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Accessioned in full; the text below is the holding institution's own transcription, quoted without alteration.","text_extract":"Ill \n\n\nI \n\n\nQass. \nBook- \n\n\nCOPYRIGHT DEPOSIT \n\n\nA BOOK \n\n\nNew England Legends \n\n\nOLK Lore \n\n\nIn f rojse ant) foctrn \n\n\nBY \n\n\nSAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE \n\nAUTHOR OF \" NOOKS AND CORNERS OF THE NEW ENGLAND COAST,' \n\"old LANDMARKS OF BOSTON,\" ETC. \n\n\nILLUSTRATED BY F. T. MERRILL \n\n\n/^^^^^^'^^'^^f'^^it^^ \n\n\nBOSTON \nROBERTS BROTHERS \n\n\n\"5\" \n\n\nJ/' \n\nCopyright, 1883, \nBy Samuel Adams Drake. \n\n\nCambrittgf : \n\nPRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, \nUNIVERSITY PRESS. \n\n\nINTKODUCTION. \n\n\nTHE recovery of many scattered legendary waifs that not \nonly have a really important bearing upon the early history \nof our country, but that also shed much light upon the spirit of \nits ancient laws and upon the domestic lives of its people, has \nseemed to me a laudable undertaking. This purpose has now \ntaken form in the following collection of New-England Legends. \n\nAs in a majority of instances these tales go far beyond the \ntime when the interior was settled, they naturally cluster about \nthe seaboard ; and it would scarcely be overstepping the limit \nseparating exaggeration from truth to say that every league of \nthe New-England coast has its story or its legend. \n\nDisowned in an age of scepticism, there was once — and \nthe time is not so far remote — no part of the body politic over \nwhich what we now vaguely term the legendary did not exer- \ncise the strongest influence ; so that, far from being merely a \nrecord of amusing fables, these tales, which are largely founded \non fact, disclose the secret springs by which society was moved \nand history made. One looks beneath every mechanical con- \ntrivance for the true origin of power. That is to assume that \nthe beliefs of a people are the key to its social and political \nmovements, and that history, taken in its broadest sense, cannot \nbe truly written without having regard to such beliefs. Had \nthe conviction that witches existed not been universal, public \nsentiment would never have countenanced the executions that \ntook place in New England. \n\n\nvi INTRODUCTION. \n\nIt may be said, then, that while History has its truth, the \nLegend has its own ; both taking for their end the portrayal \nof Man as he has existed in every age, — a creature in whom \nthe imagination is supreme, and who performs deeds terrible \nor heroic according as it may be aroused into action. \n\nNo apology need be made for the prevalence of superstition \namong our ancestors. Our century is not the judge of its prede- \ncessors. It was a superstitious age. King Charles I. inherited \nall the popular beliefs. He kept, as an attache of his court, an \nastrologer, whom he was accustomed to consult before enter- \ning upon any important or hazardous undertaking. Laud, the \nhighest prelate in England, the implacable persecutor of our \nPuritan ancestors, was a man haunted by the fear of omens. \nIndeed the most exalted personages in Church and State yielded \nfull credence to all those marvels, the bare mention of which \nnow calls up a smile of incredulity or of pity. New England \nwas the child of a superstitious mother. \n\nSince the assertion is so often made that this is a practical \nage, owing no allegiance whatever to the degrading thraldom of \nancient superstition, but coldly rejecting everything that cannot \nbe fully accounted for upon rational grounds, I have thought \nit worth while to cite a few of those popular beliefs which \nneither the sceptical tendencies of the age we live in, nor its \nwonder-working achievements, have been able to eradicate. They \nbelong exclusively to no class, and have been transmitted from \ngeneration to generation through the medium of an unwritten \nlanguage, to Avhich the natural impulse of the human mind \ntoward the supernatural is the common interpreter. While \nreligion itself works through this mysterious channel of the \nUnknown and the Unseen, one need not stop to argue a fact \nthat has such high sanction. So long as these beliefs shall \ncontinue to exert a control over the every-day actions of men, \nit would be useless to deny to them a place in the movements \nregulating society ; and so long as the twin mysteries of life \nand death confront us with their unsolved problems, it is \ncertain that where reason cannot pass beyond, the imagination \n\n\nINTEODUCTION. vii \n\nwill still strive to penetrate within, the barrier separating us \nfrom the invisible world. This invisible world is the realm of \nthe supernatural. \n\nYou will seldom see a man so much in a hurry that he will \nnot stop to pick up a horseshoe. One sees this ancient charm \nagainst evil spirits in every household. In fact this piece of \nbent iron has become the popular symbol for good luck. Throw- \ning an old shoe after a departing friend is as common a practice \nto-day as it ever was. Very few maidens neglect the opportu- \nnity to get a peep at the new moon over the right shoulder ; \nand the old couplet, — \n\nSee the moon through the glass, \nYou '11 have trouble while it lasts, — \n\nis still extant. I know people who could not be induced to sit \nwith thirteen at the table, who consider spilling the salt as \nunlucky, and who put faith in dreams ! \n\nWith Catholics the belief in the efficacy of charms and of relics \nis a part of their religion. It is not long since a person adver- \ntised in a public journal for a caul ; while among ignorant people \ncharms against sickness, or drowning, or evil spirits are still much \nworn. But their use is not wholly confined to this class ; for I \nhave myself known intelligent men who were in the habit of \ncarrying a potato in their pocket, or of wearing a horse-chestnut \nsuspended from the neck, as a cure for the rheumatism. \n\nSailors retain unimpaired most of their old superstitions con- \ncerning things lucky or unlucky. Farmers are invariably a \nsuperstitious folk, — at least in those places where they have \nlived from generation to generation. The pretty and touching \ncustom of telling the bees of a death in the family is, as I have \nreason to know, a practice still adhered to in some parts of the \ncountry. The familiar legend of the hedgehog remains a trusted \nindication of an early or a late spring. Farmers have many super- \nstitions that have been domesticated among them for centuries. \nFor instance, it is a common belief that if a creature loses its \ncud the animal will die unless one is obtained for it by dividing \n\n\nvm INTKODUCTION. \n\nthe cud of another beast. A sick cow will recover by having a \nlive frog pass through her ; but the frog must be living, or the \ncharm will not work. If a dog is seen eating grass, it is a sign \nof wet weather ; so it is if the grass is spotted with what is vul- \ngarly called frogs' spittle. The girls believe that if you can form \na wish while a meteor is falling, the wish will be fulfilled ; they \nwill not pluck the common red field-lily, for fear it will make \nthem become freckled. In the country there are still found persons \nplying the trade of fortune-telling, while the number of haunted \nhouses is notably increasing. The \" lucky-bone \" of a codfish and \nthe \" wishing-bone \" of a chicken are things of wide repute. \n\nPlants and flowers — those beautiful emblems of immortality \n— have from immemorial time possessed their peculiar attributes \nor virtues. There are the mystic plants, and there are the \nsymbolical ones, like the evergreens used in church-decoration \nand in cemeteries. Where is the maiden who has not diligently \nsearched up and down the fields for the bashful four-leaved \nclover? How many books enclose within their leaves this \nlittle token of some unspoken wish ! The oracle of the Mar- \nguerite in Goethe's \"Faust,\" — \n\nII m'aime ; \n\nII m'aime beaucoup ; \n\nA la folie ; \n\nPas du tout, — \n\nmay oftener be consulted to-day than many a fair questioner of \nFate Avould be willing to admit. Let those who will, say that \nall this is less than nothing ; yet I much doubt if the saying \nwill bring conviction to the heart of womankind. \n\nPrecious stones continue to hold in the popular mind some- \nthing of their old power to work good or evil to the wearer. \nA dealer in gems tells me that the sale of certain stones is mate- \nrially affected by the superstitions concerning them. It will \nbe seen that some of these superstitions attach to the most im- \nportant concerns of life. My friend the dealer, who is quite \nas well versed in his calling as Mr. Isaacs was, says that the \n\n\nINTKODUCTION. IX \n\nopal is the gem that is most frequently spoken of as unlucky, \nand that the sale of the opal of late years has been very slow on \nthat account. \"It seems,\" he continues, \"as if many ladies \nreally believed that it would bring them misfortune to wear or \neven to own an opal ; and we frequently hear ladies say that \nthey would not accept one as a gift.\" Some writers attribute \nthis unpopularity to Scott's \"Anne of Geierstein.\" This, at \nleast, is a modern superstition ; for the opal was once considered \na talisman of rare virtue. \n\nAn old jeweller tells me that he frequently sells a moonstone \nas a \" lucky stone.\" It is of little pecuniary value, but he says \nthat it is worn in rings and charms as bringing good luck. The \nmoonstone has furnished Wilkie Collins with the theme for \none of his weird tales. \n\nMy informant goes on to say that \"a fine turquoise is of a \nbeautiful blue, — about the color of a robin's egg. For some \nreason not perfectly understood it changes from blue to green, \nand sometimes to white. I own a turquoise myself, which I \nam sure changes color, sometimes looking green, and sometimes \nblue. This change of color gave rise to the belief that the \ncolor of a turquoise varied with the health of the wearer, being \nblue when the wearer was in good health, and white or green \nin case of ill-health. The emerald is said to be the symbol of \njealousy, — ' the green-eyed monster.' For this reason it is not \nconsidered as being suitable for an engagement-ring. I don't \nknow that I ever heard of one being offered as an engagement- \ngift ; and if a young gentleman should ask my advice in regard \nto buying an emerald ring for this purpose, I should dissuade \nhim, on the ground that the young lady might look upon it as \na bad omen.