, transferred  to  JVatick,  JNIassachusetts,  where  these  Indians, 
by  the  advice  of  Eliot,  founded  one  of  their  Praying  Towns, 
and  adopted  the  customs  of  civilized  life. 


ELIOT'S     OAK. 

H,    W.    LONGFELLOW. 

Thou  ancient  oak !  whose  myriad  leaves  are  loud 
With  sounds  of  unintelligible  speech. 
Sounds  as  of  surges  on  a  shingly  beach, 
Or  multitudinous  murmurs  of  a  crowd ; 

With  some  mysterious  gift  of  tongues  endowed, 
Thou  speakest  a  different  dialect  to  each  ; 
To  me  a  language  that  no  man  can  teach. 
Of  a  lost  race,  long  vanished  like  a  cloud. 

For  underneath  thy  shade,  in  days  remote, 
Seated  like  Abraham  at  eventide 
Beneath  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  the  unknown 

Apostle  of  the  Indians,  Eliot,  wrote 
His  Bible  in  a  language  that  hath  died 
And  is  forgotten,  save  by  thee  alone. 


124  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   HUGUENOT   EXILES. 

HERP]  and  there  some  romantic  story  sheds  upon  the 
austere  New  England  life  of  the  past  a  tender  glow  not 
unlike  to  that  with  which  some  solitary  ray  of  golden  sunshine 
cheers  the  winter  landscape. 

In  168G,  the  year  following  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of 
Nantes,  a  handful  of  exiled  Huguenots  reached  the  shores  of 
New  England.  "  This  little  band  of  French  fiunilies,  trans- 
ported from  the  shore  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  to  the  wilds  of  our 
New  England  interior,"  reminds  me,  says  the  poet  Holmes, 
"  of  the  isolated  group  of  magnolias  which  we  find  surrounded 
by  the  ordinary  forest  trees  in  our  Massachusetts  town  of 
Manchester." 

When  we  consider  that  New  England  had  been  peopled 
almost  wholly  by  religious  exiles  of  the  Protestant  faith,  it  is 
not  strange  that  these  Huguenots  should  turn  their  eyes  wist- 
fully toward  the  land  of  the  Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan,  Avhere  the 
banner  of  Christ  had  been  planted  by  Christian  hands  far  from 
the  tyranny  of  kings  or  prelates,  and  under  its  protecting  folds 
maintained  witli  simple  dignity  the  gospel  of  peace  and  good 
will  to  all  men. 

Gabriel  Bernon,  the  agent  and  patron  of  these  poor  people, 
had  procured  for  them  of  the  colonial  authorities,  a  tract  of  wil- 
derness land  in  what  was  then  known  as  the  Nipmuck  Country, 
of  which  Wachusett  Mountain  is  the  central  and  dominating 
landmark  far  and  near. 

There  were  in  all  about  thirty  French  families,  chiefly 
liochellois,  who  began  settlement  in  what  is  now  the  town  of 
Oxford,  Massachusetts.  It  is  evident  that  they  were  farmers 
and  not  artisans  from  the  cities.     The  life  to  which  all  their 


TIIK    lUdUF.XOT    KXILKS.  125 

desires  fended  was  a  pastoral  one.  Kor  defence  tliey  built  a 
rude  fortress  on  a  commanding  eminence  that  overlooked  the 
vale.  For  the  worship  of  God  they  raised  an  humble  chapel  in 
which  their  pastor  imi)lored  the  divine  blessing  on  the  little 
plantation.  They  built  cottages,  and  reared  mills  and  barns  in 
which  to  grind  and  store  their  first  harvest;  they  cleared  land 
anil  planted  vineyards.  Their  cattle  were  turned  out  to  graze 
along  the  river  meadows,  and  with  the  favor  of  heaven  these 
exiles  looked  forward  to  increasing  prosperity. 

But  only  a  brief  season  of  peace  smiled  upon  this  little  out- 
post of  Christian  men  and  women.  The  Indians  gave  them 
continued  cause  for  fear  and  distrust,  under  the  influence  of 
which  the  plantation  not  only  came  to  a  standstill,  but  was  also 
slowly  exhausting  itself.  In  seven  or  eight  years  it  had  grown 
so  poor  that  the  inhabitants  humbly  prayed  that  their  taxes 
might  be  remitted,  as  they  had  not  the  means  of  paying  them. 
Several  families  had  already  removed.  The  rest,  harassed  by 
continual  alarms,  which  at  last  had  compelled  them  to  abandon 
their  houses  and  take  refuge  within  their  fort,  saw  their  harvests 
wasted  and  trampled  under  foot  by  their  own  cattle,  while  they 
were  standing  to  their  arms  in  expectation  of  an  immediate 
attack.  Their  pastor,  Pere  Boudet,  had  deserted  them,  taking 
with  him  the  records  of  the  plantation  upon  which  despondency 
had  now  definitely  and  finally  settled. 

At  length  the  massacre  of  an  English  family,  wlio  lived  on 
the  skirt  of  the  village,  decided  the  settlers  to  abandon  it  in 
a  body. 

The  departure  of  the  exiles  from  their  forest  home  could  not 
fail  of  being  a  most  impressive  scene.  We  have  only  a 
traditional  account  of  it,  but  even  that  brief  narrative  is  full  of 
sad  and  bitter  suggestions.  For  the  second  time  these  poor 
people  had  become  houseless  and  homeless  wanderers.  Their 
slender  resources  were  spent,  their  years  of  labor  wasted,  their 
spirits  depressed.  Whither  now  should  they  gol  Ten  long 
years  had  been  given  to  the  futile  effort  to  secure  a  home  for 
themselves  and  their  children,  and  now  all  the  fruits  of  their 


126  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

labor,  their  houses,  their  barns,  their  mills  and  their  crops,  must 
be  abaudoued  to  the  prowling  savage.  Their  wise  and  benevo- 
lent patron,  Gabriel  Kernon,  had  already  impoverislied  himself 
and  could  now  do  no  more  in  their  behalf.  Truly  tliat  divine 
assistance  in  which  tliey  had  never  doubted,  even  in  the  darkest 
hour,  was  now  become  their  sole  stay  and  support. 

At  last  the  day  fixed  for  their  departure  arrived.  In  the  early 
morning  each  family  took  leave  of  its  own  home,  around  which 
clustered  so  many  tender  associations.  The  men  gazed  in 
silence  upon  what  the  labor  of  their  own  hands  had  so  uselessly 
wrought,  the  women  culled  the  last  flowers  of  their  little  gar- 
dens and  watered  them  witli  their  tears.  They  then  assembled 
in  their  little  chapel,  where  they  had  a  refreshing  season  of  wor- 
ship and  of  mutual  consolation.  After  this  they  went  in  a  body 
to  their  place  of  burial  in  order  to  take  a  last  leave  of  those  who 
were  shortly  to  remain  sole  inhabitants  of  the  deserted  village. 
Upon  these  lonely  graves  loving  hands  now  dropped  some 
farewell  token  of  remembrance,  while  loving  lips  repeated  a  fare- 
well prayer.  Everything  being  at  length  done  decently  and  in 
order, 

Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on  their  dwellings, 
Ere  they  were  shut  out  by  the  winding  road  and  the  woodland, 

the  exiles  slowly  began  their  mournful  march  over  the  rough 
forest  road  toward  Boston. 

Only  a  heap  of  rubbish,  overgrown  with  wild  vines,  now  indi- 
cates the  site  of  the  ancient  fort,  but  the  blood  of  these  Hugue- 
nots, mingled  with  that  of  the  Puritans  and  ennobling  it,  has 
left  a  far  more  enduring  testimony  to  the  obscure  story  we  have 
just  related.  The  names  of  Sigourney,  of  Bowdoin,  of  Boudinot, 
of  Faneuil,  of  Revere,  of  Johonnot,  are  thus  become  so  many 
memorials  to  the  iron  tyranny  which  drove  thousands  of  the 
Huguenot  subjects  of  Louis  XIV.  into  voluntary  exile. 


LYNN  AND   NAHANT  LEGENDS. 

THE  vivid  and  life-like  description  of  the  coast  scenery  of 
ancient  Saugus,  borrowed  from  "  The  Bridal  of  Penna- 
cook,"  is  a  most  fitting  introduction  to  our  legends ;  for  nowhere 
could  a  wilder  or  more  romantic  region,  or  one  embodying  more 
striking  natural  traits,  prepare  the  mind  for  receiving  those  weird 
tales  which  so  truly  present  to  it  the  superstitious  side  of  old 
New  England  life. 

A  wild  and  broken  landscape,  spiked  with  firs, 
Roughening  the  bleak  horizon's  northern  edge, 

Steep,  cavernous  hillsides,  where  black  hendock  spurs 
And  sharp,  gray  splinters  of  the  wind-swept  ledge 

Pierced  the  thin-glazed  ice,  or  bristling  rose. 

Where  the  cold  rim  of  the  sky  sunk  down  upon  the  snows. 


And  eastward  cold,  wdde  marshes  stretched  away, 
Dull  dreary  flats  without  a  bush  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. 


128  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  PENNACOOK. 

IN  the  "  Bridal  of  Pennacook,"  jMr.  ^Vllittiel•,  who  is  liimself 
at  once  the  product  aud  the  poet  of  this  romantic  coast, 
tells  us  that  he  chanced  upon  tlie  motive  of  the  poem  wliile 
poring  over 

An  old  chronicle  of  border  wars 
And  Indian  history. 

This  was  undoubtedly  Tliomas  Morton's  "  New  English  Ca- 
naan,"—  a  book  which  the  Puritans  indignantly  denominated 
"scandalous,"  and  for  wliich  they  imprisoned  the  author  a 
whole  year,  then  dismissing  him  with  a  fine.  But  aside  from  its 
merciless  ridicule  of  them  and  their  ways,  its  value  as  "  Indian 
history  "  is  duly  certified  by  most  competent  judges,  one  of 
whom  says  that  Morton's  description  of  the  Indians  "  is  su- 
perior to  that  of  most  authors  before  his  time  ;  and  though  he 
sometimes  indulges  his  imagination,  yet  this  part  of  his  work  is 
of  exceeding  great  value  to  inquirers  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  he  found  this  old 
chronicle,  wherein  he  read,  — 

A  story  of  the  niarriaj^t-  of  tlic  Chief 
Of  Saugus  to  the  dusky  Weetanioo, 
Daugliter  of  Passaeonaway,  who  dwelt 
In  tlid  old  time  \\\mn  the  Merrimack. 

This  is  the  story  as  it  is  related  by  Morton.  Winnepurkit, 
the  son  of  Nanapasliemet,  or  the  New  Moon,  was  the  Sagamore  of 
Saugus,  Naundvoag,  and  Massabequash,  —  now  known  as  Saugus, 
Lynn,  Salem,  and  Marblehead.     When  he  vimw.  to  man's  estate 


TIIK    lli;il».\L    (»K    I'KXNACOOK. 


129 


this  young  saclieni,  who  was  l:)oth  valiant  and  of  nol)le  hhjod, 
made  choice  for  his  wife  of  the  dau;j,hter  of  l-'assaconaway,  the 
great  cliieftaiu  of  the  tribes  inhaljiting  the  valley  of  the  Merri- 
maek.  Not  only  Avas  Passaconaway  a  mighty  chief  in  Avar  or 
[)eace,  but  lie  was  also  the  greatest  powow,  or  wizard,  of  whom 


THE    DEVILS    PULPIT,    ^'AHANT,    MASS. 


we  have  any  account.  Indeed  the  powers  attributed  to  him  by 
the  English  colonists  Avould  almost  surpass  belief,  w'ere  they  not 
fully  vouched  for  by  the  learned  and  reverend  chroniclers  of  that 
day,  who  gravely  assert  that  so  skilled  Avas  he  in  the  arts  of 
necromancy,  that  he  could  cause  a  green  leaf  to  grow  in  wdnter, 

9 


130  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

trees  to  dance,  water  to  burn,  and  the  like  marvels  to  appear  in 
the  course  of  his  mystical  invocations. 

With  the  consent  and  good  liking  of  this  redoubtable  saga- 
more, "Winnepurkit  wooed  and  married  the  daughter  of  Passa- 
conaM'ay.  Bountiful  was  the  entertainment  that  he  and  his 
attendants  received  at  her  father's  hands,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  his  people  when  celebrating  an  event  of  this  kind,  and 
such  as  suited  the  exalted  rank  of  the  bride  and  groom. 
Feasting  and  revelry  succeeded,  or  rather  they  made  a  part  of 
tlio  marriage  solemnities,  as  with  all  ancient  peoples.  The  cere- 
monies being  over,  Passaconaway  caused  a  select  number  of  his 
braves  to  escort  his  daughter  into  the  territories  belonging  to  her 
lord  and  husband,  where  being  safely  come,  they  Avere,  in  a  like 
manner,  most  hospitably  entertained  by  Winnepurkit  and  his 
men,  and  when  they  were  ready  to  depart,  were  generously 
rewarded    with  gifts  for  their  loving  care  and  service. 

Xot  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  fotlier. 
Her  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  Avarriors  to  conduct 
his  lady  to  her  fiither,  to  whom  they  with  great  resj^ect  presently 
brought  her  safe  and  sountl ;  and  then,  after  being  graciously 
received  and  as  graciously  dismissed,  they  returned  to  give  an 
account  of  their  errand,  leaving  tlu'ir  princess  to  continue  among 
her  frientls  at  her  own  good  will  and  pleasure.  After  some  stay 
in  her  old  home  by  the  ])eautiful  mountain  river,  the  lady  signi- 
fied her  desire  to  go  back  to  her  hus])and  again,  upon  which  I'as- 
saconaway  sent  an  embassy  to  Winnci)urkit  with  order  to  notify 
him  of  this  wish  on  her  part,  and  to  re(iuest  tliat  the  Sachem 
of  Saugus,  his  son-in-law,  might  at  once  despatch  a  suitable 
guard  to  escort  his  wife  back  through  the  wilderness  to  her  home. 
But  Winnepurkit,  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 


THE    BKIDAL   OF   TENNACOOK.  131 

his  own  men  to  wait  upon  lier  to  her  father's  territories,  as  did 
become  him  ;  but  now  that  she  had  an  intent  to  return,  it  did 
become  her  father  to  send  lier  back  with  a  convoy  of  his  own 
people ;  and  that  it  stood  not  with  Winnepurkit's  reputation 
either  to  make  liimself  or  liis  men  so  servile  as  to  fetch  her 
again." 

Thereupon  the  old  sachem,  Passaconaway,  was  much  incensed 
at  liaving  this  curt  auswer  returned  to  him  by  one  whom  he 
considered  at  most  only  a  petty  chief  and  a  vassal;  and  beiu"' 
moreover  sadly  nettled  to  think  that  liis  son-in-law  should  pre- 
tend to  give  him,  Passaconaway,  a  lesson  in  good-breeding,  or 
did  not  esteem  him  more  highly  than  to  make  this  a  matter  for 
negotiation,  sent  back  this  sharp  re])ly  :  "  That  liis  daughter's 
blood  and  birth  deserved  more  respect  than  to  be  slighted  in 
such  a  manner,  and  therefore  if  he  (Winnepurkit)  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  indignant  father-in-law  that  he  must  either  send  his  daughter 
home  in  charge  of  his  own  escort,  or  else  he  might  keep  her ; 
since  Winnepurkit  was,  for  his  own  part,  fidly  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  supposed  to  have  finally  rejoined  her  haughty  spouse, 
though  in  what  Avay  does  not  appear  in  the  later  relation  before 
us.  She  was  no  true  woman,  however,  if  she  failed  to  discover 
a  means  to  soften  the  proud  heart  of  Winnepurkit,  who  after 
all  was  perhaps  only  too  ready  to  accord  to  her  tears  and  her 
entreaties  what  he  had  so  loftily  refused  at  the  instigation  of  a 
punctiliousness  that  was  worthy  of  tlie  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 
Merrimack  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 


132  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Peiinacook  at  last  determines  to  brave  tlie  perils  of  the  swollen 
and  turbid  Merrimack  alone,  to  seek  the  wigwam  of  her  dusky 
husband.  Stealing  away  from  her  comi)anions,  she  launches 
her  frail  canoe  upon  the  bosom  of  the  torrent,  and  is  instantly 
swept  by  it,  — 

Down  the  vexed  centre  of  that  rushing  tide, 
The  thick  huge  ice-blocks  threatening  eitlier  side, 
The  I'oani-white  rocks  of  Auioskeag  in  view. 
With  arrowy  swiftness  — 


Down  the  white  rapids  like  a  sere  leaf  whirled, 
On  the  sharp  rocks  and  piled-up  ices  hurled, 
Emjjty  and  broken,  circled  the  canoe 
In  the  vexed  pool  below  —  but  where  was 
Weetamoo  ? 


THE   PIRATES'   GLEN. 

THE  year  1658  was  signalized  in  New  England  by  a  great 
earthquake,  which  is  mentioned  in  some  of  the  ohl  chron- 
icles. Connected  with  this  convulsion,  which  in  the  olden 
time  was  regarded  as  a  most  signal  mark  of  the  displeasure  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  arc  of  tiiemselves  sufficient  to 
create  a  doubt  whether,  after  all,  it  has  not  a  more  substantial 
foundation  than  has  generally  been  conceded  to  it.  "NVe  will- 
ingly give  it  the  benefit  of  this  doubt ;  meanwhile  contenting 
ourselves  with  the  statement  that  its  first  appearance  in  print, 
so  far  as  known  to  the  Avrit(!r,  was  in  Lewis's  "History  of  Lynn." 
But  here  is  the  legend  in  all  its  purity. 


TIIK    riKATES'    GL?:N.  133 

Some  time  previous  to  tlie  great  earthquake,  in  tlie  tvviliglit 
of  a  pleasant  evening  on  tlie  coast,  a  small  hark  was  seen  to 
approach  the  shore,  i'url  her  sails,  and  drop  her  anchor  near  the 
mouth  of  Saugus  liiver,  A  boat  was  presently  lowered  from 
her  side,  which  four  men  got  into  and  rowed  silently  up  the 
river  to  where  it  enters  the  hills,  when  they  landed,  and  plunged 
into  the  woods  skirting  the  banks.  These  movements  had  been 
noticed  by  only  a  few  individuals  ;  but  in  those  early  times, 
when  the  people  were  surrounded  by  dangers  and  were  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  the  strangers'  business.  In  the  morning  all  eyes 
were  naturally  directed  toward  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  found.  It  was  af- 
terward learned,  however,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  vessel's 
disappearance  a  workman,  upon  going  to  his  daily  task  at  the 
Forge,  on  the  river's  bank,  had  found  a  paper  running  to  the 
effect  that  if  a  certain  quantity  of  shackles,  handcuffs,  and  other 
articles  named  were  made,  and  with  secrecy  deposited  in  a  cer- 
tain i)lace  in  the  woods,  which  was  particularly  described,  an 
amount  of  silver  equal  to  their  full  value  would  be  found  in 
their  stead.  The  manacles  were  duly  made  and  secreted,  in 
conformity  with  the  strange  directions.  On  the  following 
morning  they  had  been  taken  away,  and  the  money  left  accord- 
ing to  the  letter  of  the  promise ;  but  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  a  strict  watch  had  been  kept,  no  sign  of  a  vessel  could  be 
discovered  in  the  offing.  Some  months  later  than  this  event, 
wdiich  had  furnished  a  fruitful  theme  for  the  village  gossips, 
the  four  men  returned,  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  the  effect  that  the 
pirate  chief  brought  with  him  a  beautiful  woman.  The  place 
of  their  retreat  was  a  deep  and  narrow  valley,  shut  in  on  two 
sides  by  craggy,  precipitous  rocks,  and  screened  on  the  others 


134  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

by  a  thick  growth  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and  cedars.  There  was 
only  one  small  spot  to  which  the  rays  of  the  noonday  sun  could 
penetrate.  Upon  climbing  the  rude  and  nearly  perpendicular 
steep  of  the  cliff  on  tlie  eastern  side  of  this  glen,  the  eye  com- 
manded a  noble  expanse  of  sea  stretching  far  to  the  south,  be- 
sides a  wide  extent  of  the  surrounding  country.  No  spot  on 
the  coast  could  have  been  better  chosen  for  the  double  purpose 
of  concealment  and  observation.  Even  at  this  day,  when  the 
neighborhood  has  become  thickly  peopled,  it  is  still  a  lonely 
and  desolate  place,  whose  gloomy  recesses  are  comparatively 
unknown  and  unvisited.  Here  the  pirates  built  themselves  a 
small  hut,  made  a  garden,  and  dug  a  well,  of  which  some  traces 
still  remain.  It  is  supposed  that  they  also  buried  money  here, 
and  search  has  been  made  for  it  at  various  times,  but  none  has 
ever  been  found ;  and  to  deepen  the  mystery,  it  is  said  that  the 
pirate's  mistress,  who  is  described  as  very  pale  and  beautiful, 
having  sickened  and  died,  was  buried  here  in  an  unknown  grave, 
under  the  thick  shade  of  the  pines.  After  a  time  the  retreat  of 
the  pirates  became  noised  about.  They  were  traced  to  tlieir  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- 
posed that  they  paid  the  penalty  for  their  crimes  upon  the  gib- 
bet. The  third,  whose  name  was  Thomas  Yeale,  esca})ed  to  a 
cavern  in  the  woods,  which  he  and  his  confederates  had  previ- 
ously made  use  of  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  their  ill-gotten  booty. 
In  this  lonely  place  the  fugitive  fixed  his  residence,  practising 
the  trade  of  a  shoemaker,  and  occasionally  visiting  the  village 
to  obtain  food,  until  the  earthquake  which  ushered  in  the 
legend,  splitting  to  its  foundations  the  rock  in  which  the  cavern 
was  situated,  forever  sealed  the  entrance,  enclosing  the  doomed 
corsair  in  his  frightful  tomb.  This  cliif  has  ever  since  been 
known  as  Dungeon  Eock,  and  the  first  retreat  of  the  free- 
booters has  always  borne  the  name  of  The  Pirates'  Glen. 

The  sequel  to  the  legend  that  we  have  so  conscientiously 
related  to  the  reader,  is  more  striking  by  its  reality,  more  incred- 
ible, one  might  almost  say,  than  the  legend  itself  is,  with  aU  its 


THE   riKATES'    CILEN.  135 

ilmmatic  suiToundings.  The  story  of  Dungeon  Rock  now  leaves 
the  realm  of  the  legendary  for  that  of  active  supernatural 
agency ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  if  the  whole  world  can  produce 
another  such  example  of  the  absorbing  pursuit  of  an  idea  which 
has  become  the  fixed  and  dominant  impulse  of  a  life.  But  iirst 
let  us  introduce  the  reader  to  the  locality  itself. 

Two  miles  out  of  the  city  of  Lynn,  in  the  heart  of  the  secluded 
and  romantic  region  overlooking  it,  is  a  hill  high  and  steep,  one 
side  of  which  is  a  naked  precipice  ;  the  other,  which  the  rcjad 
ascends,  is  still  covered  with  a  magnificent  grove  of  oak-trees 
growing  among  enormous  bowlders,  and  clad,  when  I  saw  them, 
in  the  rags  of  their  autumnal  purple.  Few  wilder  or  more 
picturesque  spots  can  be  found  among  the  White  Hills  ;  and 
here  we  are  not  a  dozen  miles  removed  from  the  homes  of  half 
a  million  people.  The  rumored  existence  of  treasure  shut  up  in 
the  heart  of  this  clitt'  by  the  earthquake  seems  to  have  found 
credit  in  the  neighborhood,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  evidences 
of  a  heavy  explosion  in  what  was  supposed  to  be  the  ancient 
vestibule  of  the  cavern,  where  a  yawning  rent  in  the  side  of  the 
ledge  is  blocked  up  with  tons  of  massy  debris  and  every  ves- 
tige of  what  was  perhaps  an  interesting  natural  curiosity  thus 
wantonly  destroyed. 

Under  the  direction  of  spirit  mediums,  the  work  of  piercing 
Dungeon  Eock  was  begun  by  Hiram  Marble  about  fifty  years 
ago,  and  was  continued,  with  little  intermission,  for  about 
thirty  years.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  — spurred 
on,  when  they  were  ready  to  abandon  the  work  in  despair,  by 
some  delusive  revelation  of  the  spirits,  —  father  and  son  toiled  on 
in  the  vain  hope  of  unlocking  its  secret.  Tons  upon  tons  oi 
the  broken  rock  have  been  removed  by  their  hands  alone,  for 
the  windings  of  the  gallery  make  any  mechanical  contrivance 
useless  for  the  purpose.  So  hard  is  the  natural  formation,  that 
they  sometimes  advanced  only  a  foot  in  a  month  ;  and  the  labor 
was  further  increased  by  the  accumulation  of  water,  which  is 
constantly  oozing  from  fissures  of  the  rock.  Death  at  length 
released  the  elder  enthusiast  from  his  infatuation ;  but  the  son 


136  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

pursued  the  work  as  the  most  sacred  of  trusts,  until  he  too  died 
in  the  same  fatal  delusion. 

A  woman  whom  I  found  in  the  cabin  on  the  summit,  and 
who  proveil  to  be  the  treasure-seeker's  sister,  conducted  me  to 
the  entrance  of  the  shaft,  which  was  closed  by  a  grated  door, 
above  which  I  read  this  eminently  practical  legend  in  an  unprac- 
tical place  :  "Ye  Avho  enter  here,  leave  twenty-live  cents  behind." 
She  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  swung  back  the  grating,  and  Ave 
began  to  descend,  first  by  a  series  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock,  then 
by  such  foothold  as  the  slippery  floor  afforded.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  extreme  limit  of  the  excavation,  we  had  come  not 
far  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  a  perpendicular  descent 
of  only  forty ;  yet  I  remarked  that  the  gallery  at  times  almost 
doubled  upon  itself,  in  order  to  accomplish  what  might  have 
been  reached  in  half  the  distance,  and,  of  course,  with  half  the 
labor,  in  a  direct  line,  - —  which  would  seem  to  imply  that  the 
work  might  have  proceeded  more  expeditiously  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  competent  mining  engineer.  Nothing  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  rock  indicated  that  it  had  been  disturbed  since  the 
creation.  It  was  as  hard  as  adamant,  as  firm  as  marble,  as 
impenetrable  as  Fate. 

My  guide  pointed  out  the  supposed  locality  of  the  ancient 
entrance.  She  also  showed  me,  as  a  thing  to  which  the  fee  duh^ 
entitled  even  such  sceptics  as  myself,  the  fragment  of  a  corroded 
scabbard,  which  had  been  found,  she  said,  embedded  in  a  cranny 
within  the  excavation.  But  Avhen  I  afterward  mentioned  this 
circumstance  to  the  poet  Longfellow,  who  was  familiar  with  the 
locality  and  its  story,  he  laughed  pleasantly,  antl  said  that  unless 
his  memory  was  greatly  at  fault,  he  had  seen,  years  before,  during 
one  of  his  drives  in  the  neighborhood,  this  identical  thing  at  a 
blacksmith's  shop  where  he  had  sto^iped  on  some  errand.  Such 
questions  as  I  asked  were  freely  answered ;  but  she  talked  in  a 
way  that  was  almost  startling  in  its  matter-of-fact  assumption  of 
the  supernatural  as  the  controlling  element  in  one's  life  experi- 
ence. The  invisible  spirits  of  Dungeon  Ilock  I  found  dealt  in 
enigmas  which  the  Delphic  oracle  could  never  have  surpassed 


MOLL    I'lTCHER.  137 

yet  liero  wt>ro  ])elicvt'rs  wlm  staked  their  lives  upon  the  truth  oi' 
utterauces  equally  delusive  !  Here  the  problem  is  suggestively 
presented,  whether  latter-day  superstition,  acting  upon  the  weak 
and  impressible  nature,  is  on  the  whole  to  be  preferred,  either  in 
its  manifestations  or  results,  to  olden  delusion  as  exemplified  in 
the  witches  or  wizards  of  our  forefathers.  Who  shall  sayl  I, 
at  any  rate,  found  this  visit  to  Dungeon  Kock  one  of  the  most 
singular  experiences  of  a  lifetin^e. 


MOLL     PITCHER. 

IN  passing  from  the  boundaries  of  Saugus  into  those  of  Lynn, 
a  word  or  two  acquaints  us  with  the  origin  of  both  places. 
Thomas  Dudley,  Deputy-Governor  of  "  the  Massachusetts," 
writing  in  1630  to  the  "Lady  Lryget,  Countesse  of  Lincoln," 
says  of  the  Colonists  who,  like  himself,  emigrated  in  that  year 
from  England,  "We  began  to  consult  of  the  place  of  our  sitting 
down,  for  Salem,  where  we  landed,  pleased  us  not."  Various 
causes  having  led  to  their  dispersion  along  the  coast  from  Cape 
Ann  to  Nantasket,  one  of  the  scattered  bands  settled  "upon  the 
river  of  Saugus,"  as  he  writes ;  another  founded  Boston.  The 
Indian  name  Saugus,  which  still  belongs  to  the  river  and  to  a 
fragment  of  the  ancient  territory,  was  superseded  in  1637  by 
that  of  Lynn,  or  the  King's  Lynn,  from  Lynn  Regis,  on  the 
River  Ouse,  in  England.  Lynn  is  therefore  one  of  tlie  oldest 
towns  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  shore 
of  Massachusetts  Bay,  ten  miles  north  of  Boston  and  five  south 
of  Salem.  Swampscot  is  a  rib  taken  from  her  side ;  so  is 
Nahant,  and  so  is  Lynnfield ;  yet,  like  the  fabled  monster,  she 
seems  to  grow  the  faster  from  successive  mutilations. 

If  one  may  credit  the  legend,  Veale,  the  pirate  recluse  of 
Dungeon  Rock,  was  among  the  first  to  follow  the  trade  of  a 
"cordwainer"  here;  but  it  may  be  questioned  whether  he  is 


138 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


really  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  founders  of  the  craft.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  one  of  the  earliest  settlers,  Francis 
Ingalls  by  name,  established  the  tirst  tannery  in  all  the  colony, 
and  he  may  therefore  be  considered  the  originator  of  that 
branoli  of  industry,  in  the  steady  pursuit  of  which  Lynn  has 
grown  to  be  both  ricli  and  fanmus.  When  shoemaking  was  a 
trade,  I   suppose   that  nearly  every  man  in  Lynn  was  a  shoe- 


MOLL  PITCHER. 

maker ;  but  now,  when  no  one  person  makes  a  whole  boot  or 
a  whole  shoe,  the  trade,  as  a  trade,  has  degenerated.  Two  of  the 
noblest  men  that  America  has  produced  have  graduated  from  tlie 
shoemaker's  bench.  The  poet  Whittier  once  followed  this  humble 
calling,  until  he  found  his  higher  vocation ;  and  the  philanthro- 
I)ist,  William  Lloyd  Oarrison,  once  worked  at  the  bench  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 


MOLL    riTOIIER.  139 

day  aiul  gonemtion,  —  we  luiglit  also  say  of  wliom  we  liave  any 
account  in  mystical  lore,  ancient  or  modern.  While  she  lived 
she  was  without  a  rival  in  her  peculiar  art,  and  the  prophetic 
words  that  she  let  fall  were  capable  of  being  transmuted  into 
gold.  She  it  is  that  one  of  our  native  poets  has  in  mind  when 
he  is  singing  —  too  soon,  we  think, — a  requiem  over  the  last 
witch  of  his  native  land. 

How  has  New  England's  romance  fled, 

Even  as  a  vision  of  the  morning  ! 
Its  rites  foredone,  —  its  guardians  dead,  — 
Its  priestesses,  bereft  of  dread. 

Waking  the  veriest  urchin's  scorning  ! 
Gone  like  the  Indian  wizard's  yell 

And  fii-e-dance  round  the  magic  r.iek, 
Forgotten  like  the  Druid's  spell 

At  moon  rise  by  his  holy  oak! 
No  more  along  the  shadowy  glen 
Glide  the  dim  ghosts  of  murdered  men  ; 
No  more  the  unquiet  churchyard  dead 
Glimpse  upward  from  their  turfy  bed. 

Startling  the  traveller,  late  and  lone  ; 
As,  on  some  night  of  starless  weather, 
They  silently  commune  together. 

Each  sitting  on  his  own  headstone  ! 
The  roofless  house,  decayed,  deserted, 
Its  living  tenants  all  departed. 
No  longer  rings  with  midnight  revel 
Of  witch,  or  ghost,  or  goblin  evil  ; 
No  pale  blue  flame  sends  out  its  flashes 
Through  creviced  roof  and  shattered  sashes !  -->= 
The  witch-grass  round  the  hazel  spring 
May  sharply  to  the  night-air  sing, 
But  there  no  more  shall  withered  hags 
Refresh  at  ease  their  broomstick  nags, 
Or  taste  those  hazel-shadowed  waters 
As  beverage  meet  for  Satan's  daughters  ; 
No  more  their  numic  tones  be  heard,  — 
The  mew  of  cat,  —  the  chirp  of  bird, — 


140  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Shrill  l)lending  with  the  hoarser  laughter 
Of  the  fell  demon  following  after ! 

Even  she,  our  own  weird  heroine, 
Sole  Pythoness  of  ancient  Lynn, 

Sleeps  calmly  where  the  living  laid  her  ; 
And  the  wide  realm  of  sorcery, 
Left  by  its  latest  mistress  free, 

Hath  found  no  gray  and  skilled  invader. 

It  was  once  said  of  Napoleon  that  lie  left  a  family,  but  no 
successor.  Moll  Pitcher  left  none  in  her  wonderful  gift  of  fore- 
telling the  future  by  practising  palmistry,  or  by  simply  gazing 
into  the  bottom  of  a  teacup.  She  was  therefore  no  Sidrophel. 
Yet  even  the  most  incredulous  were  compelled  to  admit  her  pre- 
dictions to  be  wholly  unaccountable ;  while  those  who  came  to 
laugh  went  away  vanquished,  if  not  fully  convinced.  What  is 
singular  is  that  her  reputation  has  rather  increased  than  dimin- 
ished with  time.  We  have  no  account  of  her  dupes,  nor  is 
there  any  "  Exposure  "  extant.  It  follows  that  the  spot  wdiere 
for  so  many  years  Moll  Pitcher  so  successfully  practised  her  art 
is  the  one  to  which  the  stranger  first  asks  to  be  tlirected. 

Should  he  happen  to  stray  a  little  w^ay  out  of  the  more 
crowded  part  of  the  city,  his  attention  would  at  once  be  arrested 
by  a  remarkable  cliff  of  dull  red  porphyry  rising  high  above  the 
house-tops,  that  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  of  its  path,  until  it 
almost  divides  the  city  in  twain.  High  Rock,  as  it  is  called,  is 
to  Lynn  what  the  Citadel  is  to  Quebec,  —  you  look  down,  and  see 
at  a  glance  all  the  out-door  life  of  the  place ;  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  Rock  naturally 
takes  precedence  of  our  own  :  — 


MOLL    riTCIIEK.  141 

HIGH    ROCK. 

ELIZABETH   P.    MEKRILL. 

Overlooking  tlie  town  of  Lynn, 

So  far  above  that  the  city's  din 

Mingles  and  blends  with  the  heavy  roar 

Of  the  breakers  along  the  curving  shore, 

Scarred  and  furrowed  and  glacier-seamed, 

Back  in  the  ages  so  long  ago, 

The  boldest  philosopher  never  dreamed 

To  count  the  centuries'  ebb  and  How, 

Stands  a  rock  with  its  gray  old  face 

Eastward,  ever  turned  to  the  place 

Where  first  the  rim  of  the  sun  is  seen,  — 

Whenever  the  morning  sky  is  bright,  — 

Cleaving  the  glistening,  glancing  sheen 

Of  the  sea  with  disk  of  insufferable  light. 

Down  in  the  earth  his  roots  strike  deep  ; 

Up  to  his  breast  the  houses  creep, 

Climbing  e'en  to  his  rugged  face, 

Or  nestling  lovingly  at  his  base. 

Stand  on  his  forehead,  bare  and  brown, 

Send  your  gaze  o'er  the  roofs  of  the  town 

Away  to  the  line  so  faint  and  dim. 

Where  the  sky  stoops  down  to  the  crystal  rim 

Of  the  broad  Atlantic,  whose  billows  toss, 

Wrestling  and  weltering  and  hurrying  on 

With  awful  fury  whenever  across 

His  broad  bright  surface,  Avith  howl  and  moan. 

The  Tempest  wheels,  with  black  wing  bowed 

To  the  yielding  waters  which  fly  to  the  cloud, 

Or  hurry  along  with  thunderous  shocks 

To  break  on  the  ragged  and  riven  rocks. 

When  the  tide  comes  in  on  a  sunny  day 
You  can  see  the  waves  beat  back  in  spray 
From  the  splintered  spurs  of  Phillips  Head, 
Or  tripping  along  with  dainty  tread, 


142  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

As  of  a  inillion  glancing  feet, 

Shake  out  the  light  in  a  quick  retreat, 

Or  along  the  smooth  curve  of  the  beach, 

Snowy  and  curling,  in  long  lines  reach. 

An  islet  anchored  and  held  to  land 

By  a  glistening,  foam-fringed  ribbon  of  sand  ; 

That  is  Nahaut,  and  that  hoary  ledge 

To  the  left  is  Egg  Rock,  like  a  blunted  wedge, 

Cleaving  the  restless  ocean's  breast, 

And  bearing  the  lighthouse  on  its  crest. 

It  was  at  the  foot  of  this  clifl"  that  Moll  Pitcher,  the  fortune- 
teller of  Lynn,  dwelt.  Forty  years  ago  there  were  very  few  fire- 
sides in  New  England  that  her  fame  liad  not  reached,  perha^js 
disturbed  ;  and  her  successful  predictions,  alike  astounding  to 
the  vulgar  or  to  the  enlightened,  were  the  theme  of  niany  a  mid- 
night watch  or  forecastle  confab.  She  Avas  not,  if  we  may  credit 
local  report,  the  withered,  decrepit,  and  toothless  crone  of 
Spenser,  or  Otway's 

"  wrinkled  hag,  with  age  grown  double. 
Picking  dry  sticks  and  mumbling  to  herself,'' 

but  a  woman  who  lived  in  the  full  gaze  and  gossip  of  a  world 
which  only  acceptetl  her  claim  to  foreknowledge  upon  the  une- 
quivocal testimony  of  a  thousand  witnesses.  Do  you  contend 
that  her  reputation  was  due  solely  to  the  shrewdness,  penetra- 
tion, and  ready  wit  with  which  she  was  undoubtedly  in  a 
remarkable  degree  gifted  1  How,  tlien,  will  you  exjdain  revela- 
tions of  the  future  made  ten  and  twenty  years  before  the  events 
predicted  took  place "? 

When  slie  was  in  the  meridian  of  her  fame  and  life  the  ordi- 
nary applicant  saw  a  woman  of  medium  stature,  having  an 
unusually  large  head,  a  pale,  thin,  and  rather  intellectual  face, 
shaded  by  masses  of  dark  brown  hair,  who  was  as  thoroughly 
self-possessed  as  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  whose  comprehensive 
glance  measured  his  mental  capacity  before  he  could  utter  a 
syllable.     People  of  better  discernment,  who  recollect  her,  say 


MOLL    PITCHER. 


I4r 


that  her  face  ha<l  none  of  the  wihhu^ss  of  tin*  traditional  witcli, 
but  was  clouded  with  a  liabitual  .sadness,  as  of  a  mind  over- 
burdened with  being  tlio  (U'i)ository  of  so  many  confidences, 
perhaps  crimes.  She  hail  a  full,  capacious  forehead,  arched  eye- 
brows, eyes  that  read  the  secret  thoughts  of  a  suitor,  a  nose 
"inclined  to  be  long,"  and  thin  lips  —  a  physiognomy  wholly 
unlike  the  popular  ideal,  but  rather  that  of  a  modern  Egeria,  — 
in  short,  the  witch  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

During  the  fifty  years  that  she  pursued  her  trade  of  fortune- 
telling,  in  what  was  tlien  a  lonely  ami  little  freipiented  quarter 


MOLL   riTCHER'S   COTTAGE. 


of  the  town,  not  only  was  she  consulted  by  the  poor  and  igno- 
rant, but  also  by  the  rich  and  intelligent  class.  Love  affairs, 
legacies,  the  discovery  of  crime,  lotteries,  commercial  ventures, 
and  the  more  common  contingencies  of  fortune,  formed,  we  may 
well  imagine,  the  staple  of  her  predictions ;  but  her  most  valued 
clients  came  from  tlie  opulent  seaports  that  are  within  sight  of 
High  Rock.  The  common  sailor  and  the  master,  the  cabin-boy 
and  the  owner,  equally  resorted  to  her  humble  abode  to  know 
the  luck  of  a  voyage.  It  is  asserted  that  many  a  vessel  has 
been   deserted   when   on   the   eve  of  sailing,  in   consequence  of 


144  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Moll's  unlucky  vaticination.  She  was  also  much  besought  by 
treasure-seekers  —  a  ratlor  numerous  class  in  her  day,  whose 
united  digging  along  the  coast  of  Xew  England  would,  if  use- 
fully directed,  have  reclaimed  for  cultivation  no  inconsiderable 
area  of  virgin  soil.  For  such  applicants  the  witch  had  a  short 
and  sharp  reply.  "  Fools  !  "  she  would  say ;  "  if  I  knew  where 
money  was  buried,  do  you  think  I  would  part  with  the 
secret  1 " 

Moll  Pitcher  died  in  1813,  at  the  age  of  seventy-five.  She 
was  originally  of  Marblehead,  and  is  said  to  have  inherited  the 
gift  of  prophecy  from  her  grandfather,  John  Dimond,  who  was 
himself  a  wizard  of  no  mean  reputation  in  that  place.  In  })roof 
of  this  it  is  said  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  the  old  bury- 
ing-ground  on  the  hill  whenever  a  violent  gale  at  sea  arose,  and 
in  that  lonely  place,  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  and  the  storm, 
to  astound  and  terrify  the  simple  fisherfolk  in  the  following 
manner.  He  would  direct  vessels  then  at  sea  how  to  Aveatlier 
the  roughest  gale,  —  pacing  up  and  down  among  the  grave- 
stones, and  ever  and  anon,  in  a  voice  distinctly  heard  above  the 
howling  of  the  tempest,  shouting  out  his  orders  to  the  helms- 
man or  the  crew,  as  if  he  were  actually  on  tlie  (piarter-deck,  ami 
the  scene  all  before  him.  Very  few  doubted  his  ability  to  bring  a 
vessel  safely  into  port.  Mary  Dimond's  father  sailed  out  of  ^lar- 
blehead  as  master  of  a  small  vessel.  She  married  Robert  Pitcher, 
a  shoemaker,  in  1760.  Mr.  Lewis,  the  historian  of  Lynn,  who 
remembered  her,  asserts  that  she  was  connected  with  some  of  the 
best  families  in  Essex;  that,  except  her  fortune-telling  pretension, 
there  was  nothing  disreputable  in  her  life  ;  and  that  her  descend- 
ants were  living  and  respected  when  he  Avrote.  Her  life  seems 
rather  to  mark  the  line  which  divides  old  and  new  superstition, 
than  any  decay  of  that  inextinguishable  craving  to  pry  into  futu- 
rity which  has  distinguished  the  human  race  in  all  ages  and  in 
all  climes. 

This  describes  the  celebrated  fortune-teller  as  she  was  known 
to  her  contemporaries.  We  have,  however,  jiickeil  up  among 
the  flotsam  of  literary  drift  a  dillerent  portrait,  drawn  in  verse. 


MOLL    PITCHER.  145 

In  1832  "Wliittier  publislied,  aiiuiiymou.sly,  a  poem  of  which 
Moll  Pitcher  is  the  heroine.  The  statement  made  hy  the  author 
in  an  introductory  note  concerning  himself  will  doubtless  be 
considered  to-day  as  being  even  a  greater  curiosity  than  the  poem 
itself  is.  There  he  naively  says  :  "  I  have  not  enough  of  the  poeti- 
cal mania  in  my  disposition  to  dream  of  converting,  by  an  alchemy 
more  potent  than  that  of  the  old  [»hilosophers,  a  limping  couplet 
into  a  brace  of  doubloons,  or  a  rickety  stanza  into  a  note  of  hand. 
Moll  Pitcher  ('  there's  music  in  the  name ')  is  the  offspring  of  a 
few  weeks  of  such  leisure  as  is  afforded  by  indisposition,  and  is 
given  to  the  world  in  all  its  original  negligence, — the  thoughts 
fresh  as  when  first  originated." 

The  poem  is  the  story  of  a  maiden,  fond  and  fair,  whose  sailor 
lover  hael  gone  on  a  long  voyage  to  sea,  where 

He  sought  for  gold  —  for  yellow  gold,  — 

in  order  that  he  might  come  back  a  rich  man  and  wed  the  girl 
he  had  left  behind  him.  The  maiden's  mind  becomes  filled  with 
gloomy  forebodings  concerning  him.  Obeying  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  in  an  evil  hour  she  seeks  the  well-trodden  path  lead- 
ing to  Moll  Pitcher's  abode,  in  order  to  know  her  destiny ;  and 
while  on  her  way  thither  she  encounters  the  witch,  who  is  thus 
described  :  — 

She  stood  upon  a  bare  tall  crag 

Which  overlooked  her  rugged  cot  — 
A  wasted,  gray,  and  meagre  hag, 

In  features  evil  as  her  lot. 
She  had  the  crooked  nose  of  a  witch. 

And  a  crooked  back  and  chin ; 
And  in  her  gait  she  had  a  hitch, 
And  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  switch, 

To  aid  her  work  of  sin,  — 
A  twig  of  wizard  hazel,  which 
Had  grown  beside  a  haunted  ditch, 
Where  a  mother  her  nameless  babe  had  tlaown 
To  tlie  numing  water  and  merciless  .stone. 
10 


146  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  fortune-teller  cherishes  a  secret  enmity  towards  her  trem- 
bling visitor,  and  wickedly  determines  on  revenging  herself. 
She  leading  the  way,  — 

The  twain  passed  in  —  a  low  dark  room, 

With  here  and  there  a  crazy  chair, 
A  broken  glass  —  a  dusty  loom  — 
A  spinning-wheel  —  a  birchen  broom, 

The  witch's  courier  of  the  air, 
As  potent  as  that  steed  of  wings 

On  which  the  Meccan  prophet  rode 
Above  the  wreck  of  meaner  things 

Unto  the  Houris'  bright  abode. 
A  low  dull  fire  by  flashes  shone 
Across  the  gray  and  cold  heartlistone^ 
Flinging  at  times  a  trendjling  glare 
On  the  low  roof  and  timbers  bare. 

After  this  glimpse  of  her  home,  the  weird  woman  proceeds  to 
try  her  art  hy  looking  steadfastly  into  the  sorceress's  cup,  whicli, 
we  are  told,  constituted  hsr  whole  fortune-telling  paraphernalia, 
Presently  she  speaks. 

Out  spoke  the  witch,  —  "I  know  full  well 

Why  thou  hast  sought  my  humble  cot ! 
Come,  sit  thee  down,  —  the  tale  I  tell 

May  not  be  soon  forgot." 
She  threw  her  pale  blue  cloak  aside, 

And  stirred  the  whitening  embers  up, 
And  long  and  curiously  she  eyed 

The  figures  of  her  mystic  cup  ; 
And  low  she  muttered  while  the  light 
Gave  to  her  lips  a  ghastlier  white, 
And  her  sunk  eyes'  unearthly  glaring 
Seemed  like  the  taper's  latest  flaring: 
"  Dark  hair —  eyes  black  —  a  goodly  form  — 

A  maiden  weeping  —  wild  dark  sea  — 
A  tall  ship  tossing  in  the  storm  — 

A  black  wreck  fioatin"  — where  is  he  ? 


MOLL    riTCIIER.  147 

Give  me  tliy  Iminl  —  how  soft,  and  warm, 

And  fair  its  tapering  fingers  seem  !  — 
And  who  that  sees  it  now  would  dream 
That  winter's  snow  would  seem  less  chill 
Ere  long  than  these  soft  fingers  will  ? 
A  lovely  palm  !  —  how  delicate 

Its  veined  and  wandering  lines  are  drawn  ! 
Yet  each,  are  prophets  of  thy  fate  — 

Ha !  —  this  is  sure  a  fearful  one ! 
That  sudden  cross  —  that  blank  beneath  — 

What  may  these  evil  signs  betoken  ? 
Passion  and  sorrow,  fear  and  death  — 

A  human  spirit  crushed  and  broken ! 
Oh,  thine  hath  been  a  pleasant  dream, 
But  darker  shall  its  waking  seem ! " 

Like  a  cold  hand  upon  her  heart 

The  dark  words  of  the  sorceress  lay, 
Something  to  scare  her  spirit's  rest 

Forever  more  away. 
Each  word  had  seemed  so  strangely  true, 
Calling  her  inmost  thoughts  in  view, 
And  pointing  to  the  form  which  came 

Before  her  in  her  dreary  sleep, 
Whose  answered  love  —  whose  very  name, 
Though  nought  of  breathing  life  was  near, 

She  scarce  had  given  the  winds  to  keep, 
Or  murmured  in  a  sister's  ear. 


Overcome  by  the  terrible  revelation,  to  which  her  own  fears 
lend  a  too  ready  belief,  the  poor  girl  becomes  a  maniac.  She  is 
always  watching  for  the  sail  in  the  offing  which  never  comes ; 
she  wanders  up  and  down  the  rocky  shores  of  !N"aliant,  gazing 
vacantly  out  to  sea,  until  on  one  lucky  day,  in  spite  of  Moll's 
fatal  prediction,  the  lover's  ship  sails  gallantly  into  the  bay,  and 
with  it  the  one  thing  capable  of  restoring  the  maiden's  reason 
again.  The  witch,  however,  does  not  escape  the  consequences  of 
her   malevolence,   but   dies  miserably  in   her   wretched   hovel, 


148  NEW-EXGLxVND   LEGENDS. 

being  tended  in  lier  last  niuments  by  a  little  child  of  the  woman 
she  has  so  cruelly  Avronged. 

The  poem  being  too  long   for  us  to   reproduce  in   full,  we 
have  thus  merely  outlined  it  lor  the  reader. 


NAHANT     LEGENDS. 

ABOUT  three  miles  from  where  we  stand,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  sea,  is  a  castellated  gray  rock  crowned  with  a 
lighthouse.  Egg  Eock,  as  it  is  called,  is  not  more  than  eighty 
feet  from  sea  to  summit,  but  its  isolated  and  lonely  position,  its 
bold  outlines  cut  clean  and  sharp  on  the  blue  background,  make 
it  seem  higher.  This  rocky  islet,  the  former  eyrie  of  wild  sea- 
birds,  is  by  far  the  most  picturesque  object  of  this  picturesque 
shore.  It  is  almost  always  seen  encircled  with  a  belt  of  white 
surf,  while  in  violent  storms  the  raging  seas  assail  it  with  such 
tremendous  impetuosity  as  to  give  the  idea  of  a  fortress  belea- 
guered by  the  combined  powers  of  sea  and  air.  At  such  times  it 
cannot  be  approached  with  safety.  Then  the  lighthouse  keeper, 
whatever  his  wants  may  be,  can  hold  no  communication  with 
the  shore,  but  is  a  prisoner  during  the  pleasure  of  the  gale. 

The  occasional  and  distant  giimjjses  of  Nahant  had  from  the 
main  shore  are  certain  to  excite  the  desire  for  a  nearer  survey,  a 
more  intimate  acquaintance.  We  will,  therefore,  let  this  choice 
bit  of  description,  which  Mr.  Longfellow  particularly  admired, 
serve  as  our  introduction.  "If,"  says  N,  P.  Willis,  "you  can 
imagine  a  buried  Titan  lying  along  the  length  of  a  continent, 
with  one  arm  stretched  out  into  the  midst  of  the  sea,  the  spot 
to  Avhich  I  would  transport  you,  reader  mine,  would  be,  as  it 
were,  in  the  palm  of  the  giant's  hand." 

One  of  Whittier's  earliest  poetic  productions  is  also  addressed 
to  this  charming  spot : 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  149 

Nahant,  thy  beacli  is  Ijeautirul !  — 

A  dim  line  through  the  tossing  waves, 
Along  whose  verge  the  spectre  gull 

Her  thin  and  snowy  plumage  laves  — 
What  time  the  Summer's  greenness  lingers 

Within  thy  sunned  and  sheltered  nouks, 
And  the  green  vine  with  twining  lingers 

Creeps  up  and  down  thy  hanging  rocks  ! 
Around  —  the  blue  and  level  main  — 

Above  —  a  sunshine  rich,  as  fell, 
Brigbt'ning  of  old,  with  golden  rain, 

The  isle  Apollo  loved  so  well !  — 
And  far  off,  dim  and  beautiful 
The  snow-white  sail  and  graceful  hull, 

Slow,  dipping  to  the  billow's  swell. 
Bright  spot !  —  the  isles  of  Greece  may  share 
A  flowery  earth  —  a  gentle  aii- ;  — 
The  orange-bough  may  blossom  well 
In  warm  Bermuda's  sunniest  dell  ;  —  ■ 
But  fairer  shores  and  brighter  waters. 
Gazed  on  by  purer,  lovelier  daughters. 

Beneath  the  light  of  kindlier  skies, 
The  wanderer  to  the  farthest  bound 
Of  peopled  Earth  hath  never  found 

Than  thine  —  New  England's  Paradise  I 

Mrs.    Sigourney   follows    in   the    same   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 
Oljtain  no  power  to  harm  thee,  for  tliou  wrap]t'st 
Thy  Avatery  mantle  round  thee,  ever  fresh 
With  ocean's  coolness,  and  defy'st  their  rage. 


150  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

The  storm-cloud  is  tLy  gloiy. 

Then,  thou  deck'st 
Thyself  with  uuijesty,  and  to  its  frown 
And  voice  of  thiuider,  answerest  holdly  back, 
And  from  thy  watch-towers  hurl'st  the  Ijlintling  spray. 
While  every  dark  and  hollow  cavern  sounds 
Its  trumpet  for  the  battle. 

Yet  't  is  sweet 
Amid  thy  fissured  rocks  to  ruminate, 
Marking  thy  grottos  with  mosaic  paved 
Of  glittering  pebbles,  and  that  balm  to  breathe 
Which  gives  the  elastic  nerves  a  freer  play, 
And  tints  the  languid  cheek  with  hues  of  health. 

The  sand-buach  and  the  sea ! 

Who  can  divine 
Their  mystic  intercourse,  that  day  and  night 
Surceaseth  not  I     On  comes  the  thundering  surge, 
Lifting  its  mountain-head,  wath  menace  stern. 
To  whelm  the  unresisting;  but  impelled 
In  all  the  plenitude  of  kingly  power 
To  change  its  purpose  of  authority, 
Breaking  its  wand  of  might,  doth  hurry  back  ; 
And  then,  repenting,  with  new  wrath  I'cturn. 
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  of  our  virtues  power  to  cope 
With  all  temptation.     When  some  secret  snare 
Doth  weave  its  meshes  round  our  tremlaling  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  w'hcn  the  tide 
is  nearly  down,  a  broad  esplanade  of  sand  beckons  us  aside  from 
tin;  embankment  overwhicli  tliat  is  now  built.  Here  is  a  course 
such  as  no  IJomau  charioteer  ever  drove  upon.  Here  the  heavy 
farm-carts  tliat  are  gathering  seaweed  leave  scarcely  a  print  of 
their  broad-tired  wlieels.     Stamp  upon  it  with  the  foot,  and  see 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  151 

liow  hard  ami  linn  it  is;  or  smile  at  tlie  liglituLng  it  emits  under 
the  impact,  —  your  childhood's  wouder.  We  pass  over  half  an 
acre  of  sand,  moulded  in  the  impress  of  little  wavelets  that  have 
left  their  print  like  cunning  chiselling  or  like  masses  of  sandy 
liaii'  in  crimp.  There  behind  a  clump  of  rocks  crouches  a  sports- 
man, wlio  is  patiently  waiting  for  twilight  to  come,  when  the 
black  ducks  and  coots  tiy  over ;  those  stooping  figures  among 
the  rocks  are  not  treasure-seekers,  but  clam-diggers. 

Having  crossed  the  Long  Beach,  we  betake  ourselves  again  to 
the  road  which  Avinds  around  the  shore  of  Little  Nahant  to  a 
second  beach,  half  a  mile  long.  We  again  leave  this  behind,  to 
climb  the  rocky  ascent  of  the  greater  promontory,  then  finding 
ourselves  in  the  long  street  of  the  village.  Nahant  is  tempting 
to  artist  or  antiquary,  but  especially  so  to  the  man  of  refined 
literary  tastes,  who  knows  no  greater  enjoyment  than  to  visit 
the  spots  consecrated  by  genius.  In  Jonathan  Johnson's  house 
Longfellow  partly  wrote  "  Hiawatha  ; "  and  here,  at  Nahant,  was 
also  the  birthplace  of  the  "Bells  of  Lynn,"  which  the  poet  heard, 

Borne  on  the  evening  wind  across  the  crimson  twilight. 

And  we  too  hear  their  musical  vibrations,  softened  by  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  : 

The  fisherman  in  his  boat,  far  out  beyond  the  headland, 
Listens,  and  leisurely  rows  ashore,  0  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

Over  the  shining  sands  the  wandering  cattle  homeward 
Follow  each  other  at  your  call,  O  Bells  of  Lynn ! 

The  distant  lighthouse  hears,  and  -with  his  flaming  signal 
Answers  you,  passing  the  watchword  on,  0  Bells  of  Lyini ! 

And  down  the  darkening  coast  run  the  tumultuous  surges, 
And  claj)  their  hands,  and  shout  to  you,  O  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

Till  from  the  shuddering  sea,  with  your  wild  incantations, 
Ye  summon  up  the  spectral  moon,  0  Bells  of  Lyim  ! 

And  startled  at  the  sight,  like  the  weird  woman  of  Endor, 
Ye  cry  aloud,  and  then  are  still,  O  Bells  of  Lynn! 


152  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  "Ladder  of  St.  Augustine "  ami  other  of  liis  lyrics  in 
which  the  actual  presence  of  the  sea  is  felt  by  the  reader  were 
also  written  here  under  its  influence,  for  Longfellow  is  always 
moved  by  it  to  a  pitch  of  high-wrought  emotion  —  to  a  kind  of 
speechless  speech  —  which  only  the  impressible  nature  knows. 
In  the  "Dedication"  to  his  Seaside  verses  he  gives  us  the  key 
to  this  exquisite  spiritual  sensibility,  — 

Therefore  I  Lope  to  join  your  seaside  walk, 
Saddened,  and  mostly  silent,  with  emotion  ; 

Not  interrupting  with  intrusive  talk 

The  grand,  majestic  symphonies  of  ocean. 

And  in  the  opening  stanza  of  "  The  Secret  of  the  Sea  "  he  frankly 
confesses  to  the  fascination  with  which  it  possesses  him  :  — 

All  !  what  pleasant  visions  haunt  me 

As  I  gaze  upon  the  sea  ! 
All  the  old  romantic  legends, 

All  my  dreams,  come  back  to  me. 

Somewhat  farther  on  we  descend  into  an  enticing  nook,  shaded 
by  rows  of  elm  and  willow  trees.  Here,  in  the  modest  cottage 
of  Mrs.  Hannah  Hood,  surrounded  by  old  Dutch  folios,  Motley 
began  his  "  Dutch  Eepublic."  By  ascending  the  rise  of  ground 
beyond,  one  might  have  seen  the  roof  of  the  cottage  where 
Prescott,  who  died,  like  Petrarch,  in  his  chair,  worked  at  "Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella,"  the  "Coi;;quest  of  IMexico,"  and  "  Philip  IL" 
On  the  point  beyond  us,  assisted  by  his  gifted  wife,  Agassiz 
produced  "  Brazil."  Willis,  Curtis,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  and  an 
admiring  host  of  lesser  celebrities  who  have  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  i)eninsula  one  of  the  best  remem- 
bered spots  of  American  ground  to  scholars  of  the  Old  World 
who  have  visiti'(l  it.     And  the  privilege  of  traversing  her  rocky 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  153 

shores,  with  Longfellow  or  Agassiz  lor  a  guide,  was  iiuleod  sonic- 
thing  to  he  remenihored. 

The  Hollow  seems  the  proper  standpoint  for  a  brief  glance 
at  the  history  of  I^ahant,  down  to  the  time  when  it  hecame 
the  retreat  of  culture,  refinement,  and  wealth,  Xahant  (the 
twins)  is  a  musical  Indian  name  that  trips  lightly  from  the 
tongue.  On  the  map  it  looks  like  the  wyvern  of  heraldry,  hang- 
ing to  the  coast  by  its  tail.  It  was  sold  by  Po(pianum,  a  saga- 
more, in  1630,  to  the  Lynn  settlers,  who  used  it  in  common  as  a 
pasture.  Being  to  all  intents  an  island,  or  rather  two  islands,  at 
high  tide,  it  was  named  the  Fullerton  Isles,  in  1614,  by  Captain 
Smith.  It  had  been  granted  in  1622  to  Captain  Eobert  Gorges  ; 
but  his  title  seems  to  have  lapsed,  and  not  to  have  been  suc- 
cessfully revived.  I'l'nder  the  rule  of  Andros,  his  favorite,  Ran- 
dolph, tried  to  steal  it.  The  price  Driginally  paid  for  Xaliant  was 
a  suit  of  clothes  ;  it  has  since  had  a  tax-roll  of  six  and  a  half 
millions.  In  the  earlier  accounts  given  of  them,  the  two  pen- 
insulas appear  to  have  been  well  wooded ;  but,  in  common  with 
all  the  coast  islands,  the  natural  forest  long  ago  disappeared,  and 
!N^ahant  remained  almost  treeless,  until  Thomas  H.  Perkins,  a 
wealthy  Boston  merchant,  planted  several  thousand  shade-trees. 
His  efforts  to  make  Nahant  a  desirable  summer  residence  were 
effectively  seconded  by  Frederick  Tudor,  the  ice-king,  by  Cor- 
nelius Coolidge,  and  other  men  of  wealth  and  taste.  Its  name 
and  fame  began  to  resound  abroad.  A  hotel  was  built  in  1819, 
and  a  steamboat  began  to  ply  in  the  summer  months  between 
Boston  and  the  peninsulas.  In  1853  Nahant  threw  off  her 
allegiance  to  Lynn,  and  became  a  separate  town.  Her  earlier 
frequenters  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  1861,  the 
modest  hostelry  of  Mr.  Whitney  is  one  of  the  few  landmarks 
remaining.  This  was  one  of  five  houses  the  peninsula  con- 
tained eighty  odd  years  ago,  and  was  the  former  homestead  of 
the  Breed  family,  who,  with  tlie  Hood  and  Johnson  families, 
were  sole  lords  of  the  isles.     Though  there  has  been  an  "  inva- 


154  XEW-EXCLAND   LEGENDS. 

s'uiii,"  tliere  never  lias  been  a  "  conquest."     The  Naliantese  who 
are  "  uative  liere,  and  to  the  manner  born,"  cling  to  what  is  left 
of  their  ancient   patrimony  with  unyielding  grasp.       Wander 
where  they  may,  they  always  come  back  here  to  die.     One  of 
them,  who  had  refused  tempting  offers  for  his  land,  said  to  me, 
"  Here  I  was  born,  here  is  my  home,  and  here  I  mean  to  abide." 
The   admirably   kept  roads  lead  where   the   most   engaging 
sea-views  are  to  be  had.     You  lean  over  a  railing  and  look  down 
eighty  feet  to  the  bottom  (jf  a  cove,  where  the  sea  ripples  with- 
out breaking,  and   the  clean,  smooth  pebbles   chase   back   the 
refluent  wave  with  noisy  chatter.     The  tawny  rocks  wear  coats 
of  grass-green  velvet ;  the  perfume  of  sweet-fern  and  of  eglantine 
is  in  the  air.     The  cliffs  of  the  eastern  headland  are  very  fine. 
It  takes  one's  breath  away  to  witness  the  rush  and  roar  of  the 
eternal  surges  among  their  iron  ribs ;  yet  the  effect  seems  little 
more  than  would  be  produced  by  a  hungry  lion  licking  the  bars 
of  his  cage.     In  a  few  instances,  such  as  Castle   Rock  and  the 
Devil's  Pulpit  notably  present,  the  rocks  arise  in  regular  castel- 
lated masses ;  but  in  general  they  are  as  much  the  expression  of 
chaos  of  form  as  we  might  expect  to  see  in  the  broken  arches 
and  colonnades  of  the  earth's  foundations.     Being  pitched  about 
in  fantastic  yet  awful  confusion,  they  present  curious  accidental 
formations,   or   are   split  from   summit    to    foundation-stone    in 
chasms  deep  and  gloomy,  where  the  seething  waters  hiss  and 
boil,  much  as  tliey  might  have  done  wdien  these  colossal  masses 
were  first   cooling.     Here  and  there  on  the  shores  the  sea  has 
neatly  hollowed  out  the  natural  curiosities  locally  known  as  the 
Natural  Bridge,  Swallows'  Cave,  Irene's  Grotto,  and  the  Spouting 
Horn  ;  and  in  storms  the  shore  is  as  full  of  noises  as  Prospero's 

Island  — 

A  voice  out  of  tlie  silence  of  the  deep, 

A  sound  mysteriously  multiplied, 
As  of  a  cataract  from  the  mountain's  side, 

Or  roar  of  winds  upon  the  Avooded  steep. 

The  sea-view  from  the  i)ortico  of  the  chapel,  which  is  situated 
on  the   highest  point  of  the  headland,  is  certainly  one  of  the 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  155 

rarest  on  the  whole  coast,  embracing,  as  it  does,  many  miles  of 
the  mainland,  from  Lynn  as  far  as  the  extreme  point  of  Cape 
Ann ;  of  the  South  Shore  from  Scituate  to  Boston  Light,  —  a 
slender,  shapely,  and  minaret-like  tower  set  on  a  half-submerged 
ledge  at  the  entrance  to  Boston  Harbor.  On  a  clear  day  the 
dusky  gray  pillar  of  Minot's  Light,  and  by  night  its  ruddy  flash, 
on  the  south  coast,  are  visible.  One  of  these  towers  —  probably 
the  first  —  inspired  Longfellow's  poem,  "  The  Lighthouse," 
beginning  — 

The  rocky  ledge  runs  far  into  the  sea. 
And  on  its  outer  point,  some  miles  away, 

The  Lighthouse  lifts  its  massive  masonry,  — 
A  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  of  cloud  by  day. 

And  ending  — 

"  Sail  on  !  "  it  says,  "  sail  on,  ye  stately  ships  ! 

And  with  your  floating  bridge  the  ocean  span  : 
Be  mine  to  guard  this  light  from  all  eclipse, 

Be  yours  to  bring  man  nearer  unto  man  ! " 

Longfellow's  summer  residence  was  upon  the  sontliern  shore, 
which  is  less  bold,  but  more  sheltered,  than  the  northern.  Fire 
destroyed  it  many  years  ago.  It  was  a  liouse  of  ample  size, 
"  with  wide  verandas,  and  surrounded  with  sucli  shrubbery  as 
the  unsparing  winds  that  sweep  the  peninsula  allow."  When, 
after  the  appearance  of  "  Xooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  Eng- 
land Coast,"  the  Avriter  called  upon  him,  the  poet  said,  "  Ah  !  but 
why  did  you  leave  Nahant  out  in  the  cold  1 "  And  he  urged 
liim  to  repair  the  omission  without  delay. 

Prescott  also  lived  on  the  southern  shore,  on  a  rocky  point  not 
far  from  the  Swallows'  Cave,  named  by  liim  "Fitful  Head." 
Agassiz'  cottage,  on  the  contrary,  is  on  the  north  shore.  It  is  a 
modest,  though  not  unpicturesque  building,  all  upon  the  ground, 
and  was  probably  better  suited  to  the  great  scientist's  simple 
tastes  than  were  the  handsome  villas  of  his  eminent  literary  neigh- 
bors. Possibly  it  may  have  reminded  him  in  some  silent  way 
of  his  fatherland,  —  "  tlie  beautiful  Pays  du  Vaud."     It  is  to 


156  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Agassiz  dead  that  this  touching  apostrophe  is  addressed  by  his 
friend  Longfello\v,  who  is  so  rarely  a  questioner  of  fate,  — 

I  stand  again  on  the  faniiUar  shore, 

And  hear  the  waves  of  the  distracted  sea 

Piteously  calling  and  lamenting  thee, 

And  waiting  restless  at  thy  cottage  door. 
The  rocks,  the  sea-weed  on  the  ocean  floor, 

The  willows  in  the  meadow,  and  the  free 

Wild  winds  of  the  Atlantic  welcome  me  ; 

Then  why  shouldst  thou  be  dead,  and  come  no  more  ? 
Ah,  why  shouldst  thou  be  dead  when  common  men 

Are  busy  with  their  trivial  affairs, 

Having  and  holding  i     Why,  when  thou  hadst  read 
Nature's  mysterious  manuscript,  and  then 

Wast  ready  to  reveal  the  truth  it  bears, 

Why  art  thou  silent  ?     Why  shouldst  thou  be  dead  1 


THE   SEA-SERPENT. 

Mayhap  you  all  have  heard  to  tell 

Of  the  wonderful  sea-snake.  — Old  Ballad. 

THERE  is  one  topic  with  which  the  annals  of  Nahaut  are 
inseparably  associated  that  we  feel  a  natural  difl&dence  in 
approaching,  yet  cannot  in  conscience  ignore,  and  that  is  the 
sea-serpent.  Words  are  inadequate  to  describe  the  wide-spread 
consternation  which  the  apparition  of  such  a  monster  created 
among  the  hardy  population  of  our  'New  England  sea.bourd  ;  for 
he  was  soon  perceived  to  possess  none  of  the  attributes  of  a 
sportive  and  harmless  fish,  but  to  belong  strictly  to  the  reptile 
tribe  !  And  what  a  reptile  !  The  most  exaggerated  reports  of 
his  length  prevailed  throughout  all  the  fishing  towns  of  Cai)e 
Ann,  and  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  coast.  One  skii)per 
swore  tliat  he  was  as  long  as  the  mainmast  of  a  seventy-four ; 
another  would  eat  him  if  the  steeple  of  Gloucester  meeting-house 


TIIK    SEA-SERPKNT. 


157 


could  hold  a  candle  to  liiiii  for  length  ;  still  another  declared 
upon  his  solemn  "  affidavy  "  that,  having  sighted  the  shaggy  head 
of  the  snake  early  in  the  morning,  with  a  stilf  six-knot  breeze, 
and  everything  full,  he  had  been  half  a  glass  in  overhauling 
his  snakeship's  tail,  as  lie  lay  motionless  along  the  water. 

For  a  time  nt)thing  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  JS^ahant  Bay,  by 
hundreds  of  curious  spectators,  who  ran  to  the  beaches  or 
pushed  off  in  boats  at  the  first   news  of  his  approach.     There 


EGG   EOCK   AND   THE    SEA-SERPENT. 

was  not  a  fishwife  along  thirty  miles  of  coast  who  did  not 
shake  in  her  shoes  when  he  was  reported  in  the  offing.  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  own  good  will  and  pleasure.  But  as  time  wore  on, 
and  the  serpent's  pacific,  even  pusillanimous,  disposition  became 
evident,  courage  revived  ;  and  tliough  the  fish  was  a  strange  one, 
the  fishermen  determined,  with  characteristic  boldness,  on  his 
capture. 

Stimulated,  also,  by  the  large  reward  offered  for  the  serpent, 
alive  or  dead,  vessels  were  fitted  out,  manned  by  expert  whales- 


158  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

men,  wliich  cruised  in  the  bay.  The  revenue  vessel  then  on  the 
station  was  ordered  to  keep  a  vigilant  look-out,  and  she  kept  her 
guns  double-shotted  for  action.  Nets  were  also  spread  in  his 
snakeship's  accustomed  haunts,  and  one  adventurous  fellow,  who 
had  approached  so  near  as  to  see  the  white  of  liis  glittering  eye, 
emptied  the  contents  of  a  ducking  gun  into  the  monster's  head. 
But  lie  seemed  to  bear  a  cliarmed  life ;  and  having  easily  eluded 
his  pursuers,  derisively  shook  the  spray  of  Xahant  Bay  from 
his  tail  ere  he  disappeared  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean.  Since 
this  time  the  gigantic  ophidian  has  from  time  to  time  revisited 
Xaliant,  and  strange  tidings  liave  lately  come  of  him  from  other 
climes.  But  it  is  clear  that  his  stuffed  skin  was  never  destined 
to  adorn  the  walls  of  a  museum,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  he  will 
ever  know  other  pickle  tlian  his  native  brine. 

The  tradition  associating  the  sea-serpent  with  Nahant  is  of 
very  early  date.  John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  who  was  here  in  1638, 
is  the  hrst  to  mention  this  monster.  He  says  that  one  was 
seen  "  quoiled  up  on  a  rock  at  Cape  Ann  "  by  a  passing  boat, 
and  that  when  an  Englishman  would  have  fired  at  him,  an 
Indian  hastily  prevented  his  doing  so,  saying  that  it  would 
bring  them  ill  luck. 

It  is  our  privilege  to  rescue  this  poetic  waif  dedicated  by  the 
poet  Brainard  to  the  wandering  monster  of  the  deep  :  — 


SONNET  TO   THE   SEA-SERPENT. 

J.    G.    BRAINARD. 

Hugest  that  swims  tliu  ocean  stream. 

Welter  upon  tlie  waters,  mighty  one, 

And  stretch  thee  in  the  ocean's  trough  of  brine  ; 

Turn  thy  wet  scales  up  to  the  wind  and  sun. 

And  toss  the  billow  from  thy  flashing  fin  ; 

Heave  thy  deep  breathings  to  the  ocean's  din. 

And  bound  upon  its  ridges  in  thy  pride  ; 

Or  dive  down  to  its  lowest  depths,  and  in 


THE   FLOUKE    OF   SOUVENANCE. 


159 


The  caverns  where  its  unkuowu  monsters  hiiU;, 

Measure  thy  knigth  beneath  the  Guli'  Stream  tide 

Or  rest  thee  on  the  navel  of  that  sea 

Where,  floating  on  the  Maelstrom,  abide 

The  krakens  sheltering  under  Norway's  lee,  — 

But  go  not  to  Nahant,  lest  men  should  swear 

You  are  a  great  deal  bigger  thau  you  are. 


THE   FLOURE   OF   SOUVENANCE. 


WE  have  already  pointed  out  to  the  reader  the  huge  hump- 
backed bowlder  rising  from  the  sea  called  Egg  Eock. 
The  story  we  are  about  to  relate  is  intimately  associated  with 
that  picturesque  object.  Long  ago,  when  Nahant  first  began 
to  claim  attention  as  a  summer 
resort,  two  young  people  met  here 
for  the  first  time.  The  acquaint- 
ance soon  ripened  into  friendship, 
and  from  friendship  into  love. 
The  pair  were  inseparable.  He 
was  devoted  to  infatuation,  she 
too  happy  to  remember  that  there 
was  any  world  outside  of  that  in 
which  they  then  lived.  The  lover 
ivas  in  every  way  worthy  of  the 
lady,  and  she  of  him  ;  and  only 
one  thing   stood  in    the    way   of 

their  happiness.  That  one  obstacle  lay  in  the  fact  that  the 
young  man  was  an  Italian  by  adoption,  although  an  American 
by  birth ;  and  Alice,  the  young  girl  whose  love  he  had  won, 
when  pressed  by  him  to  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage,  had 
replied  :  "  j\Iy  dear  friend,  first  go  and  obtain  the  sanction  of 
your  parents,  and  then  it  sliall  all  be  as  you  wish." 


FORGET-ME-NOTS. 


160  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Possessed  with  this  pur[i()se,  wliicli  liad  now  become  the  sole 
motive  of  his  life,  tlie  young  man  secured  a  [)assa;j;e  in  a  vessel 
which  was  to  sail  in  two  days  for  Leghorn.  lU'  then  returned 
to  Nahant  in  order  to  spend  the  few  hours  remaining  to  him  in 
the  society  of  his  betrothed. 

It  was  the  last  evening,  and  the  young  couple  were  Avandering 
over  the  brow  of  the  headland  where  they  had  so  often  walked 
before,  and  whence  the  long  leagues  of  glittering  sea  had  always 
seemed  so  beautiful,  and  the  breeze  and  the  billows  so  invigor- 
ating and  elevating  to  them.  Both  were  silent.  Unknown  to 
each  other,  they  were  musing  upon  the  question  that  has  dis- 
tracted so  many  minds,  —  the  serpent  in  their  Eden,  —  Since  we 
are  so  happy,  why  should  we  be  separated  1  But  the  sullen 
dash  of  the  waves  at  their  feet  was  their  only  response.  They 
clung  to  each  other  and  dreamed  on. 

While  standing  thus  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  a  strange  fancy 
came  into  the  lover's  head.  Why  it  is  that  in  moments  of 
supreme  trouble  the  merest  trifles  should  force  themselves 
uppermost  in  our  minds,  we  do  not  pretend  to  explain.  Tlie 
young  man  suddeidy  recollected  one  of  the  local  traditions,  run- 
ning to  the  effect  that  the  lady  who  should  receive  from  her 
lover's  hand  the  Floure  of  Souvenance,  or  Forget-me-not,  grow- 
ing only  ill  one  lonely  spot  on  the  little  island  before  them, 
would  remain  forever  constant. 

"  Let  me  give  you  one  more  proof  of  my  love,  dear  Alice, 
before  we  part,  and  let  it  be  the  flower  plucked  from  the  summit 
of  yonder  rock  that  lies  there  before  us,"  he  gayly  said,  feeling 
that  she  would  divine  his  purpose. 

"  I  require  no  new  proof  of  your  affection,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
do  as  you  will." 

Unobserved  by  the  lovers,  the  sea  was  steadily  rising,  and 
upon  the  distant  coast  the  rote  was  growing  every  moment 
more  ominously  distinct.  The  young  man  was  much  too  in- 
tent, however,  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  FLOURE  OF  SOUVENANCE.  161 

lightly  down  tlio  rocks  to  wliero  his  boat  was  ancliored,  and  in 
a  moment  more,  lieedless  of  the  warning  voice  of  a  stranger, 
had  seated  himself  at  the  helm,  and  was  mounting  the  incoming 
waves  on  liis  way  to  Egg  Eoek. 

"  Wait  for  the  next  tide,"  shouted  the  warning  voice,  "  or  I 
will  not  answer  for  your  safety  !  " 

"The  next  tide,"  murmured  the  young  man,  "will  hear  me 
far  from  her;  it  is  now  or  never,"  waving  his  liand  to  Alice 
on  the  cliff.  Alice  watched  him  in  a  kind  of  stupor;  she  had 
heard  the  voice.  "  Mj  God  !  "  she  murmured  with  white  lips, 
"  what  have  I  done  1 " 

The  adventurous  young  man,  however,  reached  the  rock  in 
safety,  climbed  its  rugged  side,  and  stood  at  length  on  its  sum- 
mit. He  was  soon  seen  to  come  down  to  the  shore  again,  to 
loosen  his  sail,  unmoor,  and  stand  boldly  for  Nahant.  All  tliis 
was  seen  from  the  cliff.  Alice  had  not  stirred  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  her. 

But  from  moment  to  moment  the  rising  Avind  and  tide,  swell- 
ing in  angry  cliorus,  rendered  the  passage  more  and  more  peril- 
ous. In  vain  the  intrepid  voyager  tried  to  hold  his  course; 
the  little  boat  seemed  to  lie  at  their  mercy.  J^ow  it  sank 
down  out  of  sight,  and  now  it  struggled  up  again  to  the  summit 
of  a  billow  rolling  heavily  in  and  shaking  the  foam  from  its 
mane.  It  soon  became  unmanageable,  drifting  helplessly  toward 
tlie  rocks.  The  seas  drenched  it,  the  darkness  closed  around  it ; 
but  as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  the  lookers-on  could  see  the 
young  man  still  grasping  the  helm  as  if  buoyed  up  by  the  hope 
of  steering  to  some  opening  among  the  rocks  where  he  might 
safely  land.  At  one  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  succeed ; 
but  in  another  the  boat  was  swallowed  up  by  a  breaker  that 
crushed  it  like  an  egg-shell  against  the  rocks,  at  the  feet  of 
the  spectators.  The  next  day  the  body  was  recovered  ;  in  its 
clenched  and  stiffened  hand  was  the  fatal  Forget-me-not. 


11 


162  NEW-EA'ULANJJ    LEGENDS. 


s 


SWAMPSCOTT    BEACH. 

WAMPSCOTT  is  a  succession  of  hard  sand-beaches  and 
rocky,  picturesque  headlands,  forming  with  Naliaut,  Nahant 
Bay.  It  was  formerly,  Sn^  wo  remember,  a  part  of  Lynn  ;  and  so 
closely  are  they  united  to-day,  that  it  would  require  a  surveyor  to 
tell  where  the  one  ends  or  the  other  begins.  In  making  a  tour  of 
the  shores  one  crosses  successively  King's  Beach,  Whale  Beacli, 
and  Phillips  Beach,  —  all  of  which  are  the  summer  playground  of 
the  multitudes  who  in  that  season  come  here  for  health  or  recrea- 
tion, or  for  both.  The  high  and  ghttering  shore  sweeps  gracefully 
around  toward  the  east,  far  out  into  the  ocean,  until  it  is  fritteretl 
away  in  a  cluster  of  foam-crested  ledges  that  lie  in  treacherous 
ambuscade  at  its  extreme  point.  That  curving  shore  is  Phillips 
Point,  and  the  reef  is  Dread  Ledge.  There  is  a  handsome  villa 
or  cottage  for  every  elevated  site  along  the  two  miles  of  shore. 

The  extremity  of  Phillips  Point  is  a  wicked-looking  shore,  and 
Dread  Ledge  is  the  synonyme  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  liell  itself  Here, 
in  January,  1857,  the  ill-fated  Tedesco  was  swallowed  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.  In  that  memorable 
gale  the  sea  inundated  the  marshes,  swept  unchecked  over  its 
ordinary  barriers,  and  heaped  a  rampart  of  frozen  surf  upon  the 
beaches,  in  Avhich  the  broken  masts  of  wrecks  were  left  sticking. 
Streets  and  roads  Avere  so  blocked  u])  by  immense  snowdrifts, 
that  all  travel  was  suspended  for  several  days.  The  ponderous 
anchors  of  the  Tedesco  were  found  lying,  where  the  seas  had 
thrown  them,  upon  the  top  of  a  rock ;  and  they  were  all  that 


SWAMPSCOTT    BEACH.  163 

was  left  to  tell  the  tale,  for  not  a  vestige  of  the  hull  remained. 
Another  vessel  was  afterward  wrecked  here ;  but,  being  driven 
nearer  the  land,  her  crew,  one  by  one,  walked  to  the  shore  over 
the  bowsprit. 

Swampscott  was,  and  still  is,  a  typical  ISTew-England  fishing- 
village  ;  that  is  its  true  estate.  The  summer  visitors  are  mere 
birds  of  passage  ;  but  the  men  who  are  native  here  pursue  their 
hazardous  calling  the  whole  year  through.  Nothing  can  be 
more  curious  than  to  see  the  old  life  of  a  place  thus  preserved  in 
the  midst  of  the  wealth  and  fashion  that  have  grown  up  around 
it  and  overshadowed  it.  Eut  in  this  fact  we  think  lies  one 
great  charm  of  such  a  place. 

There  is  no  difficulty  whatever  in  placing  the  scene  of  Haw- 
thorne's "  Village  Uncle  "  here.  That  sketch  is  in  truth  only  a 
series  of  pictures  of  the  surroundings  and  of  the  plain  fisherfolk, 
taken  from  life,  to  which,  from  the  snug  chimney-corner  of  a 
fisherman's  humble  cottage,  the  garrulous  old  "  Uncle  "  adds  his 
own  store  of  gossip  and  of  sea-lore.     Hear  him  :  — 

"  Toss  on  an  armful  of  those  dry  oak-chips,  —  the  last  relics  of  the 
'  Mermaid's '  knee-timbers,  the  bones  of  your  namesake,  Susan.  Higher 
yet,  and  clearer,  be  the  blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  the  rud- 
diest in  the  village,  and  the  light  of  our  household  mirth  flash  far 
across  the  bay  to  Nahant. 

"  Now,  Susan,  for  a  sober  picture  of  our  village  !  It  was  a  small 
collection  of  dwellings  that  seemed  to  have  been  cast  up  by  the  sea, 
with  the  rock-weed  and  marine  plants  that  it  vomits  after  a  storm,  or 
to  have  come  ashore  among  the  pipe-staves  and  other  lumber  which 
had  been  washed  from  the  deck  of  an  Eastern  schooner.  There  was 
just  space  for  the  narrow  and  sandy  street  between  the  beach  in  front 
and  a  precipitous  liill  that  lifted  its  rocky  forehead  in  the  rear,  among 
a  waste  of  juniper-bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pasture. 
The  village  was  picturesque  in  the  variet}^  of  its  edifices,  though  all 
were  rude.  Here  stood  a  little  old  hovel,  built  perhajjs  of  driftwood  ; 
there  a  row  of  boat-houses ;  and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelling  of 
dark  and  weatherbeaten  aspect,  —  the  whole  intermixed  with  one  or 
two  snug  cottages  painted  white,  a  sufficiency  of  pigsties,  and  a  shoe- 
maker's shop." 


164 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


By  the  same  family  resemblance  is  Philips  Beach  recognized 
as  the  scene  of  those  wayward  reveries,  "  Footi^rints  on  the  Sea- 
shore," in  which  this  author  thinks  aloud,  rather  than  talks, 
betraying  the  old  truant  impulse  which  occasionally  mastered 
him  to  get  away  from  that  world  in  which  it  is  true  he  lived 
and  moved,  but  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  had  his  being. 
We  here  find  him  in  one  of  his  own  creation. 


THK    BEACH,    «\VAMPSCOTT,    MASS. 


rh"v:i-^ii]LHaca 


"  -s. 


SALEM    LEGENDS. 


IN"  New  England  no  town  except  Plymouth  takes  precedence 
of  Salem  in  the  order  of  settlement,  —  a  fact  of  which  her 
citizens  are  naturally  as  proud  as  an  old  family  is  of  its  pedigree 
going  back  to  the  Conquest,  or  the  Creation.  And  really,  in 
the  creation  of  the  Puritan  Commonwealth,  one  represents  the 
First  Day,  and  the  other  the  Second. 