\" This feeling or superstition is used in Black's \nstory of \"The Three Feathers,\" in which a marriage is pre- \nvented by the gift of an emerald ring ; \"for,\" says the novelist, \n\" how could any two people marry who had engaged themselves \nwith an emerald ringV A sapphire, on the contrary, given \nby another admirer, brings matters to a happy conclusion ; once \nmore fulfilling the prophecy of an old rhyme, — \n\n\nX INTRODUCTION. \n\nOh, green 's forsaken, \n\nAnd yellow 's forsworn, \nAnd blue 's the sweetest \n\nColor that 's worn ! \n\nThere certainly is a difierence in the way that all these be- \nliefs are received, — some people subscribing to them fully and \nfrankly, while others, who do not like to be laughed at by \ntheir sceptical neighbors, speaking of them as trifles. But such \ndoubters may be better judged by their acts than by their pro- \nfessions, — at least so long as they are willing to try the potency \nof this or that charm, \"just to see how it will come out.\" \n\nTo return to the legendary pieces that compose this volume, \nit is proper to state that only certain poetic versions have hither- \nto been accessible to the public, and that consequently impres- \nsions have been formed that these versions were good and valid \nnarratives ; while the fact is that the poems are not so much \ndesigned to teach history or its truth, as to illustrate its spirit \nin an effective and picturesque manner. Yet in most cases they \ndo deal with real personages and events, and they stand for \nfaithful relations. \n\nIt was this fact that first gave me the idea of bringing the \nprose and poetic versions together, in order that those interested, \nmore especially teachers, might have as ready access to the truth, \nas hitherto they have had to the romance, of history. \n\nFor enabling me to carry out this idea my thanks are espe- \ncially due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., who promptly \ngranted me their permission to use the several extracts taken \nfrom the poems of Longfellow, Whittier, and Holmes; and \nI beg all those literary friends who have extended the like \ncourtesy to accept the like acknowledgment. \n\nS. A. D. \n\nMelrose, Mass., Oct. 1883. \n\n\nPart Ji'rgt. \n\n\nBOSTON LEGENDS. \n\nPAGE \n\nThe Solitary of Shawmut. — J. L. Motley 3 \n\nBoston Common. — 0. W. Holmes 10 \n\nMistress Anne Hutchinson H \n\nThe Death of Rainsborough 22 \n\nThe Case of Mistress Ann Hibbins 28 \n\nMary Dyer 36 \n\nThe King's Missive 46 \n\nThe Quaker Prophetess 56 \n\nIn the Old South Church. — J. G. Whittier 59 \n\nMore Wonders of the Invisible World 60 \n\nCalef in Boston. — J. G. Whittier 65 \n\nNix's Mate 66 \n\nThe Duel on the Common 69 \n\nDue d'Anville's Descent 71 \n\nA Ballad of the French Fleet. —5'. IT. Zon^/e/^ow 75 \n\n\nxii CONTENTS. \n\nPAGE \n\nChrist Church. — Edwin B. Russell 77 \n\nPaul Revere's Ride 78 \n\nPeter Rugg. — William Austin 90 \n\nA Legend of the Old Elin. — Isaac McLellan, Jr 105 \n\nRoxbur J Puddiug-Stone Ill \n\nThe Dorchester Giaut. — 0. W. Holmes Ill \n\n\nPart Scconli. \n\nCAMBRIDGE LEGENDS. \n\nThe Washington Elm 115 \n\nThe Last of the Highwaymen 119 \n\nThe Eliot Oak 121 \n\nPart Srttrti. \n\nLYNN AND NAHANT LEGENDS. \n\nThe Bridal of Pennacook 128 \n\nThe Pirate's Glen 132 \n\nMoll Pitcher 137 \n\nmgh. 'Rook. — Elizabeth F. Merrill 141 \n\nNahant 148 \n\nThe Sea-Serpent 156 \n\nThe Floure of Souvenance 159 \n\nSwampscott Beach 162 \n\nPart JFourtl^. \n\nSALEM LEGENDS. \n\nSalem 167 \n\nThe Escape of Philip English 176 \n\nEndicott and the Red Cross 180 \n\nCassandra Southwick 183 \n\nThe Witchcraft Tragedy 188 \n\nGiles Corey the Wizard 194 \n\nThe Bell Tavern Mystery 196 \n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\nPart JFiftfi. \nMARBLEHEAD LEGENDS. \n\n\nPAGE \n\n\nMarblehead : The Town 205 \n\nThe Shrieking Woman 211 \n\nThe Strange Adventures of Philip Ashton 212 \n\nAgnes, the Maid of the Inn 221 \n\nSkipper Ireson's Bide 227 \n\nA Plea for Flood Ireson. — Charles T. Brooks ........ 232 \n\n\nPart St'itfi. \nCAPE-ANN LEGENDS. \n\nCape Ann 237 \n\nCaptain John Smith 243 \n\nThacher's Island 244 \n\nAnthony Thacher's Shipwreck 245 \n\nThe Swan Song of Parson Avery. — J. G. Whittier 252 \n\nThe Spectre Leaguers 253 \n\nThe Garrison of Cape Ann. — J. G. Whittier 258 \n\nOld Meg, the Witch 259 \n\nAn Escape from Pirates 261 \n\nNorman's Woe 263 \n\nHannah binding Shoes. — Lucy Larcom 267 \n\n\nPart Se&mtij. \n\nIPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. \n\nIpswich 273 \n\nOld Ipswich Town. — Appleton Morgan 277 \n\nHeartbreak Hill 279 \n\nNewburyport . . . . • 284 \n\nLord Timothy Dexter 292 \n\nThe Old Elm of Newbury .301 \n\nThe Prophecy of Samuel Sewall 304 \n\nThe Double-Headed Snake 307 \n\nThomas Macy, the Exile 310 \n\nTelling the Bees 314 \n\n\nXIV CONTENTS. \n\nPart lEigbti). \nHAMPTON AND PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. \n\nPAGE \n\nHampton 319 \n\nJonathan Moulton and the Devil 322 \n\nGoody Cole 328 \n\nThe Wveck oi my ermouth.— J. G. Whittier 329 \n\nPortsmouth 331 \n\nThe Stone-throwing Devil 333 \n\nLady Wentworth 337 \n\n\nPart Wintf). \n\nYORK, ISLES-OF-SHOALS, AND BOON-ISLAND \nLEGENDS. \n\nIsles of Shoals 345 \n\nOn Star Island. — Sarah 0. Jewett 348 \n\nA Legend of Blackbeard 350 \n\nThe Spanish Wreck 352 \n\nThe Spaniards' Graves. — Celia Thaxter 354 \n\nBoon Island 355 \n\nThe Watch of Boon Island. — Celia Thaxter 356 \n\nThe Grave of Champernowne 357 \n\nAgamenticus (York, Maine) 358 \n\nMount Agamenticus 359 \n\nSaint Aspenquid. — John Albee 360 \n\n\nPart Eentb. \nOLD-COLONY LEGENDS. \n\nHanging by Proxy 365 \n\nThe Old Oaken Bucket. — ^Sam^eMFoof/ifortA 370 \n\nDestruction of Minot's Light 375 \n\nMinot's Ledge. — Fitz-James O'Brien 377 \n\nLegends of Plymouth Rock 378 \n\nMary Chilton. — George Bancroft Griffith 380 \n\nThe Courtship of Myles Staudish 383 \n\nThe Pilgrim Fathers. — Percival, Pierpont, Hemans, Sprague . . . 389 \n\n\nCONTENTS. XV \n\nfart i£l£&mt]^. \nEHODE-ISLAND LEGENDS. \n\nPAGE \n\nThe Skeleton in Armor 393 \n\nThe Newport Tower. — J. G. Bruinanl, L. H. Sujourney .... 401 \n\nBlock Island 403 \n\nThe Buccaneer 409 \n\nThe Palatine. T. G. Whittier 413 \n\nThe Last of the Wampanoags 414 \n\nfart SEtoelftfj. \n\nCONNECTICUT LEGENDS. \n\nThe Phantom Ship 417 \n\nThe Charter Oak 421 \n\nThe Charter Oak (/>oe7ft). — L. H. Sigourney 426 \n\nThe Place of Noises 427 \n\nMatchit Moodus. — J. G. Brainard 429 \n\nThe Spanish Galleon 431 \n\nThe Money-Diggers. — J. G. Brainard 435 \n\nThe Norwicli Elms. — L. H. Sigourney 436 \n\nPart STi^irtEcntf). \n\nNANTUCKET AND OTHER LEGENDS. \n\nNantucket Legends 441 \n\nThe Alarmed Skipper. — James T. Fields 447 \n\nThe LTnknown Chainpion 449 \n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. \n\n\nPAGE \n\nRobinson, Stevenson, and Mary \n\nDyer going to Execution, Frontispiece \n\nVignette, Puritan Hats ... 3 \n\nThe Solitary of Shawmut ... 6 \n\nHanging-Lamp 11 \n\nSite of Mrs. Hutchinson's House 15 \n\nTrial of Mrs. Hutchinson ... 19 \n\nThe Death of Rainsborough . . 26 \n\nNight-Watchman 28 \n\nExecution of Mrs. Hibblns . . 32 \n\nThe Old Elm 34 \n\nScourging a Quaker .... 37 \n\nHand-Reel 42 \n\nEndicott receiving the King's \n\nOrder 48 \n\nLiberty Tree 50 \n\nAncient Houses, North End . . 58 \nCandlestick, Bible, and Spec- \ntacles 62 \n\nTomb of the Mathers .... 64 \n\nNix's Mate 66 \n\nThe Duel on the Common . . 70 \n\nOld South Church 71 \n\nChrist Church 77 \n\nBoston, from Breed's Hill . . 80 \n\nSign of the Green Dragon . . 81 \n\nGrenadier, 1775 83 \n\nRevere arousing the Jlinute-Man 86 \nPeter Rugg and the Thunder- \nstorm 02 \n\nEquestrians 94 \n\nHackney-Coach 95 \n\nMarket-Woman 100 \n\n\nPAGE \n\nBoston Truck 103 \n\nChaise, 1776 107 \n\nThe Money-Digger 109 \n\nOld Milestone, Dorchester . . Ill \n\nOld Fire-Dogs 112 \n\nVignette, Wine and Hour Glasses 1 15 \n\nThe Washington Elm .... 116 \n\nThe Eliot Oak, Brighton ... 122 \n\nMilestone, Cambridge .... 124 \n\nVignette, Symbols of Witchcraft 127 \n\nAn Indian Princess 129 \n\nMoll Pitcher 138 \n\nMoll Pitcher's Cottage .... 143 \n\nEgg Rock and the Sea-Serpent . 157 \n\nForget-me-nots 159 \n\nA Spring Carol 164 \n\nVignette, The Witches' Ride . 167 \n\nPhilip English's House, Salem . 177 \n\nCutting out the Cross .... 181 \n\nSoldier of 1630 182 \n\nCondemned to be sold .... 184 \n\nThe Parsonage, Salem Village . 191 \nStaffs used bj' Jacobs when \n\ngoing to Execution .... 192 \n\nThe Bell from an Old Print . . 199 \n\nTailpiece 201 \n\nEndicott's Sun-Dial; Designs \n\nfrom Old Money 205 \n\nLow's Pirate Flag 212 \n\nAlone on the Desert Island . . 217 \n\nLove at First Sight 222 \n\nSkipper Ireson's Ride .... 229 \n\nTailpiece . . 233 \n\n\nXVIU \n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. \n\n\nPAGE \n\nVignette, Pewter Dishes . . . 237 \n\nTlie Magnolia 237 \n\nThe Shipwreck 246 \n\nA Sortie upon the Demons . . 255 \n\nNorman's Woe Rock .... 204 \n\nPoor lone Hannah 2G8 \n\nTailpiece, Bats 2G9 \n\nVignette, The Cabalistic Nine . 273 \n\nPadlock and Key, Ipswich Jail . 275 \n\nIpswich Heads 278 \n\nMen of INIark 280 \n\nThe Maiden's Watch .... 281 \n\nBeacon, Salisbury Point . . . 285 \n\nWhitefield's Monument ... 290 \n\nLord Timothy Dexter's Mansion 293 \n\nWarming-Pan 298 \n\nLord Timothy Dexter .... 299 \n\nThe Old Elm of Newbury . . 302 \n\nYe Double-Headed Snake . . 308 \n\nEscape of Goodman Macy . . 312 \n\nBeehive 315 \n\nTailpiece 31G \n\nVignette, Bats 319 \n\nBoar's Head 319 \n\n.Jonathan Monlton and ye Devil 323 \n\" I shall ride in my Chariot yet, \n\nMa'am!\" 340 \n\nTailpiece, Umbrella 342 \n\nCaptain Teach, or Blackbeard . 351 \n\n\nPAGE \n\nVignette, Mayflowers .... 365 \n\nThe Old Oaken Bucket ... 372 \n\nThe First Minot's Lighthouse . 375 \n\nMary Chilton's Leap .... 379 \n\nAncient Gravestone, Burial Hill 381 \nMonument over Forefathers' \n\nRock, Plymouth 382 \n\nStandish House, Duxbury . . 384 \n\"Prithee, John, why don't you \n\nspeak for yourself V \" . . . 387 \nTailpiece,Candlestick, Bible, and \n\nSpectacles 390 \n\nHelmets, Puritan Time . . . 393 \n\nOld Windmill, Newport ... 394 \n\nThe Skeleton in Armor ... 397 \n\nAncient Windmill 405 \n\nLee on the Spectre Horse . . . 411 \n\nVignette, Hairdresser's Shop . 417 \n\nThe Phantom Ship 419 \n\nThe Charter Oak 423 \n\nOld Warehouses, New London . 432 \nAncient Mill, New London . . 433 \nVignette, Quaker Heads . . . 441 \nBass Rocks, Gay Head, Cutty- \nhunk 442 \n\nGoffe rallying the Settlers . . 453 \nGraves of the Regicides, New \n\nHaven 456 \n\nTailpiece, Blacksmith's Arms . 457 \n\n\n^art f ir^t. \n\n\nBOSTON LEGENDS. \n\n\nTHE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. \n\n\nBY J. L. MOTLEY. \n1628. \n\nA SOLITARY figure sat upon the summit of Shawmut. \nHe was a man of about thirty years of age, somewhat \nabove the middle height, slender in form, with a pale, thought- \nful face. He Avore a confused dark-colored, half-canonical dress, \nwith a gray broad-leaved hat strung wnth shells, like an ancient \npalmer's, and slouched back from his pensive brow, around \nwhich his prematurely gray hair fell in heavy curls far down \nupon his neck. He had a wallet at his side, a hammer in his \ngirdle, and a long staff in his hand. The hermit of Shawmut \nlooked out upon a scene of winning beauty. The promontory \nresembled rather two islands than a peninsula, although it w^as \nanchored to the continent by a long slender thread of land \nwhich seemed hardly to restrain it from floating out to join its \nsister islands, which Avere thickly strewn about the bay. The \npeak upon which the hermit sat was the highest of the three \nclifts of the peninsula ; upon the southeast, and very near him, \nrose another hill of lesser height and more rounded form ; and \nupon the other side, and toward the north, a third craggy ])eak \npresented its bold and elevated front to the ocean. Thus the \nwhole peninsula was made up of three lofty crags. It was from \n\n\n4 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nthis triple conformation of the promontory of Shawmut that was \nderived the appellation of Trimountain, or Tremont, which it \nsoon afterwards received. \n\nThe vast conical shadows were projected eastwardly, as the \nhermit, with his back to the declining sun, looked out upon the \nsea. \n\nThe bay was spread out at his feet in a broad semicircle, with \nits extreme headlands vanishing in the hazy distance, while \nbeyond rolled the vast expanse of ocean, with no spot of habi- \ntable earth beyond those outermost barriers and that far distant \nfatherland which the exile had left forever. ISTot a solitary sail \nwhitened those purple waves, and saving the wing of the sea- \ngull, which now and then flashed in the sunshine or gleamed \nacross the dimness of the eastern horizon, the solitude was at the \nmoment unbroken by a single movement of animated nature. \nAn intense and breathless silence enwrapped the scene with a \nvast and mystic veil. The bay presented a spectacle of great \nbeauty. It was not that the outlines of the coast around it were \nbroken into those jagged and cloud-like masses, — that pictu- \nresque and startling scenery where precipitous crag, infinite \nabyss, and roaring surge unite to awaken stern and sublime \nemotions ; on the contrary, the gentle loveliness of this trans- \natlantic scene inspired a soothing melancholy more congenial to \nthe contemplative character of its solitary occupant. The bay, \nsecluded within its forest- crowned hills, decorated with its neck- \nlace of emerald islands, with its dark-blue waters gilded with \nthe rays of the western sun, and its shadowy forests of unknown \nantiquity expanding into infinite depths around, was an image \nof fresh and virgin beauty, a fitting type of a new world un- \nadorned by art, unploughed by industry, unscathed by war, \nwearing none of the thousand priceless jewels of civilization, \nand unpolluted by its thousand crimes, — springing, as it were, \nfrom the bosom of the ocean, cool, dripping, sparkling, and \nfresh from the hand of its Creator. \n\nOn the left, as the pilgrim sat with his face to the east, the \noutlines of the coast were comparatively low, but broken into \n\n\nTHE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 5 \n\ngentle and pleasing forms. Immediately at his feet lay a larger \nisland, in extent nearly equal to the peninsula of Shawmut, \ncovered with mighty forest-trees, and at that day untenanted \nby a human being, although but a short time afterwards it \nbecame the residence of a distinguished pioneer. Outside this \nbulwark a chain of thickly wooded islets stretched across from \nshore to shore, with but one or two narrow channels between, \npresenting a picturesque and effectual barrier to the boisterous \nstorms of ocean. They seemed like naiads, those islets lifting \nabove the billows their gentle heads, crowned with the budding \ngarlands of the spring, and circling hand in hand, like protective \ndeities, about the scene. \n\nOn the south, beyond the narrow tongue of land which bound \nthe peninsula to the main, and which was so slender that the \nspray from the eastern side was often dashed across it into the \ncalmer cove of the west, rose in the immediate distance that \nlong, boldly broken purple-colored ridge called the Massachu- \nsetts, or Mount Arrow Head, by the natives, and by the first \nEnglish discoverer baptized the Cheviot Hills. On their left, \nand within the deep curve of the coast, were the slightly ele- \nvated heights of Passanogessit, or Merry Mount, and on their \nright stretched the broad forest, hill beyond hill, away. Towards \nthe west and northwest, the eye wandered over a vast undu- \nlating panorama of gently rolling heights, upon whose summits \nthe gigantic pine-forests, with their towering tops piercing the \nclouds, were darkly shadowed upon the Avestern sky, while in \nthe dim distance, far above and beyond the whole, visible only \nthrough a cloudless atmosphere, rose the airy summits of the \nWachusett, Watatick, and Monadnock IMountains. Upon the \ninland side, at the base of the hill, the Quinobequin Eiver, \nwhich Smith had already christened with the royal name of \nhis unhappy patron, Charles, might be seen writhing in its \nslow and tortuous course, like a wounded serpent, till it lost \nitself in the blue and beautiful cove which spread around the \nAvhole Avestern edge of the peninsula ; and within the same \nbasin, directly opposite the northern peak of Shawmut, advanced \n\n\n6 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nthe bold and craggy promontory of Mishawum, where Walford, \nthe solitary smith, had built his thatched and palisaded house. \nThe blue thread of the River Mystic, which here mingled its \n\n\nTHE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. \n\n\nwaters with the Charles, gleamed for a moment beyond the \nheights of Mishawum, and then vanished into the frowning \nforest. \n\nSuch was the scene, upon a bright afternoon of spring, which \nspread before the eyes of the solitary, William Blaxton, the \n\n\nTHE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 7 \n\nhermit of Shawmut. It was a simple but sublime image, that \ngentle exile in his silvan solitude. It was a simple but sub- \nlime thought, which placed him and sustained him in his lone \nretreat. In all ages there seem to exist men who have no \nappointed place in the world. They are before their age in \ntheir aspirations, above it in their contemplation, but behind \nit in their capacity for action. Keen to detect the follies and \nthe inconsistencies which surround them, shrinking from the \ncontact and the friction of the rough and boisterous world \nwithout, and building within the solitude of their meditations \nthe airy fabric of a regenerated and purified existence, they pass \ntheir nights in unproductive study, and their days in dreams. \nWith intelligence bright and copious enough to illuminate and \nto warm the chill atmosphere of the surrounding world, if the \nscattered rays were concentrated, but with an inability or dis- \ninclination to impress themselves upon other minds, they pass \ntheir lives without obtaining a result, and their characters, \ndwarfed by their distance from the actual universe, acquire an \napparent indistinctness and feebleness which in reality does not \nbelong to them. \n\nThe impending revolution in Church and State which hung \nlike a gathering thunder-cloud above England's devoted head, \nwas exciting to the stronger spirits, whether of mischief or of \nvirtue, who rejoiced to mingle in the elemental war and to \nplunge into the rolling surge of the world's events ; while to \nthe timid, the hesitating, and the languid, it rose like a dark \nand threatening phantom, scaring them into solitude, or urging \nthem to seek repose and safety in obscurity. Thus there may \nbe men whose spirits are in advance of their age, while still the \ncurrent of the world flows rapidly past them. \n\nOf such men, and of such instincts, was the solitary who \nsat on the clifls of Shawmut. Forswearing the country of \nhis birth and early manhood, where there seemed, in the \npresent state of her aff\"airs, no possibility that minds like his \ncould develop or sustain themselves, — dropping, as it were, \nlike a premature and unripened fruit from the bough where \n\n\n8 NEW-KNGLANI) LEGENDS. \n\nits blossoms had iirst uufoldcnl, — ho had wandered into vol- \nuntary exile with hardly a regret. Debarred from ministering \nat the altar to which he had consecrated his youth, because \nunable to comply with mummery at wliich his soul revolted, \nhe had become a high priest of nature, and had reared a pure \nand solitary altar in the wihlerness. He had dwelt in this \nsolitude for three or four years, and had found in the con- \ntemplation of nature, in the liberty of conscience, in solitary \nstudy and self-comnuining, a