The  political  and  commercial  fortiines  of  Salem  have  been 
singularly  alike.  Roger  Conant,  the  founder,  and  leader  of  a 
forlorn  hope,  was  eclipsed  by  Eudicott,  who  was  in  turn  over- 
shadowed by  AVinthrop,  —  a  man  quick  to  see  that  no  place  was 
large  enougli  to  contain  three  governors,  two  of  them  deposed, 
one  in  authority,  and  all  ambitious  to  lead  the  Puritan  vanguard 
in  the  great  crusade  of  the  centur3^  The  site  was  not  approved. 
He  therefore  sought  out  a  new  one,  to  which  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment was  presently  removed,  leaving  Salem,  by  the  course  of 
these  events,  a  modest  reflection  of  the  Puritan  capital,  and 
nothing  more.  The  halls  of  the  Essex  Institute  contain  many 
interesting  relics  of  the  time  when  Salem  played  an  important 
part  in  Colonial  history. 

In  respect  to  its  commercial  importance,  which  at  one  time 
was  very  great,  —  ships  in  the  Hooghly  and  the  Yang-tse,  ships 
at  Ceylon  and  Madagascar,  ships  on  the  Gold  Coast,  in  Polynesia 
and  Vancouver ;  you  can  hardly  ])ut  a  thought  on  the  wide  seas 


168  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

where  there  were  not  ships  flying  like  a  swarm  of  industrioua 
bees  to  eA'ery  far  sea  and  clime,  —  an  importance  so  great,  in- 
ileed,  that  its  merchants  ■were  called  King  this  and  King  that, 
while  by  reason  of  the  frecjuent  intercourse  had  with  those 
"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  tlie  first  rank  into  a 
modestly  flourishing  place  of  manutlictures.  That  side  of  the 
city  representing  its  old  eminence  is  paralyzed  ;  while  the  other 
half,  although  exhibiting  a  still  vigorous  life,  has  no  such  dis- 
tinctive traits  as  when  Salem  was  the  recognized  mart  of  the 
Indies.  In  the  cabinets  of  the  Peabody  Museum  the  interested 
visitor  sees  on  all  sides  a  tliousand  evidences  of  her  ancient  com- 
mercial renown,  brought  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  in 
her  own  ships,  and  the  sole  jjroofs  to-day  that  such  renown 
ever  existed. 

Some  years  ago  an  embassy  from  the  Queen  of  IMadagascar 
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  temptation  to  African  curiosity,  but  liecause  it  lay 
in  the  route  to  Salem.  They  were  particularly  anxious  to  see 
Salem,  whch  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  Salem-born 
commemorates  these  well-remembered  sccmes  of  his  youth,  — 

Ah  me,  how  many  an  autumn  day 
We  watched,  with  palpitating  breast, 

Some  stately  ship  from  India  nr  Cathay, 
Laden  witli  spicy  odors  from  the  East, 
Come  sailing  up  the  Bay  ! 

Unto  our  youthtid  hearts  elate, 
What  wealth  beside  their  real  freight 
Of  rich  m.'iterial  things  tliey  bore  I 
Ours  were  Arabian  cargoes  fair, 
Mysterious,  exrpiisite,  and  lare. 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  1C9 

AikI  of  the  old  houses,  "  dark,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,"  wherein 
strange  things  -were  said  to  liavi;  happened,  he  says  :  — 

IIuw  oft,  half  I'earfally,  we  prowled 

Aiound  those  gabled  houses  quaint  and  old. 

Whose  legends,  grim  and  terrible, 

Of  witch  and  ghost  that  used  in  them  to  dwell, 
Around  the  twilight  Ihe  were  told  ; 

While  huddled  close  with  anxious  ear 

We  heard  them  quivering  with  fear  ; 

And  if  the  daylight  half  o'ercame  the  spell, 
'T  was  with  a  lingering  dread 

We  oped  the  door  and  touched  the  stinging  bell. 

For  with  its  sound  it  seemed  to  rouse  the  dead. 
And  wake  some  ghost  from  out  the  dusky  haunts 
Where  faint  the  daj^hght  fell. 

T>nt  it  so  chances  —  or  mischances,  according  to  the  light  in 
Avldch  we  may  view  it  —  that  the  very  things  impeding  her  pro- 
gress have  left  Salem  all  the  more  interesting  for  owv  own  purpose, 
—  as,  in  fact,  it  must  be  to  liim  who,  receiving  his  impressions 
from  history,  expects  to  find  distinct  traces  of  Endicott  and  ot 
Eoger  Williams,  oj-  having  imbihed  them  from  romance,  eagerly 
looks  about  him  for  some  authentic  memorials  of  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter"  or  for  "The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables."  For  here  the 
past  not  only  survives,  but  it  may  be  said  actually  to  flourish  witli 
perennial  freshness  in  old  houses,  (dd  traditions,  old  silver, 
antique  portraits,  and  in  all  the  much  treasured  heirlooms  of 
other  days. 

The  two  most  noteworthy  things  that  have  happened  in  Salem 
are  the  "Witchcraft  Persecution  —  that  anomaly  among  events  — 
and  the  birth  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne, — that  anomaly  among 
men.  Without  suspecting  it,  the  traveller  who  arrives  by  the 
usual  route  is  at  once  ushered  upon  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  in 
which  it  was  the  guilty  who  escaped,  and  the  innocent  wlio  were 
punished. 

Just  out  of  tile  city,  on   its  southern  skirt,  tliere  stretches 


170  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

off  to  the  west  a  broken  rampart  of  steep-sided  gray  rocks, 
moderately  higl),  wliose  windy  summit  a  few  liouses  make 
appear  even  more  desolate.  This  is  a  sort  of  waste  place, 
good  neither  for  planting,  grazing,  or  building,  nor  likely  to 
serve  any  more  useful  purpose  than  a  stone-quarry  or  a  land- 
mark might,  for  the  region  surrounding  it.  In  no  way  does  it 
vary  the  monotony  of  the  landscape,  being  wholly  treeless  and 
almost  without  vegetation.  Travellers  look  listlessly,  and  turn 
away.     Yet  stay  a  moment ! 

Long  ago,  so  long  tliat  no  living  man  remembers  it,  one  soli- 
tary tree  grew  upon  that  rocky,  wind-swept  height.  Dut  at  length 
a  blight  fell  upon  it ;  it  sickened  and  died  ;  its  limbs  one  by  one 
rotted  and  dropped  off;  and,  after  contending  a  while  with  the 
wintry  blasts  that  threatened  to  uproot  it,  tlie  withered  skeleton 
of  a  tree  was  cut  down  and  cast  into  the  hre.  Those  cold  gray 
ledges  where  it  stood  is  Gallows  Hill.  The  tree,  tradition  says, 
was  that  upon  which  tho  condemned  witches  were  hung.  The 
houses  encroach  upon  the  graves  of  the  victims. 

From  the  moment  of  passing  this  fatal  place,  neither  the  noise 
nor  the  throng  will  he  able  to  distract  the  stranger's  thoughts, 
wholly  occupied  as  they  are  with  the  sinister  memories  that  the 
sight  has  awakened  within  him. 

Let  us  throw  a  glance  around  us. 

Upon  entering  the  city,  the  great  high-road  running  north 
and  south  takes  the  more  ambitious  and  dignified  name  of 
street.  Upon  reaching  the  heart  of  the  city,  it  expands  into 
a  public  square,  or,  not  to  mix  up  two  distinct  eras,  the  old 
town  market-place.  At  one  end  the  street  skirts  Oallows  Hill. 
As  he  advances  towards  the  centre,  tlie  curious  visitor  may  still 
see  tlie  quaint  old  house,  now  an  apotliecary's,  in  which  Roger 
Williams  lived,  and  in  which  tradition  says  that  some  of  the 
witchcraft  examinations  were  held  ;  in  the  Square  he  has  arrived 
in  the  region,  half  real,  half  romantic,  described  in  Hawthorne's 
tales  (not  twice,  but  a  thousand  times,  told),  "  Main  Street,"  "  A 
Rill  from  the  Town-Puiiii),"  and  "  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross," 
of  which  Litter  tliis  is  a  rmuinciit  :  — 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  171 

"The  central  oljject  in  the  mirrored  picture  was  an  edifice  of 
humble  architecture,  with  neither  steeple  nor  bell  to  proclaim  it  — 
what  nevertheless  it  was  —  the  house  of  i)rayer.  A  token  of  the 
perils  of  the  wihlerness  was  seen  in  the  grim  head  of  a  wolf  which 
had  just  been  slain  within  the  precincts  of  the  town,  and,  according  to 
the  regular  mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed  to  the  porch  of 
the  meeting-liouse.     The  blood  was  still  plashing  on  the  door-step. 

"  In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edifice  appeared  that  important  en- 
gine of  Puritanic  authority,  the  whipping-post  —  with  the  soil  around  it 
well  trodden  by  the  feet  of  evil-doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined. 
At  one  corner  of  the  meeting-house  was  the  pillory,  and  at  the  other 
the  stocks  ;  and,  by  a  singular  good  fortune,  for  our  sketch,  the  head 
of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected  Catholic  was  grotesquely  incased 
in  the  former  machine  ;  while  a  fellow-criminal  who  had  boister- 
ously quafled  a  health  to  the  King  was  confined  by  the  legs  in  the 
latter." 

But  this  truly  Hudibrastic  picture  is  only  the  grimly  humo- 
rous prelude  to  another  of  a  very  ditlerent  nature,  upon  which  is 
founded  that  story  of  sin,  remorse,  and  sliame,  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter." 

In  the  throng  surrounding  the  culprits  just  sketched  for  us, 
"  There  was  likewise  a  young  woman  with  no  mean  share  of 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  \vas  to  wear  the  letter  '  A '  on  the  breast 
of  her  gown,  in  tlio  eyes  of  all  the  world  and  her  own  children. 
And  even  her  own  children  knew  wliat  that  initial  signified. 
Sporting  with  her  infamy,  the  lost  and  desperate  creature  had 
embroidered  the  fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth  with  golden  thread 
and  the  nicest  art  of  needlework ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  anything  rather  than 
Adulteress." 

Mr.  Hawthorne  tells  us  that  he  found  the  missive  from  which 
this  incident  is  drawn,  and  wdiich  subsequently  formed  the 
groundwork  of  his  novel,  in  the  room  occupied  by  him  in  the 
Salem  Custom-House  while  he  was  serving  as  surveyor  of 
the  port  under  the  veteran  General  James  Miller, — the  hero 
of  Lundy's  Lane.  In  one  respect,  therefore,  the  distinguished 
American  novelist's  life  has  its  analogy  to  tliat  of  Cliarles  Lamb, 


172  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

following  whom  in  his  inimitaljle  monologue  on  the  South  Sea 
House,  which  forms  the  initial  chapter  to  the  "  Essays  of  Elia  " 
our  own  countryman,  though  in  a  different  spirit,  sketches  the 
Old  Custom-flouse  and  its  corps  of  superannuated  weighers, 
gangers,  and  tide-waiters  as  the  introduc- 
tory chapter  to  "  The  Scarlet  Letter." 

This  old  red-brick  edifice,  if  we  except 
a  later  renovation  of  its  interior,  stands 
precisely  as  it  did  in  the  novelist's  time,  — 
the  prominent  object  in  a  region  which  it 
is  only  too  evident  has  seen  better  days, 
but  is  gradually  growing  more  and  more 
ruinous  as  every  year  the  houses  grow 
•irayer  and  more  shaky.     The   same  flag 

THE  SCAllLET  LETTER.        »      -^  -^  ° 

Avaves  from  the  cupola,  the  same  eagle, 
much  tarnished,  however,  by  the  weather,  extends  its  gilded 
wings  above  the  entrance  door.  The  novelist  describes  it  in  a 
grimly  satirical  way  as  an  asyluui  for  decayed  politicians,  who 
dozed  and  slept  in  easy  tranquillity  during  the  hours  nominally 
devoted  to  business,  there  being  little  to  do,  except  to  keep  up 
the  appearance  of  official  regularity.  The  surveyor  cuts  his 
portraits  with  a  diamond.  His  desk,  showing  the  marks  of  a 
nervous  or  an  idle  hand  visible  in  many  lines  and  gashes  upon 
it,  is  preserved  among  the  curiosities  of  Pluramer  Hall.  When 
we  look  at  it,  even  the  homage  due  to  genius  can  hardly  pre- 
vent a  feeling  of  pity  rising  for  the  life  that  was  so  long  overcast 
by  the  gloom  of  unfulfilled  aspirations,  so  embittered  by  the 
tardiness  of  a  recognition  which  came  too  late. 

Not  far  from  the  Custom-House,  in  narrow  Union  Street,  is  the 
ancient  wooden  tenement  in  which  the  novelist  was  born.  We 
pass,  as  it  were,  through  a  corner  of  the  eighteenth  century,  of 
which  this  house  is  indubitably  a  relic.  It  is  an  humble  dwell- 
ing, with  humble  surroundings.  Here  he  wrote  many  of  the 
shorter  tales,  that  it  is  entirely  safe  to  say  have  now  more  readers 
than  Avhen  they  first  saw  the  light,  and  many  more  that  he  tells 
us  were  committed  to  the  flames ;   here  he  kept  that  long  and 


SALKM    LEGENDS.  17.'') 

weary  vigil  wliilo  waiting   lor   tli(>-  slow  (lawiiiiij^^  of  his  lame; 
and  here  ho  tells  us  that  it  was  won. 

To  these  early  struggles,  ending  with  repeated  disappointninnt, 
is  doubtless  to  be  ascribed  the  indifference  with  which  Haw- 
thorne speaks  of  the  city  of  his  bii'th.  He  refers  his  return  to 
it  from  time  to  time  to  a  sort  of  fatality  which  he  passively 
obeyed.  Though  indeed  he  admits  a  certain  languid  attrac- 
tion to  it,  we  can  hardly  distinguish  it  from  repulsion,  so  inti- 
mately do  these  opposite  feelings  mingle  in  the  current.  Yet 
the  same  hand  that  penned  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  " 
and  the  "  Old  Custom-House"  puts  the  early  history  of  Salem  in 
a  nutshell  in  "  jNIain  Street;"  and  it  also  gave  us  those  lascinat- 
ing  chapters  of  revery,  "Sights  from  a  Steeple"  and  "A  Hill 
from  the  Town-Pump,"  —  all  drawn  from  the  associations  of 
the  master's  birthplace. 

But  to  speak  of  things  as  they  are,  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  was 
really  one  of  those  ingenious  methods  of  punislimcnt,  almost 
Satanic  in  their  conception,  which  disgrace  the  criminal  annals 
of  the  Colony.  For  different  offences  a  different  letter  was  pre- 
scribed, to  be  worn  as  well  in  private  as  in  public,  —  the  wearer 
thus  being  made,  perhaps  for  a  lifetime,  the  living  record  of  his 
or  her  own  infamy.  The  drunkard  wore  a  capital  letter  D,  the 
criminal  convicted  of  incest  an  I,  of  heresy  an  H,  and  of  adultery 
an  A,  sewed  on  the  arm  or  breast ;  and  this  accusing  insignia  was 
forbidden  to  be  removed  upon  pain  of  a  severer  penalty,  if  such 
a  thing  Avere  possible.  Many  a  poor  siuner  thus  wore  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve,  "  for  daws  to  peck  at." 

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  Eed  Cross "  contains  the  germ  of  this 
story,  which  afterward  l)ecarae  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  reraarkal)le  story  shows  him  to  have 


174  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

beeii  familiar  with  it.  But  notwithstaudiiig  the  apparent  adher- 
ence to  truth  tliere,  contrived  with  sucli  consummate  art  as  to 
fix  the  impression  in  the  reader's  mind  that  the  legend  of  tlie 
old  Pyncheon  family  is  derived  from  some  authentic  source,  it 
will  be  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 
the  characters  and  events  ftn-  the  sake  of  picturesque  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  eflect  of  solid  reahty 
is  produced,  and  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  purpose  is  considered,  again  disenthralls  the 
minds  of  his  auditors  of  the  effect  which  he  was  quick  to  see 
that  his  peculiar  method  must  inevitably  produce  therein.  But 
as  a  preflice  is  always  the  last  thing  written,  so  it  notoriously  is 
the  last  to  be  read ;  and  thus  has  the  author's  apology  for  introdu- 
cing names  which  struck  his  fancy,  and  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 
family,  distinguished  in  the  early  annals  of  New  England,  on 
whose  escutcheon  no  stain  or  stigma  is  known  to  rest ! 

After  this  explanation  it  will  be  scarcely  necessary  to  observe 
that  the  words  which  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  IMatthew  Maule 
at  the  moment  he  is  ascending  the  fatal  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  Good,  not  to  Colonel  Pyncheon,  but 
to  the  Reverend  Nicliolas  Noyes,  who  most  cruelly  and  wickedly 
embittered  her  last  mninent.s  by  telling  her  that  she  was  a  mis- 
erable witch.     And   it  was   to  liim  she  made    the   memorable 


SALEM    LKGENnS.  175 

reply  that  "  if  he  took  away  lier  life,  Ciod  would  give  him  blood 
to  drink." 

There  is^,  however,  reason  for  supijosiug,  since  it  has  been  so 
minutely  described,  that  the  house  of  the  seven  gables  was 
at  least  suggested  by  that  of  Philip  English,  who  was  near 
becoming  a  martyr  to  the  witchcraft  horror  himself.  What  is 
clearer  still,  is  that  the  novelist  has  laid  several  of  the  old 
Colonial  houses,  both  in  Salem  and  Boston,  under  contribution 
for  whatever  might  embellish  his  description,  which  is  certainly 
no  invention,  but  is  a  true  picture  of  the  early  architecture  even 
in  its  minutest  details.  But  in  such  an  unreal  atmosphere  as 
surrounds  it,  we  are  not  sure  that  the  liouse  itself  may  not  turn 
out  to  be  an  illusion  of  the  mirage  created  by  an  eftbrt  of  the 
weird  romancer's  will.  Its  appearance  is  thus  portrayed  in  the 
opening  words  of  the  romance,  — 

"  There  it  rose,  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  line  of  the  street,  but  in 
pride,  not  modesty.  Its  whole  visible  exterior  was  ornamented  with 
quaint  figures,  conceivetl  in  the  grotesqueness  of  a  Gothic  fancy, 
and  di-awn  or  stamped  in  the  glittering  plaster,  composed  of  lime, 
pebbles,  and  bits  of  glass,  with  w'hich  the  woodwork  of  the  walls  was 
overspread.  On  every  side  the  seven  gables  pointed  sharply  towards 
the  sky,  and  presented  the  aspect  of  a  whole  sisterhood  of  edifices, 
breathing  through  the  spiracles  of  one  great  chimney.  The  many 
lattices,  with  their  small,  diamond-shaped  panes,  admitted  the  sun- 
light into  hall  and  chand)er,  while  nevertheless  the  second  story, 
projecting  far  over  the  base,  and  itself  retiring  beneath  the  third, 
threw  a  shado'uy  and  thoughtful  gloom  into  the  lower  rooms.  Carved 
globes  of  wood  were  affixed  under  the  jutting  stories.  Little  spiral 
rods  of  iron  beautified  erxch  of  the  seven  peaks.  On  the  triangular 
portion  of  the  gable,  that  fronted  next  the  street,  was  a  dial,  put  up 
that  very  morning,  and  on  which  the  sun  was  still  marking  the  pas- 
satjfe  of  the  first  bright  hour  in  a  histciry  that  was  not  destined  to  bo 
r11  so  bright." 


176  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   ESCAPE    OF   PHILIP    ENGLISH. 

THE  story  of  Pliilip  English  and  his  wife  is  quite  as  well 
worthy  a  romance  as  the  house  in  wliich  they  lived.     We 
can  moreover,  answer  for  its  strict  truth. 

During  the  time  of  the  witchcraft  delusion  at  the  Village,  the 
victims  were  in  nearly  every  case  people  in  the  humblest  walk  of 
life.  Philip  English  of  Salem  was  the  first  person  of  superior 
station  to  be  attainted  by  this  persecution,  which,  like  a  wolf 
that  is  maddened  by  the  taste  of  blood,  began  to  grow  bolder  in 
pursuit  of  its  victims. 

Philip  English  had  emigrated  to  America  from  the  island  of 
Jersey.  Having  found  a  home  in  the  family  of  Mr.  AN'illiani 
HolHngsworth,  a  wealthy  inhabitant  of  8alem,  he  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Hollingsworth's  only  cliild,  Susanna,  who, 
as  is  evident  from  her  history,  besides  having  received  from  her 
father  an  education  superior  to  the  usual  requirements  of  that 
day,  possessed  rare  endowments  of  mind  and  i)erson.  The 
acquaintance  ripened  into  mutual  atl'ection,  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,  1()92,  tlie  terrible  accusation  fell  like  a  thunderbult 
upon  this  happy  home.  The  wife  and  mother  was  the  lirst 
victim  to  the  credulity  or  malignity  of  her  neighbors.  In  the 
night  the  officer  entered  her  bedchamber,  read  his  fatal  war- 
rant, and  then  surn)unded  the  house  with  guards,  intending  to 
carry  her  to  prison  in  the  morning.  j\Irs.  English  gave  herself 
np  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  children,  clasped  them 
to  her  bosom,  kisscil  them,  and  then,  commending  them  and  her- 


THE    ESCAl'K    OF    J'llILIl'    KNCLLSll. 


177 


self  to  God,  bade  tliuiii  farewell.  .She  was  then  taken  by  the 
sheriff  before  the  sitting  magistrates,  Hathorne  and  Curwen, 
who  couuuitted  her  to  Salem  jail  as  a  witch.  Her  tirmne.ss  is 
memorable.  A  little  later  her  husband  was  also  accused  by  a 
poor  bedridden  creature.  He  concealed  himself  for  a  time;  but 
at  length  he  came  forward,  gave  liimself  uj),  and  demanded  the 


PHILIP   ENGLISH  S   ITOrSE,  SALEM. 


privilege  of  sharing  his  wife's  fate.  The  two  were  innnared  in 
the  same  dungeon  to  await  the  solemn  farce  of  a  trial.  The 
prison  being  crowded  to  overflowing,  English  and  his  wife 
were,  through  the  intercession  of  friends,  removed  to  the  jail  in 
Boston,  where  for  si.x:  weeks  they  endured  the  dismal  prospect 
of  dying  together  upon  the  scaffold. 

12 


178  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

But  fnrliUKitcly  fur  them,  ami  in  (•onsequencc,  doubtless,  of 
the  fact  that  Englisli  was  a  lucrchaiit  of  property,  uiul  a  person 
of  known  probity,  lie  antl  his  unfortunate  wife  w'ere  admitted 
to  bail,  being  allowed  the  [)rivilege  of  the  town  liy  day,  on 
condition  of  punctually  returning  to  the  })rison  at  nighi,  to  be 
locked  up  again  until  the  following  morning.  Though  ren- 
dering their  condition  more  tolerable,  this  did  nut  make  it 
the  less  hoi:)eless.  They  were  visited  in  their  prison  liy  some 
of  the  most  eminent  clergymen  of  the  town,  one  t)f  whom, 
the  Eeverend  Joshua  Moody, — peace  to  his  memory!  —  mani- 
fested tlie  deepest  ijitcrest  in  their  spiritual  and  temporal  wel- 
iiive.  This  good  man,  wliose  sound  head  refused  to  admit  the 
prevailing  delusion,  while  his  equally  sound  heart  fitted  him  for 
deeds  of  mercy,  like  that  upon  whicli  he  was  now  bent,  W'ent  to 
the  prison  on  the  day  before  English  and  his  wife  were  to  be 
taken  back  to  Salem  for  trial,  and  invited  them  to  attend  at  pub- 
lic "worship  in  liis  church.     They  went. 

When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  the  clergyman  announced 
as  his  text  this  verse,  having  a  peculiar  significance  to  two  of 
his  hearers :  "  If  they  persecute  you  in  one  city,  flee  into 
another ! " 

In  his  discourse,  the  preacher  justified,  with  manly  courage 
and  directness,  any  and  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  visited  the  prison- 
ers in  their  cell,  and  asked  English  pointedly  whether  he  had 
detected  the  meaning  of  his  sermon  of  the  morning.  English 
hesitating  to  commit  himself,  Mr.  Moody  frankly  told  him  that 
his  own  life  and  that  of  his  wife  were  in  danger,  and  that  he, 
looking  this  in  the  face,  ought  to  provide  for  an  escape  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  conviction. 

"What,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "do  you  not  think  that  they 
who  have  suffered  already  were  innocent  1 " 

"  Yes." 


THE    ESCAl'E    OF   I'llILll'    EXGLlSll.  179 

"  Why,  then,  may  wo  not  suli'er  also  1  Take  Mr.  ]\Ioody's 
advice;  let  us  lly." 

To  make  an  end  of  this  indecision,  proceeding  from  the  fear 
that  flight  would  bo  quickly  construed  to  mean  guilt,  Mr.  Moody 
then  unfolded  his  plan.  lie  told  the  reluctant  English  that 
everything  necessary  for  his  escape  had  been  already  provided  : 
that  the  Governor,  Sir  William  Phips,  was  in  the  secret,  and 
countenanced  it ;  that  the  jailor  had  his  instructions  to  open 
the  prison  doors ;  and  that,  finally,  all  being  in  readiness,  at 
midnight  a  conveyance,  furnished  by  friends  who  were  in  the 
plot,  would  come  to  carry  them  away  to  a  place  of  security. 
In  fact  every  precaution  that  prudence  could  suggest  or  fore- 
see, or  that  influence  in  high  places  could  secure,  had  been 
taken  by  this  noble  and  self-sacrificing  Christian  man  in  order 
to  jjrevent  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood.  He  procured  let- 
ters, under  Sir  William's  own  hand  and  seal,  to  Governor 
Fletcher  of  Xew  York,  thus  providing  for  the  fugitives,  first 
a  safeguard,  and  next  an  inviolable  asylum.  Finally,  he  told 
English  plainly  that  if  he  did  not  carry  his  wife  ofi",  he. 
Moody,  would  do  so  himself.  The  allUir  was  arranged  on  tlio 
spot. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  prison  doors  were  unbarred,  the 
prisoners  came  out,  and  while  the  solemn  stillness  of  midnight 
brooded  over  the  afflicted  town,  they  fled  from  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  guests.  The  next  year  Philip 
English  returned  home.  The  storm  of  madness  had  passed  by, 
leaving  its  terrible  marks  in  many  households.  His  own  was 
destined  to  feel  its  consequences  in  a  way  to  turn  aU  his  joy 
into  sorrow.  Within  two  years  from  the  time  she  was  i;orn 
from  her  liome  to  answer  the  charge  of  felony,  Mrs.  Eng- 
lish died  of  the  cruel  treatment  she  liad  received.  Mr.  Moody's 
course  was  commended  by  all  discerning  men,  as  it  deserved ; 


180  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

but  he  felt  tlie  angry  resentment  nf  the  multitiKle,  among  Avliom 
sjme  persons  of  high  rank  -were  inchided.  In  consequence  of 
this  persecution  he  returned  to  his  old  charge  at  PortsuK)Uth, 
New  Ham})shire,  the  next  year  after  his  successful  interpo- 
sition to  save  Mr.  and  Mrs.  English  from  the  executioner's 
hands. 

Such  is  the  tradition  long  preserved  in  the  English  family. 
Philip  English's  granddaughter  became  Susanna  Hathorne,  — 
which  was  the  original  way  of  spelling  the  name  subsequently 
borne  by  the  novelist.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  had  thus  on  one 
side  for  an  ancestor  tlie  implacable  persecutor  of  those  to  whom 
he  was  afterward  to  be  related  by  intermarriage,  thus  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 
and  the  Eed  Cross,"  we  may  as  well  tell,  with  his  help,  the 
story  itself. 


ENDICOTT   AND   THE   RED   CROSS. 

IN  1G34  one  of  the  newly  arrived  ships  brought  from  Eng- 
lanil  a  copy  of  the  commission  granted  to  the  two  Arch- 
bishops antl  ten  of  the  Council  to  regulate  all  plantations,  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  inflict  all  punishments,  even  to  the 
death-penalty.  This  i)lenary  power,  the  Colonists  were  advised, 
was  levelled  at  them  ;  ships  and  soldiers  Avere  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  tlie  root  of  all  their  liberties,  and  it  (juickly 


ENDICOTT    AND    THE    KKD    CROSS.  181 

aroused  tlie  spirit  of  resistance  in  full  vigor.  The  work  of  erect- 
iug  fortifications  was  hastened.  A  solenui  consultation  between 
the  magistrates  and  the  ministers  resulted  in  the  determination 
to  defend  themselves  against  these  innovations  by  force  if  there 
was  a  prospect  of  success,  or  by  temporizing  if  there  were  none. 
Only  in  the  fourth  year  of  its  existence,  tlie  Colony  now  stood 
on  the  verge  of  open  rebellion  ;  and  while  thus  in  daily  appre- 
hension of  tlie  total  subversion  of  the  government,  an  act  coming 
very  little  short  of  treasonable  was  performed. 

At  the  November  court  complaint  was  made  by  Richard 
Brown,  of  Watertown,  that  the  Colony  flag  had  been  defaced 
at  Salem  by  cutting  out  part  of  tlie  red  cross.  No  action  was 
taken  at  this  court,  but  at  the  next,  Endicott,  the  old  governor, 
was  called  upon  to  answer  for  the  defacement.  The  cause  that 
he  alleged  for  the  act  was  that  the  cross  was  the  hateil  emblem 
and  banner  of  Popery.  Opinion  being  divided,  some  upholding 
and  others  censuring,  the  cause  was  again  postponed  ;  and  in  the 
meantime  the  newly  created  military  commission  ordered  all  the 
ensigns  to  be  laid  aside,  so  that  the  Colony  was  now  without 
any  flag  at  all. 

At  the  next  court,  which  was  one  of  election,  John  Haynes 
was  chosen  governor  and  Richard  Bellinghara  deputy-governor. 
Endicott  was  left  this  time  out  of  the  number  of  assistants  ;  and 
being  again  called  upon  to  defend  his  mutilating  the  ensign, 
was  reprimanded,  and  disqualified  from  holding  office  for  a  year. 
Letters  disavowing  the  act  were  written  to  England.  To  allay 
the  excitement  growing  out  of  this  aftair,  it  was  seriously  pro- 
posed to  substitute  the  red  and  white  rose  for  the  cross  in  tlie 
colors.  The  military  commission  afterward,  in  the  exercise  of 
its  powers,  left  out  the  cross  in  the  colors  borne  by  the  Colony 
troops,  and  caused  a  flag  having  the  King's  arms  to  be  raised 
over  the  castle  in  Boston  Harbor.  This  leads  ns  to  observe  that 
the  fathers  of  the  Colony  were  making  rapid  strides  towards 
independence.  They  had  first  refused  to  tolerate  the  only  form 
of  religious  worship  recognized  by  the  laws  of  their  country,  had 
disobeyed  a  royal   mandate,   and  had   at  length  exercised  the 


182  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

sovereignty  of  an  iiidopeudent  state  by  adopting  a  flag  of  their 
own. 

With  this  preamble  we  can  take  uj)  understandiugly  Haw- 
thorne's tale,  and  from  this  point  it  is  he  who  speaks :  — 

"  Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times  whuii  tlie  folds  of  an  English 
banner,  with  the  red  cross  in  its  field,  were  Hung  out  over  a  com- 
pany of  Puritans.  Their  leader,  the  famous  Endicott,  was  a  man 
of  stern  and  resolute  countenance,  the  effect  of  which  was  height- 
ened by  a  grizzly  beard  that  swept  the  upper  portion  of  his  breast- 
plate. .  .   . 

"'Fellow-soldiers,  fellow-exiles,' began  Endicott,  speaking  under 
strong  excitement,  yet  powerfully  restraining  it,  '  wherefore  did  ye 
leave  your  native  country  ?  Wherefoi'e,  I  say,  have  we  left  the  green 
and  fertile  fields,  the  cottages,  or,  perchance,  the  old  gray  halls  where 
we  were  born  and  bred,  the  churchyards  where  our  forefathers  lie 
buried  ?  Wherefore  have  we  come  hither  to  set  up  our  own  tomb- 
stones in  a  wilderness  ?  A  howling  wilderness  it  is.  The  wolf  and 
the  bear  meet  us  within  halloo  of  our  dwellings.  The  savage  lieth  in 
wait  for  us  in  the  dismal  shadow  of  the  woods.  The  stubborn  roots 
of  the  trees  break  our  ploughshares  when  we  would  till  the  earth. 
Our  children  cry  for  bread,  and  we  must  dig  in  the  sands  of  the  sea- 
shore to  satisfy  them.  Wherefore,  I  say  again,  have  we  sought  this 
country  of  a  rugged  soil  and  wintry  sky  ?  Was  it  not  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  our  civil  rights  ?  Was  it  not  for  liberty  to  worship  God 
according  to  our  conscience  ?  .  .  .' 

" '  Look  ye  to  it  brethren,'  resumed  Endicott  with  increasing 
energy,  '  if  this  king  and  this  archi)relate  have  their  will,  we  shall 
briefly  behold  a  cross  on  the  spire  of  this  tabernacle,  which  we  have 
builded,  and  a  high  altar  within  its  walls,  with  wax  tapers  burning' 
round  it  at  noonday.  .  .  .  Who  shall  enslave  us  here  ?  What  have 
we  to  do  with  this  mitred  prelate  —  with  this  crowned  king  ]  What 
have  we  to  do  with  England  ] ' " 

Having  eoncludod  this  fiery  harangue  to  his  soldiers,  — 

"Endicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances  of  the  ])eople, 
now  full  of  his  own  spirit,  and  then  turned  suddenly  to  the  standard- 
bearer,  who  stood  close  behind  him. 

" '  Officer,  lower  your  banner! '  said  he. 


CASSANDRA    SOUTIIWICK.  183 

"  The  oliicer  obeyed  ;  and  bnuidishing  liis  sword,  Eiidicott  thrust 
it  thiHUigh  the  tdoth^  and  willi  his  left  hand  rent  the  red  cross  com- 
pletely out  of  the  banner.  He  then  waved  the  tattered  ensign  al)ove 
his  head. 

"'Sacrilegious  wreti'li ! '  fried  tlie  High  Churchman  in  tlie  pillory, 
unable  longer  to  I'estrain  liiniself,  '  thou  hast  rejected  the  symbol  of 
our  holy  religion  ! ' 

"  '  Treason,  treason  ! '  roared  the  royalist  in  the  stocks.  '  lie  hath 
defticed  the  King's  banner  ! ' 

"  '  Before  God  and  man  1  will  avouch  the  deed,'  answered  Endi- 
cott.  '  Beat  a  flourish,  drunnuer  !  —  shout,  soldiers  and  peo[de  !  —  in 
honor  of  the  ensign  of  New  England.  Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath 
part  in  it  now  !  ' 

"With  a  Li'v  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanction  to  one  of 
the  boldest  exploits  which  our  history  records.  And  forever  honored 
be  the  name  of  Endicott  !  We  look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages, 
and  recognize,  iu  the  rending  of  the  red  cross  from  New  England's 
banner,  the  first  omen  of  that  deliverance  which  our  fathers  consum- 
mated, after  the  bones  of  the  stem  Puritan  had  lain  nmre  than  a 
century  iu  the  dust." 

In  the  King's  "  Missive,"  Whittier  commemorates  briefly  the 
same  incident  of  history. 


CASSANDRA   SOUTHWICK. 

A  NOTHEli  Salem  legend  recalls  the  dark  day  of  Quaker 
-^^^  persecution  vividly  before  us.  It  is  another  story  of 
the  cruelties  perpetrated  upon  this  sect,  whose  innovations  upon 
the  forms  of  religious  worship  established  in  the  Puritan  Colony 
and  made  part  of  its  fundamental  law,  were  regarded  and  pun- 
ished as  heresies  threatening  the  stability  of  its  institutions,  — 
with  what  incredible  rigor  the  records  show. 

Tlie  Quaker  poet  has  taken  this  sad  chapter  for  the  theme  of 
his  poem  entitled  "  Cassandra  Southwick,"  and  as  the  legitimate 


184 


NEW-ENGLAND    LKliKNDS. 


avenger  of  the  cruel  wrongs  inflicted  so  long  ago  upon  the  suf- 
fering Friends,  he  now  applies  the  lash  unsjxiringly  to  the  mem- 
ory of  those  who  acted  prominent  parts  in  commencing  these 
barbarities.  This  may  be  called  poetic  justice  in  its  most  literal 
sense. 

We  will  not  ask  whether,  in  obeying  the  impulse  to  right  one 
wrong,  the  poet  in  presenting  this  case  has  tlone  full  justice  to 


CONDEMNED    TO   BE    SOLD. 

th(!  spirit  of  history.  His  is  a  righteous  indignation,  to  which 
every  sympatlietic  heart  quickly  responds.  Nevertlieless  it 
should  be  said,  in  passing,  that  the  sins  of  the  rulers  were 
those  of  a  majority  of  the  people,  who,  l)y  first  making  the  laws 
against  the  Quakers,  and  tlien  consenting  to  their  enforcement, — 
upon  the  maxim  tliat  a  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand, 
—  are  the  really  guilty  objects  of  this  postlnuuous  arraignment. 
Endicott,  Norton,  llawson,  and  tlie  otliers  were  ])ut  the  agents. 


C.VSSANDltA    SOUTIIWICK.  185 

To  construct  h\s  poem,  to  secure  in  iulvaiice  for  his  theme  the 
greatest  possible  sympatliy,  the  poet  luvs  centred  our  attention 
upon  a  woman,  —  a  maiden  in  wliom  faith  and  fortitude  are 
strongly  and  beautifully  developed,  anil  who  in  the  midst  of  her 
sutferings  —  for  her  tender  back  lias  felt  the  lash  —  confronts 
her  persecutors  with  the  calm  resignatii)n  of  a  Christian  martyr 
and  the  spirit  of  a  Joan  of  Arc. 

We  cannot  help  it  if  much  of  the  glamour  thus  tlirown  around 
the  legendary  tale  should  disap[)ear  in  our  plain,  unvarnished  one. 
liut  it  shall  speak  for  itself.  Cassandra  Sonthwick  was  the  wife 
of  Laurence  Southwick,  a  citizen  of  Salem  in  the  year  1G5G. 
They  were  a  grave  couple,  advanced  in  years,  and  had  three 
grown  u[)  ciiildren, — Provided,  a  daughter;  and  Josiah  and 
Daniel,  their  sons.  The  whole  family  united  with  the  Society 
of  Friends,  fell  under  suspicion,  and  were  included  in  the  per- 
secution which  resulted  in  their  being  driven  from  their  homes 
into  exile  and  death.  The  parents  being  banished  from  the 
Colony  upon  pain  of  death,  they  fled  to  Shelter  Island,  where 
they  lived  only  a  short  time,  one  dying  witlun  three  days'  time 
of  the  otlier,  and  bequeathing  the  memory  of  their  wrongs  to 
their  children. 

While  the  aged  cou[)le  and  Josiah,  the  son,  were  languishing 
in  Boston  jail,  Provided  and  Daniel  being  left  at  home,  —  pre- 
sumably in  want,  since  the  cattle  and  household  goods  had 
already  been  distrained,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  fines  repeatedly 
imposed  upon  them  by  the  courts  —  these  two,  who  in  the  nar- 
rative are  called  children,  were  also  lined  ten  pounds  for  not 
attending  public  worship  at  Salem. 

To  get  this  money,  the  General  Court  sitting  at  Boston  issued 
this  order  :  — 

."Whereas  Daniel  and  Provided  Southwick,  son  and  daughter  to 
Laurence  Southwick,  have  been  fined  by  the  County  Courts  at  Salem 
and  Ipswich,  pretending  they  have  no  estates,  resolving  not  to  work ; 
and  others  likewise  have  been  fined,  and  more  [are]  like  to  be  fined, 
for  siding  with  the  Quakers,  and  absenting  themselves  from  the  public 
ordinances,  —  in  answer  to  a  (juestion  what  course  shall  be  taken  for 


186  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  satisfaction  of  the  fines,  the  Court,  on  perusal  of  the  law,  title 
•  Arrests,'  resolve,  that  the  treasurers  of  the  several  counties  are,  and 
shall  hereby  be,  empowered  to  sell  the  said  persons  tu  any  of  the 
English  nation  at  Virginia  or  Barbadoes." 

Joseph  Besse,  in  his  account  of  the  aflair,  goes  on  to  state 
tliat,  — 

"  Pursuant  to  this  order,  Edward  Butter,  one  of  the  treasui'ers,  to 
get  something  of  tiie  booty,  sought  out  for  passage  to  send  them  to 
Barbadoes  for  sale  ;  but  none  were  willing  to  take  or  carry  them. 
And  a  certain  master  of  a  ship,  to  put  the  thing  off,  pretended  that 
they  would  spoil  all  the  ship's  company  ;  to  which  Butter  replied, 
*  No,  you  need  not  fear  that ;  for  they  are  jioor,  harmless  creatures, 
and  will  not  hurt  anybody.' 

"  'Will  they  not  so?'  rej^lied  the  shipmaster  ;  'and  will  you  offer 
to  make  slaves  of  such  harmless  creatures  V 

"  Thus  Butter,  notwithstanding  his  wicked  intention,  when  he  could 
get  no  opportunity  to  send  them  away,  the  winter  being  at  hand,  sent 
til  em  home  again  to  shift  for  themselves." 

Tliis  is  the  account  that  is  followed  by  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, tliere  to  give  testimony  against  liis  oppressors.  But  while 
neither  the  Quaker  maiden  nor  lier  lirotlier  was  actually  sold 
into  bondage,  it  was  only  a  few  months  later  that  the  former 
was  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  pathos  and  fervor;  and  though  the  coloring  is 
lieightened,  it  will  be  observed  that  the  incidents  themselves  are 
n(;arly  all  true,  the  poet  having  arranged  them  to  suit  his  own 
fancy.  Tiie  girl  lies  on  her  pallet  awaiting  the  fulfilment  of  the 
sentence  she  is  to  undergo  on  the  morrow.  She  stands  in  the 
market-place  in  the  presence  of  a  gaping  crowd.  She  turns  with 
witliering  scorn  upon  the  minister  avIio  is  whispering  counsel 
or  sup])(irt  into  Endicott's  ear.  Her  innocence,  hei'  beauty,  and 
her  sulferings  plead  for  her  in   the   hearts   of  those  who  have 


CASSANDRA   SOUTIIWICK.  187 

come  to  deride,  perhaps  to  insult,  her.  One  burst  of  honest 
wrath  (|uickly  turns  the  scale  in  her  favor.  No  one  will  take 
her  away.  Tlu'  iniquitous  proceedings  are  stopped,  and  the 
Quaker  maiden  walks  away  from  tlie  spot  free,  as  if  by  tlie 
intervention  of  a  miracle. 

Slow  broke  the  gray  cold  morning  ;  again  the  sunshine  fell, 
Flecked  with  the  shade  of  bar  ami  grate  within  my  lonely  cell ; 
The  hoar-frost  melted  ou  the  wall,  and  upward  from  the  street 
Came  careless  laugh  and  idle  word,  and  tread  of  passing  feet. 

At  length  the  heavy  bolts  fell  Inick,  my  duor  was  open  cast, 
And  slowly  at  the  sheriff's  side,  up  the  long  street  I  passed  ; 
T  heard  the  murmur  round  me,  and  felt,  but  dared  not  see, 
How,  from  every  door  and  window,  the  people  gazed  on  me. 

And  there  were  ancient  citizens,  cloak-wrapped  and  grave  and  cold, 
And  grini  and  stout  sea-captains  with  faces  bronzed  and  old. 
And  on  his  horse,  with  Rawson,  his  cruel  clerk,  at  hand. 
Sat  dark  and  haughty  Endicott,  the  ruler  of  the  land. 

Then  to  the  stoiit  sea-captains  the  sheriff,  turning,  said,  — 
'  Which  of  ye,  worthy  seamen,  will  take  this  Quaker  maiil  ? 
In  the  Isle  of  fair  Barbadoes,  or  on  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  sheriff  spoke,  that  voice,  so  kind  to  me, 
Growled  back  its  stormy  answer  like  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  — 

"  Pile  my  slnp  with  bars  of  silver,  — pack  with  coins  ot  Spanish  gold, 
From  keel-piece  up  to  deck-plank,  the  roomage  ot  her  Iiold, 
By  the  living  God  who  made  me  I  —  I  would  sooner  in  your  bay 
Sink  ship  and  crew  and  cargo,  than  bear  this  child  away  !  " 

I  looked  on  haughty  Endicott ;  with  weapon  half-way  drawn, 
Swept  round  the  throng  his  lion  glare  of  bitter  hate  and  scorn  ; 
Fiercely  he  drew  his  bridle-rein,  and  turned  in  silence  back. 
And  sneering  j)ricst  and  baffled  clerk  rode  murnnuiiig  in  his  track. 


188  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   WITCHCRAFT   TRAGEDY. 

THE  place  where  a  great  crime  has  been  committed  has 
always  something  strangely  fascinating  about  it.  Accursed 
though  it  may  be,  repulsive  as  its  associations  generally  are,  yet 
most  people  will  go  a  greater  distance  to  see  the  locality  of  a 
murder  than  they  would  take  the  trouble  to  do  for  any  other 
purpose  whatsoever.  The  house  where  a  great  man  has  been 
born  is  often  quite  unknown  and  unvisited  even  in  its  own 
neighborhood ;  the  house  that  is  associated  with  a  murder  or  a 
homicide  never  is. 

Charles  Lamb  hits  the  nail  fairly  on  the  head  —  and  he 
is  speaking  not  of  New,  but  of  Old,  England  —  when  he  says 
that,  — 

"  We  are  too  hasty  when  we  set  down  our  ancestors  in  the  gross  for 
fools  for  the  monstrous  inconsistencies  (as  they  seem  to  ns)  involved 
in  their  creed  of  witchcraft.  In  the  relations  of  this  visible  world  we 
find  them  to  have  been  as  rational  and  shrewd  to  detect  an  historic 
anomaly  as  ourselves.  But  when  once  the  invisible  world  was  sup- 
posed to  be  opened,  and  the  lawless  agency  of  bad  spirits  assumed, 
what  measures  of  probability,  of  decency,  of  fitness  or  ]iroportion,  — 
of  that  which  distinguishes  the  likely  from  the  palpable  absurtl,  — 
conld  they  have  to  guide  them  in  the  rejection  or  admission  of  any 
particular  testimony  ?  That  maidens  pined  away,  wasting  inwardly 
as  their  waxen  images  consumed  before  a  fire  ;  that  corn  was  lodged 
and  cattle  lamed  ;  that  whirlwinds  uptore  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  stii'- 
ring,  —  were  all  equally  probable  where  no  law  of  agency  was  under- 
stood." 

This  is  the  judgment  of  a  keenly  analytical  and  thoughtful 
mind,  expressed  with  the  large-hearted  human  sympathy  with 


TIIK    WITCHCRAFT    TRAGEDY.  189 

wliicli  lie  was  eiuluwccl.  It  deals  witli  the  uiiiversall}'  prevalent 
belief  in  witcherai't.  lo  leinrurce  this  with  the  views  of  an  able 
and  discriminating  jurist  will  not  l)o  deemed  (Hit  of  place  here. 

'•We  may  lament,  then,"  says  Jmlge  Story  iu  his  Centennial  Ad- 
dress at  Salem,  "  the  errors  of  tiie  times  which  led  to  these  prosecu- 
tions. But  surely  oiu'  ancestors  had  no  special  reasons  for  shame  iu 
a  belief  which  had  the  universal  sanction  of  their  own  and  all  former 
ages  ;  which  counted  in  its  train  philosophers  as  well  as  enthusiasts  ; 
which  was  graced  by  the  learning  of  prelates  as  well  as  the  counte- 
nance of  kings  ;  which  the  Liw  supported  by  its  mandates,  and  tlie 
purest  judges  felt  no  compunctions  in  enforcing.  Let  Witch  Hill 
remain  forever  memorable  by  this  sad  catastrophe,  not  to  perpetuate 
our  dishonor,  but  as  an  affecting,  enduring  proof  of  human  infirmity, 
—  a  proof  that  perfect  justice  belongs  to  one  judgment-seat  only, — 
that  which  is  linked  to  the  throne  of  God." 

What  was  this  belief,  then,  which  had  such  high  moral  and 
legal  sanction  1  It  was  this,  —  That  the  Devil  might  and  did 
personally  appear  to,  enter  into,  and  actively  direct,  the  every- 
day life  of  men.  And  he  did  this  without  the  intervention  of  any 
of  those  magical  arts  or  conjurations  such  as  were  once  thought 
indispensable  to  induce  him  to  put  in  an  appearance.  For  this 
there  was  Scripture  authority,  chapter  and  verse.  He  was  sup- 
posed to  come  sometimes  in  one  form,  sometimes  in  another,  to 
tempt  his  victims  with  the  promise  that  upon  their  signing  a 
contract  to  become  his,  both  body  and  soul,  they  should  want 
for  nothing,  and  that  he  would  undertake  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  sliaring  in  the  power  of  becoming  noted  wizards,  —  though 
from  the  great  nundjer  of  women  who  were  accused,  it  would 
appear  that  the  Arch-Enemy  usually  preferred  to  try  his  arts 
upon  the  Aveaker  and  more  im2:)ressible  sex.  The  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  nowhere  preserved.     Sometimes, 


190  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

as  is  instanced  in  tlie  negcitiation  between  Oliver  Cromwell  and 
the  Devil  before  the  Battle  of  ^yo^cester,  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  haggling.  The  bargain  being  concluded,  Satan  delivered  to 
his  new  recruit  an  imp  or  familiar  spirit,  which  sometimes  had 
the  furm  of  a  cat,  at  others  of  a  mole,  of  a  bird,  of  a  miller-fly,  or 
of  some  other  insect  or  animal,  'i'hese  wen;  to  come  at  call,  do 
such  mischief  as  thp.y  should  be  commanded,  and  at  stated  times 
be  permitted  to  suck  the  wizard's  blood.  Feeding,  suckling,  or  re- 
warding these  imps  was  by  the  law  of  England  declared  Felonv. 

Witches,  according  to  popular  belief,  had  the  power  to  ride  at 
will  through  the  air  on  a  broomstick  or  a  spit,  to  attend  distant 
meetings  or  sabbaths  of  witches ;  but  for  this  purpose  they  must 
first  have  anointed  themselves  with  a  certain  magical  ointment 
given  to  them  by  the  Fiend.  This  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
what  our  forefathers  believed,  what  was  solemnly  incurporated 
into  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  what  was  as  solemnly  preached 
from  the  pulpit.  A  perusal  of  the  witchcraft  examinations  shows 
us  how  familiar  even  children  of  a  tender  age  were  with  all  the 
forms  of  this  most  formidable  and  fatal,  but  yet  not  unaccount- 
able, superstition. 

In  the  course  of  those  remarkable  trials  at  Salem,  several  of 
the  accused  persons,  in  order  to  save  their  lives,  confessed  to  hav- 
ing signed  their  names  in  the  Devil's  book,  to  having  been  bap- 
tized by  him,  and  to  having  attended  midnight  meetings  of 
witches,  or  sacraments  held  upon  the  green  near  the  minister's 
house,  to  which  they  came  riding  through  the  air.  They  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  sometimes  appeared  to  them  in  the  form  of 
a  black  dog  or  cat,  sometimes  in  that  of  a  horse,  and  once  as 
"  a  fine  grave  man,'  Init  generally  as  a  black  man  of  severe 
aspect.  These  fables  show  the  jjrevalent  form  of  the  belief 
among  the  people.  It  was  generally  held  to  be  impossible  for 
a  witch  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  correctly  ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of 
record  that  one  woman,  while  under  examination,  was  put  to 
this  test,  when  it  was  noticed  that  in  one  place  she  suljstituted 
some  words  of  her  own  for  those  of  the  {)raycr.  Such  a  failure 
of  memory  was  considered,  even  by  some  learned  judges,  as  a 


THE    WITCIICKAFT    TkAdKDY. 


191 


decisive  proof  of  guilt.  Even  tlie  trial  of  throwing  a  witch  into 
the  water,  to  see  whether  she  would  sink  or  swim,  was  once 
made  in  ('onnccticut. 

The  scene  of  tlie  witchcraft  outbreak  of  1G92  is  au  elevated 
knoll  of  no  great  extent,  rising  among  the  shaggy  hills  and 
spongy  meadows  that  lie  at  some  distance  back  from  the  more 
thickly  settled  part  of  the  town  of  Danvers,  Massachusetts, 
formerly  Salem  Village.  It  is  indeed  a  qxiiet  little  neighbor- 
hood to  have  made  so  much  noise  in  the  world.      Somehow,  en- 


TlIE    PAKSONAGE,    SALEM    VILLAGE. 


terprise  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 
purpose  which  has  brought  him  hither  comes  into  his  mind, 
the  visitor  looks  about  him  in  doubt  whether  this  can  really 
be  the  locality  of  that  fearful  tragedy. 

Yes,  here  are  the  identical  houses  that  were  standing  when  those 
unheard-of  events  took  place,  still  solemnly  commemorating  them, 
as  if  doomed  to  stand  eternally.     This  village  street  is  the  same 


192  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

old  highway  througli  which  the  dreadful  infection  spread  from 
house  to  house  unto  the  remote  corners  of  the  ancient  shire,  until, 
as  we  read,  in  the  biting  words  of  a  contemporary  writer,  there 
were  forty  men  of  Andover  who  could  raise  the  devil  as  well  as 
any  astrologer.  Here,  too,  a  new  and  beautiful  church,  literally 
risen  from  the  ashes  of  a  former  structure,  gives  no  outward  hint 
in  memorial  bronze  or  marble,  that  it  is  tlie  legitimate  successor 
of  the  ohl  nieeting-liouse,  in  which  tliose  amazing  scenes,  the 
witchcraft  examinations,  took  place.  Just  beyond  is  the  spot  of 
ground  where  the  Parsonage,  with  the  lean-to  chamber,  stood. 
The  sunken  outlines  of  the  cellar  were  still  to  be  seen,  not  many 
years  ago,  and  even  some  relics  of  the  house  itself  are  said  to 
remain  in  the  outljuildings  of  the  Wadsworth  mansion,  Avhich 
overlooks  the  "  Witch  Ground,"  and  which  was  l)uilt  in  the 
same  year  that  the  old  Parsonage  was  pulled  down.  It  was  in 
this  "  Ministry  House,"  as  it  was  then  called,  that  the  circle  of 
young  girls  met,  whose  denunciations,  equivalent  to  the  death- 
warrant  of  the  accused  person,  soon  overspread  the  land  with 
desolation  and  woe  ;  and  it  was  in  the  orchard  here  that  the 
alleged  midniglit  convocations  of  witches  met  to  celebrate  their 
unholy  sacraments,  and  to  renew  their  solemn  league  and  cove- 
nant with  Satan,  in  draughts  of  blood,  by  partaking  of  the 
Devil's  bread,  and  by  inscribing  their  names  in  his  fatal  book. 
Goaded  by  craven  fear  of  death,  some  of  the  accused  even  con- 
fessed to  being  present  at  these  Devil's  Sabbaths. 

It  makes  one  sick  at  heart  to  think  of  a  child  only  eleven 
years  old,  such  as  Abigail  Williams  was,  taking  away  tli(> 
lives  of  men  and  women  who  had  always  borne  unblemished 
reputations  among  their  friends  and  neighbors,  by  identifying 
them  as  having  attended  these  meetings,  and  of  having  hurt 
this  or  that  person.  These  poor  creatures  could  scarcely  under- 
stand that  they  w^ero  seriously  accused  by  one  so  young  of  a 
crime  made  capital  by  the  law.  But  their  doubts  were  soon 
removed.  Once  they  were  accused,  every  man's  hand  was 
against  them.  Children  testified  against  their  own  parents, 
husbands   against   their  wives,   wives  against   their  husbands, 


THE    WITCIICKAFT    TK.V(;K1)Y.  193 

ncinlilior  against  lUMglilxir.  ( )nc'.s  Itlood  altci'iiatcly  Ixiil.s  and 
freezes  while  reading  the  damning  evidence  of  the  record  to  the 
fatal  iniatnation  of  the  judges,  to  their  travesty  of  justice,  to  their 
pitiless  persecution  of  the  ])risouers  at  the  l)ar,  and  to  the  over- 
mastering terror  that  silenced  the  voice  of  humanity  in  this 
stricken  community.  Panic  reigned  everywhere  supreme.  It  is 
an  amazing  history;  but,  incredible  as  it  seems,  it  is  yet  all  true. 
Would  that  it  Avere  not ! 

The  main  features  of  these  trials  are  so  familiar  to  all,  that  it 
will  only  be  necessary  to  refer  to  the  fact  that  some  hundreds 
of  innocent  persons  were  throwai  into  prison,  while  twenty  were 
barbarously  executed,  at  the  instance  of  some  young  girls  of  the 
Village,  who  went  into  violent  convulsions,  real  or  pretended,  as 
soon  as  they  were  confronted  with  the  prisoners  at  the  bar.  The 
convictions  were  had  upon  "  spectre  "  evidence,  — that  is  to  say, 
the  strange  antics  of  the  possessed  girls  were  considered  as  proof 
positive  of  the  criminal  power  of  witchcraft  in  the  accused,  — 
shown  too  in  open  court,  —  with  which  they  stood  charged.  The 
statute  assumed  that  this  power  could  only  proceed  from  a  famil- 
iarity or  compact  with  the  Evil  One,  and  i)unished  it  with  death. 
The  evidence,  however,  was  of  two  kinds.  AVhen  interrogated 
by  the  magistrates,  the  girls  tirst  gave  their  evidence  calmly, 
like  ordinary  witnesses  to  the  criminal  acts,  and  then  went  into 
their  spasms,  which  all  believed  were  caused  by  the  prisoners. 
Their  incoherent  ravings  and  outcries  were  also  taken  as  good 
and  valid  testimony,  and  are  so  recorded. 

These  remarkable  proceedings  are  not,  however,  without  a 
jjrecedent.  The  tragical  story  of  Urbain  C4randier  develops  the 
same  characteristics.  His  popularity  as  a  preacher  having  ex- 
cited the  envy  of  the  monks,  they  instigated  some  nuns  to  play 
the  part  of  persons  possessed,  and  in  their  convulsions  to  charge 
Grandier  Avith  being  the  cause  of  their  evil  visitation.  This 
horrible  though  absurd  charge  was  sanctioned  by  Cardinal 
Eichelieu  on  grounds  of  personal  dislike.  Grandier  was  tried, 
condemned,  and  burnt  alive,  April  18,  1634,  more  than  half 
a   century    earlier    than    the    proceedings    occurring    at    Salem. 

13 


194  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Though  humanity  may  avcII  revolt  at  the  exphinatiou,  tlic  theur}' 
of  imposture,  pure  and  simple,  begun  and  maintained  by  these 
girls  of  Salem  Village,  is  the  one  we  turn  from  in  dismay  as  a 
thing  not  indeed  provanl,  or  even  admitted,  but  as  a  haunting 
probability  that  will  not  down  at  our  Indding. 


GILES   COREY,   THE   WIZARD. 

UXDOUBTEDLY  the  most  dramatic  incident  of  tins  carni- 
val of  death  was  the  trial  and  execution  of  Giles  Corey, 
who,  seeing  the  fate  of  all  those  who  had  preceded  him,  stub- 
bornly refused  to  plead  ;  and,  to  vindicate  the  majesty  of  the  law 
he  had  thus  defied,  he  was  condemned  to  the  atrocious  i^eine  forte 
et  dure  of  the  Dark  Ages.  The  incredible  sentence  was  carried 
out  to  the  letter;  and  this  miserable  prisoner,  while  yet  a  liv- 
ing and  breathing  man,  was  actually  crushed  to  death  under 
the  pressure  of  heavy  weights.  This  is  the  only  instance  of 
such  a  punishment  being  inflicted  in  New  England,  although 
Gdveruor  Winthrop  had  once  threatened  a  woman  with  it. 

Until  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  "  New  England 
Tragedies,"  there  had  been  no  serious  attempt  to  make  use  of 
this  sinister  chapter  for  any  other  purpose  than  that  of  impartial 
history.  Poets  and  novelists  seem  alike  to  have  shunned  it. 
The  man  to  whom  all  eyes  would  naturally  be  turned,  was  de- 
scended from  one  of  the  most  implacable  of  the  judges,  —  the 
one,  in  fact,  who  had  delivered  the  horrible  sentence  of  the  court 
in  the  case  of  Giles  Corey.  In  the  dramatic  version  the  poet 
makes  him  say  :  — 

Ghosts  of  the  dead  and  voices  of  the  living 
Bear  witness  to  your  guilt,  and  you  must  die  ! 
It  might  have  been  an  easier  death  ;  your  doom 
Will  be  on  your  own  head,  and  not  on  ours. 
Twice  more  will  you  be  (luestioned  of  these  things, 
Twice  more  have  ruoni  tu  [iluad  or  to  confess. 


GILES   COKEY,   THE    WIZARD.  195 

If  you  are  contumacious  to  the  Court, 
And  if  when  questioned  you  refuse  to  answer, 
Then  by  the  statute  you  will  be  condemned 
To  the  peine  forte  et  dure !  —  to  have  your  body 
Pressed  by  great  weights  until  you  shall  be  dead  ! 
And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul ! 


Owing  to  the  prisoner's  indomitable  attitude  before  his  judges, 
but  few  incidents  of  this  extraordinary  trial,  or  mockery  of  one, 
remain.  The  heroic  figure  of  this  old  man  of  eighty  confront- 
ing judges  and  accusers  in  stoical  silence  is,  however,  unique  in 
its  grandeur.  From  this  moment  he  becomes  their  peer.  Even 
the  poet's  art  could  add  nothing  to  the  simple  recital  of  the  elo- 
quent fact.  But  such  an  act  of  sublime  heroism  is  also  deeply 
pathetic.  Neither  the  anathema  of  the  Church,  the  doom  pro- 
nounced upon  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  the  solemn  warnings  of 
liis  judges,  thrice  repeated,  nor  the  prospect  of  an  ignominious 
death  could  unseal  the  lips  of  old  Giles  Corey,  obscure  husband- 
man though  he  was.  This  amazing  fortitude  wrung  from  his 
enemies  the  title  of  the  Man  of  Iron.  His  was  one  of  the  last 
of  the  murders  committed  in  the  name  of  the  law,  and  with  him 
was  thus  crushed  out  the  delusion  of  which  he  unquestionably 
was  the  most  remarkable  victim. 

The  anonymous  ballad,  written  in  the  old  manner,  and  in  an 
ironical  vein,  perpetuates  the  cruel  history  as  concisely  and  as 
truthfully  as  the  prose  accounts  do  :  — 


Giles  Corey  was  a  Wizzard  strong, 
A  stubborn  wretch  was  he  ; 

And  fitt  was  he  to  hang  on  high 
Upon  the  Locust-tree. 

So  when  before  the  magistrates 

For  triall  he  did  come, 
He  would  no  true  confession  make, 

But  was  coinpleatlie  dumbe. 


196  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  Giles  Corey,"  said  the  Magistrate, 
"  What  hast  thou  hearu  to  plcade 

To  these  that  now  accuse  thy  soule 
Of  crimes  and  horrid  deed  I  " 

Giles  Corey,  he  said  not  a  worde, 

No  single  worde  spoke  he. 
"Giles  Corey,"  saith  tliu  ^lugistrate, 

''  We  '11  press  il  uul  u!  iheu." 

They  got  them  then  a  heavy  beam. 

They  laid  it  on  his  hreast  ; 
They  loaded  it  with  heavy  stones, 

And  hard  upon  him  prest. 

*'  More  weight !  "  now  said  this  wretched  man  ; 

"  More  weight !  "  again  he  cried  ; 
And  he  did  no  confession  make, 

But  wickedly  he  dyed. 

The  tradition  was  long  current  in  Salem  that  at  stated  peiiods 
the  ghost  of  Corey  tlie  wizard  appeared  on  the  spot  where  he 
had  suffered,  as  the  precursor  of  some  calamity  that  was  impend- 
ing over  tlie  community,  which  the  apparition  came  to  announce. 
His  shade,  however,  has  long  since  ceased  to  revisit "  the  glimpses 
of  the  moon,"  and  to  do  duty  as  a  bugbear  to  frighten  unruly 
children  into  obedience ;  but  the  memory  of  this  darkest  deed 
in  New  England's  annals  is  a  phantom  that  will  not  be  laid. 


THE   BELL   TAVERN   MYSTERY. 

Tl  I E  Bell  Tavern  was  a  house  for  tlie  entertainment  of  man 
and  beast  situated  in  the  town  of  Danvei's,  fronting  the 
liighroad  running  through  the  village,  and  lluis  coiuKH-ting 
its  movement  and  its  events  with   the  rest  of  the  world.      So 


THE    l^KLL   TAVERN    MYSTERY.  107 

long  ago  as  it  was  the  King's  own  highway,  this  road  was  tlie 
great  artery  of  New  England,  through  which  the  blood  of  its 
commerce,  so  to  speak,  flowed  to  and  from  the  heart  of  its 
capital,  Boston.  Boston  Stone  was  then  the  central  milUarium 
from  wliich  the  diverging  sections  ran  north  and  ran  south  into 
the  most  remote  parts  of  the  Colonies,  —  on  the  south  to  the 
Carolinas,  and  to  the  Kennebec  settlements  on  the  north.  The 
Bell  Tavern,  being  therefore  exactly  in  the  great  current  of  travel 
as  well  as  of  events,  has  naturally  a  history  of  its  own. 

The  sign  of  the  tavern  was  a  wooden  bell,  suspended  to  the 
crossbeam  of  a  post  before  the  door,  with  this  couplet  under- 
neath :  — 

I  '11  toll  you  in  if  you  have  need, 
And  feed  you  well  and  bid  you  speed. 

When  the  reader  knows  that  within  the  limits  of  Danvers, 
while  it  was  yet  a  precinct  of  Salem,  the  witchcraft  tragedies 
were  enacted  ;  that  General  Israel  I'utnam  was  born  here  ;  that  on 
its  borders  is  the  remarkable  natural  curiosity  known  as  Ship 
Rock  ;  and  that  it  was  a  favorite  residence  of  tlie  poet  and  phi- 
lanthropist, Wliittier,  —  he  will  see  so  many  reasons  for  spend- 
ing some  hours  in  the  place,  should  he  ever  chance  to  be  in  the 
neighborhot)d.  But  he  will  no  longer  find  ihe  Bell  Tavern 
there.  That  has  disappeared,  although  its  traditions  are  still 
most  scrupulously  preserved.     Let  us  recount  one  of  them. 

The  Bell  was  for  some  time  the  residence  of  Elizabeth 
Whitman,  whose  singular  story,  under  the  fictitious  name  of 
Eliza  Wharton,  excited,  sixty  odd  years  ago,  the  sensibilities  of 
thousands.  In  this  house  she  died ;  and  such  was  the  desire  of 
many  to  obtain  some  memento  of  her,  that  even  the  stones 
erected  over  her  grave  were  near  being  carried  away  piecemeal. 
When  I  last  visited  the  spot  where  she  lies,  the  path  leading 
to  it  was,  to  judge  from  appearances,  the  one  in  the  old  ground 
oftenest  traversed.  This  is  not  strange,  for  even  in  winter,  after 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  the  path  has  been  kept  open  by  the  feet  of 
the  morbidly  curious.     I  expected  to  read  upon  the  headstone 


198  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  words,  "  Good  people,  pray  for  lier,  she  died  for  love."  But, 
as  I  have  said,  the  stone  had  been  carried  ott'  nearly  entire.  The 
following  letter,  found  after  her  death  among  her  effects,  is, 
liowever,  at  once  the  history  and  the  epitaph  of  this  most  bril- 
liant and  gifted,  yet  most  unfortunate,  of  beings.  After  reading 
it,  let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone  upon  her 
memory  :  — 

"  Must  I  die  alone  ?  Shall  I  never  see  you  more  ?  I  know  that 
you  will  come,  but  you  will  come  too  late.  Tins  is,  I  fear,  my  last 
ability.  Tears  fall  so,  I  know  not  how  tu  wiite.  Why  did  you  leave 
me  in  so  much  distress  ?  But  I  will  not  reproach  you.  All  that  was 
dear  I  left  for  you  ;  but  I  do  not  regret  it.  ]\Iay  God  forgive  in  both 
what  was  amiss.  When  I  go  from  hence,  I  will  leave  you  some  way 
to  fiud  me  ;  if  I  die,  will  you  come  and  drop  a  tear  over  my  grave  I " 

In  the  month  of  June,  1788,  a  chaise  in  which  were  two 
persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  Bell 
Tavern.  The  woman  alighted  and  entered  the  house.  Her 
companion  immediately  drove  off',  and  was  never  again  seen  in 
the  village.  It  may  be  easily  guessed  that  the  very  last  place 
for  seclusion  or  mystery  was  a  New  England  village  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  since  the  entire  population  regarded  even  the 
presence  among  them  uf  an  unknown  person  with  suspicion; 
while  any  attempt  at  mystitication  was  in  effect  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  exclusiveuess  we  doubtless  owe  the  national  trait  of  in- 
quisitiveness  so  often  ascribed  to  us.  Such,  however,  was  the 
spirit  of  the  laws  under  which  these  communities  had  grown  up. 
It  is  true  that  the  stranger  was  not  required  to  show  his  pass- 
port;  but  as  he  valued  his  own  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 
watchful  sentinel  cried  out:  "Who  comes  there?"  Should  the 
stranger  happen  to  ha\T)  his  secret  to  guard,  so  much  the  worse 
for  hiTii. 


THE    r.KLL    TAVKliN    MYSTKUY. 


199 


The  unknown  guest  of  the  Bell  —  about  whom  everything  — 
her  beauty,  grace  of  manner  and  address,  announced  her  to 
be  a  person  accustomed  to  the  society  of  people  above  the 
ordinary  condition  of  life  —  desired  most  of  all  to  be  unno- 
ticed and  unmolested.  She  desired  this  for  peculiar  reasons. 
Each  day  lier  life  steadily  darkened ;  every  hour  was  bring- 
ing 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  suspicion  and 
calumny  would  soon  be  busy  with  her  reputation.     She  there- 


TUE   BELL,   FKOM   AN   OLD   FEINT. 


fore  represented  that  she  was  married,  and  that  lier  husband 
would  soon  join  her.  To  help  her  story  —  for  she,  poor  soul, 
fancied  that  the  thin  stratagem  would  make  all  seem  right  —  she 
laid  a  letter,  written  and  addressed  by  herself,  upon  her  table, 
where  her  inquisitive  neighbors  would  be  certain  to  see  and 
to  read  the  superscription.  Her  days  were  passed  at  the  window 
watching  for  some  one  who  did  not  come.  One  easily  imagines 
what  her  nights  must  have  been.  Once  a  man  who  went 
through  the  village  was  observed  to  stop  before  the  tavern  and 
attentively  read  the  name  that  the  "  beautiful  strange  lady  "  had 


200  NEW-EXCLANI)    LEGENDS. 

written  on  her  door  as  a  incaiis  of  recognition.  But  when  lie 
passed  on  witliout  entering  the  house,  she  ^^■as  heard  to  exclaim, 
"  C)h,  1  am  undone  !" 

It  will  be  supposed  that  the  mysterious  recluse  of  the  Bell 
Tavern  soon  became  the  object  of  intense  curiosity  to  the  people 
of  the  village.  They  saw  her  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  Avent  out, 
old  and  young,  attracted  by  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 
cojicealed.  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  danger- — she  found,  however,  one  sympa- 
thizing and  womanly  heart  courageous  enough  to  take  the 
friendless,  forlorn  Elizabeth  into  her  own  home  and  to  nurse 
her  tenderly.  There  this  wretched  mother  gave  birth  to  a  dead 
infant,  and  there,  after  a  short  illness,  she  died.  The  letter  with 
wliich  this  sad  story  is  prefaced  was  doubtless  penned  upon  her 
death-bed ;  yet  in  this  hour  of  agony  she,  with  rare  fidelity,  pre- 
served the  incognito  of  her  heartless  lover  to  the  last ;  and  what 
is  rarer  still,  granted  him,  from  her  soul,  a  full  and  free  pardon 
for  the  sacrifice  of  her  honor  and  life.  But  this  pardon  should 
have  been  his  perpetual  remorse.  These  are  the  closing  lines  of 
some  verses  the  poor  girl  destined  for  his  eye.  It  will  be  seen 
that  her  last  words  were  those  of  forgiveness  and  undying  love  :  — 

0  tlion  !  for  whose  dear  sake  I  bear 
A  (loom  80  dreadful,  so  severe. 
May  liappy  fates  thy  footsteps  guide, 
And  o'er  thy  peaceful  lionie  preside. 

Nor  let  E a's  early  tomb 

Infect  tliee  with  its  baleful  gloom." 

An  unknown  hand  erected  a  stone  over  her  grave  with  this 
inscrii)tion  :  — 


HOW   GEOltGE    nUUROUGIIS    RODE    TO    IIIS    DOOM.      201 

"This  hiniil)lestoiu',  in  memory  oi'  Eli/.alHlli  Whitman,  is  iiiscnl)ecl 
l)y  her  \vt'i'i>iiig  tViemls,  to  whom  she  emh';nv<l  In  rs(3lC  by  uncommou 
tenderness  and  allection.  Emhnved  with  suporioi'  genius  and  acquire- 
ments, she  was  still  more  endeared  by  humility  and  benevolence. 
Let  candor  throw  a  veil  over  her  frailties,  i'or  great  was  her  charity 
to  others.  She  sustained  the  last  painful  scene  far  from  every  friend, 
and  exhibited  an  example  of  calm  resignation.  Ibr  departure  was 
on  the  25th  of  July,  a.  D.  178S,  in  llie  iJTth  year  of  her  age,  and  the 
tears  of  strangers  watered  her  gra\-e." 

One  would  only  wish  to  add  to  this  :  She  "  loved,  uot  wisely, 
but  too  well." 


HOW  GEORGE  BURROUGHS  RODE  TO 
HIS  DOOM. 

OF  all  the  innocent  victims  to  the  Witchcraft  frenzy,  the 
Reverend  George  Burroughs  is,  in  some  respects,  the  most 
striking  figure,  not  only  on  account  of  his  high  calling,  but  also 
for  the  simple  fortitude,  destitute  of  all  bravado,  with  which  he 
confronted  his  perjured  accusers,  heard  the  wicked  sentence 
pronounced  by  his  merciless  judges,  and  finally  met  a  disgraceful 
death  at  the  hands  of  the  common  hangman. 

There  is  a  traditional  account  of  Burroughs'  arrest,  not  un- 
worthy of  a  place  by  the  side  of  those  weird  legends  for  which 
the  Black  Forest,  the  Harz,  and  the  Alps  are  famous. 

According  to  this  account,  the  officers  of  the  law,  who  were 
taking  Burroughs  to  Salem,  to  be  tried  for  his  life,  conceived 
the  idea  that  the  devil  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  play  them 
some  trick,  if  they  took  the  road  men  usually  travelled  ;  so  in 
order  to  outwit  him,  they  made  their  way  by  lonely  and  unfre- 
quented paths  to  the  next  settlement. 

They  had  just  buried  tliemselves  in  the  depths  of  the  forest 
when  a  thunderstorm  burst  upon  them,  in  all  its  fury.  In  a 
twinkling   tlie   forest  grew  as    dark    as    miilnight.     The   wind 


202  NEW-F.NOLAND    LEGENDS. 

liowled,  the  lightnings  iiaslied,  ;nKl  tlie  tliunder  pealed  as  if  the 
Last  Day  were,  indeed,  at  hand.  Relieving  that  their  prisoner 
had  .suunaoned  all  the  Powers  ot"  JJarkness  to  his  aid,  the  terri- 
fied otticers  now  gave  themselves  up  for  lost.  Presently  a  Wind- 
ing flash,  instantly  followed  by  a  deafening  crasli,  that  seemed 
splitting  earth  and  sky  asunder,  brought  horses  and  riders  to  a 
standstill.  A  moment  of  silence  succeeded.  The  terrified  ani- 
mals trembled  in  every  limb.  Then  a  new  terror  seemed  to  seize 
them,  and  as  if  fear  liad  really  given  them  wings  they  sprang 
forward  again  into  the  darkness  and  gloom  with  a  speed  that 
threatened  destruction  to  both  riders  and  steeds.  In  vain  the 
bewildered  officers  tugged  at  the  bit ;  their  frantic  animals  had 
yielded  to  the  wizard's  spell,  and  were  bearing  their  helpless 
masters  onward  with  the  speed  of  the  wind.  On  they  went,  as 
if  lashed  by  invisible  hands,  until,  with  the  passing  of  the 
storm,  the  spell  w^\s  broken,  and  a  place  of  safety  reached  at 
last.  "When  the  officers  drew  rein  they  Avere  overcome  with 
astonishment  at  finding  tlieir  prisoner  still  among  them.  Even 
then,  it  is  asserted  that  the  officers  were  so  unnerved  that 
Bnrroughs  might  easily  have  made  his  escape.  At  his  trial, 
all  the  incidents  of  this  adventure  were  brought  forward  as 
so  many  proofs  of  his  dealings  with  the  Evil  One. 


K 


ENDICOTT  S   SUN-DIAL;     DESIGNS    h'KOil   OLD    MUNJKY. 


MARBLEHEAD:   THE   TOWN. 


""VTEXT  to  Svvampscott  comes  Marblehead.  Quaintest  and 
-LM  most  dilapidated  of  seaports,  oue  can  hardly  knock  at 
any  door  without  encountering  a  legend  or  a  history.  Indeed 
that  idea  comes  uppermost  on  looking  around  you.  Yet  the 
atmosphere  is  not  oppressive,  nor  are  the  suggestions  ghostly. 
Far  otherwise  ;  you  are  simply  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 

Thanks  to  fcjrtuitous  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  him  of  the  j)resent.  Look  at  the  great  body  of 
old  houses  still  composing  it !  There  is  no  mistaking  the  era  to 
Avhich  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  they  were  very  comfortable  dwellings  in  tlieir  day,  and  have 
even  now  a  home-like  look  of  solid,  though  unpretending,  thrift. 
They  in  fiict  indicate  a  republic  of  equality,  if  not  one  of  high 
social  or  intellectual  refinement.  We  expect  to  see  sailors  in 
pigtails,  citizens  in  periwigs,  and  women  in  kerchiefs  and  hobnail 
shoes,  all  speaking  an  unintelligible  jai-gon,  and  all  laying  violent 


206  NEW-EXGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

tongues  on  the  King's  English.  Wc  are  conscious  of  a  certain  in- 
congruity between  ourselves  and  this  democracy,  which  is  not  at 
all  disagreeable  to  us,  nor  disparaging  to  that. 

They  have  covered  a  bare  and  uncouth  cluster  of  gray  ledges 
with  houses,  and  called  it  iMarblehead.  These  ledges  stick  out 
everywhere ;  tliere  is  not  enough  soil  to  cover  them  decently. 
The  original  gullies  intersecting  these  ledges  were  turned  into 
thoroughfares,  which  meander  about  after  a  most  lawless  and 
inscrutable  fashion.  The  principal  graveyard  is  situated  on  the 
top  of  a  rocky  hill,  where  the  dead  mariners  might  lie  within 
sound  of  the  sea  they  loved  so  well.  And  we  learn  that  it  was 
chosen  because  it  was  a  "  sightly  place."  But  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  above  which  they  rise  in 
straggling  groups,  stark,  gray,  and  bent  with  age,  intensifying 
a  thousand-fold  the  pervading  feeling  of  sadness  and  loneliness 
associated  with  such  places. 

One  street  carries  us  along  with  the  present ;  another  whisks 
us  back  into  the  past  again.  AVe  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 
houses,  and  then  read  on  a  signboard  tluit  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  —  perhaps 
a  colonel  or  a  magistrate  —  has  seciired  for  itself  a  little  breath- 
ing space  ;  but  in  general  the  houses  crowd  upon  and  elbow  each 
other  in  "  most  admired  disorder."  The  wonder  is  that  they 
built  here  at  all,  the  site  was  so  unpromising;  but  the  harbor  was 
good,  tliere  was  room  to  dry  fish,  and  the  sailor-settlers  looked 
upon  the  sea,  and  not  the  shore,  as  being  their  home.  So  that 
Allerton's  rough  fellows,  who  in  1633  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 


MAKr-LKIIKAD  •    THE    TOWN.  207 

a  fiivovitc  pastime  here  —  lor  the  clioice  of  building-kits,  and 
then  have  made  their  selection  regardless  of  surveyor's  lines. 
As  a  consequence,  Marblehead  is  pietures(iue,  but  bewildering. 
It  has  a  placid  little  harbor,  indented  by  miniature  coves,  lighted 
by  a  diminutive  lighthouse,  and  defended  by  a  dismantled  ftut- 
ress  without  a  garrison.  Blindfold  a  stranger,  bring  him  to 
Marblehead,  and  then  remove  the  bandage,  and  he  would  cer- 
tainly exclaim,  "  This  is  in  the  Orkneys,  or  the  Hebrides  !  " 

Tins  is  what  a  glance  reveals.  We  have  said  that  nearly 
every  dwelling  has  its  story.  It  is  probable  that  no  other 
spot  of  ground  in  the  Colonies  was  so  peculiai'ly  adapted  to 
the  growth  of  the  marvellous  as  this.  The  men,  and  the  boys 
too,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  handle  an  oar,  followed  the  sea, 
while  the  women  did  most  of  the  shore  work,  taking  care  of 
and  curing  the  fish,  as  they  do  to-day  in  Newfoundland.  So 
that  in  the  fishing  season  the  place  was  nearly  as  destitute  of 
men  as  the  fabulous  island  that  good  old  Peter  Martyr  tells  about 
in  his  wonderful  "  Decades."  That  good  and  true  man,  the  Rev- 
erend John  Barnard,  the  patriarch  and  good  genius  of  the  place, 
tells  us  that  when  he  first  went  to  Marblehead  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  proper  carpenter,  or  mason,  or  tailor,  or  butcher  in 
the  place  ;  all  were  fishermen.  And  this  was  seventy  or  eighty 
years  after  settlement  began  here.  For  half  a  century  there 
was  no  settled  minister  ;  and  for  about  the  same  term  of  years 
no  schoolmaster.  To  this  day  no  one  knows  the  antecedents 
of  these  fishermen,  or  from  whence  they  came.  Certain  it  is 
that  they  Avere  no  part  of  the  Puritan  emigration  around  them  ; 
for  all  accounts  agree  in  styling  them  a  rude,  ignorant,  lawless, 
and  profligate  set,  squandering  with  habitual  recklessness  the 
gains  of  each  hazardous  voyage.  Notorious  pirates  openly  walked 
the  streets  ;  smuggling  was  carried  on  like  any  legitimate  occupa- 
tion. In  a  word,  a  community  going  back  to  as  early  a  day 
as  any  here  had  grown  up  in  the  same  way  that  the  fisliing- 
stations  of  Newfoundland  were  gradually  turned  into  permanent 
settlements,  having  almost  no  law  and  even  less  religion,  until  a 
missionary  appeared  in  the  person  of  the  Ueverend  -lohn  Barnard. 


208  NEW-ENCLAXI)    LEi;ENL)S. 

The  history  tlien  ehaiigcs.  In  respect  to  public  and  pri\atc 
luurals,  Marblehead  was  really  a  little  Newfoundlaiul ,  and  it  is 
more  than  probable,  everything  being  considered,  that  its  settle- 
ment may  be  legitimately  referred  to  this  island,  —  the  home  of 
a  strictly  seafaring  and  sea-subsisting  people,  living  half  of  the 
time  atloat,  and  half  on  shore. 

As  for  the  women,  when  "vve  read  tluit  on  a  certain  8al)batli-day 
two  hostile  Indians,  then  held  as  prisoners  in  tiie  town,  were 
"  by  the  women  of  ^hvrblehead,  as  they  came  out  of  the  meeting- 
house," tumultuously  set  upon  and  very  barbarously  murdered, 
one  easily  imagines  what  the  men  were  like,  —  and  the  children 
too,  of  whom  it  is  soberly  said  that  they  were  as  profane  as  their 
fathers.  When  a  stranger  appeared  in  the  streets  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  pelting  him  with  stones.  All  this  prepares  us 
for  the  appearance  of  John  aud  Mary  Dimond  as  the  legitimate 
outgrowth  of  such  a  place,  and  for  those  singular  customs,  aud 
the  still  more  singular  speech,  which  two  centuries  could  not 
wholly  eradicate.  Marblehead,  it  is  quite  clear,  was  neither 
part  nor  parcel  of  the  Puritan  Commonwealth  in  any  strict 
sense  of  the  term.     It  was  and  is  unique. 

Apropos  of  this  state  of  society,  although  they  may  jjut  the 
reader's  credulity  to  a  harder  test  than  is  usual,  let  us  give  one 
or  two  examples  of  olden  superstition,  in  order  to  place  him 
more  or  less  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  the  times  to  wliich  our 
poets  and  our  novelists  liave  given  so  much  attention.  It  will 
readily  be  seen  that  there  is  little  need  to  have  recourse  to  the 
imagination  ;  truth  is  indeed  stranger  than  tiction. 

The  lielief  that  it  is  a  good  omen  to  see  the  new  moon  over 
one's  right  shoulder  is  still  universal.  Yet  this  is  merely  a  relic 
of  ancient  superstition,  altlidUgh  few,  perhaps,  woidd  be  willing 
to  admit  that  it  had  any  influence,  either  direct  or  indirect,  upon 
their  future  welfare.  r>ut  our  forefathers  tlionght  otherwise. 
Among  the  early  chronicles  of  Lynn  is  one  giving  an  account  of 
"  an  honest  old  man  "  who,  "as  it  began  to  be  darkish,"  went 
out  to  look  for  the  new  moon,  when  he  espied  in  the  west 
a  strange  black  cloud,  in  \vhich  jjresentiy  appeared  a  complete 


marblehead:  the  town.  209 

man-at-arms,  stamling  ■with  liis  ]('!j;s  a  little  apart,  and  holdin.L,' 
his  pike  thrown  across  his  Ijrcast  in  a  most  martial  attitutlc. 
The  man  thou  callctl  his  wile  ami  others  to  behold  this  marvel. 
After  a  while  the  man  in  the  clond  vanished  ;  but  he  was  imme- 
diately succeeded  l)y  the  apparition  of  a  stately  ship  under  full 
sail,  although  she  remained  stationary  in  the  heavens.  The 
black  hull,  the  lofty  stern,  the  brightly  gleaming  sails,  the  taper- 
ing mast,  from  which  a  long  resplendent  pennon  streamed,  were 
as  plainly  distinguished  as  were  those  of  the  ships  then  riding  in 
the  harbor.  "  This,"  in  the  words  of  the  nai'rative,  "  was  seen 
for  a  great  space,  both  by  tliese  and  others  of  ye  same  town." 