solace for the ills he had suffered, \nand a recompense for the world he had turned his back upon \nforever. \n\nHis si)irit was a proi)hetic spirit, and his virtues belonged not \nto his times. In an age which regarded toleration as a crime, \nhe had the courage to cultivate it as a virtue. In an age in \nwhich liberty of conscience was considered fearful licentious- \nness, he left his fatherland to obtain it, and was as ready to \nrel)uke the intolerant tyranny of the nonconformist of the wil- \nderness, as he had been to resist the bigotry and persecution \nof the prelacy at home. In short, the soul of the gentle her- \nmit flew upon pure white wings before its age, but .it flew, \nlike the dove, to the wilderness. Wanting both power and \ninclination to act upon others, ho became not a reformer, but \na recluse. Having enjoyed and improved a classical education \nat the University of Cambridge, he was a thorough and an \nelegant scholar. He was likewise a profound observer, and a \nstudent of nature in all her external manifestations, and loved \nto theorize and to dream in the various walks of science. The \nbotanical and mineralogical wonders of the New World were \nto him the objects of unceasing specvdation, and he loved to \nproceed from the known to the unknown, and to weave tine \nchains of thought, which to his soaring fancy served to l)ind \nthe actual to the imseen and the spiritual, and upon which, \nas upon the celestial ladder in the patriarch's vision, he could \ndream that the angels of the Lord were descending to earth \nfrom heaven. \n\nThe day was fast declining as the solitary still sat iipon the \n\n\nTHE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 9 \n\npeak and mused. He arose as the sun was sinking below the \nforest-crowned hills which girt his silvan hermitage, and gazed \nsteadfastly towards the west. \n\n\"Another day,\" he said, \"hath shone upon my lonely path; \nanother day hath joined the buried ages which have folded their \nwings beneath yon glowing west, leaving in their noiseless flight \nacross this virgin world no trace nor relic of their passage. 'T is \nstrange, 'tis fearful, this eternal and unbroken silence. Upon \nwhat fitful and checkered scenes hath yonder sun looked down \nin other lauds, even in the course of this single day's career ! \nEvents as thickly studded as the stars of heaven have clustered \nand shone forth beneath his rays, even as his glowing chariot- \nwheels performed their daily course ; and here, in this mysterious \nand speechless world, as if a spell of enchantment lay upon it, \nthe sQence is unbroken, the whole face of nature stUl dewy and \nfresh. The step of civilization hath not adorned nor polluted the \nsurface of this wilderness. Xo stately temples gleam in yonder \nvalleys, no storied monument nor aspiring shaft pierces yonder \nfloating clouds ; no mighty cities, swarming with life, filled to \nbursting with the ten thousand attendants of civilized humanity, \nluxury and Avant, pampered sloth, struggling industry, disease, \ncrime, riot, pestilence, death, all hotly pent within their narrow \nprecincts, encumber yon sweeping plains ; no peaceful villages, \nclinging to ancient, ivy-mantled churches ; no teeming fields, \nspreading their vast and nourishing bosoms to the toUing thou- \nsands, meet this wandering gaze. No cheerful chime of vesper- \nbell, no peaceful low of the returning kine, no watch-dog's bark, \nno merry shout of children's innocent voices, no floating music \nfrom the shepherd's pipe, no old famUiar sounds of humanity, \nbreak on this listening ear. No snowy sail shines on yon eternal \nocean, its blue expanse unruffled and unmarred as the azure \nheaven ; and ah ! no crimson banners flout the sky, and no \nembattled hosts shake with their martial tread this silent earth. \n'T is silence and mystery all. Shall it be ever thus ] Shall this \ngreen and beautiful world, which so long hath slept invisibly \nat the side of its ancient sister, still weave its virgin wreath \n\n\n10 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nuusoiled by passion and pollution'? Shall this new, vast page \nin the broad hiatory of man remain unsullied, or shall it soon \nflutter in the storm-winds of fate, and be stamped with the same \niron record, the same dreary catalogue of misery and crime, wliich \ntills the chronicle of the elder world ? 'T is passing strange, this \nsudden apocalypse ! Lo ! is it not as if the universe, the narrow \nuniverse which bounded men's thoughts in ages past, had swung \nopen, as if by an almighty hat, and spread wide its eastern and \nwestern wings at once, to shelter the myriads of the human \nrace]\" \n\nThe hermit arose, slowly collected a few simples which he \nhad culled from the wilderness, a few roots of early spring \nflowers which he destined for his garden, and stored them in \nhis wallet, and then, grasping his long staff, began slowly to \ndescend the hill. \n\n\nBOSTON COMMON, — FIRST PICTURE. \n\nBY O. W. HOLMES. \n\n[The first of the poet Holmes's \"Three Pictures\" depicts tlie same person \nand scene that we have considered the most fitting introduction to our Legends, \n— the solitary inhabitant and the solitude that his presence rendered still more \nlonely. But preferring this to the comjianionship of the \"Lord's brethren,\" \nas he is said to have called the Puritan settlers of Boston, Blackstone removed \ninto the heart of the outlying wilderness, where savages were his only neigh- \nbors. Here he died. The spot where his lonely cottage stood in Shawmut, \nand the place where he is buried, are equally unknown.] \n\nAll overgrown with bush and fern. \n\nAnd straggling clumps of tangled trees, \nWith trunks that lean and boughs that turn, \n\nBent eastward by the mastering breeze, — \nWith spongy bogs that drij) and fill \n\nA yellow pond with muddy rain. \nBeneath the shaggy southern hill, \n\nLies, wet and low, the Shawmut plain. \n\n\nMISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. \n\n\n11 \n\n\nAnd hark ! the trodden branches crack ; \n\nA crow flaps off with startled scream ; \nA straying woodchuck canters back ; \n\nA bittern rises from the stream ; \nLeaps from his lair a frightened deer ; \n\nAn otter plunges in the pool ; — \nHere comes old Shawmut's pioneer, \n\nThe parson on his brindled bull ! \n\n\nMISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. \n\n1634. \n\nTHE biographies of Mrs. Anne Hutchinson have, so to \nspeak, been written by her enemies. Modern authors, in \nwriting of her, have rehearsed her story from the point of \nview of the seventeenth century, and \nwe live in the nineteenth. But History \naccepts no verdict that is not founded \nin impartial justice, and impartial justice \nwas the one thing that Anne Hutchinson \ncould expect neither from her accusers \nnor her judges. All the errors imputed \nto her — and they were sufhciently venial \nof themselves — mere quibbles, in fact — \nmight and should, we think, have been \nsettled within the church of which she \nwas a member; but the voice of the \ncommunity in which she lived, which \nknew and respected her most for her \nChristian virtues and her shining talents, \nwas silenced in the general outcry raised \nfrom without, \"Crucify her, crucify her!\" \nand, weakly yielding to it, the civil arm \nstruck her down as relentlessly ^s it would have done the worst \n\n\nLAMP. \n\n\n12 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nof criminals or the most dangerous enemy to public order. Mrs. \nHutchinson was driven with ignominy from her home into exile, \nfor maintaining in her own house that a mere profession of faith \ncould not evidence salvation unless the Spirit hrst revealed itself \nfrom within. Her appeal is to be heard. It is too late to blot \nout the record, but there is yet time to. reverse the attainder. \n\nWe begin our sketch with a simple introduction. \n\nAnne Marbury was a daughter of Francis Marbury, who was \nfirst a minister in Lincolnshire, and afterwards in London. This \nfact should be borne in mind when following her after career. \nShe was the daughter of a scholar and a theologian. iSTaturally, \ntherefore, much of her unmarried as well as her married life had \nbeen passed in the society of ministers, whom she learned to \nesteem more for what they knew than for what they preached. \nThe same fact, too, her intellectual gifts being considered, reason- \nably accounts for her pondering deeply the truths of Christian- \nity and her fondness for theological discussion both for its own \nsake and as involving the great problem of her own life. It \nAvas the atmosphere in which she had lived and moved and had \nher being. It aroused and quickened her intellectual faculties \nand perceptions. She lived, too, in a time of great religious \nexcitement, soon to become one of active warfare, the period of \nthe great Puritan revolt, so that it is easily seen how that \nmovement, which had enlisted some of the noblest women in \nEngland, should absorb such ai4one as Anne, who was intel- \nlectually an enthusiast and morally an agitator, who had been \naccustomed to breathe the atmosphere of adulation, and who \nwas ambitious, capable, and adroit. While still young, she mar- \nried William Hutchinson, a country gentleman of good character \nand estate, also of Lincolnshire. \"We know very little of him, \nand that little comes from Winthrop, the bitter enemy and per- \nsecutor of his wife, who indeed speaks of the husband in terms \napproaching contempt. But this is also an unconscious tribute \nto the superior talents of Anne. Were it all true, we simply \ndiscover once more the mutual yet unaccountable sympathy \nexisting between a strong woman and a weak man which it is \n\n\nMISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 13 \n\nthe custom of the world to satirize or to sneer at. There is, \nhowever, little doubt that the attachment of one for the other \nwas mutually lasting and sincere, in spite of the sore trials to \nwhich their married life Avas exposed. But allowing that he \nwas eclipsed by the superior brilliancy of his wife, there is quite \nenough evidence