The  good  old  English  custom  of  saluting  the  new  moon  with 
the  following  propitiator}'  address,  to  which  the  "pale  goddess" 
was  supposed  to  give  ear,  — 

All  hail  to  the  :\bxin!  all  hail  to  thee  ! 
I  prythee,  good  Moon,  reveal  to  me 
This  night  who  my  husband  must  be,  — 

had  its  counter])art  in  Marblehead,  where,  on  the  nights  when  a 
new  moon  was  to  appear,  the  unmarried  yt'ung  women  would 
congregate  at  some  houses  in  the  neighborhood  for  the  purpose 
of  having  a  peep  into  futurity  ;  and  after  hanging  a  huge  pot  of 
tallow  on  the  craue  over  the  blazing  logs,  would  then  drop,  one 
by  one,  iron  hob-nails  into  the  boiling  fixt,  in  the  hrm  belief  that 
the  young  man  who  should  come  in  while  this  charm  was  work- 
ing would  inevitably  be  the  future  husband  of  the  fair  one  who 
dropped  the  nails. 

At  other  times  the  young  woman  who  had  a  longing  to  pry  into 
the  unknown  would  go  to  an  upper  window  of  the  house,  and 
when  no  one  saw  her  would  throw  a  ball  of  yarn  into  the  street, 
in  the  belief  that  the  lucky  youth  who  first  jiicked  it  uj)  was  the 
man  she  wouhl  marry.  All  the  terrors  of  the  laws  against  it  could 
not  prevent  women  from  trying  the  efficacy  of  magical  art  in  elu- 
cidating the,  to  them,  most  interesting  of  all  questions.  In  those 
"good  old  times"  a  wedding  Avas  a  season  of  unrestrained  merry- 
making for  a  whole  week  together.     Little  ceremony  was  used. 


210  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Everybody  who  chose  might  attend,  and  when,  at  a  late  hour,  the 
guests  were  ready  to  depart,  the  bride  and  groom  being  first  put 
to  bed,  the  entire  company,  regardless  of  the  blushes  or  screams  of 
the  bride,  marched  round  the  nuptial  couch,  throwing  old  shoes, 
stockings,  and  other  missiles  of  established  potency  in  such  cases, 
at  the  newly  wedded  couj)le,  by  way  of  bringing  them  good  luck. 

"  Stories  of  phantom  ships  seen  at  sea  before  the  loss  of  a  A^es- 
sel,  of  the  appearance  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  Avorld, 
of  signs  and  omens  which  foretold  the  approaching  death  of 
some  member  of  the  family,  or  prophecies  whisjiered  by  the 
winds,  that  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  people. 

Such  a  place  would  as  a  matter  of  course  have  its  part  in  the 
"Terror"  of  1G92, — the  fatal  witchcraft  delusion.  The  witch 
of  Marblehead  was  an  old  crone  by  the  name  of  Wilmot  Eedd 
(or  Eeed),  but  more  generally  known  and  feared  as  "  Mammy 
Redd,  the  witch."  This  woman  was  believed  to  possess  the 
power  of  malignant  touch  and  sight,  and  she  was  able,  so  it  was 
whispered,  to  cast  a  spell  over  those  Avhom  she  might  in  her  ma- 
levolence wish  to  injure.  To  some  she  sent  sickness  and  death, 
l)y  merely  wishing  that  a  "  bloody  cleaver"  might  be  found  in 
the  cradle  of  their  infant  children.  Upon  others  she  vented  her 
spite  by  visiting  them  with  such  petty  annoyances  as  occur  — 

Wlu'U  lirass  and  jiewter  liap  to  stray. 
And  linen  slinks  (lut  of  the  way; 
"\Mieu  geese  and  jndlen  are  seduceil, 
And  sows  of  sucking  pigs  arc  cliouscd  ; 
When  cattle  feel  indispositinn, 
And  need  the  oi)inion  of  physician  ; 
When  nnirrain  reigns  in  hogs  or  sheep, 
And  chickens  languish  of  the  pip  ; 
When  yeast  and  outward  means  do  fail, 
And  linvc  mi  jiower  to  work  on  ale  ; 
When  butter  does  refuse  to  come, 
And  love  proves  cross  and  humorsonie. 


TIIK    SHRIEKIN(;    WOMAN.  211 

Among  other  diabolical  arts, — 

01(1  Mammy  Redd, 
or  Maiblfhead, 
Sweet  milk  cnuld  turn 
To  mould  in  churn. 

She  could  curdle  it  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  cow's  udders, 
or  could  presently  change  it  into  "  blue  wool,"  which  we  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  fame  that  she  had  acquired. 

To  this  fact  of  history,  in  which  the  actors  appear  testifying 
under  oath  to  their  own  superstitious  beliefs,  we  may  now 
add  one  of  those  local  legends  undoubtedly  growing  out  of  the 
frequent  intercourse  had  with  the  free  rovers  of  the  main. 
Among  these  freebooters  it  was  a  law,  the  cruel  policy  of  which 
is  obvious,  that  every  woman  who  might  become  their  prisoner 
should  sutler  death.  The  legend  is  perhaps  no  more  than  the 
echo  of  one  of  these  tragedies. 


THE   SHRIEKING  WOMAN. 

IT  was  said  that  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  a  Spanish  ship  laden  with  rich  merchandise  was 
captured  by  pirates,  who  brought  their  prize  into  the  Harbor  of 
Marblehead.  The  crew  and  every  person  on  board  the  ill-fated 
ship  had  been  butchered  in  cold  blood  at  the  time  of  the  cap- 
ture, except  a  beautiful  English  lady,  whom  the  ruffians  brought 
on  shore  near  what  is  now  called  Oakum  Bay,  and  there,  under 
cover  of  the  night,  most  barbarously  murdered  her.  The  few 
fishermen  who  inhabited  the  place  were  then  absent,  and  the 
women  and  children  who  remained,  could  do  nothing  to  prevent 
the  consummation  of  the  fearful  crime.     The  piercing  screams 


212 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


of  the  victim  were  most  appalling,  and  licr  cries  of  "Lord,  save 
me  !  Mercy  !  0  Lord  Jesus,  save  me  !  "  were  distinctly  heard 
in  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  body  was  buried  on  the  spot 
where  the  deed  was  perpetrated,  and  for  over  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  on  each  anniversary  of  that  dreadful  tragedy,  the 
heartrending  screams  of  the  murdered  Avoman  for  mercy  were 
repeated  in  a  voice  so  shrill  and  unearthly  as  to  freeze  the  blood 
of  those  who  heard  them. 

Tliis  legend  is  so  hrmly  rooted  in  Marblehead,  that  Poly- 
phemus himself  could  not  tear  it  from  tlie  soil.  Even  the  m(jst 
intelligent  people  have  admitted  their  full  belief  in  it ;  and  one 
of  the  most  learned  jurists  of  his  time,  who  was  native  here, 
and  to  the  manner  born,  averred  that  he  had  heard  those  ill- 
omened  shrieks  again  and  again  in  the  still  hours  of  the  niglit. 

To  this  local  episode  the  following  narrative  of  piracy  in  its 
palmiest  days  seems  the  ai)propriate  pendant. 


THE  STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 
ASHTON. 


PHILIP  ASHTON  was  a  young  Marblehead  lislierman,  who, 
with  other  townsmen  of  his,  was,  in  the  month  of  June, 

1 722,  quietly  pursuing  his  legitimate  calling  upon  the  fishing- 
grounds  lying  oif  Cape  Sable.  It 
being  Friday,  he  and  his  mates 
hoisted  sail  and  stood  in  for  Port 
Roseway,  meaning  to  harbor  tliero 
until  the  Sabbath  was  over.  "When 
their  shallo])  arrived,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  in  this  liarbor,  the  fish- 
ermen saw  Ij'ing  peaceably  among 
tlie  fleet  of  fishing  craft  a  strange 
brigantine,    whicli   tliey   supposed 

to  be  an  inward-ljound  "West  Indiaman. 


LOW  S   FLAG. 


STKAXCK    Al)VKNTri!ES    OF    rifTLTl'    ASIlldX.  213 

But  after  tlio  shallop  luul  been  at  anchor  two  or  three  hours, 
a  boat  from  the  brigautiiie  came  alongside  of  her,  and  her  men, 
jumping  upon  deck,  drew  from  underneath  their  clothing  tin: 
cutlasses  and  pistt)ls  with  which  they  wore  armed,  and  with 
oaths  and  menaces  demandeil  of  the  startled  iishermen  the  in- 
stant surrender  of  themselves  and  their  vessel.  Having  sus- 
pected no  danger,  and  being  thus  taken  unawares,  these  jjoor 
fishermen  were  unable  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  hshing-vessels  that  evening. 
The  prisoners  vainly  asked  themselves  what  it  could  all  mean. 

When  Ashton  and  his  comrades  were  taken  on  board  the 
brigantiue,  their  worst  fears  were  more  than  realized  upon  find- 
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 
honest  ways,  and  Avhose  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  redoubtable  rover,  who, 
according  to  the  pirates'  custom,  and  in  their  proper  dialect, 
asked  him  if  he  would  sign  their  articles  and  go  along  with 
them  as  one  of  the  band.  To  this  Ashton  returned  a  firm  re- 
fusal ;  he  was  then  with(int  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  pirate,  that  he  put  his  justol 
to  Ashton's  head,  crying  out,  "  You  dog,  why  don't  you  answer 
me  1 "  at  the  same  time  swearing  A^ehemently  that  if  he  did  not 
instantly  tell  whether  he  was  or  was  not  mari'ied,  he  would 
shoot  him  where  he  stood.     To  save  his  life,  Ashton,  in  as  loud 


214  NEW-EXGLAXl)    LEGENDS. 

a  voice  as  he  dared  to  speak  it,  answered  that  he  was  single  ; 
and  so  said  the  rest  of  his  cuuipanions. 

To  their  unspeakable  dismay  they  learned  that  this  answer 
doomed  thein  to  the  fate  from  which  they  were  so  anxious  to 
escape,  it  being  one  of  Low's  whims  not  to  force  any  married 
man  into  his  service.  While  the  greater  number  of  the  captive 
lishermen  were  therefore  released,  Ashton  was  among  those  who 
were  detained  close  prisoners  on  board  the  pirate  ship. 

His  steady  refusal  to  join  them  subjected  young  Ashton  to 
the  most  brutal  treatment  at  the  hands  of  Low's  miscreants, 
whose  continued  carousals,  mingled  witli  the  most  hideous  blas- 
phemy, converted  tlie  pirate  ship  into  a  veritable  hell  afloat. 

Low  hrst  bent  his  destructive  course  towards  Newfoundland. 
But  here  his  lirst  venture  nearly  proved  to  be  his  last ;  for  hav- 
ing descried  a  large  ship  lying  in  the  Harbor  of  St.  John's,  he 
resolved  to  go  in  and  take  her,  and  so  to  furnish  himself  with  a 
larger  and  a  better  ship  than  the  one  he  now  commanded.  With 
this  intention,  after  concealing  the  greater  i)art  of  his  crew  be- 
low, the  pirate  stood  boldly  in  towards  his  expected  prey,  mean- 
ing to  run  close  alongside,  and  then  to  carry  her  by  boarding, 
before  his  purpose  should  be  suspected.  But  here  his  patron 
fientl  served  him  a  good  turn  at  need.  For  as  the  buccaneer 
stealthily  drew  into  the  harbor,  he  met  a  fishing-boat  coming 
out,  and  having  hailed  her,  learned  to  his  dismay  that  the  ship 
he  was  going  to  take  with  his  two  or  three  score  of  cut-throats, 
was  a  large  man-of-war,  capable  of  blowing  him  out  of  the  water 
with  a  single  broadside. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  going  into  the  harbor,  Low  made  all  the 
haste  he  could  to  put  a  safe  distance  between  him  and  the 
cruiser,  lest  he  should  catch  a  Tartar  where  he  hail  looked  for  an 
easy  conquest.  He  now  stretched  away  farther  to  the  eastward, 
and  entering  Conception  Bay,  put  into  a  small  port  called  Car- 
bonear,  where  he  landed  his  men,  who  Hrst  sacked  and  then 
buriHul  the  place  to  the  ground.  He  next  made  for  the  Grand 
Banks,  wliere,  after  capturing  and  plundering  seven  or  eight 
vessels,  he  sailed  away  fur  St.  jNIichuel's  in  the  Azores,  taking 


STKAXUK    ADVENTUKES    OF    I'lllLII'    ASIITON.  215 

with  liim  one  of  his  prizes.  When  oil'  this  port  Low  fell  in 
with  and  made  prize  of  a  large  Portuguese  pink  loaded  with 
Avheat ;  and  finding  her  to  be  a  good  sailer,  she  was  manned  and 
turned  into  a  piratical  craft,  Hying  the  skeleton  Hag  tliat  Low 
carried  at  his  masthead. 

To  the  Canaries,  to  the  Cape  de  Verde  Islands,  to  Bonavista, 
the  freebooter  sailed  on,  leaving  the  wreck  of  burned  and  plun- 
dered ships  in  his  track.  Then  he  ran  down  the  coast  of  Brazil, 
hoping  to  meet  with  richer  prizes  than  any  he  had  yet  taken  ; 
but  from  these  shores  he  was  driven  by  the  fury  of  a  gale  that 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  him  and  his  fortunes.  Escaping  this,  the 
pirate  suddenly  appeared  in  the  West  Indies  ;  and  after  burning, 
plundering,  and  sinking  to  his  heart's  content,  he  scoured  the 
Spanish  ]\Iain  for  a  while  with  variable  success. 

At  length,  after  many  perils  encountered  and  escaped.  Low's 
two  vessels  entered  Roatan  Harbor,  in  the  Bay  of  Honduras,  in 
order  to  heave  down  and  clean  their  bottoms,  and  to  get  a  sup- 
ply of  water.  Here  at  last  came  the  cliance  which  Ashton  had 
so  ardently  longed  for. 

Up  to  this  time  the  pirates  had  never  allowed  him  to  land 
with  them.  More  than  one  well-laid  plan  to  escape  out  of  tlieir 
clutches  had  already  been  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  ready  to  con- 
front any  danger,  however  great,  that  should  lie  in  the  way  to 
his  deliverani^e  from  the  pirate  crew. 

One  morning,  as  Low's  lung-boat  was  passing  by  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,  who  had  charge  of  the  boat,  took  him  in,  little  imagining 
that  there  was  any  danger  of  his  running  away  in  so  desolate  and 
forbidding  a  place  as  this  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.     But  by  and  by  he  gradually 


216  NE^Y-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

strolled  along  the  beach,  pit;king  up  stones  and  shells,  and  look- 
ing sharply  about  him  in  search  of  a  place  suitable  for  his 
purpose. 

He  had  got  a  gunshot  off,  and  had  begun  to  edge  up  towards 
the  woods,  when  the  cooper,  espying  hini,  called  out  to  know 
whore  he  Avas  going.  The  resolute  lad  shouted  back  the  reply 
that  he  was  seeking  for  cocoa-nuts ;  and  pointing  to  a  grove  of 
stately  cocoa-palms  growing  just  in  front  of  him,  moved  on  into 
the  friendly  shelter  of  the  tropical  forest.  As  soon  as  he  had 
lost  sight  of  his  companions,  he  bounded  away  like  a  wounded 
deer  into  the  thick  undergrowth,  and  he  ran  on  until,  judging 
himself  to  have  gained  a  safe  distance,  he  tlu'ew  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  filled  their  casks,  and  were  ready  to  go  on 
board,  the  cooper  called  to  Ashton  to  come  in  ;  but  this  being  the 
last  thing  this  brave  lad  thought  of  doing,  he  made  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. 
He  could  hear  them  say,  "  The  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  off  for  their 
vessel,  leaving  him  alone  on  this  uninhabited  island,  with  no 
other  company  than  his  own  thoughts,  no  clothing  but  a  canvas 
cap  to  cover  his  head,  a  loose  tunic,  and  trousers  to  protect  his 
body,  and  nothing  else  besides  his  two  hands  to  defend  himself 
from  the  wild  beasts  of  prey  that  prowled  unmolested  about  the 
hideous  thickets  around  him.  He  had  jumped  into  the  boat 
just  as  he  stood,  having  no  time  to  snatch  up  even  so  indis- 
pensable a  thing  as  a  knife,  or  a  fiint  and  steel  to  kindle  a 
fire  with.  Yet  lie  considered  this  condition  preferable  to  the 
company  he  had  left. 

Ashton  passed  the  next  five  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  ami  put  to 
sea.     Not  until  then  did  he  breathe  freely. 


STKANGE    ADVENTURES    OK    I'lIILlI'    ASIITON. 


217 


In  order  to  find  out  in  what  manner  he  was  to  live  for  the 
future,  At^hton  hegan  to  range  the  island  over.  He  saw  no  evi- 
dence of  any  human  hal)itation,  except  oue  walk  of  limii-trees 
nearly  a  mile  long,  with  here  and  there  some  fragments  of  pot- 
tery strewed  about  the  place,  by  Avhich  signs  he  guessed  that  he 
liatl  lighted  upon  some  long-deserted  residence  of  tlie  Indians. 
The  island  was  mountainous,  and  the  mountains  were  thickly  cov- 
ered with  a  scrubby  lilack  ]>ine,  making 
tliem  almost  inaccessil)le.  The  valleys 
abounded  with  fruit-trees  ;  but  so  dense 
was  the  tropical  undergrowth  here,  that 
it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Ashton 
could  force  his  way  through  it,  he  hav- 


ALOXE    ON    TUE    DESERT   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 
had  no  way  of  breaking  the  thick  husks,  this  delicious  fruit  was 
of  no  advantage  to  him.     There  were  also  many  other  sorts  of 


218  NFAV-EXdLAND    LECENDS. 

fruits  hanging  most  temptingly  within  reach  of  the  half  starved 
Ashtun's  hand  ;  hut  not  knowing  what  they  were,  he  dared  not 
touch  any  of  them  until  he  saw  the  -wild  hogs  freely  feeding 
upon  them.  And  soni(>  of  them  which  were  really  poisonous  he 
often  handled,  but  luckily  refrained  from  eating.  He  therefore 
lived  for  son^e  time  upon  the  grapes,  figs,  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  palmetto-leaves. 
In  time  he  built  many  of  these  huts  in  difterent  parts  of  his 
island. 

There  Avere  also  upon  this  island,  and  upon  the  islands  adjacent 
to  it,  wild  deer  and  hogs.  The  woods  and  waters  abounded  too 
with  duck,  teal,  curlew,  pelicans,  boobies,  pigeons,  parrots,  and 
other  birds  tit  to  be  eaten.  The  seas  teemed  with  hsh  and  the 
shores  witli  tortoises.  But  notwithstanding  his  mouth  often 
watered  for  a  bit  of  them,  i\.shton  was  able  to  make  no  use 
whatever  of  all  this  store  of  beast,  fish,  and  fowl,  for  want  of  a 
knife  and  a  tire.  So  in  the  midst  of  plenty  he  was  reduced 
even  lower  than  the  savage,  —  who  can  at  least  alwa3's  make 
for  himself  weapons  to  kill  and  fire  to  dress  his  food. 

For  nine  solitary  months  Philip  Ashton  lived  alone  on  this 
island  without  seeing  one  human  being.  The  parrots  had  not 
learned  to  talk,  so  that,  compelled  as  he  Avas  to  keep  silence,  he 
sometimes  feared  that  he  might  lose  the  power  of  speech,  or 
forget  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  To  escape  from  the  mosqui- 
toes, black-flies,  and  other  insect  pests  which  made  liis  life  in- 
tolerable to  him,  Ashton  formed  the  habit  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  devoured  by  a  shark,  which 
struck  him  just  as  he  reached  the  shallow  water  of  the  shore. 
This  key  also  gave  him  a  liroadcr  and  a  clearer  sea-view ;  for  it 
may  well  be  imagined  that  never  during  his  waking  hours  did  he 
intermit  his  weary  watch  for  a  friendly  sail.     Sometimes  he  sat 


STRANCiK    ADVENTIKKS    OF    I'llILIJ'    A.SHTON.  219 

with  his  back  against  a  tree,  anil  liis  face  to  tlie  sea,  for  a  wlioln 
day,  without  stirring  from  the  spot. 

Weakened  l>y  eximsure  and  the  want  of  proper  I'ood,  unable 
longer  to  drag  his  torn  antl  Wdundml  limbs  about  the  island, 
Ashton  at  last  sickened  ;  and  as  his  helplessness  increased,  the 
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 
extremity  he  one  ilay  esi)ied  a  canoe,  with  one  man  in  it,  com- 
ing towards  him.  When  he  was  near  enough,  Ashton  feebly 
called  out  to  him.  After  some  hesitation  the  man  landed.  He 
proved  to  be  an  Englishman  who,  to  save  his  life,  had  fled  from 
the  Spanish  settlements.  For  three  days  Ashton  had  the  un- 
speakable pleasure  of  a  companion  in  his  misery  ;  but  at  the  end 
of  this  brief  time  his  solitary  visitor,  having  left  him  to  go  upon 
a  hunting  excursion  among  the  islands,  was  drowned  in  a  s(piall, 
leaving  the  hermit  again  alone  in  his  wretchedness  and  anguish 
of  body  and  mind.  His  condition  was,  however,  somewiiat  im- 
proved ;  for  thanks  to  his  late  com[)anion  he  now  had  a  knife, 
a  little  pork,  some  gunpowder,  and  a  flint,  and  so  the  means  of 
making  a  Are,  which  was  to  him  the  greatest  of  luxuries. 

Between  two  and  three  months  after  he  had  lost  his  com- 
panion, Ashton,  in  one  of  his  rambles,  found  a  small  canoe 
stranded  upon  the  shore.  This  enabled  him  to  extend  his  ex- 
cursions among  the  islands,  and  in  this  way  gave  promise  of  an 
escape  to  some  of  the  distant  settlements. 

How  he  made  a  voyage  to  the  Island  of  Bonacco,  and  while 
asleep  was  discovered  and  fired  upon  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  had  not  harmed  him  —  was  a  lesson 
that  made  him  more  wary  about  extending  his  explorations  too 
far  in  the  future. 

Some  time  after  this  adventure  Ashton  again  saw  canoes 
approaching  his  place  of  refuge.  The  smoke  of  his  fire  had 
drawn  them  in  towards  the  shore.     Ashton  then  showed  himself 


220  NEW-EXGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

on  the  beach.  The  canoes  carae  to  a  standstill.  Then  tlie 
parties  hailed  each  other,  and  after  mutual  explanations,  one 
man  ventured  to  come  to  the  shore.  When  he  saw  the  forlorn 
and  miserable  object  of  his  fear,  he  stood  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment ;  but  at  length  the  two  men  fell  to  embracing  each  other, 
and  then  the  stranger,  taking  the  emaciated  body  of  Ashton  in 
his  arms,  carried  liini  to  the  canoes,  where  the  others  received 
him  kindly  and  made  him  welcome  among  them. 

Ashton  told  them  his  story.  The  strangers  then  informed 
him  that  they  were  from  the  Bay  of  Honduras,  whence,  how- 
ever, they  had  been  forced  to  Hy,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
fury  of  the  Spa.^-.viUS.  AVith  them  Ashton  lived  in  comparative 
ease,  until  his  old  enemies,  the  pirates,  discovered  and  made  a 
descent  upon  them  in  their  chosen  retreat.  Ashton's  dread  of 
again  falling  into  their  hands  may  be  easily  conceived.  He  with 
two  or  three  others  succeeded,  however,  in  making  good  their 
escape  into  the  woods.  Tlie  rest  were  captured  and  taken  on 
board  the  same  vessel  in  which  Ashton  had  served  his  ajiprcn- 
ticeship  as  a  jurate. 

Two  or  three  months  more  passed.  Ashton  with  his  com- 
panions had  got  over  to  the  Island  of  Bonacco  again.  A  gale 
such  as  is  only  known  in  the  tropic  seas  arose,  and  blew  with 
great  violence  for  three  days.  To  Ashton  this  proved  indeed  a 
friendly  gale,  for  when  it  had  subsided  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  vessel 
proved  to  be  a  brigantine  belonging  to  Salem,  and  in  her  Ashton 
took  passage  for  home,  where  he  safely  arrived  on  the  1st  of 
May,  1725,  it  then  being  two  years  and  two  months  since  he 
had  escaped  from  the  pirate  ship. 


AUNES,   THE    MAID    UF   THE    LNN.  221 


AGNES,   THE  MAID  OF   THE  INN. 

THIS  pretty  story,  a  romance  of  real  life,  makes  ns  ac- 
quainted with  two  noble,  but  impulsive  natures,  whose 
destinies  first  became  interwoven  in  a  way  quite  the  reverse  of 
the  romantic.  After  perusing  it,  as  one  is  pretty  sure  to  do,  from 
beginning  to  end,  one  is  very  apt  to  think  that  this  poor  Marble- 
head  maiden,  this  outcast,  if  you  will,  whose  great  love,  finally 
triumphing  over  pride,  prejudice,  suffering,  cruel  scorn,  and  every 
other  moral  impediment  that  the  Avorld  puts  in  the  way  of  duty, 
really  confers  honor  upon  the  noble  knight  who  at  last  gives  her 
his  name,  by  awakening  in  him  truly  ennobling  and  elevating 
sentiments.  In  such  a  life  as  that  of  Agnes  one  cannot  help 
seeing  a  design.  Without  her  Sir  Henry  was  a  mere  votary  of 
pleasure,  a  man  of  the  world.  She  really  made  a  man  of  him 
at  last.     But  to  our  tale. 

In  the  summer  of  1 742  the  course  of  official  duty  called  the 
Collector  of  Boston  to  Marblehead.  The  incumbent  of  this 
office,  which  had  been  established  with  much  opposition  in  the 
Colonial  capital,  and  was  little  respected  outside  of  it,  was  then 
Henry  Frankland,  of  Mattersea,  in  Nottinghamshire,  who  was 
also  connected  Avith  one  of  the  greatest  families  in  the  North, 
and  who  was  the  heir  presumptive  to  a  baronetcy.  This  young 
man,  who  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-six  had  come  into  the  pos- 
session both  of  a  fortune  and  of  a  highly  lucrative  and  honorable 
appointment,  was  now  in  the  pursuit  of  a  career.  With  rank, 
wealth,  and  high  social  jiosition  as  his  bii'thright,  with  rare  per- 
sonal attractions,  and  with  the  endowments  Avliich  all  tliese  had 
brought  tu  his  aid,  Henry  Frankland's  future  bid  fair  to  become 
unusually  dazzling  and  brilliant. 


222 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Marblehead  being  at  this  period  of  her  liistory  the  smuggling 
port  for  Boston,  it  is  quite  probable  that  the  Collector's  visit, 
though  referred  to  other  causes,  looked  to  the  repression  of  this 
contraband  trade,  by  which  the  King's 
revenues   were  every  day  defrauded, 
and  the  laws  of  the  realm  more  or  less 
openly  violatctl. 

Henry  Fraidcland,  having  alighted 
at  the  Fountain  Inn,  found  an  unex- 
pected obstacle  in  his  ])ath. 

This  was  a  young  and  remarkably 
beautiful  girl,  who  was  busily  engaged 
in  scrubbing  the  floor  when   he  en- 
tered, and  who,  we  are  willing  to 
affirm,  found  the  time  to  dart  an  in- 
vestigating and  appieciative  glance 
at    the    handsome  -   "^I^ 


LOVE    AT    FIRST   SIGHT. 

young   guest,   to   whom    her    own 
mean  garb  and  menial  occupation 
offered  the  strongest  possible  con- 
trast.    Struck  with  the  rare  beauty  of  her  face  and  person,  the 
young  man  stopped  to  look  and  to  admire.     His  was  the  pride 
of  birtli  and  station  ;  hers  thti  submissive  deference  that  the  poor 


AGNES,   THE   MAID    OF   TIIK    INN.  223 

and  lowly  paid  to  its  arrogant  demands.  He  was  booted  and 
spurred,  and  wore  liis  laced  beaver;  slie  barelicaded  and  l)are- 
Iboted,  and  upon  lier  knees.  He  had  tlie  unniistakal)le  air  of 
distinction  and  breeding  of  his  class  ;  slie  was  scrubbing  the 
iloor. 

'rh((  young  man  called  her  to  him,  put  some  questions  negli- 
gently, and  then,  pleased  with  her  answers,  dropped  a  piece  of 
silver  into  her  hand  and  passed  on.  He  had  seen  a  pretty  serv- 
ing-maid whu  told  him  that  she  was  called  Agnes — Agnes 
Surriage. 

Later  on,  a  second  visit  to  the  inn  showed  him  the  same 
charming  picture,  even  to  the  minutest  details.  Agnes  was  still 
doing  the  drudgery  of  the  inn  without  shoes  or  stockings  to 
cover  her  little  feet. 

When  the  baronet  asked  why  she  had  not  bought  them  Avith 
the  money  he  had  given  her,  she  naively  answered  that  she  had 
indeed  done  so,  but  that  she  kept  them  to  wear  in  meeting.  Per- 
haps this  elegant  young  man  had  unwittingly  awakened  in  her 
breast,  like  Eve  in  Adam,  the  knowledge  that  was  to  give  a  new 
direction  to  her  life,  —  the  painful  discovery  of  a  deliciencj'  of 
which  she  had  before  l)een  calmly  unconscious.  Perhaps  some- 
thing gave  her  the  courage  to  measure  the  distance  between 
them.  We  do  not  know.  Had  Agnes  been  plain  as  well  as 
poor,  he  might  have  passed  her  by  without  noticing  that  her 
feet  were  bare  or  her  dress  scanty.  Her  beauty  exacted  this 
homage,  which   he  would  have  called  his  condescension. 

Just  what  was  Sir  Henry's  first  design,  or  what  the  workings 
of  his  mind,  do  not  at  this  moment  clearly  appear  ;  perhaps,  pro- 
ceeding from  impulse,  they  were  only  half  formed  at  liest ;  but 
be  that  as  it  may,  his  growing  hiterest  in  Agnes  presently  led 
him  to  seek  an  interview  with  her  parents,  who  were  poor  and 
wortliy  people,  living  in  the  town,  and  to  propose  removing 
their  daughter  to  his  own  home,  in  order  —  Jesuit  that  he  was ! 
—  to  give  her  the  advantages  to  which  her  graces  of  mind  and 
person,  as  he  warndy  protested,  fully  entitled  her.  The  parents 
acceileil  only  too  readily  to  the  seductive  proposal.     They  could 


224  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

see  no  danger;  not  they!  Agnes  left  lier  dwn  humble  home 
for  that  of  Sir  Henry ;  and  so  this  girl  uf  sixteen  became  the 
ward  of  this  grave  yuung  gentlemen  of  twenty-six.  But,  igno- 
rant as  she  was,  and  humble  and  artless,  it  is  easy  to  believe 
that  she  had  already  taught  him  something  he  was  in  no  haste 
to  unlearn. 

Agnes  did  ample  justice  to  her  guardian's  high  opinion  of  her 
mental  qualitications.  The  virgin  soil  is  deep  and  productive. 
She  was  taught  the  commoner  branches,  as  well  as  the  accom- 
plishments then  deemed  indispensably  requisite  to  the  education 
of  a  gentlewoman  moving  in  her  adopted  s})here.  As  her  mind 
expanded,  so,  like  the  rose,  did  her  beauty  become  more  and  more 
radiant  with  the  consciousness  of  the  new  life  opening  to  her. 
She  was  a  Ijeing  created  to  love  and  be  loved.  Her  gratitude, 
her  confidence,  her  admiratiun  were  all  centred  upon  one  ob- 
ject. One  day  she  awoke  to  the  knowledge  that  she  was  be- 
loved,  and  that  she  loved. 

Ly  the  death  of  his  uncle,  the  baronetcy  that  was  heredi- 
tary in  the  Yorkshire  lirancli  of  the  Franklands  devolved  upon 
Agnes'  guardian,  who,  having  now  legitimately  inherited  it, 
publicly  assumed  the  title. 

The  discovery  to  which  we  have  referred  had  its  usual  conse- 
quences. Sir  Henry  Frankland,  Baronet,  could  not  dream  of 
laying  his  noble'  name  at  the  feet  of  a  serving-maid ;  not  he. 
His  horror  of  a  misalliance  was  even  greater  than  his  abhorrence 
of  a  different  and  a  more  equivocal  connection.  But  he  could 
not  give  her  up.  We  will  let  the  veil  fall  upon  the  weakness  of 
both  of  these  lovers.  He  was  her  idol,  she  his  infatuation ; 
he  loved  like  a  man,  and  she  like  a  woman. 

Sir  Henry's  conduct  in  openly  living  with  his  lovely  ward  out- 
side of  the  pale  of  matinmony  being  whis[)ered  about,  was  an 
offence  too  flagrant  for  the  stern  morality  of  the  city  of  tlie  I'uri- 
tans  to  endure ;  and  its  indignation  was  soon  made  manifest  in  a 
way  to  cut  a  proud  and  sensitive  nature  to  the  ([uick.  Society  he 
found  has  its  weapons,  and  can  use  tliem,  too,  without  mercy. 
Society  could  not  justify  his  leading  the  girl  astray  ;  but  it  would 


AtiNES,    Till-:    MAIU    OF    TUK    IXN.  225 

liave  forgiven  him  now,  had  he  chosen  to  desert  lier.  Boston  was 
no  longer  a  place  for  Agnes  or  for  him ;  so  that  no  sooner  was 
he  established  in  his  Eden,  than  an  iuexoralilc  voice  dnivn  him 
forth,  lie  purchased  an  estate  and  Iniilt  an  elegant  mansion  in 
tlie  pleasant  and  secludcil  inland  village  of  llopkinton,  to  wliich 
he  conveyed  Agnes,  and  with  her  took  up  liis  residence  there. 
While  they  lived  here,  the  hospitality  and  luxury  of  the  great 
house,  and  the  beauty  of  Sir  Henry's  mysterious  companion, 
were  the  prolilic  theme  in  all  the  country  round.  Sir  Henry 
loved  the  good  old  English  fashion,  devoting  himself  more  or 
less  to  the  care  and  embellishment  of  his  estate  with  the  Eng- 
lish gentleman's  hereditary  taste  and  method.  His  dcv()ti(ui  to 
Agnes  appears  to  have  sufi'ered  no  diminution ;  and  when  at 
length  he  was  compelled  at  the  call  of  urgent  affairs  to  visit 
England,  she  accompanied  him.  It  is  said  that  he  even  had 
the  hardihood  to  introduce  her  among  his  aristocratic  relatives 
as  Lady  Frankland ;  and  if  he  did  so,  Sir  Henry  must  have 
grown  bold  indeed.  But  that  ill-advised  proceeding  met  with 
the  decisive  repulse  it  certainly  deseived.  Throughout  all  this 
singular  history  shines  the  one  ray  of  hojje  for  Agnes.  Except 
in  name,  the  lovers  held  true  and  unswerving  faith  to  and  in 
each  other  as  fully  and  completely  as  if  they  had  been  actual 
man  and  wife. 

But  we  must  hasten  on.  Sir  Henry's  affliirs  calling  him  to 
Lisbon,  Agnes  went  with  him.  While  they  were  soj\)urning  in 
the  Portuguese  capital,  the  dreadful  earthcpiake  of  1755  laid  the 
city  in  ruins.  Lender  these  ruins  sixty  thousand  of  the  miser- 
al)le  inhabitants  were  buried ;  the  rest  fled  in  terror.  The  car- 
riage in  wliich  Sir  Henry  hapjiened  to  be  riding  was  crushed  by 
falling  walls,  and  buried  underneath  the  rubbish.  Agnes  had  re- 
mained behind,  and  to  this  accident  she  owed  her  escape.  Run- 
ning into  the  street  at  the  first  alarm,  she  indeed  avoided  the 
horrible  death  which  had  swallowed  up  multitudes  around  her  ; 
but  v>'ho  can  tell  the  anguish  of  her  soul  in  that  moment  1  Slie 
was,  indeed,  saved;  but  Avhere  was  her  lord  and  protector'? 
Frantic  and  despairing,  but  faithful  to  death,  she  followed  such 

15 


226  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

faint  traces  as  in  the  confusion  of  tliat  liour  could  bo  obtained, 
until  chance  at  length  led  her  to  the  spot  where  he  lay,  helpless 
and  overwhelmed.  A  line  lady  would  have  recoiled  and  fiiinted 
dead  away ;  Agnes  Surriage,  again  the  working  girl  of  Marble- 
head,  instantly  set  to  work  to  resciie  her  lover  from  the  ruins 
with  her  own  hands.  In  an  hour  he  was  extricated  from  the 
rubbish.  He  was  still  living.  She  conveyed  him  to  a  place 
that  had  escaped  the  shock  of  the  earthquake,  where  she  nursed 
him  into  health  and  strength  again.  Vanquished  Ijy  this  last 
sujjreme  proof  of  her  love  for  him,  the  knight  gave  her  his 
hand  in  return  for  his  life.  And  who  can  doubt  that  with  this 
act  tliere  came  back  to  both  that  peace  of  mind  which  alone  was 
wanting  to  a  })erfect  union  of  two  noble  antl  loving  hearts  ] 

We  are  ol)liged  to  content  ourselves  with  the  following  extracts 
from  the  poem  which  Holmes  has  founded  upon  the  story  :  — 

A  scampering  at  the  Fountain  Inn  ; 

A  rusk  of  great  and  small ; 
With  hurrying  servants'  mingled  din, 

And  screanung  matron's  call  ! 

Poor  Agnes!  with  lier  work  half  done. 

They  caught  licr  unaware, 
As,  humbly,  like  a  ])vaying  nun, 

She  knelt  upon  the  stair  ; 

Bent  o'er  tlie  steps,  with  lowliest  mien 

She  knelt,  hut  not  to  pray,  — 
Her  little  hands  nmst  keep  them  clean. 

And  wash  their  stains  away. 

A  toot,  an  aidde,  bare  ami  white, 

Her  girlish  sliapes  betrayed,  — 
"  Ha  !  Nymphs  and  Graces  !  "  spoke  the  Knight : 

"  Look  up,  my  beauteous  Maid  !  " 

She  turned,  -    a  ve(lilc!ning  rose  in  bud, 

Its  calyx  half  withdrawn  ; 
Her  cheek  on  fire  with  damasked  blood 

Of  ''irlhood's  "lowing  dawn  I 


sKirPEii  ikeson's  hide.  227 

He  searched  her  features  throuj^h  and  through, 

As  royal  lovers  look 
On  lowly  maidens  wlien  they  woo 

Without  the  ring  and  book. 

"  Come  hither,  Fair  one  !  Here,  my  Sweet ! 

Nay,  prithee,  look  not  down  ! 
Take  this  to  shoe  those  little  feet,"  — 

He  tossed  a  silver  crown. 

A  sudden  paleness  struck  her  orow,  — 

A  swifter  flush  succeeds  ; 
It  burns  her  cheek  ;  it  kindles  now 

Beneath  her  golden  beads. 

She  flitted  ;  but  the  glittering  eye 

Still  sought  the  lovely  face. 
Who  was  she  ?     What,  and  whence  /  and  why 

Doomed  to  such  menial  place  I 

A  skipper's  daughter,  —  so  they  said,  — 

Left  orphan  by  the  gale 
That  cost  the  fleet  of  Marblehead 

And  Gloucester  thirty  sail. 


SKIPPER     IRESON'S     RIDE. 

ONE  of  the  most  spirited  uf  Whittier's  home  ballads  —  cer- 
tainly the  most  famous  —  is  liis  "Skipper  Ireson's  Ride," 
which  introduces  by  way  of  refrain  the  arcliaic  Marblehead  dia- 
lect that  is  now  nearly,  if  not  quite,  extinct.  Like  most  of  this 
[)oet's  characters,  Skipper  Iresou  is  a  real  personage,  whose  story, 
briefly  told,  is  this  :  — 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1808  the  schooner  "  Betsy,"  of 
Marblehead,  Benjamin  Ireson,  master,  while  buffeting  its  way 
towards  the  home  port  in  the  teeth  of  a  tremendous  gale,  fell 
in  with  a  wreck  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  Avaves. 


228  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

This  was  the  schooner  "  Active,"  of  Portland,  that  liad  been  over- 
set in  the  gale.  It  was  then  midnight,  with  a  tremendous  sea 
running.  The  skipper  of  the  sinking  vessel  hailed  the  "Betsy" 
and  asked  to  be  taken  oft"  the  wreck,  from  which  every  wave 
indeed  threatened  to  wash  the  distressed  and  exhausted  crew. 
To  this  it  is  said  that  the  "  Betsy's  "  crew  —  one  does  not  like  to 
traduce  the  name  by  calling  them  sailors  —  strongly  demurred, 
alleging  the  danger  of  making  the  attempt  in  such  a  sea  in  su[»- 
})ort  of  their  cowardly  purpose  to  abandon  the  sinking  craft  to 
her  fate.  Some  say  that  Captain  Ireson  was  himself  disposed  to 
act  with  humanity,  and  to  lie  by  the  wreck  until  daylight,  ])ut 
that  he  was  overruled  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  his  men,  who 
selfishly  decided  not  to  risk  their  own  miserable  lives  in  order  to 
save  others.  The  "  Betsy's  "  course  was  accordingly  shaped  for 
^larblehead,  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  bay,  when,  to  their 
honor,  the  Marblehead  people  immediately  despatched  two 
vessels  to  her  relief.  But  the  "Active"  had  then  gone  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea,  and  the  relieving  vessels  returned  from  a  fruit- 
less search,  only  to  increase  the  resentment  alreadj^  felt  against 
Skipper  Ireson,  upon  whom  his  crew  had  thrown  all  the  blame 
of  their  own  dastardly  conduct.  Usually  dead  men  tell  no  tales; 
but  it  so  fell  out  that  in  this  instance  a  more  damning  evidence 
to  Ireson's  inhumanity  appeared,  as  it  were,  from  the  grave 
itself  to  confront  him.  It  happened  that  un  the  morning  next 
following  the  night  of  the  "Betsy's"  desertion  of  them,  the 
captain  and  three  others  Avere  rescued  from  the  sinking  vessel. 
They  soon  made  pitblic  the  story  of  the  cruel  conduct  of  the 
"  Betsy's  "  people  ;  and  as  ill  news  travels  fast,  it  was  not  long 
before  it  reached  Marblehead,  throwing  that  excitable  town  into  a 
hubbub  over  the  aspersions  thus  cast  upon  its  good  name.  It 
Avas  soon  determined  to  take  exemplary  vengeance  upon  the 
offender.  One  bright  moonlight  night  Skipjier  Ireson  heard  a 
knock  at  his  door.  Upon  opening  it  he  fcmiid  himself  in  the 
nervous  grasp  of  a  band  of  resolute  mm,  wliu  .silently  hurried 


w 


230  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

him  off  into  a  deserted  place,  —  with  what  object,  his  fears  alone 
could  divine.  They  lirst  securely  pinioned  and  then  besmeared 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers.  In  the 
morning  the  whole  population  of  the  town  turned  out  to  wit- 
ness or  assist  in  this  ignominious  punishment,  which  had  been 
planned  by  some  of  the  bolder  spirits,  and  silently  approved  by 
the  more  timid  ones.  Iresou  in  his  filthy  disguise  was  seated  in 
tlie  bottom  of  a  dory,  —  instead  of  a  cart,  —  and,  surrounded 
by  a  hooting  rabble,  the  unfortunate  skipper  was  then  dragged 
through  the  streets  of  the  town  as  f\xr  as  the  Salom  boundary- 
line,  where  the  crowd  was  met  and  stopped  by  the  selectmen  of 
that  town,  wliu  forbade  their  proceeding  lartlaT,  —  thus  frustrat- 
ing the  original  purpose  to  drag  Iresou  through  the  streets  of  8aleiii 
and  of  Beverly,  as  well  as  those  of  Marblehead.  During  Ireson's 
rough  ride,  the  bottom  of  the  dory  had  fallen  out.  The  mob 
then  procured  a  cart,  and  lifting  the  boat,  culprit  and  all,  upon 
it,  in  this  way  Ireson  was  taken  back  to  Marblehead.  More 
dead  than  alive,  he  was  at  last  released  from  the  hands  of  his 
tormentors  and  allowed  to  go  home.  When  he  was  free,  Ireson 
c^uietly  said  to  them  :  "  I  tliank  you,  gentlemen,  for  my  ride;  but 
you  will  live  to  regret  it."  And  thus  ended  Benjamin  Ireson's 
shameful  expiation  of  a  shameful  deed. 

Using  the  facts  as  they  came  to  him,  anil  with  the  sanction  of 
what  Avas  in  its  own  time  very  generally  applauded  as  the 
righteous  judgment  of  the  people  of  Marblehead,  the  poet  has 
put  Ireson  in  a  perpetual  pillory,  from  which  no  sober  second 
thought  is  able  to  rescue  him.  But  whether  culpable  or  not 
culpable  in  intention,  his  weakness  in  yielding  to  his  dastard 
crew,  if  in  fact  he  did  so  yield,  amounted  to  a  grave  fault,  closely 
verging  upon  the  criminal.  To-day  everybody  defends  Ireson's 
memory  from  the  charge  which  was  once  as  universally  believed 
to  be  true;  and  the  public  verdict  was,  "served  him  riglit." 
Unfortunately,  however,  for  him,  his  exasperated  townsfolk  exe- 
cuted justice  on  the  spot,  according  to  tlieir  own  rude  notions  of 
it,  before  their  wrath  had  had  time  to  grow  cool.  But  to  tliis 
fact  we  owe  the  most  idiosyncratic  ballad  of  purely  home  origin 


SKiri'EK  ikeson's  iai)E,  231 

in  the   language,  although  it  is   ono  for  which   the  people  of 
Marblehoad  have  never  forgiven  the  poet. 

With  poetic  instinct  Wliittier  seized  upon  the  incident,  using 
more  or  less  freedom  in  presenting  its  dramatic  side.  In  the 
versified  story  we  are  made  lookers  on  while  the  strange  proces- 
sion, counting  its 

Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 
Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 

Wrinkled  scolds,  with  hands  on  hips. 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips, 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase. 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare. 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair. 

With  couLdi-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang,  — 

goes  surging  on  tli rough  the  narrow  streets,  now  echoing  to  the 
wild  refrain,  — 

"  Here 's  Flud  Oirson,  for  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! " 

The  only  liberty  that  the  poet  has  taken  with  the  story  is  in 
saying,  — 

Small  pity  for  him  !  —  He  had  sailed  away 
From  a  leaking  ship,  in  Chaleur  Bay,  — 
Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 
With  his  own  town's-j^eople  on  her  deck  ! 

The  disaster  really  happened  off  the  Highlands  of  Cape  Cod, 
and,  so  far  as  is  known,  there  were  no  Marblehead  people  on 
board  of  the  unlucky  craft  when  she  went  down.  But  in  truth 
such  trifling  departures  from  the  literal  facts  are  of  little  moment. 
The  world  long  ago  granted  to  the  poets  complete  absolution  for 
such  venial  sins  as  these  are,  seeing  that  since  the  days  of 
Homer  it  has  been  their  profession  to  give  all  possible  enlarge- 
ment to  their  subjects. 


232  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Assuming  the  stigma  upon  Iresou's  memory  to  be  an  unjust 
one,  the  antidote  should  accompany  the  poison.  His  reputation 
has  found  a  vigorous  defender  in  the  verses  which  follow. 

A   PLEA    FOR   FLOOD    IIIESON. 

CHARLES    T.   BROOKS. 

Old  Flood  Ireson  !  all  too  long 
Have  jeer  and  jihe  and  ribald  song 
Done  thy  memory  cruel  wrong. 

Old  Flood  Ireson  sleeps  in  his  grave  ; 
Howls  of  a  mad  luoh,  worse  than  the  wave, 
Now  no  more  in  his  ear  shall  rave ! 

Gone  is  the  pack  and  gone  the  prey, 
Yet  old  Flood  Ireson's  ghost  to-day 
Is  hunted  still  d(j\vn  Time's  highway. 

Old  wife  Fame,  with  a  fish-horn's  blare 
Hooting  and  tooting  the  same  old  air, 
Drags  him  along  the  old  thoroughfare. 

Mocked  evermore  with  the  old  refrain, 
Skilfully  wrought  to  a  tuneful  strain, 
Jingling  and  jolting,  he  comes  again 

Over  that  road  of  old  renown. 
Fair  broad  avenue  leading  down 
Through  .South  Fields  to  Salem  town, 

Scourged  and  stung  by  the  Muse's  thong. 
Mounted  high  on  the  car  of  song, 
Sight  that  cries,  0  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 


HALF-WAY    ROCK.  233 

Old  Flood  Ireson,  now  when  Fnnie 
Wipes  away  with  tears  ol'  shame 
Stains  Ironi  many  an  injured  name, 

Shall  not,  in  the  tuneful  line, 
Beams  of  truth  and  mercy  shine 
Through  the  clouds  that  darken  thine  s 


HALF-WAY   ROCK. 

FROM  the  most  remote  time,  the  notion  of  making  propitia- 
tory offerings,  either  to  a  beneficent  or  malevolent  power, 
to  insure  success  in  a  hazardous  adventure,  seems  to  have  been 
common  to  all  peo[)les  in  all  ages.  Thus,  among  the  ancients  it 
was  the  blind  goddess  Fortuna  who  was  to  be  propitiated ;  with 
the  American  Indians  it  was  the  evil  spirit,  Hoboniock,  whose 
malevolence  was  to  be  turned  aside.  We  need  not,  therefore, 
have  recourse  to  lieatl)en  deities  since  our  own  soil  bears  witness 
to  this  unimpeachable  fact.     Let  us  give  an  instance  or  two. 

On  the  Sasanoa  River,  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Kennebec,  in 
Maine,  there  is  a  fine  promontory  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
Hockomock  Head,  in  consequence  of  the  legend  related  of  it  by 
Chaniplain,  to  whom,  more  than  to  any  other  writer,  we  are 
indebted  for  a  knowledge  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Aborigines  of  the  New  England  coast.  It  should  be  said  that 
the  navigation  of  the  Sasanoa  is  sometimes  rendered  difficult, 
and  even  dangerous,  by  the  rapidity  of  its  current,  its  tortuous 
windings,  its  eddies,  and  its  falls,  not  so  easily  overcome  when 
Champlaiii  ascended  it,  as  to-day.  He  moreover  tells  us  that 
each  of  his  Indian  guides  left  an  arrow  at  the  bold  headland,  as 
an  offering  to  its  guardian  spirit  whose  weird  name  it  bears. 
Another  legend  of  similar  import,  runs  to  this  effect :  — 
Lake  Champlain,  of  many  names,  was  called  Corlaer's  Lake 
by  the  Five  Nations,  for  the  first  Dutch  settler  of  Schenectady, 


234  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

whom  the  Mohawks  greatly  esteemed,  ami  who  was  drowned  hy 
the  oversetting  of  his  canoe  there.  This  is  the  tradition  : 
"There  is  a  rock  iu  this  lake  on  whieli  the  waves  dash  and  lly 
up  to  a  great  height  when  the  wind  blows  hard.  The  Indians 
believe  that  an  old  Indian  lives  under  this  rock  who  has  the 
power  of  the  winds ;  and  therefore  as  they  pass  it  in  their  voy- 
ages over,  tliey  always  throw  a  pipe  or  some  other  small  present 
to  this  old  Indian,  and  pray  a  favorable  wind.  The  English 
that  pass  with  tlu  ui  sometimes  laugh  at  them,  but  they  are  sure 
to  be  told  of  Corlaer's  death.  '  Your  great  countryman,  Cor- 
laer,'  say  they,  '  as  he  passed  by  this  rock,  jested  at  our  fathers' 
making  presents  to  this  old  Indian,  but  this  affrout  cost  him  his 
life.'" 

Whether  the  fisher-folk  of  Marblehead  derived  any  of  their 
superstitious  beliefs  from  the  Indians  or  not,  we  do  not  under- 
take to  say.  But  some  three  miles  out  to  sea,  and  midway 
between  Boston  Light  and  Cape  Ann,  a  stark  and  solitary  rock 
lifts  its  dingy  brown  back  above  the  waves,  when  it  is  not 
smothered  in  foam  or  shut  in  by  thick  fogs.  Half- Way  Rock 
is,  therefore,  a  veritable  rock  of  danger.  This  may,  perhaps, 
explain  why  fishermen,  outward-bound,  were  long  in  the  habit 
of  tossing  copper  coins  upon  this  rock,  as  they  passed  it,  to  bring 
them  good  luck  on  the  voyage.  If  this  rock  did  not  stand  with 
these  rude  minds  for  the  symbol  of  some  unseen,  elemental 
power,  why  not  throw  their  coins  anywhere  elsel 


,'|ViU.. 


.  . ,  ..     f  "i 


CAPE  ANN. 


BY  command  of  Natiire,  one  of  those  iron-ribbed  ridges 
wliicli  it  astounds  us  to  see  forests  growing  and  people 
living  upon,  detaches  itself  from  the  Essex  coast,  and  advances 
steadily  five  leagues  out  into  the 
sea.  Halting  there,  it  covers  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  offing  by  puffs  of  water  smoke. 
An  incessant  combat  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  Cape  Cod  stretching  its  emaciated  arm  from  the 
south  coast  towards  this  half-extended  and  rock-gauntleted  one 
from  the  north.  Between  the  two  capes,  which  really  seem  to 
belong  to  dift'erent  zones,  is  the  entrance  to  the  grand  basin  of 
Massachusetts  Bay,  over  which,  in  the  darkness,  the  brilliant 
rays  from  Thacher's  and  Highland  lighthouses  cross  each  other 
like  flaming  sword-blades.  Among  the  thousands  that  have 
passed  in  or  out,  one  seeks  in  his  memory  for  only  one  little  bark 
carrying  an  entire  nation.     The  "Mayflower"  passed  here. 


TUE   MAGNOLIA. 


23S  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  sea,  we  notice,  welcomes  the  iutruJing  headland  with  in- 
hospitable arms ;  but  at  the  extreme  point,  where  the  rock  is 
pierced  and  the  sea  flows  in,  there  is  a  port  of  refuge  that  has 
grown  to  be  the  greatest  fishing-mart  in  the  Union.  At  nearly- 
all  times,  without  regard  to  season,  the  waters  around  it  are 
covered  with  a  flight  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  Beverly,  Wenham,  and  Hamilton,  the  central  portion  by 
Manchester  and  Essex,  and  the  extremity  by  Gloucester  and 
liockport.  Nearly  the  whole  interior  region  remains  the  same 
untamed  wilderness  that  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago ;  for  among 
these  rugged  hills  there  is  little  land  that  is  tit  for  farming,  and 
that  little  is  found  in  the  hollows,  or  bordering  upon  occasional 
arms  of  the  sea.  There  are,  however,  extensive  and  valuable 
forests  of  pine  and  cedar  covering  scattered  portions  with  a  per- 
ennial green.  The  sea  having  peopled  it,  and  the  land  offering 
nothing  better  than  stones,  timber,  and  fuel,  the  fishing-villages 
were  built  close  to  the  edge  of  the  shore,  where  there  were  nat- 
ural harbors  like  that  of  Gloucester,  or  upon  tidal  creeks  or  inlets 
like  those  of  Manchester  and  Annisquam.  From  these  villages 
sprang  a  hardy  race  of  sailors  renowned  in  song  and  story. 
Cooper's  "  Captain  Barnstable  "  comes  from  Chebacco,  a  precinct 
of  Essex  ;  Miss  Larcom's  "  Skipper  Ben  "  from  Beverly.  One 
does  not  think  of  these  people  as  having  any  fixed  relation  with 
the  land  :  they  are  amphibious. 

Its  general  and  apparently  irreclaimable  sterility  drove  the 
earliest  settlers  back  upon  the  mainland.  They  therefore  aban- 
doned their  rude  cabins  and  their  fishing-stages  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  Cape,  and  newly  began  at  what  Avas  later  on  called 
Salem,  wliicli  at  first  included  the  whole  Cape.  Yet  notwith- 
standing this  desertion,  settlemcints  were  soon  begun  at  Beverly 
and  jNIanchester,  and  (Gloucester  was  permanently  re-occupied  on 
account  of  the  excellence  and  advantageous  position  of  its  har- 
bor,    liut  for  a  time  these  settleniisnts  were  very  humble  ones. 


CAPE    ANN.  239 

Kogor  Conant  says  that  in  his  time  l>overly  was  nicknamed 
"Beggarly."  He  wished  to  have  it  changed  to  JUidleigh,  from 
a  town  in  Devonshire,  England.  Conant  should  lind  a  name 
somewhere  on  Cape  Ann.  That  would  at  least  lead  to  the 
inquiry  ""Who  was  Conant^"  He  remarks  that  he  had  no 
hand  in  naming  >Salem,  where  he  had  built  the  first  house.  Kor 
was  Blackston(%  the  first  white;  settler  of  Boston,  or  Roger  Wil- 
liams, who  fouiidetl  I'rovidence,  more  fortunate  in  securing  post- 
humous remembrance. 

Bayard  Taylor  Avas  nevertlieless  extremely  taken  witli  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  interior  of  Cape  Ann,  and  he  was  a  trav- 
eller who  had  grown  something  fastidious  in  his  notions  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  many  Httle  valleys,  branching  and  winding  as  if 
at  random,  where  the  forests  of  fir  and  pine,  the  great,  mossy  bowl- 
der.s,  the  shade  and  coolness  and  silence,  seem  to  transfer  you  at  once 
to  the  heart  of  some  moimtain  wilderness.  The  noise  of  the  sea  does 
iu)t  invade  them  ;  even  the  salt  odor  of  the  air  is  smothered  by  the 
warm,  resinous  breath  of  the  pines.  Here  you  find  slender  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  surprise  than  to  find  suddenly  a  blue  far  deeper  than  that 
of  the  sky  between  the  tree  trunks,  and  to  hear  the  roai'  of  the  Ijreak- 
ers  a  hundred  feet  below  you." 

While  exploring  the  coast  one  finds  it  continually  shifting 
from  beaches  of  hard  sand,  strewn  with  a  fine  dark  gravel,  to 
picturesque  coves  bordered  all  around  with  rocks  shattered  into 
colossal  fragments,  and  bulging  out  like  masses  that  have  sud- 
denly cooled,  rusted  by  spray,  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  them,  like  Old 
Kettle  Cove,  —  which  under  the  name  of  Magnolia  has  a 
sweeter  sound,  —  and  Pigeon  Cove,  have  turned  their  primitive 
solitudes  into  populousness,  and  their  once  worthless  rocks  into 
pedestals  for   the    scores  of  beautiful  villas   that  have   sprung 


240  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

up  like  the  work  of  inayic  upou  their  bahl  and  overhuuging 
brows. 

In  one  place,  say  tliat  you  leave  tlie  road  in  order  to  walk 
over  a  smooth  esplanade  of  sand,  up  whose  gentle  slope  panting 
wave  chases  panting  Avave  unceasingly,  while  the  forest-trees 
skirting  the  head  of  the  beach  bend  over  and  watch  this  tierce 
play,  with  all  their  leaves  trembling.  You  look  off  over  tlie 
ridged  and  sparkling  sea-foam  into  the  open  mouth  of  INIarble- 
licad  Harbor,  whuse  iron  headlands  the  distance  softens  to 
fui-ms  of  wax.  Two  or  three  treeless  islands,  behind  which  a 
passing  vessel  lifts  its  snowy  sails,  are  luxuriously  dozing  in  the 
sun  and  sea.  This  must  he  tlie  haven  where  the  fleet  of  Win- 
throp  first  furled  its  tattered  sails  after  a  tempestuous  voyage 
across  the  Atlantic  of  more  than  two  months.  Yes,  there  is 
Baker's  Isle,  and  there  is  Little  Isle,  within  which  it  anchored. 
Then  it  was  here  that  the  colonists,  of  whom  he  Avas  the  Moses, 
first  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  their  Promised  Land  ;  and  it 
was  here  they  roamed  among  the  rocky  pastures,  gathering  wild 
strawberries  and  roses,  examining  everything  with  eager  curi- 
osity, and  perhajis  with  doubt  whether  it  was  all  real,  and 
would  not  vanish  with  the  night. 

From  the  domain  of  History  we  enter  that  of  Poetry  over  the 
threshold  of  Nature. 

Not  many  years  ago,  while  he  was  the  guest  of  the  genial  and 
gifted  Fields,  whose  cottage  is  the  conspicuous  object  on  the  bald 
brow  of  Thunderbolt  Hill,  in  Manchester,  Bayard  Taylor  was 
taken  to  visit,  in  his  chosen  and  secluded  retreat,  the  venei-able 
poet  who  dated  before  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Keats,  and  who  dis- 
covered the  genius  of  Bryant.  The  host  and  his  guests  are  now 
dead;  but  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  runujurhrance.     He  says  :  — 

"  Retracing  our  way  a  mile  or  so,  we  took  a  different  I'oad,  and 
approached  the  coast  through  open,  grassy  fields,  Ijeyond  which,  on 
the  edge  of  a  lofty  bluff,  stood  the  gray  old  mansion  of  the  venerable 
poet,  Ricliard  11.  Dana.     The  place  is  singularly  wild,   lonely,  and 


CAPE   ANN.  241 

picturesque.  No  other  chvelliug  is  visible.  A  little  bight  of  the  coast 
thrusts  out  its  iron  headlamls  at  a  short  distance  on  either  side  ;  the 
surf  thunders  incessantly  below  ;  and  in  front  the  open  ocean  stretches 
to  the  sky.  Mr.  Dana's  only  neiglibors  are  the  vessels  that  come  and 
go  at  greater  or  less  distances." 

From    this   seclusion    the    Nestor    of  American   poetry   tlir.s 
addresses  the  scene  before  him,  in  his  lines  to  the  ocean. 

Now  stretch  your  eye  off  shore,  o'er  waters  made 
To  cleanse  the  air  and  bear  the  world's  great  trade, 
To  rise,  and  wet  the  mountains  near  the  sun, 
Then  back  into  themselves  in  rivers  run, 
Fullilling  mighty  uses  far  and  wide. 
Through  earth,  in  air,  or  here,  as  ocean  tide. 

Ho  !  how  the  giant  heaves  himself  and  strains 
And  flings  to  break  his  strong  and  viewless  chains  ; 
Foams  in  his  wrath ;  and  at  his  prison  doors, 
Hark  !  hear  him  !  how  he  beats  and  tugs  and  roars. 
As  if  he  would  break  forth  again  and  sweep 
Each  living  thing  within  his  lowest  deep. 

And  though  the  land  is  throngeel  again,  O  sea  ! 
Strange  sadness  touches  all  that  goes  with  thee. 
The  small  bird's  plaining  note,  the  wild,  sljarp  call, 
Share  thy  own  spirit  :  it  is  sadness  all  ! 
How  dark  and  stern  upon  thy  waves  looks  down 
Yonder  tall  clift' — he  with  the  iron  crown. 
And  see  !  those  sable  pines  along  the  steep 
Are  come  to  join  thy  requiem,  gloomy  deep! 
Like  stoled  monks  they  stand  and  chant  the  dirge 
Over  the  deatl  with  thy  low-beating  surge. 

As  we  approach  the  end  of  the  Cape  we  enter  a  storied  region. 
Here  is  the  deep  cleft  known  as  Rafe's  Cliasm,  and  the  tawny 
clum})  of  stark  ledges  which  the  coast  throws  off  and  the  sea 
flies  incessantly  at,  called  Norman's  Woe.  Then  we  enter  the 
beautiful  islet-studded  harbor  of  Gloucester,  and  with  an  inter- 
est that  the  natural  beauties  of  the  spot  enhance,  we  fix  our 
eyes  upon  the  verdurous  southern  shore ;  for  here   the   little 

16 


242  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

colony  of  Eoger  Couant,  the  pioneer  governor,  maintained  a 
struggling  existence,  luitil,  like  a  garrison  which  can  no  longer 
hold  out,  it  fell  back  to  Salem,  newly  chose  its  ground,  and 
again  bravely  confronted  its  old  enemies,  want  and  neglect.  But 
long  before  him,  this  cape  in  the  sea  picked  up  many  adventur- 
ous voyageurs,  one  of  whom  presently  demands  a  word  from  us. 

In  the  heart  of  the  Gloucester  woodlands  a  most  interesting 
floral  phenomenon  exists.  There,  apparently  defying  nature's 
lines  and  laws,  the  beautiful  magnolia  of  the  South  unfolds  in 
secret  its  snowy  flowers  and  exhales  its  spicy  perfume.  Another 
phenomenon  is  the  beach  at  Manchester,  whose  sands  emit  weird 
musical  tones  when  crushed  b}^  the  passage  of  wheels  through 
them.  Still  another  is  the  enormous  Moving  Rock  at  Squam 
Common,  —  a  heavy  mass  of  granite  so  exactly  poised  that  the 
pressure  of  a  child's  linger  is  sufficient  to  change  its  position. 

This  sterile  sea-cape  may  also  lay  claim  to  other  and  more 
enduring  associations  than  the  memories  of  a  summer  passed 
among  its  rocky  sea-nooks  can  afford.  Beverly  was  the  home  of 
Robert  Rantoul,  w'hose  epitaph  has  been  written  by  Whittier, 
and  of  Lucy  Larcom  ;  Hamilton  that  of  Abigail  Dodge  ;  Essex, 
of  Rufus  Clioate ;  Gloucester,  of  E.  P.  AVhipple  and  William 
Winter.  Manchester  was  Dana's  by  adoption,  as  well  as  the 
summer  haunt  of  Holmes,  James  and  Annie  Fields,  Elizabeth 
Phelps,  and  of  that  ancient  landmark  of  the  Boston  Pulpit,  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Bartol.  The  lamented  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin  loved  his 
summer  home  at  Pigeon  Cove;  and  it  was  there  he  sought  relief 
from  the  haunting  "  demon  of  the  study."  This  was  also  the 
favorite  haunt  of  Bryant  and  of  Starr  King;  so  that  among 
those  who  were  either  native  or  who  were  liabitually  sojourners 
are  many  of  the  men  and  women  most  eminent  in  our  literaiy 
annals.     That  fact  of  itself  speaks  volumes  for  the  Cape. 

The  legends  of  Cape  Ann  are  indigenous,  and  arc  mostly  sea- 
legends,  as  might  be  expected  of  a  seafaring  and  sea-subsisting 
population,  among  whom  the  marvellous  always  iinds  its  most 
congenial  soil.  Let  us  add  tliat  within  our  own  mciuory, 
in  consequence  of  the  prediction  that  a  storm  unexampled  in 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH.  243 

the  annals  of  the  century  was  to  burst  forthwith  destructive  fury- 
over  sea  and  land  upon  a  given  day,  not  a  vessel  of  the  Glouces- 
ter fishing  fleet  dared  put  to  sea.  Although  the  great  "  "Wiggins 
storm  "  failed  to  make  its  appearance  at  the  time  predicted,  the 
losses  incurred  by  reason  of  the  number  of  fishermen  lying  idly 
at  their  moorings  amounted  to  many  thousands  of  dollars.  The 
first  of  these  legends  proper  to  be  introduced — not  forgetting 
that  De  Monts  and  Champlain  had  already  named  this  penin- 
sula the  Cape  of  Islands  —  is  a  sort  of  historical  complement  to 
our  description. 


CAPTAIN     JOHN     SMITH. 

THE  following  lines  from  AVhittier's  beautiful  apostrophe  to 
his  beloved  river,  "The  Merrimack,"  introducing  his  col- 
lection of  legendary  pieces,  is  seen  to  be  commemorative  of  that 
prince  of  explorers  and  hero  of  many  exploits,  Captain  John 
Smith,  to  Avhom  a  perverse  fortune  has  denied  any  share  of 
honor  for  his  eftbrts  to  make  New  England  known  and  appreci- 
ated in  the  Old  World.  In  tlie  belief  that  none  of  these  rugged 
rocks  had  ever  received  other  baptism  than  that  of  the  waves,  he 
first  gave  this  promontory  the  name  of  "Tragabigzanda"  for  a 
perpetual  souvenir  of  a  fair  Moslem  to  whom  he  owed  a  debt  of 
love  and  gi'atitude,  while  for  a  memorial  of  himself  he  conferretl 
that  of  the  "  Three  Turks'  Heads  "  upon  the  three  islands.  Milk, 
Thacher's  and  Straitsmouth,  lying  off  its  extreme  point,  and 
now  crowning  it  with  their  triple  liglits. 

But  these  names  were  so  quickly  superseded  that  the  personal 
ambition  of  Smith  has  no  other  memorial  than  this  :  — 

On  yonder  rocky  cape,  which  braves 
The  stormy  challenge  of  the  waves, 
Midst  tangled  vine  and  dwarfish  wood, 
The  hardy  Anglo-Saxon  stood, 
Planting  upon  the  topmost  crag 
The  staff  of  Eimland's  battle-flay  ; 


244  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

And,  while  from  out  its  beavy  fold 
St.  George's  crimson  cross  nnroUed, 
Midst  roll  of  drum  and  trumpet  blare, 
And  weapons  brandishing  in  air. 
He  gave  to  that  lone  promontory 
The  sweetest  name  in  all  his  story  ; 
Of  her,  the  flower  of  Islam's  daughters. 
Whose  harems  look  on  Stamboul's  waters.  - 
Who,  when  the  chance  of  war  had  bound 
The  Moslem  chain  his  limbs  around, 
Wreathed  o'er  with  silk  that  iron  chain. 
Soothed  with  her  smiles  his  hours  of  pain, 
And  fondh^  to  her  youtliful  slave 
A  dearer  gift  than  freedom  gave. 


THACHER'S    ISLAND. 

TIIACHEIi'S  Island  is  one  of  the  most  important  light- 
house stations  on  the  whole  coast  of  the  United  States. 
It  contains  about  eighty  acres  of  gravelly  soil  thickly  strewn 
with  coarse  granite  bowlders,  among  which  the  light-keeper's 
cows  crop  a  scanty  growth  of  grass.  The  westernmost  headland, 
upon  which  are  some  ancient  graves,  said  to  be  those  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  first  recorded  sliipwreck  here,  resembles  Point  Aller- 
ton,  —  it  being  a  lofty  cliff  of  gravel  intermixed  with  bowlders 
that  vary  in  size,  from  the  smallest  pebbles  to  those  weighing 
many  tons.  It  is  continually  crumbling  away  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 
tlie  writer's  visit  to  the  island,  an  old  stone  house  standing 
tliere  that  was  reputed  to  be  of  great  ago.  The  two  light-towers, 
Iniilt  of  uncut  granite,  are  each  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high, 
and  they  are  furnished  with  lenses  in  wliich  a  dozen  persons 
might  stand  erect  without  inconvenience.     The  keepers  liavo  all 


tiiachek's  island.  245 

followed  the  sea.  Only  sailors  are  capable  of  apjircciating  the 
responsibility  that  the  station  imposes.  One  of  the  keepers 
said  to  me — and  habitual  care  is  stamped  upon  the  faces  of 
these  men  —  "We  know  how  eyes  may  be  strained  in  thick 
weather  at  sea  to  get  hold  of  the  light;  and  that  makes  us  ])ain- 
fuUy  anxious  to  keep  it  uj)  to  its  full  power,  especially  wlien 
frosts  or  sea-scud  ilims  the  lantern  ;  for  that  is  the  very  time 
when  minutes  count  for  hours  on  board  sldp." 

ANTHONY  THACHER'S  SHIPWRECK. 

The  story  of  how  Thacher's  Island  came  by  its  name  is  one  of 
tragical  interest,  and  is  found  in  a  letter  written  by  Anthony 
Thacher  to  his  brother  Peter,  first  printed  in  Increase  Mather's 
"  Eemarkable  Providences."  It  is  also  briefly  related  in  Win- 
throp's  "Journal,"  where  it  is  entered,  under  the  year  of  its 
occurrence,  1635,  as  an  incident  of  the  awful  tempest  that  has 
thus  become  historical.  The  historian  Hubbard,  writing  long 
after  the  event,  says  that  "the  like  was  never  in  this  place 
known  in  the  memory  of  man,  before  or  since."  On  the  land 
houses  were  overturned  and  unroofed,  the  corn  was  beaten  down 
to  the  ground,  and  the  harvest  nearly  ruined,  and  thousands  of 
trees  were  torn  up  by  the  roots,  broken  in  two  like  pipe-stems, 
or  twisted  off  like  withes,  so  that  the  effects  of  it  were  visible 
for  many  years  afterwards.  At  sea  its  results  were  no  less  ter- 
rible, the  tide  rising  to  twenty  feet  on  some  parts  of  the  coast, 
and  being  then  kept  from  ebbing  in  its  usual  course  by  the 
extraordinary  violence  of  the  gale.  Of  the  many  disasters  sig- 
nalizing its  presence,  that  which  the  letter  relates  is  a  most 
graphic  episode.  It  would  be  an  injustice  to  the  reader  not  to 
present  it  in  all  its  primitive  quaintness  of  form  and  style  as  a 
specimen  literary  composition  of  the  day.     Here  it  is :  — 

I  must  turn  my  drowned  jien  and  shaking  hand  to  indite  this  story 
of  such  sad  news  as  never  before  this  ha]ipened  in  New  England. 

TJiere  was  a  league  of  perpetual  friendship  between  my  cousin 
Avery  and  myself,  never  to  forsake  each  other  to  the  death,  but  to  he 


246 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


partakers  of  each  other's  misery  or  wcHinv,  as  also  of  habitation,  in 
the  same  place.  Now  upon  our  arrival  in  New  England  there  was 
an  offer  made  unto  us.  Mj^  cousin  Avery  was  invited  to  ]\Iarl)le- 
head  to  be  their  pastor  in  due  time  ;  there  being  no  church  planted 
there  as  yet,  but  a  town  appointed  to  set  up  the  trade  of  fishing. 
Because  many  there  (the  most  being  fishermen)  were  something 
loose  and  remiss  in  their  behavior,  my  cousin  Avery  was  unwilling  to 
go  thither  ;  and  so  refusing,  we  went  to  Newberry,  intending  there 
to  sit  down.     But  being  solicited  so  often  both  by  the  men  of  the 


THE    STIIPWRECK. 


place  and  by  tlie  magistrates,  and  l>y  Mr.  Cotton,  and  most  of  the 
ministers,  who  alleged  what  a  benefit  we  might  Ije  to  the  people  there, 
and  also  to  the  country  and  commonwealth,  at  length  we  embraced 
it,  and  thither  consented  to  go.  They  of  Marblehead  forthwith  sent 
a  j)innace  for  us  and  our  goods. 

We  eml)arked  at  Ijiswich,  August  11,  l()3r),  with  our  families  and 
substance,  bound  for  Mai'blehead,  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  Saruiu,  and  four  mariners.     The  ne.\t 


tiiaciikk's  island.  247 

nioriiing,  having  commeiulcd  (uusc'lves  to  God,  with  clieerful  hearts 
we'  hdistecl  sail.  But  tho  Lord  suddenly  turned  our  cheerfulness  into 
ludurning  and  lamentations.  For  on  the  14lli  nf  this  August,  1635, 
about  ten  at  night,  having  a  fresh  g;xle  of  wind,  dur  sails,  being  old 
and  done,  were  split.  The  mariners,  because  tliat  it  was  night,  would 
not  put  to  new  sails,  but  resolved  to  cast  anchor  till  the  morning. 
But  before  daylight  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  send  so  mighty  a  storm, 
as  the  like  was  never  known  in  New  England  since  the  English 
came,  nor  in  the  memory  of  any  of  the  Indians.  It  was  so  furious, 
that  our  anchor  came  home.  Whereupon  the  mariners  let  out  more 
cable,  which  at  last  slipped  away.  Then  our  sailors  knew  not  what 
to  do  ;  but  we  were  driven  before  the  wind  and  waves. 

My  cousin  and  I  perceived  our  danger,  [and]  solemnly  recom- 
mended ourselves  to  God,  the  Lord  both  of  earth  and  seas,  expecting 
with  every  wave  to  be  swallowed  up  and  drenched  in  the  deeps. 
And  as  my  cousin,  his  wife,  and  my  tender  babes  sat  comforting  and 
cheering  one  the  other  in  the  Lord  against  ghastly  death,  which  every 
moment  stared  us  in  the  face  and  sat  triumphing  upon  each  one's 
forehead,  we  were  by  the  violence  of  the  waves  and  fury  of  the  Avinds 
(by  the  Lord's  permission)  lifted  up  upon  a  rock  between  two  high 
rocks,  yet  all  was  one  rock.  But  it  raged  with  the  stroke,  which 
came  into  the  piiniace,  so  as  we  were  presently  up  to  our  middles  in 
water,  as  we  sat.  The  waves  came  furiously  and  violently  over  us, 
and  against  us ;  but  by  reason  of  the  rock's  proportion  could  not  lift 
us  off,  but  beat  her  all  to  pieces.  Now  look  with  me  upon  our  dis- 
tress, and  consider  of  my  misery,  who  beheld  the  ship  broken,  the 
water  in  her  and  violently  overwhelming  us,  my  goods  and  provis- 
ions swimming  in  the  seas,  my  friends  almost  drowned,  and  mine 
own  poor  children  so  untimely  (if  I  may  so  term  it  without  offence) 
before  mine  eyes  drowned,  and  ready  to  be  swallowed  up  and  dashed 
to  pieces  against  the  rocks  by  the  merciless  waves,  and  myself  readj^ 
to  accompany  them.  But  I  must  go  on  to  an  end  of  this  woful 
relation. 

In  the  same  room  whereas  he  sat,  the  master  of  the  pinnace,  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  our  foremast  was  cut  down,  our  mainmast  broken 
in  three  pieces,  the  fore  part  (jf  the  pinnace  beat  away,  our  goods 
swimming  about  the  seas,  my  children  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,  his  w'ife. 


248  NEAV-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

and  his  children  ;  and  both  of  us  bewailing  each  other  in  our  Lord 
and  only  Saviuni-  Jesus  Christ,  in  whom  only  we  had  comfort  and 
cheerfulness  :  insomuch  that,  from  the  greatest  to  the  least  of  us, 
there  was  not  one  screech  or  outcry  made  ;  but  all,  as  silent  sheep, 
were  contentedly  resolved  to  die  together  lovingly,  as  since  our 
acquaintance  we  had  lived  together  friendly. 

Now  as  I  was  sitting  in  the  cabin  room  door,  with  my  body  in  the 
room,  when  lo !  one  of  the  sailors,  by  a  wave  being  washed  out  of  the 
pinnace,  was  gotten  in  again,  and  coming  into  the  cabin  room  over 
my  back,  cried  out,  "  We  ai-e  all  cast  away.  The  Lord  hav^e  mercy 
upon  us !  I  have  been  washed  overljoard  into  the  sea,  and  am  gotten 
in  again."  His  speeches  made  nie  look  forth.  And  looking  toward 
the  sea,  and  seeing  how  we  were,  I  turned  myself  to  my  cousin  and 
the  rest,  and  spake  these  words  :  "  0  cousin,  it  hath  pleased  God  to 
cast  us  here  between  two  rocks,  the  shore  not  far  i'rijm  us,  for  I  saw 
the  tops  of  trees  when  I  looked  forth."  Whereupon  the  master  of 
the  pinnace,  looking  up  at  the  scuttle-hole  of  the  quarter-deck,  went 
out  at  it ;  but  I  never  saw  him  afterward.  Then  he  that  had  been 
in  the  sea  went  out  again  by  me,  and  leaped  overboard  toward  the 
rocks,  whom  afterward  also  I  could  not  see. 

Now  none  were  left  in  the  bark  that  I  knew  or  saw,  but  my  cousin, 
his  wife  and  children,  myself  and  mine,  and  his  maidservant.  But 
my  cousin  thought  I  would  have  fled  from  him,  and  said  unto  me  : 
"  0  cousin,  leave  us  not,  let  us  die  together  ;  "  and  reached  forth  his 
hand  unto  me.  Then  I,  letting  go  my  son  Peter's  hand,  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  said  :  "  Cousin,  I  purpose  it  not.  Whitlier  shall  I  go  ? 
I  am  willing  and  ready  here  to  die  with  you  and  my  poor  childi-en. 
God  be  merciful  to  us,  and  receive  us  to  himself  !  "  adding  these 
words  :  "  The  Lord  is  able  to  help  and  deliver  us."  He  replied,  saying, 
"  Truth,  cousin  ;  but  what  his  pleasure  is,  we  know  not.  I  fear  we 
have  been  too  unthankful  for  former  deliverances.  But  he  hath 
promised  to  deliver  us  from  sin  and  condemnation,  and  to  bring  us 
safe  to  heaven  through  the  all-sufficient  satisfaction  of  Jesus  Christ. 
This,  therefore,  we  may  challenge  of  him."  To  which  I,  replying, 
said,  "  That  is  all  the  deliverance  I  now  desire  and  expect." 

Which  words  I  had  no  sooner  spoken,  but  by  a  mighty  Avave  I  was, 
with  the  piece  of  the  bark,  washed  out  upon  part  of  the  rock,  where 
the  wave  left  me  almost  drowned.  But  recovering  my  feet,  I  saw 
above  me  on  tlie  rock  my  daughter  Mary.  To  wlumi  I  had  nn 
sooner  gotten,  but  my  cousin  Avery  and  his  eldest  son  came  to  us. 


TU AC  11  Kit's    ISLAxM).  249 

being  all  tour  of  us  washed  out  by  one  and  the  same  wave.  We  went 
all  into  a  small  hole  on  the  top  of  tiie  rock,  whence  we  called  to  those 
in  the  pinnace  to  come  unto  us,  supposing  we  had  been  in  more  safety 
than  they  were  in.  My  wife,  seeing  us  there,  was  crept  up  into  the 
scuttle  of  the  (juarter-deck,  to  come  imto  us.  But  presently  came 
another  wave,  and  dashing  the  pinnace  all  to  pieces,  carried  my  wife 
away  in  the  scuttle  as  she  was,  with  the  greater  part  of  the  quarter- 
deck, unto  the  shore ;  where  she  was  cast  safely,  but  her  legs  were 
something  bruised.  And  much  timber  of  the  vessel  being  there  also 
cast,  she  was  some  time  before  she  could  get  away,  being  washed  by 
the  waves.  All  the  rest  that  were  in  the  bark  were  drowned  in  the 
merciless  seas.  We  four  by  that  wave  were  clean  swept  away  from 
off  the  rock  also  into  the  sea  ;  the  Lord,  in  one  instant  of  time,  dis- 
posing of  fifteen  souls  of  us  according  to  his  good  pleasure  and  will. 

His  pleasure  and  wonderful  great  mercy  to  me  was  thus.  Stand- 
ing on  the  rock,  as  before  you  heard,  with  my  eldest  daughter,  my 
cousin,  and  his  eldest  son,  looking  upon  and  talking  to  them  in  the 
bark,  whenas  we  were  by  that  merciless  wave  washed  off  the  rock,  as 
before  you  heard,  God,  in  his  mercy,  caused  me  to  fall,  by  the  stroke 
of  the  wave,  flat  on  my  face  ;  for  my  face  was  toward  the  sea.  Inso- 
much, 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 
fingers,  with  my  right  hand,  by  means  whereof,  the  wave  leaving  me, 
I  remained  so  hanging  on  the  rock,  only  mj"^  head  above  the  water  ; 
when  on  the  left  hand  I  espied  a  board  or  plank  of  the  pinnace.  And 
as  I  was  reaching  out  my  left  hand  to  lay  hold  on  it,  by  another  com- 
ing over  the  top  of  the  rock  I  was  washed  away  from  the  rock,  and 
by  the  violence  of  the  waves  was  driven  hither  and  thither  in  the 
seas  a  great  while,  and  had  many  dashes  against  the  rocks.  At  length, 
past  hopes  of  life,  and  wearied  in  body  and  spirits,  I  even  gave  over 
to  nature  ;  and  being  ready  to  receive  in  the  waters  of  death,  I  lifted 
up  both  my  heart  and  hands  to  the  God  of  heaven,  —  for  note,  I  had 
my  senses  remaining  perfect  with  me  all  the  time  that  1  was  under 
and  in  water,  —  who  at  that  instant  lifted  my  head  above  the  top  of  the 
water,  that  so  I  might  breathe  without  any  hindrance  by  the  waters. 
I  stood  bolt  upright,  as  if  I  had  stood  upon  my  feet  ;  but  I  felt  no 
bottom,  nor  had  any  footing  for  to  stand  upon  but  the  waters. 

While  I  was  thus  above  the  water,  I  saw  by  me  a  piece  of  the  mast, 
as  I  suppose,  about  three  foot  long,  which  I  labored  to  catch  into  ray 
arms.     But  suddenly  I  was  overwhelmed  with  water,  and  driven  to 


250  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

and  fro  again,  and  at  last  I  felt  the  ground  with  my  right  foot.  When 
immediately,  whilst  I  was  thus  grovelling  on  my  face,  1,  presently 
reco.vering  my  feet,  was  in  the  water  u})  to  my  breast,  and  through 
God's  great  mercy  had  my  face  unto  the  shore,  and  not  to  the  sea.  I 
made  haste  to  get  out,  but  was  thrown  down  on  my  hands  with  the 
waves,  and  so  with  safety  crept  to  the  dry  shore,  where,  blessing 
God,  I  tiu'ned  about  to  look  for  my  children  and  friends,  but  saw 
neither,  nor  any  part  of  the  pinnace,  where  I  left  them,  as  I  supposed. 
But  I  saw  my  wife,  about  a  butt  length  from  me,  getting  herself  forth 
from  amongst  the  timber  of  the  broken  bark ;  but  before  I  could  get 
unto  her,  she  was  gotten  to  the  shore.  I  was  in  the  water,  after  I 
was  washed  from  the  rock,  before  1  came  to  the  shore,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  at  least. 

When  we  were  come  each  to  other,  we  went  and  sat  under  tlie 
bank.  But  fear  of  the  seas'  roaring,  and  our  coldness,  would  not 
suffer  us  there  to  remain.  But  we  went  up  into  the  land,  and  sat  us 
down  under  a  cedar-tree,  which  the  wind  had  thrown  down,  where 
we  sat  about  an  hour,  almost  dead  with  cold.  But  now  the  storm 
was  broken  up,  and  the  Avind  was  calm  ;  but  the  sea  remained  rough 
and  fearful  to  us.  My  legs  were  much  bruised,  and  so  was  my  head. 
Other  hurt  had  I  none,  neither  had  I  taken  in  much  quantity  of 
Avater.  But  my  heart  would  not  let  me  sit  still  any  longer  ;  but  I 
would  go  to  see  if  any  more  were  gotten  to  the  land  in  safety,  espe- 
cially hoping  to  have  met  with  some  of  my  own  poor  children;  but  I 
could  find  none,  neither  dead  nor  yet  living. 

You  condole  with  me  my  miseries,  who  now  began  to  consider  of 
my  losses.  Now  came  to  my  remembrance  the  time  and  manner  how 
and  when  I  last  saw  and  left  my  children  and  friends.  One  was 
severed  from  me  sitting  on  the  rock  at  my  feet,  the  other  three  in  the 
pinnace  ;  my  little  babe  (ah,  poor  Peter!)  sitting  in  his  sister  Edith's 
arms,  who  to  the  uttermost  of  her  power  sheltered  him  from  the 
waters  ;  my  poor  William  standing  close  unto  them,  all  three  of  them 
looking  ruefully  on  me  on  the  rock,  their  very  countenances  calling 
unto  me  to  help  them;  whom  I  could  not  go  unto,  neither  could  they 
come  at  me,  neither  would  the  merciless  waves  afford  me  space  or 
time  to  use  any  means  at  all,  either  to  help  them  or  myself.  Oh,  I 
yet  see  their  cheeks,  poor  silent  lambs,  pleading  pity  and  help  at  my 
hands.  Then,  on  the  other  side,  to  consider  the  loss  of  my  dear 
friends,  with  the  spoiling  and  loss  of  all  our  goods  and  provisions, 
myself  cast  upon   an  uidvUijwn  land,  in  a  wilderness,  I  knew  not 


tiiaciier's  island.  251 

wbci'c  1101'  liow  to  L;ct  tlu'iicc.  Then  it  came  to  my  mind  how  1  had 
ocrasidiu'd  tlu'  death  of  my  cliildrcii,  wlio  caused  them  to  leave  their 
native  hind,  w  Im  nught  have  hd'l  them  there,  yea,  and  mij^ht  have 
sent  some  of  them  back  again,  and  cost  me  nothing.  These  and  such 
lil;e  thoughts  do  press  down  my  heavy  heart  very  m.uch. 

But  I  must  let  this  pass,  and  will  proceed  on  in  the  relation  of 
God's  goodness  unto  me  in  that  desolate  island,  on  wliicli  I  was  cast. 
I  and  my  wife  were  almost  naked,  both  of  us,  and  wet  and  cold  even 
unto  death.  1  Ibund  a  snapsack  cast  on  the  shore,  in  whicli  I  had  a 
steel,  and  Hint,  and  powder-horn.  Going  i'arther,  I  found  a  drowned 
goat ;  then  I  found  a  hat,  and  my  son  William's  coat,  both  which 
I  put  on.  My  wife  found  one  of  her  petticoats,  which  she  put  on.  I 
found  also  two  cheeses  and  some  butter  driven  ashore.  Thus  the 
Lord  sent  us  some  clothes  to  put  on,  and  food  to  sustain  our  new 
lives,  which  we  had  lately  given  unto  us,  and  means  also  to  make 
fire  ;  for  in  a  horn  I  had  some  gunpowder,  which,  to  mine  own,  and 
since  to  other  men's  admiration,  was  dry.  So  taking  a  piece  of  my 
wife's  neckcloth  which  I  dried  in  the  sun,  I  struck  Are,  and  so  dried 
and  warmed  our  wet  bodies  ;  and  then  skinned  the  goat,  and  having 
found  a  small  brass  pot,  we  boiled  some  of  her.  Our  dritik  was 
brackish  water  ;  bread  we  had  none. 

There  we  remained  until  the  Monday  following  ;  when,  about 
three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  boat  that  came  that  way,  we 
went  off  that  desolate  island,  which  I  named  after  my  name,  Thacher's 
Woe,  and  the  rock,  Avery  his  Fall,  to  the  end  that  their  fall  and  loss, 
and  mine  own,  might  be  had  in  perpetual  remembrance.  In  the  isle 
lieth  buried  the  body  of  my  cousin's  eldest  daughter,  Avhom  I  found 
dead  on  the  shore.  On  the  Tuesday  following,  in  the  afternoon,  we 
arrived  at  Marljlehead. 

Such  an  event  would  naturally  have  its  poetic  pendant.  Tlie 
simple  pathos  of  the  prose  narrative  may  now  be  contrasted 
with  the  chaste  beauty  of  AVhittier's  "  Swan  Song  of  Parson 
Avery,"  Avliich  turns  upon  the  popular  fallacy  that  the  swan 
pours  forth  its  expiring  breath  in  song. 


252  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

THE   SWAN   SONG   OF  PARSON  AVERY. 

J.    G.    WIIITTIER. 

When  tlie  reaper's  task  was  ended,  and  the  summer  wearing  late, 
Parson    Avery    sailed   from    Newlmry,  with    his   wife   and  children 

eight, 
Dropping  down  the  river-harbor  in  the  shallop  "Watch  and  Wait." 

All  day  they  sailed  :  at  nightfall  the  pleasant  land-breeze  died, 
The  blackening  sky,  at  midnight,  its  starry  lights  denied, 
And  iar  and  low  the  thunder  of  tempest  jirophesied  ! 

All  at  once  the  great  cloud  parted,  like  a  curtain  drawn  aside. 
To  let  down  the  torch  of  lightning  on  the  terror  far  and  wide  ; 
And  the  thunder  and  the  whirlwind  together  smote  the  tide. 

There  was  wailing  in  the  shallop,  woman's  wail  and  man's  despair, 
A  crash  of  breaking  tindjers  on  the  rocks  so  sliarp  and  bare, 
And,  through  it  all,  the  murmur  of  Father  Avery's  prayer. 

"  In  this  night  of  death  I  challenge  the  promise  of  thy  word  !  — 
Let  me  see  the  great  salvation  of  which  mine  ears  have  heard !  — 
Let  me  pass  from  hence  forgiven,  through  the  grace  of  Christ,  our 
Lord ! " 

When  the  Christian  sings  his  death-song,  all  the  listening  heavens 

draw  near, 
And  tlie  angels,  leaning  over  the  walls  of  crystal,  hear 
How  the  notes  so  faint  and  broken  swell  to  music  in  God's  ear. 

The  ear  of  God  was  open  to  his  servant's  last  request  ; 

As  the  strong  Avave  swept  him  downward  the  sweet  hymn  upward 

]iressed, 
And  the  soul  of  Father  Avery  went,  singing,  to  its  rest. 


TIIK    SPECTRE    LEAGUERS.  253 


THE   SPECTRE   LEAGUERS. 

THE  fatal  year  1G92,  in  which  the  witchcraft  terrorism  so 
thoroughly  permeated  things  mundane,  has  one  ludicrous 
chapter  to  redeem  it  from  utter  fatuity. 

It  is  gravely  told  in  the  "  Magnalia  Christi  "  of  Cotton  Mather, 
and  on  the  authority  of  the  Reverend  John  Emerson,  of  Glou- 
cester, how  a  number  of  rollicking  apparitions,  dressed  like  gentle- 
men, in  white  waistcoats  and  breeches,  kept  that  and  the  neigh- 
boring towns  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  and  alarm  for  a 
whole  fortnight  together.  And  neither  of  the  reverend  persons 
named  seems  to  have  entertained  a  doubt  that  these  unaccount- 
able molestations  were  caused  by  the  Devil  and  his  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 was.  The  spectres,  if  such  they  were,  —  and  as  it  would 
be  unpardonable  in  us  to  doubt,  —  appear  to  have  been  a  harm- 
less sort  of  folk  enough,  for  they  did  no  injury  either  to  the  per- 
sons or  the  property  of  the  inhabitants,  thus  laying  their  natural 
propensities  under  a  commendable  restraint.  But  the  fact  that 
they  were  spirits,  and  no  ordinary  spirits  at  that,  being  so  con- 
fidently vouched  for,  and  by  such  high  authority  on  such  mat- 
ters as  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  would  seem  to  dispose  of  all  doubt 
upon  the  subject.  Should  any,  however,  remain  in  the  reader's 
mind  after  perusing  the  following  account,  he  is  reminded  that 
what  he  has  read  is  the  sworn  evidence  of  men  who  actually 
fought  with,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  disgi'acefully  routed 
and  drove  the  invading  demons  before  them  into  dark  swamps 
and  thickets.  These  witnesses  are  all  persons  of  character  and 
credibility.  Moreover,  their  testimony  remains  unshaken  by  any 
subsequent  revelations  to  this  day.  The  reader  may  therefore 
depend  upon  the  authoritative  character  of  the  narrative. 


254  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

In  the  midsummer  time,  in  the  year  1692,  of  fatal  memory, 
Ebenezer  Babsoii,  a  sturdy  yeoman  of  Cape  Ann,  with  the  rest 
of  liis  family,  almost  every  night  heard  noises  as  if  some  persons 
■were  "walking  or  running  hither  and  thitlier  about  tlie  house. 
He  being  out  late  one  night,  when  returning  liome  saw  two  men 
come  out  of  his  own  door,  and  then  at  siglit  of  him  run  swiftly 
from  the  end  of  the  house  into  the  adjoining  cornfield.  Going 
in,  he  immediately  questioned  his  family  concerning  these 
strange  visitors.  They  promptly  replied  that  no  one  at  all  had 
been  there  during  his  absence.  Staggered  by  this  denial,  but 
being  Avithal  a  very  resolute,  stout-hearted  man,  Babson  seized 
his  gun  and  went  out  in  pursuit  of  the  intruders.  Wlien  he  had 
gone  a  little  way  from  the  house,  he  saw  the  same  men  suddenly 
start  up  from  behind  a  log  and  run  into  a  swamp  tliat  was  near 
by.  He  also  overheard  one  say  to  the  other,  "  The  man  of  the 
house  is  now  come,  else  we  might  have  taken  the  house."  Then 
he  lost  sight  of  them. 

Upon  this,  expecting  an  immediate  attack,  the  whole  family 
rose  in  consternation,  and  went  with  all  liaste  to  the  nearest 
garrison,  which  was  only  a  short  distance  ofl'.  They  had  only 
just  entered  it  when  they  heard  lieavy  footfalls,  as  if  a  number 
of  men  were  trampling  on  the  ground  around  it.  Then  Babson 
again  took  his  gun  and  ran  out,  and  he  again  saw  the  two  men 
running  away  down  the  hill  into  the  swamp.  By  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  niglit  but  one,  Babson,  for  the  third  time,  saw  two 
men,  Avho  he  thought  looked  like  Frenchmen,  one  of  them  hav- 
ing a  bright  gun,  such  as  the  French  Canadians  used,  slung  on 
his  back.  Botli  of  them  started  towards  him  at  the  top  of  their 
speed ;  but  Babson,  taking  to  his  heels,  made  good  his  escape 
into  the  garrison,  and  so  eluded  them.  When  he  had  got  safely 
in,  the  noise  of  men  moving  about  on  the  outside  was  again 
distinctly  heard.  Not  long  after  these  strange  things  had  taken 
place,  Baljson,  with  another  man,  named  John  Brown,  saw  three 


THE    Sl'ECTltE    LEACiUEliS. 


255 


men  (the  luimbor,  like  Falstalf's  men  in  buckram,  liad  now  in- 
creased to  three),  whom  they  tried  hard  to  get  a  shot  at,  but  did 
not,  owing  to  the  strangers'  dodging  about  in  so  lively  a  manner 
that  they  could  not  take  aim.  For  two  or  three  nights  thesft 
men,  or  devils  in  the  form  of  men,  continued  to  appear  in  the 
same  mysterious  way,  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  the  Cape  men 
out  into  a  wdld-goose  chase  after  them.  On  July  14,  Babson, 
Brown,  and  all  the  garrison  saw  within  gunshot  of  them  half-a- 
dozen  men,  whom  they  supposed  to  be  reconnoitring,  or  trying 


A   SORTIE    UrOX   TUE    DEMONS. 


to  decoy  them  into  an  ambush.  The  brave  garrison  at  once 
sallied  out  in  hot  pursuit.  Babson,  who  seems  to  have  ever 
sought  the  forefront  of  battle,  presently  overtook  two  of  the 
skulking  vagabonds,  took  good  aim,  and  pulled  the  trigger ;  but 
his  trusty  gun  missed  fire,  and  they  got  away  and  hid  them- 
selves among  the  bushes.  He  then  called  out  to  his  comrades, 
who  immediately  answered,  "  Here  they  are  !  here  they  are  ! " 
when  Babson,  running  to  meet  them,  saw  three  men  stealing  out 
of  the  swamp  side  by  side.  Bringing  his  gun  to  his  shoulder, 
with  sure  aim  this  time  he  fired ;  wdien  all  three  fell  as  if  shot. 


256  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Almost  beside  himself,  Babsuu  cried  out  to  his  companions  that 
he  had  killed  three.  But  when  he  was  come  nearly  up  to  the 
supposed  dead  men,  they  all  rose  up  and  ran  away,  apparently 
Avithout  hurt  or  wound  of  any  kind.  Indeed  one  of  them  gave 
Bahson  a  shot  in  return  for  his  own,  the  bullet  narrowly  miss- 
ing him,  and  burying  itself  in  a  tree,  from  which  it  was  after- 
ward dug  out,  and  preserved  as  a  trophy  of  the  combat.  Babson 
thinking  this  warm  work,  took  refuge  behind  a  tree  and  reloaded. 
Then,  his  comrades  having  joined  him,  they  all  charged  together 
upon  the  spot  where  the  fugitives  lay  concealed.  Again  the 
spectres  started  up  before  their  eyes  and  ran,  "every  man  his 
way."  One,  however,  they  surrounded  and  hemmed  in,  and 
Babson,  getting  a  fair  shot  at  him,  saw  him  drop.  But  when 
search  was  made,  the  dead  body  had  vanished.  After  a  fruit- 
less hunt,  during  which  the  stout-hearted  Colonists  heard  a  loud 
talking  going  on  in  the  swamp,  in  some  outlandish  jargon  they 
could  not  understand  a  word  of,  they  returned,  crestfallen  and 
half  dead  with  fatigue,  to  the  garrison,  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  could  it  all  mean'? 

The  next  morning  Babson  started  to  go  over  to  the  harbor  in 
order  to  give  the  alarm  there,  for  it  was  not  doubted  by  any  one 
that  an  attack  was  imminent.  While  on  his  way  thither  he 
was  w^aylaid  and  fired  at  by  the  "  unaccountable  troublers,"  who, 
strange  to  say,  loaded  their  guns  with  real  bullets,  as  poor  Bab- 
son was  near  finding  out  to  his  cost.  Having  procured  help, 
the  neighborhood  was  scoured  for  traces  of  the  attacking  party, 
two  of  whom  were  seen,  but  not  being  mortal  flesh  and  blood, 
could  not  be  harmed  by  lead  or  steel. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  more,  two  of  the  garrison  went 
out  upon  a  scout,  who  saw  several  men  come  out  of  an  orchard, 
in  which  they  seemed  to  be  performing  some  strange  incanta- 
tions. They  counted  eleven  of  them.  Richard  DoUiver  raised 
his  gun  and  fired  into  the  midst  of  them,  where  they  stood  the 
thickest ;  but  of  course  Avithout  other  cflect  than  to  make  them 
scatter  as  before. 


TIIK    srECTUE    LEAGUERS.  257 

It  now  being  clear  that  the  strange  visitors  bore  a  charmed 
life,  and  that  the  Cape  was  in  great  peril  from  this  diabolical 
invasion,  the  end  of  whicli  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  Ap- 
pleton,  coming  promptly  to  the  rescue,  gave  the  garrison  much 
encouragement,  beleaguered  round  as  they  were  by  the  Powers 
of  Darkness,  against  which  lead  and  steel  were  of  no  more  effect 
than  snowballs  or  rushes  woukl  have  been.  For  a  fortnight 
they  had  been  kept  in  continual  alarm,  night  and  day.  The 
infernal  visitants  showed  themselves  first  in  one  place  and  then 
in  another,  to  draw  out  and  harass  them,  until  a  foeman  seemed 
lurking  in  every  bush.  Though  repeatedly  shot  at,  none  could 
be  killed.  They  threw  stones,  beat  upon  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  besides  matchlocks  and  broad- 
swords ;  consequently  a  strange  fear  fell  upon  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  pur- 
suers with  open  contempt.  For  instance,  seeing  three  of  the 
unknown  approaching  him  one  morning,  walking  slowly  and 
apparently  unmindful  of  any  danger,  Babson  ensconced  himself 
behind  some  bushes  to  lie  in  wait  for  them.  He  held  his  fire 
until  they  were  come  Avithin  a  stone's  throw  before  he  pulled 
the  trigger.  But  to  his  unspeakable  dismay  his  gun  flashed  in 
the  pan,  though  he  repeatedly  snapped  it  at  the  phantoms,  who 
took  no  other  notice  of  him  than  to  give  him  a  disdainful  look 
as  they  walked  by.  Yet  he  soon  afterward  snapped  the  same 
gun  several  times  in  succession,  and  it  never  once  missed  fire. 
Tlie  goblins  had  charmed  it ! 

It  being  settled  tliat  these  insults  proceeded  from  spectres,  and 
not  from  beings  who  were  vulnerable  to  weapons  of  mortal  make, 

17 


258  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  inieiiual  contest  was  abandoned.  When  this  was  done,  the 
demons'  occupation  being  gone,  they  too  disap})eared. 

It  should  be  said  in  conclusion,  and  on  the  same  authority 
as  that  to  which  we  owe  the  narration,  that  the  most  conserva- 
tive minds  regarded  these  occurrences  as  a  part  of  the  descent 
from  the  invisible  world  then  menacing  the  peace  of  the  Colony, 
and  threatening  the  churches  therein  with  irretrievable  disaster. 

The  poetic  version  of  this  legend  opens  with  a  glimpse  of  the 
scene  that  is  itself  worth  a  whole  chapter  of  description.  We 
are  then  introduced  to  the  Colonial  garrison-house,  rudely  but 
strongly  built,  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  seldom  happier  than  when  dealing  with  the  legend- 
ary lore  extracted  from  the  old  chronicles.  In  him  the  spirit 
of  an  anti(|uary  and  the  feeling  of  the  poet  exist  in  as  amiable 
fellowship  as  they  did  in  Sir  Walter  Scott,  wdio  ransacked  the 
legends  of  Scotland  for  his  tales  in  jjrose  or  verse. 

THE   GARRISON   OF   CAPE   ANN. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

Where  the  sea-waves  back  and  I'orwanl,  hoarse  with  rolling  pebbles, 

ran, 
The  garrison -house  stood  watching  on  the  gray  rocks  of  Cape  Ann  ; 
On  its  Avindy  site  uplifting  gabled  rool'  and  palisade, 
And  rough  walls  of  unhewn  timber  witli  tlie  uiuonlight  overlaid. 

Before  tlie  deep-nioutlied  chinmey,  dimly  lit  by  dying  brands, 
Twenty  soldiers  sat  and  waited,  with  their  muskets  in  their  hands  ; 
On  the  rough-hewn  oaken  table  the  venison  haunch  was  shared. 
And  the  pewter  tankard  circled  slowly  round  from  beard  to  bc^ard. 

But  their  voices  sank  yet  lower,  sank  to  husky  tones  of  fear, 
As  they  spake  of  present  tokens  of  the  poAvers  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  run  ! 


OLD    MEG,   TIIK    WITCH.  259 

Midnight  came ;  from  out  the  forest  moved  a  dusky  mass  that  soon 
Grew  to  warriors,  plumed  and  painted,  grindy  marelung  in  the  moon. 
"Ghosts  or  witelies,"  said  tlie  ca^jtain,  "thus  1  foil  the  Evil  Un(; !  " 
And  he  rammed  a  silver  button,  from  his  doublet,  down  his  gun. 

"  (rod  preserve  us  !  "  said  the  (;aptain  ;  "  never  mortal  foes  were  there ; 
They  have  vanished  with  their  leader,  Prince  and  Power  of  the  air  ! 
Lay  aside  your  useless  weapons  ;  skill  and  prowess  naught  avail  ; 
They  who  do  the  Devil's  service  wear  their  master's  coat  of  mail  !  " 

So  the  night  grew  near  to  cock-crow,  when  again  a  warning  call 
Roused  the  score  of  weary  soldiers  watching  round  the  dusky  hall  ; 
And  they  looked  to  flint  and  priming,  and  they  longed  for  break  of 

day  ; 
But  the  captain  closed  his  Bible  :    "  Let  us  cease  from  man,  and 

pray  ! " 

To  the  men  who  went  before  us,  all  the  unseen  powers  seemed  near, 
And  their  steadfast  strength  of  courage  struck  its  roots  in  lioly  fear. 
Every  hand  forsook  the  musket,  every  head  was  bowed  and  bare. 
Every  stout  knee  pressed  the  flagstones,  as  the  captain  led  in  prayer. 

Ceased  thereat  the  mystic  marching  of  the  spectres  round  the  wall, 
But  a  sound  abhorred,  unearthlj^,  smote  the  ears  and  hearts  of  all,  — 
Howls  of  rage  and  shrieks  of  anguish  !    Never  after  mortal  man 
Saw  the  ghostly  leaguers  marching  round  the  blockhouse  of  Cape 
Ann. 


OLD   MEG,   THE  WITCH. 

WE  can  easily  bring  the  age  of  credulity  as  far  forward  as 
the  middle  of  the  last  century,  by  means  of  a  local 
legend  in  Avhicb  mediteval  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. 


260  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

There  was  a  reputed  witch  by  the  name  of  Margaret  Wesson, 
and  famiUarly  known  by  the  name  of  "  Olil  Meg,"  who  once 
resided  in  Gloucester.  After  having  been  for  many  years  the 
object  of  superstitious  curiosity  and  dread  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Cape,  she  at  length  came  to  her  end  in  tlie  following  strange 
autl  mysterious  manner.  At  the  time  of  the  celebrated  victorious 
siege  of  Louisburg  by  the  Colonial  troops  in  1745,  two  soldiers 
of  the  Massachusetts  line  belonging  to  Cloucester  happened  to 
have  thciir  attention  drawn  to  the  movements  of  a  crow  that 
kept  hovering  over  them.  They  tlirew  stones,  and  then  lired 
their  muskets  at  it,  but  could  neither  touch  nor  terrify  it ;  the 
bird  still  continued  flying  round  them  and  cawing  horribly  in 
their  ears.  At  length  it  occurred  to  one  of  them  that  it  might 
be  Old  Meg.  He  communicated  his  suspicions  to  his  comrade ; 
and  as  nothing  but  silver  was  believed  to  have  any  power  to 
injure  a  witch,  they  cut  the  silver  buttons  otf  from  their  uni- 
form coats  and  discharged  them  at  the  crow.  The  experiment 
succeeded.  At  the  first  shot  they  broke  its  leg  ;  at  the  second 
it  fell  dead  at  their  feet.  When  they  returned  to  Gloucester, 
they  learned  that  Old  Meg  had  broken  her  leg  while  walking 
by  the  fort  in  that  place  at  the  precise  time  when  they  had  shot 
and  killed  the  crow  five  hundred  miles  distant ;  after  lingering 
for  a  while  in  great  agony  she  died.  And  now  comes  the  sin- 
gular part  of  the  story ;  for  upon  examining  her  fractured  limb, 
the  identical  silver  buttons  which  the  soldiers  had  fired  from 
their  muskets  under  the  walls  of  Louisburg  were  extracted  from 
the  flesh.  The  story  of  Old  Meg  was  long  familiarly  told  in 
Gloucester,  although  the  credulity  which  once  received  it  as 
solemn  truth  has  nearly,  if  not  quite,  passed  away,  says  the 
Eeverend  Charles  W.  Upham,  who  makes  the  statement  so 
lately  as  18.32.  It  has,  however,  been  rejiroduced  among  the 
sober  records  of  fact  contained  in  Mr.  Babson's  "History  of 
Gloucester." 


AN    ESCAPE   FKOM    I'lKATES.  261 


AN   ESCAPE   FROM   PIRATES. 

ACCOltDING  to  the  liistorian  Thucydides,  the  Greeks  were 
the  first  pirates.  The  ancient  poets  tell  us  that  those 
wlio  sailed  along  the  coasts  in  quest  of  prey  were  everywhere 
accosted  with  the  question,  "  whether  they  were  pirates,"  not  as 
a  term  of  reproach,  but  of  honor.  So  also  the  vikings  of  the 
North  were  little  less  than  corsairs,  whose  valiant  deeds  of  arms, 
and  whose  adventurous  voyages  to  distant  lands,  celebrated  in 
their  sagas,  were  conceived  and  performed  with  no  nobler  pur- 
pose than  robbery. 

Bat  the  modern  pirate  had  neither  the  rude  sense  of  honor 
nor  the  chivalrous  notions  of  warfare  distinguishing  his  ancient 
prototype.  He  was  simply  a  robber  and  a  murderer,  bidding  all 
honest  traders  to  "  stand  and  deliver  "  like  the  aquatic  highway- 
man that  he  was.  Even  the  mildest-mannered  man  among  them 
"  that  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat "  was  no  more  than 
this  ;  while  the  majority  Avere  beings  fitted  by  nature  for  a  career 
of  crime,  the  bare  recital  of  which  makes  us  shudder. 

During  the  first  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century  our  own 
seas  swarmed  with  these  freebooters,  whose  depredations  upon 
our  commerce  are  the  theme  of  some  of  the  most  startling  epi- 
sodes preserved  in  the  whole  annals  of  piracy.  Blackboard,  Low, 
and  Phillips  stand  pre-eminent  at  the  head  of  this  black  list. 
It  is  with  the  last  that  our  story  has  to  do. 

In  the  course  of  his  last  piratical  cruise,  during  which  he 
swept  the  coast  from  Jamaica  to  ^Newfoundland,  Phillips  fell  in 
with  and  captured  the  sloop  "  Dolphin,"  Andrew  Harraden, 
master,  belonging  to  Cape  Ann.  The  "  Dolphin,"  being  a  bet- 
ter vessel  than  his  own,  the  pirate  transferred  his  black  flag  to 
her,  sending  the  crew  away  in  another  of  his  prizes.  Captain 
Harraden  was,  however,  detained  a  prisoner  on  board  his  owr 


262  NEW-EXt;LAND    LEGENDS. 

vessel.  Two  of  the  pirate  crew,  John  Filhnore,  of  Ipswich,  and 
Edward  Cheesman  were  men  whom  PhiUips  had  taken  out  of 
the  ships  that  lie  had  plundered  and  pressed  into  his  service, 
thus  making  them  pirates  against  their  will.  Being  found  use- 
ful, Cheesman  had  been  promoted  to  the  post  of  ship's  carpenter 
shortly  before  the  "  Doli)hiu"  was  captured.  Both  he  and  Fill- 
more, however,  were  brave  young  fellows,  and  both  had  fully 
determined,  come  what  might,  to  take  the  first  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  of  escaping  from  Phillips'  clutches  ;  but  the 
jealous  watchfulness  of  the  older  pirates  was  such  that  they 
could  get  no  opportunity  of  talking  to  each  other  about  what 
was  in  their  minds,  except  when  feigning  to  be  asleep,  or  when 
pretending  to  play  at  cards  together.  But  by  stealth  they  at 
length  came  to  an  understanding. 

To  Captain  Harraden  these  two  presently  broached  their  pur- 
pose ;  and  tinding  him  ready  and  willing  to  strike  a  blow  for  the 
recovery  of  his  vessel  and  his  liberty,  they  with  four  confeder- 
ates, who  were  already  pledged  to  stand  by  tliem,  fixed  the  day 
and  the  hour  for  making  the  hazardous  attempt. 

When  the  appointed  hour  of  noon  had  arrived,  Cheesman,  the 
leader,  with  Fillmore  and  Harraden,  were  on  deck,  as  also  were 
Nut,  the  master  of  the  "  Dolphin,"  a  fellow  of  great  strength 
and  courage,  the  boatswain,  and  some  others  of  the  pirate  crew. 
But  of  all  on  board,  Nut  and  the  boatswain  were  the  two  whom 
the  conspirators  most  feared  to  encounter.  Cheesman,  however, 
promised  to  take  care  of  the  master  if  the  others  would  atten<l 
to  the  boatswain.  No  firearoas  were  to  be  used.  The  attack 
was  to  be  suddenly  made,  and  possession  of  the  deck  to  be 
gained,  before  the  alarm  should  spread  below. 

Cheesman,  having  left  his  working  tools  on  the  deck,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  use  them  about  the  vessel,  walked  aft  to  begin 
with  the  master;  but  seeing  some  signs  of  timidity  in  Harraden, 
he  came  back,  gave  him  and  his  mates  a  dram  of  brandy  each, 
drinking  to  the  boatswain  and  the  master  the  toast,  "  To  our 
next  merry-meeting."  He  then  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the 
deck  with  Nut,  in  order  to  occupy  the  pirate's  attention,  while 


NORMAN'S   WOE.  263 

Fillmore,  as  if  in  sport,  picked  up  the  carpenter's  axe  from  where 
it  was  lying,  and  began  to  twirl  it  aroimd  on  the  point. 

This  was  the  signal  agreed  upon.  Cheesman  instantly  grap- 
pled with  the  master,  and,  being  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  after 
a  brief  struggle  pitched  him  over  the  side  into  the  sea.  Fill- 
more, rushing  upon  the  boatswain,  with  one  blow  of  the  axe 
laid  him  dead  upon  the  deck.  The  noise  of  the  scufHe  brought 
the  pirate  chief  on  deck  ;  but  Cheesman  quickly  disabled  him 
with  a  blow  from  the  carpenter's  mallet,  which  fractured  his  jaw- 
bone. Having  armed  himself  with  an  adze,  Harraden  tiien 
sj)rang  upon  Phillips  with  his  u})lifted  weapon ;  but  the  gunner 
of  the  pirate  interposing  between  them,  Cheesman  tripped  up 
his  heels,  throwing  him  into  the  arms  of  a  confederate,  who 
flung  him  overboard,  after  the  master.  Harraden  then  finished 
with  Phillips. 

The  consjjirators  then  jumped  into  the  hold  and  fell  upon 
the  quartermaster,  who  was  the  only  officer  remaining  alive  ; 
when  a  young  lad  on  board  pleaded  so  earnestly  for  his  life  that 
he  was  spared.  The  rest  of  the  pirate  crew  being  securely  put 
in  irons,  the  vessel  was  steered  directly  for  Boston,  where  she 
arrived  on  the  3d  of  May,  1724,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  people  of 
the  province.  Two  of  the  Pirates,  Archer,  tlie  quartermaster, 
and  William  White,  Avere  tried,  convicted,  and  executed.  Fill- 
more, Cheesman,  and  their  confederates  were  honorably  acquit- 
ted. John  Fillmore,  the  pirate  in  spite  of  himself,  was  the 
great-grandfather  of  the  thirteenth  President  of  the  United 
States. 


NORMAN'S  WOE. 

TOUCHING  the  name  of  the  rock  called  Norman's  Woe, 
little  more  is  known  than  that  Goodman  Norman  and  his 
son  were  among  the  first  to  settle  here ;  and  it  is  therefore  as- 
sumed that  this  headland  and  its  outlying  islet  preserve  a  family 


264 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


surname  at  once  bold  and  picturesque.  That  no  record  is  known, 
to  explain  how  the  rock  originally  received  its  name,  or  what  the 
catastrophe  it  \\as  intended  to  perpetuate,  is  only  anotlier  in- 
stance of  the  instability  of  local  traditions.  j\Iany  of  the  names 
now  in  use  on  Cape  Ann  go  as  far  back  as  the  first  decade  of  the 
settlement.  For  instance,  Kettle  Island  and  Baker's  Island  were 
named  before  1G34.  This  one,  like  Thachcr's  Island,  is  pro- 
bably commemorative  of  some  uncommon  individual  experience 
or  disaster;  but  whatever  that  may  have  been,  its  memory  is 
probably  lost  beyond  recovery. 


-c-  .-<'V. 


norman's  woe  rock. 


Not  lost  its  claim  to  a  wider  celebrity  than  some  of  our  most 
famous  battlefields,  for  it  is  the  scene  so  vividl}^  described  in 
Longfellow's  "  Wreck  of  the  '  Hesperus.' " 

In  his  biographical  sketch  of  the  poet  Longfellow,  Mr.  Francis 
H.  Underwood  says  of  this  ballad  that  it  "is  deservedly  ad- 
mired, especially  for  the  vigor  of  its  descriptions.  It  is,"  he 
continues,  "  in  truth  a  T)allad  such  as  former  centuries  knew,  and 
which  are  seldom  written  now.  Its  free  movement,  directness, 
and  pictorial  jjower  (-(jmbine  to  make  it  one  (jf  tlie  most  remark- 
able of  the  autliur's  poems." 


Norman's  woe.  265 

Yet  jNIr.  Fiekls,  the  poel'.s  geiiiiil  IVicnd  and  whilom  liis  pui)- 
lisher,  says  that  tlie  "  Wreck  oi  the  '  Hesperus '  "  hardly  caused 
its  author  an  effort.  The  facts  with  rej^ard  to  its  composition 
are  these  :  After  a  dreadful  gale  in  the  wint(>r  of  1839,  wliicli 
strewed  the  coast  with  wrecks,  he  had  heen  reading  the  cata- 
logue of  its  disasters  with  which  the  newspapers  were  filled. 
The  stormy  Cape  had  reaped  its  full  share  of  this  terrible  har- 
vest. Forty  dead  bodies,  among  them  that  of  a  woman  lashed 
to  a  piece  of  wreck,  had  l)een  wasluid  up  on  the  Gloucester 
shore.  One  of  the  lost  vessels  was  named  the  "  Hesperus,"  and 
the  name  of  Norman's  Woe  now  met  his  eye,  —  perhaps  for  the 
iirst  time.  The  event  impressed  him  so  deeply  that  he  deter- 
mined to  write  a  ballad  upon  it.  Late  one  night  as  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,  but,  as  he  tells  us,  not  to  sleep  ;  for  new  thouglits  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  Norman's  Woe,  the  poet's  versified 
story  is  founded  upon  a  real  incident,  to  which  the  use  of  these 
names  lends  a  terrible  interest.  In  one  sense,  therefore,  this 
ballad  belongs  to  the  legendary ;  but  by  the  poet's  genius  it  is 
now  firmly  associated  with  the  surf-beaten  rock  of  Cape  Ann, 
whose  name  of  terror,  derived  from  some  vmrecorded  disaster, 
found  no  reason  for  its  being,  until  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen  gave 
it  immortality. 

From  being  merely  the  scene  of  a  wreck,  Norman's  Woe  has 
become  a  spot  consecrated  by  genius.  It  is,  therefore,  no  com- 
mon rock,  but  a  monument  to  Mr.  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  Mr.  L^nderwood  says,  written  in  the  quaint 


266  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

old  manner ;  "hut  wliat  is  more  to  tlie  i)urj)oso,  it  has  the  genuine 
ring,  nervous  action,  sonorous  rhythm,  and  unmistakable  llavor 
of  the  sea  throughout.  Those  stanzas  tleseriptive  of  the  increas- 
ing fury  of  the  gale  have  never  been  sur])assetl  in  the  language. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  I'rom  the  Northeast, 
The  snow  idl  Inssing  in  the  brine. 

And  tliL'  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strengtli  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

And  fast  through  the  nndnight  dark  and  drear. 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 

Towards  the  Reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Lookeel  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  sides 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  Ijull. 

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  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair. 

Lashed  close  to  a  cbiftin<f  mast 


HANNAH   liliNHlNG   SHOES.  267 


HANNAH  BINDING  SHOES. 

"  Beverly  Farms,  Mass.,  Dec.  22,  1874. 

"Dear  Sir,  —  As  to  '  IlaiiiKih's'  locale,  it  is  liunl  to  determine. 
I  used  to  see  her  at  all  the  windows  in  Beverly  when  I  was  a  little 
child  ;  but  I  saw  her  more  distinctly,  about  twenty  years  ago,  on 
the  road  between  Beverly  and  Marblehead.  I  think  she  lived  in  the 
latter  place  quite  as  much  as  at  the  former.  You  see  my  home  was 
in  Beverly,  and  we  Beverly  children  were  rather  afraid  of  the  Marble- 
headers  ;  they  had  the  reputation  of  '  rocking '  their  neighbors  out 
of  town.  I  suspect,  on  the  whole,  that  '  Hannah '  must  have  been 
a  tramp,  and  bound  shoes  anywhere  she  put  up.  ]Mr.  Wood,  who 
painted  her  picture,  says  he  was  shown  her  house  in  Marblehead,. 
and  he  ought  to  know. 

"  But  I  have  honestly  told  you  all  I  know  about  her,  except  as  a 
lodger  in  my  imagination. 

"  Sincerely  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  I  am  truly  yours, 

"Lucy  Larcom." 

Poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  at  the  window  binding  shoes  1 

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  refuse 

To  her  whisper : 
"  Is  there  from  the  fishers  any  news  1 " 
Oh,  her  heart 's  adrift  with  one 
On  an  endless  voyage  gone  ! 
Night  and  morning 
Hannah 's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 


268 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Fair  young  Hannah 
Ben,  the  sun-burnt  fisher  gayly  wooes: 

Hale  and  clever, 
For  a  willin''  heart  and  hand  he  sues. 


POOR  LONE   UANNAU. 


May-day  skies  are  all  aglow, 
And  the  waves  are  laughing  so ! 
For  her  wedding, 
Hannah  leaves  her  window  and  her  shoes. 


TIIK    PHANTOM    BOAT.  269 

yiay  is  passing,— 
Mid  the  ai)plc-l)oughs  a  pigeon  conos. 

Hannah  shnclders, 
For  the  wild  sou'-wester  mischief  Ijrews. 
Round  the  rocks  of  IMarblehead, 
Outward  bound,  a  schooner  sped. 
Silent,  lonesome, 
Hannah's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

'T  is  November : 
Now  no  tear  her  wasted  cheek  bedews. 

From  Newfoundland 
Not  a  sail  returning  will  she  lose  ; 
Whispering  hoarsely,  "  Fishermen, 
Have  you,  have  you  lieard  of  Ben  t " 
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. 


THE   PHANTOM   BOAT. 

E.    NORMAN  GUNNISON. 

The  tide  comes  in,  and  the  tide  goes  out, 
And  the  rollers  break  on  the  harbor  bar, 

And  up  from  the  distance  comes  a  sail, 
Gleanaing  white  'neath  the  morning  star. 

"Fisherman,  tell  me  why  yonder  boat 
Sails,  and  no  nearer  comes  to  shore ; 
Nor  in  the  distance  grows  remote, 
Nor  a  ripple  her  bow  breaks  o'er." 


270  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  Stranger,  I  reckon  you  are  n't  here  long ; 
Many  a  year  her  ])ennant  flew. 
Okl  is  the  story  ;  a  worn-out  song, 

But  her  deck  is  trod  by  no  mortal  crew. 

"  Alice  Marr  was  a  fair  young  girl, 

Long  ago  iu  Glos'ter  town  ; 

Rippling  tresses  and  sunny  curl, 

Rare  red  lips,  and  a  cheek  of  brown. 

"  That  was  Alice,  the  fisher's  pride  ; 

Lovers  sought  her  from  near  and  far  ; 

She  was  John  Ackman's  promised  bride  : 

He  named  his  vessel  the  Alice  Marr. 

"  Thar 's  nothing  sartin,  stranger,  in  life ; 

We  're  gone  to-morrow,  though  here  to-tlay 
Another  v'yage  she  would  be  his  wife, 
At  least  so  I  've  hearn  the  gossips  say. 

"  Months  rolled  on,  and  never  a  word  ; 

Six  months,  twelve  months  :  on  tlie  day 
That  finished  the  year  was  a  rumor  heard 
Of  the  Alice  Marr  in  the  outer  bay. 

"  Boats  put  out,  but  they  drew  not  near, 
Slowly,  silently,  on  she  steered  : 

'  Skipper  Ackman  !  ho!  what  cheer!' 
She  had  vanished,  had  disapj^eared." 


H 

5  ^ 


IPSWICH  LEGENDS. 


OLD  IPSWICH  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  corners  into 
Avhicli  the  artist  or  the  anti(|uary  coukl  have  tlic  good 
fortune  to  stray,  for  here  either  Avill  Ihid  abundant  occupation. 
Its  physiognomy  is  old,  its  atmosphere  drowsy,  its  quiet  un- 
broken. The  best  residences  are  still  the  oldest  ones,  and  among 
them  are  some  very  quaint  specimens  of  the  early  Colonial  archi- 
tecture, upon  which  time  seems  to  have  made  little  impression  ; 
while  here  and  there  others  stand  up  mere  crazy  hulks,  so  shaken 
and  dila])idated  inside  and  out,  that  every  gale  threatens  to  bring 
them  down  with  a  loud  crash  into  the  cellars  beneath.  Some  of 
these  have  the  reputation  of  being  haunted  houses,  and  are  of 
course  enveloped  in  mystery,  —  and  indeed  the  whole  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  is  thick  with  legendary  lore,  which  the  old 
people  drop  their  voices  when  they  are  relating. 

To  me  now  there  is  no  more  striking  picture  than  that  of 
some  such  crazy  old  structure,  trembling,  as  the  wind  shakes  it, 
like  an  old  man  with  the  palsy,  its  windows  gaping  wide,  its 
chimney  bent  and  tottering,  the  fire  on  its  hearthstone  extin- 
guished forever,  the  path  to  it  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  old 
well  choked  up  with  rubbish  and  poisonous  ivy,  —  everything 
expressing  irretrievable  decay,  —  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  still 
vigorous  orchard  just  putting  forth  its  sweet  perennial  bloom, 

18 


274  NKW-ENGLANI)   LEGENDS. 

with  the  fresh  and  tender  grass  creeping  up  to  the  broken 
threshold,  as  if  Nature  claimed  admittance,  and  would  not  be 
much  longer  denied.  That  house,  you  are  told,  was  built  two 
centuries  ago.  Where  are  the  builders;  and  where  the  genera- 
tions that  came  after  them  1  The  old  well-sweep  creaks  mourn- 
fully in  the  wind,  and  points  its  bony  finger  to  the  sky.  Yet 
here  are  the  trees  that  they  planted,  still  putting  forth  their 
buds,  like  mortals  putting  on  immortality. 

It  is  natural,  I  think,  in  such  a  place  to  try  to  imagine  the 
fii'st-comers  looking  about  them.  How  did  it  look  ;  what  did 
they  think  ?  They  were  a  mere  handful,  —  the  apostolic  num- 
ber,—  a  vanguard  sent  to  establish  a  semi-military  post.  Upon 
ascending  the  hill  above  the  river  they  found  an  outcropping 
ledge  of  goodly  extent,  forming  a  sort  of  natural  platform,  and 
upon  this  rock  they  built  their  chm'ch,  which  subsequently  be- 
came so  famous  throughout  the  Colony  under  the  successive 
ministrations  of  Ward,  E-ogers,  Xorton,  and  Hubbard,  —  all 
men  eminent  for  their  learning  and  piety.  Satan  himself  was 
not  able  to  prevail  against  it ;  for  upon  the  smooth  ledge  out- 
side is  still  seen  the  distinct  print  of  his  sable  majesty's  cloven 
foot,  when  he  was  hurled  from  the  pinnacle  to  the  ground  for 
attempting  to  conceal  himself  within  the  sanctuary. 

In  another  place,  down  by  the  river  side,  the  house  where 
Harry  Main  lived  is  pointed  out  to  the  visitor.  He  having  thus  a 
local  habitation,  the  legend  concerning  him  is  no  vagabond  tra- 
dition. Harry  Main  is  the  Wandering  Jew  of  Ipswich,  around 
whom  darkly  hangs  the  shadow  of  an  unpardonable  crime  and 
its  fearful  doom.  It  is  said  that  he  had  been  by  tiirns  a  pirate, 
a  smuggler,  and  a  wrecker,  who  followed  the  wicked  trade  of 
building  fires  on  the  sands,  in  order  to  decoy  vessels  among 
the  breakers,  where  they  were  wrecked,  and  their  crews  perished 
miserably.  For  these  crimes,  at  his  death  he  was  doomed  to  be 
chained  on  Ipswich  Bar,  tlie  scene  of  his  former  murderous  ex- 
ploits, and  everlastingly  to  coil  a  cable  nf  sand  there.  Wlien 
the  cable  broke,  his  demoniacal  yells  of  baffled  rage  could  be 
heard  for  miles  around ;    and  when    those    fearful  sounds  an- 


irswicii  LK(;iiNus. 


275 


nounced  the  rising  gale,  mothers  would  clasp  their  balies  to  their 
breasts,  while  the  men  shook  their  heads  and  said,  "Old  Harry  's 
trrowling  again  !  "  His  name  was  long  the  bugbear  used  to 
frighten  refractory  children  into  ol)cdience,  while  the  rote  on 
the  bar,  heard  in  storms,  still  audibly  perpetuates  the  legend, 
with  its  roar. 

The  old  people  living  on  Plum  Island  used  to  say  that  Harry 


PADLOCK   AND   KEY,    IPSWICH  JAIL. 

Main's  ghost  troubled  them  by  wandering  about  the  sanddiills 
on  stormy  nights,  so  that  they  were  afraid  to  venture  out  of  doors 
after  dark.  Indeed  the  town  itself,  in  its  palmy  days,  was  so 
full  of  ghostly  legends,  that  certain  localities  supposed  to  be 
haunted°were  scrupulously  avoided  by  the  timid  ones,  who  had 
a  mortal  dread  of  being  accosted  by  some  vagabond  spectre  with 
its  tale  of  horror. 

Harry   ^Main's   house  —  for  we   must  remember  that  he  had 


276  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

one  —  was  ransacked,  and  every  rod  of  the  garden  dug  up  for 
the  money  that  he  was  sujDposed  to  have  buried  there  ;  but 
nothing  rewarded  the  search.  Other  places,  too,  have  been  ex- 
plored with  the  same  result,  in  quest  of  Kidd's  hidden  treasures. 
One  good  man  dreamed  three  nights  in  succession  that  vast  sums 
were  buried  in  a  certain  hill  in  the  town.  He  could  see  the 
very  spot.  Haunted  by  the  realism  of  the  dream,  he  determined 
to  test  the  matter  for  himself;  and  one  dark  night,  just  as  mid- 
night struck,  he  took  his  spade,  his  lantern,  and  his  Bible,  and 
started  on  his  weird  errand.  Upon  reaching  the  spot  he  recog- 
nized it  as  the  same  that  he  had  seen  in  his  dream.  Pie  imme- 
diately fell  to  work.  After  plying  his  spade  vigorously  a  while, 
it  struck  against  some  hard  object.  He  now  felt  sure  of  his 
prize.  Scraping  the  earth  away  with  feverish  haste,  he  came 
to  a  flat  stone  having  a  bar  of  iron  laid  across  it.  This  he 
eagerly  graspetl  with  one  hand,  and  was  about  to  turn  the  stone 
over  with  the  other  when  lie  was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  troop 
of  cats,  whose  eyeballs  blazed  in  the  darkness.  The  digger  felt 
his  hair  slowly  rising  on  end.  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow. 
Brandishing  the  bar  aloft,  he  cried  out,  "  Scat !"  when  these  vig- 
ilant guardians  of  the  treasure  vanished  in  a  twinkling,  leaving 
the  crestfallen  money-digger  standing  up  to  his  middle  in  cold 
water,  which  had  poured  into  the  hole,  when  he  broke  the  spell 
by  speaking.  Half  drowned,  and  wholly  disgusted,  he  crawled 
out  of  it.  The  iron  bar,  however,  remained  tightly  clutchetl  in 
his  hand.  He  carried  it  home,  and  I  was  assured  that  upon 
going  to  a  certain  house  in  Ipswich  I  might  see  the  identical 
door-latch  which  a  smith  had  made  out  of  this  bar  for  a  souvenir 
of  the  night's  adventure. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  many  stories  which  Mr.  Morgan  has 
picturesquely  grouped  together  in  liis  jjoem  entitled  "  Old  Ips- 
wich Town,"' — a  charming  Int  of  reminiscence,  and  charmingly 
told. 


OLD  irswicii  TOWN.  277 

OLD   IPSWICH  TOWN. 

Al'PLETON    MORGAN. 

I  LOVE  to  think  of  olil  Ipswich  town, 

Old  Ipswich  town  in  the  East  countri!e, 
Whence,  on  the  tiik',  yi)U  can  Hunt  down 

Through  the  h)ng  salt  grass  to  the  wailing  sea. 
Where  the  "  MayHower  "  drifted  off  the  har 

Sea- worn  and  weary,  long  years  ago, 
And  dared  not  enter,  hut  sailed  away 
Till  she  landed  her  boats  in  Plymouth  Bay. 

I  love  to  think  of  t)ld  Ipswich  town. 

Where  Whiteheld  preached  in  the  church  on  the  hill, 
Driving  out  the  Devil  till  he  leaped  down 

From  the  steeple's  top,  where  they  show  you  still, 
Imhedded'deep  in  the  solid  rock, 

The  indelible  print  of  his  cloven  hoof, 
And  tell  you  the  Devil  has  never  shown 
Face  or  hoof  since  that  day  in  the  honest  town. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 

Where  they  shut  up  the  witches  until  the  day 

When  they  should  be  roasted  so  thoroughly  brown. 
In  Salem  Village,  twelve  miles  away  ; 

They  've  moved  it  off  for  a  stable  now  ; 

But  there  are  the  holes  wdiere  the  stout  jail  stood, 

And,  at  night,  they  say  that  over  the  holes 

You  can  see  the  ghost  of  Goody  Coles. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

That  house  to  your  right,  a  rod  or  more. 
Where  the  stern  old  elm-trees  seem  to  frown 

If  you  peer  too  hard  through  the  open  door, 
Sheltered  the  regicide  judges  three 

When  tlie  royal  sheriffs  were  after  them, 
And  a  ([ueer  old  villager  once  I  met, 
Who  says  in  the  cellar  they  're  living  yet. 


278 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

Harry  Main  —  you  have  heard  the  tale  —  lived  there  ; 
He  blasphemed  God,  so  they  put  him  down 

With  an  iron  shovel,  at  Ipswich  Bar  ; 
They  chained  him  there  for  a  thousand  years, 

As  the  sea  rolls  up  to  shovel  it  back  ; 
So  when  the  sea  cries,  the  goodwives  say 
"  Harry  Main  growls  at  his  work  to-day." 


IPSWICH   HEADS. 


I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

There  's  a  graveyard  up  on  the  old  High  street, 
Where  ten  generations  are  looking  down 

On  the  one  that  is  toiling  at  their  feet  ; 
Where  the  stones  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  like  troops 

Drawn  up  to  receive  a  cavalry  charge. 
And  graves  have  been  dug  in  graves,  till  the  sod 
Is  the  mould  of  good  men  gone  to  God. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 

Old  Ipswich  town  in  the  East  countree, 
Whence,  on  the  tide,  you  can  float  down 

Through  the  long  salt  grass  to  the  wailing  sea. 
And  lie  all  day  on  tlie  glassy  ])eacli, 

And  learn  the  lesson  the  green  waves  teach. 
Till  at  sunset,  from  surf  and  seaweed  brown. 
You  are  pulling  back  to  Ipswich  town. 


IIEARTUREAK    HILL.  279 

Ipswich  contains  many  interesting  memorials  of  its  antique 
worthies  and  times,  hi  the  Old  Hill  burying-ground  on  High 
Street  may  be  hmnd  incontestable  proofs  to  tlie  rank  lield  by 
some  of  tlie  founders,  in  the  family  arms  that  are  sculptured  on 
the  ancient  tombstones ;  but  you  will  not  find  the  gravestone 
of  the  Eeverend  William  Hub})ard,  the  historian  of  New  Eng- 
land, there,  because  no  one  knows  the  spot  where  he  is  buried. 


HEARTBREAK   HILL. 

TURNING  away  from  the  town  througli  unfre(iuented  by- 
lanes,  all  green  and  spotted  with  daisies,  let  us  ascend 
Heartbreak  Hill  in  tlie  southeast  corner.  The  view  is  certainly 
charming.  The  reader  asks  what  we  see  ;  and,  like  one  on  a 
tower,  we  reply  :  In  the  distance,  across  a  lonely  M-aste  of 
marshes,  through  which  glistening  tidal  streams  crawl  on  their 
bellies  among  reeds,  and  sun  their  glossy  backs  among  sand- 
dunes,  we  see  the  bald  Ipswich  Hundreds,  a  group  of  smooth, 
gray-green,  desolate-looking  hills  stretched  along  the  coast. 
They  are  isolated  by  these  marshes  from  the  mainland,  which 
they  seem  trying  to  rejoin.  Through  the  openings  between 
these  hills  we  catch  the  glitter  of  a  ragged  line  of  sand-dunes 
heaped  up  like  snow-drifts  at  the  edge  of  the  shore,  over  which 
rises  the  sea,  and  the  harbor-bar,  overspread  with  foam. 

It  being  a  clear  day,  we  can  see  from  Cape  Ann  as  far  as 
Cape  Neddock,  and  all  that  lies  or  floats  between  ;  but  for  leagues 
the  coast  is  sad  and  drear,  and  from  the  sand,  intrenching  it 
everywhere  with  a  natural  dyke,  the  eye  turns  gratefully 
upon  the  refreshing  sea.  Then,  as  the  Maine  coast  sweeps 
gracefully  round  to  tlie  east,  the  blue  domes  of  Agamenticus  rise 
above  it,  while  the  long  dark  land-line  shoots  off  into  the  ocean, 
diminishing  gradually  from  the  mountain,  like  a  musical  phrase 
whose  last  note  we  strive  to  catch  long  after  it  has  died  away. 


280  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Beneath  us  is  a  narrow  valley  through  which  a  river  runs 
with  speed.  The  town  occupies  lji)tli  hanks,  Avhich  rise  into 
considerahle  eminences  alcove  it.  All  around  are  the  evidences  of 
long  occupation  of  the  land,  —  fields  that  have  borne  crops,  and 
trees  that  have  been  growing  for  centuries ;  houses  whose  steep 
roofs  descend  almost  to  the  ground ;  graveyards  whose  mossed 
stones  lean  this  way  and  that  with  age.  Finally,  the  traditions 
that  we  are  unwilling  to  see  expire,  cast  a  pleasing  glamour  ovci 
tlie  place,  —  something  like  the  shadows  which  the  ancient  elms 
fling  down  ui)on  the  hot  and  dusty  roads. 


MEN   OF   MARK. 

The  river  shoots  througli  the  gray  arches  of  a  picturesque 
stone  bridge  out  upon  the  broad  levels  of  marsh  land  stretching 
seaward.  Through  these  it  loiters  quietly  along  down  to  tlie 
sea.  At  the  town  it  is  an  eager  mill-stream  ;  at  the  ocean  it  is 
as  calm  as  a  mill-pond.  Tlie  tide  brings  in  a  few  fishing-boats, 
but  seldom  anything  larger  ;  for  it  is  no  longer  an  avenue  of 
commerce,  as  in  bygone  days. 

The  oldest  of  Ipswich  legends  is  associated  with  this  hill,  and 
accounts  for  its  name ;  though  the  obscurity  surrounding  its  ori- 
gin baffles  an}'  attenq)t  to  trace  it  to  an  authentic  source.  The 
name  is  liowevov  ("dund  upon  the  earliest  records  of  the  town, 
and  it  is  probably  as  old  as  the  settlement,  which  was  begun 


r,  ■ 


"ml:^'^^' 


"    s^ 


282  NEW-ENCLANP   LEGENDS. 

by  the  whites  in  IG 35  as  a  check  to  the  expected  encroachments 
of  Cardinal  Riclielieu's  colony,  then  established  in  Acadia.  l>ut 
before  this,  we  know,  from  Captain  Smith,  that  the  place  was 
the  most  populous  Indian  settlement  in  all  Massachusetts  Day, 
it  being  the  seat  of  a  powerful  sagamore,  and  known  by  its  In- 
dian name  of  Agawam.  That  a  few  white  people  were  living 
among  the  Indians  liere  previous  to  1G3.5  is  evident  from  the 
tenor  of  one  of  the  tirst  recorded  acts  of  the  new  Colony,  dated 
September  7,  1630,  commanding  those  that  were  i)lanted  at 
Agawam  forthwith  to  come  away.  It  is  perhaps  to  this  early 
time  that  the  legend  of  Heartbreak  Hill  refers,  since  it  is  known 
that  the  Agawams  were  a  docile  and  hospital  )!(■  people,  who 
welcomed  the  coming  of  the  English  among  them  with  open 
arms ;  and  it  is  also  known  that  the  place  was  more  or  less 
frequented  by  the  English  fishing-ships. 

Briefly,  the  legend  relates  the  romantic  story  of  an  Indian 
maiden  who  fell  in  love  with  a  white  sailor,  and  upon  his  sailing 
for  a  distant  land,  she  used  to  climb  this  hill  and  pass  her  days 
sitting  upon  the  summit  watching  for  his  return.  But  the 
months  and  years  passed  without  bringing  any  tidings  of  him. 
He  never  did  come  back  ;  and  still  the  deserted  one  watched  and 
waited,  until  she  pined  away,  and  at  length  died  of  a  broken 
heart.  There  is  a  ledge  on  the  summit  where  the  Indian  girl 
sat  watching  for  her  lover's  return  ;  and  when  she  died,  her  lonely 
grave  was  made  by  the  side  of  it.  By  others  the  legend  is  dif- 
ferently related.  Some  say  that  as  the  girl  one  day  wended  her 
way  wearily  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  she  saw  her  lover's  vessel 
making  the  desperate  attempt  to  gain  the  port  in  the  height  of 
a  violent  gale.  But  it  drove  steadily  on  among  the  breakers, 
and  was  dashed  to  pieces  and  swallowed  uj)  before  her  eyes. 
In  her  poem  Mrs.  Thaxter  adojits  tlio  former  version,  which,  if 
less  tragic,  appeals  in  a  more  subtle  way  to  our  sympathies. 
In  any  case  the  hill  has  become  a  monument  to  faithful  affec- 
tion, and  as  such  is  the  favorite  resort  of  lovers  in  all  the 
country  round. 


HEARTBREAK    HILL.  283 

HEARTBREAK     HILL. 

CELIA   THAXTER, 

In  Ipswich  town,  not  far  i'roni  the  sea, 

Rises  a  hill  which  the  people  call 
Heartl)reak  Hill,  and  its  history 

Is  an  old,  old  legend,  known  to  alL 

It  was  a  sailor  who  won  the  heart 

Of  an  Indian  maiden,  lithe  and  young  ; 
And  she  saw  him  over  the  sea  depart, 

"While  sweet  iu  her  ear  his  promise  rung  ; 

For  he  cried,  as  he  kissed  her  wet  eyes  dry, 

"  I  '11  come  back,  sweetheart ;  keep  your  faith  ! ' 

She  said,  "I  will  watch  while  the  moons  go  by." 
Her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

So  this  poor  dusk  Ariadne  kept 

Her  watch  from  the  hill-top  rugged  and  steep  ; 
Slowly  the  empty  moments  crept 

While  she  studied  the  changing  face  of  the  deep, 

Fastening  her  eyes  upon  every  s]:ieck 

That  crossed  the  ocean  within  her  ken  ; 
Might  not  her  lover  be  walking  the  deck, 

Surely  and  swiftly  returning  again  ? 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  loomed,  lonely  and  dim, 

In  the  northeast  distance  far  and  gray, 
And  on  the  horizon's  uttermost  rim 

The  low  rock  heap  of  Boone  Island  lay. 

Oh,  but  the  weary,  merciless  days, 

With  the  sun  above,  with  the  sea  afar,  — 

No  change  in  her  fixed  and  wistful  gaze 
From  the  morning- red  to  the  evening  stari 


284  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Like  a  slender  statue  carved  of  stone 
She  sat,  with  hardly  motion  or  breath. 

She  wept  no  tears  and  she  made  no  moan, 
But  her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

He  never  came  back  !     Yet,  faithful  still, 
She  watched  from  the  hill-top  her  life  away. 

And  the  townsfolk  christened  it  Heartbreak  Hill, 
And  it  bears  the  name  to  this  very  day. 


NEWBURYPORT    LEGENDS. 

LET  us  stroll  a  little  about  the  city  of  Is'ewburyport  and  its 
charming  environs. 
Upon  leaving  Ipswich  the  landscape  grows  less  austere.  The 
flat  Rowley  marshes  succeed  the  rocky  pastures  and  tumbling 
hills,  with  their  stiffly-upright  cedars  and  their  shut-in  vistas,  like 
a  calm  after  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  Newbury,  and  are  suddenly  brought  up  by  a 
ridge  of  liigh  land,  lifting  its  green  wall  between  us  and  the 
basin  of  the  Merrimack.  At  the  right,  thrust  up  through  the 
tops  of  the  elm-trees  that  hide  the  village,  like  a  spear  tipped 
witli  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  white  sheet 
of  the  ]\rerrimack  is  seen  moving  steadily  out  to  sea.     One  side 


NEWBURVrORT    LEGENDS.  285 

of  these  lieiglits  then  is  appi'u[)i'i;it(ul  by  the  living,  the  oth(!r 
by  the  dead. 

The  most  remarkable  and  fascinating  object  in  the  landscape 
now  is  the  river. 

The  Eiver  ]\[errinaack,  when  near  tlie  end  of  its  long  course, 
expands  into  a  noble  basin  enclosed  within  the  sweep  of  pictur- 
esquely groui)ed  and  l)rokeu  highlands.  It  is  here  every  incli  a 
river,  broad,  deep,  clear,  and  sparkling.      On  one  side  are  the 


BEACON,    SALISBURY   POINT. 

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  with  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  tlie  channel  and  blockades  it. 
Beyond  this  again  the  sea  breaks  heavily  on  the  low  bar  outside, 
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 


286  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

partakers  of  his  own  feeling  for  tlie  familiar  scenes  he  describes. 
Amesbury  is  Whittier's  home,  the  ]\lerrimaok  his  unfailing 
theme.     Here  are  his  surroundings  :  — 

Stream  of  my  fathers  !  sweetly  still 
The  sunset  rays  thy  valley  fill ; 
Poured  slantwise  down  the  long  defile, 
Wave,  wood,  and  spire  beneath  them  snnle. 
I  see  the  winding  Powow  fold 
The  green  hill  in  its  belt  of  gold, 
And  following  down  its  wavy  line, 
Its  sparkling  waters  blend  witli  thine. 
There  's  not  a  tree  upon  thy  side, 
Nor  rock  which  thy  returning  tide 
As  yet  hath  left  abrupt  and  stark 
Above  thy  evening  water-mark, 

But  lies  distinct  and  full  in  sight, 
Beneath  this  gush  of  summer  light. 

In  the  same  spirit,  which  by  a  sort  of  poetic  alchemy  seems 
capable  of  converting  the  waste  sands  of  the  seashore  into  grains 
of  gold,  Mrs.  Spofford  has  described  the  approaches  to  the  river 
through  the  flat  lagoons  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  filled  Plum  Island  Eiver. 

And  clear  the  flood  of  silver  swung 

Between  the  brimnnng  edges  ; 
And  now  the  depths  were  dark,  and  now 

The  boat  slid  o'er  the  sedges. 

And  here  a  yellow  sand-spit  foamed 

Amid  the  great  sea-meadows  ; 
And  here  the  slumberous  waters  gloomed 

Lucid  in  emerald  shadows. 


NKWBUKYI'OKT   LEGENDS.  287 

Ainiiiiil  tlic  suuiiy  distance  rose 

A  blue  uiid  hazy  liigliland, 
And  winding  down  our  winding  way 

The  saud-Lills  of  Plum  Island. 


From  the  domain  of  poetry  we  pass  cawily  into  that  of  history. 
]\Ir.  John  Quincy  Adams  once  described  Siberia  as  being  cele- 
brated for  its  malefactors  and  malacliite.  Some  one,  in  an  epi- 
grammatic vein,  has  summed  up  Newburyport  as  being  famous 
for  piety  and  privateering ;  and  tlie  analogy  seems  established 
when  one  turns  to  the  History  of  Newbury  written  by  Whittier's 
old  schoolmaster,  Joshua  Coffin,  and  reads  there  that  the  pri- 
vateersmen  on  putting  to  sea  were  accustomed  to  request  the 
jirayers  of  the  churches  for  the  success  of  the  cruise,  —  to  which 
jjetition  all  those  having  a  share  in  tlie  voyage  responded  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  nourished  through 
its  commerce  ;  but  when  that  failed,  the  business  of  tlie  place  had 
to  be  recast  in  a  wholly  different  mould,  and  its  merchants  be- 
came spinners  and  weavers,  instead  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  people 
cling  to  the  traditions  that  are  associated  with  its  former  pros- 
perity, and  gave  it  a  prestige  that  mills  and  factories  can  no 
lunger  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  antiquated  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. 
From  here  the  sails  of  a  vessel  that  is  nearing  the  port  can  be 
seen  gliding  along  over  the  sand-ilrifts  of  Plum  Island  or  Salis- 
bury Beach.     Joppa  is  crowded  with  houses,  but  it  is  torpid. 


288  nkw-ex(;l.vni)  legends. 

This  long  street  loaves  us  at  OMtowii,  the  parent  settlement 
here,  whose  church  spire  we  saw  at  a  distance.  It  is  narrow, 
irregular,  and  untidy  ;  but  High  Street,  the  avenue  laid  out  along 
the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  extending  from  Oldtown  Green  to 
the  Chain  Bridge  over  the  jNlerrimack,  is  a  thoroughfare  one 
does  not  often  see  equalled,  even  if  he  has  travelled  far  and  seen 
mucli. 

Here,  upon  the  cool  brow  of  the  ridge,  are  tlie  stately  homes 
of  the  wealtliy  citizens ;  here  the  old  merchants,  who  amassed 
fortunes  in  West  India  rum  and  sugar  in  little  stuft'y  counting- 
rooms  on  the  wharves  below,  lived  like  princes  in  the  great 
roomy  mansions  wliose  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  sucli  size  as  to  suggest  that  a  IjIow  of  the  hospitable 
knocker  would  fill  them  with  echoes,  there  is  an  air  of  gentility 
and  of  good  living  about  all  these  houses  which  makes  us  feel 
regret  for  tlie  generation  whose  open-handed  hospitality  has 
passed  into  a  tradition  ;  while  the  mansions  themselves,  grown 
venerable,  continue  to  unite  two  wholly  dissimilar  eras. 

Usually  there  was  an  observatory  on  the  roof,  from  which  tlie 
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  outside.  He  might  then 
descend,  take  his  cocked  hat  and  cane  from  the  hall-table,  order 
dinner,  with  an  extra  cover  for  liis  captain,  pull  out  his  shirt-frill, 
and  go  down  to  his  counting-house  without  a  Avrinkle  on  his 
brow  or  a  crease  in  his  silk  stockings  ;  everybody  would  know 
that  his  slii[)  liad  come  in.  Sound  in  liead  and  stomach,  bluff  of 
speed),  yet  witli  a  ctutain  homely  dignity  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  f]ngland,  a  swarm  of  jirivateers, 
as  well  as  some  of  the  most  famous  vessels  of  tlie  old,  the  invin- 
cible, navy,  were  launched  here.    In  181  2  the  port  suffered  as  long 


NKWHI'RYl'OHT    LECIENDS.  289 

and  rigorous  a  blockade  from  the  enemy's  cruisers,  as  ii  hud 
before  been  nearly  paralyzed  by  Mr.  Jelferson's  embargo.  Then 
the  merchaut  had  ruin  staling;  liini  in  the  face  whenever  he  lev- 
elled his  glass  at  the  two  and  three  deckers  exchanging  signals 
in  the  offing,  or  when  he  paced  up  and  down  his  grass-grown 
wharves,  where  his  idle  ships  rusted ;  but  if  he  did  sometimes 
shut  his  glass  with  an  angry  jerk,  or  stamp  his  foot  to  say,  be- 
tween an  oath  and  a  groan,  "  Our  masts  take  rot)t,  bud  forth  too, 
and  beare  akornes  ! "  he  was  never  fuund  wanting  in  j)atriutism, 
nor  did  he  show  a  niggardly  or  a  craven  spirit  in  the  face  of 
his  reverses,  so  that  the  record  of  the  Tracys,  the  Daltons,  the 
Browns,  is  one  of  which  their  descendants  are  justly  proud. 
Still,  it  was  not  thought  to  be  a  sinful  thing  in  those  days  for 
the  clergy  to  pray  that  a  change  of  rulers  might  remove  the 
embargo,  or  that  a  stiff  gale  of  wind  would  raise  the  blockade, 
—  the  means  to  this  end  being  left  to  the  wisdom  of  an  over- 
ruling Providence. 

For  the  stranger,  however,  there  are  but  two  things  in  New- 
buryport  for  which  he  asks  the  first  person  he  meets.  One  is 
the  tomb  of  George  Whitefiehl,  and  the  other  is  the  mansion  of 
Lord  Timothy  Dexter.  One  is  in  a  quiet  and  unpretending 
neighborhood;  the  other  stands  in  the  high  places  of  the  city. 
Two  objects  more  diverse  by  their  associations,  two  lives  more 
opposite  in  their  aspirations,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of, 
yet  here  the  memories  of  the  two  men  jostle  each  other.  Truly 
it  is  only  a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous. 

The  number  of  pilgrims  who  visit  the  tomb  of  Whitetield  is 
very  large.  The  great  itinerant  preacher  is  buried  in  a  vault 
that  is  entered  by  a  door  underneatli  the  pulpit  of  the  Old  Soutli 
Presbyterian  meeting-house,  in  Federal  Street.  Its  slender  and 
modest  spire,  with  its  brazen  weathercock,  rises  above  a  neigh- 
borhood no  longer  fashionable,  perhaps,  but  quite  in  keeping 
with  its  own  severe  simplicity.  Xeither  belongs  to  the  present. 
The  house  has  the  date  175G  over  the  entrance-door,  and  is  built 
of  wood.  At  the  left  of  the  pulpit,  as  we  enter,  is  a  marble 
cenotaph  erected  to  the  memory  of  Whitefield,  one  foce  of  which 

19 


290  NKW-EN(iLx\.ND   LEGENDS. 

bears  a  long  eulogistic  inscription.  Descending  into  the  crypt, 
whose  sepulchral  darkness  a  lamp  dimly  lights,  we  are  alone 
with  its  silent  inmates.  Yomlor  dark  object  presently  shapes 
itself  into  a  bier.  We  approach  it.  The  coffindid  is  thrown 
open,  so  as  to  expose  what  is  left  of  its  tenant,  —  the  fleshless 
skull    and    bones  of   George  Whitetield.       It  is  not  inrl)iddon 


UEV.    (iEuRGE    \VHITEFIEL]>,  AGED   -.i'J. 


to  shudder.      Who,  indeed,  that  looks  can   believe  that  "there, 
Whiteheld,  ])i'al('d  thy  voice"? 

Owing,  doubtless,  to  the  fact  that  many  come  to  gratify  an  idle 
curiosity,  the  trustees  had  closed  the  tomb  "  for  a  spell,"  as  the 


NEWBUKYPOKT   LEGENDS.  291 

old  sexton  remarked,  with  too  evident  vexation  for  the  loss  of 
liis  fees  for  showing  it  to  visitors.  It  is  a  curious  instance  of 
vandaHsm  that  one  of  the  arm-bones  should  have  been  surrep- 
titiously taken  from  the  coffin,  and  after  having  twice  crossed 
the  ocean,  have  found  its  way  back  to  its  original  resting-place. 
The  story  goes  that  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  eloquent  preacher, 
who  wished  to  obtain  some  relic  of  liim,  gave  a  commission  to  a 
friend  for  tlie  purpose,  and  this  friend,  it  is  supposed,  procured 
the  limb  through  the  connivance  of  the  sexton's  sou.  The  act 
of  desecration  being,  however,  discovered,  aroused  so  much  indig- 
nation everywhere,  that  the  possessor  thought  it  best  to  relin- 
(piish  his  prize ;  and  he  accorilingly  intrusted  it  to  a  shipmaster, 
Avith  the  injunction  to  see  it  again  safely  placed  in  the  vault 
with  his  own  eyes,  —  which  direction  was  strictly  carried  out. 
"And  I,"  linished  the  sexton,  "have  been  down  in  the  tomb 
Avitli  the  captain  who  brouglit  that  ar'  bone  back."  But  this  all 
happened  many  years  ago. 

This  neighborhood  is  further  interesting  as  being  the  birth- 
place of  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  whose  dwelling  is  the  first  on 
the  left  in  School  Street,  while  the  next  is  that  in  which  White- 
field  died  of  an  attack  of  asthma.  The  extraordinary  religious 
awakening  that  followed  his  preaching  is  one  of  the  traditions 
common  to  all  our  New-England  seaboard  towns,  the  houses 
where  he  stopped  being  always  pointed  out ;  so  that  everywhere 
Whitefield  has  a  monument.  A  missionary  who  crossed  the 
ocean  fourteen  times,  an  evangelist  who  preached  more  than 
eighteen  thousand  sermons,  and  whose  audiences  were  so  nume- 
rous that  he  was  compelled  to  hold  his  meetings  in  the  open  air, 
was  no  ordinary  man.  To  this  exposure  of  himself  his  death  is 
attributed.  It  caused  a  deep  sensation ;  and  so  much  had  the  pub- 
lic estimate  of  him  changed,  that  there  was  even  a  contention  for 
the  honor  of  possessing  his  remains,  which  now  lie  in  the  place 
Avhere  he  was  stoned  when  he  first  attemi)ted  to  preach  in  it. 
Such  is  the  retribution  that  time  brings.  When  this  cowardly 
assault  nearly  struck  the  Bible  from  his  hand,  the  man  who  al- 
ways had  an  answer  for  everything,  holding  up  the  book,  saitl 


292  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

with  calm  dignity,  but  in  a  voice  that  went  through  liis  hearers 
Hke  an  electric  shock  :  "  I  Jjave  a  Avarraut  from  God  to  i)reach  : 
his  seal  is  in  my  hand,  and  I  staml  in  the  King's  highway." 


LORD   TIMOTHY  DEXTER. 

TIMOTHY  DEXTER  was  not  born  great,  neither  did  he 
have  greatness  thrust  upon  hiui ;  yet  so  eli'ectually  does 
he  seem  to  have  thrust  his  quasi-greatuess  upon  Newburyport, 
tliat  even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  a  century,  counting 
from  the  time  when  he  laid  his  eccentricities  in  the  dust,  as 
all  lords,  sooner  or  later,  must  do,  the  stranger  visiting  Xewbury- 
port  asks  first  to  be  guided  to  the  spot  where  the  renowned  Lord 
Timothy  lived  in  most  unrepublican  state. 

Timothy  Dexter  was  not  a  native  of  Newburyport.  Maiden 
has  the  honor  of  being  his  birthplace ;  and  the  family  still  exists 
there,  a  branch  of  it  having  occupied  one  estate  for  more  than 
two  hundred  years.  Although  bred  to  the  tanner's  trade,  Timo- 
thy was  far  too  shrewd  to  hide  his  talents  in  a  vat.  He  saw 
easier  avenues  to  wealtli  opening  before  him  ;  and  with  a  forecast 
which  would  make  any  merchant's  fortune,  he  bought  and  sold 
in  the  way  of  trade  until  he  iiad  accunmlated  a  snug  ca})ital 
for  future  speculations. 

Having  "  put  money  in  his  purse,"  Timothy  Dexter  became 
ambitious ;  believing  that  a  golden  key  would  admit  him  within 
tlie  circles  of  the  aristocracy.  Then,  as  now,  Newburyport  was 
the  seat  of  culture,  refinement,  and  literature  ;  and  it  was  there- 
fore to  NeAvburyport  that  the  titled  tanner  now  turned  his  eyes. 
He  found  in  its  jjicturesque  precincts  two  mansion  houses  avail- 
able for  his  purpose,  and  these  he  purchased.  He  first  occupied 
one  situated  on  State  Street  ;  but  having  soon  sold  this  at  a 
profit,  he  removed  to  the  well-known  estate  situated  on  High 
Street,  thenceforth  making  it,  through  an  odd  perversion  of  its 
real  character,  one  of  the  historic  mansions  of  Essex  County. 


294  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Vain  to  excess,  he  longed  for  the  adulation  which  a  certain  class 
of  people  are  always  ready  to  lavish  upon  the  possessors  of  great 
wealth. 

He  now  began  the  work  of  renovation  which  transformed  the 
sober  mansion  of  his  predecessor  into  a  harlequinade  in  wood. 
By  his  directions  the  painters  adorned  the  outside  a  brilliant 
white,  trimmed  with  green.  Minarets  were  built  upon  the  voui, 
in  the  centre  of  which  rose  a  lofty  cupola  surmounted  by  a 
gilded  eagle  with  outspread  wings.  Standing  as  it  did  u})on 
the  crown  of  the  hill,  the  house  could  be  seen  for  miles  around, 
and  soon  became  a  landmark  for  mariners.  But  tlie  great  and 
unique  display  was  made  in  the  garden  fronting  this  house. 

There  then  was  working  at  liis  trade  in  the  town  a  skilful 
ship-carver  named  Wilson,  whom  Dexter  employed  to  carve 
from  the  solid  wood  some  forty  gigantic  statues  of  the  most 
celebrated  men  of  the  period.  Gladly  did  the  sculptor  accept 
and  execute  tliis  order,  for  it  enabled  him  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  a  small  fortune,  and  to  acquire  a  lasting  reputation  among 
liis  townsmen  for  his  workmanship.  These  images  were  about 
eight  feet  in  height.  With  conscientious  fidelity  to  fact  and 
fitness,  the  carved  clothing  was  painted  to  resemble  that  worn 
by  the  real  personages,  —  blue  coats,  white  shirts,  buff  breeches, 
and  the  rest,  —  altogether  making  a  display  which  no  museum 
in  the  country  could  equal.  Over  the  main  entrance  to  the 
house,  on  a  beautiful  arch,  stood  George  Washington,  with  John 
Adams,  bareheaded,  at  his  right  hand ;  for  Dexter  said  that  no 
one  should  stand  covered  on  the  right  hand  of  his  greatest  hero. 
General  Washington.  On  the  left  was  Thomas  Jelferson,  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  a  scroll  inscribed  "  Constitution."  But  my 
Lord  Timothy,  it  is  said,  in  spite  of  the  painter's  objections, 
insisted  upon  spelling  the  name  of  the  Sage  of  Monticello, 
"Tomas,"  instead  of  Thomas,  finally  threatening  to  shoot  the 
artist  on  the  spot  if  he  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  do  wliat  was 
required  of  him. 

The  man  who  had  planned  and  created  this  garden  of  statues 
was  as  capricious  as  fame  itself.     If  he  raised  a  statue  to  some 


LORD    TIMOTHY    DEXTEli.  295 

favorite  to-day,  he  reserved  the  right  to  change  liis  name  to- 
morrow ;  and  often  a  stroke  of  the  painter's  brush  transformed 
statesmen  into  soldiers,  or  soldiers  into  civilians.  General  Mor- 
gan 3'esterday  was  Bonaparte  to-day,  to  whom  Dexter  always 
paid  the  civility  of  touching  his  hat  when  he  passed  underneath 
the  great  Corsican's  shadow.  In  the  panels  of  the  entablatures 
of  each  of  the  columns  on  which  these  images  stood  were  the 
names  of  the  characters  reprL-scnted.  Among  them  were  Gov- 
ernor Jt)hu  Langdon  of  New  Hampshire,  Governor  Caleb  Strong 
of  Alassachusetts,  Uufus  King,  General  Butler  of  South  Caro- 
lina, General  Knox,  Jcjhn  Jay,  John  Hancock,  William  Pitt, 
Louis  XVI.,  King  George,  Lord  Nelson,  and  the  Indian  Chief, 
Corn  Planter.  There  was  also  one  allegorical  figure  representing 
Maternal  Affection,  and  another  a  Travelling  Preacher,  besides 
several  enormous  lions  occupying  pedestals.  Dexter  himself 
mono])olized  two  statues.  One  of  these  stood  near  the  door, 
holding  in  its  hand  a  placard,  which  Avas  inscribed,  "  I  am  first 
in  the  East,  the  first  in  the  West,  and  the  Greatest  Philosopher 
in  the  known  world."  The  cost  of  these  images,  with  the  col- 
umns on  which  they  were  placed,  is  said  to  have  been  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  This  was  the  only  way,  however,  in  which 
Lord  Timothy  was  able  to  bring  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  parasites,  who  cajoled  and 
flattered  him  to  his  heart's  content. 

Having  a  house  and  grounds  wliich  he  flattered  himself  would 
make  his  stuck-up  neighbors  split  with  envy,  Dexter  next  re- 
solved to  set  up  an  equipage  fit  for  a  lord ;  and  one  siiiting  his 
ideas  of  magnificence  was  accordingly  procured.  Some  one 
having  told  him  that  the  carriages  of  the  nobility  were  always 
decorated  with  a  coat  of  arms,  one  was  composed  on  demand 
and  painted  on  tlie  panel.  The  crest  may  have  been  a  dexter 
arm  brandishing  a  warming-pan,  with  the  motto,  "  By  this  I 
got  ye." 


296  NEW-ENHLAND   LECENDS. 

lu  the  matter  of  horses  Dexter  was  extremely  fastidious,  as 
well  as  capricious.  As  soon  as  he  grew  tired  of  one  color,  he 
would  sell  those  he  had  just  bought  at  extravagant  prices,  and 
buy  others.  His  costly  carriage,  drawn  l)y  beautiful  cream-col- 
ored animals,  became  one  of  the  sights  of  the  day  whenever 
the  owner  chose  to  take  an  airing;  but  to  the  luxury  of  the 
equipage  the  gaunt  and  mean  face,  half  buried  underneath  an 
enormous  cockeddiat,  the  spare  hgure  sitting  bolt  upright,  the 
hairless  dog  squatted  beside  it,  oll'ered  a  contrast  as  strikingly 
ridiculous  as  did  the  coacli  of  the  celebrated  Tittlebat-Titmouse, 
and  it  provoked  quite  as  much  laughter  when  it  passed  through 
the  town,  the  street  urchins  shouting  ironically,  "  Clear  the  Avay 
for  my  lord's  carriage  !  " 

In  this  coach  Dexter  once  drove  in  state  to  the  county  prison 
at  Ipswich,  where  he  served  a  short  sentence  for  liring  his  pistol 
at  a  countryman  who  stood  staring  at  his  museum  of  celebrities, 
and  who  did  not  move  on  when  my  Lord  Timothy  commanded 
him. 

liut  this  singular  being  did  not  consider  his  establishment  as 
complete  without  tlie  entourage  of  a  nobleman  in  the  days  of 
chivalry.  He  would  again  revive  the  age  of  poets  and  trouba- 
dours. Perhaps  the  most  unique  idea  of  all  was  the  engage- 
ment of  a  poet-laureate  to  write  his  praises  and  to  embalm  his 
memory  in  verse.  There  liai)pened  to  l)e  living  in  Newbury- 
port  one  Jonathan  Plummer,  an  eccentric  pedler  of  fish,  wlio 
had  a  penchant  for  extempore  rhyming  which  with  the  igno- 
rant and  illiterate  passed  for  genius.  A  bargain  was  forth- 
Avitli  struck  with  him  to  serve  in  the  capacity  of  poet-laureate, 
and  as  such  he  was  i^resently  installed  in  Dexter's  household. 
A  liandsome  new  livery  was  ordered,  consisting  of  a  fine  black 
broadcloth  coat,  with  stars  on  the  collar  and  fringe  on  the  skirts, 
shoes  with  large  silver  buckles,  a  cocked-liat,  and  a  gold-headed 
cane.  One  of  Plummcr's  poems  to  Ins  ])atron.  couqtrising  about 
liftiH'n  verses,  has  been  preserved  entire.  The  following  is  a 
specimen  :  — 


LOUD   TIMOTHY    DEXTKIt.  297 

Lord  Dexter  is  a  man  of  taiao, 

Most  celebrated  is  bis  name, 

More  precious  far  tbari  gold  tbat  's  pure  : 

Lord  Dexter  sbiue  forever  more  ! 

His  lidusc  is  wliite  and  Irinuued  witli  green  ; 
For  many  miles  it  may  be  seen  ; 
It  sliines  as  brigbt  as  any  star  ; 
The  fame  of  it  has  spread  alar. 

Lord  Dexter,  like  King  Solomon, 
Hath  gold  and  silver  by  tbe  ton  ; 
And  l)ells  to  clmrclies  be  batli  given, 
To  worsliip  tbe  great  King  of  Heaven. 

Not  content  with  all  this,  Dexter's  ambition  now  aimed  at 
nothing  less  than  literary  fame ;  and  this  was  achieved  at  a 
stroke  by  the  publication  of  his  "  Pickle  for  the  Knowing 
Ones,"  —  an  autobiography  which  has  ever  since  puzzled  those 
to  whom  it  was  addressed,  to  decide  whether  the  author  was 
really  more  knave  or  fool.  But  as  the  first,  and  probably  the 
last,  example  of  the  kind,  the  "  Pickle  "  had  immediate  success, 
although  in  every  way  it  is  a  most  grotesque  libel  upon  the 
good  name  of  literary  composition.  The  spelling  is  atrocious, 
and  there  was  no  attempt  at  punctuation ;  but  the  author's 
invention  supplied  this  defect  in  a  second  edition,  by  inserting 
a  page  or  more  of  punctuation-marks  at  the  end,  with  the  fol- 
lowing note  :  — 

"  Mister  printer  the  Nowing  ones  complane  of  my  book  tbe  fust 
edition  bad  no  stops  I  put  in  A  Nuf  here  and  they  may  peper  and 
sdt  it  as  they  plese." 

But  this  odd  notion  hardly  originated  with  Dexter,  original 
as  he  unquestionably  was,  inasmuch  as  Tom  Hood  has  an  account 
in  his  "  Reminiscences  "  of  a  literary  friend  who  placed  a  num- 
ber of  colons,  semicolons,  etc.,  at  the  bottom  of  his  communi- 
cation, adding, 

And  these  are  my  points  that  I  place  at  the  foot, 
That  you  may  put  stdps  tliat  I  can't  stop  to  put. 


298 


NE\Y-ENGLAXD    LEGENDS. 