to prove that William Hutchinson was a man \nof sterling character and worth. He played a secondary, but no \nignoble, part in the events we have to narrate. \n\nIt happened that the Hutchinsons were parishioners of the \nRev. John Cotton when that celebrated divine was minister of \nthe Church of Boston, in Lincolnshire. For liim and his abili- \nties Mrs. Hutchinson had the highest respect and esteem. And \nwhen Cotton fled to New England, as he like so many others \nwas at length compelled to do, in order to escape from the \ntyranny of the bishops, the Hutchinsons also resolved to emi- \ngrate thither, and presently the whole family did so. It is \nproper to be mentioned here that Mrs. Hutchinson's daughter \nhad married the Eev. John Wheelwright, another minister of \nLincolnshire, who was also deprived for nonconformity, and \nwho also came to New England in consequence of the perse- \ncutions of Archbishop Laud. \n\nThe long interval that elapsed between the date of her mar- \nriage and that of her removal to America is very imperfectly \nfilled out in the notices we have of Mrs. Hutchinson's life. We \nare not made acquainted with any of those formative processes \nby which she became so well equipped for the mental and spirit- \nual conflict that she was soon to enter upon with an adversary \nwho could neither learn nor forget. A family had now grown \nnp around her. Besides the daughter, the Mrs. Wheelwright \nalready mentioned, there were three sons ; so that it was no \nyoung, sentimental, or unbalanced novice, but a middle-aged, \nmatured, and experienced woman of the world who embarked \nin the autumn of 1634 for New England, looking eagerly there \nto obtain and enjoy liberty of conscience among those who \nmight be supposed, if any people on the earth could, to know \nits value. \n\n\n14 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nDuring the voyage she entered into discussions with some \nPuritan ministers who were also going out to New England, \nupon such abstruse points as Avhat were the evidences of justi- \nfication, and she broadly hinted that when they should arrive \nat their destination they might expect to hear more from her. \nFrom these things, trivial in themselves, it is clear that Mrs. \nHutchinson considered herself to have a mission to deliver to- \nthe people and churches of New England. She avowed her \nentire belief in direct revelations made to the elect, moreover \ndeclaring that never had anything of importance happened to \nher which had not been revealed to her beforehand. \n\nThe vessel made her port on the 18th of September, 1634. \nIts appearance Avas so mean and so uninviting, that one of her \nfellow passengers, supposing it to have depressed her spirits, \ncommented upon it, in order, as it appeared, to draAV her out. \nBut she denied that the meanness of the place had in any way \nafiected her, because, as she said, \" she knew that the bounds- \nof her habitation were already determined.\" \n\nUpon their arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson made their \napplication to be received as members of the church. This \nstep was indispensable to admit them into Christian fellowship \nand him to the privileges of a citizen. He was admitted in Octo- \nber, but in consequence of the reports already spread concerning \nher extravagant opinions, Mrs. Hutchinson was subjected to a \nsearching examination before her request was granted. She, \nhowever, passed through the ordeal safely, the examining min- \nisters, one of whom was her old and beloved pastor, Mr. Cotton, \ndeclaring themselves satisfied with her ansAvers. She entered \nthe Boston church in November. \n\nFor some time onward Ave hear very little of Mrs. Hutchinson, \nexcept that she Avas treated with particular respect and attention \nby Mr. Cotton and others. The getting settled in a ncAv home \nprobably occupied her to the exclusion of everything else. Her \nhusband took a hoxise in Boston, and being duly admitted a \nfreeman of the Colony, he was immediately called upon to bear \nhis part in business of public concern, which he did Avillingly \n\n\nMISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. \n\n\n15 \n\n\nand faithfully. He received a grant of lands in Braintree from \nthe General Court. He Avas elected to, and served for several \nterms as a deputy in, this body, it being, singularly enough, his \nfortune to sit as a member when Roger Williams was brought \nto the bar, tried for his heretical opinions, and banished by it \nout of the Colony. \n\nThe year 1C36 was destined to witness one of the greatest \nreligious commotions that have ever puzzled the unlearned or seri- \nously called in question the wisdom of the founders of the Colony. \nThe more it is studied the more inexplicable it appears. \n\n\nSITE OP MRS. HUTCHINSON S HOUSE. \n\n\nA young man of liberal views, who had not been hardened \nby persecution, was then governor of the Colony, and, for the \nmoment, the popular idol. This was Harry Vane, who after- \nwards died on the scaffold. He with Mr. Cotton took much \nnotice of Mrs. Hutchinson, and their example was quickly fol- \nlowed by the leading and influential people of the town, who \ntreated her with much consideration and respect. Already her \nbenevolence toward the suffering or the needy had won for her \n\n\n16 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nmany friends, while her intrepidity of soul and her capacity \nfor dealing with those interesting questions from the discussion \nof which tliey were excluded, led many of her own sex to look \nup to her not only as a person whose opinions were worth \nregarding, but also with admiration amounting to homage. \n\nAdopting an established custom of the town, Mrs. Hutchinson \nheld in hen' own house two weekly meetings, — one for men and \nwomen, and one exclusively for women, — at which she was the \noracle. These meetings were for no other purpose than to hear \nread and to discuss the sermons of the previous Sabbath, and \nfor general religious conversation and edification. They were \nwhat would be called in our own day a club. The bringing \nwomen together in any way for independent thought and action \nwas a most bold and novel innovation, requiring much moral \ncourage on the part of the mover. Her manner and address, \nher ready wit, her thorough mastery of her subject, the strong \npurpose she displayed, established her ascendency in these dis- \ncussions, and were fast gaining for her a popularity that, spread- \ning from her house as a centre, alarmed the ministers for their \nown hold upon the public mind, and so determined them to \ncall her and her doctrines seriously to account. \n\nThat Mrs. Hutchinson's conversations were not at first con- \nsidered to be dangerous either in themselves or in their effects, \nis clear from the fact that the most eminent ministers and \nmagistrates, attracted by her fame, came from all quarters to \nhear and dispute with her. Such was her ready command of \nScripture authorities and her skill in using all the weapons of \nargument, that the strongest heads in the colony found, them- \nselves unable to cope with her successfully upon her chosen \nground. She was impassioned, she was adroit ; she was an \nenthusiast, and yet she was subtle, logical, and deep : she was \na woman who believed herself inspired to do a certain work, \nand who had the courage of her convictions. Could any other \nhave brought such men as Cotton, Vane, Wheelwright, Codding- \nton, completely to embrace her views, or have sent one like \nWinthrop to his closet, wrestling with himself, yet more than \n\n\nMISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 17 \n\nhalf persuaded 1 To call sucli a woman an adventuress, a ter- \nmagant, or a \"Jezebel,\" is a grave reflection upon the under- \nstanding of some of the best minds in the Colony. \n\nAnne Hutchinson's doctrines were, in plain English, these : \nShe held and advocated as the highest truth that a person could \nbe justified only by an actual and manifest revelation of the \nspirit to him personally. There could be, she said, no other \nevidence of grace. She repudiated a doctrine of works, and \nshe denied that hoHness of living alone could be received as \nevidence of regeneration, since hypocrites might live outwardly \nas pure lives as the saints do. The Puritan churches held that \nsanetification by the will was evidence of justification. \n\nFor a time people of every condition were drawn into the \ndispute about these subtleties. The Boston church divided upon \nit, the greater number, however, siding with ]\\Ir. Cotton, whose \nviews were understood to agree with those maintained by Mrs. \nHutchinson. From Boston it rapidly spread into the country, \nbut there, removed from the potent personal magnetism of Mrs. \nHutchinson, the clergy were better able to withstand the move- \nment that it may be truly said had carried Boston by storm. \n\nIn announcing these opinions of hers, Mrs. Hutchinson freely \ncriticised those ministers who preached a covenant of works. \nThis embittered them toward her. Emboldened by the in- \ncreasing number of her followers, she became more and more \naggressive, so that the number of her enemies was increasing in \nproportion to that of her proselytes. The breach that coolness \nand moderation might easily have bridged soon widened into \na gulf that could not be crossed. Unsuspicious of any danger, \nor that what was said in the privacy of her own house was \nbeing carefullj' treasured up against her, poor Mrs. Hutchinson \nwas led into speaking her mind more freely as to doctrines and \npersons than was consistent with prudence or foresight, so that \nbefore she Avas aware of it what had so far been a harmless war \nof words, now becoming an unreconcilable feud, burst forth into \na war of factions. Events then marched rapidly on. \n\nGovernor Winthrop and Mr. Wilson, the pastor of the church, \n\n2 \n\n\n18 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nled the opposition in Eoston. The matter was first brought \nbefore the General Court upon a sermon preached by Mr. Wheel- \nwright, and in this body