Dexter's  uniiiue  speculation  iii  warming-pans,  told  by  himself 
in  the  "  Pickle,"  has  perliaps  done  more  to  transmit  his  name  to 
posterity  than  anything  else.     By  some  people  the  story  is  con- 
sidered as  nothing  short  of  a  pure  fab- 
rication, designed  for  those  inquisitive 
people   who   were   continually  asking 
how  Dexter  made   his   money.      But 
even  if  the  story  is    too   good   to  be 
true,  —  and  as  a  merchant  his  shrewd- 
ness was  proverbial,  —  the  world  has 
accepted  it   upon  his  own  testimony 
as  the  lucky  blunder  of  fortune's  favor- 
j     ite   and  fool.      The  man  being   him- 
I     self  an   enigma,   we   should    say  that 
I  in  his  case  it  is  the   improbable  that 

is  true. 

He  relates  that,  having  dreamed  three 
nights  running  that  warming-pans 
would  do  well  in  the  West  Indies, 
he  collected  "  no  more  than  forty-two 
thousand,"  which  were  put  on  board 
nine  vessels  boimd  to  different  ports, 
and  cleared  him  seventy-nine  per  cent. 
The  story  goes  that  one  of  Dexter's  captains,  being  a  shrewd  fel- 
low, took  off  the  covers  of  the  pans,  which  were  then  sold  to  the 
sugar-planters,  all  of  whom  were  anxious  to  obtain  them  for 
ladles. 

Dexter's  speculations  in  whalebone  and  Bibles  were  equally 
comical  and  absurd.  Again  he  dreamed  "  that  the  good  book 
was  run  down  in  this  country  so  low  as  half  price,  and  dull  at 
that.  I  had,"  he  says,  "  the  ready  cash  by  wholesale.  I  bought 
twenty-one  thousand.  I  put  them  into  twenty-one  vessels  for 
the  West  Indies,  and  sent  as  a  text  that  all  of  them  must  have 

one  Bible  in  each  family,  or  they  would  go  to ." 

Besides  putting  i\iith  in  dreams,  Dexter  believed  in  fortune- 
telling  as  well  as  fortune-making,  and  made  many  attempts  to 


WARMING-PAN. 


LOKI)    TIMOTHY    DEXTER. 


299 


pry  into  the   olt.srnrity   of  the   future  by  consultiiif^  the  oracle 
of  Lis  ueighborliood,  one  Madam  Hooper,  —  a  strange  character, 


LOKD   TIMOTHY   DEXTER. 


who,  after  teaching  school,  assumed  the  profession  of  fortune- 
telling.  The  renowned  jNIoU  Pitcher  also  had  Dexter  for  a 
patron,  and  her  influence  is  said  to  have  been  beneficial  to  him. 


300  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Another  person  avIio  is  said  to  have  exerted,  a  great  influence 
for  good  over  this  eccentric  man  was  a  negress  named  Lucy  Lan- 
caster, —  a  female  of  Amazonian  ^proportions,  who  is  described  as 
being  possessed  of  unusual  shrewdness  and  information.  Her 
father,  called  Csesar,  was  the  son  of  an  African  king,  and  was 
brought  to  the  country  as  a  slave.  So  highly  was  he  esteemer], 
that  on  "  Nigger  'Lection  Day  "  Lucy's  lather  acted  as  general- 
issimo, and  was  entitled  to  have  twelve  footmen  run  by  his  side, 
while  he  proudly  bestrode  a  spirited  horse  at  the  head  of  the 
sooty  procession. 

When  the  yellow  fever  raged  in  Xewburyport  in  1796,  Lucy 
Lancaster  proved  herself  indeed  of  royal  blood.  Strong  and 
fearless,  full  of  good  works,  she  devoted  herself  day  and  night  to 
the  sick,  principally  in  the  families  of  the  best  people  ;  Dexter, 
among  others,  having  need  of  her  services,  she  became  a  firm 
friend  and  counsellor  to  the  family.  Her  estimate  of  Dexter 
was  much  higher  than  the  common  one,  and  she  gave  him  credit 
for  more  honesty  of  purpose  than  most  people  did.  He  needed 
some  one  like  her  to  advise  him,  and  she  frequently  turned  his 
attention  from  mischievous  pursuits  by  suggesting  alterations 
and  improvements  to  be  made  in  his  house  and  grounds.  This 
woman  survived  Dexter  nearly  forty  years. 

One  of  the  oddest  of  Dexter's  freaks  was  his  mock  funeral, 
which  was  arranged  by  him  with  all  the  solemnity  of  prepara- 
tion requisite  for  a  real  interment.  In  his  garden  he  had  caused 
to  be  built  a  spacious  tomb,  while  in  his  house  he  had  long  kept 
a  costly  coffiu  made  of  mahogany,  richly  adorned. 

With  a  curiosity  perhaps  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  vain 
man,  he  wished  to  see  the  effect  his  funeral  would  produce.  Invi- 
tations were  issued,  mourning  apparel  was  prepared  for  his  family, 
some  one  was  found  to  ofticiate  as  minister,  and  the  procession 
was  duly  formed,  and  marched  to  the  vault  in  the  garden.  While 
this  farce  was  performing,  Dexter  was  looking  from  an  upper  win- 
dow, and  before  the  company  had  disjjcrsed,  he  was  found  beat- 
ing his  Avife  for  not  shedding  tears  at  his  pretended  demise. 

Of  his  conjugal  relations,  it  is  reported  by  one  who  knew  him 


TllH    OLD    HLM    OF    NKWBURY.  301 

well,  that,  becoming  (.lissatisliud  with  his  wiit;,  he  inade  a  bargain 
with  her  to  leave  him,  giving  her  a  thousand,  or  perliaps  two 
thousand,  dollars  in  exchange  for  his  liberty,  lie  then  adver- 
tised for  another  wife  ;  but  there  being  no  ap})licant,  he,  after 
"waiting  some  time,  was  glad  to  hire  his  own  wife  to  come  back 
by  the  oiler  of  a  sum  e([ual  to  that  he  had  originally  given  her 
to  go  away. 

On  the  2Gth  of  October,  180G,  Lord  Dexter  died  at  his  man- 
sion on  High  Street.  His  funeral  was  an  occasion  which  it 
would  have  pleased  him  to  witness,  if  such  sights  could  be  per- 
mitted to  vain  mortals  ;  but  as  the  town  officers  would  not,  for 
sanitary  reasons,  allow  his  remains  to  be  deposited  in  his  garden 
tomb,  he  Avas  laid  away  among  his  fellow  townsmen  in  the 
public  burying-ground  near  the  frog-pond. 

Not  long  after  his  death  a  gale  blew  down  many  of  the 
images,  and  the  place  grew  dilapidated. '  About  the  year  184G, 
while  it  was  being  used  as  a  factory  boarding-house,  the  estate 
was  purchased  by  E.  G.  Kelley,  of  Newburyport,  who  possessed 
wealth  and  taste,  and  he  proceeded  to  obliterate  as  far  as  pos- 
sible all  traces  of  his  predecessor's  follies.  The  three  presidents 
over  the  door  were  thrown  down  and  demolished  ;  the  grounds 
were  newly  laid  out  ;  and  now  nothing  except  the  eagle  on  the 
summit  of  the  cupola  remains  to  show  Dexter's  bizarre  achieve- 
ments in  ornamentation,  or  to  point  a  moral  upon  his  extrava- 
gances as  a  philosopher. 


THE   OLD   ELM   OF  NEWBURY. 

Ox  Parker  Street,  in  Old  Xowbury,  just  out  of  the  village, 
there  is  still  growing  the  gigantic  elm-tree  that  is  known 
far  and  wide  as  the  old  elm  of  Xewbury.  Coffin  says  that 
it  was  transplanted  and  set  out  here  by  Eichard  Jaques  in 
1713,  so  that  it  has  now  been  growing    on     this    spot    nearly 


302 


ne\v-enc;land  legends. 


two  liimdrcd  years.  Its  girth  is  euonnous,  Ijcing  twenty-four 
and  one  half  feet  at  one  foot  from  the  ground.  Now  that 
the  historic  old  elm  of  Boston  is  no  more,  this  is  undoubtedly 
the  largest  tree  of  its  species  in  New  England. 

Yet  older  than  the  tree  are  some  of  the  houses  in  the  neigh- 
borhood— 

Old  homesteads,  sacred  to  all  that  can 
Gladden  or  sadden  the  heart  of  man  ; 

and  still  older  are  the  corroded  stones  in  the  village  cliurchyard 
that  OA'erlooks  the  broad  estuary  of  the  river,  and  is  washed  by 
the  pond  of  the  floating  island  below  it.  Legendary  lore  clings 
around  these  aged  houses  like  the  mistletoe  to  the  oak,  and  lends 
its  charm  to  the  mystery  that  overshadows  them. 


r^^^ih 


I'LOATINO    ISLAND.    NKWBIRVPOKT,    ilASS. 


THE   OLD    ELM   OF    NFAVRURY.  303 

In  a  pretty  pastoral  legend  j\Iiss  Hannah  (Jould  gives  tlie 
origin  of  tlie  old  elm,  and  incidentally,  also,  an  engaging  picture 
of  the  farm  life  of  those  early  times  with  which  the  legend 
itself  is  associated. 


THE  OLD   ELM   OF  NEWBUEY. 

n.    F.    GOULD. 

Did  it  ever  come  in  your  way  to  pass 
The  silvery  pontl,  with  its  fringe  of  grass, 
And  threading  the  lane  hard  by  to  see 
The  veteran  elm  of  Newbury  ? 

Well,  that  old  elm  that  is  now  so  grand 

Was  once  a  twig  in  the  rustic  hand 

Of  a  youthful  peasant,  who  went  one  night 

To  visit  bis  love  by  the  tender  light 

Of  the  modest  moon  and  her  twinkling  host  ; 

While  the  star  tbat  lighted  his  bosom  most, 

And  gave  to  his  lonely  feet  their  speed, 

Abode  in  a  cottage  beyond  the  mead. 

It  is  not  recorded  how  long  he  stayed 
In  the  cheerful  house  of  the  smiling  maid. 
But  when  he  came  out  it  was  late  and  dark 
And  silent ;  not  even  a  dog  would  bark 
To  take  from  his  feeling  of  loneliness, 
And  make  the  length  of  his  way  seem  less. 

An  elm  grew  close  by  the  cottage's  eaves, 

So  he  plucked  him  a  twig  well  clothed  with  leaves 

So,  sallying  forth,  with  the  supple  arm 

To  serve  as  a  talisman  parrying  harm. 

He  felt  that,  though  his  heart  was  big, 

'T  was  even  stouter  for  having  the  twig  ; 

For  this,  he  thought,  would  answer  to  switch 

The  horrors  away,  as  he  crossed  the  ditch, 


304  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

The  meadow  and  copse,  wherein,  perchance, 
Will-o'-the-wisp  might  wickedly  dance  ; 
And,  wielding  it,  keep  him  from  having  a  chill 
At  the  menacing  sound  of  "  Whippoorwill ! " 
And  his  tiesh  from  creeping  beside  the  bog 
At  the  harsh  bass  voice  of  the  viewless  frog ; 
In  short,  he  felt  that  the  switch  would  be 
Guard,  plaything,  business,  and  company. 

When  he  got  safe  home,  and  joyfull}'  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  fair  one's  door. 

The  twig  took  root  ;  and,  as  time  flew  by, 
Its  boughs  spread  wide,  and  its  head  grew  high  ; 
While  the  priest's  good  service  had  long  Ijeen  done. 
Which  made  the  youth  and  the  maiden  one  ; 
And  theii-  young  scions  arose  and  played 
Around  the  tree  in  its  leafy  shade. 


THE  PROPHECY   OF  SAMUEL   SEWALL. 

THIS  piece,  so  full  of  the  milk  of  human  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  England  by 
the  labor  of  one's  hands  alone.  It  is  found  in  Sewall's  "  New 
Heaven  upon  the  New  Earth."  So  quaintly  is  it  expressed,  that 
only  the  original  language  can  fitly  set  forth  tlie  picture  of  pros- 
perous abundance  that  so  gladdened  the  good  old  man's  eyes 
when  looking  down  uj)on  it  from  tlie  Newbury  hills,     lietaiii- 


THE    PROrilECY   OF   SAMUEL   SEWALL.  305 

ing  this  as  much  as  possible,  Mr.  Whittier  lias  phrased  it  in 
poetic  form  that  is  singularly  like  the  prose  version. 

This,  let  us  say,  is  the  same  Samuel  Sewall  who,  as  one  of 
the  witchcraft  judges,  gained  a  lasting  notoriety,  and  whoso 
marriage  to  Hannah,  the  daughter  of  INlint-master  John  Hull, 
originated  the  tradition  that  she  received  her  own  weight  in 
silver  Piue-Treo  shillings  as  a  wedding  portion.  The  family 
has  always  held  a  distinguished  place  in  the  annals  of  C(dony 
and  State ;  and  Sewall's  remarkable  "  Diary,"  to  which  we 
have  before  referred,  is  a  storehouse  of  information  concern- 
ing the  events  and  manners  of  his  time.  The  prophecy  is  as 
follows  :  — 

"As  long  as  Plum  Island  shall  faithfully  keep  the  coiumanded 
Post,  Notwithstanding  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  the  places  of  their  acquaint- 
ance ;  xls  long  as  any  Cattel  shall  be  fed  with  the  Grass  growing  in 
the  meadows  which  doe  humbly  bow  themselves  before  Turkic  Hill  ; 
As  long  as  any  Sheep  shall  walk  upon  Old-town  Hills,  and  shall  from 
thence  pleasantly  look  down  upon  the  River  Parker  and  the  fruitful 
Marishes  l3dng  beneath ;  As  long  as  any  free  and  harmless  Doves 
shall  find  a  White  Oak  or  other  Tree  within  the  township  to  perch, 
or  feed,  or  build  a  careless  Nest  upon,  and  shall  volvmtarily  present 
themselves  to  perform  the  office  of  Gleaners  after  Barley  Harvest ; 
As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old  and  dote,  but  shall  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." 

PEOPHECY   OF   SAMUEL   SEWALL. 

J.    G.    WniTTIER. 

I  SEE  it  all  like  a  chart  unrolled. 
But  my  thoughts  are  full  of  the  past  and  old  ; 
I  hear  the  tales  of  my  boyhood  told, 
"^20 


306  NEiV-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

And  the  shadows  and  shapes  of  early  days 

Flit  diiuly  by  in  the  veiling  haze, 

With  measured  movement  and  rhythmic  chime 

Weaving  like  shuttles  my  web  of  rhyme. 

I  think  of  the  old  man  wise  and  good 

Who  once  on  yon  misty  hillsides  stood, 

(A  poet  who  never  measured  rhyme, 

A  seer  unknown  to  his  dull-eared  time.) 

And,  propped  on  his  staff  of  age,  looked  down, 

With  his  boyhood's  love,  on  his  native  town. 

Where,  written,  as  if  on  its  hills  and  plains. 

His  burden  of  prophecy  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  God  appointed,  shall  keep  its  post ; 
As  long  as  a  salmon  shall  haunt  the  deep 
Of  Merrimack  River,  or  sturgeon  leap  ; 
As  long  as  pickerel,  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  by  Turkey  Hill ; 
As  long  as  sheep  shall  look  from  the  side 
Of  Oldtown  Hill  on  marishes  wide. 
And  Parker  River,  and  salt-sea  tide  ; 
As  long  as  a  wandering  pigeon  shall  search 
The  fields  below  from  his  white-oak  perch. 
When  the  barley-harvest  is  ripe  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  yellow  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  breath  of  frost. 
Shall  never  a  holy  ear  be  lost, 


THE   DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE.  3U7 

But,  husked  by  Deutli,  in  the  Planter's  siLjht, 
Be  sown  a^'ain  in  the  liehls  of  li^'ht  !  " 

The  Island  still  is  purple  with  plums, 

Up  the  river  the  salmon  comes, 

The  sturgeon  leaps,  and  the  wild-fowl  feeds 

On  hillside  berries  and  marish  seeds,  — 

All  the  beautiful  signs  remain. 

From  spring-time  sowing  to  autumn  rain 

The  good  man's  vision  returns  again  ! 

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  own 

The  precious  seed  by  the  fathers  sown  ! 


THE    DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE. 

ON'E  does  not  go  far  into  the  history  of  our  legendary  lore 
without  making  the  discover}'-  that  Cotton  Mather's  study, 
like  tliat  of  his  father  before  him,  was  the  congenial  receptacle 
for  everything  that  might  happen  in  New  England  out  of  the 
common.  Upon  this  centre  the  dark  tales  converged  like  a 
flight  of  bats  in  the  night.  His  father  had  solicited  the  New- 
England  ministers  to  contribute  everything  of  a  marvellous 
character  that  might  come  within  their  knowledge  or  inider 
their  observation,  to  the  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  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale. 
To  this  sagacious  foresight  we  owe  that  singularly  interesting 
book,  the  "  Remarkable  Providences,"  of  Increase  Mather.  To 
this  we  also  owe  the  Double-Headed  Snake  of  Newbury,  —  a 
reptile  that  would  certainly  have  made  the  fortune  of  any  itine- 


308 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


rant  showman  of  our  own  period,  have  put  the  four-legged  girl 
coiupletely  into  the  shade,  and  have  caused  tlie  devil-tish  of 
Victor  Hugo  to  shed  tears  of  vexation. 

The  account  of  this  wonderful  snake  comes  in  a  letter  from 
the  Eeverend  Christopher  Toppan,  minister  of  Newbury,  ad- 
dressed to  Cotton  Mather.  Considering  tliat  it  emanates  from 
a  source  so  entirely  respectable  and  trustworthy,  it  is  to  be  lioped 
that  nobody  will  treat  it  as  an  idle  village  tale.     He  writes  :  — 

"Concerning  the  Amphisbosna,  as  soon  as  I  received  your  conunands 
I  made  diligent  enquiry  of  several  persons  who  saw  it  after  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. 


YE   DOUBLE-UEADEn   SNAKE. 


about  twelve  or  fourteen  ;  one  of  which,  a  pert,  sensible  youngster,  told 
me  yt  one  of  liis  mates,  running  towards  him,  cryed  out  there  Avas  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  would  doe  likewise.  After  a  little  time,  the 
snake,  upon  his  striking  at  him,  gathered  up  his  whole  body  into  a 
sort  of  quoil,  except  both  heads,  whicli  kept  towards  him,  and  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  two  mouths  and  two  stinys  (as  they  are  vulgarly  called), 
which  stings  or  tongues  it  kept  putting  forth  after  the  usual  manner 
of  snakes  till  he  killed  it. 


THE   DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE,  309 

"Postscript.  —  Before  ciise;iliii,[T  I  .spoke  with  the  other  man  who 
examined  the  Amphisb;eiia  (and  he  is  also  a  man  of  credit),  and  lie 
assures  me  yt  it  had  really  two  heads,  one  at  eacli  end,  two  moutlis, 
two  stings,  or  tongues,  and  so  fortli. 

"Sir,  I  have  nothing  more  to  add,  but  that  he  may  have  a  remem- 
brance in  your  prayers  who  is, 

"  Sir,  your  most  humljle  servant, 

"  CHRISTOrHEE   TOPPAN." 


THE  DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE   OF  NEWBUKY. 

J.    G.    WIIITTIEU. 

Far  away  in  the  twilight  time 
Of  every  people,  in  every  clime. 
Dragons  and  griffins  and  monsters  dire, 
Born  of  water,  and  air,  and  fire, 
Or  nursed,  like  the  Python,  in  the  mud 
And  ooze  of  the  old  Deucalion  Hootl, 
Crawl  and  wriggle  and  foam  with  rage, 
Through  dusk  tradition  and  ballad  age. 
So  from  the  chUdhood  of  Newbuiy  town 
And  its  time  of  fable  the  tale  comes  down 
Of  a  terror  which  haunted  bush  and  brake, 
The  Amphisbaena,  the  Double  Snake  ! 

Whether  he  lurked  in  the  Oldtown  fen 
Or  the  gray  earth-flax  of  the  Devil's  Den, 
Or  swam  in  the  wooded  Artichoke, 
Or  coiled  by  the  Northman's  Written  Eock. 
Nothing  on  record  is  left  to  show ; 
Only  the  fact  that  he  lived,  we  know, 
And  left  the  cast  of  a  double  head 
In  the  scaly  mask  wliicli  he  yearly  shed. 
For  he  carried  a  head  where  his  tail  sliould  be 
And  the  two,  of  course,  could  never  agree. 
But  wriggled  about  with  main  and  might, 
Now  to  the  left  and  now  to  the  right ; 


310  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Pulling  and  twisting;  this  way  and  that, 
Neither  knew  what  the  other  was  at. 

Far  and  wide  the  tale  was  told, 

Like  a  snowball  growing  wliile  it  rolkMl. 

The  nurse  hushed  with  it  tlie  baby's  cry  ; 

And  it  served,  in  the  worthy  minister's  eye, 

To  paint  the  primitive  sL^r^ient  by. 

Cotton  Mather  came  galloping  down 

All  the  way  to  Newbury  town, 

With  his  eyes  agog  and  his  ears  set  wide, 

And  his  marvellous  inkhorn  at  his  side  ; 

Stirrmg  the  while  in  the  shalloAv  pool 

Of  his  brains  for  the  lore  he  learned  at  school, 

To  garnish  the  story,  with  here  a  streak 

Of  Latin,  and  there  another  of  Greek  : 

And  the  tales  he  heard  and  the  notes  he  took, 

Behold !  are  they  not  in  his  Wonder-Book  I 


THOMAS    MACY,    THE    EXILE. 

THE  archives  of  Massacliusetts  once  more  furnish  the  inci- 
dent concerning  which,  as  in  the  "  King's  Missive,"  a 
letter — a  mere  scrap  —  lias  sufficed  for  the  poet  to  construct  his 
legend. 

Thomas  ^lacy,  yeoman,  of  Salisbury,  in  the  county  of  Essex, 
is  the  subject  of  Whittier's  ballad  entitled  "Tlie  Exiles,"  which 
first  appeared  in  the  "  North  Star,"  a  Philadelphia  annual.  As  it 
was  then  published,  it  had  two  stanzas  more  tlian  it  now  lias  in 
the  author's  collected  poems. 

This  Macy,  the  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.  Tliis  simple 
act  of  hospitality  being  in  violation  oi'  tlic  law  prohibiting  any 
man  to  open  his  door  to  a  Quaker,  no  matter  how  urgent  soever 


THOMAS  MACY,  THE  EXILE.  311 

the  call  upon  his  Imnianity  might  l)o,  Macy,  the  offending  cul- 
prit, was  cited  tui'thwitli  to  appear  before  the  (Jeneral  Court  at 
Boston  to  answer  the  complaint  preferred  against  liim. 

Instead  of  complying  Avitli  the  rei^uisition  which  very  few 
woidd  be  found  willing  in  those  days  to  disobey,  Macy  wrote  an 
humble,  apologetic,  anil  deprecatory  letter  to  the  General  Court. 
The  letter  indicates  a  man  of  a  very  different  stamp  from  the 
antique  hero  that  the  poem  depicts  in  the  act  of  cheating  the 
minions  of  the  law  of  their  prey.  From  its  terms  we  have  little 
notion  that  the  **  Bold  Macy,"  as  he  is  styled  there,  was  cast  in 
the  same  stern  mouhl  that  the  martyrs  are ;  but  we  have  a  very 
distinct  one,  that  if  not  actually  a  craven,  he  believed  that  in  his 
case  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor.  At  any  rate,  he 
wisely  concluded  to  keep  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  did 
so.  We  are  sure  that  the  reader  would  regard  any  tampering 
with  Macy's  letter  as  unpardonable  as  we  do.     He  says  :  — 

"  This  is  to  entreat  the  honored  court  not  to  be  offended  because 
of  my  non-appearance.  It  is  not  from  any  slighting  the  authority  of 
this  honored  court,  nor  from  feare  to  answer  the  case,  but  I  have  bin 
for  some  weeks  past  very  ill,  and  am  so  at  present,  and  notwithstand- 
ing my  illness,  yet  I,  desirous  to  appear,  have  done  my  utmost 
endeavour  to  hire  a  horse,  but  cannot  procure  one  at  present.  I  being 
at  present  destitute  have  endeavoured  to  purchase,  but  at  present  can- 
not attaine  it,  but  I  shall  relate  the  truth  of  the  case  as  my  answer 
should  be  to  ye  honored  court,  and  more  cannot  be  proved,  nor  so 
much.  On  a  rainy  morning  there  came  to  my  house  Edward  Whar- 
ton and  three  men  more  ;  the  said  Wharton  spoke  to  me,  saying  that 
they  were  traveling  eastward,  and  desired  me  to  direct  them  in  the 
way  to  Hampton,  and  asked  me  how  far  it  was  to  Casco  bay.  I  never 
saw  any  of  ye  men  afore  except  Wharton,  neither  did  I  require  their 
names,  or  who  they  were,  but  by  their  carriage  I  thought  they  might 
be  Quakers,  and  told  them  so,  and  therefore  desired  them  to  passe  on 
their  way,  saying  to  them  I  might  possildy  give  offence  in  entertain- 
ing them,  and  as  soone  as  the  violence  of  the  rain  ceased  (for  it  rained 
very  hard)  tliey  went  away,  and  I  never  saw  them  since.  The  time 
that  they  stayed  in  the  house  was  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour, 
but  I  can  safely  aflBrme  it  was  not  an  hour.     They  spake  not  many 


312 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


words  in  the  time,  iieitber  was  I  at  leisure  to  talke  with  them,  for  I 
came  home  wet  to  the  skin  immediately  al'ore  they  came  to  the  house, 
and  I  found  my  wife  sick  in  bed.  If  this  satistie  not  the  honored 
court,  I  shall  sulyectto  their  sentence.  I  have  not  willingly  olfended. 
I  aju  ready  to  serve  antl  obey  you  in  the  Lord. 

"Tho.  Macy." 


ESCAPE    OF    GOODMAN   MACY. 


Three  of  these  men,  being  preachers,  could  look  for  no  mercy 
from  the  Puritan  authorities,  who  charged  them  with  going  about 
seducing  his  Majesty's  good  subjects  to  their  "cursed"  opinions. 
One  of  them,  Edward  Wharton,  was  an  old  offender.  Two  of 
them,  Robinson  and  Stevenson,  are  the  same  persons  who,  s*. 
little  later  on,  were  hanged  at  Boston,  as  related  in  our  account 
of  Mrs.  Dyer.  Tliese  itinerants  undoubtedly  knew  wliere  to 
apply,  and  to  whom.  Macy  knew  Wharton  ;  he  Avas  fully 
aware  of  the  risk  tliat  he  ran  in  breaking  the  law.     But  he  and 


THOMAS  MACY,  THE  EXILE,  313 

other  Quakers  of  ^'cwljury  and  8alisl)ury  had  ah-eady  purclijiaed 
the  Island  of  Nantuekct,  to  whieli  it  now  seems  [)rol)altle  that 
they  intended  reinoving  out  of  lianu's  way,  as  that  iskuid  was 
uot  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Bay  Colony. 

Having  thus  secured  an  asylum  in  advance,  and  the  General 
Court  refusing  to  allow  his  explanation  or  accejjt  his  apology, 
tradition  now  steps  in  to  inform  us  that,  immediately  upon 
learning  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  Macy  and  his  wife  took  an 
^pen  boat,  put  their  children  and  their  movable  effects  into  it, 
and  in  this  frail  conveyance  they  made  their  way  along  the 
coast  to  Cape  Cod,  and  thence  to  Nantucket.  Edward  Starbuck, 
of  Salisbury,  accompanied  them.  Through  persecution,  then, 
Macy  became  the  first  white  inhabitant  of  this  famed  isle  of  the 
sea;  and  from  his  landing  at  Maddequet  in  the  autumn  of  1659 
its  settlement  dates  in  history. 

The  ballad  supposes  Macy's  house  to  be  suddenly  surrounded 
by  a  troop  of  horsemen  while  the  proscribed  Wharton  is  under 
the  protection  of  his  roof.  Macy  disputes  with  the  sheriff  until 
the  minister,  who  is  supposed  to  be  present,  urges  the  ofiicer  also 
to  seize  Macy,  whereupon  the  goodman  and  his  wife,  breaking 
away  from  them,  run  for  the  river :  — 

Ho !  speed  the  Macys,  neck  or  naught,  — 

The  river-course  was  near:  — 
The  plashing  on  its  pebbled  shore 

Was  nmsic  to  their  ear. 


A  leap  —  they  gain  the  Iwat  —  and  there 
The  goodman  wields  his  oar  : 

"111  luck  Tietide  them  all,"  —  he  cried, — 
"  The  laggards  upon  the  shore." 

Down  through  the  crashing  underwood, 

The  burly  slieritf  came  :  — 
"Stand,  goodman  Macy,  —  yield  thyself; 

Yield  in  the  Kind's  own  name." 


314  NEW-ENflLANI)    LEGENDS. 

"  Now  out  upon  thy  hangman's  face  ! " 
Bold  Macy  answered  then,  — 

"Whip  women  on  the  vilhige  green, 
But  meddle  not  with  men." 

With  skilful  hand  and  wary  eye 
The  harbor-bar  was  crossed ;  — 

A  plaything  of  the  restless  wave, 
The  boat  on  ocean  tossed. 

They  passed  the  gray  rocks  of  Cape  Ann. 

And  Gloucester's  harbor-bar  ; 
The  watch-fire  of  the  garrison 

Shone  like  a  settin"  star. 


Far  round  the  bleak  and  stormy  Cape 
The  vent'rous  Macy  passed, 

And  on  Nantucket's  naked  isle, 
Drew  up  his  boat  at  last. 

And  yet  tliat  isle  remaineth 

A  refuge  of  the  free, 
As  when  true-hearted  Macy 

Beheld  it  from  the  sea. 

God  bless  the  sea-beat  island  !  — 

And  grant  for  evermore, 
That  charity  and  freedom  dwell 

As  now  upon  her  shore  ! 


TELLING    THE    BEES. 

RESPECTING  bees,  one  very  old  superstition  among  others 
is,  as  I  can  strictly  affirm,  still  cherished,  surviving,  appar- 
ently, tlirough  that  peculiarity  of  the  mind  wliicli,  tlie  event  being 
uncertain,  elects  to  give  it  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  rather  than  to 


THE    STUANtiK    CASE    UF    GOODMAN    MORSE  315 

discard  it  as  a  childish  and  meaningless  custom.  This  is  the  com- 
mon belief  that  bees  must  be  made  acc^uuiuted  with  the  death  of 
any  member  of  the  family,  otherwise  these  intelligent  little  crea- 
tures will  either  desert  the  hive  in  a  pet,  or  leave  oil'  working  and 
die  inside  of  it.  The  old  way  of  doing  this  was  for  the  good  wife 
of  the  house  to  go  and  hang  the  stand  of  hives  with  black,  the 
usual  symbol  of  mourning,  she  at  the  same  time  softly  humming 
some  doleful  tune  to  herself.  Another  way  was  for  the  master 
to  approach  the  hives  and  rap  gently  upon  them.  When  the 
bees'  attention  was  thus  secured,  he  would  say  in  a  low  voice 
that  such  or  such  a  person  —  mentioning  the  name  —  was  dead. 
This  pretty  and  touching  superstition  is  the  subject  of  ouo  of 
Wliittier's  "  Home  Ballads." 


THE  STRANGE   CASE   OF   GOODMAN 
MORSE. 

IX  the  year  1679,  or  about  twelve  years  before  the  lamentable 
outbreak  of  witchcraft  at  Salem  Village,  there  happened  in 
that  part  of  Xewbury,  now  known  as  Newburyport,  and  to  one 
Goodman  Morse  of  that  town,  a  series  of  petty  annoyances  that 
were  forthwith  set  down  to  the  accoimt  of  the  arch-fiend  him- 
self, since,  as  everybody  said,  no  one  else  but  the  devil  himself 
could  have  done  such  things,  in  the  first  place,  or  would  have 
done  them,  in  the  next,  unless  prompted  by  a  more  than  human 
malignity.  This  is  instructive.  It  shows  us  the  state  of  mind 
in  which  the  people  of  that  day  lived,  and  so  prepares  us,  in  a 
measure,  for  the  dreadful  events  which  followed. 

This  Goodman  Morse  was  an  industrious  cobbler,  about  sixty- 
five  years  old,  with  whom  lived  his  wife  and  grandson,  a  lad 
whose  roguish  disposition,  we  strongly  suspect,  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  aU  the  troubles  to  which  this  aged  couple  was  subjected. 
For  instance,  Goodman  ]\Iorse's  tools  would  suddenly  disappear, 
while  quietly  at  work  at  his  bench  ;  brickbats  and  old  shoes 
would  come  clattering  down  the  chimney  without   the  aid  of 


316  NKW-ENGLANI)    LEGENDS. 

Imniau  liaiuls.  These  inflictions,  often  repeated,  drove  Goodman 
Morse  nearly  frantic.  To  a  certainty,  the  house  was  bewitched. 
Caleb  Powell,  Morse's  neighbor,  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that 
the  grandson  was  the  real  culprit.  But  instead  of  declaring  his 
suspicions  in  an  open  way,  he  persuaded  Morse  that  he  could 
exorcise  the  evil  spirit  by  his  command  of  secret  power,  pro- 
vided he  could  have  the  boy  put  under  his  hand.  In  truth,  the 
strange  molestations  suddenly  ceased  with  the  lad's  departure, 
whereupon  Powell  was  immediately  suspected  of  dealing  in  the 
Black  Art,  was  arrested,  tried,  and  narrowly  escaped  with  his 
life,  as  will  appear  by  the  following  statements  set  forth  by 
William  Morse,  himself,  in  which  he  relates  what  he  and  his 
wife  heard  and  saw  in  this  bewitched  house  :  — 

"  Last  Thursday  night  my  wife  &  I  being  in  bed  we  heard  a  gret 
noies  against  the  ruf  with  stekes  &  stones  throwing  against  the  hous 
with  great  vialanse  whereupon  I  myself  arose  &  my  wife  &  saw  not 
anny  body,  but  was  forsed  to  return  into  the  house  againe,  the  stones 
being  thrown  so  vilantly  against  us  we  gooing  to  bed  againe  &  the 
same  noies  in  the  hus  we  lock  the  dore  again  fast  and  about  midnight 
we  beard  a  grete  noyes  of  a  hoge  in  the  hous  and  I  arose  and  found  a 
grete  hoge  in  the  hous  and  the  dore  being  shut.  I  opened  the  dore 
the  hoge  running  vilently  out." 

And  in  conclusion  the  poor,  silly  creature  declares  that,  — 

"  A  mate  of  a  ship  coming  often  to  me  and  said  he  much  grefed  for 
nie  and  said  the  boye  was  the  case  of  all  my  truble  and  my  wife  was 
much  rouged  &  was  no  wich,  and  if  I  would  let  him  have  the  boye 
but  one  day  he  would  warrant  me  no  more  truble.  I  being  persuaded 
to  it  he  come  the  nex  day  at  the  brek  of  day  and  the  boy  was  with 
him  untel  night  and  I  had  not  any  truble  since." 

It  thus  fell  out  that  honest  Caleb  Powell,  instead  of  being 
thanked  for  his  pains,  was  accused  of  being  a  wizard,  hence  his 
arrest  and  trial,  as  already  mentioned. 

At  the  March  term  of  the  court  at  Ipswich  (1G80)  Powell's 
case  again  came  x\\)  and  additional  testimony  was  brought  out. 
Sarali  Hale  and  Joseph  IMirick  testify  that  Joseph  Moores  hath 
often  said  in  their  hearing  that  if  there  were  any  wizards  he  was 


TUK    STIIANC.E    CASE    OF    GOODMAN    MORSE.  317 

sure  Caleb  Powell  was  one.     This  Muores  was  boatswain  of  the 
ship  of  which  Caleb  Powell   was  mate. 

Mary  Tucker,  aged  about  twenty,  uiatle  the  following 
deposition  :  — 

"She  remerabereth  that  Caleb  Powell  came  into  their  house  and 
sayd  to  this  purpose  that  he  coming  to  William  Morse,  his  house,  and 
the  old  man  being  at  prayer  he  thought  not  fit  to  go  in,  but  looked 
in  at  the  window  and  he  sayd  he  had  broken  the  inchantnient  for  he 
saw  the  boy  play  tricks  while  he  was  at  prayer,  and  mentioned  some  : 
and  among  the  rest  that  he  saw  him  to  tling  the  shoo  at  the  old 
man's  head." 

Mark  tlie  conclusion  that  the  learned  court  came  to  after 
listening  to  all  the  evidence  that  could  be  produced  against  poor 
Powell ! 

"  Upon  hearing  the  complaint  brought  to  this  court  against  Caleb 
Powell  for  suspicion  of  working  by  the  devill  to  the  molesting  of  the 
family  of  William  Morse  of  Newbury,  though  this  court  cannot  find 
any  evident  ground  of  proceeding  farther  against  the  sayd  Powell  yett 
we  determine  that  he  hath  given  such  ground  of  suspicion  of  his  so 
dealing  that  we  cannot  so  acquit  him  but  that  he  justly  deserves  to 
beare  his  owne  shame  and  the  costs  of  prosecution  of  the  complaint." 

Sucli  Avas  the  return  that  the  kind-hearted  sailor  got  for  try- 
ing to  help  his  neighbor  out  of  his  troubles.  But  since  Powell 
had  escaped  it  was  necessary  to  find  another  victim  and,  this 
time,  Morse's  wife  Elizabeth  was  hit  upon  as  the  guilty  one. 
Therefore, 

On  the  20th  of  May,  1G80,  at  a  Court  of  Assistants  held  in 
Boston,  she  was  indicted  by  the  grand  jury  for  "  not  having  the 
fear  of  God  before  her  eyes,  being  instigated  by  the  divil  and 
had  fiimiliarity  with  the  divil  contrary  to  the  peace  of  our 
sovereign  lord  the  king,  liis  crown  &  dignity,  the  laws  of  God, 
and  of  this  jurisdiction  "  &c.  The  result  was  a  verdict  of  guilty, 
and  Goody  Morse  was  condemned  to  death  by  the  governor  on 
the  27th  of  May  in  the  following  words;  — 

"  Elisabeth  Morse,  you  are  to  goe  from  hence  to  the  place  from 
whence  you  came  and  thence  to  the  place  of  execution  and  there  to 


318  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  you  be  dead  and  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
your  soul." 

The  court  was  adjourned,  from  day  to  day,  until  Juuc  1, 
when  the  governor  and  magistrates  voted  to  reprieve  Goody 
Morse  to  the  October  term.  To  some,  this  action  proved  so  dis- 
tasteful, that  a  complaint  was  drawn  up,  in  writing,  because  the 
witch  had  not  suffered  the  penalty  of  the  law.  The  next  year 
the  case  was  brought  before  the  Great  and  General  Court,  by 
two  petitions  from  the  husband  of  the  accused,  in  which  he 
attempted  to  free  his  wife  from  the  deadly  accusations  made 
against  her. 

As  a  sample  of  the  witnesses  who  testified  to  prove  Goody 
Morse  a  witch  one  Zechariah  Davis  stated  tliat  William  Morse's 
wife  asked  him  to  bring  her  a  "  passell  of  winges  "  the  next  time 
he  came  over  from  Salisbury,  but  he  came  over  three  or  four 
times  and  did  not  think  of  it ;  finally  she  told  him  that  she  did 
wonder  his  memory  was  so  bad.  When  he  got  liome  he  went 
to  the  barn  and  there  were  "  3  calfs  in  a  pen."  One  of  tliem 
''fell  a  dancing  &  a  roreing  "  and  was  in  a  condition  he  never 
saw  a  calf  in  before  —  they  heard  him  "  roer  "  several  times  in 
the  niglit,  and  in  the  morning  when  he  went  to  the  barn,  there 
he  was  "seting  upon  his  taile  like  a  doge  "  "  and  1  never  see  no 
cafe  set  after  tliat  manner  before  &  so  he  remained  in  these  fits 
while  he  died." 

Mr.  Coffin,  the  historian  of  Newbury,  believes  that  the  life  of 
Goody  Morse  was  saved  by  the  firmness  of  Governor  Bradstreet, 
and  "  tlie  town  of  Xewbury  thus  prevented  from  offering  the 
first  victim,  in  Essex  County,  to  that  lamentable  spirit  of 
delusion,  which,  twelve  years  after,  left  so  dark  a  stain  on  its 
annals." 


HAMPTON   LEGENDS. 


THE  strip  of  seacoast,  extending  itself  between  the  Merriniac 
and  Piscataqiui,  is  a  nearly  unbroken  line  of  hard  sand 
beach,  washed  clean  and  white  by  the  ceaseless  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Salisbury  Sands  begins,  and  Hampton 
and  Rye  beaches  continue,  the  line,  only  here  and  there  broken 
by  the  outlet  of  some  tidal  river  or  shallow  creek,  or  where 
some  bold  foreland,  like  Boar's  Head,  lifts  its  huge  bulk  far  out 
from  the  shore.  Perfectly  protected  by  these  beaches,  long 
leagues  of  yellow  marshes  stretch  themselves  languidly  out  in 
the  sun,  aff'ording  full  play  to  the  ocean  breezes  so  refreshing  to 
tired  brain  and  weary  eye. 

Salisbury  has  for  more  than  a  hundred  years  been  celebrated 
for  the  annual  gatherings  that  its  citizens  hold  on  the  beach 
there,  in  imitation  of  the  "clam  feasts"  of  the  Indians,  with 
whom  the  custom  originated,  and  who  made  the  occasion  one  of 
much  ceremony  and  solemnity,  inasmuch  as  the  sea  was  to  them 
a  great  harvest-field  provided  by  their  God  of  Plenty  for  the 
sustenance  of  his  red  children. 

Whittier's  "  Tent  on  the  Beach  "  was  pitched  at  the  mouth  of 
Hampton  River,  at  the  extremity  of  the  Salisbury  Sands;  and 


320  NEW-EXCxLAND   LEGENDS. 

this  is  also  the  locality  of  the  "  Wreck  of  Eivermouth,"  found 
in  that  collection,  which  is  something  in  the  manner  of  Long- 
fellow's "  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  the  "  tent "  here  doing  the 
duty  of  the  ancient  tavern  there.  Both  are,  however,  in  their 
method,  a  distinct  reminiscence  of  the  "  Decamerone "  of  Boc- 
caccio. But  Whittier's  is  a  voice  arising  from  the  sea,  full  of  its 
charm  and  mystery.     Standing  at  his  tent  door,  — 

N  ort  hward  a  green  bluff  broke  the  chain 
Of  saud-hills  ;  southward  stretched  a  plain 
Of  salt-grass,  Avith  a  river  winding  down, 
Sail-whitened,  and  beyond  the  steeples  of  the  town. 

That  is  Boar's  Head ;  the  Merrimack,  with  Newburyport  in 
the  distance. 

Again,  the  poet  points  us  to  — 

the  sunny  isles  in  view, 
East  of  the  grisly  Head  of  the  Boar ; 

and  then  to  where  — 

Agamenticus  lifts  its  blue 
Disk  of  a  cloud  the  woodlands  o'er. 

So  we  feel  that  the  "  Tent  on  the  Beach,"  instead  of  emanat- 
ing from  within  the  narnnv  limits  of  four  walls,  where  the  doors 
are  securely  bolted  and  barred  against  the  weather,  is  the  voice 
of  jSTature  herself,  —  of  the  free  breeze,  the  billows,  and  the  foam, 
which  imparts  the  invigorating  quality  to  these  verses,  and  gives 
them  a  distinct  and  captivating  out-of-door  flavor. 

Of  his  legendary  stories  that  arc  associated  witli  Ham])ton  the 
poet  says  :  — 

A  simple  plot  is  mine  :  legends  and  runes 
Of  credulous  days  ;  old  fancies,  that  have  lain 
Silent  from  boyhood,  taking  voice  again, 
Warmed  into  life  once  more,  even  as  the  tunes 
That,  frozen  in  the  tabled  hunting-horn, 
Thawed  into  sound. 


HAMPTON   LEGENDS.  321 

Hampton,  formerly  the  Indian  Winnicumet,  is  an  old  border 
settlement  of  the  Jiay  Colony,  that  was  transferred,  through  the 
blundering  of  her  agents,  to  New  Hampshire  when  the  long 
dispute  about  the  boundary  between  the  two  governments  was 
finally  settled.  The  singular  and  apparently  eccentric  course  of 
this  line,  resend)ling  a  Virginia  fence,  is  not  due  to  chance,  but 
to  the  crookedness  of  Colonial  politics.  While  this  controversy 
Avas  pending,  the  legislative  bodies  of  both  governments  once 
held  a  session  at  Hampton  Falls,  —  which  course,  it  was  thought, 
by  bringing  the  rival  interests  together,  might  end  the  dispute, 
but  did  not.  Whereupon  some  poetaster  of  the  period  gave  the 
following  rhymed  version  of  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance " 
attending  the  entry  of  the  Massachusetts  dignitaries  into  the 
humble  frontier  village.     He  says  :  — 

Dear  Paddy,  you  ne'er  did  behold  such  a  sight 

As  yesterday  morning  was  seen  before  night. 

You  in  all  your  born  days  saw,  nor  I  did  n't  neither. 

So  many  fine  horses  and  men  ride  together. 

At  the  head  the  lower  house  trotted  two  in  a  row, 

Then  all  the  higher  house  pranced  after  the  low  ; 

Then  the  Governor's  coach  galloped  on  like  the  wind. 

And  the  last  that  came  foremost  were  troopers  behind. 

But  I  fear  it  means  no  good  to  your  neck  nor  mine. 

For  they  say  't  is  to  fix  a  right  place  for  the  line. 

As  soon  as  you  have  crossed  this  line,  the  people,  pointing 
toward  their  mountains,  will  tell  you  that  there  is  no  air  like  New- 
Hampshire  air.  As  soon  as  you  shall  have  passed  beyond  this 
boundary  you  no  longer  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  the  old 
Puritan  life,  but  one  emanating  from  a  different  and  antagonistic 
source,  —  into  wdiich,  nevertheless,  the  more  vigorous  currents 
originating  on  the  other  side  of  the  border  constantly  infused 
themselves  and  kept  it  pure. 

The  most  interesting  thing  about  Hampton,  apart  from  its 
legends,  is  the  singular  promontory  of  Boar's  Head,  which  is 
one  of  the  noted  resorts  of  the  New-England  coast,  and  one  of 
the  earliest  to  be  visited  for  health  or  pleasure. 

21 


322  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Boar's  Head  is  indeed  a  puzzle.  It  is  a  heap  of  drift  gently 
ascending  from  the  marshes  to  the  crumbling  blow  of  a  lofty 
headland,  against  which,  far  below  you,  the  sea  dashes  wildly. 
The  bowlders  sticking  in  its  sides  look  as  if  they  might  have 
been  shot  there  in  the  days  when  stones  supplied  the  want  of 
cannon-balls ;  for  we  look  around  without  seeing  anything  to 
account  for  their  presence.  It  is  wind-swept  and  treeless.  A  few 
dwarf  junipers  anil  some  clumps  of  bushes  cling  mournfully  to  its 
sides,  which  they  are  unable  to  ascend.  A  low  reef  stretching 
out  towards  the  southe;..st,  resembling  the  broken  vertebne  of 
some  fabled  sea-monster,  shows  in  what  direction  the  grand  old 
headland  has  most  suffered  from  the  unremitting  work  of  demo- 
lition carried  on  by  the  waves,  which  pour  and  break  like  an 
avalanche  over  the  blackened  bowlders,  and  fly  hissing  into  the 
air  like  the  dust  rising  from  its  ruins.  As  if  to  conflrm  this 
theory,  nothing  grows  on  the  southeast  point,  while  on  the 
northeast  grasses  flourish  and  daisies  nod  to  the  cool  sea-breeze. 
We  say  again.  Boar's  Head  is  a  puzzle. 

It  is  indeed  an  inspiring  sight  to  see  the  surf  breaking  on 
each  side  of  you  in  a  continuous  line  of  foam  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Merrimack  to  Little  Boar's  Head,  and  then,  turning  tow- 
ards the  ofting,  see  the  dark  cluster  of  the  Isles  of  Shoals  lying 
low  on  the  still  more  extended  expanse  of  the  ocean. 


JONATHAN  MOULTON  AND  THE  DEVIL. 

(From  "  The  Heart  of  tlie  White  Mountains.") 

THE  legendary  hero  of  Hampton  is  (jreneral  Jonathan 
Moulton.  He  is  no  fictitious  personage,  but  one  of  ver- 
itable flesh  and  blood,  who,  having  accpiired  considerable  celebrity 
in  the  old  wars,  lives  on  through  the  medium  of  a  local  legend. 

The  General,  says  the  legend,  encountered  a  far  more  notable 
adversary  than  Abenaki  warriors  or  conjurers,  among  whom  he 


324  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

had  lived,  and  whom  it  was  the  passion  of  his  life  to  exter- 
minate. 

In  an  evil  hour  his  yearning  to  amass  wealth  suddenly  led 
him  to  declare  that  he  would  sell  his  soul  for  the  possession  of 
unbounded  riches.  Think  of  the  Devil,  and  he  is  at  your  elbow. 
The  fatal  declaration  was  no  sooner  made  —  the  General  was 
sitting  alone  by  his  fireside  —  than  a  shower  of  sparks  came 
down  the  chimney,  out  of  which  stepped  a  man  dressed  from 
top  to  toe  in  black  velvet.  The  astonished  Moulton  noticed 
that  the  stranger's  ruffles  were  not  even  smutted. 

"  Your  servant.  General !  "  quoth  the  stranger,  suavely.  "  But 
let  us  make  haste,  if  you  please,  for  I  am  expected  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  he  added,  picking  up  a  live 
coal  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  consulting  his  watch 
Avith  it. 

The  General's  wits  began  to  desert  him.  Portsmouth  was 
five  leagues  —  long  ones  at  that  —  from  Hampton  House,  and  his 
strange  visitor  talked,  with  the  utmost  unconcern,  of  getting 
there  in  fifteen  minutes !  His  astonishment  caused  him  to  stam- 
mer out,  — 

"  Then  you  must  be  the  —  " 

"Tush!  what  signifies  a  namer'  interrupted  the  stranger, 
with  a  deprecating  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Come,  do  we  under- 
stand each  other]     Is  it  a  bargain,  or  noil" 

At  the  talismanic  word  "  bargain  "  the  General  pricked  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  his 
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  quickly  stooped  to  pick 


JONATHAN    MOTLTON    AND    THE    DKVIL.  325 

up  one ;  hut  no  sooner  had  his  fingers  closed  upon  it,  than  he 
dropped  it  with  a  yelL     It  was  red-hot ! 

The  Devil  chuckled ;  "  Try  again,"  he  said.  But  Moulton 
shook  his  head  and  retreated  a  step. 

"  Don't  he  afraid." 

INIoulton  cautiously  touched  a  coin  ;  it  was  cool,  lie  "weighed 
it  in  his  hand,  and  rung  it  on  the  tahle  ;  it  was  full  weight  and 
true  ring.  Then  he  went  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
hegan  to  gather  up  the  guineas  with  feverish  haste. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  1 "  demanded  Satan. 

"  Completely,  your  Majesty." 

''  Then  to  business.  By  the  way,  have  you  anything  to  drink 
in  the  housed" 

"Thei'e  is  some  Old  Jamaica  in  the  cu[»board." 

"  Excellent !  I  am  as  thirsty  as  a  Puritan  on  election-day," 
said  the  Devil,  seating  himself  at  the  tahle,  and  negligently 
fiinging  his  mantle  back  over  his  shoulder,  so  as  to  show  the 
jewelled  clasps  of  his  doublet. 

Moulton  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  him. 

"  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  raised  the  tankard  to  the  height  of  his 
eye,  glanced  approvingly  at  the  blaze,  —  ^yhich  to  Moulton's 
disordered  intellect  resembled  an  adder's  forked  and  agile  tongue, 
—  nodded,  and  said,  patronizingly,  "To  our  better  acquaint- 
ance ! "     He  then  qiiafi'ed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp. 

Moulton  shuddered  ;  this  was  not  the  way  he  had  been 
used  to  seeing  healths  drunk.  He  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- 


326  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

fact  way  that  put  liis  listener  in  a  cold  sweat  :  "  Now  that  you 
are  convinced  1  am  able  to  make  you  the  richest  man  in  all  the 
province,  listen!  Have  I  your  ear?  It  is  well!  In  considera- 
tion of  your  agreement,  dul}^  sijj;ned  and  sealed,  to  deliver  your 
soul "  —  here  he  drew  a  })archment  from  his  breast  —  "I  engage, 
on  my  part,  on  the  iirst  day  of  every  month,  to  fill  your  boots 
with  golden  elephants,  like  these  before  you.  But  mark  me 
well,"  said  Satan,  holding  up  a  forefinger  glittering  with  dia- 
monds, "  if  you  try  to  play  me  any  trick,  you  will  repent  it !  I 
know  you,  Jonatlian  Moulton,  and  shall  keep  mj-  eye  upon  you ; 
so  beware  ! " 

Moulton  flinched  a  little  at  this  jilain  speech ;  but  a  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  brightened  up.  Satan  opened  the 
scroll,  smoothed  out  the  creases,  dipped  a  pen  in  the  inkhorn  at 
his  girdle,  and  pointing  to  a  blank  space,  said,  laconically, 
"  Sign ! " 

IMoulton  hesitated. 

"If  you  are  afraid,"  sneered  Satan,  "why  put  me  to  all  this 
troTible?"  and  he  l)egan  to  put  the  gold  in  his  pocket. 

His  victim  seized  the  pen  ;  but  his  hand  shook  so  that  he  could 
not  write.  He  gulped  down  a  mouthful  of  rum,  stole  a  look  at 
his  infernal  guest,  who  nodded  his  head  by  way  of  encourage- 
ment, and  a  second  time  approached  his  pen  to  the  paper.  The 
struggle  was  soon  over.  The  unhappy  Moulton  wrote  his  name 
at  the  bottom  of  the  fatal  list,  Avhich  he  was  astonished  to  see 
numbered  s(5me  of  the  highest  personages  in  the  province.  "  I 
shall  at  least  be  in  good  company,"  he  muttered. 

"  Good ! "  said  Satan,  rising  and  putting  the  scroll  carefully 
away  within  his  breast.  "  Eely  on  me.  General,  and  be  sure  you 
keep  ftiith.  liemember  !  "  So  saying,  the  demon  waved  his 
hand,  flung  his  mantle  about  him,  and  vanished  up  the  chimney. 

Satan  performed  his  part  of  the  contract  to  the  letter.  On  the 
first  day  of  every  month  tlie  boots,  which  were  hung  on  the  crane 
in  the  fireplace  the  night  before,  were  found  in  the  morning  stutied 
full  of  guineas.  It  is  ti'ue  that  Moulton  had  ransacked  the  vil- 
lage for  the  largest  pair  to  be  found,  and  had  finally  secured  a 


JONATHAN    MOULTON   AND   THE    DEVIL.  327 

brace  of  trooper's  jack-boots,  which  came  nearly  up  to  tho 
wearer's  thigh ;  but  the  contract  merely  expressed  boots,  and 
the  Devil  does  not  stand  upon  trifles. 

Moulton  rolled  in  wealth  ;  everything  prospered.  His  neigh- 
bors regarded  him  lirst  with  envy,  then  with  aversion,  at  last 
with  fear.  Not  a  few  affirmed  that  he  had  entered  into  a 
league  with  the  Evil  One.  Others  shook  their  heads,  saying, 
"What  does  it  signify? — that  man  would  outwit  the  Devil 
himself" 

But  one  morning,  when  the  fiend  came  as  usual  to  fill  the 
boots,  what  was  his  astonishment  to  find  that  he  could  not  fill 
them.  He  poured  in  the  guineas,  but  it  was  like  pouring  water 
into  a  rat-hole.  The  more  he  put  in,  the  more  the  quantity 
seemed  to  diminish.  In  vain  he  persisted  ;  the  boots  could  not 
be  filled. 

The  Devil  scratched  his  ear.  "  I  must  look  into  this,"  he 
reflected.  No  sooner  said,  than  he  attempted  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,  the  demon  tore  the  boots  from  the  crane.  The  crafty 
General  had  cut  off  the  soles,  leaving  only  the  legs  for  the  Devil 
to  fill.     The  chamber  was  knee-deep  with  gold. 

The  Devil  gave  a  horrible  grin,  and  disappeared.  The  same 
night  Hampton  House  was  burned  to  the  ground,  the  General  only 
escaping  in  his  shirt.  He  had  been  dreaming  he  was  dead  and 
in  hell.  His  precious  guineas  were  secreted  in  the  wainscot,  the 
ceiling,  and  other  hiding-places  known  only  to  himself  He 
blasphemed,  wept,  and  tore  his  hair.  Suddenly  he  grew  calm. 
After  all,  the  loss  was  not  irreparable,  he  reflected.  Gold  would 
melt,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  would  find  it  all,  —  of  course  he  would,  — 
at  daybreak,  run  into  a  solid  lump  in  the  cellar,  —  every  guinea. 
That  is  true  of  ordinary  gold. 

The  General  worked  with  the  energy  of  despair,  clearing  away 
the  rubbish.  He  refused  all  oflers  of  assistance ;  he  dared  not 
accept  them.  But  the  gold  had  vanished.  Whether  it  was 
really  consumed,  or  had  passed  again  into  the  massy  entrails  of 


328  new-en(.;lani)  legends. 

the  earth,  will  never  be  known.  It  is  only  certain  that  every 
vestige  of  it  Iiad  disappeared. 

"When  the  General  died  and  was  buried,  .strange  rumors  began 
to  circulate.  To  (juiet  them,  the  grave  was  opened ;  but  when 
the  lid  was  removed  from  the  cotiin,  it  was  found  to  be  empty. 

Another  legend  runs  to  the  eft'ect  that  upon  the  death  of  his 
wife  under — as  evil  report  would  have  it — very  suspicious 
circumstances,  the  General  paid  his  court  to  a  young  woman 
who  had  been  the  companion  of  his  deceased  spouse.  They 
were  married.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  young  bride 
awoke  with  a  start.  She  felt  an  invisible  hand  trying  to  take 
off  from  her  finger  the  wedding-ring  that  had  once  belonged  to 
the  dead  and  buried  Mrs.  Moulton.  Shrieking  witli  fright,  she 
jumped  out  of  bed,  thus  awaking  her  husljand,  who  tried  in 
vain  to  calm  her  fears.  Candles  were  lighted  and  search  made 
for  the  ring  ;  but  as  it  could  never  be  found  again,  the  ghostly 
visitor  Avas  supposed  to  have  carried  it  away  with  her.  This 
story  is  the  same  that  is  tuld  by  Whittier  in  the  "  New  Wife 
and  the  Old." 


GOODY     COLE. 

/~^  OODAVIP^'E  Eunice  Cole,  the  witch  of  Hampton,  was  for  a 
\jr  (juarter  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.  Wliom  Ave  hate  Ave  also  fear.  Tlie  bare  mention 
of  her  name  would,  it  is  said,  Imsh  crying  children  into  silence, 
or  liurry  truant  boys  to  school.  Although  she  was  rej)eatedly 
thrown  into  prisoii,  slie  Avas  yet  unaccountably  suffered  to  con- 
tinue to  live  tlic  life  of  an  outcast,  until  death  linally  freed  the 
community  from  their  fears.  In  IG80  she  Avas  brought  before 
the  Quarter  Sessions  to  ansAver  to  the  charge  of  being  a  Avitch ; 
and  though  there  AA'as  "noe  full  proof"  that  she  Avas  a  Avitch,  yet 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  Court,  Avhicli  "  veliemently  suspects  her 


THE    WRECK    OF    RTVERMOrTII.  329 

SO  to  bo,"  and  proljably  too  of  the  [jeoplc,  Major  Waldron,  the 
presiding  magistrate,  ordered  her  to  be  iini)risoned,  with  "  a  lock 
kept  on  hex  leg,"  at  tlie  [)leasure  of  the  Court.  As  she  was  first 
prosecuted  as  early  as  165(5,  she  must  have  l)eeu  a  very  old 
woman  when  this  harsh  sentence  was  pronounced.  For  some 
years  —  how  many  it  is  not  known  —  Goody  Cole  lived  alone  in  a 
hovel  which  stood  a  little  way  back  from  the  spot  where  the 
Academy  now  stands  ;  and  in  this  wretcluHl  hut,  without  a  friend 
to  soothe  her  last  moments,  she  miserably  died.  Several  days 
elapsetl  before  her  death  became  known ;  and  even  then,  such 
was  tlie  fear  her  supposed  powers  had  inspired,  that  it  refjuired 
a  great  deal  of  courage  on  the  part  of  the  iidiabitants  to  force 
an  entrance  into  her  cabin,  where  she  lay  dead.  When  this  had 
been  done,  the  body  was  dragged  outside,  a  hole  hastily  dug, 
into  which  it  was  tumbled,  and  then  —  conformably  with  current 
superstition  —  a  stake  was  driven  through  it,  in  order  to  exorcise 
the  baleful  influence  she  was  supposed  to  have  possessed. 

The  ballad  supposes  her  to  have  cast  the  spell  of  her  malevo- 
lence over  a  merry  company  of  villagers  who  sailed  out  of  the 
river  for  a  day  of  pleasure,  —  soon  to  be  turned  into  mourning 
by  the  drowning  of  the  Avhole  party,  the  storm  in  which  they 
perished  being  raised  by  Goody  Cole. 


THE   WRECK  OF  RIVEEMOUTH. 

J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Once,  in  the  old  Colonial  days, 

Two  hundred  years  ago  and  more, 
A  boat  sailed  down  through  the  winding  ways 

Of  Hampton  River  to  that  low  shore, 
Full  of  a  goodly  company 
Sailing  out  on  the  summer  sea, 
Veering  to  catch  the  land-breeze  light, 
With  the  Boar  to  left  and  the  Kocks  to  right. 


330  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  Fie  on  the  witch ! "  cried  a  merry  girl, 
As  they  rounded  the  point  where  Goody  Cole 

Sat  by  lier  door  with  her  wheel  atwirl, 
A  bent  and  blear-eyed  poor  old  soul. 

"  Oho  !  "  she  muttered,  "  ye  're  brave  to-day ! 

But  I  hear  the  little  waves  laugh  and  say, 

'  The  brotli  will  be  cold  that  waits  at  home  ; 

For  it 's  one  to  go,  but  another  to  come  ! '  " 

"She  's  cursed,"  said  the  skipper  ;  "speak  her  fair 

I  'm  scary  always  to  see  her  shake 
Iler  wicked  head,  witli  its  wild  gray  hair, 

And  nose  like  a  hawk,  and  eyes  like  a  snake." 
But  merrily  still,  with  laugh  and  shout, 
From  Hampton  River  the  boat  sailed  out, 
Till  the  huts  and  the  flakes  on  Star  seemed  nigh, 
And  they  lost  the  scent  of  the  pines  of  Rye. 

They  dropped  their  lines  in  the  lazy  tide, 
Drawing  up  haddock  and  mottled  cod  ; 
They  saw  not  the  Shadcnv  that  Avalked  beside, 

They  heard  not  the  feet  with  silence  shod. 
But  thicker  and  thicker  a  hot  mist  grew, 
Shot  by  the  lightnings  through  and  through  ; 
An<l  muffled  growls,  like  the  growl  of  a  beast, 
Ran  along  the  sky  from  west  to  east. 

The  skipper  hauled  at  the  heavy  saU  : 
"  God  be  our  help  !  "  he  only  cried. 
As  the  roaring  gale,  like  the  stroke  of  a  flail. 

Smote  the  boat  on  its  starboard  side. 
The  Shoalsmen  looked,  but  saw  alone 
Dark  films  of  rain-cloud  slantwise  blown. 
Wild  rocks  lit  up  by  the  lightning's  glare. 
The  strife  and  torment  of  sea  and  air. 

Goody  Cole  looked  out  from  her  door  : 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  were  drowned  and  gone, 

Scarcely  slie  saw  the  Head  of  tlie  Boar 
Toss  the  foam  from  tusks  of  stone. 


I'OUTSMOUTll    LECilLN  1)8. 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  niip  of  pain, 
The  tear  on  \ivv  tdicck  was  init  nl'  rain  : 
"  Tliey  are  lost,"  slie  muttered,  "  boat  and  crew! 
Lord,  forgive  me  !  my  words  were  true  !  " 

Sud(U:nly  seaward  swept  the  scpiall  ; 

The  low  sun  smote  tlii'ough  cloudy  rack  ; 
The  Shoals  stood  clear  in  the  light,  and  all 

The  trend  of  the  coast  lay  hard  and  hlack. 
But  far  and  wide  as  eye  could  reach, 
No  life  was  seen  upon  wave  or  beach  ; 
The  lioat  that  went  out  at  morning  never 
Sailed  back  again  into  Hampton  River. 


PORTSMOUTH     LEGENDS. 

rr^HE  early  voyagers  soon  discovered  tlie  Piscataqua  Eiver, 
_L  and  they  quickly  perceived  its  advantages  as  a  harbor. 
There  was  Agamenticus  for  a  landmark,  and  there  was  a  swift- 
flowing  tide,  which  the  natives  told  them  was  never  frozen. 
There  were  spacious  basins,  deep  and  slieltercd,  in  which  a  navy 
might  ride  securely ;  and  there  were  also  high  and  gently  slop- 
ing banks,  over  which  the  swaying  pines  looked  down  upon  tlieir 
own  dark  shadows  in  the  eddying  stream  belo-w.  The  river  Avas 
found  to  conduct  into  a  fertile  and  heavily-timbered  region,  of 
which  it  was  the  natural  outlet.  The  shores  were  seen  to  afford 
admirable  sites  for  the  settlement  that  one  and  the  other  were 
destined  to  support. 

This  was  accordingly  begun  in  1G2.3,  under  the  direction  and 
by  the  authority  of  Gorges  and  Mason,  in  whom  the  successful 
experiment  of  the  Plymouth  Pilgrims  had  inspired  new  hopes  of 
turning  their  royal  grants  to  account. 

The  promoters  of  the  settlement  were  Churchmen,  Avho  had 
little  sympathy  with  Puritan  ideas,  and  none  at  all   witli   its 


332  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

scheme  of  government ;  and  as  some  of  those  who  had  found 
the  rule  of  these  ideas  too  hard  for  their  stomachs  had  removed 
into  New  Hampshire,  a  prejudice  grew  up  between  the  two  com- 
munities, which  for  the  rest,  aflFord  to  the  student  of  history  an 
example  of  two  diverse  systems  growing  uj)  side  by  side. 
Wheelwright  and  his  friends  were  of  the  latter  class.  Time, 
mutual  interest,  and  the  rapid  ascendency  obtained  by  the  sister 
colony,  with  other  considerations,  finally  closed  the  breach. 

The  system  of  Gorges  and  Mason,  to  establish  a  colony  of  ten- 
ants having  only  leaseholds  subject  to  quit-rents,  which  they 
should  govern  by  their  agents,  worked  only  eventual  evil  to 
themselves.  It  was  an  attempt  to  graft  the  landed  system  of 
Old  upon  New  England  by  the  side  of  the  freehold  plan  of  the 
thrifty  and  sagacious  Massachusetts  patentees;  and  it  was  a  dis- 
astrous failure.  Finding  that  they  were  growing  poor,  while  the 
Puritan  freeholders  were  growing  rich,  the  people  threw  off  their 
yoke,  and  sought  a  union  witli  Massachusetts. 

Still,  the  old  leaven  of  prejudice  survived  in  the  descendants 
of  the  original  inhabitants,  who  loved  royalty  and  its  forms, 
adhered  to  tlie  Mother-Church  and  its  traditions,  and  felt  no 
sympathy  whatever  for  the  austere  manners,  the  rigid  economy, 
or  the  quasi-ecclesiastical  government  of  their  more  powerful 
neighbors.  These  peoj^le  gave  toiu!  to  the  principal  settlement ; 
and  since  there  was  no  aristocracy  of  blood,  one  of  wealth  rose 
and  flourished  in  its  stead. 

As  the  capital,  the  chief  town,  and  the  only  seaport  of  the 
province,  Portsmouth  long  enjoyed  a  peculiar  distinction.  It 
remained  the  political  centre  until  the  seat  of  government  was 
transferred,  early  in  the  present  century,  to  the  interior  of  the 
State.  Inevitable  changes  turned  commerce  into  other  channels. 
Its  commercial  importance  waned,  progress  was  arrested,  and  the 
place  came  to  a  standstill ;  and  it  is  to-day  more  remarkable  for 
what  it  has  been  than  for  what  it  is. 

Therefore  Portsmouth  has  the  stamp  of  a  coin  of  fifty  years 
ago.  It  is  of  the  true  weight  and  ring,  but  the  date  and  the 
legend  are  old.     The  best  houses  are  still  the  oldest ;  and  those 


THE    STONE-THltOWING    DEVIL.  333 

of  the  Wentworths,  tlie  Langdons,  and  the  Sherburnes,  rival 
the  traditional  s[)li'ndors  of  the  Colonial  mansions  of  the  Puritan 
capital  in  sj)aciousness,  richness  of  decoration,  and  that  rare 
combination  of  simplicity  and  elegance  which  lifted  the  Colonial 
magnate  above  the  heads  of  his  own  generation,  and  has  made 
his  housekeeping  the  admiration  of  ours.  It  is  among  these  old 
houses  that  we  must  look  for  our  legendary  lore. 

The  West  of  England  seaports  are  known  to  have  furnished 
a  great  proportion  of  the  original  settlers  in  New  England ;  and 
certainly  no  class  were  more  susceptible  to  the  influence  of 
superstition  than  these  sea-faring  or  sea-subsisting  people.  Upon 
the  folk-lore  of  home  was  now  grafted  that  of  the  Indian  ;  whilst 
over  this  again  hovered  the  mystery  of  an  unexplored  country, 
—  in  itself  a  keen  spur  to  the  appetite  that  grows  with  what 
it  feeds  upon.  Tlie  region  round  abcjut  Portsmouth,  Newcastle, 
Kittery,  York,  and  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  is  therefore  prolific  in 
legends  of  a  homely  and  primitive  kind ;  one  of  which  we  are 
about  to  relate. 


THE   STONE-THROWING  DEVIL. 

~l  TNDER  the  title  of  "  Lithobolia,"  the  story  of  the  Stone- 
^^  Throwing  Devil  was  printed  in  London  in  the  year  1698. 
It  purports  to  be  the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness,  and  is  signed 
with  the  initials  "  11.  C."  This  tract,  consisting  of  a  few  leaves 
only,  is  now  extremely  rare ;  but  a  synopsis  of  its  contents 
may  be  found  in  the  "  Wonderful  Providences "  of  Increase 
Mather. 

George  Walton  was  an  inhabitant  of  Portsmouth  in  the  year 
1682.  He  had  incurred  the  bitter  enmity  of  an  old  Avoman  of 
the  neighborhood  by  taking  from  her  a  strip  of  land  to  Avhich 
she  laid  claim ;  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  writers  Avhom  we 
have  quoted  that  she,  being  a  witch,  was  at  the  bottom  of  aU 
the  mischief  that  subsequently  drove  Walton's  family  to  the 


334  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

])riiik  ui'  (Icsjiair.  'i'liit;  beldam  had  in  I'art  told  AValton  that 
he  should  never  i)eacefully  enjoy  the  land  he  had  wrested  from 
her. 

One  still  Sabbath  night  in  June  all  at  once  a  shower  of  stones 
rattled  against  the  sides  and  roof  of  Walton's  house.  It  came 
as  fiercely  and  as  unexpectedly  as  a  suunuer  hailstorm.  As 
soon  as  it  had  ceased,  the  startled  inmates,  who  were  in  bed, 
hurried  on  their  clothes  and  sallied  out  to  sec  if  they  could 
discover  the  perpetrators  of  this  outrage  upon  the  peace  and  quiet 
of  the  family.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  a  bright  moonlight 
night.  They  found  the  gate  taken  off  the  hinges  and  carrietl 
to  a  distance  from  the  house,  but  could  neither  see  nor  hear 
anything  of  the  stone-throwers. 

While  thus  engaged,  a  second  volley  of  stones  whistled  about 
their  lieads,  which  drove  them,  much  terrified  by  its  sudden- 
ness and  fury,  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  house.  They  first 
went  into  the  porch ;  but  the  stones  reaching  them  here,  they 
were  quickly  pelted  out  of  this  into  an  inner  chamber,  where, 
having  bolted  and  barred  all  the  doors,  they  awaited  in  no  calm 
frame  of  mind  the  next  demonstration  of  their  assailants.  Some 
had  been  struck  and  hurt,  and  all  were  in  consternation.  Eut 
to  the  dismay  of  these  poor  people,  this  proved  no  secure  refuge ; 
for  the  stone  battery  opened  again  presently,  filling  the  room 
itself  with  flying  missiles,  which  crashed  through  the  casements, 
scattering  the  glass  in  every  direction,  came  down  the  chimney, 
bounding  and  rebounding  along  the  floor  like  spent  cannon- 
ballsj while  the  inmates  looked  on  in  helpless  amazement  at 
what  threatened  to  demolish  the  house  over  their  heads.  This 
bomliardment  continued,  with  oc(;asional  intermissi(»n,  for  four 
liours. 

While  it  was  going  on,  Walton  was  walking  the  floor  of  his 
chamber  in  great  disorder  of  mind,  when  a  sledge-hammer  cast 
with  vindictive  force  thunq^ed  heavily  along  the  floor  overhead, 
and,  narrowly  "missing  him,  fell  at  his  fcef,  making  a  great  dent 
in  the  oaken  floor;  at  the  same  time  the  candles  were  swept  off 
rthe  table,  leaving  him  in  total  darkness. 


THE   STONK-TIIKOWING    DEVIL.  335 

All  this,  it  is  true,  might  have  been  tlio  work  of  evil-minded 
persons ;  but  certain  things  hardly  consistent  with  this  theory 
convinced  the  family  beyond  any  reasonal)le  douljt  that  the 
stones  which  bruised  and  terrilied  them  were  hurled  by  demon 
hands.  In  the  first  place,  some  of  the  stones  which  were  picked 
up  were  found  to  be  hot,  as  if  they  had  just  been  taken  out  of 
the  fire.  In  the  second,  notwithstanding  several  of  them  were 
marked,  counted,  and  laid  upon  a  table,  these  same  stones 
would  afterward  be  found  flying  around  the  room  again  as  soon 
as  the  person's  back  was  turned  who  had  put  them  there.  In 
the  third,  upon  examination,  the  leaden  cross-bars  of  the  case- 
ments Avere  found  to  be  bent  outwardly,  and  not  inwardly, 
showing  conclusively  that  the  stones  came  from  within,  and  not 
from  without.  Finally,  to  settle  the  matter,  some  of  the  maidens 
belonging  to  the  household  were  frightened  out  of  their  wits 
upon  seeing  a  hand  thrust  out  of  a  window,  or  the  apparition  of 
a  hand,  —  there  being,  to  their  certain  knowledge,  no  one  in  the 
room  where  it  came  from. 

This  was  not  all.  After  Walton  had  gone  to  bed,  though 
not  to  sleep,  a  heavy  stone  came  crashing  through  his  chamber- 
door.  He  got  up,  secured  the  unwelcome  intruder,  and  locked 
it  in  his  own  chamber ;  but  it  was  taken  out  by  invisible  hands, 
and  carried  with  a  great  noise  into  the  next  room.  This  was 
followed  by  a  brickbat.  The  spit  flew  up  the  chimney,  and 
came  down  again,  without  any  visible  agency.  This  carnival 
continued  from  day  to  day  with  an  occasional  resjjite.  Wher- 
ever the  master  of  the  house  showed  himself,  in  the  barn,  the 
field,  or  elsewhere,  by  day  or  by  night,  he  was  sure  to  receive 
a  volley.  No  one  w^ho  witnessed  them  doubted  for  a  moment 
that  all  these  acts  proceeded  from  the  malevolence  of  the  afore- 
said witch;  and  an  attempt  was  accordingly  made  to  brew  a 
powerful  witch-broth  in  the  house,  to  exorcise  her.  But  for 
some  reason  or  other  its  charm  failed  to  work  ;  and  so  the  spell 
remained  hanging  over  the  afflicted  family. 

Some  of  the  pranks  of  the  demon  quite  outilo  the  feats  of 
Harlequin  in  the  Christmas  pantomimes.     Walton  had  a  guest 


336  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

staying  with  him,  who  became  the  faithful  recorder  of  what 
liappeiied  while  tlie  storm  of  stones  rained  down  ujiou  the 
doomed  dwelling.  In  order  to  soothe  and  tranquillize  his  mind, 
he  took  up  a  musical  instrument  and  began  to  i)lay ;  when  "  a 
good  big  stone  "  rolled  in  to  join  in  the  dance,  while  the  player 
looked  on  in  amazement.  Among  other  tricks  performed  by 
the  mischievous  demon  who  liad  taken  up  its  unwelcome  resi- 
dence among  the  family,  was  that  uf  taking  a  clieese  from  the 
press  and  crumbling  it  over  the  lioor ;  tlu.'n  the  iron  used  in 
tlie  press  was  found  driven  into  the  wall,  and  a  kettle  hung 
upon  it.  Several  cocks  of  hay  that  had  been  mowed  near  the 
house  were  adroitly  Imng  upon  trees  near  by  ;  wliile  tlie  mis- 
chievous goblin,  twisting  bunches  of  hay  into  wisps,  stuck  them 
up  all  about  the  house  kitchen,  —  "  cum  multis  aliis." 

The  relater  of  all  these  unaccountable  doings  indeed  admits 
that  certain  sceptical  persons  persisted  in  believing  that  any  or 
all  of  them  might  have  been  the  work  of  human  beings ;  but  as 
every  one  credits  what  he  wishes  to  credit,  so  this  ancient  writer 
appears  to  mention  the  fact  only  •with  the  view  of  exposing  its 
absurdity.  Our  own  purpose  is,  not  to  decide  between  two 
o{)inions,  but  to  declare  that  people  in  general  considered  George 
Walton  to  be  a  victim  of  supernatural  visitation,  or,  in  other 
words,  bewitched  ;  and  to  show  that  the  temper  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 
heaven  or  from  the  bottomless  pit.  There  were  no  such  things 
as  accidents ;  everything  had  some  design. 


LADY  WENTWOirni.  3'67 


LADY     WENTWORTH. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  REAL  LIFE. 

r^  OVERNOR  BENNING  WENTWORTH,  a  man  of  "fam- 
VJT  ilv,"  in  the  language  of  his  day,  the  owner  of  large  estates 
too,  and  hkewise  endowed  witli  a  sufficiently  exalted  idea  of  his 
own  importance,  social,  political,  and  hereditary,  had  nevertheless 
matrimonial  idiosyncrasies  wholly  at  odds  with  the  traditions 
and  the  susceptibilities  of  his  class.  We  do  not  clearly  know 
whether  he  was  really  superior  to  their  demands,  or  altogether 
indifferent  upon  the  subject ;  but  we  do  know  that  had  he  been 
other  than  he  was,  there  would  have  been  no  groundwork  for 
our  story. 

This  royal  Governor  lived  in  his  fine  mansion  at  Little  Har- 
bor, which,  out  of  deference,  probably,  to  his  Excellency's  con- 
venience, to  say  nothing  of  his  dinners,  became  also  a  sort  of 
official  residence,  where  he  received  visits  of  ceremony,  punctu- 
ally drank  the  King's  health,  and  presided  over  the  sittings  of 
his  [Majesty's  Council  for  the  province.  All  this,  it  may  be 
assumed,  added  a  good  deal  to  his  sense  of  personal  dignity,  and 
not  a  little  to  his  vanity,  besides  exerting  a  certain  influence 
upon  provincial  politics,  by  establishing  a  coterie,  of  which  he 
was  the  head,  with  its  lieadquarters  under  his  own  roof.  —  And 
this  roof,  liy  the  way,  might  tell  a  good  many  queer  stories. 
But  we  have  no  time  to  dwell  upon  these  phases  of  the  mixed 
political  and  social  life  of  Governor  Wentworth's  day.  The  old 
fellow  liked  display.  He  had  his  personal  guard,  he  had  his 
stud,  and  it  was  his  ambition  to  have  the  best  wine-cellar  of 
any  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  in  the  province  ;  therefore  his 
personal  surroundings  did  no  discredit  to  the  commission  with 
which  his  sovereign's  favor  liad  honored  him.  His  house  con- 
tained half  a  hundred  apartments,  all  of  whicli  were  probably 

22 


338  NEW-EXGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

in  use  when  the  HouoraLle  Council  met,  at  the  Governor's  bid- 
ding, to  make  a  levy  of  troops  for  Louisburg,  or  u])on  other 
matters  of  public  concern.  Business  being  over,  the  company 
repaired  to  the  billiard-room  or  the  card-rooms,  to  the  stables  or 
to  the  river,  for  relaxation, — the  oldsters  to  kill  time,  the  young- 
sters to  kill  the  ladies. 

It  was  a  pleasant  mansion,  an  abode 

Near  and  yet  hidden  from  the  great  high-road, 

Sequestered  among  trees,  a  noble  pile. 

Baronial  and  colonial  in  its  style ; 

Gables  and  dormer-windows  everywhere, 

And  stacks  of  cbimnej's  rising  high  in  air. 

Within,  unwonted  splendors  met  the  eye, 
Panels,  and  floors  of  oak,  and  tapestry  ; 
Carved  chimney-pieces,  where  on  brazen  dogs 
Revelled  and  roared  the  Christmas  fires  of  logs. 

But  this  brave  establishment  lacked  one  thing  to  render  it 
complete,  —  it  needed  a  mistress.  The  Governor  had  been  left 
widowed  and  childless  in  his  old  age  to  sustain  the  cares  of 
office  and  the  management  of  his  extensive  household  alone. 
He  determined  to  marry  again. 

The  world,  had  it  been  consulted  in  the  matter,  might  have 
imposed  upon  him  a  bride  of  mature  years  and  experience ; 
above  all,  one  taken  from  his  own  rank,  or  at  least  having  a 
pedigree.  But  the  Governor  was  not  yet  too  old  to  be  insen- 
sible to  the  charms  of  youth  and  beauty ;  anil  he  proceeded  to 
snap  his  fat  fingers  in  the  face  of  society  by  proposing  marriage 
to  a  young  woman  of  the  town  of  Portsmouth,  who  possessed  all 
the  personal  graces  that  were  requisite  in  his  eyes  to  make  her 
Lady  Wentworth.  The  lady,  however,  saw  nothing  but  a  gouty 
old  man,  — who  miglit,  it  was  true,  soon  leave  her  a  widow  ;  but 
this  was  not  the  life  that  she  looked  forward  to.  She  having 
moreover  formed  another  attachment  in  her  own  sphere  of  life, 
rejected  the  Governor,  for  wliom  she  cared  not  a  button,  in 
favor  of  a  young  mechanic  whom  she  dearly  loved.     This  double 


LADY    WKNTWORTir.  339 

wouml  to  his  love  and  vanity  tlio  old  Governor  deterniinoil 
signally  to  avenge  ;  and  to  tliis  end  he  wickedly  cansed  the 
bridegroom  to  be  kidnapped  by  a  press-gang  and  carried  oil" 
to  sea. 

The  Governor's  second  matrimonial  ventnre  was  more  fortu- 
nate. This  time  his  eyes  fell  upon  Martha  Hilton,  a  saucy,  red- 
lipped  gypsy  of  the  town,  who  is  first  introduced  to  us  wliile 
she  is  carrying  a  pail  of  water  —  probably  fresli-drawn  from  the 
town  pump  yonder  —  along  the  street.  Her  feet  are  bare,  her 
dress  scarcely  covers  her  decently ;  yet  for  all  that  she  belongs 
to  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  the  province.  But  she  is  charm- 
ing, even  in  these  mean  habiliments. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 
The  slender  form,  the  delicate,  thin  face  ; 
The  swaying  motion,  as  she  hurried  by  ; 
The  shining  feet,  the  laughter  in  her  eye. 

The  sight  of  the  girl  in  this  plight  so  incenses  the  sliarp- 
tongued  landlady  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax  inn,  that  she  exclaims 
from  her  doorway,  "  You  Pat !  you  Pat !  how  dare  you  go  look- 
ing so  1     You  ought  to  be  ashamed  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.  Piide  in  her 
chariot,  indeed  ! 

Like  Cinderella,  Martha  Hilton  next  makes  her  appearance  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  Governor's  mansion  at  Little  Harbor.  But 
she  is  not  to  stay  here.  One  day  the  Governor  gives  a  splendid 
banquet.      The  company  is  assembled,  — 

He  had  invited  all  his  friends  and  peers,  — 
The  Pepperels,  the  Langdons,  and  the  Lears, 
The  Sparhawks,  the  Penhallows,  and  the  rest ; 
For  why  repeat  the  name  of  every  guest  ? 


o 


LADY    WKNTWOUTH.  341 

and  among  the  red  coats  of  the  quality  is  tlie  hhvck  one  of  the 
Reverend  Arthur  Brown,  rector  t)f  the  Episcopal  church,  — 

With  siniliug  face 
He  sat  beside  tlie  GovenKjr  and  .said  grace. 

The  dinner  is  served ;  the  wine  circulates  freely  round  the 
hoard ;  and  the  guests,  having  dined  well,  have  reached  the  mo- 
ment of  supreme  content  following,  -when  the  Governor  whis- 
pers something  to  a  servant,  who  bows  and  goes  out.  Presently 
there  is  a  little  hustle  at  the  door,  and  then  Martha  Hilton, 
blushing  like  lire,  walks  into  the  room  and  takes  her  stand  in 
front  of  the  fireplace. 

Can  this  be  Martha  Hilton  ]     It  must  be  ! 
Yes,  Martha  Hilton,  and  no  other  she  ! 
Dowered  with  the  beauty  of  her  twenty  years, 
How  ladylike,  how  queenlike,  she  appears  1 

She  is  now  richly  dressed  ;  and  would  hardly  be  recognized  as  the 
same  person  whom  Ave  saw  in  the  street  not  long  ago.  Conversa- 
tion ceases  ;  all  the  guests  look  up  to  admire  the  beautiful  woman. 

The  Governor  rises  from  liis  chair,  goes  over  to  where  Martha 
is  struggling  to  maintain  her  self-possession,  and  tlien,  address- 
ing himself  to  the  clergyman,  Avhile  all  the  guests  stare,  he  says  : 
"  Mr.  Brown,  I  wish  you  to  marry  me." 