the country was able to make head \nagainst the town. A personal struggle ensued between Winthrop \nand Vane, in which the former was victorious. Vane then left \nthe country in disgust. \n\nThe party having as it Avere lost its head, made no difference \nwith Mrs. Hutchinson. She continued her lectures, undisturbed \nby the signs of the approaching storm, until all the churches \ncould be summoned to a general synod, which assembled in great \nsolemnity at Cambridge, to sit in judgment upon the new and \nstartling Familistic doctrines. This was the first synod held in \nthe western hemisphere. Its deliberations were preceded by \na day of fasting and prayer throughout the Colony. What it \ndecreed would be sustained by the civil power. \n\nThe convocation was a stormy one. Three weeks were spent \nin discussing the errors that were formulated in the indictment \npresented to it. Perceiving the drift toward persecution, some \nof the members for Boston withdrew in disgust. The Synod \nfinished by condemning as heresies all of the eighty odd points \ncovering the new opinions, thus bringing them within the pale \n' of the lav\\% Mr. Cotton was either too weak or too politic to \nwithstand the pressure brought to bear upon him, and he gave \na qualified adhesion to the proceedings. \n\nBeing thus backed by the whole spiritual power of the Colony, \nthe \"Winthrop party no longer hesitated to use severe measures. \nMr. Wheelwright was first called before the Court, to be sum- \nmarily sentenced to disfranchisement and banishment. No \none pretends that he was not an able, pure, and upright man. \nOthers of Mrs. Hutchinson's adherents received various sen- \ntences. Then the priestess and prophetess herself was arraigned \nat the bar as a criminal of the most dangerous kind. \n\nThe proceedings at this trial are preserved in the \" History of \nMassachusetts under the Colony and Province,\" of which Gov- \nernor Hutchinson, the descendant of the persecuted Anne, is the \nauthor. They are voluminous. Winthrop, who presided, first \n\n\nMISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. \n\n\n19 \n\n\ncatechised her. She answered him boldly, hut with dignity. \nThen Bradstreet, and then Dudley, the deputy-governor, took \nturns in trying to extort from her some damaging admission. \n\n\nNeither succeeded. Governor \nWinthrop allows as much when \nusing this extraordinary lan- \nguage toward the prisoner who \nis defending herself single- \nhanded against a multitude of \nprosecutors : \n\n\"It is well discerned to the \nCourt that Mrs. Hutchinson can \ntell when to speak and when to hold her tongue. Upon the \n\n\n20 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nanswering of a question which we desire her to tell her thoughts \nof, she desires to be pardoned.\" \n\nAnne Hutchinson did not fall into the snare. She replied : \n\" It is one thing for me to come before a public magistracy and \nthere to speak what they would have me to speak, and another \nwhen a man comes to me in a way of friendship, privately ; \nthere is difference in that.\" \n\nSix of the foremost ministers in the (Jolony, among whom \nwere the Apostle Eliot and the subsequently famous Hugh \nPeters, then gave evidence that she had told them they Avere \nnot able ministers of the New Testament, and that they preached \na covenant of works. Only Mr. Shepard, of the Cambridge \nchurch, spoke of her considerately ; the rest liad steeled them- \nselves against her. \n\nMrs. Hutchinson gave a plump denial to some things that \nthese ministers had alleged, and then she prudently asked that \nthey might be recjuired to give their evidence under oath, in \na case touching her personal liberty as this did. To this the \nGovernor strongly demurred ; but Mrs. Hutchinson stoutly main- \ntaining her riglit, she finally prevailed. From a score or more \nof accusers, the number of ministers who were willing to swear \nwas thus reduced to three. \n\nThe only persons who spoke for her were silenced by being \nbrowbeaten. Her fate was determined when the Court assem- \nbled. Mr. Cotton defended her weakly and equivocally. Mr. \nCoddington most valiantly, but to as little purpose. Seeing \nhow the case was going against her, he spoke up hotly wliile \nsmarting under a rebuke just administered by the President : \n\n\" I beseech you do not speak so to force things along, for I \ndo not, for my own part, see any equity in all your proceedings. \nHere is no law of God that she hath broken, nor any law of the \ncountry, and therefore deserves no censure. And if she say that \nthe elders preach as the apostles did (before the Ascension), why \nthey preached a covenant of grace, and what wrong is that to \nthem 1 \" \n\nGovernor Winthrop then pronounced sentence of banishment \n\n\nMISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 21 \n\nagainst the woman who, as Coddington truly said, \" had broken \nno law either of Cod or of man.\" \n\nThis mockery of a trial, in which the judges expounded \ntheology instead of law, and in which no rule of evidence was \nrespected until the prosecutors were shamed into allowing the \nprisoner's demand that her accusers should be sworn, was now \nended. Pending the further order of the Court, Mrs. Hutchin- \nson was delivered into the custody of Mr. Joseph Weld, of \nRoxbury. She had still another, probably a harder, trial to go \nthrough with, when the Boston church of which she was a \nmember, and which had so lately applauded and caressed her, \nsat in judgment upon her and excommunicated her. Her hus- \nband then sold all his property, and removed with his family \nto the Island of Aquidneck, as did many others whose opinions \nhad brought them under the censure of the governing powers. \nMr. Hutchinson nobly stood by his wife to the last. When a \ncommittee of the Boston church Avent to Rhode Island for the \npurpose of endeavoring to bring these lost sheep back into the \nfold, he told them that he accounted his Avife \"a dear saint \nand servant of God.\" \n\nThe triumphant opposition noAv carried matters Avitli a heavy \nhand. Winthrop strenuously exerted himself to crush Mrs. \nHutchinson's folloAvers. In consecpience of this a great number \nof the principal inhabitants of Boston who had become involved \nin these troubles, and who were noAv deprived of their political \nprivileges as a punishment therefor, also removed to Rhode \nIsland. Of these Coddington and Dummer had been assist- \nants or counsellors ; Hutchinson, Coggeshall, and Aspinwall were \nrepresentatives. Rainsford, Sanford, Savage, Eliot, Easton, Ben- \ndall, and Denison, were all persons pf distinction. About sixty \nothers were disarmed. These exiles, having purchased the island \nof the Indians, were the first to found a civil government there. \nAnd thus did the stone which the builders rejected become the \nhead of the corner. \n\nThe rest of Mrs. Hutchinson's history is briefly told. After \nthe death of her husband, which happened five years later, she \n\n\n22 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nagain removed with her family into the Dutch territory of New \nNetherlands, settling near what is now New Eochelle. During \nthe following year her house was suddenly assaulted by hostile \nIndians, who, in their revengeful fury, murdered the whole \nfamily, excepting only one daughter, who was carried away into \ncaptivity. \n\nMrs. Hutchinson's offence consisted in using the great intel- \nlectual powers with which she was undeniably gifted for solving \nthe jjroblem of her own life. Her enemies vanquished, but they \ncould not convince, her. It is not denied that she Avas a pure \nwoman, an affectionate wife and mother, to the poor a bene- \nfactor, and to her convictions of Christian duty conscientious \nand faithful to the last. To succeeding generations she is an \namazing example of the intolerance existing in her day. \n\n\nTHE DEATH OF RAINSBOROUGH. \n\n1648. \n\nTHE civil wars in England preceding the dethronement and \ndeath of Charles I. opened an alluring field for reaping \nindividual renown which many adventurous New Englanders \nhastened to enter. It was there in New England, if anywhere, \nthat the revolt against the crushing tyranny from which thou- \nsands had fled should find its legitimate echo. Moreover, an \nappeal to arms had become the dream of many of the enthusias- \ntic young men of this martial age. No sooner, therefore, had the \nsword been drawn, than these men of New England, taking \ntheir Geneva Bibles and their Spanish rapiers in their hands, \nenrolled themselves under the banners of the Parliament, and \nsome of them carved with their good blades an enduring record \nupon the history of the time. \n\nForemost among these volunteers for the Puritan cause was \nWilliam Rainsborough, who lived here in 1639, and was, with \n\n\nTHE DEATH OF RAINSBOEOUGH. 23 \n\nEobert Sedgwick and Israel Stoughton, then a member of the \nHonorable Artillery Company of Boston. Rainsborough had \nspeedily risen to be colonel of a regiment in the Parliamentary \narmy, in which this Stoughton was lieutenant-colonel, ISTehemiah \nBourne, a Boston shipwright, major, and John Leverett, after- \nwards governor, a captain ; William Hudson, supposed to be \nalso of Boston, was ensign. A son of Governor Winthrop also \nserved Avitli credit in these -same wars, and in New England \nthe having furnished one of Oliver's soldiers was long one of \nthe most valued of family traditions. \n\nRaiusborough owed his rapid advancement to the distinguished \ngallantry that he displayed in the field, as well as to his zeal \nfor the cause, both of which qualifications, so essential in the \nPuritan soldier, earned for him the warm friendship of Crom- \nwell, with whom he was thoroughly one in spirit. Indeed he \nappears to have held political sentiments quite as advanced as \nthose of his great leader. We find him sustaining positions of \nhigh trust both in camp and council, always with ability, and \nalways with credit to himself and his patron. \n\nIn the memorable storming of Bristol, then held by Prince \nRupert, Rainsborough commanded a brigade which was posted \nin front of the strongest part of the enemy's line of defence. \nThe duty of assaulting this position fell to him. Cromwell tells \nhow it was performed, in an official letter written from Bristol \nimmediately after the surrender of the place. \n\n\"Colonel Rainsborough's post was near to Durham Down, \nwhereof the dragoons and three regiments of horse made good a \npost upon the Down, between him and the River Avon, on his \nright hand. And from Colonel Rainsborough's quarters to \nP'room River, on his left, a part of Colonel Birch's and the \nwhole of General Skippon's regiment Avere to maintain that \npost.