"  To  whom  'I  "  asks  the  bewildered  rector. 

"  To  this  lady,"  replies  the  Governor,  taking  Martha's  hand  in 
his. 

As  the  dumfounded  rector  remained  speechless,  the  irascible 
old  Governor  became  imperative. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "as  the  Governor  of  his  Majesty's  province  of 
New  Hampshire,  I  command  you  to  marry  me." 

The  ceremony  was  then  performed  ;  the  maiden  of  twenty 
became  the  bride  of  the  gouty  old  man  of  sixty ;  and  thus  her 
saucy  answer  came  true. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  poem,  founded  upon  tliis  romance  of  real 
life,  is  also 

A  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 


342  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

in  which  the  social  distinctions  of  Governor  Wentworth's  day 
are  emphasized,  in  order  to  sliow  how  easily  Love  laughs  at  them 
and  at  all  those  safeguards  behind  which  society  intrenches  itself 
against  a  mistilliance.  But  here  a  maiden  of  twenty  marries  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  Is  it  for  lovel  He 
marries  his  lovely  dependant  because  he  is  lonesome. 


THE   DEVIL'S   DEN,   CHESTER,  N.   H. 

ONE  corner  of  the  inland  town  of  Chester,  Kew  Hauipsliire, 
lifts  into  view  an  eminence  known  as  Rattlesnake  Hill. 
The  bared,  outcropping  rock  of  this  hill  is  pierced  (piite  through 
on  one  side,  thus  forming  a  cavern  of  great  notoriety  in  all  the 
country  round.  This  cavern  bears  the  gruesome  name  of  The 
Devil's  Den,  and  many  were  tlie  friglitful  tales,  told  around  win- 
ter firesides,  of  tlie  demons  wlio  haunted  it  in  bygone  times, 
there  to  hold  their  midniglit  orgies  within  the  dark  recesses  of 
the  mountain. 

There  are  two  entrances  to  this  cavern,  both  leading  to  an 
interior,  subterranean  chamber  whose  vaulted  roof  is  thickly 
studded  with  pear-sliaped  protuberances,  that  are  said  to  sliine 
and  sparkle  brightly  when  lighted  up  by  the  ruddy  glow  of  a 
torch.  According  to  popular  tradition,  the  path  leading  to 
the  cavern  was  always  kept  open,  in  summer  and  in  winter, 
by  the  passing  to  and  fro  of  the  evil  spirits  wlio  frequented  tlie 
place,  though  themselves  invisible  to  the  eyes  of  mortal  men. 
Thus  to  give  these  troublers  of  mankind  a  local  habitation  and  a 
name  is  to  firmly  fix  a  tradition  in  the  popular  mind.  Many 
years  ago  the  poet  Whittier  put  the  legend  into  verse  :  — 

The  moon  is  bright  on  the  rocky  hill, 

But  its  dwarfish  pines  rise  gloomily  still,  — 

Fixed,  motionless  forms  in  the  silent  air, 

The  moonlight  is  on  them,  but  darkness  is  there. 


THE  devil's  den.  343 

The  drowsy  flap  of  tlie  owlet's  wing, 

Ami  the  stream's  low  gush  from  its  iiiddeu  spring, 

And  the  passing  breeze,  in  its  flight  betrayed 

By  the  timid  shiver  of  leaf  and  blade, 

Half  like  a  sigh  and  half  a  moan, 

The  ear  of  the  listener  catches  alone. 

A  dim  cave  yawns  in  the  rude  hill-side 

Like  the  jaws  of  a  monster  opened  wide, 

Where  a  few  wild  bushes  of  thorn  and  fern 

Their  leaves  from  the  breath  of  the  niglit-air  turn  ; 

And  half  with  twining  foliage  cover 

The  mouth  of  that  shadowy  cavern  over  :  — 

Above  it,  the  rock  hangs  gloomy  and  high, 

Like  a  rent  in  the  blue  of  the  beautiful  sky, 

Which  seems,  as  it  opens  on  either  hand. 

Like  some  bright  sea  leaving  a  desolate  land. 

Below  it,  a  stream  on  its  bed  of  stone 

From  a  rift  in  the  rock  comes  hurrying  down, 

Telling  forever  the  same  wild  tale 

Of  its  loftier  home  to  the  lowly  vale  : 

And  over  its  waters  an  oak  is  bending, 

Its  boughs  like  a  skeleton's  arms  extending,  — 

A  naked  tree,  by  the  lightning  shorn. 

With  its  trunk  all  bare  and  its  branches  torn  ; 

And  the  rocks  beneath  it,  blackened  and  rent, 

Tell  where  the  bolt  of  the  thunder  went. 

'T  is  said  that  this  cave  is  an  evil  place  — 

The  chosen  haunt  of  the  fallen  race  — 

That  the  midnight  traveller  oft  hath  seen 

A  red  flame  tremble  its  jaws  between, 

And  lighten  and  quiver  the  boughs  among, 

Like  the  fiery  play  of  a  serpent's  tongue  ; 

That  sounds  of  fear  from  its  chambers  swell  — 

The  ghostly  gibber,  —  the  fiendish  j'ell  ; 

That  bodiless  hands  at  its  entrance  wave, — 

And  hence  they  have  named  it  The  Demon's  Cave. 


344  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  fears  of  man  to  this  phice  have  lent 
A  terror  which  Nature  never  meant  ;  — 
For  who  hath  wandered,  with  curious  eye 
This  dim  and  shadowy  cavern  l>y, 
And  known,  in  the  sun  or  starlight  aught 
Which  might  not  beseem  so  lonely  a  spot,  — 
The  stealthy  fox,  and  the  shy  raccoon  — 
The  night-bird's  wing  in  the  shining  moon  — 
The  frog's  low  croak  ;  and,  upon  the  liil], 
The  steady  chant  of  tlie  wliippoorwill  I  — 

Yet  is  there  something  to  fancy  dear 

In  this  silent  cave  and  its  lingering  fear, — 

Something  which  tells  of  another  age, 

Of  the  wizard's  wand,  and  the  Sybil's  Jiage, 

Of  the  fairy  ring  and  the  haunted  glen. 

And  the  restless  phantoms  of  murdered  men  : 

The  grandame's  tale,  and  the  nurse's  song  — 

The  dreams  of  childhood  remembered  long ; 

And  I  love  even  now  to  list  tlie  tale 

Of  the  Demon's  Cave,  and  its  haunted  vale. 


ISLES-OF-SIIOALS   LEGENDS. 

THIIEE  leagues  oil'  the  coast  of  New  Hampsliire,  huddled 
together  in  a  group,  the  Isles  of  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  shrubs,  and  the  yellow  lichens 
that  spot  the  gaunt  rocks  like  the  scales  of  a  leper.  One  soli- 
tary lighthouse  lifts  its  warning  finger  upon  the  outermost  rock, 
but,  like  a  monument  to  the  many  wrecks  that  have  happened 
there,  this  only  signals  a  rock  of  danger,  and  not  a  haven  of 
safety  for  distressed  mariners. 

Treeless,  unblessed  by  the  evidences  of  cultivation  or  thrift, 
with  no  other  sound  than  that  of  the  sea  breaking  heavily 
against  them,  and  no  other  sign  of  life  than  the  surf  wliitening 
their  sides  of  granite  and  flint,  a  more  lonely  scene  can  hardly 
be  imagined.  Upon  landing  and  looking  about  him  in  silent 
wonder,  one  is  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
the  sea  has  bared  these  imperishable  rocks  by  its  subsidence, 
and  that  he  is  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  submerged  moun- 
tain, emerging  from  the  ocean  like  one  risen  from  the  dead. 

A  heap  of  bare  and  splintery  crags 

Tuniljled  about  by  lightning  and  frost, 

With  rifts  and  chasms  and  storm-beat  jags 
That  wait  and  growl  for  a  shiji  to  be  lost  ; 

No  island,  but  rather  the  skeleton 

Of  a  wrecked  and  vengeance-smitten  one. 


346  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Away  uortheast  is  Boou-Islund  Light ; 

You  migbt  mistake  it  for  a  ship, 
Only  it  stands  too  plumb  upright, 

And,  like  the  others,  does  not  slip 
Behind  the  sea's  unsteady  brink. 

On  the  mainland  you  see  a  misty  camp 
Of  mountains  pitched  tumultuously  : 

That  one  looming  so  long  and  large 

Is  Saddleback  ;    and  that  point  you  see 

Over  yon  low  and  rounded  marge, 

Like  the  boss  of  a  sleeping  giant's  targe 
Laid  over  his  heart,  is  Ossipee : 

That  shadow  there  may  be  Kearsarge. 

There  can  be  little  room  for  doubt  that  these  islands  were, 
from  a  very  early  time,  the  resort  of  occasional  fishing  ships,  as 
they  subsequently  became  the  haunt  of  smugglers  and  outlaws, 
—  I  mean  pirates.  The  cluster  enclosed  a  tolerable  harbor,  were 
uninhabited,  were  convenient  to  the  fishing-grounds,  and  they 
afforded  excellent  facilities  for  curing  fish.  In  later  times  their 
isolated  position  rendered  them  a  secure  refuge  for  the  lawless 
rovers  who  infested  our  coasts,  and  who  could  snap  their  fingers 
at  the  Colonial  authorities  while  refitting  their  ships,  disposing 
of  their  ill-gotten  booty,  or  indulging  in  their  habitual  carousals 
on  shore.  From  these  conditions  came  at  length  a  puny  settle- 
ment, equally  without  law,  morals,  or  religion.  Such  was  its 
reputation,  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  the  fishermen  to 
haunt  Appledore.  At  one  time  nothing  Avould  have  induced 
the  inhabitant  of  another  island  to  land  upon  this  after  night- 
fall, although  there  was  much  search  made  for  the  treasure  that 
the  sjiectre  was  supposed  to  guard.     One  islander,  indeed,  had 


ISLES-OF-SIIOALS   LEGENDS.  347 

really  encountered  the  grisl}'  shade  while  making  its  solitary 
round,  and  he  tlescribcd  it  as  shedding  a  dimly  luminous  and 
unearthly  appearance,  like  that  of  a  glow-worm,  as  it  walked, 
and  as  having  a  lace  pale  and  very  dreadful  to  look  upon. 

For  a  time,  while  the  fishery  flourished,  the  islands  enjoyed  a 
kind  of  prosperity  ;  but  those  clergymen  who,  like  the  Reverend 
John  Tucke,  went  into  a  voluntary  exile  here,  to  become  fishers 
of  men,  might  truly  be  said  to  have  cast  their  lines  in  stony 
places.  Yet  with  unabated  zeal  the  good  Father  Tucke  perse- 
vered in  the  effort  to  reform  the  morals  of  his  charge,  to  watch 
over  their  spiritual  welfare,  and  to  bring  them  into  something 
like  accord  with  the  idea  of  a  civilized  community,  until  they 
carried  him  from  the  little  church  on  the  ledge  down  into  the 
hollow,  and  there  laid  him  away  to  his  rest. 

Sometimes  the  minister  would  see  his  entire  congregation  rush 
out  of  the  meeting-house  in  the  middle  of  the  sermon  because, 
it  being  a  good  lookout,  some  of  the  men  had  caught  sight  of  a 
school  of  mackerel  in  the  offing.  Sometimes,  when  to  make  his 
image  more  impressively  real  he  used  sea  terms  to  describe  the 
condition  of  the  unregenerate  sinners  before  him,  and  put  the 
question  bluntly,  "  What,  my  friends,  would  you  do  in  such  a 
case  ]  "  some  rough  sea-dog  would  retort,  "  Square  away  and  scud 
for  Squam  !  "  —  that  being  their  customary  refuge  Avhen  over- 
taken at  sea  by  a  northeaster.  Both  Mather  and  Hubbard 
give  numerous  instances  of  the  "memorable  providences"  over- 
taking these  dissolute  and  godless  fishermen  in  the  midst  of 
their  carousals.  Let  us  now  give  one  illustrating  the  efficacy 
of  prayer. 

In  his  "  Magnalia  Christi "  Mather  relates  this  incident :  —  A 
child  of  one  Arnold  lay  sick,  — so  nearly  dead  that  it  was  judged 
to  be  really  dead.  j\Ir.  Brock  (the  minister),  perceiving  some 
life  in  it,  goes  to  prayer ;  and  in  his  prayer  was  this  expression  : 
"  Lord,  wilt  thou  not  grant  some  sign,  before  we  leave  prayer, 
that  thou  wilt  spare  and  heal  this  child  1  We  cannot  leave 
thee  till  we  have  it."     The  child  sneezed  immediately. 

On  account  of  the  isolation  which  left  them  to  the  mercy  of 


348  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  enemy's  cruisers,  the  islands  were  nearly  depojmlated  during 
the  time  of  the  Eevolution.  After  this  the  few  inhabitants  who 
remained  lived  in  a  deplorable  condition  of  ignorance  and  vice. 
Some  of  them  lost  their  ages  for  want  of  a  record.  The  town 
organization  was  abandoned,  and  the  settlement  at  Star  Island 
relapsed  into  its  old  half-barbarous  way  of  life.  Men  and  women 
lived  openly  together  without  the  form  of  marriage.  Finally  some 
of  the  more  depraved  pulled  down  and  burned  the  old  meeting- 
house, which  had  so  long  been  a  prominent  landmark  for  seamen ; 
and  the  parsonage  might  have  shared  a  similar  fate,  had  it  not, 
like  the  ark,  been  launched  and  floated  over  to  the  mainland  out 
of  harm's  way. 

But  enough  of  this  rude  chronicle.  Emerging  from  the 
shadow  into  the  sun,  the  islands  became  in  time  noted  for  their 
healthfulness ;  and  presently,  when  the  light-keeper,  who  had 
hitherto  lived  here  like  a  hermit,  took  courage  and  established 
a  boarding-house  on  Appledore,  they  drew  a  constantly  increas- 
ing number  of  visitors,  who  affirmed  the  Isles  of  Shoals  to  be 
the  most  idiosyncratic  watering-place  in  the  Union.  Since 
then  they  have  been  celebrated  in  song  and  story.  Every 
nook  and  alcove  has  been  ransacked  to  procure  materials  for 
history,  legend,  or  romance  ;  and  finally  little  or  nothing  except 
the  ancient  tombstones,  the  little  Gosport  church,  and  some  rude 
walls,  declare  the  presence  here  of  a  different  generation,  who 
were  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep,  and  who  now  slumber 
in  its  embrace. 

OX   STAE  ISLAND. 

SARAH   O.    JEWETT. 

High  on  the  lichened  ledges,  like 

A  lonely  sea-fowl  on  its  perch 
Blown  by  the  cold  sea-winds,  it  stands, 

Old  Gosport's  quaint  forsaken  church. 

No  sign  is  left  of  all  the  town 
Except  a  few  forgotten  graves  ; 


ON   STAR   ISLAND.  349 

But  to  and  fro  the  white  sails  go 
Shnvly  across  the  glittering  waves  ; 

And  sninmer  idlers  stray  about 

With  curious  questions  of  the  lost 
And  vanished  village,  and  its  men, 

Whose  boats  by  these  same  waves  were  tossed. 


Their  eyes  on  week-days  sought  the  church,  - 
Their  surest  landmark,  and  the  guide 

That  led  them  in  from  far  at  sea. 
Until  they  anchored  safe  beside 

The  harbor  wall  that  braved  the  storm 
With  its  resistless  strength  of  stone. 

Those  busy  lishers  all  are  gone  : 
The  church  is  standing  here  alone. 

But  still  I  hear  their  voices  strange, 

And  still  I  see  the  people  go 
Over  the  ledges  to  their  homes,  — 

The  bent  old  women's  footsteps  slow ; 

The  faithful  parson  stop  to  give 
Some  timely  word  to  one  astray ; 

The  little  children  hurrying  on 
Together,  chattering  of  their  play. 

I  know  the  blue  sea  covered  some ; 

And  others  in  the  rocky  ground 
Found  narrow  lodgings  for  their  bones  — 

God  grant  their  rest  is  sweet  and  sound  ! 

I  saw  the  w^orn  rope  idle  hang 
Beside  me  in  the  belfry  brown  ;1 

I  gave  the  bell  a  solemn  toll  — 
I  rang  the  knell  for  Gosport  town. 


350  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


A  LEGEND   OF  BLACKBEARD. 

r^p^HE  various  legends  relative  to  the  corsairs,  and  the  secret- 
JL  ing  of  their  ill-gotten  gains  among  these  rocks,  would  of 
themselves  occupy  a  long  chapter ;  and  the  recital  of  the 
fearful  sights  and  sounds  which  have  confronted  such  as  were 
hardy  enough  to  seek  for  hidden  treasure,  would  satisfy  the  most 
inveterate  marvelmonger  in  the  land. 

Among  others  to  whom  it  is  said  these  islands  were  known 
was  the  celebrated  Captain  Teach,  or  Blackbeard,  as  he  was  often 
called.  He  is  supposed  to  have  buried  immense  treasure  here, 
some  of  which  has  been  dug  up  and  appropriated  by  the  is- 
landers. On  one  of  his  cruises,  while  lying  off  the  Scottish  coast 
waiting  for  a  rich  trader,  he  was  boarded  by  a  stranger,  who 
came  off  in  a  small  boat  from  the  shore.  The  new-comer 
demanded  to  be  led  before  the  pirate  chief,  in  whose  cabin  he 
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  conflict  she  became  the  prize  of  Blackbeard. 
It  was  determined  by  the  corsair  to  man  and  arm  the  captured 
vessel.  The  unknown  had  fought  with  undaunted  bravery  dur- 
ing the  battle,  and  to  him  was  given  the  command  of  the  prize. 

The  stranger  Scot  was  not  long  in  gaining  the  bad  eminence 
of  being  as  good  a  pirate  as  his  renowned  commander.  His 
crew  thought  him  invincible,  and  followed  wherever  he  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  i)irate  ship  immediately  set  sail  for  America;  and  in  due 
time  dropped  her  anchor  in  the  road  of  the  Isles   of  Shoals. 


A   LEGEND   OF    BLACKBEARD. 


551 


Here  the  crow  passed  their  time  in  secreting  their  riches  and  in 
unchecked  carousal. 

"  A  short  hfc  and  a  merry  one,"  was  the  careless  motto  of 
these  wild  rovers  of  the  main.  What  had  they  to  fear  ?  It  is 
true  that  a  colony  law  strictly  forbade  the  harboring  of  pirates. 
But  the  islanders  were  scarcely  less  lawless  than  the  freebooters 
themselves ;  they  considered  themselves  beyond  reach  of  the  arm 
of  the  law,  and  were,  in  turn,  looked  upon  as  a  people  apart  from 


OLD   GOSPORT   CHURCH,   ISLES   OF   SHOALS. 

the  body  politic.  Not  one  would  have  betrayed  the  presence 
of  those  who  scattered  gold  so  freely  among  them.  Like  the 
ancient  Greeks,  the  name  of  pirate  had  no  terrors  for  these  rude 
islanders. 

The  commander's  portion  was  buried  on  an  island  apart  from 
the  rest.  He  roamed  over  the  isles  with  his  beautiful  com- 
panion, forgetful,  it  would  seem,  of  his  fearful  trade,  until  one 
morning   a   sail   was    discovered  standing   in   for   the   islands. 


352  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

All  was  now  activity  on  board  the  pirate ;  but  before  getting 
under  way  tlie  outlaw  carried  the  maiden  to  the  island  where  he 
had  buried  his  treasure,  and  then  made  her  take  a  fearful  oath 
to  guard  the  spot  from  mortals  until  his  return,  were  it  till 
Doomsday.     He  then  put  to  sea. 

The  strange  sail  proved  to  be  a  warlike  vessel  in  search  of  the 
freebooter.  A  long  and  desperate  battle  ensued,  in  which  the 
King's  cruiser  at  last  silenced  her  adversary's  guns.  The  vessels 
were  grappled  for  a  last  struggle,  when  a  terrific  explosion 
strewed  the  sea  with  the  fragments  of  botli.  Stung  to  madness 
by  defeat,  and  knowing  that  if  taken  alive  the  gibbet  awaited 
him,  the  rover  had  fired  the  magazine,  involving  friend  and  foe 
in  a  common  fate. 

A  few  mangled  wretches  succeeded  in  reaching  the  islands, 
only  to  perish  miserably,  one  by  one,  from  cold  and  hunger. 
The  pirate's  mistress  remained  true  to  her  oath  to  the  last,  or 
until  she  also  succumbed  to  want  and  exposure.  By  report,  she 
has  been  seen  more  than  once  on  White  Island,  —  a  tall,  shapely 
figure,  Avrapped  in  a  long  sea-cloak,  her  head  and  neck  uncovered 
except  by  a  profusion  of  golden  hair.  Her  face  is  described  as 
exquisitely  rounded,  but  pale  and  still  as  marble.  She  takes  her 
stand  on  the  verge  of  a  low  projecting  point,  gazing  fixedly  out 
upon  the  ocean  in  an  attitude  of  intense  expectation.  A  former 
race  of  fishermen  avouched  that  her  ghost  was  doomed  to  haunt 
those  rocks  until  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  and  that  the  ancient 
graves  to  be  found  on  the  islands  were  tenanted  by  Blackbeard's 
men. 


THE    SPANISH    WRECK. 

Wo  betide  any  ship  that  was  driven  among  these  islands 
before  the  lightliouse  warned  the  mariner  how  to  steer 
clear  of  them  !  Engulfed  in  pitch  darkness,  the  doomed  vessel 
bore  steadily  down  upon  an  unseen  danger,  whose  first  warning 


THE   SPANISH    WUECK.  353 

was  the  shock  that  snapped  her  masts  asunder  like  dry  twigs,  and 
that  crusheil  in  her  stout  timbers  like  egg-sliells.  The  waves 
and  the  rocks  then  finished  their  work  of  destruction.  Such  a 
scone  of  horror,  with  its  dismal  secpiel  of  suft'ering  and  death, 
enacting  while  the  islanders  lay  fast  asleep  in  their  beds,  is  that 
of  the  unknown  Spanish  wreck. 

This  wreck  took  place  on  Smutty-Nose  Island  in  January, 
1813,  according  to  the  Gosport  records,  which  give  the  ill-fated 
vessel's  name  as  the  "  Sagunto."  Fourteen  rude  graves  count 
the  number  of  bodies  that  were  recovered,  and  buried  in  a  little 
plot  together.  "  There  is  no  inscription  on  the  rvide  bowlders 
at  the  head  and  foot  of  these  graves.  A  few  more  years,  and  all 
trace  of  them  will  be  obliterated." 

Although  the  ship  "  Sagunto  "  was  not  stranded  here,  as  the 
record  incorrectly  states,  the  wreck  of  a  large  vessel  either  Spanish 
or  Portuguese,  with  every  soul  on  board,  remains  a  terrible  fact, 
only  too  well  attested  by  these  graves.  The  "  Sagunto,"  it  is 
known,  after  a  stormy  voyage,  made  her  port  in  safety.  But  the 
horror  of  the  event  is  deepened  by  that  word  "  unknown."  The 
name  of  the  ship,  who  were  her  captain  and  crew,  are  all  swal- 
lowed up  at  the  same  instant  of  time. 

It  was  in  the  heiglit  of  a  blinding  snow-storm  and  a  gale  that 
strewed  the  coast  from  Hatteras  to  the  Penobscot  with  wrecks, 
that  a  ship  built  of  cedar  and  mahogany  was  thrown  upon  these 
rocks.  Not  a  living  soul  was  left  to  tell  the  tale  of  that  bitter 
January  night.  The  ill-fated  craft  was  richly  laden,  for  boxes 
of  raisins  and  almonds  from  Malaga  drifted  on  shore  the  next 
morning.  No  clew  to  the  ship  or  crew  was  found,  except  a 
silver  watch,  with  the  letters  "  P.  S."  engraved  upon  the  seals, 
and  some  letters  which  came  on  shore  with  the  wreckage.  The 
watch  had  stopped  at  exactly  four  o'clock,  while  those  on  the 
island  ticked  on. 

One  account  says  that  part  of  the  crew  were  thrown  upon  the 
rocks  more  dead  than  alive,  and  that,  seeing  a  light  shining 
through  the  storm,  some  of  them  crawled  toward  it ;  but  they 
were  too  far  spent  to  reach  the  kindly  shelter  it  announced. 

23 


354  NEW-ENGLAND    LECxENDS. 

"  The  roaring  of  the  storm  bore  away  their  faint  cries  of  distress ; 
the  old  man  slept  on  quietly,  with  his  family  about  him,  —  shel- 
tered, safe,  • —  Avhile,  a  stone's  throw  from  his  door,  these  sailors 
strove  to  reach  that  friendly  light.  Two  of  them  gained  the 
stone  wall  in  front  of  the  house ;  but  their  ebbing  strength  would 
not  allow  them  to  climb  over."  Their  stiffened  bodies,  half 
buried  in  the  falling  snow,  were  found  hanging  over  it  in  the 
morning. 

This  is  the  story  of  this  little  clump  of  graves,  and  of  the 
wreck  that  is  to  this  day  unknown.  ]\Irs.  Celia  Thaxter  tells 
it  in  verse  with  much  feeling ;  for  to  her  such  scenes  were  not 
unfamiliar,  nor  are  the  dangers  of  these  inhospitable  isles  things 
of  the  imagination. 

THE  SPANIARDS'  GEAVES  AT  THE  ISLES  OF  SHOALS. 

CELIA    THAXTER. 

0  SAILORS,  did  sweet  eyes  look  after  you. 

The  day  you  sailed  away  from  sumiy  Spain  ?  — 
Bright  eyes  that  followed  fading  ship  and  crew. 
Melting  in  tender  rain  ? 

Did  no  one  dream  of  that  drear  night  to  be, 

Wild  with  the  wind,  fierce  with  the  stinging  snow, 
When,  on  yon  granite  point  that  frets  the  sea. 
The  ship  met  her  death-blow  ? 

Fifty  long  years  ago  these  sailors  died  : 

None  know  how  many  sleep  beneath  the  waves  ; 
Fourteen  gray  headstones,  rising  side  by  side, 
Point  out  their  nameless  graves,  — 

Lonely,  unknown,  deserted,  but  for  me 

And  the  wild  l)irds  that  flit  with  mournful  cry, 
And  sadder  winds,  and  voices  of  the  sea 
That  moans  perpetually. 


BOON    ISLAND. 

O  Spanish  women,  over  the  far  seas, 

Could  I  but  show  you  where  your  dead  repose ! 
Could  I  send  tidings  on  this  northern  breeze, 
That  strong  and  steady  blows  ! 

Dear  dark-eyed  sisters,  you  remember  yet 

These  you  have  lost ;  but  you  can  never  know 
One  stands  at  their  bleak  graves  whose  eyes  are  wet 
With  thinking  of  your  wo ! 


BOON     ISLAND. 

EVEN  the  Isles  of  Shoals  have  their  outlying  picket.  The 
solitary  gray  shaft  of  Boon-Island  Lighthouse,  shooting 
high  up  out  of  the  sea,  is  by  day  a  conspicuous  object  anywhere 
between  York  Iliver  and  Cape  Neddock  ;  and  by  night  its  light 
is  a  star  shining  brightly  amid  the  waste  of  waters.  This  island, 
with  its  outlying  ledges,  long  had  the  worst  reputation  among 
sailors  of  any  that  endanger  the  navigation  of  our  eastern  coasts,  — 
until  the  erection  of  a  lighthouse  here  in  1811,  upon  the  larger 
rock,  robbed  the  place  of  some  of  its  terrors.  Its  name  goes 
back  as  far  as  1630,  thus  disposing  of  the  local  traditions  asso- 
ciating it  with  the  wreck  of  the  "Nottingham  Galley,"  which 
occurred  nearly  a  century  later. 

As  the  seas  in  great  storms  break  completely  over  it,  driving 
the  inmates  to  the  upper  story  of  the  shaft,  one  is  lost  in  won- 
der to  think  that  this  barren  rock,  scarcely  elevated  above  the 
waves,  Avas  for  nearly  a  month,  and  in  the  heart  of  winter,  the 
melancholy  refuge  of  a  shipwrecked  crew,  whose  strength  daily 
wasted  away  while  they  were  in  full  sight  of  the  friendly  shore 
they  could  not  reach. 

The  following  is  all  that  can  be  learned  concerning  the  inci- 
dent commemorated  in  Mrs.  Thaxter's  verses :  "  Long  ago,  when 
lighthouses  Avere  not  so  well  manned  as  now,  '  tAvo  lovers,  lately 


356  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

wed,'  went  out  to  keep  the  light  on  this  perilous  reef.  In  a 
great  storm  in  the  beginning  of  winter  the  huslxand  suddenly 
died ;  and  the  bereaved  wife  kept  the  light  burning  three  nights, 
till  the  storm  lulled,  and  then  left  it  unkindled  as  a  signal  of 
distress.  There  was  no  human  creature  on  the  rock  except 
themselves." 

THE  WATCH   OF  BOON   ISLAND. 

CELIA    THAXTER. 

They  crossed  the  lonely  and  lamenting  sea ; 

Its  moaning  seemed  but  singing.     "  Wilt  thou  dare," 
He  asked  her,  "  brave  the  loneliness  with  me  I" 

"  What  loneliness,"  she  said,  "  if  thou  art  there  ?" 

Afar  and  cold  on  the  horizon's  rim 

Loomed  the  tall  lighthouse,  like  a  ghostly  sign  ; 

They  sighed  not  as  the  shore  behind  grew  dim,  — 
A  rose  of  joy  they  bore  across  the  brine. 

They  gained  the  barren  rock,  and  made  their  home 
Among  the  wild  waves  and  the  sea-birds  wild. 

The  wintry  winds  blew  fierce  across  the  foam  ; 
But  in  each  other's  eyes  they  looked  and  smiled. 

Aloft  the  lighthouse  sent  its  warnings  wide. 

Fed  by  their  faithful  hands  ;   and  ships  in  sight 

With  joy  beheld  it  ;  and  on  land  men  cried, 

"  Look,  clear  and  steady  burns  Boon  Island  Light ! " 

Death  found  them  ;  turned  his  face  and  passed  her  by, 

But  laid  a  fhiger  on  her  lover's  lips ; 
And  there  was  silence.     Then  the  storm  ran  high, 

And  tossed  and  troubled  sore  the  distant  ships. 

Nay,  who  shall  speak  the  terrors  of  the  night. 
The  speechless  sorrow,  the  supreme  despair  ? 

Still  like  a  ghost  she  trimmed  the  waning  light. 
Dragging  her  slow  weight  up  the  winding  stair. 


THE   GKAVE   OF   CHAMPERNOWNB.  357 

Three  times  the  night,  tuo  terrible  to  bear, 
Descended,  slirouded  in  the  storm.     At  lust 

The  sun  rose  clear  and  still  on  her  despair, 
And  all  her  striving  to  the  winds  she  cast, 

And  bowed  her  head,  and  let  the  light  die  out. 
For  the  wide  sea  lay  calm  as  her  dead  love. 

When  evening  fell,  from  the  far  land,  in  doubt. 
Vainly  to  find  that  fuithl'ul  star  men  strove. 

Out  from  the  coast  toward  her  high  tower  they  sailed ; 

They  foimd  her  watching,  silent,  by  her  dead,  — 
A  shadowy  woman,  who  nor  wept  nor  wailed, 

But  answered  what  they  spake,  till  all  was  said. 


THE    GRAVE    OF   CHAMPERNOWNE. 

ON  Gerrish's  Island,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Piscataqua  River, 
there  is  a  rude  heap  of  stones  marking,  according  to  tra- 
dition, the  last  resting-place  of  Francis  Champernowne,  a  former 
owner  and  resident  of  this  island.  Tradition  further  says  he 
forbid  that  any  monument  should  be  raised  to  his  memory, 
although  he  was  of  gentle  blood,  a  nephew  of  the  famous  Sir 
Ferdinando  Gorges,  and  a  man  of  much  personal  worth  and  dis- 
tinction. (See  "  Nooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  England  Coast," 
p.  149,  and  notes.) 

Thomas  de  Cambeknon  for  Hastings'  field 
Left  Normandy  ;  his  tower  saw  him  no  more  ! 

And  no  crusader's  warhorse,  plumed  and  steeled, 
Paws  the  grass  now  at  Modbury's  blazoned  door  ; 

No  lettered  marble  nor  ancestral  shield,  — 
Where  all  the  Atlantic  shakes  the  lonesome  shore. 

Lies  ours  forgotten  :  only  cobble-stones 

To  tell  us  where  are  Champeruowne's  poor  bones. 

John  Elwyn. 


o58  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

YORK,  MAINE. 

A  G  A  M  E  N  T  I  C  U  S. 

CHARLES    E.    BANKS. 

Where  rises  grand,  majestic,  tall, 
As  in  a  dream,  the  towering  wall 

That  scorns  the  restless,  surging  tiele, 
Once  spanned  the  mart  and  street  and  mall, 

And  arched  the  trees  on  every  side 

Of  this  great  city,  once  in  pride. 
For  liither  came  a  knightly  train 

From  o'er  the  sea  with  gorgeous  court  ; 
The  mayors,  gowned  in  robes  of  state, 
Held  brilliant  tourney  on  the  plain, 

And  massive  ships  within  the  port 

Discharged  their  load  of  richest  freight. 
Then  when  at  night,  the  sun  gone  down 

Behind  the  western  hill  and  tree. 
The  bowls  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  Ijy  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  for  the  fray  ? 
The  mayors,  wliere,  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  I " 


SAINT   ASrENQUID   OF   ACIAMENTICUS.  359 


SAINT   ASPENQUID   OF   AGAMENTICUS. 

MOUNT  Agamcnticus,  the  locality  of  the  following  legend, 
is  the  commanding  landmark  for  sixty  miles  np  and 
down  the  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  the  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  the  whole  region 
that  surrounds  it,  over  which  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  Appledore,"  the  poet  Lowell  makes  this 
reference  to  the  sailor's  mountain  :  — 

He  glowers  there  to  the  north  of  us 
Wrapt  iu  his  mantle  of  blue  haze, 
Unconvertibly  savage,  and  scorns  to  take 
The  white  man's  baptism  on  his  ways. 
Him  first  on  shore  the  coaster  divines 
Through  the  early  gray,  and  sees  him  shake 
The  morning  mist  from  his  scalp-lock  of  pines  : 
Him  first  the  skipper  makes  out  in  the  west. 
Ere  the  earliest  sunstreak  shoots  trenmlous, 
Plashing  with  orange  the  palpitant  lines 
Of  mutable  billow,  crest  after  crest. 
And  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  Avho  always  invested  the  mountain  with  a  sacred  char- 
acter. From  this  circumstance  comes  the  Indian  legend  of  Saint 
Aspenquid,  whom  some  writers  have  identified  with  the  patri- 
arch Passaconaway,  the  hero  of  so  many  wonderful  exploits  in 
healing  and  in  necromancy. 


360  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

According  to  the  little  we  are  able  to  recover  concerning  him, 
Saint  Aspenquid  was  born  in  1588,  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  he  at  once  set  about  his 
long  and  active  ministration  among  the  people  of  his  own  race, 
to  whom  he  became  a  tutelary  saint  and  prophet.  For  forty 
years  he  is  said  to  have  wandered  from  east  to  west  and  from 
north  to  south,  preaching  the  gospel  to  sixty-six  different  na- 
tions, healing  the  sick,  and  performing  those  miracles  which 
raised  him  in  the  estimation  of  his  own  people  to  the  character 
of  a  prophet  appointed  by  Heaven,  and  in  that  of  the  whites  to 
a  being  endowed  with  supernatural  powers.  These  wanderings 
had  carried  him  from  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  Califor- 
nian  Sea.  Grown  venerable  in  his  good  work,  warned  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  different  tribes  together  to  attend  his  solemn  funeral  obse- 
quies, they  carried  the  body  of  their  patriarch  to  the  summit  of 
Mount  Agamenticus.  Previous  to  performing  the  rite  of  sepul- 
ture, and  agreeable  to  the  custom  held  sacred  by  these  people, 
the  hunters  of  each  tribe  s-pread  themselves  throughout  the  for- 
ests. A  great  number  of  wild  beasts  were  slaughtered  as  a  sac- 
rifice to  the  manes  of  the  departed  saint.  Tradition  affirms  that 
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  Saint  Aspenquid, 
Returning,  travel  worn  and  spent  with  age 
From  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  his  race 


SAINT   ASPENQUID    OF   AGAMENTICUS.  361 

With  ours,  Koiit  messengers  throughout  the  East 

To  summon  all  the  blood-bound  Iriljes  to  him  ; 

For  that  upon  the  ancient  meeting-place, 

The  sacred  mountain  Agamenticus, 

When  next  the  moon  should  show  a  new-bent  bow, 

He  there  would  celebrate  his  funeral  feast 

With  sacrifices  due  and  farewell  talk. 

The  dusky  people  heard  and  they  obeyed  ; 

For  known  was  Aspen(|uid  in  all  the  camps,  — 

Known  was  his  name  where  unknown  was  his  face  ; 

His  conjuries,  his  valor,  and  his  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  slain 
(Three  thousand,  so  the  ancient  annals  say)  ; 
The  dance  was  danced  ;  and  every  rite  performed ; 
And  gathered  round  the  summit  of  the  mount 
The  stately,  silent  sachems  stood  intent 
On  Aspenc[uid.    He  over  all  was  tall 
And  straight  as  ash,  though  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  w(3nted  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  splendid  dark, 
But  glowed  deep  set  beneath  a  low,  broad  brow. 
Unpinched  by  age,  his  face  was  firm,  and  bronzed 
Like  leaves  that  hang  all  winter  on  the  oak. 

"  Warriors  and  braves,  come  nearer  to  your  chief ! 
My  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. 


362  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Come  nearer,  l)raves,  that  I  may  feast  my  eyes 
On  your  young  limbs,  on  what  myself  once  was  ! 

My  race  decays,  and  I  have  lived  too  long  ; 

My  lindjs  with  ninety  Aveary  winters'  strife 

Are  spent ;  my  lathers  call  me  unto  them. 

I  go  to  comfort  their  impatient  shades, 

And  respite  find  for  all  my  own  mischance. 

And  here  once  more  on  Agamenticus, 

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, 

While  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. 

Light  not  the  fires  of  vengeance  in  your  hearts, 

For  sure  the  flame  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,  and  always  slow  to  strike. 

Fall  back  ;  seek  other  shores  and  hunting-grounds,  — 

I  cannot  bear  you  perish  utterly  ! 

Though,  looking  through  the  melancholy  years, 

I  see  the  end,  but  turn  my  face  away, 

So  heavy  are  my  eyes  with  unshed  tears  ; 

And  yours  too  I  woidd  turn,  warriors  and  braves  ! 

And  mind  not  my  prophetic  vision  much,  — 

Th'  unhajipy  gift  of  him  who  lives  too  long ; 

But  mind  the  counsel  many  years  have  taught. 

The  last  I  give  :  remember  it,  and  live  !  " 


^ 


5  t. 


HANGING   BY   PROXY. 


IN  his  "  New  English  Canaan,"  iirst  published  at  London  in 
1632,  Thomas  Morton,  the  dispossessed  and  exiled  planter 
of  Mount  Wollaston,  alias  Merry  Mount,  relates  the  droll 
doings  "  Of  a  Parliament  held  at  Wessaguscus."  Wessaguscus 
is  now  Weymouth,  INIass.  It  was  first  settled  by  a  trad- 
ing company  sent  out  by  Thomas  Weston,  —  a  London  mer- 
chant with  whom  the  Plymoutli  Pilgrims  had  had  some 
dealings,  but  whose  present  enterprise  they  regarded  with  no 
particular  favor.  This  Morton  is  a  character  about  whom  there 
are  at  least  two  opinions  :  the  one  generally  received  being  that 
he  was  a  lawless,  dissolute,  reckless,  yet  able  scamp,  who  led 
a  vagabond  life  among  vagabond  followers ;  whence  Hubbard 
styles  him  "lord  of  misrule."  There  is  no  question  that  the 
Pilgrims  looked  upon  him  as  a  dangerous  neighbor,  or  that 
he  regarded  them  Avith  unconcealed  aversion  and  disdain.  So 
far  as  he  was  anything,  he  was  a  Churchman  ;  while  they  were 
out-and-out  Separatists.  He  used  the  Book  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 
coming  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 


366  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

to  have  been,  —  an  unprincipled  adventurer.  Taking  his  "  New 
English  Canaan "  as  the  index  of  his  character,  one  reads  at 
every  few  lines  some  evidence  of  his  strong  predilection  for  a 
life  of  indolence  and  pleasure.  His  idea  was  to  establish  an 
Arcadia,  with  the  natives  as  his  vassals.  He  restored  the  Old- 
English  holiday  customs,  which  the  Puritans  considered  idola- 
trous, and  which  they  had  prohibited  among  themselves.  He 
rechristoned  his  plantation  of  Mount  AVollaston  by  the  name  of 
Merry  Mount,  witli  the  old  May -Day  ceremonies  of  wine,  wassail, 
and  the  dance  around  the  j\Iay-pole,  to  celebrate  the  change.  He 
composed  riddles  in  verse  addressed  to  his  followers  that  show 
an  equal  familiarity  Avith  classical  lore  and  with  the  debased 
manners  of  the  court  wits  and  rhymesters  of  the  day.  He 
furnished  the  Indians  with  firearms  to  hunt  for  him,  which 
they  soon  learned  to  use  against  tlieir  masters.  Taking  the 
alarm,  the  outraged  Pilgrims  seized  and  shipped  Morton  a  pris- 
oner to  England,  without  law  or  other  warrant  than  the  "  higlier 
law"  that  might  makes  right;  and  it  was  while  smarting  under 
the  sense  of  injury  tliat  INIorton  wrote  this  most  entertaining 
account  of  his  personal  adventures  in  the  New  English  Canaan. 

This  brings  us  back  to  Morton's  story  of  how  justice  was 
administered  at  that  early  day  in  New  England,  notably  at  the 
plantation  of  Wessaguscus.  It  is  no  fault  of  Morton  that  the 
tale  has  grown  since  leaving  his  capable  hands.  But  to  him 
belongs  the  honor  of  having  first  set  it  down  in  black  and 
white.     He  says  :  — 

"  Master  Weston's  plantation  being  settled  at  "Wessaguscus,  his 
sej'vants,  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  ahlo-bodied  man  that  ranged  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 
wa3^  The  Indian  owner,  finding  by  the  footprint  that  the  thief 
was  an  Englishman,  came  and  made  his  complaint  at  the  plantation. 


IIANGINO    r.Y    ITvOXY.  3G7 

"  The  chief  communder  of  the  coiiqxmy  immediately  called  to- 
j^ethor  a  parliaiiu'iit  of  all  those  who  were  not  sick,  to  hear  and 
deterniinc  the  cause  of  complaint.  And  wisely  now,"  continues 
Morton,  witli  playful  irony,  "they  sliould  consult  upon  this  huge 
complaint,  that  a  knife  or  a  string  of  beads  would  wdl  enough  have 
disposed  of,  Edward  Johnson  being  made  ;i  special  judge  of  this 
busin.^ss.  The  fact  was  there  in  repetition,  construction  made  that 
it  was  a  felony,  and  by  the  laws  of  England  punished  with  death  ; 
and  this  in  execution  must  be  put  for  an  example,  and  likewise  to 
ajipease  the  savage  ;  when  straightway  one  arose,  moved  as  it  were 
with  some  compassion,  and  said  he  could  not  well  gainsay  the  former 
sentence,  yet  he  had  conceived  within  the  compass  of  his  brain  an 
Embrion  (an  unborn  child)  that  was  of  special  consequence  to  be 
delivered  and  cherished.  He  said  that  it  would  most  aptly  serve  to 
pacify  the  savage's  complaint,  and  save  the  life  of  one  that  might 
(if  need  should  be)  stand  them  in  some  good  stead,  being  young  and 
strong,  fit  for  resistance  against  an  enemy,  which  might  come  un- 
expected for  anything  they  knew. 

"  This  oration  was  liked  by  every  one  ;  and  the  orator  was  en- 
treated to  show  how  this  end  might  be  reached.     He  went  on  :  — 

"  Says  he, '  You  all  agree  that  one  must  die,  and  one  shall  die.  This 
young  man's  clothes  we  will  take  off,  and  put  upon  one  that  is  old  and 
impotent,  —  a  sickly  person  that  cannot  escape  death  ;  such  is  the 
disease  on  him  confirmed,  that  die  he  must :  put  the  young  man's 
clothes  on  this  man,  and  let  the  sick  person  be  hanged  in  the  other's 
stead.'     '  Amen,'  says  one  ;  and  so  say  many  more. 

"  And  this  had  like  to  have  proved  their  final  sentence,  and  being 
there  confirmed  by  Act  of  Parliament  to  after-ages  for  a  precedent, 
but  that  one  with  a  ravenous  voice  liegan  to  croak  and  bellow  for 
revenge,  and  put  by  that  conclusive  motion,  alleging  that  such 
deceits  might  be  a  means  hereafter  to  exasperate  the  minds  of  the 
complaining  savages,  and  that  by  his  death  the  savages  should  see 
their  zeal  to  do  justice  ;  and  therefore  he  should  die.  This  was  con- 
cluded. Yet,  nevertheless,  a  scruple  was  made  ;  now  to  counter- 
mand this  act  did  represent  itself  unto  their  minds,  which  was  how 
they  should  do  to  get  the  man's  good-will.  This  was  indeed  a  special 
obstacle,  for  without  (that  they  all  agreed)  it  would  be  dangerous 
for  any  man  to  attempt  the  execution  of  it,  lest  mischief  should  be- 
fall them,  every  man.  He  was  a  person,  that  in  his  wrath  did  seem 
to  be  a  second  Samson,  able  to  beat  out  their  brains  with  tlie  jawbone 


368  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  an  ass.  Therefore  they  called  the  man,  and  by  persuasion  got 
him  fast  bound  in  jest,  and  then  lianged  him  up  hard  by  in  good 
earnest,  who  with  a  weapon,  and  at  liberty,  would  have  ]nit  all  these 
wise  judges  of  this  ])arliament  to  a  pitiful  -non  jj/ha'  (as  it  hath  been 
credibly  reported),  and  made  the  chief  judge  of  them  all  buckle 
to  him." 

This  is  Morton's  own  narration.  The  actual  culprit,  lie  de- 
clares, was  really  hanged,  in  spite  of  the  ingenious  proposal  to 
hang  up  another  man  in  his  stead,  which  at  first  had  tickled  the 
fancy  of  the  parliament.  As  if  to  corroborate  the  story,  Brad- 
ford tells  us  that  these  Wessaguscus  planters  were  fain  to  hang 
cue  of  their  men  whom  they  could  not  reclaim  from  stealing,  in 
order  to  give  the  Indians  content. 

Morton's  story  is  generally  admitted  to  be  the  foundation  for 
Butler's  mirth-provoking  one  in  "  Hudibras,"  which  appeared 
thirty  years  later,  to  delight  the  world  wath  its  incomparable 
drollery  and  satire.  The  satirist,  whom  nothing  escaped,  there 
puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  Ralpho,  Avho  is  endeavoring  in  a 
most  Jesuitical  Avay  to  clear  away  his  master's  scruples  in  regard 
to  the  flagellation  he  had  promised  to  undergo  for  his  lady's 
sake,  but  was  disposed  to  avoid.  The  squire  artfully  debates 
the  point  of  honor  involved  :  — 

Though  nice  and  dark  the  point  appear. 
Quoth  Ralph,  it  may  hold  up  and  clear. 
That  sinners  may  supply  the  place 
Of  suffering  saints,  is  a  plain  case. 
Justice  gives  sentence  many  times 
On  one  man  for  another's  crimes. 
Our  brethren  of  New  England  use 
Choice  malefactors  to  excuse, 
And  hang  the  guiltless  in  their  stead, 
Of  whom  the  churches  have  less  need. 
As  lately  't  happened  ;  in  a  town 
There  liv'd  a  coblJer,  and  but  one 
That  out  of  doctrine  could  cut  use, 
And  mend  men's  lives  as  well  as  shoes. 


IIAN(!TN(!    I'.V    I'liOXY.  369 

This  precious  In-othur  liuving  sliiiu, 
III  time  of  peace,  an  Indian, 
Not  out  of  malice,  but  mere  zeal, 
Because  he  was  an  iulidel. 
The  mighty  Totlipottimoy 
Sent  to  our  elders  an  envoy, 
Complainhig  sorely  of  liu'  l)reach 
Of  league,  held  forth  by  brother  Patch, 
Against  the  articles  in  force 
Between  liotli  churches,  his  and  ours. 
But  tliey  maiuri'Iy  having  weigh'd 
They  had  no  more  but  him  o'  tli'  trade, 
A  man  that  serv'd  them  in  a  double 
Capacity  to  teach  and  cobble, 
Resolv'd  to  spare  him  ;  yet  to  do 
The  Indian  Hoghan  JVIoghan  too 
Impartial  justice,  in  his  stead  did 
Hang  an  old  weaver  that  was  bedrid. 

In  the  author's  notes  to  tlie  early  editions  of  "Hudibras"  the 
story  is  asserted  to  be  true.  Hubbard  repeats  it  with  the  quali- 
fication that  the  hanging  was  only  pretended,  although  he  had 
seen  the  extract  we  have  given  from  Bradford;  and  he  had 
also  read  and  enjoyed  the  manner  "  with  which  the  merry  gen- 
tleman that  wrote  '  Hudibras '  did  in  his  poetical  fancy  make 
so  much  sport." 

That  in  one  form  or  another  tlie  story  now  became  current  as 
true,  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  doubt.  We  next  discover  it  in 
a  different  dress,  related  with  much  gusto  by  Governor  Dudley  to 
Captain  Uring,  and  printed  at  length  in  the  latter's  "  Voyages." 
It  will  be  seen  that  the  anecdote  has  lost  notliing  by  passing  from 
mouth  to  mouth.     This  is  Governor  Dudley's  version  :  — 

"  One  day,  while  a  carpenter  Avas  cutting  down  a  tree,  and  a 
crowd  of  Indians  stood  around,  watching  every  blow  with  the  greatest 
attention,  the  tree  fell  on  one  of  them  who  did  not  get  out  of  the 
way,  killing  him  on  the  spot.  The  other  Indians  set  up  a  great 
howling  over  the  dead  body,  while  the  frightened  carpenter  ran  and 
hid   himself  to  escape  their  vengeance  ;  for  they  foolishly  thought 

24 


370  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

liiiu  to  blame  for  the  death  of  their  coiupauion.  The  English  tried 
to  persuade  them  that  the  carpenter  was  not  at  fault;  but  nothing 
short  of  his  death  would  pacify  them.  They  demanded  that  he 
should  be  given  up  to  them  for  execution.  Seeing  them  thus  en- 
raged, and  fearing  that  they  might  fall  upon  and  destroy  them,  the 
English  finally  promised  to  hang  the  unlucky  carpenter  themselves. 
The  Indians  were  told  to  come  the  next  morning,  and  they  would 
see  him  hanging  from  a  particular  tree.  But  the  carpenter  being  a 
young  and  lusty  fellow,  and  very  useful,  they  concluded  they  could 
not  spare  him  ;  and  there  being  in  the  fort  an  (jkl  bedridden  wea\er 
who  had  not  long  to  live,  he  was  taken  out  to  the  tree  and  ipiii'tly 
hanged  in  the  room  of  the  carpenter,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the 
Indians,  who  did  not  detect  the  cheat,  and  who  became  good  Iriends 
again. 


THE   OLD   OAKEN   BUCKET. 

THE  touch  of  nature  to  which  all  yield,  has  no  higher  exem- 
plification than  in  those  simple  ballads  of  home  and  its 
associations  that  have  made  the  names  of  Payne  and  Woodworth 
immortal.  One  does  not  care  to  analyze  his  sensations ;  he 
forgets  the  homely  phrase  ;  he  feels,  and  ia.  deeply  affected  by 
the  awakening  of  those  memories  which  carry  liim  back  to  the 
days  of  his  happy  and  innocent  childhood  ;  he  is  a  child  again. 
This  secret,  yet  powerful  chord  was  struck  by  Samuel  Wood- 
worth  in  his  "  Old  Oaken  Bucket ; "  and  it  has  not  yet  ceased  to 
vibrate  a  tender  harmony  whenever  that  masterpiece  of  human 
emotion  is  spoken  or  sung. 

Dear  old  "  Goldy  "  has  well  expressed  that  inextinguishable 
yearning  for  the  spot  of  ground  we  call  "home"  in  these  touch- 
ing lines  :  — 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs,  —  and  God  has  given  my  share,  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past. 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 


THE    OLD    OAKEN    liUCKET.  371 

What  arc  those  endearing  scenes  which  in  the  "  Ohl  Oaken 
Bucket  "  lind  their  counterpart  in  the  memory  of  thousands  1 

Tlie  town  of  Scituate,  Massacliusetts,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
of  the  Old  Colony,  joins  Coliasset  on  the  south.  Its  history  is 
memorable  and  interesting.  The  2>eople  come  of  a  hardy  and 
determined  ancestry,  who  fought  for  every  inch  of  ground  that 
their  descendants  now  hold.  To  this  fact  may  perhaps  be  re- 
ferred the  strength  of  those  associations,  clinging  like  ivy  around 
some  of  the  most  notable  of  the  ancient  homesteads.  To  bor- 
row from  j\lr.  Nason  :  "  The  scene  so  vividly  described  in  Mr. 
Woodworth's  charming  lyric  is  a  httle  valley  through  which 
Herring  Brook  pursues  its  devious  way  to  meet  the  tidal  waters 
of  North  Iviver.  The  view  of  it  from  Coleman  Heights,  with 
its  neat  cottages,  its  maple-groves  and  apple-orchards,  is  remark- 
ably beautiful.  The  'wide-spreading  pond,'  the  'mill,'  the 
'  dairy-house,'  the  '  rock  where  the  cataract  fell,'  and  even  the 
'  old  well,'  if  not  the  '  moss-covered  bucket '  itself,  may  still  be 
seen  just  as  the  poet  described  them." 

Among  these  scenes  Samuel  Woodworth,  the  people's  poet, 
was  born  and  reared.  Although  the  house  is  no  longer  there, 
many  pilgrims  stop  at  its  modern  successor  in  order  to  slake 
their  thirst  at  the  waters,  the  recollection  of  which  gave  the  poet 
such  exquisite  pleasure  in  after  years.  One  would  still  have  the 
surroundings  unchanged,  —  the  cot  where  he  dwelt,  the  pon- 
derous well-sweep,  creaking  with  age,  that  his  youthfid  hands 
tugged  feebly  at;  and,  finally,  the  mossy  bucket  overflowing 
with  crystal  nectar  fresh  from  the  cool  depths  below.  But  since 
changes  will  come  to  transform  the  picture,  the  susceptible  vis- 
itor must  be  content  to  qualf  a  draught  of  purest  water  to  the 
memory  of  one  of  the  kindliest  poets  that  our  New  England  soil 
has  produced. 

To  this  rapid  sketch  of  the  scene  we  may  now  add  the  history 
of  the  popular  ballad,  "  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket."  The  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  composed  and  written  —  and  they 
embody  a  moral  as  well  as  consecrate  a  memory  —  are  said  to 
be  as  follows  :  — 


-\^r  r.   .v^^^te-^- 


THE   OLD   OAKEN   BUCKET. 


THF,    OLD    OAKKN    BFCKKT.  373 

Sanuiol  "Woochvortli  was  a  priiitur,  wliu  had  served  his  appren- 
ticeship under  the  veteran  JNiajor  Kussell,  of  "  The  Culumljian 
Centinel,"  a  journal  which  was  in  its  day  the  leading  Federalist 
organ  of  New  England.  He  had  inlierited  the  wanchsring  propen- 
sity of  his  class  :  yielding  to  which  ho  in  ilue  time  removed  lirst 
to  Hartford,  and  then  to  New  York,  where,  after  an  unsuccessful 
career  as  a  publisher,  he  became  associated  witli  j\Iorris  as  one 
of  the  founders  of  "  The  Mirror."  It  was  while  he  was  living 
in  New  York,  and  after  many  vicissitudes  had  tempered  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  youth,  that,  in  coniivany  with  some  brother 
printers,  he  one  day  dropped  in  at  a  well-known  establishment, 
tlien  kept  by  Mallory,  to  take  a  social  glass  with  them.  The 
cognac  was  pronounced  excellent.  After  tasting  it,  Woodworth 
set  his  glass  down  on  the  table,  and  smacking  his  lips,  declared 
emphatically  that  Mallory's  eau  de  vie  was  superior  to  anything 
that  he  had  ever  tasted. 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  one  of  his  comrades  quietly  ; 
then  adding,  "  there  certainly  was  one  thing  that  far  surpassed 
this  in  the  way  of  drinking,  as  you,  too,  will  readily  acknowledge 
when  you  hear  it." 

"  Indeed  ;  and  pray  what  was  that  1 "  Woodworth  asked,  with 
apparent  incredulity  that  anything  could  surpass  the  liquor  then 
before  him. 

"  The  draught  of  pure  and  sparkling  spring  water  that  we 
used  to  get  from  the  old  oaken  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well, 
after  our  return  from  the  labors  of  the  field  on  a  sultry  summer's 
day." 

No  one  spoke ;  all  were  busy  with  their  own  thoughts, 

A  tear-drop  glistened  for  a  moment  in  Wood  worth's  eye.  ' '  True, 
true,"  he  exclaimed  ;  and  soon  after  quitted  the  place.  With  a 
lieart  overflowing  with  the  recollections  that  this  chance  allusion 
in  a  bar-room  had  inspired,  the  scene  of  his  happier  childhood 
life  rushed  upon  him  in  a  flood  of  feeling.  He  hastened  back 
to  the  office  in  which  he  then  worked,  seized  a  pen,  and  in  half 
an  hour  had  written  the  })opular  ballad  which  follows.  Wood- 
worth  died  in   1842,  at  tlie  age  of  fifty-seven.     His  reputation 


374  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

rests  upon  this  one  stroke  of  genius.  He  never  wrote  anytliing 
better  than  this  beautiful  lyric,  which  is  capable  of  hushing  the 
most  boisterous  assemblies  into  sih'uce,  —  such  is  the  homage 
that  all  instinctively  pay  to  the  purest  and  holiest  of  human 
associations. 

THE   OLD   OAKEN    BUCKET. 

SAMUEL    WOODWORTn. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

AVhen  fond  Recollection  presents  them  to  view  ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwo(Kl, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew,  — 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood  by  it. 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell  ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it. 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covei'ed  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure  ; 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure,  — 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing ! 

And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell  ; 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing. 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  tu  receive  it. 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 
Not  a  full  l)lus]iing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jui)iter  sips. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  Regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  Fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  whicli  hang.s  in  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hans^s  in  the  well. 


DESTRUCTION    OF   MINOT  S    LKIHT. 


375 


DESTRUCTION    OF   MINOT'S   LIGHT. 


THE  dangerous   reef  stretching  lUr  out    into  the    scsa  from 
Cohasset,  so  shaggy   with  kelp  and  rockweeil  that  each 
separate  rock  looks  like  the  head  of  a  monster  rising  t(j  take 

breath,  has  acquired  a 
fatal  celebrity.  Many 
a  good  ship's  bones 
lie  buried  in  the 
treacherous  sands,  or 
whitening  among  the 
sharp  rocks  in  the  otf- 
ing.  In  the  autumnal 
gale  of  1849,  fully 
one  hundred  lives 
were  sacrificed  to  its 
fury  upon  this  coast. 
In  that  gale  the  ill- 
fated  "St.  John's,"  an 
emigrant  ship,  struck 
here  on  Cohasset 
Rocks,  when  within 
sight  of  lier  port,  and 
became  a  total  wreck. 
Twenty-seven  bodies 
were  recovered,  and 
l)uried   in  the  vilKme 


TUE   FIRST   MlNOT  S   LIGUTUOUSE. 


376  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

graveyard.  Those  who  have  visited  the  Miiiot's  Lighthouse 
only  on  a  summer's  cUiy  can  faintly  imagine  the  fury  of  a 
wintry  storm,  or  the  power  with  which  the  seas  then  dasli 
themselves  high  over  the  lantern  of  the  tower.  The  place  had 
long  been  one  of  terror  to  mariners,  when,  aroused  by  the  long 
catalogue  of  disasters  signalling  it,  the  Government  in  1841) 
began  the  erection  of  a  lighthouse  on  Minot's  Ivock,  known  to 
be  one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  this  dangerous  shore.  It  was 
constructed  upon  the  novel,  ami  as  it  proved  the  mistaken,  idea 
of  opposing  as  little  resistance  to  the  free  movement  of  the 
waves  as  possible.  With  this  view  ponderous  iron  piles  were 
sunk  deep  in  the  rock,  and  upon  them  was  built  the  keeper's 
house  and  lantern,  the  floor  of  the  dwelling  being  thus  elevated 
fully  forty  feet  above  the  seas  which  rolled  beneath  it.  When 
the  great  storm  of  April  14,  1851,  to  which  people  long  referred 
with  a  shudder,  began,  Bennet,  the  keeper,  was  on  shore,  the 
lighthouse  being  then  in  charge  of  two  assistants.  The  storm 
steadily  increased  to  a  tremendous  gale  from  the  northeast,  that 
continued  with  unabated  fury  throughout  the  two  succeeding 
days.  By  this  time  grave  apprehensions  -i)egan  to  be  felt  for 
the  security  of  the  structure.  The  last  time  that  the  lighthouse 
was  seen  standing  was  shortly  after  three  o'clock  on  Wednesday, 
the  third  day  of  the  gale.  The  weather  then  became  too  thick 
to  distinguish  it ;  but  the  lantern  was  not  lighted,  as  usual, 
during  tliat  night,  ov  if  lighted,  it  coidd  not  be  made  out  from 
the  shore.  At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning  tlie 
keeper,  while  making  his  round,  found  fragments  of  the  resi- 
dence strewed  along  the  beach.  The  lighthouse  with  all  it  con- 
tained had  been  swept  away  during  that  night  of  fear,  and 
no  one  had  been  left  to  tell  the  tale.  When  the  gale  had 
spent  itself,  the  great  waves  were  seen  tossing  in  mad  glee  on 
the  spot  where  it  had  stood  :  the  beautiful  aerial  tower  had 
disappeared. 


minot's  ledge.  377 

Ml  NUT'S   ].KU(iK,    MASS. 

IJY    FITZ-JAMIOS    o'lilUKN. 

Like  spectral  houuels  across  the  sky, 
The  wliite  clouds  scud  before  the  storm  ; 
And  naked  in  the  howlinj^  nijj;ht 
The  red-eyed  lightliouse  lifts  its  form. 
The  waves  with  slippery  fingers  clutch 
The  massive  tower,  and  climl)  and  fall, 
And,  muttering,  growl  witli  li.ililed  rage 
Their  curses  on  the  sturdy  wall. 

Up  in  the  lonely  tower  he  sits, 
The  keeper  of  the  crimson  light ; 
Silent  and  awestruck  does  he  liear 
The  imprecations  of  the  night  ; 
The  white  spray  beats  against  the  panes 
Like  some  wet  ghost  that  down  the  air 
Is  hunted  by  a  troop  of  iiends, 
And  seeks  a  shelter  anywhere. 

He  prays  aloud,  the  lonely  man, 

For  every  soul  that  night  at  sea, 

But  more  than  all  for  that  brave  l)oy 

Who  used  to  gayly  climb  his  knee,  — 

Young  Charlie,  with  his  chestnut  hair 

And  hazel  eye  and  laughing  lip. 

"  May  Heaven  look  down,"  the  old  man  cries, 

"  Upon  my  son,  and  on  his  .ship  !  " 

While  thus  with  pious  heart  he  prays, 
Far  in  the  distance  sounds  a  boom  : 
He  pauses  ;  and  again  there  rings 
That  sullen  thunder  through  the  room. 
A  ship  upon  the  shoals  to-night ! 
She  cannot  hold  for  one  half  hour ; 
But  clear  the  ropes  and  grappling-hook.s, 
And  tru.st  in  the  Almighty  Power ! 


378  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

On  the  drenched  gallery  he  stands, 
Striving  to  pierce  the  solid  night  : 
Across  the  sea  the  red  eye  throws 
A  steady  crimson  wake  of  light  ; 
And,  where  it  falls  upon  the  waves, 
He  sees  a  human  head  float  by, 
With  long  drenched  curls  of  chestrmt  hair. 
And  wild,  l)ut  fearless  hazel  eye. 

Out  with  the  hooks  !     One  mighty  fling  ! 
Adown  the  wind  the  long  rope  curls. 
Oh  !    will  it  catch  I     Ah,  dread  suspense, 
While  the  wild  ocean  wilder  whirls  ! 
A  steady  pull ;  it  tightens  now  : 
Oh  !  his  old  heart  will  burst  Mitli  joy, 
As  on  the  slippery  rocks  he  pulls 
Tlie  Ijreatliing  body  of  his  boy. 

Still  sweep  the  spectres  through  the  sky ; 
Still  scud  the  clouds  before  the  storm  ; 
Still  naked  in  tlu'  liowling  night 
The  red-eyed  lightliouse  lifts  its  form. 
Without,  the  world  is  wild  with  rage ; 
Unkennelled  demons  are  abroad  : 
But  with  the  father  and  the  son 
Within,  there  is  the  peace  of  God. 


LEGENDS   OF   PLYMOUTH   ROCK. 

^VT~0  good  American  would  willingly  die  without  having  seen 
-L^      Plymouth  Iluck. 

There  is  no  certain  record  of  a  day  upon  which  all  of  the 
"  Mayflower's  "  company  disembarked  ;  but  those  liaving  the  best 
right  to  do  it  hxed  tlio  date  as  the  22d  of  December,  1G20. 

Justly  regarded  as  the  most  important  one  in  American  his- 
tory, the  event  has  been  celebrated  by  some  of  the  most  spirited 


LKCiENDS    OF    I'LVMUl'Tll    KUCK. 


379 


poems  in  the  language ;  and  to  those  who  love  the  old  songs  — 
and  who  does  not  l  —  the  stanzas  of  Felicia  Henians,  Pierpont, 
Sigourney,  Sprague,  and  I'ercival,  retain  all  the  freshness  and 
inspiration  of  their  childhood's  days. 

The  honor  of  having  first  touched  the  shore   on    the    ever- 
nieiuorable  day  is  shared  by  two  claimants.     Both  are  supported 


MARY    CHILTON  S   LEAP. 


by  family  tradition.  That  giving  it  to  John  Alden  was  handed 
down  through  successive  generations,  until  it  was  printed  in  his 
collection  of  Epitaphs,  by  the  Reverend  Timothy  Alden,  1\D., 
a  lineal  descendant  of  John,  and  thus  obtained  a  permanent 
record. 


380  new-en(;lani)  legends. 

The  second  claimant  is  Mary  Chilton,  a  maiden  who  subse- 
quently became  the  wife  of  John  Winslow  of  Plymouth,  and 
the  mother  of  a  large  family  inheriting  the  most  distinguished 
traits  of  the  Pilgrims,  with  an  honorable  name.  The  husband 
of  Mary  Chilton  removed  after  a  time  from  the  Ohl  Colony  to 
Boston,  where  the  family  tomb,  with  its  arms,  may  be  seen  in 
King's  Chapel  Yard. 

It  is  a  somewhat  curious  foct  that  a  precisely  similar  tradition 
exists  with  respect  to  the  landing  at  Boston,  which  runs  to  the 
effect  that,  being  then  a  romping  girl,  Anne  Pollard  declared  that 
she  would  be  the  first  pei'son  to  jump  on  shore,  and  was  as  good 
as  her  word  as  soon  as  the  boat's  keel  grounded  upon  the  beach. 

But  whoever  may  be  entitled  to  the  preference,  —  and  that 
question  will  probably  remain  unsettled, — the  sim[)le  act  sur- 
rounds the  statuesque  figure  of  the  eager  youth  or  maiden  with 
a  glamour  rendering  it  the  foremost  and  striking  object  of  the 
historical  picture.  There  is  still  another  point  of  view.  A 
youth  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  whose  posterity  should 
inherit  the  virgin  land,  sets  his  nervous  foot  upon  the  corner- 
stone of  a  nation,  and  makes  it  an  historic  spot.  A  young  girl  in 
the  first  bloom  of  womanhood,  tlie  type  of  a  coming  maternity, 
boldly  crosses  the  threshold  of  a  wilderness  -which  her  children's 
children  shall  possess  and  inhabit,  and  transforms  it  into  an 
Eden.  Surely  John  Alden  should  have  married  Mary  Chilton 
on  the  spot. 

MAEY  CHILTON. 

GEORGE    BANCROFT    GRIFFITU. 

Fair  beams  that  kiss  the  sparkling  bay, 

Eest  warmest  o'er  her  tranquil  sleep, 
Sweet  exile  !  love  enticed  away,  — 

The  first  on  Plymouth  Rock  to  leap  ! 
Among  the  timid  flock  she  stood. 

Rare  figure,  near  the  "  Mayflower's  "  prow. 
"With  heart  of  Christian  fortitude, 

And  li'dit  heroic  on  her  brow! 


LK(iENI)8    OF    I'LVMOlTll    ROCK. 


381 


O  yc  who  nmiiil  Kiii,L;"s  Cluqx'l  stray, 

Forget  tlu'  lunimil  df  the  strcrt  ; 
Though  lol'tiur  names  are  round  her,  lay 

A  wreath  of  lh)\vers  at  ]\Iary's  feel  ! 
Though  galhuiL  \ViiisL)ws  shiuiher  here. 

E'en  worthy  Lady  Andros  too, 
Her  memory  is  still  as  dear. 

And  poets'  praise  to  Mary  due. 


"p^^  -    — 


ANCIENT    STONE,    BUUTAL   ITTLL. 


But  besides  being  tbe  renowned  stepping-stone  of  history, 
Forefathers'  Rock  has  exerted  in  the  course  of  time  upon  tlie 
minds  of  men  who  stood  in  the  presence  of  grave  events,  a 
secret,  a  talismanic  influence.  In  the  antitjue  days  of  chivalry 
men  seldom  set  out  upon  any  doubtful  or  hazardous  adventure 


382 


NEAV-ENGLAXU   LEGENDS. 


without  first  visiting  some  lioly  slirine,  and  imploring  the  aid  or 
protection  of  their  patron  saint.  In  these  later  times  men  have 
repaired  for  inspiration  to  this  rock  as  they  Avould  to  a  shrine, 
and  they  have  not  been  ashamed  to  confess  that  they  found  it 
a  Living  Eock,  nerving  them  to  patriotic  effort,  or  moving  them 
to  inspired  utterances  in  behalf  of  mankind. 

When  in    1774  all   the  land   was    in  a  liame,   the    spirit  of 
the  Old  Colony  having  risen   to  fever  heat,  it  was  determined 

newly  to  consecrate 
the  rock  to  the  divine 
spirit  of  Liberty.  On 
tlie  appointed  day 
all  the  roads  lead- 
ing into  Plymouth 
were  thronged.  Four 
thovLsand  f  r  e  e  m  e  n 
had  assembled  with- 
in the  town  by  noon- 
day on  the  5th  of 
October.  They  were 
met  to  pledge  them- 
selves to  each  other 
against  the  oppres- 
__  sion  of   the  mother 

country.      All  were 
"""       "'-  animated  by  the  con- 

MONUMENT    OVER   FOREFATHERS'    ROCK,  SCIOUSUCSS    of    acting 

PLYMOUTH.  in   a   rightful    cause 

that  moved  them  as 
one  man  ;  all  were  burning  with  patriotic  zeal.  They  first  re- 
quired all  the  Tory  partisans  of  the  Crown  to  make  a  public 
recantation.  This  being  done,  they  proceeded  to  the  spot  where 
their  ancestors  had  landed,  with  the  purpose  of  removing  Fore- 
fathers' Rock  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  si)lit  in  two. 


THE    COUliTSIIir    of   MYLES   STANDlSll.  383 

This  accident,  which  to  mauy  soemeil  a  warning,  so  dashed  the 
spirit  of  the  actors,  that  the  proceedings  were  near  coming  to  au 
abrupt  end  ;  but  some  quick-witted  spectator  luiving  declared  it 
to  presage  the  violent  sundering  of  the  empire  in  twain,  it  was 
accepted  as  a  good  omen,  the  iii)[)er  luilf  was  drawn  in  triumpli 
to  the  open  space  in  front  of  tlie  meeting-house,  and  there  de- 
posited, at  the  foot  of  the  liberty-})ole,  from  which  a  Hag  bearing 
the  legend,  "  Liberty  or  Death,"  was  Hung  to  the  breeze.  And 
tlius  the  rock  was  made  to  i)lay  an  active  ])art  in  tlie  great 
controversy. 

This  is  the  portion  of  P'orefathers'  Rock  that  so  many  thou- 
sand curious  pilgrims  have  seen  lying  on  the  grass  plat  in  front 
of  Pilgrim  Hall ;  while  a  monument,  built  in  the  form  of  a 
shrine,  enclosed,  at  the  edge  of  the  beach,  the  original  spot 
whence  it  was  taken,  the  lower  fragment  of  the  rock,  and  the 
bones  that  a  pious  care  had  recovered  from  the  earliest  burial- 
place  of  the  Pilgrims,  hard  by  on  Cole  Hill.  In  1881,  after  a 
separation  of  one  hundred  and  six  years,  the  upper  half  was 
replaced  upon  the  lower.  What  God  has  joined  together  let 
no  man  put  asunder  i 


THE   COURTSHIP   OF   MYLES   STANDISH. 

OF  all  our  New- England  legends,  one  of  the  most  popular,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  picturesque,  is  the  story  of  the 
courtship  of  Myles  Standisli,  which  is  the  sul>ject  of  Longfellow's 
poem  of  that  name. 

The  action  centres  in  three  persons.  First  there  is  the  mar- 
tial figure  of  the  redoubted  captain  of  Plymouth,  the  rude  but 
tried  soldier,  tlie  man  of  manly  virtues,  with  all  a  soldier's  con- 
tempt for  courtly  graces,  the  owner  of  a  noble  name  which  he 
had  made  more  illustrious  by  his  deeds,  —  brusque,  quick-tem- 
pered, brave  to  rashness,  but  wearing  the  heart  of  a  lion  in  his 


384 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


little,  undersized  body,  though  his  head  might  sometimes  be  hot 
aud  unsteady  in  couueil,  —  in  short,  a  man  to  be  admired,  feared, 
trusted,  but  not,  alas  I  always  loved,  nor  born  to  woo.  Such 
was  Myles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Tlymouth.  Though  dis- 
inherited by  fraud,  and  self-exiled,  this  soldier  of  fortune  yet 
possessed  a  title  to  distinction  that  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,  whose  wife  had  died  during  the 


STANDISH    HOUSE,    DUXBURY. 


first  dreadful  winter  of  their  pilgrimage,  enters  the  stripling 
John  Alden,  who  is  asserted  to  be  the  same  person  that  first 
leaped  upon  the  world-renowned  Eock  when  these  exiles  landed 
from  the  "  Mayflower "  on  that  Decemlier  day.  He  was  only 
twenty-two ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  two  persons,  at  least,  this  con- 
stituted no  defect.  These  persons  were  Priscilla  IMulliiis,  the 
Puritan  maiden,  and  Myles  Standish.  One  looked  upon  the 
youth  with  a  smile  ;  the  other  with  a  sigh.  Family  tradition 
makes  this  youth  one  of  Standish's  household  -,  for  in  this  pa- 
triarchal  comnnmity,   m'er  which   the    spirit  of  economy  ruled 


THE  couuTsiiir  of  mvles  standisii.  385 

supreme,  the  uniuarriL'tl  iiiumbcrs  were  saguciuusly  joined  with 
some  t'ainily,  both  for  the  sake  of  unity  and  for  the  eijual  dis- 
ti'il)uti(in  of  woik  and  goods.  This  constituted  one  large  family 
tlividcd  into  many.  In  some  sense,  tlierefore,  Myles  Standish 
was  the  guanlian  and  protector  of  Alden,  whom  he  is  said  to 
have  loved  as  his  own  son. 

The  third  person,  completing  the  group,  is  Priscilla,  the  daugli- 
ter  of  William  Mullins,  one  of  the  original  Pilgrim  band,  wlio 
had  died  within  two  months  after  the  landing,  leaving  her 
fatherless.  There  was  only  one  Priscilla,  and  there  were  two 
lovers. 

Rose  Standish,  the  first  wife,  having  died,  as  we  have  said, 
the  Captain  finding  his  loneliness  insupportable,  the  lovely 
Priscilla  found  favor  in  his  eyes,  and  he  therefore  determined  to 
install  her  as  the  mistress  of  his  heart  and  household.  But  this 
lion  in  love,  who  had  so  often  faced  death  without  flinching, 
wanting  courage  to  lay  both  at  a  simple  maiden's  feet  in  his 
own  person,  made  choice  of  John  Aldeii,  of  all  others,  as  his 
envoy  in  this  delicate  negotiation.  He  unfolded  his  purpose, 
and  gave  his  hopes  into  Alden's  keeping.  How  much  this  dis- 
closure may  have  troubled  the  youth,  being  liimself  a  victim  to 
the  fair  Priscilla's  charms,  yet  bound  in  honor  and  gratitude  to 
his  patron,  the  Captain,  is  easily  imagined.  He  had  been  asked 
to  go  and  declare  another  man's  passion  to  the  object  of  his 
own  heart's  desire,  —  to  woo  her  for  another  !  How  bitterly 
he  must  have  bewailed  the  weakness  that  had  prevented  his 
speaking  to  her  sooner,  and  had  now  thrust  him  into  this  awk- 
ward dilemma ! 

Loyal  still  to  his  friend  and  patron,  though  pursued  all  the 
M^ay  by  these  regrets,  he  took  the  well-known  path  to  Priscilla's 
house,  steeling  himself  for  the  coming  interview.  Being  wel- 
comed, but  ill  at  ease,  he  first  asked  permission  to  urge  the  Cap- 
tain's suit.  The  damsel  was  then  called  into  the  room,  when 
the  young  man  rose  and  delivered  his  errand,  —  at  once  his 
renunciation  and  his  despair.  Knowing  as  we  do  his  feelings, 
we  may  pardon  his  confusion,  as  doubtless  the  keen-eyed  Pris- 

25 


386  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

cilia  did,  and  we  may  excuse  the  way  in  which  he  stammered 
through  his  speech,  every  syllable  of  which  must  have  blistered 
his  tongue  in  giving  it  utterance. 

We  are  no  true  interpreter  if  the  young  man's  mental  and 
moral  perplexity  is  not  the  key  to  the  blushing  Priscilla's  answer, 
whirli,  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  piercing  through  a  wintry  cloud, 
instantly  breaking  through  all  restraint,  turned  the  formality  and 
false  sentiment  that  Alden  had  fortified  himself  with,  inconti- 
nently out  of  doors. 

With  a  beating  heart  Priscilla  listened  to  his  plea  for  another. 
He,  poor  wretch  !  could  not  disguise  his  real  feelings  from  her, 
worn  as  they  were  upon  his  sleeve ;  anil  nobly  did  she  come  to 
the  rescue.  What  a  world  of  archness,  of  tender  chiding,  and 
of  the  love  which  is  so  pure  that  it  knows  no  shame,  is  here 
revealed  ! 

"Prithee,  John,  why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself?" 

The  tradition  says  that  John  left  the  house  without  speaking, 
but  that  the  look  he  gave  Priscilla  spoke  for  him.  We  can  see 
his  dark  figure  striding  homeward  through  the  I'lymouth  woods, 
and  we  can  guess  something  of  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  the 
young  man  contemplated  his  approaching  interview  with  the 
wrathful  little  Captain.  It  is  indeed  said  —  and  here  family  tra- 
dition takes  an  issue  with  the  poet  —  that  Myles  Standish  never 
forgave  his  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Hymen  for  thus  su])plant- 
ing  him  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  maiden  herself  ])oured  balm 
into  the  wounded  spirit  of  the  youth,  by  giving  her  hand  where 
she  had  already  given  her  heart.  And  from  these  twain  come 
all  of  the  name  of  Alden  in  the  Union. 


So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  on  his  errand  ; 
Crossing  the  bmok  at  the  ford,  where  it  brawled  over  pebbk'   and 

shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  May-flowers  blooming  around  him, 
Fragrant,  idling  the  air  with  a  strange  and  wonderful  sweetness, 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with  leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"  Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "  and  the  type  of  Puritan  maidens, 


888  NEW-EXGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

Modest  and  simple  and  sweut,  tliu  very  type  of  Piiscilla  I 
So  I  will  take  them  to  her  ;  to  Priscilla  the  May-llower  ol  IMyiimuth, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting  gift  will  1  take  them  ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  i'ade  and  wither  and  perish, 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away,  as  is  the  heart  of  the  giver." 

Then,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  beheld  the  form  of  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool  like  a  snow-drift 
Piled  at  her  knee,  her  white  hands  feeding  the  ravenous  spindle, 
While  with  lier  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided  the  wheel  in  its  motion. 
Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  well-worn  psalm-book  of  Ainsworth, 
Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the  music  together, 
Eoiigh-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the  wall  of  a  churchyard. 
Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of  the  verses. 

So  he  entered  the  house  :  and  the  hum  of  the  wheel  and  the  singing 
Suddenly  ceased  ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his  step  on  the  threshold, 
Kose  as  he  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in  signal  of  welcome, 
Saying,  "  I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard  your  stej)  in  the  passage  ; 
For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  si^iging  and  sjjinning." 

Thus  he  delivered  his  message,  the  dexterous  writer  of  letters,  — 
Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in  beautiful  phrases, 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  bluited  it  out  like  a  school-boy  ; 
Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have  said  it  more  bluntly. 
Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden 
Looked  into  Alden's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with  wonder, 
Feeling  his  words  like  a  blow,  that   stunned   her  and  rendered  her 

speechless  ; 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence  : 
"  If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me, 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo  me? 
If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not  worth  tlie  winning  ! '■ 

Still  John  ALlen  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Priscilla, 
Urging  the  suit  of  liis  friend,  ex])laining.  ]H'rsuading,  expanding. 

Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;   she  knew  how   during  tlie 
winter 


THE    riLCKIINI    FATHERS.  389 

He  liad  iittendeil  tliu  sick,  with  u  liaiul  iis  <;i'Utle  as  woman's  ; 

SouiL'wluil  liasty  and  imt,  lie  e'uul<l  not  de-ny  it,  and  huadsli-on;^, 

Stern  as  a  soldier  might  l>e,  l)Ut  liearty,  and  placable  always, 

Not  to  be  langlied  at  and  scoined,  because  he  was  little  oi'  stature  ; 

For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  courtly,  courageous  ; 

Any  woman  in  Plyminith,  nay,  any  woman  in  England, 

Might  be  liappy  and  proud  to  be  called  the  wile  of  Miles  Standisli  ! 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloipient  language, 
Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival, 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with  laughter, 
Said,  in    a   tremulous    voice,    "Why   don't  you  speak  for  yourself, 
John  >. " 


THE  PILGrJM   FATIIEES. 

Our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean's  wave 

To  seek  this  shore  ; 
They  left  behind  the  coward  slave 
To  welter  in  liis  living  grave. 
With  hearts  unbent  and  spiiits  brave, 

They  sternly  bore 
Such  toils  as  meaner  souls  had  (quelled  ; 
But  souls  like  these  such  toils  impelled 

To  soar. 

Percival. 


The  PilgTim  spirit  has  not  fled  : 

It  walks  in  noon's. broad  light  ; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead. 

With  the  holy  stars,  by  night. 
It  watches  the  l>ed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled. 

And  shall  guanl  this  ice-bound  shore, 
Till  the  waves  of  the  Bay  where  the  "Mayflower  "  la 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

PlERPONT. 


390 


NEW-ENGLAND    LECIENDS. 


Ay,  I 'all  it  holy  ijrouml, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  ; 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found,- 

Freedom  to  worship  God  ! 

Hemans. 


And  never  may  tliey  rest  unsung, 
While  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue  ! 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  for  them 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem, 

Who  to  life's  noblest  end 
Gave  up  life's  noblest  powers, 

And  bade  the  legacy  descend 
Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 


Spragde. 


Old  Ston'f,  Mill,  Newport,    Rhodk  Island. 


THE   SKELETON   IN   ARMOR. 


LONGFELLOW'S  ballad  of  "The  Skeleton  in  Armor"  is  the 
legitimate  product  of  one  of  those  obscure  traditions  which, 
through  frequent  repetition,  acquire  all  the  consistency  of  au- 
thentic facts ;  yet,  like  other  illusions,  disappear  as  soon  as  the 
light  is  turned  on  them.  In  this  case  the  Scandinavian  tradition 
recounts  the  ailventurous  voyages  of  the  two  Norse  corsairs,  Leif 
and  Thorwald,  to  the  New  World  as  early  as  a.  d.  1000.  They 
are  said  to  have  sailed  from  Iceland,  and  to  have  passed  a  winter 
in  New  England. 

The  terms  of  these  sagas  arc  so  ambiguous,  even  should  they 
be  accounted  true  relations,  as  to  render  any  serious  attempt  to 
trace  the  voyages  they  narrate,  with  the  purpose  of  fitting  them 
to  our  own  coasts  or  harbors,  a  lost  labor.  That  Danish  antiqua- 
ries would  be  deeply  interested  in  establishing  the  validity  of  the 
claim  on  the  part  of  their  countrymen  to  a  discovery  preceding 
by  nearly  five  centuries  that  of  Columbus,  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  withoiit  stronger  evidence  the  reputable 
historian  would  ])robably  content  himself  merely  with  mention- 
ing them.  He  would  certainly  licsitato  long,  and  examine  criti- 
cally, before  installing  the  vague  and  the  veritable  side  by  side. 


394 


XEW-ENGLANl)    LEGENDS. 


Should  he  positively  ik-clare  America  tu  have  been  discovered  by 
the  Northmen  in  the  year  1000,  he  must  first  withdraw  the 
assertion  made  in  favor  of  the  illustrious  Genoese  to  a  discovery 
in  U92. 

Several  things  contributed  to  protluce  in  the  public  mind  an 
eifect  favorable  to  the  Scandinavian  claim.    The  most  important 


DIGHTON    ROCK,  MASSACHUSETTS. 


of  these  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  Ehode  Island,  an  old 
windmill  of  peculiar,  and  for  New  England  unique,  construc- 
tion, whicli  Time  has  left  a  jjicturesquc  ruin.  Tlie  main  struc- 
ture, being  of  stone,  presents  the  ap])earance  of  a  round  tower 


TlIK    SKKLKTON    IN    AKMOR.  395 

tliirty  feet  lii!j;li,  supported  by  massive  stone  columns,  also  round  ; 
for  the  woodwork  having  fallen  away,  nothing  but  the  bare  walls 
remain  to  identify  its  original  form  or  purpose.  It  stands  on  the 
heights  overlooking  the  harbor;  and  until  Time's  changes  hid  it 
from  view,  was  always  a  conspicuous  object  when  the  city  was 
approached  from  the  sea.  This  structure  had  been  so  long  un- 
used, tliat  little  importance  need  be  attached  to  the  fact  that  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  originally  built  had  gradually  died  out 
of  the  memory  of  the  oklest  inhalntant.  The  natural  growth 
of  the  town  was  certain  in  time  to  bring  this  result  about.  Its 
proper  functions  then  having  so  long  ceased,  no  one  regarded  it 
except  with  a  feeble  curiosity,  nor  was  there  even  a  local  tradi- 
tion concerning  it.  For  a  century  and  a  half  it  had  stood  on 
the  same  spot  without  a  question  arising  as  to  its  origin ;  it 
was  completely  ignored.  But  at  length  some  one  discovered  a 
resemblance  to  Scandinavian  architecture.  The  Danish  savaus 
at  once  claimed  the  windmill  as  the  work  of  their  countrymen 
centuries  before  the  arrival  of  the  English. 

There  was  also  on  the  shore  of  Taunton  River,  —  a  tidal 
stream  that  flows  into  Narragansett  Bay,  and  might  therefore 
1  )e  easily  ascended  by  an  exploring  vessel,  —  a  moderately  large 
bowlder,  one  face  of  which,  being  smooth,  was  completely  covered 
with  mysterious  hieroglyphics  which  no  one  had  been  able  to 
decipher.  The  strange  characters  had  originally  been  deejily 
cut  into  the  perpendicular  face  toward  the  channel;  but  in  the 
course  of  years,  and  owing  to  the  rock  itself  being  partly  sub- 
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  because  the  shore  Avhere  it  lay 
imbedded  w^as  within  the  limits  of  the  town  of  Dighton.  Here 
now  was  a  veritable  relic  of  antiquity.  Unlike  the  windmill, 
this  liad  always  been  the  subject  of  eager  curiosity  and  discus- 
sion, —  so  much  so,  that  copies  of  the  inscription  had  been 
transmitted  by  Cotton  Mather  to  the  learned  societies  of  London 
as  a  worthy  and  valuable  contribution  to  the  purposes  and  aims 


396  NKW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  archaeological  research  ;  while  the  windmill,  notwithstanding 
its  alleged  peculiarity  of  construction,  and  the  clear  presumption 
that  it  must  have  been  a  most  poignant  spur  to  curiosity,  as  prov- 
ing the  residence  here  of  Europeans  so  long  ago,  was  not  thought 
to  be  wortliy  of  a  single  word,  and  no  one  of  the  thousands  to 
wht)m  it  was  a  familiar  object  so  much  as  hinted  that  it  had  any 
title  to  such  consideration.  The  sculptured  rock  remained,  how- 
ever, an  unsolved  enigma.  A  vague  local  tradition  only  ren- 
dered it  all  the  more  perplexing.  It  is  true  that  many  who 
were  acquainted  with  their  rude  commemorative  drawings, 
which  those  of  the  rock  greatly  resembled,  believed  that  the 
Indians  had  at  some  time  cut  the  unknown  characters.  This 
very  natural  solution  of  the  mystery  became  the  subject  of  con- 
troversy. The  Danish  antiquaries,  better  instructed,  immedi- 
ately declared  Dighton  Rock  to  be  the  imperishable  record  of 
the  adventurous  voyages  of  their  countrymen. 

Still  another  thing,  most  opportunely  occurring,  by  investing 
it  with  the  glamour  of  romance,  secured  for  the  new  theory  a 
certain  amount  of  sympathy,  —  thus  giving  it  a  strength  of  a 
wholly  different  kind  in  the  popular  mind.  Hitherto  the  new 
idea  had  taken  less  Avith  the  general  public  than  with  scholars ; 
the  materials  were  now  found  for  a  veritable  coitp  de  thedt7'e. 

There  was  exliumed  at  Fall  River  the  skeleton  of  a  man 
whose  breast  —  whether  for  ornament  or  defence  is  uncertain  — 
was  protected  by  an  oval  plate  of  brass,  and  on  whose  fleshless 
thighs  still  loosely  hung  a  belt  of  curious  workmanship,  made  of 
hollow  tubes  of  brass  much  corroded,  and  fitted  together  in  the 
manner  of  the  bandoliers  worn  when  firearms  were  in  their  in- 
fancy. There  were  also  found  lying  near  the  skeleton  some 
arrow-heads  made  of  the  same  metal.  It  is  true  that  the  body 
had  been  buried  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  its  arms  and  orna- 
ments, agreeable  to  the  funeral  customs  of  the  Indians  of  this 
coast.  It  is  also  true  that  from  the  voyages  of  the  Cabots  down 
to  the  coming  in  of  the  English  settlers  here,  the  possession  of 
copper  ornaments,  and  even  weapons  of  war,  by  the  Indians,  was 
a  fact  constantly  repeated.     Even  the  chains  and  collars,  one  of 


THE    SKELETON    IN    ARMOR.  397 

which  was  worn  by  tlio  skeleton,  luul  been  exactly  and  miimtely 
described  in  some  of  the  Jielations  printed  by  Hakluyt.  But 
the  sagas  luul  said  that  Thorwald,  the  Norse  rover-chief,  was 
slaiu  in  an  encounter  with  the  natives,  and  had  been  hastily 
interred  near  the  spot  where  he  fell.  The  breastplate  and 
arrows  were  said  to  be  identical  with  those  in  use  among  the 
Scandinavians  of  this  ancient  period.  To  the  silent  evidence  of 
the  mill  and  to  the  testimony  of  the  rock  was  now  joined  that 
of  a  supposed  Norse  warrior  in  his  armor.  The  Danish  scholars 
unhesitatingly  adopted  the  skeleton. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  some  of  our  own  local  antiquaries 
were  more  or  less  impressed  by  tlie  unearthing  of  what  seemed 
to  them  a  new  and  strong  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence.  Mr. 
Longfellow's  magical  pen  did  much  to  forge  and  fasten  this 
chain  upon  the  popular  mind.  In  its  versified  form  the  legend 
was  read  by  thousands,  to  whom  the  historical  account  was 
unknown  and  likely  so  to  remain. 

Tlie  case  as  it  now  stood  may  be  briefly  summed  up  tlius. 
A  building  said  to  be  of  a  construction  similar  to  the  most 
ancient  ones  in  the  Scandinavian  peninsula,  —  in  fact  not 
dating  later  than  the  twelfth  century,  —  certainly  unlike  any- 
thing of  British  architecture,  had  been  found ;  a  rock  inscribed 
with  Runic  characters,  —  for  the  Danish  scholars  claimed  to 
decipher  portions  of  its  inscription,  —  had  been  discovered ;  a 
skeleton  wearing  armor  of  the  kind  used  by  Norse  warriors  had 
been  disinterred,  —  and  these  things  existed  Avithin  such  neigh- 
borhood to  each  other  as  to  constitute  a  chain  of  evidence  strong 
in  itself,  strengthened  by  probability,  and  further  supported  by 
the  very  general  feeling  in  its  favor,  that  they  were  the  work 
or  the  remains  of  the  adventurous  sea-rovers  of  the  North.  To 
such  an  array,  presented  with  such  authority  and  with  so  much 
confidence,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  sceptical  at  first  hardly 
knew  what  to  answer. 

But  each  and  every  one  of  these  pieces  of  evidence  has  been 
fully  disproved .  It  has  been  shown  that  the  Newport  Mill  was 
of  a  similar  build  to  those  erected  in  some  parts  of  England,  — 


398  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

notably  like  one  at  Cliesterton.  The  settlers,  therefore,  built  after 
known  British  models.  Tlie  attempt  to  convert  tlie  cluiracters 
of  Dighton  liock  into  Runic,  or  even  into  an  intelligible  historic 
record  of  any  kind,  signally  failed  to  convince  either  learned 
or  unlearned.  And  lastly,  the  metal  found  upon  the  skeleton 
turned  out  to  be  difl'erent  from  that  used  for  warlike  purposes 
by  the  ancient  Scandinavians.  To  this  the  direct  evidence  that 
a  windmill  Avas  erected  on  the  very  spot  where  the  ruin  now 
stands ;  that  Governor  Arnold  mentions  it  in  his  will ;  that  the 
way  leading  to  it  is  still  called  Mill  Street ;  and  that  it  was 
commonly  known  as  a  windmill  and  nothing  else,  — would  seem 
finally  to  dispose  of  what  was  left  of  the  Northmen's  antique 
tower,  and  to  leave  it  the  sim})le  and  striking  memorial  of  the 
forefathers  that  it  undoubtedly  is.  This  whole  controversy  may 
be  said  signally  to  demonstrate  the  ease  with  which  any  histori- 
cal fact  may  be  perverted  or  unsettled. 

In  a  note  to  his  "  Skeleton  in  Armor,"  Mr.  Longfellow  says 
that  he  considers  the  tradition  sufficiently  established  for  the 
purpose  of  a  ballad.  Voila  tout  !  ^  But  he  very  naively  adds 
what  few  will  now  be  found  willing  to  dispute,  that,  "doubtless 
many  an  honest  citizen  of  Newport,  wh(j  has  passed  his  days 
within  sight  of  the  round  tower,  will  be  ready  to  exclaim,  with 
Sancho  :  *  God  bless  me !  did  I  not  Avarn  you  to  have  a  care  what 
you  were  doing,  for  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  Avindmill ;  and  no- 
body could  mistake  it  but  one  who  had  the  like  in  his  head.'" 

In  the  ballad  the  Viking's  ghost  is  supposed  to  appear  to  the 
poet,  and  is  exhorted  to  tell  him  his  story.  One  instinctively 
recalls  Hamlet's  midnight  collo(|uy  on  the  platform  of  the  castle 
at  Elsinore :  — 

Speak  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest ! 

Who,  Avitli  thy  hollow  breast 

Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 
Coniest  to  daunt  nie  ! 

Wra])t  not  in  Eastern  lialnis, 

But  with  thy  fieshless  palms 

Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 
Wiiy  dost  llinii  liauiit  niu  ? 


Till':    SKKLETON    IN    AKMOli.  399 

And  the  grisly  corse  replies  :  — 

I  was  ii  Viking  old  ! 

My  deetls,  tliougli  luaiiifold, 

No  Skuld  iu  song  has  tcjld, 

No  Saga  taught  thee ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  lU'ad  man's  curse  ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

The  weird  tale  proceeds  without  further  regard  to  the  legend 
as  it  is  told  in  the  sagas.  The  rude  corsair  wins  the  love  of  a 
gentle  maiden,  —  a  prince's  child,  — •  somewhat  in  the  manner  of 
Othello,  by  telling  her  the  story  of  his  deeds  :  — 

Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning  yet  tender  ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  full  splendor. 

Then  the  Viking,  having  persuaded  the  old  Hildehrand's 
daughter  to  fly  with  him,  is  hotly  pursued  by  the  incensed 
father  "  with  seventy  horsemen."  He  puts  to  sea  in  his  vessel, 
and  is  followed  by  Hildebrand  in  another,  when  the  catastrophe 
that  makes  him  an  outcast  occurs  :  — 

And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter ! 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel  ; 
Down  her  Ijlack  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water  ! 


400 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


After  this  the  outlaw  wlio  lias  carried  off  the  daughter,  and 
has  slain  the  father  l)efore  her  eyes,  steers  into  the  open  and 
unknown  sea.  The  stanza  introducing  the  round  tower  is  as 
follows  :  — 

Three  weeks  we  westward  bore  ; 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like,  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretcliing  to  leeward  ; 
There  lor  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower 
Which,  to  this  very  hour. 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

Here  the  hawk  and  the  dove  dwelt  until  a  child  was  born  to 
them  ;  but  the  maiden  sickened ;  and  at  length,  as  the  ballad 
tells  us,  — 

Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes  : 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another ! 

In  despair,  the  Viking  i)uts  on  his  armor  and  Mis  upon  his 
spear,  —  the  poet  thus  accounting  for  the  skeleton  in  armor  by  a 
stroke  of  genius,  as  he  does  for  the  tower  by  a  touch  of  human- 
ity ;  so  that  it  is  not  strange  to  find  people  saying  they  would 
rather  believe  in  the  legend  than  not. 

But  Mr.  Longfellow  was  not  the  first  poet  to  discover  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  old  mill  for  a  poem.  The  poet  Brainard  makes  it 
the  subject  of  an  Indian  tradition  to  the  effect  that  its  perishing 
walls  "were  typical  of  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  Red  Man 
in  the  home  of  his  fathers,  and  that  its  final  fall  would  signal- 
ize the  total  extinction  of  his  race.  His  is  the  earliest  poetical 
use  of  the  tower  that  the  writer  has  seen. 


THE  NEwroirr  tower.  401 

THE   NEWPOET   TOWER. 

J.    G.    BHAINARO. 

Therk  is  ;i  nule  old  mnmniu'iit, 
Hair  masonry,  hall'  ruin,  bent 
With  sagging  weight,  as  if  it  meant 

To  warn  one  of  mischance  ; 
And  an  old  Indian  may  be  seen 
Musing  in  sadness  on  the  scene, 
And  casting  on  it  many  a  keen 

And  many  a  thoughtful  glance. 

When  lightly  sweeps  the  evening  tide 
Old  Narragansett's  shore  beside, 
And  tlie  canoes  in  safety  ride 

Upon  the  lovely  bay,  — 
I  've  seen  him  gaze  on  that  old  tower, 
At  evening's  calm  and  pensive  hour  ; 
And  when  the  night  began  to  lower, 

Scarce  tear  himself  away. 

But  once  he  turned  with  furious  look, 
While  high  his  clenched  hand  he  shook, 
And  from  his  brow  his  daik  eye  took 

A  reddening  glow  of  madness  ; 
Yet  when  I  told  him  why  I  came, 
His  Avild  and  bloodshot  eye  grew  tame, 
And  bitter  thoughts  passed  o'er  its  flame 

That  changed  its  rage  to  sadness. 

"  You  watch  my  step,  and  ask  me  why 
This  ruin  fills  my  straining  eye. 
Stranger,  there  is  a  prophecy 

Which  you  may  lightly  heed  : 
Stay  its  fulfilment  if  you  can  : 
I  heard  it  of  a  gray-haired  man ; 
And  thus  the  threatening  story  ran,  — 

A  boding  tale  indeed. 
26 


402  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"He  said  that  wlu'U  tliis  massy  wall 
Down  to  its  very  base  shoukl  fall, 
And  not  one  stone  among  it  all 

Be  left  upon  another, 
Then  should  the  Indian  race  and  kind 
Disperse  like  the  returnless  wind, 
And  no  red  man  be  left  to  find 

One  he  could  call  a  brother. 

"  Now  yon  old  tower  is  I'alling  fast : 
Kindred  and  friends  away  are  passed  ; 
Oh !  that  my  father's  soul  may  cast 

Upon  my  grave  its  shade. 
When  some  good  Christian  man  shall  place 
O'er  me,  the  last  of  all  my  race. 
The  last  old  stone  that  falls,  to  grace 

The  spot  where  I  am  laid  ! " 

Mrs.  Sigouruey,  followiug  Longfellow,  has  also  addressed  some 
characteristic  lines  to  its  gray  walls  in  a  half  serious,  half  play- 
ful vein.  She,  too,  Relieved  it  to  be  a  veritable  relic  of  the 
Northmen.  But  the  poets,  it  should  be  said,  are  much  too  sus- 
ceptible to  the  cliarm  of  romance  to  be  intrusted  with  making 
history. 

THE   NEWPORT   TOWER. 

MRS.    L.    n.    SIGOURNEY. 

Dark,  lonely  Tower,  amid  yon  Eden-isle, 
A^Hiich,  as  a  gem,  fair  Narragansett  wears 
Upon  her  heaving  breast,  thou  lift'st  thy  head, 
A  mystery  and  paradox,  to  mock 
The  curious  throng. 

Say,  reared  the  plundering  hand 
Of  the  fierce  buccaneer  thy  massy  Av^alls, 
A  treasm-e-fortress  for  his  blood-stained  gold  ? 
Or  ■wrought  iha  beings  of  an  earlier  race 
To  form  thy  circle,  while  in  wonder  gazed 
The  painted  Indian  '. 


BLOCK    ISLAND.  40^ 

We  see  thou  art 
A  riglit  sul)staiili;il,  well-preserved  old  tower,  — 
Let  that  sutlice  us. 

Some  there  are  who  say 
Thou  werl  an  ancicni  toindmull. 

Be  it  so  ! 
Our  I'ilgrini-sires  must  have  heeu  much  in  love 
Witli  (•xtrn  lal)or,  thus  to  gather  stones, 
And  jiatieut  rear  thy  Scandinavian  arch, 
And  Ijuild  thine  ample  chamber,  and  uplift 
Thy  shajjely  column,  for  the  gadding  winds 
To  pla}-  vagaries  with. 

In  those  hard  times 
I  trow  King  Philip  gave  them  other  work 
Than  to  deck  dancing-halls,  and  lure  the  blasts 
From  old  Eolus'  cave. 

Had'st  thou  the  power, 
I  think  thou'dst  laugli  right  heartily  to  see 
The  worthy  farmers,  with  their  sacks  of  corn. 
Mistaking  thy  profession,  as  of  old 
Don  Quixote  did  mistake  thine  ancestor,  — 
If  haply  such  progenitor  thou  hadst. 


BLOCK     ISLAND. 

THE  introduction  to  Dana's  celebrated  narrative  poem, 
"  The  Buccaneer,"  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  descriptive  writ- 
ing, that  stands  out  in  strong  relief  against  the  dark  legend  upon 
which  it  casts  a  solitary  ray  of  sunshine. 

THE    ISLAND. 

The  island  lies  nine  leagues  away. 

Along  its  solitary  shore, 
Of  craggy  rock  and  sandy  bay. 
No  sound  but  ocean's  roar. 
Save  where  the  bold,  wild  sea-T)ird  makes  lier  home. 
Her  shrill  cry  coming  througli  tlie  sparkling  I'nam. 


404  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

But  when  the  light  winds  lie  at  rest, 

And  on  the  glassy,  heaving  sea. 
The  black  duck,  with  her  glossy  breast, 
Sits  swinging  silently, 
How  beautiful !     No  ripples  break  the  reach. 
And  silvery  waves  go  noiseless  up  the  beach. 

And  inland  rests  the  green,  warm  dell ; 

The  brook  conies  tinkling  down  its  side  ; 
From  out  the  trees  the  Sabbath  bell 
Rings  cheerful,  far  and  wide. 
Mingling  its  sounds  with  bleatings  of  tlie  flocks 
That  feed  about  the  vale  amongst  the  rocks. 

Nor  holy  bell  noi'  pastoral  bleat 

In  former  days  within  the  vale  ; 
Flapped  in  the  bay  the  pirate's  sheet ; 
Curses  were  on  the  gale  ; 
Rich  goods  lay  on  the  sand,  and  murdered  men  : 
Pirate  and  wrecker  kept  their  revels  then. 

The  island  merits  a  further  word  of  description.  It  is  a  bank 
of  clay,  treeless  and  wind-swept,  eight  miles  long,  rising  out  of 
the  ocean  between  Montauk  and  Gay  Head,  and  lying  nearest 
to  Point  Judith,  on  the  Rhode-Island  shore,  from  which  it  is 
about  five  miles  distant.  Planted,  as  it  is,  right  athwart  the 
highw^ay  of  a  vast  and  increasing  commerce,  it  is  a  veritable 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  anxious  navigator.  In  clear 
weather  its  brilliant  light  cheers  the  grateful  mariner  on  his 
voyage  with  its  signal  of  "  All 's  well,  and  a  fine  night ! "  till 
it  sinks  or  fades  from  his  view. 

We  know  that  a  tribe  of  the  once  powerful  and  warlike  Nar- 
ragansetts  possessed  and  inhabited  this  sea-girt  isle,  to  wliich 
their  fathers  gave  the  euphonious  name  of  Manisses.  But  pow- 
erful and  warlike  as  they  were,  they  were  also  a  race  of  plunder- 
ers, having  the  lawless  traits  common  to  islanders  everywhere ; 
so  that,  as  early  as  the  infancy  of  the  white  settlements  in  Mass- 
achusetts Bay,  their  thieving  pr()p(!nsities  brought  down  upon 


VAJM'.K    ISLAND, 


40J 


them  the  vengeance  of  tin;  Avhitcs,  who  made  an  armed  descent 
upon  the  island  witli  the  sanguinary  purpose  of  exterminating 
every  warrior  upon  it.  Before  the  wars,  of  whiclr  this  is  a  mere 
episode,  were  over,  the  island  passed  forever  from  the  ownership 
of  these  Indians,  who  had  fled  from  it  in  terror,  into  that  of  theii 
enemies,  —  first  taking  a  civilized  name  from  the  Dutch  saihn- 


ANCIENT    WINDMILL,    I5L0CK    ISLAND. 


Adrian  Block,  and  subsequently  that  of  ISTew  Shoreham,  which 
the  township  still  retains. 

Then  began  the  gradual  peopling  of  the  island  under  the  rule 
of  a  new  race,  and  a  development,  sometimes  checked  by  the 
wars,  but  tending  slowly  toward  an  improved  condition.  It 
being  first  available  for  pasturage,  the  islanders  were  mostly  far- 
mers, who  raised  cattle,  sheep,  and  poultry,  which  they  exported 
to  the  mainland.     Tillage  gradually  superseded  this.     The  farms 


406  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

are  still  prdiUiclivo,  ami  tlu;  inhabitants,  contrary  to  the  general 
belief,  get  their  living  chieily  by  the  soil. 

Those  who  were  not  laruierswere  fishermen.  The  seas  anmnd 
the  island  teemed  with  the  eod,  the  mackerel,  and  the  blue  lish, 
besides  other  valuable  species,  —  thus  furnishing  subsistence  to 
another  class,  who  toiled  with  net  and  line,  ami  who  built  their 
rude  cabins  iun\  Hakes  by  the  shore.  Jhit  tlu'  island  having  no 
good  harbor,  lishing  and  trading  went  on  by  boats  in  the  old 
primitive  way. 

Somehow,  the  reputation  of  the  island  was  never  good.  Sail- 
ors always  shook  their  heads  when  they  spoke  of  Block  Island. 
A  bad  lee  shore,  a  jilace  of  no  good  hap  for  the  unlucky  mariner 
who  might  be  driven  upon  it,  were  prevailing  notions,  —  and 
firmly  rooted  ones,  —  which  dark  hints,  and  still  darker  tradi- 
tions, concerning  shipwrecked  crews  and  valuable  cargoes,  give 
a  certain  color  and  consistency.  "  I  would  rather  bo  wrecked 
anywhere  than  upon  Block  Island,"  became  a  common  and  sig- 
nificant saying  in  the  forecastle  or  the  midnight  watch,  when 
the  dark  mass  of  the  island  heaved  in  sight.  But  all  this  refers 
to  long  ago  ;  for  though  there  are  still  wreckers,  —  and  they  are 
universally  held  by  sailors  to  be  but  one  remove  from  pirates,  — 
their  work  now  proceeds  with  some  regard  for  the  saving  of  life 
and  the  lawful  claims  of  the  owners.  In  "  the  good  old  times" 
the  wreckers  stripped  a  ship,  and  divided  her  cargo  upon  the 
principle  that  to  the  finders  belongs  the  spoil.  "  Everything  is 
fish,"  said  they,  "  that  comes  to  our  net." 

Like  all  islanders,  these  people  were  generally  hardy,  sober, 
and  industrious.  But  a  difference  is  to  be  observed  between  the 
farmers  and  the  fishermen, — a  name  often  synonymous  with 
that  of  wreckers  or  smugglers.  So  isolated  were  they  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  that  the  intermarriage  of  those  more  or  less 
related  by  blood  was  a  thing  of  counnon  occurrence.  Tlie 
result  was  naturally  unfavorable  to  the  physical  condition  of 
tlie  islanders.  Indeed,  one  instance  is  mentioned  of  a  woman 
who  left  three  deaf-and-dumb  sons  at  her  death. 

Dana's    "Buccaneers"    and   "NVhittier's    "Palatine"    are    the 


BLOCK    ISLAND.  407 

legitimate  outcome  of  a  state  of  things  wlncli  so  naturally 
affords  materials  for  romance  ;  and  both  are  also  the  outgrowth 
of  a  singular  legend,  whose  very  obscurity  lends  it  a  weird 
fascination. 

Some  time  during  tlie  last  century  —  even  the  year  is  uncer- 
tain —  an  emigrant  ship  bound  for  Philadelphia  came  upon  the 
American  coast,  only  to  be  driven  off  to  sea  again  by  stress  of 
Aveather.  The  emigrants  were  substantial  and  thrifty  Dutch 
people  of  the  better  class,  who  had  brought  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  Avas  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,  bulfcting  the  frozen  seas,  was  driven  north- 
Avard  far  out  of  her  course  ;  while  scenes  Avere  being  enacted  on 
board,  tlie  bare  tliought  of  Avliich  makes  the  blood  run  cold. 
The  captain  had  died,  or  had  been  murdered,  at  sea,  before  the 
vessel  came  in  sight  of  the  land.  All  dis(;ipline  Avas  at  an  end  ; 
and  the  ship's  crcAV  then  began  a  system  of  cold-blooded  rob- 
bery, to  Avhich  the  act  of  boldly  hoisting  the  black  flag  and 
of  cutting  the  throats  of  their  miserable  victims  Avould  have 
been  mercy  indeed.  The  Avretches  armed  themselves  ;  and 
having  taken  possession  of  the  Avater  and  provisions,  Avith  a 
refined  cruelty  demanded  from  the  famishing  emigrants  twenty 
guilders  for  a  cup  of  water,  and  fifty  rix-dollars  for  a  biscuit. 
To  saA'e  their  lives  the  poor  passengers  Avere  obliged  to  beggar 
themselves.  Those  Avho  could  not  or  Avould  not  comply  Avith 
the  atrocious  demand  were  alloAved  to  starve,  and  their  ema- 
ciated bodies  Avere  coolly  throAvn  into  the  sea.  The  ship  soon 
became  a  floating  hell.  Having  plundered  their  victims  of 
everything  that  they  possessed  of  value,  the  inhuman  crew 
finally  took  to  the  boats ;  and  deserting  the  stricken  ship,  they 
left  her  to  the  mercy  of  the  Avinds  and  AvaA^es.  With  no  one 
left  on  board  to  navigate  her,  the  doomed  ship  drifted  on. 
Days  of  despair  Avere  succeeded  by  nights  of  horror.     She  Avas 


408  NEW-EXOLAND   LEGENDS. 

now  a  madhouse,  tenanted  only  b}^  maniacs  or  the  unburied 
corpses  of  those  who  liad  died  from  famine,  or  disease. 

One  calm  .Sabbath  morning  the  "Palatine"  struck  on  the  north- 
ernmost reef  of  Block  Island.  But  her  voyage  was  not  to  end 
here.  The  wreckers  manned  their  boats  and  humane]}'  rescued 
all  those  who  had  survived  starvation,  except  one  woman,  who 
had  gone  stark  mad,  and  who  now  refused  to  leave  the  wreck. 

The  ship,  having  only  touched  the  reef,  floated  off  again  with 
the  rising  tide  ;  and  the  wreckers,  who  surrounded  the  grimy  hulk 
like  vultures  the  carcass  of  a  noble  stag,  now  making  their  boats 
fast  to  it,  towed  her  into  a  neighboring  cove,  in  order  that  they 
might  dismantle  her  at  their  leisure.  But  before  this  could  be 
done  a  gale  sprang  up ;  when  the  Avreckers,  seeing  that  the  ship, 
in  spite  of  their  efforts,  would  be  blown  off  to  sea,  set  her  on 
fire ;   and  she  was  soon  in  flames. 

Enveloped  in  fire  from  truck  to  deck,  the  "  Palatine  "  drove  out 
into  the  thickening  darkness  of  a  stormy  sea, —  an  object  of  dread 
even  to  those  who  had  so  recklessly  applied  the  torch.  But  this 
feeling  was  turned  to  deeper  hoih?or  when  the  frenzied  shrieks 
borne  to  their  ears  from  the  burning  ship  told  the  lookers-on 
that  a  human  being  was  perishing  miserably  in  the  flames  before 
their  eyes. 

These  a]i])alling  sounds  were  supposed  to  proceed  from  the 
maniac  woman,  who  had  been  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment.  The  "  Palatine  "  drifted  away,  and  burned  to 
the  water's  edge.  And  so  ends  the  dismal  tale  of  the  actual 
ship. 

But  it  is  now  averred  that  on  that  very  night  twelvemonth, 
the  anniversary  of  the  same  storm,  the  islanders  were  alfrighted 
by  the  startling  and  sublime  spectacle  of  a  ship  on  fire  in  the  off- 
ing, which,  as  the  gale  rose,  drifted  before  it,  and  gradually  faded 
from  their  sight,  exactly  as  the  ill-fated  "]'alatine"  had  done. 
Year  after  year  the  same  strange  sight  continued  to  keep  the  fate 
of  the  '*  Palatine  "  fresh  in  the  memory  of  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  upon  the  island.  Hundreds  had  seen  it ;  and  all  were  fully 
convinced  that  this  annual  visitation  Avas  a  poiieut  of  disaster  to 


THE   BUCCANEER.  409 

them  and  theirs.  Some  of  the  better-informed  were,  it  is  true, 
incHned  to  class  the  phantasm  of  the  burning  ship  with  atmos- 
pheric phenomena ;  but  the  islanders  only  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders as  they  pointed  to  the  unerring  certainty  with  which  it 
reappeared,  the  faithfulness  with  which  every  detail  of  the  con- 
flagration repeated  itself,  and  the  mysterious  way  in  which  the 
vessel  first  came  on  shore. 

THE  BUCCANEER. 

Dana's  tragic  story  of  the  "Buccaneer"  would  hardly  be 
recognized  for  the  same  that  we  have  related,  were  not  its 
leading  incidents  firmly  associated  with  Block  Island.  He 
makes  Lee,  the  "buccaneer"  of  the  poem,  native  here.  Lee  is 
a  man  fitted  by  nature  for  leadership  in  a  career  of  crime,  —  a 
monster  from  whom  we  turn  in  abhorrence,  and  for  whose  evil 
destiny  even  the  poet's  art  can  hardly  make  us  feel  one  touch  of 
compassion.  The  grandeur  of  the  design  of  the  poem  is  in  fact 
marred  by  the  hideousness  of  the  central  figure.  Lee  is  a  wretch 
without  one  redeeming  trait,  —  he  is  simply  a  cut-tliroat. 

The  poem  opens  with  Lee's  ship  lying  in  a  port  of  Spain.  He 
has  grown  weary  of  the  life  of  a  peaceful  trader,  and  has  re- 
solved to  turn  pirate.  While  the  vessel  is  being  refitted  for  sea 
a  Spanish  lady  seeks  a  passage  in  her  to  America.  Her  husband 
has  fldlen  in  the  wars,  and  she  is  scarcely  wedded  before  she  is 
a  widow  and  an  exile  from  her  native  land.  Lee  receives  her 
with  well-affected  sympathy,  and  tenders  her  a  passage  in  his 
ship.  The  bereaved  lady  unsuspectingly  puts  herself,  her  at- 
tendants, and  all  that  she  possesses  in  the  corsair's  power.  Her 
rich  jewels  and  her  gold  inflame  the  rapacity  of  Lee, — who, 
however,  is  crafty  enough  to  bide  his  time.  The  Sehora  has  a 
strange  attachment  for  a  favorite  milk-white  Arabian  horse  :  this 
too  is  brought  on  board,  and  then  the  ship  sets  sail.  She  is 
no  sooner  out  of  sight  of  land,  than  the  crew,  at  a  signal  from 
Lee,  stab  the  lady's  servants  in  their  sleep.  They  then,  with 
a  deadlier  purpose,  break  into  her  cabin  :  — 


410  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

A  crash !     They  force  the  door  ;  and  then 

One  long,  long,  shrill,  and  piercing  scream 
Comes  thrilling  bove  the  growl  of  men  ! 
'T  is  hers  !  O  God,  redeem 
From  worse  than  death  thy  suffering,  helpless  child  ! 
That  dreadful  shriek  again,  —  sharp,  sharp  and  wild  ! 

It  ceased  :  with  si)eed  o'  th'  lightning's  Hash 
A  loose-robed  form,  with  streaming  hair. 
Shoots  by  ;   a  leap,  — a  quick,  short  sjjUisIi  ! 
'T  is  gone !  and  nothing  there ! 
The  waves  have  swept  away  the  bubbling  tide,  — 
Bright-crested  waves,  how  calndy  on  they  ride  ! 

With  a  brutal  jest  on  his  lips,  Lee  then  orders  the  horse  to  be 
thrown  alive  into  the  sea  ;  the  men  obey. 

Such  sound  to  mortal  ear  ne'er  came 
As  rang  far  o'er  the  waters  wide  ; 
It  shook  with  fear  the  stoutest  frame,  — 
The  horse  is  on  the  tide  ! 
As  the  waves  leave,  or  lift  him  up,  his  cry 
Comes  lower  now,  and  now  is  hear  and  high. 

The  ill-fated  lady's  gold  is  then  divided  ;  but  a  (piarrcl  spring- 
ing up  over  it,  Lee  stabs  one  of  his  men  to  the  heart.  When 
the  ship  is  near  the  land,  she  is  abandoned  and  set  on  fire.  Lee 
with  his  cut-throats  gains  the  shores  of  Block  Island.  They 
drown  remorse  in  drink,  and  silence  suspicion  by  scattering  their 
ill-gotten  gold  right  and  left.  At  lengtli  the  night  of  their  lior- 
rid  anniversary  conies  round.  The  buccaneers  are  celebrating 
it  by  a  carousal,  when  a  sudden  glare,  lighting  up  the  sea,  Ijrings 
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  fire  !  —  hull,  yard,  and  mast ! 
Her  sails  are  sheets  of  flame  !  —  she's  neariu"'  fast ! 


TllK    i;rCCANKKU. 


411 


Ami  what  comes  iqi  aliove  tlu-  wave 

So  ghastly  wliilc  '.     A  spuclral  head  ! 
A  horse's  head  !  (May  Heaven  save 
Those  looking  on  the  dead,  — 
The  waking  dead  !)     There  on  the  sea  he  stands,  — 
The  Spectre  Horse!     He  moves!     He  gains  tiie  sands  1 

The  spectre  horse  gallops  like  the  wind  up  to  the  door-stone, 
and  stands  with  his  burning  eyes  fixed  on  Lee.  A  power  he 
cannot  resist  compels  the  villain  to  mount  the  dreadful  steed, 


LEE    ON   THE    SPETTKE    ITORSE. 


which  instantly  dashes  off  with  his  rider  to  the  highest  clifF  of 
the  island,  from  which  Lee  sees  not  only  the  ship  on  fire,  hut 
heliolds  in  the  depths  it  lights  the  bodies  of  those  whom  he  had 
slain.  At  daw'n  the  spectre  vanishes,  leaving  him  rooted  to  the 
spot.  Lee's  doom  has  begun  ;  thenceforth  he  is  accursed.  All 
shun    him,  all    turn   from  him  willi    fear  and   luatliinLT  :  for  all 


412  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

have  seen  the  spectre  ship.  "Weary  of  life,  yet  afraid  to  die, 
the  outcast  wanders  about  the  shores  of  the  island,  —  a  broken, 
hopeless  wreck  of  his  former  self. 

They  ask  Liiu  why  lie  wanders  so, 

From  day  to  day,  the  uneven  strand. 
"  I  wish  —  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  tlie  fatal  summons  comes.  The  fireship  again  bears 
down  upon  the  island.  Again  the  unearthly  messenger,  the 
spectre  horse,  strides  over  the  waves.  The  pirate  pleads  for 
mercy ;  but  his  hour  is  come. 

He 's  on  the  beach,  but  stops  not  there  ; 

He  's  on  the  sea,  —  that  dreadful  horse ! 
Lee  flings  and  writhes  in  wild  despair. 
In  vain  !     The  Spirit  Corse 
Holds  him  by  fearful  spell  ;  he  cannot  leap  : 
Within  that  horrid  light  he  rides  the  deep. 

It  lights  the  sea  around  their  track,  — 

The  curling  comb  and  steel-dark  wave  ; 
And  there  sits  Lee  the  Spectre's  back,  — 
Gone  !  gone !  and  none  to  save  ! 
They  're  seen  no  more  ;  the  night  has  shut  them  in  ! 
May  Heaven  have  pity  on  thee,  man  of  sin  ! 


TiiK  I'ALAtinp:.  41' 

THE   PALATINE. 

J.  G.  wiirrriEH, 

Old  wives  spinning  their  web.s  of  tow, 

Or  rocking  weirdly  to  and  fro 

In  and  out  of  the  peat's  dull  glow, 

And  old  men  mending  their  nets  of  twine, 
Talk  together  of  dream  and  sign, 
Talk  of  the  lost  ship  "  Palatine,"  — 

The  ship  that,  a  hundred  years  before, 
Freighted  deep  with  its  goodly  store. 
In  the  gales  of  the  equinox  went  ashore. 

Down  swooped  the  wreckers,  like  birds  of  prey 
Tearing  the  heart  of  the  ship  away, 
And  the  dead  had  never  a  word  to  say. 

And  then,  with  ghastly  shimmer  and  shine 
Over  the  rocks  and  the  seething  brine. 
They  burned  the  wreck  of  the  "Palatine." 

In  their  cruel  hearts,  as  they  homeward  sped, 
"  The  sea  and  the  rocks  are  dumb,"  they  said  : 
"  There  '11  be  no  reckoning  with  the  dead." 

But  the  year  went  roimd,  and  when  once  more 
Along  their  foam-white  curves  of  shore 
They  heard  the  line-storm  rave  and  roar, 

Behold  !  again,  with  shimmer  and  shine. 
Over  the  rocks  and  tlie  seething  l)rine, 
The  flaming  wreck  of  the  "  Palatine  !  " 

So,  haply  in  fitter  words  than  these. 
Mending  their  nets  on  their  patient  knees, 
They  tell  the  legend  of  Manisees. 


414  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   WAMPANOAGS. 

THE  beautiful  eminence  of  Mount  Hope  was  the  ancient  seat 
of  Philip,  the  great  sachem  of  the  Wampanoags.  When 
his  reverses  had  left  him  only  a  handful  of  followers  Philip  took 
the  sublime  resolution  of  returning  to  his  mountain  home  and 
dying  like  a  chief  of  royal  blood,  with  his  arms  in  his  hands. 
Mount  Hope  was  quickly  surrounded  by  his  enemies  ;  and  here 
the  dreaded  warrior  fell,  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  renegade 
of  his  own  race. 

When  here  King  Philip  stood, 

Or  rested  in  the  niche  we  call  his  throne, 
He  looked  o'er  hill  and  vale  and  swelling  flood, 

Which  once  were  all  his  own. 
Before  the  white  man's  footstep,  day  by  day, 

As  the  sea-tides  encroach  upon  the  sand, 
He  saw  his  jiroud  possessions  melt  away. 
And  found  himself  a  king  without  a  land. 
Constrained  by  unknown  laws, 
Judged  guilty  without  cause, 
Maddened  by  treachery,' 
Wliat  wonder  that  his  tortured  spirit  rose 
And  turned  upon  his  foes. 
And  told  his  wrongs  in  words  that  still  we  see 
Recorded  on  the  page  of  history. 


o 


THE   PHANTOM   SHIP. 


THIS  marvel  comes  to  us  in  a  letter  written  at  Xew  Haven, 
■where  it  happened,  to  Cotton  Mather,  and  printed  in  his 
"  Magnalia  Christi."  As  Wagner  has  confirmed  to  our  own  age 
the  immortality  of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  so  have  Mather  and 
Longfellow  decreed  that  of  this  Avondrous  sea-legend.  There 
is  no  power  in  science  to  eradicate  either  of  them.  One  Avould 
not  have  his  illusions  rudely  disj)elled  hy  going  behind  tlie 
scenes  while  "  Der  fliegende  Hollander "  is  being  performed ; 
and  he  does  not  ask  if  under  such  or  such  atmospheric  condi- 
tions a  mirage  may  not  have  deceived  the  good  people  of  New 
Haven  in  the  year  a.  d.  1647. 

In  that  year  a  Ehode-Island-built  ship  of  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  tons'  burden,  carrying  a  valuable  cargo,  besides  "  a  far 
more  rich  treasure  of  passengers,"  put  to  sea  from  New  Haven. 
Among  those  wlio  sailed  in  her  were  five  or  six  of  tlie  most  emi- 
nent persons  in  that  colony.  The  ship  was  new,  but  so  "  walty," 
that  Lamberton,  her  master,  often  said  that  she  would  prove  the 
grave  of  passengers  and  crew.  It  was  in  the  heart  of  winter; 
the  harbor  was  frozen  over,  and  a  way  was  cut  through  the  ice, 
through  which  the  ship  slowly  passed  on  her  voyage,  Avhile  the 
Eeverend  Mr.  Davenport,  besides  many  other  friends  who  wit- 


418  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

nessed  her  departure,  accompanied  liur  with  their  prayers  and 
tears  until  she  was  lost  to  view. 

An  ill-omened  gloom  overspread  the  scene,  to  which  tlie  prayer 
of  the  pastor  lent  an  emphasis  of  its  own.  They  who  were  de- 
parting heard  these  solemn  words  of  invocation,  wafted  like  a 
prayer  for  the  dead  to  their  ears  :  "  Lord,  if  it  he  thy  pleasure 
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  Eng- 
land l:)rought  no  tidings  either  of  sliip  or  com})any,  "  New 
Haven's  heart  began  to  fail  her."  This,  says  the  narrative, 
"  put  the  godly  people  upon  much  prayer,  buth  public  and  pri- 
vate, that  the  Loi'd  would  —  if  it  was  his  pleasure  —  let  them 
hear  what  he  had  done  with  their  dear  friends,  and  prepare 
them  with  a  suitable  submission  to  his  holy   will." 

One  afternoon  in  June  a  great  thunderstorm  arose  out  of  the 
northwest.  After  it  had  spent  itself,  — after  this  grand  overture 
had  ceased,  —  the  black  clouds  rolled  away  in  the  distance,  and 
the  skies  again  became  serene  and  bright.  AH  at  once,  about 
an  hour  before  sunset,  the  people  saw  a  large  ship,  with  all  her 
sails  spread  and  her  colors  Hying,  coming  gallantly  up  from  the 
harbor's  mouth,  liut  such  a  ship  as  that  had  never  l^efore  bi^en 
seen ;  for  notwithstanding  the  wind  was  blowing  dead  against 
her  from  the  land,  she  moved  steadily  on  against  it  as  if  her 
sails  were  filled  with  a  fresh  and  favorable  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  assembled  to  witness  the  strange  sight  gazed  in  stu- 
pefaction. The  children  clapped  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 


THE    rilANTOM    SHIP. 


419 


THE    PHANTOM   SHIP. 

he  pointed  seaward,  was 
distinctly  seen,  —  sud- 
denly and  noiselessly,  as 
if  struck  by  a  squall,  her 
main-top  seemed  blown 
away,  and,  falling  in  a 
wreck,  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 


420  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

thistledown,  leaving  only  a  dismantled  hulk  floating  in  the  quiet 
haven.  As  if  yielding  now  to  an  invisible  but  resistless  force, 
this  too  began  to  careen  dangerously  more  and  more,  until  it 
went  down  before  the  eyes  of  the  beliolders  in  a  mist-like  cloud, 
which  after  a  little  time  melted  away,  leaving  the  space  lately 
occupied  by  the  Phantom  Ship,  as  everywhere  else,  clear  and 
unobstructed. 

The  wonder-struck  lookers-on,  while  this  weird  counterfeit  of 
a  wreck  at  sea  was  enacting  before  their  eyes,  could  so  far  distin- 
guish the  peculiar  form  and  rigging  of  the  Spectre  Ship  as  to 
be  able  to  say  that  "  This  was  the  very  mould  of  our  ship,  and 
thus  was  her  tragic  end."  The  learned  and  devout  Mr.  Daven- 
port also  declared  publicly,  "  That  God  had  condescended,  for 
the  quieting  of  their  afflicted  spirits,  this  extraordinary  account 
of  his  sovereign  disposal  of  those  for  whom  so  many  fervent 
prayers  were  made  continually." 

Mr.  Bryant,  writing  to  the  poet  Dana  in  1824,  says  that 
he  had  formed  the  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  the  purpose,  which 
Longfellow  subsequently  carried  out,  with   dramatic  effect,   as 

follows  :  — 

I 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven  ; 

And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs, 
That  filled  her  sails  at  parting, 

Were  heavy  with  good  men's  prayers. 

But  Master  Land^erton  muttered. 
And  under  his  breatli  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    CIIAlJTKi;    OAK.  421 

When,  steadily  steerin.i;  lamlward, 

A  ship  WHS  seen  lu'luw, 
And  tliey  knew  it  was  Lanihritoii,  Master, 

Who  saih'd  so  loiisj;  a^o. 

On  she  came,  with  a  cdoud  of  canvas, 

Ri^ht  against  tlie  wind  that  bh;w, 
Until  the  eye  coukl  distinguish 

Tlie  laces  of  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  to])masts, 

Hanging  tangled  in  the  shrouds, 
And  her  sails  were  loosened  and  lifted. 

And  blown  away  like  clouds. 

And  the  masts,  with  all  their  rigging, 

Fell  slowly,  one  l:)y  one. 
And  the  hulk  dilated  and  vanished. 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun  ! 

And  the  people  who  saw  this  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend, 
That  this  was  the  mould  of  their  vessel, 

And  thus  her  tragic  end. 


THE   CHARTER   OAK. 

WERE  an  American  sclioolboy  to  be  asked  to  name  the 
most  celebrated  tree  of  history,  he  would  undoubtedly 
mention  the  Charter  Oak.  Other  trees  are  locally  famous ;  but 
this  tree  may  be  said  to  have  a  national  reputation. 

It  is  now  not  quite  fifty  years  since  the  sturdy  oak  itself 
went  down  before  one  of  those  terrific  storms  that  it  had  for 
centuries  refused  to  budge  an  inch  to ;  but  so  firmly  had  it 
become  rooted  in  the  event  of  history  Avhich  first  drew  con- 
spicuous attention  to  it,  that  this  will  be  as  soon  forgotten  as  the 


422  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

oak  will.  Nothing  illustrates  like  this  the  strength  of  old  associ- 
ations, or  more  clearly  expresses  that  demand  of  the  human  mind 
for  something  tluit  may  establish  a  relation  with  the  invisible 
through  the  visible.  The  Charter  Oak  is  no  more.  Yet  it  is 
still  the  tree  that  commemorates  to  most  minds  the  preservation 
of  the  Colonial  Charter,  more  distinctly  than  the  event  itself  does 
the  tree  ;  for  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  when  we  cast  our  eyes 
over  the  field  of  history  we  instinctively  seek  out  those  objects 
that  rise  above  the  common  level,  like  steeples  above  a  city. 
One  sees  there  the  Charter  Oak ;  tlie  chapter  of  history  then 
swiftly  unfolds  itself. 

The  fall  of  tliis  mighty  monarcli  of  the  ancient  forests  oc- 
curred in  the  year  185G.  It  was  announced  tliroughout  the 
Union  as  a  jjublic  calamity ;  and  in  Hartford,  where  tlie  Charter 
Oak  had  almost  become  an  object  of  veneration,  the  intelligence 
created  a  feeling  of  loss  to  the  glory  of  tlie  city  which  nothing 
in  the  way  of  monuments  could  make  good.  The  smallest 
pieces  of  the  tree  were  eagerly  secured  by  relic-hunters,  and 
they  are  still  carefully  treasured  up,  in  order  to  perpetuate,  in  the 
thousand  forms  into  which  a  piece  of  wood  may  be  turned,  the 
memory  of  the  brave  old  oak  from  which  Hartford  derived  its 
familiar  sobriquet  of  the  Charter-Qak  City,  of  which  her  citizens 
are  justly  proud. 

The  Charter  Oak  stood  on  the  slope  of  "Wyllys's  Hill,  in  the 
city  of  Hartford ;  and  it  had  stood  on  the  same  spot  for  cen- 
turies. No  man  knew  its  exact  age ;  but  there  is  little  doubt 
that  it  was  an  object  of  veneration  to  the  Indians  long  before 
the  discovery  of  America  by  Colum])us.  Tradition  says  that 
when  the  white  people  began  to  build  here  at  Hartford,  Mr. 
Samuel  Wyllys,  who  was  one  of  these  pioneers,  was  busy  clear- 
ing the  forest  away  around  his  homestead,  and  he  had  marked 
this  tree  for  destruction  with  the  rest ;  but  the  savages  who 
dwelt  in  the  neighborhood  so  earnestly  begged  that  it  might  be 
spared,  because  its  first  putting  forth  its  leaves  had  been  a  sign 
to  them  from  immemorial  time  when  to  plant  their  corn,  that  at 
their  request  the  oak  was  left  standing. 


THE   CIIAKTEli   OAK. 


423 


Some  idea  of  the  great  age  of  this  historic  tree  may,  however, 
he  formed  hy  considering  its  dimensions.  Thirty  odd  years 
before  it  fell  to  the  grounil,  a  wreck,  it  measured  thirty-six  feet 
ill  ciicuiiil'erencc  at  the  base.  The  famous  hiding-[)lace  in  its 
trunk  had  then  nearly  closed  up,  although  the  old  peoj)le  could 
remember  when  it  would  easily  admit  a  child  into  the  hollow 
cavity  of  the  tree.  The  same  generation  believed  this  to  be  a 
sijin  that  it  had  fulfilled  its  mission.     When  Mr.  Lossing  visited 


THE  CHARTER  OAK,  HARTFORD,  CONN. 


it  in  1848  he  found  the  trunk  then  having  a  girth  of  twenty- 
five  feet  around  it  at  one  foot  from  the  ground  ;  and  the  opening 
at  the  bottom  was  then  a  narrow  crevice  only  large  enough  for  a 
person's  hand  to  go  in. 

This  oak  appeared  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  accident 
had  also  enormously  strengthened  the  lower  trunk,  and  extended 
the  spread  and  thickness  of  the  limbs,  which  continued  to  flaunt 


424  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

defiance  in  the  face  of  the  elements  that  were  surely  destroy- 
in""  theiu  piecemeal.  In  lime  tlie  tree  had  recovered  its  old 
symmetry  of  form,  wink'  its  foliage  was  still  remarkably  rich 
and  exuberant.  Year  by  year  it  became  more  and  more  closely 
imprisoned  within  the  walls  of  the  growing  city,  until  it  stood 
a  solitary,  though  not  unreganled,  survivor  of  its  race  and 
time. 

There  is  another  relic  intimatel}-  associated  with  the  Charter 
Oak  for  which  the  people  of  Connecticut  have  a  great  regard. 
Hanging  up  in  the  office  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,  bearing  not  only  the  autograph, 
but  the  portrait  of  King  Cliarles  11.  It  is  the  genuine  world- 
renownetl  documcnit  whose  mysterious  disappearance  one  even- 
ing, over  two  centuries  ago,  caused  such  a  hubbub  to  lie  raised 
throughout  the  Colonies  ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  of  all  the  his- 
torical treasures  of  the  State  the  most  valued. 

The  story  of  how  the  Colonial  charter  was  saved  from  the 
clutches  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros  is  a  stirring  episode  of  those  stir- 
ring times,  when  Tyranny,  boldly  unmasking,  began  openly  to 
threaten  New  ICngland  with  the  |oss  of  all  her  time-honoreil  fran- 
chises. In  contempt  of  their  chartered  rights,  King  James  II. 
had  appointed  Sir  Edmund  governor  over  all  the  New-England 
Colonies.  Neitiier  the  wishes,  the  interests,  nor  the  happiness 
of  the  people  were  to  bo  for  a  moment  considered.  It  was  to 
be  a  rule  of  iron,  and  a  man  of  iron  was  chosen  for  it.  The 
first  step  was  to  seize  and  declare  void  tlie  old  charters.  IMas- 
sachusetts  had  already  been  dispossessed  of  hers ;  everything 
there  was  in  confusion.  It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  other 
colonies.  With  this  object  Sir  Edmund  despatched  to  the  Con- 
necticut authorities  an  order  demanding  in  good  set  terms  the 
surrender  of  their  charter  ;  for  even  the  arbitrary  James  would 
have  it  ajipear  that  he  paid  some  respect  to  the  majesty  of  tlie 
law  by  observing  its  forms ;  and  the  charter,  being  a  royal  grant 
of  power,  could  not  be  ignored.  The  people  of  Connecticut  con- 
sidereil  this  an  act  of  usurpation,  and  their  representatives  natu- 


THE   CIIAKTF.i;    OAK.  425 

rally  licsitatwl.  I5ut  i\\v.  cliartei'  not  lieiiig  forlliCdiniii.L,'  on  his 
(Iciuaiul,  Sir  Edimiiul  clcleniiiiied  to  let  the  yootl  puoplu  ol'  ("mi- 
iiecticut  know  with  whom  they  had  to  deal,  lie  was  a  iiiaii  oi' 
action;  and  ho  ([uickly  i»ut  hinisclt"  at  the  h(!ad  of  his  soldiers, 
and  went  to  fetch  the  instrument  at  the  pcunt  of  the  sword. 
Never  before  had  a  body  of  royal  troops  trodden  the  soil  of 
the  Land  of  Steatly  Habits.  Now,  their  errand  was  to  sow 
the  seeds  of  rebellion  and  disloyalty.  The  Governor,  nursing 
his  wrath  all  the  way,  arrived  at  Hartford  in  no  gentle  frame 
of  mind ;  and  going  at  once  to  the  House  where  the  Colonial 
Assembly  Avas  sitting,  he  strode  into  the  chamber  and  imperi- 
ously demanded,  in  the  King's  name,  the  immediate  delivery  to 
him  of  the  charter,  at  the  same  time  declaring  the  old  govern- 
ment to  be  dissolved  and  its  proceedings  unlawful.  The  repre- 
sentatives of  the  people  saw  the  structure  that  their  father's  had 
raised  falling  in  ruins  around  them.  There  stood  the  dictator. 
Open  resistance  would  be  treason.  But  certain  of  the  members 
had  resolved  that  he  should  never  have  the  charter,  cost  what  it 
might.  Wishing  to  gain  time,  the  Assembly  fell  into  debate 
over  the  matter,  while  the  King's  viceroy  haughtily  awaited  its 
determination  Avithout  leaving  the  chamber.  The  countenances 
of  all  present  were  anxious  and  pre-occupied.  The  debate  grew 
warm,  and  Sir  Edmund  impatient.  It  became  so  dark  that 
candles  Avere  lighted.  The  charter  Avas  then  brought  in  and 
laid  ujion  the  table  in  full  vicAv  of  every  oire  present.  A  hush 
fell  upon  the  Assembly,  every  man  of  Avhom  kncAv  that  the  crisis 
had  been  reached.  By  this  time  the  house  was  surrounded  by 
the  populace,  in  Avhom  the  feeling  of  resistance  only  Avauted  a 
spark  to  set  it  in  a  flame.  But  a  better  Avay  had  been  found. 
All  at  once  the  lights  in  the  chamber  Avere  extinguished  ;  and 
Avhen  they  Avere  officiously  relighted,  the  precious  instrument 
Avas  gone !  The  faces  of  that  body  of  men  Avhen  this  fact 
daAvned  upon  them  must  have  been  a  study. 

The  tradition  is  —  for  of  course  no  official  record  could  be 
made  of  such  an  act  of  treason  —  that  Avhen  the  candles  were 
put  out,  the  box  containing  the  royal  patent  Avas  snatched  from 


426  NEW-ENGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

the  table,  hurried  out  of  the  chamber,  and  thrust  hito  the 
hollow  of  the  tree  that  lias  ever  since  borne  the  name  of 
the  Charter  Oak.  This  daring  act  was  performed  by  Captain 
Joseph  Wadsworth  ;  and  it  subsequently  saved  Connecticut 
from  having  imposed  upon  her  the  same  humiliating  terms 
that  were  gi-anted  under  favor  of  King  William  to  the  old 
Mothei-Colony. 

But  notwithstanding  his  main  purpose  had  thus  been 
thwarted,  Sir  Edmiuid  took  upon  him  on  the  spot  the  reins 
of  government,  by  a  formal  declaration  which  is  entered  upon 
the  record,  closing  witla  the  ominous  word  "  finis."  So  the 
people  of  Connecticut  had  after  all  to  submit,  until  the  llevo- 
lution  in  England  tumbled  King  James's  rotten  throne  about 
his  ears,  and  in  its  turn  wrote  *'  finis "  at  the  end  of  his 
fatal  dynasty  in  characters  large  enough  to  convey  their  warn- 
ing to  his  successors,  —  "  Resistance  to  tyranny  is  obedience 
to  God." 


THE  CHARTER  OAK  AT  HARTFORD. 

L.    II.    SIGOURNEY. 

Once  there  came,  in  days  of  yore, 

A  minion  from  the  mother  shore. 

With  men-at-arms  and  flashing  eye 

Of  predetermined  tyranny. 

Hifh  words  he  spake,  and  stretched  his  hand. 

Young  Freedom's  charter  to  demand. 

But  lo  !  it  vanished  from  his  ^ght. 
And  sudden  darkness  fell  like  night. 
While,  baffled  still,  in  wrath  and  pain, 
He,  groping,  sought  the  prize  in  vain  ; 
For  a  brave  hand,  in  trust  to  me, 
Had  given  that  germ  of  liberty  ; 
And  like  our  relative  of  old 
Who  clasped  his  arms,  serenely  bold, 


TllK    ri.ACE    OF   NOISES.  427 

Around  the  endangered  prince  wlm  lied 
The  scaflbld  where  his  fatlier  bled, 
I  hid  it,  safe  from  storm  and  Idast, 
Until  the  days  of  dread  were  past  ; 
And  then  luy  faithful  Ijreast  restored 
The  treasure  t(j  its  rightful  lend. 

For  this  do  pilgrims  seek  my  side, 
And  artists  sketch  my  varying  pride  ; 
And  far  away  o'er  ocean's  brine, 
An  acorn  or  a  leaf  of  mine, 
I  hear,  are  stored  as  relics  rich 
In  antic^uarian's  classic  niche. 


THE   PLACE   OF   NOISES. 

WE  take  the  following  weird  tale  partly  from  the  historian 
Trumbull,  and  partly  from  the  poet  Braiuard.  History 
and  romance  are  thus  amicably  blended,  —  each  elucidating 
according  to  its  own  spirit  the  singular  phenomenon  which 
so  long  disturbed  the  good  people  of  East  Had  dam. 

"  The  Indian  name  of  the  town  was  Machemoodus,  which  in 
English  is  the  place  of  noises,  —  a  name  given  with  the  utmost  pro- 
priety to  the  place.  Tlie  accounts  given  of  the  noises  and  quakings 
there  are  very  remarkable.  Were  it  not  that  the  people  are  accus- 
tomed to  them,  thej'  would  occasion  great  alarm.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Hosmer,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Prince,  of  Boston,  written  August  13lh, 
1729,  gives  this  account  of  them:  'As  to  the  earthquakes,  I  have 
something  considerable  and  awful  to  tell  you.  Earthquakes  have 
been  here  (and  nowhere  but  in  tliis  precinct,  as  can  be  discerned,  — 
that  is,  they  seem  to  have  their  centre,  rise,  and  origin  among  us), 
as  has  been  observed  for  more  than  thirty  years.  I  have  been  in- 
formed that  in  this  place,  before  the  English  settlements,  there  were 
great  numbers  of  Indian  inhabitants,  and  that  it  was  a  place  of  ex- 
traordinary Indian  ixiwaws,  —  or,  in  short,  that  it  was  a  place  where 


428  NEW-ENGLAXI)    LEGENDS. 

the  Indians  drove  a  prodigious  trade  at  worshipping  the  devil.  Also 
I  was  informed  that,  many  years  past,  an  old  Indian  was  asked 
what  was  the  reason  of  the  noises  in  this  place.  To  wliich  he  re- 
plied, that  the  Indian's  God  was  very  angry  because  Englishmen's 
God  was  come  here.  Now  whether  there  be  anything  dialiolical  in 
these  things,  1  know  not  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  God  Almighty  is 
to  be  seen  and  trembled  at  in  what  has  been  often  heard  among  us. 
Whether  it  be  fire  or  air  distressed  in  the  subterraneous  caverns  of 
the  earth,  cannot  be  known,  —  for  there  is  no  eruption,  no  explosion 
perceptible,  — but  by  sounds  and  tremors,  which  sometimes  are  very 
fearful  and  dreadful.  I  have  myself  heard  eight  or  ten  sounds  suc- 
cessively, and  imitating  small  arms,  in  the  space  of  five  minutes. 
I  have,  I  suppose,  heard  several  hundreds  of  them  within  twenty 
years  ;  some  more,  some  less  terrible.  Sometimes  we  have  heard 
them  almost  every  day;  and  great  numbers  of  them  in  the  space  of 
a  year.  Oftentimes  I  have  observed  them  to  be  coming  tlown  from 
the  north,  imitating  slow  thunder;  until  the  sound  came  near  or  right 
under,  and  then  there  seemed  to  be  a  breaking  like  the  noise  of  a 
cannon-shot  or  severe  thunder,  which  shakes  tlie  houses  and  all  that 
is  in  them.  They  have  in  a  manner  ceased  since  the  great  earth- 
quake. As  I  remember,  there  have  been  but  two  heard  since  that 
time,  and  those  but  moderate.'" 

The  poetic  version  of  the  story  is  introduced  by  the  following 
account  in  prose,  for  tlie  truth  of  which  the  poet  vouches.  We 
will  only  add  to  it  the  statement  that  the  carbuncle  was  highly 
prized  by  our  ancestors  for  its  supposed  power  to  protect  the 
wearer  from  the  danger  of  infection  ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  found 
in  inaccessible  places,  like  the  bowels  of  the  earth  or  unviolated 
mountain  peaks. 

"A  traveller  who  accidentally  passed  through  East  Haddam 
made  several  inquiries  as  to  the  Jloodus  noises  that  are  peculiar  to 
that  part  of  the  country.  Many  particulars  were  related  to  him  of 
their  severity  and  effects,  and  of  the  means  that  had  been  taken  to 
ascertain  their  cause  and  prevent  their  recurrence.  He  was  told 
that  the  simple  and  terrified  inhabitants,  in  the  early  settlement  of 
the  towni,  applied  to  a  book-learned  and  erudite  man  from  England, 
by  the  name  of  Doctor  Steele,  who  undertook  by  magic  to  allay 
their  terrors  ;  and  for  this  purpose  took  tlie  sole  charge  of  a  black- 


MATCH  IT   MOODUS.  429 

smith's  shop,  in  whicli  he  worked  by  niglit,  anrl  from  which  he  ex- 
cluded all  admission,  lightly  stopping  and  darkening  the  place,  to  pre- 
vent any  prying  curiosity  from  interfering  with  his  occult  operations. 
He,  howevei,  so  far  explained  the  cause  of  these  noises  as  to  say  that 
they  were  owing  to  a  carbuncle  whicli  must  have  grown  to  a  great 
size  in  the  bowels  of  the  rocks,  and  that  if  it  could  be  removed,  the 
noises  would  cease  until  another  should  grow  in  its  place.  The  noises 
ceased  ;  the  doctor  departed,  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  It  was 
supposed  that  he  took  the  carbuncle  with  him.  Thus  far  was  authen- 
tic. A  little  girl  who  had  anxiously  noticed  the  course  of  the  travel- 
ler's inij^uiries  sung  fur  his  further  editication  the  following  ballad." 


MATCHIT   MOODUS. 

J.    G.    BRAINAKD. 

See  you  upon  the  lonely  moor 

A  crazy  building  rise  I 
No  hand  dares  venture  to  open  the  door  ; 
No  footstep  treads  its  dangerous  floor  ; 

No  eye  in  its  secrets  pries. 

Now  why  is  each  crevice  stopped  so  tight  ? 

Say  why  the  bolted  door  l 
Why  glimmers  at  midnight  the  forge's  light  1 
All  day  is  the  anvil  at  rest ;  but  at  night 

The  flames  of  the  furnace  roar. 

Is  it  to  arm  the  horse's  heel 

That  the  midiiight  anvil  rings  ? 
Is  it  to  mould  the  ploughshare's  steel, 
Or  is  it  to  guard  the  wagon's  wheel. 

That  the  smith's  sledge-hammer  swings  ? 

The  iron  is  bent,  and  the  crucible  stands 

With  alchemy  boiling  up  ; 
Its  contents  were  mixed  by  unknown  hands, 
And  no  mortal  fire  e'er  kindled  the  brands 

That  heated  that  cornered  cup. 


430  NEW-ENCLANI)    LEGENDS. 

O'er  Moodus  River  a  light  lias  glaiiccil, 

On  Moodus  Hills  it  shone  ; 
On  the  granite  rocks  the  rays  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  hour, 
By  the  light  that  was  conjured  up  to  trace, 
Ere  the  star  that  falls  can  run  its  race, 

The  seat  of  the  earthquake's  power. 

By  that  unearthly  light  I  see 

A  figure  strange  alone  ; 
With  magic  circlet  on  his  knee. 
And  decked  with  Satan's  symbols,  he 

Seeks  for  the  hidden  stone. 

Now  upward  goes  that  gray  old  man, 

With  mattock,  bar,  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  wide  and  far  ; 
And  deep  and  hollow  was  the  moan 
That  rolled  around  the  bedded  stone 

Where  the  workman  plied  his  bar. 

Then  upward  streamed  the  brilliant's  light, — 
It  streamed  o'er  crag  and  stone  ; 

Dim  looked  the  stars  and  the  moon  that  night  ; 

But  when  morning  came  in  her  glory  bright, 
The  man  and  the  jewel  were  gone. 

But  wo  to  the  l)ark  in  which  he  flew 

From  Moodus'  rocky  shore  ; 
Wo  to  the  captain,  and  wo  to  the  crew 
That  ever  the  breath  of  life  they  drew 

Wh(,'n  that  dreadful  I'reight  they  bore. 


THE    SPANISH    GALLEON.  431 

That  tliis  is  no  vagabond  legend  is  amply  proved  by  the  peri- 
odical recunence  of  tlio  fearful  noise.s  which  so  tormented  the 
ancient  inhabitants  of  East  lladdam.  One  such  is  reported  ]io 
longer  ago  than  last  year.  'J'he  legend  is  thus  kept  alive  in 
full  viixor. 


THE   SPANISH   GALLEON. 

"  TT  is  a  fact,"  writes  the  poet  Brainard,  "  that  two  men  from 
-L  Vermont  are  now  (July  11th,  18l*7)  working  by  the  side 
of  one  of  the  wharves  in  New  Loudon,  for  Iniried  money,  by  the 
advice  and  recommendation  of  an  old  woman  of  that  State,  who 
assured  them  that  she  could  distinctly  see  a  box  of  dollars  packed 
edgewise.  The  locality  was  pointed  out  to  an  inch ;  and  her 
only  way  of  discovering  the  treasure  was  by  looking  through  a 
stone,  —  which  to  ordinary  optics  was  hardly  translucent.  For 
the  story  of  the  Spanish  galleon  that  left  so  much  bullion  in 
and  about  New  London,  see  Trumbull's  '  History  of  Connecti- 
cut ; '  and  for  Kidd,  in(|uire  of  the  oldest  lady  you  can  find." 

The  story  related  by  Trumbull  is  this  :  — 

"About  this  time  [1753]  an  unhappy  event  took  place,  dis- 
honorable to  the  Colony,  injurious  to  foreigners,  and  which  occa- 
sioned a  great  and  general  uneasiness,  and  many  unfriendly 
suspicions  and  imputations  with  respect  to  some  of  the  princi- 
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  damaged  the  vessel  that  it  was  necessary  to  unlade  her  and 
put  her  freight  into  stores  at  New  London.  The  cargo  Avas 
delivered  into  the  custody  of  Joseph  Hill,  Esip,  collector  of  the 
port  of  New  London.  The  supercargo  w^as  Don  Joseph  Miguel 
de  St.  Juan.  That  he  might  sail  with  his  cargo  early  in  the 
spring,  he  obtained  a  ship  of  about  two  hundred  tons,  and  was 
ready  to  sail  in  A]n'il.     But  when  he  had  shijiped  part  of  his 


432 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


cargo,  other  parts  oH  it  were  witlihoklen  from  liini  or  lust,  ami 
could  not  by  any  nieaiis  of  Lis  be  recovered.  As  he  could  obtain 
no  relief,  and  was  determined  not  to  sail  without  the  recov- 
ery of  his  cargo  or  some  indemnification  for  the  loss  of  it,  he 
waited  until  October,  and  then  preferred  a  memorial  to  the 
Assembly,  representing  his  arrival  in  the  snow  '  St.  Joseph  and 


OLD   WAKEIIOUSES,    NEW    LONDON. 


St.  Helena'  from  Havana,  bound  to  Cadiz,  at  tlie  port  of  New 
London ;  and  that  he  had  stored  his  cargo  there,  in  the  custody 
of  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.,  the  collector ;  and  that  when  he  had  pro- 
cured a  vessel  in  April,  and  required  his  cargo,  that  it  might  be 
reshipped,  a  considerable  part  of  it  had  been  withholden,  lost, 
and  embezzled  ;  and  ^^^''T^yiHn  f'^'^'  I'clicf,  or  that  he  might  rcland 
that  part  of  his  cargo  whicli  remained,  and  secure  it  at  their  ex- 
pense ;  and  also  that  his  men  might  be  discharged. 


THE    SPANISH    CALLEON. 


433 


"The  Assembly,  after  hearing  and  dehberatiug  on  tht;  meino- 
rial,  resolved,  That  wliatever  losses  he  had  sustained,  it  was 
either  by  means  to  them  unknown,  or  which  they  were  by  no 
means  able  to  prevent.  ...  It  was  declared.  That  the  requests 
of  the  petitioner  were  uureasonal)lc,  and  therefore  could  not  be 


ANCIENT   MILL,    NEW   LONDON. 


granted ;  but  that  as  protection  and  assistance  were  due  to  a 
foreigner  cast  among  them,  the  Assembly  did  advise  the  Gover- 
nor to  grant  all  due  protection  and  relief  to  the  said  Don  Miguel, 
according  to  the  laws  of  trade,  nature,  and  nations.  The  Gov- 
ei'nor  was  also  desired  and  empowered,  in  case  the  said  Joseph 
Miguel  should  desire  it,  to  direct  a  full  search  after  any  part 
of  his  cargo  which  might  have  been  embezzled  or  lost,  and  to 

28 


434  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

take  all  such  reasonable  measures  therein  as  should  be  necessary 
to  do  justice  in  said  case. 

"  Before  the  meeting  of  the  freemen  in  April,  it  was  generally 
known  that  the  Spaniards  had  been  robbed,  or  at  least  that 
an  important  p>art  of  a  rich  and  very  valuable  cargo  had  been 
stolen,  embezzled,  or  by  some  means  lost  or  kept  l)ack  from  the 
owners;  and  it  occasioned  a  great  ferment  tlirough  the  Colony. 
It  was  imagined  that  it  might  involve  the  Colony  in  great  diffi- 
culties; that  it  might  be  obliged  to  indemnify  the  owners,  and 
that  it  would  bring  a  heavy  debt  upon  it ;  or  that  it  might  eil'ect 
a  rupture,  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  covetousness, 
honor,  sympathy,  and  justice,  were  touched.  Great  blame  was 
imputed  to  some  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  Colony,  espe- 
cially to  Governor  Wolcott.  It  was  imagined  by  many  that  he 
had  not  taken  such  care  and  adopted  such  measures  to  secure 
the  property  of  tliose  foreigners,  and  to  save  them  harmless,  as 
he  ought  to  have  done.  Whether  there  was  any  just  founda- 
tion for  faulting  him  or  not,  it  so  disaffected  the  freemen  that, 
notwithstanding  his  former  popularity,  he  lost  their  suffrages, 
and  Thomas  Fitch,  Esq.,  was  chosen  governor  in  his  place. 
Mr.  Hill  did  not  escape  a  share  of  blame,  among  others.  How 
such  a  quantity  of  stores  of  various  kinds  should  be  lost  or 
embezzled  without  his  knowledge  or  privity,  and  that  no  thor- 
ough search  should  be  made  for  them  in  so  many  months,  is 
very  unaccountable.  But  where  the  fault  lay,  or  what  l)ecame 
of  the  lost  goods,  never  came  to  public  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  pvd^lic  mind  botli  in  Europe  and  America." 


THE    MONEY-DlLiGEliS.  43' 

THE   MONEY-DIGGERS. 

J.    G.    HRAINARI). 

Thus  saith  the  Book  :  "  Permit  no  witch  to  live  ! " 
Hence  Massachusetts  hath  expelled  the  race  ; 
Connecticut,  where  swap  and  dicker  thrive, 
Allowed  not  to  their  foot  a  resting-place. 
With  more  of  hardihood  and  less  of  grace, 
Vermont  receives  the  sisters  gray  and  lean. 
Allows  each  witch  her  airy  broomstick  race, 
O'er  mighty  rocks  and  mountains  dark  with  green, 
Where  tempests  wake  their  voice,  and  torrents  roar  between. 

And  one  there  was  among  that  wicked  crew 
To  whom  the  enemy  a  pebble  gave. 
Through  which,  at  long-off  distance,  she  miglit  view 
All  treasures  of  the  fathomable  wave  ; 
And  where  the  Thames'  bright  billows  gently  lave 
The  grass-grown  piles  that  flank  the  ruined  wharf, 
She  sent  them  forth,  those  two  adventurers  brave, 
Where  greasy  citizens  their  beverage  quatf, 
Jeering  at  enterprise,  aye  ready  with  a  laugh. 

They  came,  those  straight-haired,  honest-meaning  men, 
Nor  question  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  Ijreak, 
Told  a  wild  tale  of  undertaking  bold. 
While  as  the  oyster-tongs  the  chiels  did  take, 
Dim  grew  the  sight,  and  every  blood-drop  cold, 
As  knights  in  scarce  romant  sung  by  the  bards  of  old. 

For  not  in  daylight  were  their  rites  performed  ; 
When  nightcapped  heads  were  on  their  pillow  laid, 
Sleep-freed  from  biting  care,  by  thought  unharmed, 
Snoring  e'er  word  was  spoke  or  prayer  was  said,  — 


436  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

'T  was  then  tlie  mattock  and  the  busy  spade, 
The  pump,  the  bucket,  and  the  windlass-rojje, 
In  busy  silence  plied  the  mystic  trade, 
While  Eesolution,  beckoned  on  by  Hope, 
Did  sweat  and  ayouize  the  sought-for  chest  to  ope. 

Beneath  the  wave  the  iron  chest  is  hot. 
Deep  growls  are  heard,  and  reddening  eyes  are  seen ; 
Yet  of  the  black  dog  she  had  told  them  not. 
Nor  of  the  gray  Avild  geese  with  eyes  of  green, 
That  screamed  and  yelled  and  hovered  close  between 
The  buried  gold  and  the  rapacious  hand. 
Here  should  she  be,  though  mountains  intervene. 
To  scatter,  with  her  crooked  witch-hazel  wand. 
The  wave-born  sprites  that  keep  their  treasure  from  the  land. 

She  cannot,  may  not  come.     The  rotten  wharf 
Of  mouldering  planks  and  rusty  spikes  is  there  ; 
And  he  who  owned  a  quarter  or  an  half 
Is  disappointed  ;  and  the  witch  is,  —  where  ? 
Vermont  still  harbors  her.     Go,  seek  her  there. 
The  grandam  of  Joe  Stii'ickland  ;  find  her  nest 
Where  summer  icicles  and  snowballs  are, 
Where  black  swans  paddle  and  where  petrels  rest  ! 
Symmes  be  your  trusty  guide,  and  Robert  Kidd  youi  guest ! 


THE   GREAT   WINDHAM   SCARE. 

THE  following  story  has  been  variously  related,  as  to  details, 
but  with  a  certain  agreement  as  to  the  more  essential  facts. 
Mr.  Larned,  in  the  "  History  of  Windham,"  places  the  date  of 
the  occurrence  in  the  year  1754,  and  attributes  the  scare  to  the 
feverish  state  of  the  people,  under  daily  expectation  of  war  with 


TITE    GREAT    WINDHAM    SCAKK.  437 

the  French  and  Indians.  Others  fix  a  later  date.  We  repro- 
duce verbatim  the  account  as  printed  in  Barber's  "  Historical 
Collections  of  Connecticut,"  which  originally  appeared  in  a  news- 
paper with  the  title  prefixed  of  "  Lawyers  and  Bullfrogs." 

"On  a  dark,  cloudy,  dismal  night  in  the  month  of  July, 
A.  D.  1754,  the  inhabitants  of  Windham,  a  small  town  in  the  east- 
ern part  of  Connecticut,  had  retired  to  rest,  and  for  several  hours 
all  were  wrapped  in  j't'of^'imd  repose  —  when  suddenly,  soon 
after  midnight,  the  slumbers  of  the  peaceful  inhabitants  were  dis- 
turbed by  a  most  terrific  noise  in  the  sky,  right  over  their  heads, 
which  to  many  seemed  the  yells  and  screeches  of  infuriated 
Indians,  while  others  had  no  way  of  accounting  for  the  awful 
sounds,  which  still  kept  increasing,  but  by  supposing  that  tiie 
Day  of  Judgment  had  certainly  come;  and  to  their  terrified 
imaginations,  the  awful  uproar  in  the  upper  air  seemed  the  im- 
mediate precursor  of  the  clangor  of  the  last  trumpet.  At  inter- 
vals, many  supposed  they  could  distinguish  the  calling  out  of 
the  particular  names  of  Colonels  Dyer  and  Elderkin,  two  emi- 
nent lawyers,  and  this  increased  the  general  terror.  But  soon 
there  was  a  rush  from  every  house  (the  tumult  in  the  air  still 
increasing),  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  poured  forth  into 
the  streets,  '  in  piiris  natundihus,''  entirely  forgetful  in  their 
hurry  and  consternation,  of  their  nether  habiliments,  and,  witli 
eyes  upturned,  tried  to  pierce  the  almost  palpable  darkness. 
My  venerable  informant,  who  well  recollects  the  event,  says  that 
some  daring  spirits  concluding  there  was  nothing  supernatural  in 
the  hubbub  and  uproar  overhead,  but  rather,  that  they  heard 
the  yells  of  Indians  commencing  a  midnight  attack,  loaded  their 
guns  and  sallied  forth  to  meet  the  invading  foe.  These  valiant 
heroes  on  ascending  the  hill  that  bounds  the  village  on  the  east, 
perceived  that  the  sounds  came  from  that  (piarter,  and  not  from 
the  skies,  as  at  first  believed,  but  tlieir  courage  would  not  permit 
them  to  proceed  to  the  daring  extremity  of  advancing  eastward, 
until  they  had  discovered  the  real  cause  of  alarm,  and  distress, 
which  pervaded  the  whole  village.  Towards  morning  the 
sounds  in  the  air  seemed  to  die  away.  .  .  .  In  the  morning,  the 


438  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

whole  cause  of  alarm,  which  produced  such  distressing  appre- 
hensions among  the  good  people  of  tlie  town,  was  apparent  to 
all  who  took  tlie  trouble  to  go  to  a  certain  mill-pond,  situated 
al)uut  three-fourths  of  a  mile  eastward  of  the  village.  This 
pond  hereafter,  in  the  annals  of  fame,  forever  to  be  called  the 
Frog  Pond,  in  conse(pience  of  a  severe  drought,  which  hud  pre- 
vailed many  weeks,  had  become  nearly  dry,  and  the  Bull  Frogs, 
with  which  it  was  densely  i)opulated,  at  the  mill,  fought  a 
pitched  battle  on  tlie  sides  of  the  ditch  which  ran  tlirough  it, 
for  the  i)ossession  and  enjoyment  of  the  Ihiid  which  renuuned. 
Long  and  obstinately  was  the  contest  maintained  :  and  many 
thousands  of  combatants  were  found  defunct,  on  bitb  sides  of 
the  ditch  the  next  morning.  It  had  been  uncommonly  still,  for 
several  hours  before  the  battle  commenced,  but  suddenly,  as  if 
by  preconcerted  agreement,  every  frog  on  one  side  of  the  ditch, 
raised  the  war-cry  'Col.  Dyer!  Col.  Dyer!'  and  at  the  same 
instant,  from  the  opposite  side,  resounded  the  adverse  shout  of 
'  Flderkin  too  !  Elderkin,  too  ! '  Owing  to  some  peculiar  state 
of  the  atmosphere,  the  awful  noises  appeared  to  the  distressed 
Windhamites  to  be  directly  over  their  heads." 

The  scare  subsided,  but  nqt  so  the  pleasantry  indulged  in  at 
the  expense  of  the  crestfallen  inhabitants  of  Wimlham  : 

Some  were  well  pleased,  and  some  were  mad  : 

Some  turned  it  off  with  laughter : 
And  some  would  never  bear  a  word 

About  the  thing  thereafter. 
Some  vowed  that  if  the  De'il  himself, 

Should  come,  they  would  not  flee  lum, 
And  if  a  frog  they  ever  met, 

Pretended  not  to  see  him. 


THE  ULAUK  FOX  OF  SALMON  UIVEI!.       439 


THE  BLACK   FOX   OF  SALMON   RIVP:R. 

J.    G.    BUAINAUD. 

How  cold,  how  beautiful,  bow  bright 
The  cloudless  heaven  above  us  shines  ; 

But  'tis  a  howling  winter's  nighl  — 
'T  would  i'reeze  the  very  Ibrest  pines. 

The  winds  are  ui>  while  mortals  sleej), 
The  stars  look  I'orth  when  eyes  are  shut ; 

The  bolted  snow  lies  drifted  deep 
Around  our  poor  and  lonely  hut. 

With  silent  step  and  listening  ear, 
With  bow  and  arrow,  dog  and  gun, 

We'll  mark  his  track,  for  his  prowl  we  liear ; 
Now  is  our  time,  come  on,  come  on  ! 

O'er  many  a  fence,  through  many  a  wood, 
Following  the  dog's  bewildered  scent, 

In  anxious  haste,  antl  earnest  mood, 
The  Indian  and  the  white  man  went. 

The  gun  is  eock'd,  the  bow  is  bent, 
The  dog  stands  with  uplifted  paw, 

And  ball  and  arrow  swift  are  sent, 
Aini'd  at  the  prowler's  verj'^  jaw. 

—  The  ball  to  kill  that  fox  is  run 
Not  in  a  mould  by  mortals  made  ! 

The  arrow  that  that  fox  should  shun 
Was  never  shap'd  from  earthly  reed  ! 

The  Indian  Druids  of  the  wood 

Know  where  the  fatal  ariows  grow  — 

They  spring  not  by  tlie  summer  flood. 

They  pierce  not  through  the  winter  snow! 


440  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Why  cowers  the  dog,  whose  sniffing  nose 
Was  never  once  deceiv'd  till  now  ? 

And  why,  amid  the  chilling  snows. 
Does  either  hunter  wipe  his  brow  I 

For  once  they  see  his  fearful  den, 
'T  is  a  dark  cloud  that  slowly  moves 

By  night  around  the  homes  of  men, 
By  day,  —  along  the  stream  it  loves 

Again  the  dog  is  on  liis  track, 

The  hunters  chase  o'er  dale  and  liill  ; 

They  may  not,  though  they  would,  look  liack, 
They  must  g(j  forward  —  forward  still. 

Onward  they  go,  and  never  turn, 

Spending  a  night  that  meets  no  day ; 

For  them  shall  never  morning  sun 
Light  them  u[)on  tlieir  endless  way. 

The  hut  is  desolate,  and  there 
The  faniish'd  dog  alone  returns  : 

On  the  cold  steps  he  makes  his  lair, 
By  the  shut  door  he  lays  his  bones. 

Now  the  tir'd  sportsman  leans  his  gun 
Against  the  ruins  of  the  site. 

And  ponders  on  the  hunting  done 
By  the  lost  wanderers  of  the  night. 

And  there  the  little  country  girls 

Will  stop  to  whisper,  and  listen  and  look, 

And  tell  while  dressing  their  sunny  curls, 
Of  the  Black  Fox  of  Salmon  Brook, 


NANTUCKET   AND   OTHER   LEGENDS. 


THE  islands  of  Nantucket,  Martha's  Vineyard,  and  of  the 
Elizabeth  group  all  possess  more  or  less  legendary  lore 
of  the  kind  tliat  surrounds  them  with  a  peculiar  fascination. 
One  by  one  these  islands  have  emerged  from  the  sea  into  the 
light  of  history,  and  have  taken  a  place  upon  tlie  map.  Little 
l>y  little  and  with  caution  were  their  inhospitable  coasts  and 
l\)aming  reefs  explored  by  the  early  navigators,  and  step  by  step 
did  Christian  missionaries  approach  the  fierce  islanders  who 
inhabited  them  in  happy  ignorance  that  any  other  world  than 
the  neighboring  mainland  existed. 

In  the  order  of  chronology  it  is  the  Elizabetli  Islands  that 
should  be  the  first  mentioned,  since  it  was  there  that  the  bold 
attempt  to  found  in  New  England  a  colony  of  Europeans  was 
made.  One  cannot  forbear  a  smile  at  its  futility.  Vaguely  con- 
ceived, not  half  matured,  and  feebly  executed,  it  was  abandoned, 
as  so  many  enterprises  of  "  great  pith  and  moment "  haA'e  been, 
in  tlie  very  hoiu'  that  should  most  fully  test  the  mettle  of  those 
who  were  conducting  it  ;  and  it  is  now  memorable  only  because 
it  v,'as  the  first  serious  endeavor  to  naturalize  Englishmen  upon 
the  soil.  Yet  although  these  men  left  only  a  perishable  foot- 
print behind  tliem,  they  did  bestow  enduring  names  upon  the 
various  capes  and  headlands  that  successively  rose  out  of  the 
sea  to  greet  them.     So  far  as  is  known,  however,  not  one  is  a 


442 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


memento  of  tliemselves ;  nevertheless  it  is  these  names  thrown 
at  random  in  passing  which  has  rendered  the  voyage  of  Cajitain 

Bartholomew  Gos- 
nold  a  fact  worth 
preserving ;  other- 
wise it  is  a  ciph'ir. 
In  the  whole 
company  who    set 


sail  with  him 
from  Fal- 
mouth there 
were  only 
cuTTYiiuNK.  thirty-two 

persons ;  o  f 
whom  hut  twelve,  the  Apostolic  numher,  purposed  remaining  in 
the  country  as  actual  settlers.  It  would  ha  difficult  to  conceive 
of  an  empire  with  its  millicms  dating  its  origin  from  this  hand- 


NANTUCKET   LEGENDS.  443 

fill,  liail  tlioy  Lecu  thf,  lordiiiato  ones  to  leave  us  tlio  duty  of 
inscribing  their  iiiune.s  at  the  liead  of  the  ilhistrious  roll  of 
founders;  but  tlieir  personality  having  no  greater  suljstance  thau 
their  enterprise,  they,  with  the  exception  of  a  l(nv  whose  names 
the  care  of  Hakluyt  has  preserved,  have  all  vanished. 

From  Falmouth,  then,  on  the  25th  of  March,  1G02,  the  "  Con- 
cord "  put  to  sea.     On  the  1 4th  of  May,  the  day  being  Friday, 

—  mark  that,  ye  superstitious  mariners  !  —  Gosnold  had  in  view 
the  lumpy  coast  of  New  England,  stretching  from  Agamcnticus 
to  Cape  Ann  ;  and  presently,  to  the  great  wonder  of  all  on  board 

—  for  these  English  could  not  believe  that  any  had  preceded 
them  here,  —  they  fell  in  with  a  IJastpie  shallop,  manned  by  eight 
tawny,  black-haired  natives,  "wlio  could  speak  a  few  English 
words  intelligibly,  and  could  name  Placentia,  in  Newfoundland. 
It  seemed  that  these  savages  had  communicated  with  the  French 
there.  This  encounter  could  not  but  cheapen  Gosnold's  esti- 
mate of  liimself  as  a  discoverer  in  unknown  seas,  —  for  that  role 
he  was  fully  a  century  too  late.  But  having  thus  got  hold  of 
the  land,  Gosnold  now  put  liis  helm  to  starboard,  and  steer- 
ing southward  into  the  Bay,  and  keeping  good  watch,  found 
himself  brouglit  to  by  the  bended  forearm  of  the  great  sand- 
spit  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Cape  Cod.  He  continued 
cautiously  working  his  Avay  along  the  soutli  coast,  shortening 
sail  at  night,  until  he  was  again  embayed  within  the  chain  of 
islautls  extending  between  Buzzard's  Bay  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  he  left 
nothing  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  another  age  respecting  tlie 
person  he  had  meant  to  honor,  either  in  token  of  remembrancic, 
or  perhaps  as  a  gage  d'' amour.  The  knowledge,  therefore,  died 
with  the  giver ;  and  so  Martha's  Vineyard  remains  a  monument 
with  an  incomplete  inscription  which  nobody  is  able  to  complete. 

Eleven  days  after  sighting  the  coast  the  adventurers  landed  up- 
on Cuttyhunk  Island,  to  which  Gosnold  gave  the  name  of  Eliza- 
beth, the  Queen,  —  a  name  that  has  since  been  applied  to  tlic 
whole  group.     They  deciiled  to  make  this  isJniul  tlieir  residence. 


444  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Having  great  fear  of  the  savages,  Gosnold's  men  set  to  work 
building  a  fort,  in  which  they  dwelt  until  they  hail  procured 
a  cargo  of  sassafras  for  their  ship,  when  they  hurriedly  de- 
cami)ed  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  the 
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  firm  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.  The  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  deep 
at  the  sides,  except  upon,  the  one  next  the  sea,  which  is  open. 
The  most  fantastic  stories  continued  to  pass  current  respecting 
this  Avizard  spot  until  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  ;  for 
here,  as  fame  reports,  was  one  of  the  residences  of  ]\Iaushope,  the 
Indian  giant,  the  tutelary  genius  of  all  the  tribes  inhabiting  these 
islands,  as  well  as  the  adjacent  mainland  of  Cape  Cod.  Like 
Fingal,  Maushope  was  in  the  habit  of  wading  across  the  Sound 
when  the  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  ISTo-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  unknown. 

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 

ill  the  darkness  the  sailors  wnuM  say,  "Old  Maiisliojic  is  at  it 
again  !  "  lUit  the.  heaccjudights  wcru  hehl  to  be  IViinidly  ones  ; 
for,  like  the  stars,  they  showed  the  Lelatod  mariner  what  course 
to  steer.  The  sea  lias  encroaehed  greatly  iipoii  thd  clay  cliffs 
in  the  course  of  centuries.  The  harmless  descendants  of  the 
warlike  race  still  inhabit  the  place  ;  but  the  light  of  a  powerful 
Fresnt'l  shining  from  a  massive  tower  has  superseded  the  mid- 
night orgies  of  the  wandering  Maushope. 

Like  the  Eastern  wizards,  Maushope  was  capable  of  raising 
mists  whenever  he  wished ;  but  that  his  was  wholly  an  original 
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,  extraordinary 
for  its  size,  used  often  to  visit  the  south  shore  of  Cape  Cod  and  carry 
from  thence  in  its  talons  a  vast  number  of  small  children.  Mau- 
shope, who  was  an  Indian  giant,  as  fame  reports,  resided  in  these 
parts.  Enraged  at  the  havoc  among  the  children,  he  on  a  certain 
time  waded  into  the  sea  in  pursuit  of  the  bird,  till  he  had  crossed  the 
Sound  and  readied  Nantucket.  Jjefore  Maushope  forded  the  Sound 
the  island  was  unknown  to  the  red  men.  Maushope  found  the  bones 
of  the  children  in  a  heap  under  a  large  tree.  He  then,  wishing  to 
smoke  a  pipe,  ransacked  the  island  for  tobacco  ;  but  finding  none,  he 
filled  his  pipe  witli  poke, — a  weed  which  the  Indians  sometimes  used 
as  a  substitute.  Ever  since  the  above  memorable  events  fogs  have 
been  frequent  at  Nantucket  and  on  the  Cape.  In  allusion  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  seized  and  carried  off 
a  papoose,  the  parents  followed  him  in  their  canoe  till  they  came  to 
Nantucket,  where  they  found  the  bones  of  their  child  dropped  by 
tlie  eagle.  There  is  another  Indian  tradition,  that  Nantucket  was 
formed  by  Maushope  by  emptying  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  after  he 
had  done  smoking.  The  two  tribes  on  the  island  were  hostile  to 
each  other.  Tradition  has  preserved  a  pleasing  instance  of  the  power 
of  love.  The  western  tribe  having  determined  to  surprise  and  attack 
the  eastern  tribe,  a  young  man  of  the  former,  whose  mistress  belonged 
to  the  latter,  being  anxious  for  her  safety,  as  soon  as  he  was  concealed 
by  the  shades  of  night,  ran  to  the  beach,  fiew  along  the  shore  below 


446  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  limit  of  high  water,  saw  his  mistress  a  moment,  f^ave  the  alarm, 
and  returned  by  the  same  route  before  daybreak  ;  the  rising  tide 
washed  away  the  traces  of  his  feet.  The  next  morning  he  accom- 
panied the  other  warriors  of  the  tribe  to  the  attack  :  the  enemy  was 
found  prepared,  and  no  impression  could  be  made  on  them.  He 
remained  undetected  till,  several  years  after,  peace  being  restored 
between  the  two  tribes,  and  the  young  man  having  married  the  girl, 
the  truth  came  to  light." 

We  Lave  elsewhere  related  the  circumstance  that  led  to  the 
settlement  of  Nantucket  by  the  "whites.  The  Quaker  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-abused  followers  of  George  Fox  were 
supposed  to  have  found  their  Arcatlia.  They  established  a  pa- 
triarchal government.  Instead  of  laws,  they  had  usages  which 
were  obeyed  as  laws.  It  was  nearly  the  happy  ideal  condition, 
where  men  live  without  quarrels,  without  crime,  and  witliout 
the  enforcement  of  law.  They  were  husbandmen  and  shepherds. 
They  fished,  planted, 'and  traded  in  peace.  Although  some  of 
them  amassed  wealth,  everything  about  them  continued  to  wear 
the  appearance  of  a  primitive  economy ;  they  lived  on  inde- 
pendently and  prosperously.  But  notwithstanding  a  natural 
predilection  for  the  land — and  we  can  hardly  think  of  Quakers 
as  making  good  sailors  —  there  was  the  sea  continually  calling, 
continually  asserting  itself,  at  their  doors.  By  a  transition  as 
curious  as  it  is  absolute,  these  peaceful  shepherds  became  the 
most  noted  sailors  of  our  continent  and  the  most  renowned 
whalemen  of  the  world.  With  this  change  the  native  Indians 
doubtless  had  much  to  do ;  for  in  their  primitive  way  they  too 
were  expert  in  taking  those  monsters  of  the  deep.  The  Nan- 
tucket whale-fishery  began  in  the  waters  immediately  surround- 
ing the  island,  and  in  boats.  The  whaleman  finished  his  career 
amid  the  Arctic  ice,  where  he  quietly  made  for  himself  a  route 
long  before  Governments  entered  into  the  disastrous  contest 
with  King  Frost  in  which  so  many  valuable  lives  have  been 
lost.     Had  there  been  certain  indications  tliat  whales  were  to  be 


NANTUCKET    LEGENDS.  447 

found  at  tlio  Pole,  the  Nantucket  wlialciucn  would  have  dis- 
covered it. 

The  sea-annals  of  Nantucket  arc  consequently  very  numer- 
ous ;  and  as  they  chielly  relate  to  stubborn  conflicts  with  whales, 
they  are  very  interesting.  But  as  we  :iow  get  our  oil  upon  the 
land,  the  industry  which  brought  Nantucket  into  world-wide 
notice  has  no  longer  any  existence  there.  There  is,  however, 
a  museum,  in  which  are  preserved  many  evidences  to  the  fact, 
in  the  same  manner  that  Salem  preserves  the  memorials  of  her 
ileparted  East-In<lian  trade.  Alas !  one  cannot  but  regret  these 
changes.  The  whale-fishery  gave  to  the  nation  a  race  of  in- 
trepid sailors,  who  might  have  become  at  need  her  defenders  : 
the  petroleum  discovery  has  given  us  some  millionnaires. 

It  is  well  known  that  sailors  are  able  to  discover  their  Avliere- 
abouts,  even  in  thick  weather,  by  making  an  examination  of 
the  soundings  that  the  lead  has  brought  up  from  the  bottom. 
Nantucket  skippers,  it  would  seem  from  the  following  ballad,  are 
able  to  go  even  farther  than  this,  and  to  tell  with  their  eyes  shut 
in  what  neighborhood  they  are  :  — 

THE  ALAEMED   SKIPPEE. 

JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  though  "  lying  low," 

How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 

And  then,  by  sounding  through  the  night. 

Knowing  the  soil  that  stuck,  so  well, 

They  always  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim. 

Could  tell,  by  fastin;/,  just  the  spot ; 
And  so  below  he  M  "  dowse  the  glim,"  — 

After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hot." 


448  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Snug  in  hU  berth,  at  eight  o'clock, 
This  ancient  skipper  might  be  found. 

No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock, 
He  slept  ;  for  skippers'  naps  are  sound! 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
llun  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  leatl  ; 

He  'd  up  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

One  night  't  was  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 
A  curious  wag,  —  the  pedler's  son  ; 

And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretcli !)  : 
"  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  on  deck,  —  a  parsnip-bed  ; 
And  then  he  scnight  tlie  skipper's  Iterth. 

"  Where  are  we  now,  sir  I     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  stormed  and  tore  his  hair, 

Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Harden  : 

"Nantucket  '.s  sunk,  and  here  we  are 
Right  over  old  Marm  Hacketi's  garden  ! " 


THE   UNKNOWN    CIIAMriON.  44\) 


THE    UNKNOWN     CHAMPION. 

WHEX  Charles  I.  \v;is  aliout  to  lay  his  royal  head  upoir  the 
block,  he  took  his  St.  ( leorge  from  his  neck  and  handed 
it  to  J>ishop  Juxon,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  llenieinber  !  "  This 
was  the  last  word  uttered  by  the  royal  martyr;  for  a  moment 
later  the  axe  fell.  According  to  Hume,  after  the  execution  was 
over,  the  Council  of  State  called  Juxon  before  them,  and  de- 
manded to  know  wdiat  this  command  of  the  King  signitied. 
Juxon  replied  that  on  the  day  before  his  death  the  King  had 
exj)ressly  recommended  to  him  to  convey  to  his  son,  should  that 
son  ever  ascend  the  throne,  his  wish  that  his  murderers  might 
be  pardoned  ;  and  that  it  was  his  own  promise,  then  given,  that 
the  King  had  recalled  when  handing  him  his  St.  George,  —  des- 
tined to  be  placed  in  his  son's  hands.  The  following  story  is  an 
example  of  the  memory  of  kings  and  of  the  filial  obedience  of 
Charles  II. 

We  now  enter  upon  one  of  those  romantic  episodes  belong- 
ing to  the  heroic  age  of  our  history  and  emljodying  its  true 
spirit. 

The  history  of  the  tradition  is  briefly  this.  It  originated  in 
the  family  of  CJovernor  Leverett,  Avho  ruled  over  the  destinies  of 
the  Bay  Colony  during  its  desperate  sti'uggle  with  King  Philip, 
and  it  has  first  a  permanent  record  in  the  pages  of  Hutchinson, 
who  had  in  his  possession,  wdien  he  wrote,  the  original  manuscript 
diary  and  many  other  of  the  private  papers  belonging  to  the  fugi- 
tive regicide.  Colonel  "William  (iofle,  the  hero  of  the  traditional 
story. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  some  zealous  anti(|uaries  who  do  not 
hesitate  to  characterize  the  story  as  a  romance  pure  and  simjJe  ; 
but  as  they  have  only  succeeded  at  the  most  in  involving  it  in 
doubt,  a  tradition  possessing  sufficient  vitality  to  live  unchal- 
lenged for  so  long  a  period  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  may  well 

29 


450  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

be  entitled  to  have  the  benefit  of  that  doubt.  Truth  above  all 
things ;  but  before  treating  one  of  our  most  valued  traditions  us 
an  impostor,  conclusive  evidence  to  the  imposition  becomes  a 
logical  necessity  to  the  framers  of  the  indictment.  They  cer- 
tainly ought  not  to  come  into  court  without  a  clear  case. 

Adhuc  subjudice  lis  est.  "Witliout  joining  in  the  discussion 
here,  let  us  perform  a  more  gracious  duty,  and  tell  the  story  as  it 
was  always  told  and  believed  before  its  credibility  Avas  called  in 
question. 

In  the  month  of  October,  1G64,  feeling  no  longer  safe  in  their 
retreat  at  New  Haven,  Gofte  and  Whalley  fled  up  the  valley  to 
Hadley,  Avhicli  Avas  then  one  of  the  remote  frontier  plantations. 
Every  precaution  Avas  taken  to  render  the  journey  a  profound 
secret.  Ujion  arriving  there  they  Avere  hospitably  received,  given 
shelter,  and  carefully  guarded  from  all  intrusion  upon  their  priv- 
acy by  the  minister  of  the  place,  the  Eeverend  John  Eussell,  — 
Avhose  house  thenceforth  became  their  abode  for  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years,  until  death  Weased  one  of  them  forever  from  the  enmity 
of  men  and  kings.  Only  a  fcAV,  whose  fidelity  could  be  depended 
upon,  A\'ere  admitted  into  the  secret ;  and  for  greater  security 
it  Avas  given  out  that  the  regicides  had  fled  to  Ncav  York,  Avith 
the  purpose  of  again  crossing  the  seas  and  taking  refuge  in 
Holland. 

Behold  these  tAvo  outcasts,  behind  Avhom  "  stalked  the  heads- 
man," finally  immured  Avithin  the  four  Avails  of  an  humble  fron- 
tier dwelling,  like  men  Avho  have  forever  taken  leave  of  the  Avorld 
and  its  concerns,  but  Avhom  the  Avorld  still  vindictively  pursues. 
The  same  ruthless  s[)irit  of  revenge  that  had  violated  the  senseless 
bodies  of  Cromwell  and  Ii'eton  Avas  noAV  abroad  in  Ncav  England  ; 
and  her  people,  Avilling  though  they  might  be,  dared  not  openly 
resist  the  hard  logic  of  events.  That  spirit  Avas  the  vengeance 
of  a  king ;  that  logic,  the  restoration  of  Charles  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  Avithered  aAvay. 
Whalley  had  become  decrepit;  (JoH'e   indeed  retained  some  of 


THE  UNKNOWN  CHAMPION.  451 

the  old  lire  ho  luul  shown  when,  ;it  the  liead  of  Cromwell's 
Ironsides,  he  charged  at  Dunltar,  and  turned  the  doubtful  issue 
of  that  glorious  day.     Tliis  brings  us  to  the  year  1G75. 

The  year  1675  ushered  in  the  gigantic  struggle  Avith  Philip, 
the  great  Narragansett  chieftain.  Never  before  had  such  a  storm 
of  war  assailed  poor  New  England.  (Jalamity  followed  calamity. 
An  adversary  who  concentrated  in  his  own  athletic  person  all 
the  hatred,  the  subtlety,  the  thirst  for  vengeance  of  his  race, 
suddenly  rose,  the  majestic  and  fateful  figure  of  the  hour.  Philip, 
King  of  Pokanoket,  had  proclaimed  war, — war  in  its  most  terri- 
ble aspect,  —  war  to  the  knife.  Philip  the  leader  had  aroused 
his  people  from  their  deadly  lethargy  of  forty  years  to  make  one 
last,  cue  supreme  effort.  It  was  now  a  struggle  for  life  or 
death,  and  as  such  had  to  be  met. 

The  menaced  Colonies  hastened  to  put  forth  their  utmost 
efforts  in  order  to  meet  the  emergency,  wdiose  gravity  increased 
every  hour.  A  general  insurrection  of  all  the  tribes  was  Philip's 
hope  and  New  England's  fear.  John  Leverett,  a  soldier  of 
Cromwell,  was  then  at  the  head  of  aifairs  ;  and  he,  rising  to  the 
crisis,  now  showed  all  the  energy  that  might  be  expected  from 
a  scholar  who  had  served  his  apprenticeship  under  so  aljle  a 
master.  But  at  first  the  scale  of  victory  inclined  heavily  in 
Philip's  favor.  Instead  of  combats  we  read  only  of  massacres ; 
instead  of  victories,  the  record  shows  disaster  upon  disaster. 

Driven  at  length  from  his  own  stronghold,  Philip,  at  the 
head  of  a  small  band  of  his  warriors,  retired  into  the  heart 
of  the  Nipmuck  Country,  which  then  extended,  a  wilderness  of 
swamps,  thickets,  and  mountain-defiles,  between  the  seaboard 
settlements  and  those  lying  in  the  lovely  Connecticut  Valley. 
A  single  road  traversed  it.  A  solitary  outpost,  around  which 
a  feeble  settlement  had  grown  up,  was  planted  in  the  midst 
of  this  solitude;  this  was  Brooklicld. 

The  sanguinary  struggle  was  here  renewed ;  and  here  some  of 
the  best  blood  in  the  Colony  was  uselessly  shed.  Upon  this 
isolated  post  Philip's  confederates,  the  crafty  Nipmucks,  fell 
with  fury.     Soon  after  this  they  were  joined  by  Philip  in  per- 


452  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

SOU.  He  now  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  total  destruction  of 
the  isolated  valley-settlements.  The  Colonial  forces  that  had 
been  sent  for  the  relief  of  Brookfield,  after  suffering  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.  Here, 
alas  !  the  bones  of  many  a  stout  soldier  moulder  in  unknown 
graves. 

There  were  several  tribes  living  at  peace  with  the  whites  iu 
this  valley  whom  the  news  of  Philip's  successes  now  threw 
into  a  fever  of  excitement ;  his  agents  did  the  rest.  These  tribes 
had  received  his  wampum,  and  were  secretly  sharpening  their 
hatchets.  The  white  people,  taking  the  alarm,  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-Loaf 
Mountain,  in  Deerfield  ;  but  they  succeeded  after  a  sharp  fight 
in  making  good  their  retreat.  This  occurred  on  the  25th  of 
August. 

On  the  27th  the  English  were  defeated  at  IS"orthfield,  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  Deerfield,  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  uf  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  community,  among  whom 
the  regicides  lay  concealed,  on  the  1st  of  September,  1675. 
Their  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. 


453 


In  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  I'uvcril  of  the  Peak"  Bri.lgeuortli 
relates  tliis  story  :  — 

"  I  was  l)y  cliance  at  a  small  village  in  the  woods  more  than 
thirty  miles  from  Boston,  and  in  a  situation  exceedingly  lonely,  and 
surrounded  by  thickets.  Nevertheless  there  was  no  idea  of  any  dan- 
ger from  the  Indians  at  that  time  ;  for  men  trusted  in  the  protection  of 
a  considerable  body  of  troops  who  had  taken  the  field  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  frontiers,  and  who  lay,  or  were  supposed  to  lie,  betwixt 
the  hamlet  and  the  enemy's  country.  But  they  had  to  do  with  a  foe 
whom  the  Devil  himsflf  had  inspired  with  cunning  and  cruelty.     It 


GOFFE   RALLVIXG   THE   SETTLEKS. 


was  on  a  Sabbath  morning,  when  we  had  assembled  to  take  sweet 
counsel  in  the  Lord's  house.  .  .  .  An  excellent  worthy,  who  now 
sleeps  in  the  Lord,  Nehemiah  Solsgrace,  had  just  begun  to  wrestle  in 
prayer,  when  a  woman  with  disordered  looks  and  dishevelled  hair 
entered  our  chapel  in  a  distracted  manner,  screaming  incessantly, 
'  The  Indians !  The  Indians ! '  In  that  land  no  man  dare  separate 
himself  from  his  means  of  defence;  and  whether  in  the  city  or  in  tlie 
field,  in  the  ploughed  land  or  in  the  forest,  men  keep  1)eside  them 
their  weapons,  as  did  the  Jews  at  the  iel)uilding  of  the  Temple.  So 
we  sallied  forth  with  our  guns  and  pikes,  and  heard  the  war-whoop 


454  NE-\v-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

of  these  incarnate  de\'ils,  already  in  possession  of  a  part  of  the  town. 
...  In  tine,  there  was  much  damage  done  ;  and  although  our  arrival 
and  entrance  into  combat  did  in  some  sort  put  them  back,  yet,  being 
surprised  and  confused,  and  having  no  appointed  leader  of  our  band, 
the  devilish  enemy  shot  hard  at  us,  and  had  some  advantage.  ...  In 
this  state  of  confusion,  and  while  we  were  about  to  adopt  the  desper- 
ate project  of  evacuating  the  village,  and,  phicing  the  women  and 
children  in  the  centre,  of  attempting  a  retreat  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ment, it  pleased  Heaven  to  send  us  unexpected  assistance.  A  tall 
man,  of  reverend  appearance,  whom  no  one  of  us  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore, suddenly  was  in  the  nndst  of  us  as  we  hastily  agitated  the  reso- 
lution of  retreating.  His  garments  were  of  the  skin  of  the  elk,  and 
he  wore  sword  and  carried  gun  :  I  never  saw  anything  more  august 
than  his  features,  overshadowed  by  locks  of  gray  hair,  which  mingled 
with  a  long  beard  of  the  same  color.  '  Men  and  brethren,'  he  said,  in  a 
voice  like  that  which  turns  back  the  flight,  '  why  sink  your  hearts  ? 
and  why  are  you  thus  disquieted  ?  Fear  ye  that  the  God  we  serve  will 
give  ye  up  to  yonder  heathen  d(jgs  I  Follow  me  ;  and  ye  shall  see 
that  this  day  there  is  a  captain  in  Israel! '  He  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  apjiearance,  his  mien,  his 
language,  and  his  presence  of  mind,  that  he  was  implicitly  obeyed  by 
men  who  had  never  seen  him  until  that  moment.  We  were  hastily 
divided  by  his  orders  into  two  bodies,  —  one  of  which  maintained  the 
defence  of  the  village  with  more  com'age  than  ever,  convinced  that 
the  uidcnown  was  sent  by  God  to  our  rescue.  At  his  command  they 
assumed  the  best  and  most  sheltered  positions  for  exchanging  their 
deadly  fire  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  among  Indians,  had 
complete  effect ;  for  they  doubted  not  that  they  were  assailed  in  their 
turn,  and  placed  betwixt  two  hostile  parties  by  the  return  of  a 
detachment  from  the  jirovincial  army.  The  heathens  fled  in  confu- 
sion, abandoning  the  half-won  village,  and  leaving  behind  them  such 
a  number  of  their  warriors  that  the  tril)e  hath  never  recovered  their 
loss.  Never  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  crowded 
around  him,  yet  scarce  venturing  to  approach  his   person,  and  more 


THE   UNKNOWN    CHAMPION.  455 

iiiiiuled,  porliaps,  to  worship  Liiu  as  a  descended  angel  than  to  thank 
liim  as  a  fellow-niortal.  '  Not  unto  me  be  the  ghiry,'  he  said;  'I 
am  but  an  implement  iVail  as  yourselves  in  tlie  liand  f)l'  Jlim  who 
is  strong  to  deliver.  Bring  me  a  cup  of  water,  that  I  may  allay  my 
parched  thirst  ere  I  essay  the  task  of  offering  thanks  where  they  are 
most  due.'  Sinking  on  his  knees,  and  signing  us  to  ol)ey  him,  he 
l)oured  forth  a  strong  and  energetic  thanksgiving  for  the  turning  back 
of  the  battle,  which,  pronounced  with  a  voice  loud  and  clear  as  a  war- 
trumpet,  thrilled  through  the  joints  and  marrow  of  the  hearers.  .  .  . 
He  was  silent  :  and  for  a  brief  space  we  remained  with  our  faces  bent 
to  the  earth,  no  man  daring  to  lift  his  head.  At  length  we  looked 
up  ;  but  our  deliverer  was  no  longer  amongst  us,  nor  was  he  ever 
airaiu  seen  in  the  land  which  he  had  rescued." 


To  this  faithful  rendering  of  tlie  tradition  from  the  matchless 
pen  of  the  Wizard  of  the  Xortli  is  pendant  Sduthey'.s  unliu- 
ished  poem  of  "  Oliver  Xewman,"  —  a  v.'ork  intended  to  realize 
this  author's  long-meditated  purpose  of  writing  an  Anglo-Amer- 
ican epic.  The  story  of  GoiFo's  appearance  among  the  panic- 
stricken  settlers  at  Hadley  so  strongly  impressed  him,  that  he 
determined  to  make  it  the  main  incident  of  an  historical  poem, 
which,  unfortunately  for  the  world,  never  advanced  beyond  the 
first  stages  of  development.  The  characters  are  introduced,  and 
the  action  begins,  —  when  the  curtain  falls,  leaving  us,  indeed, 
with  the  programme  in  our  hands,  in  the  form  of  notes,  but  Avith 
the  sense  of  irreparable  loss  to  us  and  to  our  historic  annals.  As 
if  to  compel  the  admiration  due  to  genius,  Southey  makes  one  of 
the  despised  sect  of  Quakers  his  hero,  who,  from  a  double  sense 
of  duty  and  filial  love,  has  crossed  the  ocean  in  search  of  liis 
proscribed  and  fugitive  parent. 

This  remarkable  tradition  did  not  escape  the  quick  recogni- 
tion of  our  own  master  of  romance.  It  is  accordingly  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  Hawthorne's  earliest  tales,  entitled  "The  Gray 
Champion."  It  is  true  that  the  action  is  transferred  to  15oston, 
that  the  time  is  brought  forward  ten  years,  and  that  the  author 
seeks  to  produce  a  inoral  rather  than  a  physical  effect  in  his 
climax.     But  the  incident  is  still  the  same.     The  Gray  Cham- 


456 


NEW-EN(  ;LANI)    LECiFA'DS. 


piou  who  siukk'iil}'  conlViints  Sir  JvhiuuKl  Aiulros  ;uul  his  re- 
tinue ill  the  streets  of  Boston  and  Lids  them  "  stand,"  is  no 
otlier  than  the  fugitive  regicide ;  and  his  })urpose  is  still  to  exalt 
the  spirit  of  the  people  by  the  timely  display  of  the  superiority 
of  moral  over  mere  physical  power  on  the  side  of  the  rightful 
cause.     Such  is  the  tradition. 

Dr.  D wight  relates  that  Mr.  Eussell's  house  had  been  pulled 
down  some  years  previous  to  his  visit  to  the  spot  in  1790,  but 


GRAVES   01'   TUB    llEGICIDES,  NEW    HAVEN. 


that  Mr.  (laylord,  the  owner  of  the  estate,  gave  him  the  following 
fact  concerning  it.  "When  the  workmen  Avere  demolishing  the 
building  they  discovered,  just  outside  the  cellar  wall,  a  crypt 
built  of  solid  masonry  and  covered  with  hewn  fl:igstones. 
Within  this  tomb  Avere  found  tlio  bones  of  Whalley.  After 
"NVhalley's  death  (Toflb  quitted  Hadley,  living  sometimes  in  one 
place  and  sometimes  in  another,  under  various  disguises  and 
aliases  that  have  given  rise  to  other  legendary  tales  concerning 
him  or  the  places  that  became  his  asylum. 

By  a  hyperbole,  exaggerated  perha])s,  l>ut  still  pardonabh^  in 
a  people  who  traced  everything  in  man  or  nature  to  the  active 
intervention  of  the  Most  High,  the  unknown  savior  of  Hadley 


■rilK    DEAD    SIIII'    (»!'    HAUI'SWKI.L.  457 

was  long  spoken  of  as  an  angel  sent  for  their  deliverance.  His 
sudden  aitpearance  among  them,  his  strangx;  garh  and  speech,  the 
dignity  and  aullmrity  of  his  manner,  and  linally  his  unaecount- 
able  disappearance  in  the  moment  of  victory,  may  well  have 
exalted  him  in  their  minds  to  a  supernatural  being.  King 
Charles  would  have  deeaiiilalcd  the  I'egicide  ;  our  antiijuaries 
would  decapitate!  both  angel  and  legend  witli  as  little  romorse. 
As  the  custodian  of  each,  we  say,  in  the  language  of  th>i  royal 
martyr  when  upon  the  scall'old,  "Do  not  touch  tlie  axe." 


THE   DEAD   SHIP   OF   HARPSWELL. 

John  G.  Whittier. 

ONLY  those  who  sail  the  ocean,  or  who  live  in  daily  com- 
])anionship  with  it,  can  begin  to  realize  the  full  meaning 
of  the  brief  yet  ominous  record  set  against  the  name  of  an 
absent  sliip,  "  Sailed,  but  never  heaid  from!"  It  is  to  such 
awe-inspiring  incidents  that  we  owe  many  weird  tales,  a  few  of 
wliich  are  narrated  in  these  pages.  The  ''  Dead  Ship  of 
Harpswell "  merely  follows  in  the  vanishing  wake  of  the 
"  Flying  Dutchman." 

As  touching  the  origin  of  this  legend,  the  Quaker  poet  gives 
the  following  explanation  :  "  Some  twenty  years  ago  I  received 
from  Miss  Marion  Pearl,  daughter  of  Rev.  Mr.  Pearl,  a  well- 
known  clergyman  of  Maine,  a  letter  descriptive  of  the  people, 
habits,  superstitions,  and  legends  of  Orr's  Island,  where,  I  think, 
the  writer  was  a  teacher.  The  legend  of  a  spectre  ship,  as 
described  in  my  poem,  interested  me  by  its  weird  suggestiveness. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  the  legend  was 
talked  of  on  the  island  by  the  aged  people.  Perhaps  it  has 
died  out  now.  The  school-teacher  has  been  abroad  since,  and 
the  new  generation  are  ashamed  of  the  fireside  lore  of  their 
grandmothers." 


458  NKW-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

What  flecks  tli(i  outer  gray  beyond 

The  sundown's  golden  trail  I 
The  \vhite  flash  of  a  sea-bird's  wing, 

Or  gleam  of  slanting  sail  / 
Let  young  eyes  watch  from  Neck  and  Point, 

And  sea-worn  elders  pray,  — 
The  ghost  (jf  what  was  once  a  ship 

Is  sailing  up  the  bay  ! 

She  inimds  tlie  headland's  bristling  pines; 

She  threads  the  isle-set  bay  ; 
No  spur  of  breeze  can  speed  her  on, 

Nnr  ebb  of  tide  delay. 
Old  men  still  walk  the  Isle  of  Orr 

Who  tell  her  date  and  name, 
01(1  sliijjwrights  sit  in  Free])()rt  yards 

Who  hewed  her  oaken  frame. 


For  never  comes  the  ship  to  port, 

Howe'er  the  breeze  may  be  ; 
Just  when  she  nears  the  waiting  shore 

She  drifts  again  to  sea. 
No  tack  of  sail,  nor  turn  of  helm, 

Nor  sheer  of  veering  side  ; 
Stern-fore  she  drives  to  sea  and  night. 

Against  tlie  wind  and  tide. 

Tn  vain  o'er  Harpswell  Neck  the  star 

Of  evening  guides  her  in  ; 
In  vain  for  her  tlie  lamps  are  lit 

Witliin  thy  tower,  Seguin  ! 
In  vain  the  harbor  boat  shall  hail, 

In  vain  the  pilot  call  : 
No  hand  shall  reef  her  spectral  sail, 

Or  let  her  anchor  fall. 


THE    VEILKI)    MINISTER.  45'J 


THE  VEILED   MINISTER. 

ALL  readers  of  Mr.  H;i\vthoriie's  "  Twice  Told  Tales  "  are 
doubthiss  familiar  with  the  doleful  story  of  "  The  INIin- 
ister's  Black  Veil."  He  calls  it  a  parable,  the  moral  of  which  is 
sufficiently  obvious,  as  the  finale  is  dramatic.  The  Ulack  Veil 
here  is,  in  fact,  only  another  name  for  the  mask  whicli  sin  wears 
before  a  censorious  world.  Unquestionably,  the  idea  was  sug- 
gested by  the  strange,  lifelong,  and  self-imposed  penance  related 
of  the  Reverend  Joseph  Moody,  of  York,  Maine.  He  was  the 
son  of  the  Reverend  Samuel  Moody,  also  of  York,  who  was 
chaplain  to  Pepperell's  Louisburg  expedition,  was  noted  for  tlie 
length  of  his  prayers,  and  who  published  "  The  doleful  state  of 
the  damned  ;  especially  of  such  as  go  to  liell  from  under  the 
gospel;"  "Judas  hung  up  in  chains,"  etc.  His  wcill-known 
eccentricities  prepare  us,  in  a  wa}*,  for  tlie  odd  mania  which  sub- 
sequently developed  in  his  gifted,  but  ill-fated,  son. 

ITnfortunately,  Joseph  Moody's  story  is  little  less  coherent 
than  his  acts.  He  had  been  a  schoolmaster.  Then  for  some 
years  he  held  the  offices  of  town  clerk  of  York,  and  of  llegister 
of  Deeds  for  the  county.  It  is  noted,  in  his  own  diary,  that  he 
had  formed  a  strong  attachment  for  Miss  Mary  Hirst  of  Boston  ; 
who,  however,  found  a  more  acceptable  suitor  in  the  person  of 
the  wealthy  Colonel  Pepperell,  of  Louisburg  fame.  But  it  is 
not  to  disappointed  love,  which  has  turned  so  many  heads  both 
before  and  since,  that  Mr.  Moody's  singular  affliction  is  to  be 
attributed.  It  was  said  that  the  accidental  discharge  of  a  gun, 
in  his  hands,  when  a  boy,  had  resulted  in  the  killing  of  a  play- 
mate, and  that  he  could  never  rid  himself  of  the  feeling  that  he 
was  a  murderer.  In  a  morbidly  sensitive  nature,  dwelling  upon 
this  fact  was  sure  to  lead  to  some  unusual  display  of  remorse. 

When  the  Second  Parish  in  York,  always  known  by  the  name 
of  Scotland,  was  incorporated,  in  1730,  Mr.  Moody  was  solicited 


460  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

to  take  the  pastoral  charge  of  tlie  church,  gathered  there  two 
years  later,  accepted  the  charge,  and  was  accordingly  ordained. 
In  a  few  years  his  wife  died.  This  event  cast  him  into  a  settled 
melancholy,  and  he  ever  after  wore,  until  the  day  of  his  death, 
a  silk  handkerchief  drawn  over  his  face,  from  which  act  he  came 
to  be  known  as  "Handkerchief  Moody."  He  gave  up  his  puldic 
labors,  held  aloof  from  all  conversation  with  others,  and  even 
refused  to  pray  or  officiate  at  any  public  gatherings  whatsoever, 
except  in  some  case  of  unusual  urgency,  when  he  declared  that 
he  did  so  only  as  the  mouthpiece  of  others.  When  he  took  his 
meals  in  company  with  others,  he  always  sat  at  a  side  table,  witli 
his  fixce  turned  to  tlie  wall.  The  singular  workings  of  his  un- 
steady mind  may  be  inferred  by  the  following  extract  from  his 
diary  :  "Tins  day,  wliile  engaged  in  prayer,  I  tliouglit  of  a  way 
to  fasten  my  study  door,  and  afterwards  found  a  better." 

Mr.  Moody's  death  came  suddeidy.  On  the  afternoon  before 
it  occurred,  he  was  heard  singing  aloud  one  of  Watts'  Hymns,  in 
which  occur  the  lines,  — 

Oh  for  an  overcoming  faith 
To  cheer  my  dying  liours. 

He  continued  singing  almost  tlie  whole  afternoon.  He  did  not 
leave  his  chamber  at  night,  and  the  next  morning  was  found 
lying  dead  in  his  bed. 


LEGENDS   OF   TPIE   WHITE 
MOUNTAINS. 


THE   GREAT   CARBUNCLE. 

As  is  well  known,  these  commanding  landmarks  of  New 
England  very  early  received  the  highly  poetic  designa- 
tion of  "  The  Crystal  Hills,"  in  consequence  of  marvellous  tales 
told  by  the  Indians  concerning  the  mineral  treasures  they 
hoarded,  treasures  of  such  amazing  richness  as  to  flash  their 
dazzling  rays  afar  by  night,  as  well  as  by  day. 

According  to  the  Indians,  on  the  highest  mountain,  sus- 
pended from  a  crag  overlooking  a  dismal  lake,  was  an  enormous 
carbuncle,  which  many  declared  they  had  seen  blazing  in  the 
night  like  a  live  coal.  Some  even  asserted  that  its  ruddy  glare 
lighted  the  livid  rocks  around  like  the  fire  of  a  midnight 
encampment,  while  by  day  it  emitted  rays,  like  the  sun,  dazzling 
to  look  upon.  And  this  extraordinary  sight  they  declared  they 
had  not  only  seen,  but  seen  again  and  again. 

It  is  true  that  the  Indians  did  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  no 
mortal  hand  could  hope  to  grasp  the  great  firestone.  It  was, 
said  they,  in  the  special  guardianship  of  the  genius  of  the 
mountain,  who,  on  the  approach  of  human  footsteps,  troubled 
the  waters  of  the  lake,  causing  a  dark  mist  to  rise,  in  which  the 
venturesome  mortal  first  became  bewildered,  and  then  hopelessly 
lost.  It  is  true  that  several  noted  conjurers  of  the  Pigwacket 
tribe,  rendered  foolhardy  by  their  success  in  exorcising  evil 
spirits,  so  far  conquered  their  fears  as  to  ascend  the  mountain  ; 
but  they  never  returned,  and  had,  no  doubt,  expiated  their  folly 
by  being  transformed  into  stone,  or  Hung  headlong  down  some 
stark  and  terrible  precipice. 


462  NEW-ENOLAND    LEGENDS. 

Tliis  tale  of  the  great  carbuncle  fired  the  imagination  of  the 
simple  settlers  to  the  highest  j)itch.  "We  believe  what  we  wish 
to  believe,  and,  notwithstanding  their  religion  refused  to  admit 
the  existence  of  the  Indian  demon,  its  guardian,  they  seem  to 
have  had  little  difficulty  in  crediting  the  reality  of  the  jewel  it- 
self. At  any  rate,  the  belief  that  the  mountain  shut  up  precious 
mines  has  come  down  even  to  a  very  late  day ;  for  are  we  not 
assured  by  a  certain  learned  historian  that  the  story  of  the  great 
carbuncle  still  found  full  credence  in  his  time]  We  are  now 
acquainted  with  the  spirit  of  tlie  time  when  the  first  attempt  to 
scale  the  mountain  known  to  us  was  rewarded  with  complete 
success.     But  tlie  record  is  of  exasperating  brevity. 

Among  the  earliest  settlers  of  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  was  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Darby  Field.  The  antecedents  of  tliis 
obsqiire  personage  are  securely  liidden  behind  the  mists  of  more 
than  two  and  a  half  centuries.  Still  less  is  it  knov/n  wliat 
became  of  him. 

In  June,  1642,  that  is  to  say  only  twelve  years  after  the 
Puritans  settled  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  Field  set  out  from  tlie 
seacoast  for  the  distant  White  Hills. 

So  far  as  known,  he  prosecuted  his  journey  to  the  Indian 
village  of  Pigwacket,  the  existence  of  which  is  thus  established, 
without  noteworthy  accident  or  adventure.  Here  he  was  joined 
by  some  Indians,  who  conducted  him  within  eight  miles  of  the 
summit,  when,  declaring  that  to  go  farther  would  expose  them 
to  tlie  wrath  of  their  great  Evil  Spirit,  they  halted,  and  refused 
to  proceed.  The  brave  Irishman  was  equal  to  tlie  emergency. 
To  turn  back,  baffled,  within  sight  of  his  goal  was  evidently  not 
an  admitted  contingency.  Leaving  the  Indians,  therefore, 
squatted  upon  the  rocks,  and  no  doubt  regarding  him  as  a  man 
rushing  upon  a  fool's  fate.  Field  again  resolutely  faced  the 
mountain,  when,  seeing  him  equally  unmoved  by  their  warnings, 
as  unshaken  in  his  determination  to  reach  the  summit,  two  of 
the  boldest  warriors  ran  after  him,  while  the  others  stoically 
made  their  preparations  to  await  a  return  which  they  never 
expected  to  take  place.  Tlioy  watched  the  retreating  figures 
until  lost  among  the  rocks. 


THE   GIIEVT   CAUBUNCLK.  463 

The  adventurous  climber  pushed  on.  Soon  he  was  assailed 
\>y  thick  clouds,  through  which  he  and  his  companions  reso- 
lutely toiled  upward.  This  slow  and  labored  progress  through 
entangling  mists  continued  until  within  four  miles  of  the  sum- 
mit, when  Field  emerged  above  them  into  a  region  of  intense 
cold.  Surmounting  the  immense  pile  of  shattered  rocks  which 
constitute  the  spire,  he  at  last  stood  upon  the  unclouded  summit, 
with  its  vast  landscape  outspread  beneath  him,  and  the  air  so 
clear  that  the  sea  seemed  not  more  than  twenty  miles  distant. 

The  day  must  have  been  so  far  spent  that  Field  had  but  little 
time  in  whicii  to  prosecute  his  search.  Ho,  liowever,  found 
"store  of  Muscovy  glass  "  and  some  crystals,  whicli,  supposing 
them  to  be  diamonds,  he  carefully  secured  and  brought  away. 
These  glittering  masses,  congealed,  according  to  popular  belief, 
like  ice  on  the  frozen  regions  of  the  mountains,  gave  them  the 
name  of  the  Crystal  Hills. 

Descending  the  mountain,  Field  rejoined  his  Indians,  who 
were  doubtless  much  astonished  to  see  him  return  to  them  safe 
and  sound ;  for,  while  he  was  making  tlie  ascent,  a  furious 
tempest,  sent,  as  these  savages  believed,  to  destroy  the  rash 
pale-face  and  his  equally  reckless  companions,  burst  upon  the 
mountain.  He  found  them  drying  themselves  by  a  fire  of  pine- 
knots  ;  and,  after  a  short  halt,  the  party  took  their  way  down 
the  mountain  to  the  Indian  village. 

Before  a  month  elapsed,  Field,  with  live  or  six  companions, 
made  a  second  ascent ;  but  the  gem  of  inestimable  value,  by 
whose  light  one  might  read  at  night,  continued  to  elude  pursuit. 
The  search  was  not,  however,  abandoned.  Others  continued  it. 
The  marvellous  story,  as  firmly  believed  as  ever  by  the  credu- 
lous, survived,  in  all  its  purity,  to  our  own  century,  to  be 
finally  transmitted  to  immortality  by  Hawthorne's  tale  of  "  The 
Great  Carbuncle."  It  may  be  said  here  that  great  influence  was 
formerly  attributed  to  tliis  stone,  which  the  learned  in  alchemy 
believed  prevailed  against  the  dangers  of  infection,  and  was  a 
sure  talisman  to  preserve  its  owner  from  peril  by  sea  or  by 
land. 


464  NEW-ENGLAND    LEOHNDS. 


THE   SILVER   IMAGE   OF   ST.   FRANCIS. 

IX  tlie  month  of  Septembev,  1759,  a  picked  corps  of  Ameri- 
can rangers,  attached  to  the  army  of  Sir  Jeffrey  Amlierst, 
set  out  from  Crown  Point,  without  beat  of  drum,  on  a  secret 
exi)editiou.  Major  Jlobert  Rogers  was  in  command.  From  the 
leader  down  to  tlie  humblest  private  in  the  ranks,  all  were 
thoroughly  experienced  in  Indian  warfare.  They  not  only 
fought  as  the  Indians  had  taught  them  to  hght,  but  tlieir  dress, 
arms,  and  equipments  were  exactly  copied  frcjm  those  worn,  or 
carried,  by  the  red  men,  even  to  the  tomahawks  and  scalping- 
knives  stuck  in  their  leather  belts. 

The  destination  of  tliis  formidable  body  of  bush-fighters  was 
the  Abenaquis  village  of  St.  Francis,  nearly  three  hundred 
miles  distant,  but  that  made  little  difference  to  these  hardy  sons 
of  the  forest,  inured,  as  they  were,  to  every  species  of  hardship 
in  the  performance  of  the  es|)ecially  dangerous  services  for  which 
this  corps  had  been  organized. 

On  the  evening  of  the  twenty-second  day's  march  a  halt  was 
ordered.  The  rangers  were  near  their  destination.  Thanks  to 
the  precautions  taken,  they  had  approached  within  striking  dis- 
tance of  the  village  quite  undiscovered.  It  was  carefully 
reconnoitered  when  darkness  set  in.  All  was  quiet.  Nothing 
betokened  the  smallest  suspicion  that  the  avengers  of  blood 
were  at  hand. 

St.  Francis  contained  about  forty  or  fifty  wigwams,  thrown 
together  without  order  or  means  of  defence.  In  the  midst  was 
a  (jatholic  chapel,  presided  over  by  a  zeahms  missionary  of  that 
faith.  The  spoil  of  many  a  murderous  foray,  and  the  ransom  of 
many  miserable  captives,  gave  evidence  to  the  daring  of  these 
heathens  ;  while  the  scalps  drying  in  the  wigwams,  or  mourn- 
fully waving  in  the  night  wind  outside,  told  a  still  more  sicken- 
ing story  of  wanton  deeds  of  Ijlood.     In  six  years  these  Indians 


THE    SILVKIi   IMAGK    oF    ST.    FllANCIS.  465 

had  slain  ami  taken  no  less  than  six  hundred  English,  men, 
women,  and  chiklrun. 

The  knowledge  of  numberless  atrocities  nerved  the  arms  and 
steeled  the  hearts  of  the  rangers.  Under  cover  of  darkness 
Kogers  had  placed  his  men  within  gunshot  of  the  village  with- 
out discovery.  The  doomed  Ahenaquis  slept  on.  When  the 
sun  began  to  brighten  the  east,  at  a  signal  from  their  leader,  the 
rangers  rushed  upon  the  village  like  men  sure  of  their  prey. 

The  surprise  was  complete.  The  first  warning  that  the 
amazed  savages  had,  came  from  the  death-dealing  volleys  poured 
into  the  wigwams.  Those  who  rushed  forth  pell-mell  into  the 
streets,  ran  headlong  upon  the  weapons  of  the  rangers  ;  those 
who  sought  safety  by  plunging  into  the  river,  flowing  close  at 
hand,  were  picked  oflf  by  the  unerring  rifles  of  their  infuriated 
pursuers.  No  mercy  was  shown  to  those  who  spared  neither 
age  nor  sex,  the  innocent  babe  or  the  gray-haired  grandsire. 

This  butchery  continued  ten  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  the 
rangers,  with  the  exception  of  one  of  their  number  killed  out- 
right, issued  from  the  chapel,  after  having  first  stripped  the  altar, 
despoiled  the  shrine  of  its  .silver  image  of  the  Virgin,  and  flung 
the  Host  upon  the  ground.  While  this  profanation  was  enact- 
ing a  voice  rose  from  the  heap  of  dead  at  the  altar's  foot,  which 
made  the  boldest  heart  among  the  rangers  stop  beating.  It 
said, 

"  The  Great  Spirit  of  the  Abenaquis  will  scatter  darkness  in 
the  path  of  the  accursed  Pale-faces  !  Hunger  walks  before  and 
Death  strikes  their  trail !  Their  wives  weep  for  the  warriors 
that  do  not  return  !  Manitou  is  angry  when  the  dead  speak. 
The  dead  have  spoken !  " 

The  torch  was  then  applied  to  the  chapel,  and,  like  the  rest 
of  the  village,  it  was  fast  being  reduced  to  a  heap  of  cinders. 
But  now  something  singular  transpired.  As  the  rangers  filed 
out  from  the  shambles,  the  bell  of  the  little  chapel  began  to 
toll.  In  wonder  and  dread  they  listened  to  its  slow  and  meas- 
ured strokes  until,  the  flames  having  mounted  to  the  belfry,  it 
fell  with  a  loud  clang  among  the  ruins.     The  rangers  hastened 

30 


466  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

onward.  This  unexpected  sound  already  filled  them  with 
gloomy  forebodings. 

After  the  stern  necessities  of  their  situation  rendered  a  sepa- 
ration the  sole  hope  of  successful  retreat,  tlie  party  which  car- 
ried along  with  it  the  silver  image  was  so  hard  pressed  b}^  the 
Indians,  and  by  a  still  more  relentless  enemy,  famine,  that  it 
reached  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut  reduced  to  four  half- 
starved,  emaciated  men.  More  than  once  had  they  been  on  the 
puint  of  flinging  their  ill-gotten  burden  into  some  one  of  tlie 
torrents  every  hour  obstructing  their  way  ;  but  as  one  after  an- 
other fell  exhausted  or  lifeless,  the  unlucky  image  passed  from 
hand  to  hand,  and  was  thus  preserved  up  to  the  moment  so 
eagerly  and  so  confidently  looked  for,  during  that  long  and 
dreadful  march,  to  end  all  their  privations. 

But  the  chastisement  of  heaven,  prefigured  in  the  words  of 
tlie  expiring  Abenaqui,  had  already  overtaken  them.  Half- 
crazed  by  their  sufferings,  they  missed  the  place  of  rendezvous 
appointed  by  their  chief,  and,  having  no  tidings  of  their  com- 
rades, believed  themselves  to  be  the  sole  survivors  of  all  that 
gallant  but  ill-fated  band.  In  this  conviction,  to  which  a 
mournful  destiny  conducted,  they  took  the  fatal  determination 
to  cross  the  mountains  under  the  guidance  of  one  of  their  luim- 
ber  who  had,  or  professed,  a  knowledge  of  the  way  through  the 
Great  Notch  of  the  White  Hills. 

For  four  days  they  dragged  themselves  onward  through 
thickets,  through  deep  snows  and  swollen  streams,  without 
sustenance  of  any  kind,  when  three  of  tliem,  in  consequence  of 
their  complicated  miseries,  aggravated  by  finding  no  way  througli 
the  impenetrable  wall  of  mountains,  lost  their  senses.  AVhat 
leather  covered  their  cartouch-boxes  they  had  already  scorcheil 
to  a  cinder  and  greedily  devoured.  At  length,  on  the  last  days 
of  October,  as  they  were  crossing  a  small  river,  dammed  by  logs, 
they  discovered  some  human  bodies,  not  onl}''  scalped,  but  hor- 
ribly mangled,  which  were  supposed  to  be  some  of  their  own 
band.  But  this  was  no  time  for  distinctions.  On  them  tliey 
accordingly  fell  like  cannibals,  their  impatience  being  too  great 


THE   STORY   OF    NANCY'S   BUOOK.  467 

to  await  the  kindling  of  a  lire  to  dress  their  horrid  food  hy. 
Wlieu  tliey  hail  thus  abated  soniewliat  the  excruciating  pangs 
they  beture  endured,  the  fragments  were  carefully  collected  for  a 
future  store. 

The  pen  refuses  to  record  the  dreadful  extremities  to  which 
starvation  reduced  these  miserable  wretches.  At  length,  after 
some  days  of  fruitless  wandering  up  and  down,  finding  the 
mountains  inexorably  closing  in  upon  them,  even  this  last  dread- 
ful resource  failed,  and,  crawling  under  some  rocks,  they  perislu^d 
miserably  in  the  delirium  produced  by  hunger  and  despair, 
blaspheming,  and  hurling  horrible  imprecations  at  the  silver 
image,  to  which,  in  their  insanity,  they  attributed  all  their 
sufterings.  One  of  them,  in  his  delirium,  seizing  the  statue, 
tottered  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  and,  exerting  all  his 
remaining  strength,  dashed  it  down  into  the  gulf  at  his  feet. 

Tradition  affirms  that  the  first  settlers  who  ascended  Israel's 
Eiver  found  relics  of  the  lost  detachment  near  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  ;  but,  notwithstanding  the  most  diligent  search,  the 
silver  image  has  thus  far  eluded  every  eifort  made  for  its 
recovery. 


THE   STORY   OF   NANCY'S   BROOK. 

IX  the  heart  of  tlie  romantic  region  watered  by  the  Saco 
River,  where  the  big  mountains  crowd  upon  each  other  in 
such  a  lawless  way,  one  often  sees  some  sparkling  mountain 
brook,  coming  in  leaps  and  bounds  down  out  of  the  upper 
forests,  like  a  gleam  of  light  in  a  dark  place.  Such  a  one  is 
Nancy's  Brook,  situated  not  far  above  Sawyer's  River.  The 
story  connected  with  it  is  a  most  pitiful  one. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  a  maiden,  whose  Chris- 
tian name  of  Nancy  is  all  that  comes  down  to  us,  was  living  in 
the  little  hamlet  of  Jefferson.  She  loved,  and  was  betrothed  to 
a  young  man  of  the  farm.      Tlic  wcdding-dav  was  lixed,  and  the 


468  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

young  couple  were  on  the  eve  of  setting  out  for  Portsmouth, 
"H'liere  their  happiness  was  to  be  consunimated  at  the  altar.  In 
the  trustfulness  of  love,  the  young  girl  confided  the  small  .sum 
which  constituted  all  her  marriage-portion  to  her  lover.  This 
man  repaid  her  simple  faith  with  the  basest  treachery.  Seizing 
his  opportunity,  he  left  the  hamlet  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion or  of  adieu.  The  deserted  maiden  was  one  of  those  natures 
which  cannot  quietly  sit  down  under  calamity.  Urged  on  by 
the  intensity  of  her  feelings,  she  resolved  to  pursue  her  recreant 
lover.  He  could  not  resist  her  prayers,  her  entreaties,  her 
tears !  She  was  young,  vigorous,  intrepid.  "With  her  to  decide 
and  to  act  were  the  same  thing.  In  vain  tlie  family  attempted 
to  dissuade  her  from  her  purpose.     At  nightfall  she  set  out. 

A  hundred  years  ago  the  route  taken  by  tliis  brave  girl  was 
not,  as  to-day,  a  thoroughfare  which  one  may  follow  with  his 
eyes  shut.  It  was  only  an  obscure  path,  little  travelled  by  day, 
always  deserted  by  night.  For  thirty  miles  there  was  not  a 
human  liabitation.  Tlie  forests  were  filled  with  wild  beasts. 
The  rigor  of  the  season  —  it  was  December  —  added  its  own 
perils.  But  nothing  could  daunt  the  heroic  spirit  of  Nancy  ; 
slie  had  found  man  more  cruel  than  all  besides. 

The  girl's  hope  was  to  overtake  her  lover  before  dawn  at  the 
place  where  she  fully  expected  he  would  have  camped  for  the 
night.  She  found  the  camp  deserted,  and  the  embers  of  his  fire 
extinguished.  Spurred  on  by  hope  or  despair,  she  pushed  on 
down  the  tremendous  defile  of  the  Notch,  fording  the  turbulent 
and  frozen  Saco,  and  toiling  through  deep  snows  and  over  rocks 
and  fallen  trees,  until,  feeling  her  strengtli  fail,  she  sunk  ex- 
liausted  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  which  seems  perpetually 
bemoaning  her  sad  fate.  Here,  cold  and  rigid  as  marble,  under 
a  canopy  of  evergreen  which  the  snow  tenderly  drooped  above 
her  lifeless  form,  they  found  her.  S])e  Avas  wrajiped  in  licr 
cloak,  and  in  the  same  attitude  of  repose  as  when  she  fell  asleep 
on  her  nuptial  couch  of  snow-crusted  moss. 

The  story  goes  that  the  faithless  lover  became  a  hopeless 
maniac    on  learning   the  fate  of  his  victim,  dying  in  horrible 


chocokua's  curse.  469 

paroxysms  not  long  after.  Tradition  aiUls  tliat  for  many  years, 
on  every  anniversary  of  her  death,  the  mountains  resounded 
with  ravings,  slirieks,  and  agonized  cries,  which  the  superstitious 
attributed  to  tlio  unliappy  ghost  of  the  maniac  lover.  It  is 
fiu'tliermore  related  by  Dr.  Jeremy  Belknap,  tlie  historian  of 
Xew  Hampshire,  that  when  making  a  journey  through  this 
valley,  in  1784,  lie  was  besought  by  the  superstitious  settlers  to 
lay  the  spirits,  which  were  still  believed  to  haunt  the  fastnesses 
of  these  mountains. 


CHOCORUA'S   CURSE. 

CHOCORUA  is  admitted  to  be  the  most  strikingly  individual 
of  all  the  White  Mountain  peaks.  As  the  giant  outpost, 
guarding  the  approach  from  the  southeast,  it  is  the  first  to  chal- 
lenge attention  in  tliat  quarter,  and  is  sure  to  hold  that  atten- 
tion until  lost  to  sight  in  the  ever  shifting  landscape.  Few  will 
be  found  to  call  Chocorua  beautiful,  yet  it  has  a  fascination  all 
its  own,  perhaps  not  lessened  by  its  being  the  scene  of  the  fol- 
lowing legend,  from  which  this  stark  and  lofty  peak  derives  its 
name.  There  are  several  versions,  differing  but  little  one  from 
the  other,  and  all  closing  with  the  same  startling  catastrophe. 

Chocorua,  then,  was  an  Indian  chief  who  continued  to  hunt 
and  trap  the  beaver  through  this  romantic  region  after  his  tribe 
and  race  had  deserted  it.  The  beaver  were  still  plenty  among 
its  unfrequented  nooks,  while  its  woods  and  waters,  its  crags  and 
ravines,  offered  safe  retreats  to  a  still  plentiful  game. 

Chocorua  had  a  son,  the  sole  companion  of  his  solitude.  On 
some  occasion,  when  the  chief  wished  to  make  a  long  journey, 
he  confided  this  boy  to  the  care  of  a  white  settler,  named  Camp- 
bell, against  his  own  returu  to  his  wigwam.  Prompted  by  a  fatal 
curiosity,  the  boy  drank  off  the  contents  of  a  bottle  of  poison, 
kept  to  destroy  the  wolves  which  prowled  around  the  white  man's 
lonely  cabin.      The  poison  did  its  deadly  work  all  too  (piickly. 


470  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Chocorua  returned  to  fiml  his  boy  a  corpse.  In  vain  was  the 
luauner  of  the  foohsli  boy's  death  ilescribed  to  him.  Chocorua 
believed  it  had  been  caused  by  Campbell  himself,  and  with 
Indian  vindictiveuess  vowed  to  be  revenged.  One  day  Camp- 
bell came  home  from  hunting  only  to  hnd  his  wife  and  children 
murdered  in  cold  blood.  In  his  absence  they  had  fallen  easy 
victims  to  the  fury  of  Chocorua. 

It  was  now  Campbell's  turn  to  swear  vengeance.  Gathering 
some  neighbors  tlie  pursuit  began.  Chocorua  was  tracked  to  the 
mountain  in  which  he  had  taken  refuge,  hunted  from  one 
hiding-place  to  another,  until  brought  to  bay  on  the  topmost 
crag,  when,  seeing  further  retreat  impossible,  he  faced  his  pur- 
suers witli  Indian  stoicism.  Another  stej)  would  have  hurled 
him  to  the  bottom  of  a  dizzy  precipice. 

"Jump  !  "  commanded  the  white  men. 

Seeing  nothing  but  death  threatening  him  on  all  sides 
Chocorua  prepared  to  obey,  but  before  doing  so,  he  launched 
this  curse  at  his  tormentors :  — 

"  A  curse  upon  ye  white  men  !  May  the  Great  Spirit  curse 
ye  when  he  speaks  in  the  clouds,  and  his  words  are  fire ! 
Chocorua  had  a  son,  and  ye  killed  him  when  the  sky  was 
bright!  Lightning  blast  your  crops!  Winds  and  tire  destroy 
your  dwellings !  Tlie  Evil  Spirit  breathe  death  upon  your 
cattle !  Your  graves  lie  in  the  war-patli  of  the  Indian ! 
Panthers  howl  and  wolves  fatten  over  your  bones!  Chocorua 
goes  to  the  Great  Spirit  —  his  curse  stays  with  the  white 
man  !  " 

With  this  parting  defiance  the  chieftain  leaped  into  the 
abyss  beneath. 

Another  version  of  the  legend  runs  to  tlie  effect  that  Chocorua 
was  a  survivor  of  tiie  warlike  Pigwackets,  who  had  fought  a 
battle  to  the  death  with  Lovewell's  baud  of  scalping  white 
rangers,  in  the  year  17:^5,  and  that  having  impru<l('iitly  lingered 
near  the  spot  he  was  tracked  and  slain  in  tlu;  manner  already 
related. 

It  is  a  fact,  well  att(!sted,  that  the  white  settlers  of  Albany, 


472  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

ill  which  this  mountain  is  situated,  found  their  cattle  to  "be 
wasted  by  a  strange  disease,  of  which  they  died  ;  and  it  is  also 
true  that,  for  a  long  time,  the  disease  was  attributed  to 
Chocorua's  curse. 


A    LEGEND    OF    TICONDEROGA. 

From  Parkman's  Montcalm  and  Wolfe. 

ALTHOUGH  not  strictly  a  New  England  legen<l,  the  tragic 
event  to  which  it  refers  took  place  on  ground  washed  by 
New  England  waters  and  drenched  with  New  England  blood. 
Indeed,  so  nearly  do  the  shores  of  Verniont  and  New  York 
approach  each  other  at  Ticonderoga  that,  after  this  renowned 
fortress  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  by  Ethan  Allen's 
bold  dash,  the  adjacent  Vermont  shore  was  included  within  its 
defences.  For  the  rest,  Ticonderoga  was  a  direct  menace  to 
New  England,  and  was  so  regarded. 

"The  ancient  castle  of  Interawe  stands  by  the  banks  of  the 
Awe,  in  the  midst  of  the  wild  and  picturesque  scenery  of  the 
western  Highlands.  Late  one  evening,  before  the  middle  of 
the  last  century,  as  the  laird,  Duncan  Campbell,  sat  alone  in  the 
old  hall,  there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  gate  ;  and,  opening  it, 
he  saw  a  stranger,  with  torn  clothing  and  kilt  besmeared  willi 
blood,  who  in  a  breatliless  voice  begged  for  asylum.  He  went 
on  to  say  that  lie  had  killed  a  man  in  a  fray,  and  that  the  pur- 
suers were  at  his  heels.  Campbell  promised  to  shelter  liiui. 
'  Swear  on  your  dirk  ! '  said  the  stranger  ;  and  Campbell  swore. 
He  then  led  him  to  a  secret  recess  in  the  depths  of  the  castle. 
Scarcely  was  he  hidden  when  again  there  was  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  gate,  and  two  armed  men  appeared.  'Your  cousin 
Donald  has  been  murdered,  and  we  are  looking  for  the  mur- 
derer ! '  Campbell,  remembering  his  oath,  professed  to  have  no 
knowledge  of  the  fugitive  ;  and    tliu  men  went  on  their  way. 


A   LEGEND    OF   TICONDEROGA.  473 

The  laird,  iu  great  agitation,  lay  down  to  rest  in  the  large  dark 
room,  where  at  length  ho  fell  asleep.  Waking  suddenly  in 
bewilderment  and  terror,  he  saw  the  ghost  of  the  murdered 
Donald  standing  by  his  bedside,  and  heard  a  liollow  voice  pro- 
nounce the  words  :  '  Interawe  !  Interawe  !  blood  has  l)een  shed. 
Shield  not  tlie  murderer  !  '  In  the  morning  Canii)boll  went  to 
the  hiding-place  of  the  guilty  man  and  told  him  that  he  could 
harbor  him  no  longer.  '  You  have  sworn  on  your  dirk !  '  he 
replied;  and  the  laird  of  Interawe,  greatly  perplexed  autl 
troubled,  made  a  compromise  between  conflicting  duties,  prom- 
ised not  to  betray  his  guest,  led  him  to  the  neighboring  moun- 
tain, and  liid  him  in  a  cave. 

"  In  the  next  night,  as  he  lay  tossing  in  feverish  slumbers,  the 
same  stern  voice  awoke  him,  the  ghost  of  his  cousin  Donald 
stood  again  at  his  bedside,  and  again  lie  heard  the  same  appall- 
ing words  :  '  Interawe  !  Interawe  !  blood  has  been  shed.  Shield 
not  the  murderer  ! '  At  break  of  day  he  hastened,  in  strange 
agitation,  to  the  cave  ;  but  it  was  empty,  the  stranger  was  gone. 
At  night,  as  he  str(jve  in  vain  to  sleep,  the  vision  appeared 
once  more,  ghastly  pale,  but  less  stern  of  aspect  than  before. 
'  Farewell,  Interawe  ! '  it  said  ;  '  farewell,  till  we  meet  at 
Ticonderoga !  ' 

"  Tiie  strange  name  dwelt  in  Campbell's  memory.  He  had 
joined  the  I>lack  Watch,  or  Forty-second  Regiment,  then 
employed  in  keeping  order  in  the  turbulent  Highlands.  In 
time  he  became  its  major  ;  and,  a  year  or  two  after  the  war 
broke  out,  he  went  with  it  to  America.  Here,  to  his  horror,  he 
learned  that  it  was  ordered  to  tlie  attack  of  Ticonderoga.  His 
story  was  well  known  among  his  brother  officers.  Tliey  com- 
bined among  themselves  to  disarm  his  fears ;  and  when  they 
reached  the  fatal  spot  they  told  him  on  tlie  eve  of  the  battle, 
'  This  is  not  Ticonderoga  ;  we  are  not  there  yet ;  tliis  is  Fort 
George.'  But  in  the  morning  he  came  to  them  with  haggard 
looks.  'I  have  seen  him  !  You  have  deceived  me  !  He  came 
to  my  tent  last  night  !  Tliis  is  Ticonderoga!  I  shall  die  to- 
day ! '  and  his  prwHction   was  fulfilled." 


474  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Suck  is  the  tradition.  The  nulisputahle  facts  are  that 
Major  Duncan  Campbell  of  luterawe,  his  arm  shatteretl  by  a 
bullet,  was  carried  to  Fort  Edward,  where,  after  amputation  he 
died  and  was  buried.  The  stone  that  marks  his  grave  may  still 
be  seen,  with  this  inscription  : 

"  Here  lies  the  body  of  Duncan  Campbell  of  Interawe,  Esq-, 
Major  to  the  old  Highland  liegiment,  aged  55  years,  who  died 
the  17tli  July,  1758,  of  the  Wounds  he  received  in  the  Attack 
of  the  Retrenchment  of  Ticonderoga  or  Carrillon,  on  the  <Sth 
July,  1758." 

Ilis  son,  Lieutenant  Alexander  Campbell,  was  severely  injured 
at  the  same  time,  but  reached  Scotland  alive,  and  died  in 
Glasgow. 


INDEX. 


Adams,  Samuel,  84. 

Aji;ainenticus,  Mount,  ;J31. 

Agassiz,  Louis,  Iho. 

Alden,  John,  37!). 

Alclen,  Ilev.  Timotliy,  379. 

Amiierst,  .Jeffrey,  at  Crown  Point,  464. 

Andros,  Lady,  382;  Sir  Ednuuid,  424. 

Anvilie,  Due  d',  71. 

Arnold,  Governor  Benedict,  3'J8. 

Ashton.  Philip,  212. 

Avery,  Joseph,  245;  Avery's  Fall, 250. 

Bauson,  Ebenezer,  254. 

Barnard,  Rev.  John,  207. 

Belknap,  Jeremy,  visits  White  Moun- 
tains, 469. 

Bellingham,  Richard,  33,  51. 

Bernon,  Gabriel,  124,  12G. 

Besse,  Joseph,  186. 

Blackboard,  66,  350. 

Blackstone,  William,  6,  10. 

Boar's  Head,  322. 

Boston,  ideal  description  of,  3-6;  in 
1634,  14;  in  1770,  99. 

Boudet,  Fere,  125. 

Bradford,  William.  368. 

Brainard,  J.  G.,  427,  431,  435 

Bray,  John,  119. 

Brewster,  Margaret,  57. 

Brock,  Rev.  John,  347. 

Brown,  Rev.  Arthur,  341. 

Burroughs,  George,  hanged,  201,  202. 

Butter,  Edward,  180. 

Calef,  Robert,  60. 
Campbell,  Duncan,  vision  of,  473. 
Cape  Ann,  description  of,  237. 
Chanipernowne,  Francis,  357. 
Charter  Oak,  The,  421. 
Cheesman,  Edward,  262. 
Chilton,  Mary,  380. 
Chocorua,  Indian  Chief,  409. 
Chocorua  Mountain,  469. 
Clifton,  Hope,  40. 


Coddington,  William,  16,  20,  21. 
('ollin,  Joshua,  287. 
Cole,  Eunice,  328. 
Conant,  Roger,  167. 
Cooiidge,  Cornelius,  153. 
Core}',  Giles,  194. 
Cotton,  Rev.  John,  13. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  240,  403. 
Davenport,  Rev.  .lohn,  417. 
Davis,  Nicholas,  40. 
Dawes,  William,  84. 
Dexter,  Timothy,  292. 
Dighton  Rock,  395. 
Diniond,  John,  144. 
Double-headed  Snake,  307. 
Dudley,  Thomas,  137. 
Dungeon  Rock,  134. 
Dyer,  Mary,  36. 

EoG  Rock,  148,  161. 

Eliot,  John,  20,  123. 

Eliot,  William,  246. 

Eliot  Oak,  121. 

Endicott,  John,  41,  44,  51,  170,  180. 

English,  Philip,  176. 

Familist  Controversy;  see  Anne 
Hutchinson. 

Field,  Darbv,  ascends  White  Moun- 
tains, 462." 

Field.s,  James  T.,  240,  265,  447. 

Filhnore,  John,  261. 

Fitch.  Thomas,  4.34. 

Franklind,  Sir  Charles  H.,  221. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  66. 

Gage,  General  Thomas,  81. 

Gallup,  John,  67. 

Garrison,  William  Llovd,  138. 

Goffe,  Colonel  Willi.mi",  449. 

Goldsmith,  Raljth,  49. 

Gorges,  Robert,  153;  Ferdinando   331. 


476 


NHW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


Gosnold,  Bartholomew,  442,  443,  444. 
Gould,  Hauiiali,  3U3. 
(ireat  Kliu  of  Boston,  35,  69,  105. 
Gruen  Dragon,  81. 

Halk,  Sarah,  316. 
Halt-wav  Kock.  233,  2-34. 
Hampton,  N.  II..  319. 
Hancock,  John,  84. 
Harrrtdcn,  Andrew,  201. 
Hawtliorne,  Nathaniel,  163,  169,  172. 
Heartbreak  Hill,  279. 
Hibbins,  Ann.  28. 
Hihbins,  William,  30. 
High  Uock,  141. 
Hill,  Joseph,  431. 
Hilton,  Martha,  339. 
HoUingsworih,     William,    176;     Su- 
sanna, 176. 
Holmes,  ().  W.;  see  "  Contents." 
Hooper,  Madam,  299. 
House  of  Seven  Gables,  173,  174. 
Hubbard,  William,  245,  369. 
Hutchinson,  Anne,  11. 
Hutchinson,  William,  12,  14,  15. 
Hutchinson,  Thomas,  18. 

Ipswich,  Mass.,  description  of,  273. 
Ireson,  Benjamin,  227. 

Jaqcks,  Richard,  301. 
Josselyn,  John,  158. 

Kelley,  E.  G.,301. 
Kidd,  Capt.  Robert,  346. 

Lamb,  Charles,  188. 

Larconi,  Lucy,  242,  267. 

Leverett,  Governor  John,  449,  450. 

Lewis,  Alonzo,  132.  144. 

Longfellow,    H.   W.,   151,   155.     -See 

"  Contents." 
Louisburg,  C.  B.,  71,  259. 
Low,  Edward,  213. 
Lynn,  Mass.,  description  of,  137. 

Maoy,  Thomas,  310. 
INIaiii,  Harry,  274. 
Marble,  Hiram,  135. 
Marblehead,  description  of,  205. 
INIartin,  Michael,  119. 
Mason,  Captain  John,  331. 
Mather,  Cotton,  61,  395,  417. 
Mather,  Increase,  64,  245,  307. 
Maushope,  444,  445. 
Mirick,  Joseph,  316. 
Moody,    Rev.    Joshua,    178;    Joseph, 
459. 


Moores,  Joseph,  316. 
Morse,    Elizabeth,     tried    for    witch- 
craft, 317. 
Morse,  William,  315,  316,  317. 
Morton,  Thomas,  128,  365. 
Motley,  J.  L.,  152. 
Moulton,  Jonathan,  322. 
]\Iullins,  Rriscilla,  385. 
Mullins,  William,  385. 

Nahant,  description  of,  148. 
Xason,  Elias,  371. 
Newbury,  Mass.,  284. 
Newburyport,  description  of,  284. 
Newport  Mill,  The,  394. 
Nix's  Mate,  66. 
Norman's  Woe,  263. 
Noyes,  Rev.  Nicholas,  174. 

Old  Elm  of  Newbury,  301. 

Omens,  208,  209. 

(>rr's  Island,  J\Ie  ,  457. 

Oxford,  Mass.,  Huguenots  at,  124. 

Passaconaway,  129,  359. 
I'earl,  Marion,  457. 
I'erkins,  Thomas  H.,  153. 
Philip,  King,  414,451. 
Phips,  Sir  William,  179. 
Piracy,  132,  211,  212,  261. 
Pitcher,  ]\Iarv,  137.     iS'ee  Dimond. 
Pitcher,  Robert,  144. 
Plum  Island,  286. 
Pliimmer,  Jonathan,  296. 
Pollard,  Anne,  380. 
Poi|uanum,  153. 
Powell,  Caleb,  316,317. 
Prescott,  W.  II.,  152,  155. 
Prince,  Rev.  Thomas,  75. 

Quakers,  46,  56,  184,  310.  See  Brews- 
ter; Dyer;  King's  Missive;  Macy, 
etc. 

RAiNsnoKoi'dii,  William,  22-27. 

Redd  (or  Read),  Wilmot,  210. 

Revere,  Paul.  78. 

Robinson,  William,  40,  312. 

Rogers,  Robert,  leads  an  expedition, 
464. 

Roxbtirv  Pudding-stone,  111. 

Rule,  M"argaret,  62. 

Russell,  Benjamin,  373;  Rev.  Wil- 
liam, 450. 

Saint  AsPKNQtiin,  360. 

St.  Francis,  village  sacked,  464. 

Salem,  description  of,  167. 


INDEX. 


477 


Salem  Village,  191. 

Scarlet  Letter,  171,  172. 

Siutt,  Sir  Walter,  453. 

Sea-serpent,  150. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  57,  .'504. 

Sliattuck,  Samuel,  49,  50,  51. 

Sliawmut;  see  Hoston. 

Siiirley,  William,  73. 

Sigouniey,  L.  II.;  see  "Contents." 

Skeleton  in  Armor,  ;{!)7. 

Smith,  Captain  John,  153,  243. 

Southey,  Robert,  455. 

Soutlnvick,   Cassandra,    184;    Daniel, 

185;    Josiah,    185;    Laurence,    185; 

Provided,  185. 
Spotford,  Harriet  P.,  286. 
Standish,  Myles,  383. 
Stevenson,  Marmaduke,  40,  312. 
Storv,  .loseph,  189. 
Story,  W.  W.,  1U8. 
Snrriage,  Agnes,  223. 
Swampscott,  162. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  239. 
Thacher,  Anthony,  245. 
Thacher's  Island,"  244. 
Thaxter,  Celia,  355. 
Toppan,  Rev.  Christopher,  308. 
Trimountain;  see  Boston. 
Trumbull,  Benjamin,  427,  431. 
Tucke,  Rev.  .John,  347. 
Tudor,  Frederick,  153. 

Underwood,  Francis  H.,  264. 
Upham,  Rev.  Charles  W.,  260. 
Uring,  Captain  Nathaniel,  369. 


Vane,  Sir  Henry,  15,  18. 
Veale,  Thomas,  134. 

Waban,  121. 

AVailsworth,  Captain  Jeremiah,  426. 
Waldrou,  Richard,  .329. 
Wall'ord,  Thomas,  6. 
Walton,  (ieorge,  333. 
Wardwell,  Lydia,  56. 
^\'asl^nl^ton,  (ieorge,  117. 
^\'ashing^(ln   IClm,  115. 
Wentwortli,  Ikiniing,  337. 
Wesson,  INIargaret,  260. 
Weston,  Thomas,  365. 
AVhallev,  Colonel  Edward,  450. 
Wliarton,   Edward,  311. 
Wheelwrigiit,  Rev.  John,  1.3,  18. 
ANhitelield,  Rev.  George,  289. 
AVliite    Mountains,    legends    of,   461, 

et  seg. 
AVhitman,  I':iizabeth,  196. 
Whittier,    J.   G.,   138,  145,  286.     ^Ve 

"  Contents." 
Willis,  N.  P.,  148. 
Wilson,  Deborah,  56. 
Winnepurkit,  128. 
Winslow,  John,  380. 
Winthrop,  .Tohn,  17-21,  194,  240. 
Witchcraft,    169,    170,    188,   210,  253, 

259.     See  Calef;  Corey;  Hibbins. 
Wolcott,  Governor  Roger,  434. 
Woodbridge,  Benjamin,  69. 
Woodworth,  Samuel,  370. 
Worthylake,  George,  66. 
Wvllvs,  Samuel,  422. 
Wyllys  Hill,  422. 


HISTORIC    MANSIONS    AND 
HIGHWAYS    AROUND    BOSTON 

BEING  A  NEW,  REVISED  EDITION  OF  "OLD 
LANDMARKS  AND  HISTORIC  FIELDS  OF 
MIDDLESEX  "  WITH   ADDITIONAL    PICTURES 

By  SAMUEL    ADAMS    DRAKE 

Author  of  ''Old  Landmarks  and  Historic  Personages  of 
Boston,'"  "  New  England  Legends  and  Folk-Lore,"  etc. 
With  twenty-one  full-page  plates,  including  pictures  of 
Washington's  headquarters;  General  Putnam's  head- 
quarters ;  Lowell's  residence,  Cambridge  ;  the  Old  ALanse, 
Concord  ;  Christ  Church,  Cambridge ;  Longfellow's  Way- 
side Inn.  Also  thirty-nine  other  illustrations  and  maps. 
Crown  8vo.     $2.50. 

The  author,  with  his  inexhaustible  historic  lore  and  his  keen  ajipreciation  of  every 
Item,  anecdote,  relic,  and  place  which  belongs  to  the  olden  times,  takes  the  reader  by 
hand,  and,  traversing  old  Middlesexshire,  stops  at  every  dwelling,  liill,  valley,  river,  or 
port,  and  brings  back  the  men  and  events  of  colonial  and  revolutionary  times. —  ll^aU/i- 
man  and  Reflector. 

It  gives  with  much  detail  the  history  of  all  the  places  about  Boston  that  have  been 
made  memorable  by  noteworthy  events  or  as  the  homes  of  prominent  men. — San  Fran- 
cisco Chronicle. 

A  precious  volume.  It  is  much  more  than  a  memorial  of  Boston  and  its  vicinity; 
it  is  a  memorial  of  the  old  nation.  It  takes  one  back  to  the  stirring  times  and  issues  of 
America'.s  beginning,  scenes  made  memorable  by  the  lives  of  great  men  and  the  march 
of  great  events. —  The  Los  A  ngeles  Herald. 

The  book  is  one  to  read  and  read  again,  and  then  dream  over,  and  be  enriched. — 
The  St.  Paul  Globe. 

NEW  ENGLAND  LEGENDS  AND  FOLK-LORE 

In  Prose  and  Poetry.  With  one  hundred  effective  character 
illustrations,  from  designs  by  Merrill  and  others.  New 
edition.     Crown  8vo.     ^^2.50. 

It  takes  up,  in  order,  the  legends  of  Boston,  Cambridge,  Lynn  and 
Naliant,  Salem,  Marblehead,  Cape  Ann,  Ipswich  and  Newbury,  Hamp- 
ton and  Portsmouth,  York,  Isles  of  Shoals  and  ISoon  Island,  Rliode 
Island,  Connecticut,  and  Nantucket.  All  the  old  stories  are  reproduced 
in  telling  form,  and  with  apt  quotations.  Prose  and  poetry  are  com- 
bined, so  as  to  present  a  complete  literary  picture. 

All  of  the  old  favorites  are  before  us:  Motley's  "Solitary  of  the  Shawmut,"  Whit- 
tier's  "Old  South  Church,"  Holmes's  '"Dorchester  Giant,''  Longfellow's  "Paul 
Revere's  Ride,"  I,.  H.  .Sigourney's  "Charter  Oak,"  and  James  T.  Field's  "  Nantucket 
Skipper."  We  read  of  Alistress  Anne  Hutchinson,  the  Quaker  prophetess,  the  Ouel  on 
the  Common,  the  Washington  Elm,  MoU  Pitcher,  Kndicott  and  the  Red  Cross,  Giles 
Corey  the  Wizard,  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride,  Capt.  John  Smith,  Lord  'IMmothy  Dexter, 
Jonathan  Moulton  and  the  Devil,  a  Legend  of  Blackbeard,  the  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish,  the  Skeleton  in  Armor,  and  the  Newport  Tower. — I  hiladelphia  Keystone- 

LITTLE,    BROWN,   AND    COMPANY 

Publishers  .    254  WASHINGTON   STREET,  BOSTON 


OLD  LANDMARKS  AND   HISTORIC 
PERSONAGES  OF  BOSTON 

A    NEW    REVISED   EDITION  OF 
OLD  LANDMARKS  OF  BOSTON 

By   SAMUEL  ADAMS   DRAKE 

Author  of  "New  England  Legends,"  etc.  New  edition, 
uniform  with  "Historic  Mansions  and  Highways  Around 
Boston."  With  ninety-three  illustrations  in  the  text  and 
numerous  full-page  plates.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  gilt  top. 
$2.50. 

The  cordial  reception  given  the  author's  "  Historic  Mansions  and 
Highways  Around  ]>oston,"  issued  in  a  new  edition  last  year,  justifies 
the  publication  of  a  revised  and  enlarged  edition  of  his  most  popular 
work  on  American  history,  "Old  Landmarks  of  lioston." 

Mr.  Drake  has  been  for  several  years  accumulating  materials  for  a 
thorough  revision  of  the  work.  Besides  numerous  alterations  in  the 
text,  designed  to  keep  pace  with  the  march  of  improvement,  tlie  oppor- 
tunity has  been  availed  of  for  the  introduction  of  new  and  interesting 
matter,  as  far  as  practicable.  By  no  means  the  least  important  feature 
of  the  new  edition  is  the  number  of  full-jxage  illustrations,  not  found  in 
earlier  editions,  and  which  include  a  rare  picture  of  ISoston  in  1S30 ; 
the  daring  feat  of  Isaac  Harris  in  saving  the  Old  South  from  the  flames; 
Boston  Common  as  a  cow  pasture,  with  the  Great  Elm  ;  Old  Concert 
Hall,  The  Almack's  of  Boston  ;  State  Street  in  1S25,  etc. 

I  am  simply  amazed  at  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  its  information. — John  G. 
Palfrey. 

Your  "  Old  Landmarks  of  Boston  "  is  a  perfect  store-house  of  information. — 
Hbnrv  W.  Longfellow. 

Under  Mr.  Drake's  touch,  details  become  interesting,  old  and  forgotten  scenes  are 
peopled  with  the  personages  of  the  olden  time  ;  every  corner  becomes  historic,  and  the 
dead  past  lives  again. — Boston  Globe. 

AROUND    THE    HUB 

A  Boy's  Book  about  Boston.  Profusely  illustrated.  Square 
i6mo.     $1.25. 

Beginning  with  some  accounts  and  anecdotes  of  the  Indians  in  Boston,  he  pro- 
ceeds to  state  who  the  first  settlers  in  I'oston  were  ;  describes  the  ancient  landmarks ; 
and  gives  an  idea  of  the  government  as  it  then  existed,  and  fron\  this  point  gives  a  rapid 
sketch  of  the  important  part  sustained  by  Boston  in  the  War  of  the  'Revo\uUon.— Chicago 
Saturday  Eveuing  Herald. 

The  history  of  Boston  is  in  the  main  the  history  of  New  England  during  this 
early  period,  and  the  full  and  authentic  knowledge  of  it.  which  niay  be  gained  from  this 
book,  is  an  important  acquisition  for  every  American  boy  and  girl. —  Tlie  Dial. 

LITTLE,    BROWN,    AND    COMPANY 

Publishers  ■    254  WASHINGTON   STREET,  BOSTON 


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