\" \n\nThe signal for storming being given, the Parliamentary \ntroops advanced with great resolution against the enemy's whole \nline, and were suddenly in possession of the greater portion \nof it. \n\n\n24 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\"During this,\" says the General, \"Colonel Eainsborough and \nColonel Hammond attempted Pryor's Hill Fort and the line \ndownward towards Froom; and the major-general's regiment \nbeing to storm towards Froom Eiver, Colonel Hammond pos- \nsessed the line immediately, and beating the enemy from it, \nmade way for the horse to enter. Colonel Eainsborough, who \nhad the hardest task of all at Pryor's Hill Fort, attempted it, \nand fought near three hours for it. And indeed tliere was great \ndespair of carrying the place, it being exceedingly high, a ladder \nof thirty rounds scarcely reaching the top thereof; but his reso- \nlution was such that, notwithstanding the inaccessibleness and \ndifficulty, he would not give it over. The enemy had four \npieces of cannon upon it, which they plied with round and case \nshot upon our men ; his lieutenant. Colonel Boweu (Bourne), \nand others were two hours at push of pike, standing upon the \npalisades, but could not enter. But now Colonel Hammond \nbeing entered the line ... by means of this entrance of Colonel \nHammond, they did storm the fort on that part which was \ninward ; and so Colonel Eainsborough's and Colonel Hammond's \nmen entered the fort, and immediately put almost all the men \nin it to the sword.\" \n\nFor his resolute bravery on this occasion Eainsborough was \none of the officers deputed by Fairfax to receive the surrender \nof the place. \n\nEainsborough subsequently acted as one of the commissioners \nfrom the Army, Avith Treton and Hammond, to treat witli the \nKing, and he was also one of the officers who stirred up in the \nArmy that spirit of discontent with the half measures of Parlia- \nment which, bursting out into open revolt, paved the way to its \nfinal and humiliating downfall. \n\nWhen the insurrection immediately preceding the second \ncivil war broke out, Eainsborough was in command and on \nboard of the English fleet, and he is then called Admiral \nEainsborough. It is well known that the sailors embraced, \nalmost to a man, the Eoyalist side. They put their Admiral on \nshore, and then hoisted sail for Holland and the young Prince \n\n\nTHE DEATH OF KAINSBOROUGH. 25 \n\nof Wales. Rainsborough then went up to London, presently \nreceiving orders to go upon his last service, into Yorkshire. \n\nIt was in the year 1648 that the Yorkshire Royalists, who \nhad been living in quiet since the first war, were again excited \nby intelligence of Duke Hamilton's intended invasion. A plan \nwas laid and successfully carried out by them to surprise Pom- \nfret Castle (sometimes called Pontefract), the greatest and \nstrongest castle in all England, then held by Colonel Cotterel as \ngovernor for the Parliament. It was then victualled to with- \nstand a long siege. The Castle was soon besieged by Sir Edward \nIlhodes and Sir Henry Cholmondley with five thousand regular \ntroops, but the royal garrison stubbornly held out for the \nKing. \n\nIt being likely to prove a tedious affair, General Rainsborough \nwas sent from London by the Parliament to put a speedy end \nto it. He pitched his headquarters for the moment at Don- \ncaster, twelve miles from Pomfret, Avith twelve hundred foot \nand two regiments of horse. \n\nThe Castle garrison having in some way learned of Hamilton's \ndisastrous defeat at Preston, that he was in full retreat for Scot- \nland, and that Sir Marmaduke Langdale, who commanded the \nEnglish in that battle, was a prisoner, formed the bold design \nof seizing General Rainsborough in his camp and holding him \nas a hostage for Sir Marmaduke; for it was clear enough that the \nprincipal actors in this unlucky rising would now be in great \nperil of losing their heads on the charge of high treason. The \nscheme seemed all the more feasible because the General and \nhis men were under no apprehension of any surprise ; the Castle \nbeing twelve miles distant, closely besieged, and being moreover \nnow the only garrison held for the King in all England. \n\nThe plan was shrewdly laid, favored by circumstances, and \nwas completely successful, except that instead of bringing the \nGeneral off as a prisoner, they killed him. With twenty-two \npicked men, all bold riders and well mounted, Captain William \nPaulden penetrated through the besiegers' lines into Doncaster \nundiscovered. Tlie guards were immediately assaulted and \n\n\nTHE DEATH OF RAINSBOROUGH. 27 \n\ndispersed, while a party of four troopers made direct for the \nGeneral's lodgings. At the door they were met by his lieutenant, \nwho, upon their announcing that they had come with despatches \nfrom General Cromwell, conducted them to the chamber where \nRainsborough was in bed. While the General was opening \nthe false despatch, which contained nothing but blank paper, \nthe King's men told him that he was their prisoner, but that \nnot a hair of his head should be touched if he went quietly \nalong with them. They then disarmed his lieutenant, who had \nso innocently facilitated their design, and brought both the \nGeneral and hira out of the house. A horse stood ready saddled, \nwhich Eainsborough was directed to mount. He at first seemed \nwilling to do so, and put his foot in the stirrup ; but upon look- \ning about him and seeing only four enemies, while his lieutenant \nand a sentinel (whom they had not disarmed) were standing by \nhim, he suddenly pulled his foot out of the stirrup and cried \nout, \" Arms I Arms ! \" \n\nUpon this, one of his enemies, letting fall his sword and pis- \ntol, — for the object was to take the General alive, — caught \nhold of liainsborough, who grappled fiercely with hira, and both \nfell struggling to the ground. The General's lieutenant then \npicked up the trooper's pistol, but was instantly run through \nthe body by Paulden's lieutenant while he was in the act of \ncocking it. A third then stabbed Eainsborough in the neck ; \nyet the General gained his feet with the trooper's sword, with \nAvhom he had been struggling, in his hand. Seeing him deter- \nmined to die rather than be taken, the lieutenant of the party \nthen passed his sword through his body, when the brave but \nill-fated Rainsborough fell dead upon the pavement of the \ncourtyard. \n\n\n28 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nTHE CASE OF MISTRESS ANN HIBBINS. \n\n\n1656. \n\n\n\" rinHE devil is in it ! \" Is not this pithy expression, we in- \n-L quire, a surviving memento of the dark day of super- \nstition, when everything that was strange or inexplicable was by \ncommon consent referred to the devices of the Evil One 1 \n\nIt would be both interesting and instructive further to ask \nif there are still people who regard \nspilling the salt, beginning a journey \non Friday, breaking a looking-glass, or \nsitting with thirteen at the table, as \nthings of evil omen, to be scrupulously \navoided ; or whether they wonld be \nwilling to admit that hanging a charm \nabout a cliild's neck, setting a hen on \nan odd number of eggs, putting trust \n:n a rusty horseshoe, or seeing the \nmoon over a particular shoulder, — \nto say nothing of dreams, signs, or \nhaunted houses, — are neither more \nnor less than so many indications of \nthe proneness of our nature to admit \nthe supernatural. Kor is it so long \nago since people were living in the \nrural towns of NeAv England who could remember reputed \nwitches, and what dread they inspired in the minds of the \nignorant or the timid. Upon looking back over the ground \nthat the enlightenment of the age has conquered, one is half \ninclined to say that, in some form or other, superstition will be \nabout the last thing eradicated from the human mind. It is in \norder to enable the reader fairly to make the comparison of his \n\n\nNIGHT WATCHMAN. \n\n\nMRS. ANN HIBBINS. 29 \n\nown with a remote time that we offer him these hints before \nbeginning our story about Mrs. Hibbins. \n\nThe little that can be recovered concerning this most unfor- \ntunate woman, of whom we would gladly know more than we \ndo, puts any connected account of her out of the question. \nOur curiosity is strongly piqued, only to be unsatisfied at last \nby a perusal of the few meagre scraps that have the seal of \nauthenticity upon them. Xor is it at all probable that it ever \nwill be satisfied. \n\nWe simply know that Mrs. Ann Hibbins, the aged widow of \na merchant of note, the reputed sister of the Deputy-Governor \nof the Colony, was tried, convicted, and suftered death at Boston \nin the year 1656 for being a witch. This relationship by blood \nand marriage announces a person of superior condition in life, \nand not some Avretched and friendless hag such as is associated \nwith the popular idea of a witch. It supposes her to have had \nconnections powerful enough to protect her in such an extremity \nas that of life or death in which she was placed. But in her \ncase it is clear that they were powerless to stay the final execu- \ntion of the horrid sentence, which was carried into effect, with \nall its revolting details, according to the decree of the Court. \n\nTo be censorious is easy here. Such a tale of horror is in \nfact a shock to all our preconceived notions of the solid wis- \ndom and well-balanced judgments characterizing our ancient \nlawgivers. Still, when kings wrote learned treatises, ministers \npreached, and poets rhymed about it, — when the penal statutes \nof all civilized States recognized and punished it as a crime, — • \npeople of every condition may Avell be pardoned for putting fidl \nfaith in witchcraft as a thing belonging to the category of in- \ncontestable facts, admitted by the wisest and holiest men, and \npunished as such by the ordinances of God and man. What is the \nwonder, then, that they dealt Avith it as a fact 1 For our own \npart, in order that we may understand this deplorable tragedy, \nand that full justice may be done to the actors therein, it is \nindispensable first candidly to admit all that this strange be- \nlief in witchcraft implied from tlieir point of view. We may \n\n\n30 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nlament their ignorance, but we should be slow to condemn them \nfor being no wiser than their own generation. \n\nSuch a state of things being imagined, one easily sees why \nthe men who were wisest and strongest in every other emer- \ngency simply lost their heads when confronting this terrible \nbugbear that kept the imagination continually upon tlie stretch, \nthat was a lurking terror in every household, and that by expos- \ning them, as thoy fully believed, to all the crafts and assaults of \nthe Devil (their own friends and neighbors being the instru- \nments), held their intellect in abject bondage. Against such \ninsidious attacks as these there was no good defence. Hence \nthe notion of a witch was like that of a serpent in the house \nwhose sting is mortal. jS'o wonder it was the one thing capable \nof chasing tlie color \n\nFrom cheeks that never changed in woe, \nAnd never blanched in fear. \n\nThis case of Mrs. Hibbins is further interesting as being the \nsecond one that the lamentable annals of witchcraft record, that \nof Margaret Jones, in 1G4S, being the first. The simple state- \nment should suffice to correct the belief, more or less preva- \nlent to-day, that the Salem outbreak was the beginning, instead \nof being the tragical end, of the delusion in Xew England. Mrs. \nHibbins's cause is also memorable as the first known instance of \nthe General Court of the Colony sitting in trial in a case of life \nand death. The tragedy, therefore, lacked no element of solem- \nnity to render it deeply impressive. \n\nMrs. Ann Hibbins was the wife of William Hibbins, a wealthy \nand influential merchant of Boston. Hutchinson says that he \nwas one of the principal merchants in all the Colony. At this \nearly day in its history he had served the Colony with credit, \nfirst as its agent in England, and again as one of the assistants, \nor chief magistrates. These important trusts denote tbe high \nesteem in which he was held, and they confirm his admitted \ncapacity for public aff\\iirs. A series of unlucky events, however, \nbrought such heavy losses upon him in his old age as seriously \n\n\nMISTRESS ANN HIBBINS. 31 \n\nto impair his estate ; but what was perhaps worse to \"bear, the \nsudden change from affluence to a more straitened way of living \nis alleged not only to have soured his wife's naturally unstable \ntemper, but to have so far unsettled her mind that she became \nin turn so morose and so quarrelsome as to render her odious \nto all her neighbors. Instead of being softened by misfortune, \nshe was hardened and embittered by it. And it is thought that \nsome of these neighbors were led to denounce her as a witch, as \npresently they did, through motives of spite, or in revenge for \nher malice toward, or her abusive treatment of, them. \n\nIt was a credulous age, when the spirit of persecution was \neasily aroused. The eye of the whole town was presently turned \nupon Mrs. Hibbins. There is little room to doubt that she was \nthe unfortunate possessor of a sharp tongue and of a crabbed \ntemper, neither of which was under proper restraint. Most \nunfortunately for her, as it fell out, a superior intelUgence and \npenetration enabled her to make shrewd guesses about her \nneighbors and their affairs, which the old wives and gossips be- \nlieved and declared no one else but the Devil or his imps could \nhave known or told her of. From dislike they advanced to \nhatred, then to fear, and then it no doubt began to be freely \nwhispered about that she was a witch. Such a reputation would \nnaturally cast a fatal blight over her life. No wife or mother \nbelieved herself or her infant for one moment safe from the \nwitch's detestable arts, since she might take any form slfe \npleased to afflict them. Presently, the idle gossip of a neigh- \nborhood grew into a formal accusation. How much could be \nmade in those days of a little, or how dangerous it then was to \nexercise any gift like that of clairvoyance or mind-reading, the \nfollowing fragment will make clear to the reader's mind. Upon \nthis point Uv. Beach, a minister in Jamaica, writes to Dr. Increase \nMather as follows : — \n\n\"You may remember what I have sometimes told you your famous \nMr. Norton once said at his own table, before Mr. Wilson the pastor, \nElder Penn, and myself and wife, etc., who had the honour to be his \nguests,— that one of your magistrates' wives, as I remember, was \n\n\nEXECUTION OF MKS. HIBBINS. \n\n\nMISTEESS ANN HIBBINS. 33 \n\nhanged lor a witch, only for having more wit than her neighbours. \nIt was his very expression, she having, as he explained it, unhappily \nguessed that two of her persecutors, whom she saw talking in. the \nstreet, were talking of her ; which, proving true, cost her her life, \nnotwithstanding all he could do to the contrary, as he himself told \nus.\" \n\nOne can hardly read this fragment without shuddering. \n\nThe increasing feeling of detestation and fear having now \nbroken out into a popular clamor for justice upon the witch, \nMrs. Hibbins w^as first publicly expelled from the communion of \nher church, and then publicly accused and thrown into prison. \nWhen the prison door closed behind her, her doom was sealed. \n\nFortunately, perhaps, for him, for lie died a year before this \nbitter disgrace sullied his good name, the husband was not \nalive to meet the terrible accusation or to stem the tide setting so \nstrongly and so pitilessly against the wife whom he had sworn at \nthe altar to love, cherish, and protect. If her brother, Eichard \nBellingham, then holding the second place in the Colony, made \nany effort to save her, that fact nowhere appears. Her three \nsons, whom she seems to have loved with the affectionate tender- \nness of a fond mother, were all absent from the Colony. Alone, \nfriendless, an object of hatred to her own neighbors, her heart \nmay well have sunk within her. \n\nUnder such distressing circumstances was poor old Dame Hib- \nbins, who once held her head so high, dragged from her dungeon \nbefore the Court which was to try her as the worst of criminals \nknown to the law. The jury, however, failed to convict her of \nany overt act of witchcraft. But she could not escape thus. \nThe people, it is said, demanded her blood, and nothing short of \nthis Avould satisfy them. So the magistrates, having the power \nto set aside the verdict, obeying the popular voice, brought \nher before the bar of the General Court, where, in presence of \nthe assembled wisdom of the Colony, she was again required to \nplead guilty or not guilty to being a witch. She answered with \nfirmness and spirit that she was not guilty, and said she was \nwilling to be tried by God and the Court. The evidence already \ntaken against her was then read, witnesses \\vere heard, and her \n\n3 \n\n\n34 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nanswers considered ; and the whole case being then submitted for \nits decision, the Court by its vote this time found her guilty \nof witchcraft according to the tenor of the bill of indictment. \nGovernor Endicott, rising in his place, then pronounced in open \ncourt the awful sentence of death upon the doomed woman for \na crime which had no existence save in the imagination of her \naccusers. The warrant for her execution was made out in due \nform, the fatal day was fixed, and the marshal-general was \n\n\nTHE OLD ELM. \n\n\ntherein directed to take with him \"a sufficient guard.\" Then \nthe poor, infirm, su^^erannuated old woman, as innocent as the \nbabe unborn, was led back to prison a condemned felon. Then \nthe members of the Great and General Court, satisfied that they \nhad done God's work in hanging a witch, dispersed in peace \nto their homes, made more secure, as they believed, by this act \nof justice. \n\n\nMISTEESS ANN HIBBINS. 35 \n\nAs the sentence was not carried into effect for a whole year, it \nis probable that the intercession of friends may have procured \nfor the condemned woman tliis reprieve. But it could not avert \nher final doom, however it might delay it. That was sealed. \nOn the day that she was to suifer she made and executed in \nprison a codicil to her will, clearly disposing of all her property. \nShe Avas then taken to the usual place of execution, and there, \nhanged. \n\nThe \" usual place of execution \" being the Common, it is a \ntradition that Mrs. Hibbins, as well as others who suti'ered at \nthe liands of the public executioner, was launched into eternity \nfrom the branch of the Great Elm Tree that stood, until within \na few years, a commanding and venerated relic of the past, near \nthe centre of this beautiful park. Her remains were shamefully \nviolated. A search was immediately made upon the dead body \nof the poor woman for the distinguishing marks that all witches \nwere supposed to have on their persons. Her chests and boxes \nwere also ransacked for the puppets or images by which their \nvictims were afflicted, but none were found. The remains \nwere then probably thrust into some obscure hole, for the suf- \nferer, being excommunicated and a condemned witch, would not \nbe entitled to Christian burial, although she earnestly begged \nthis poor boon in her will. Hubbard, who writes nearest to the \nevent, says that they who were most forward to condemn Mrs. \nHibbins were afterward observed to be special marks for the \njudgments of Divine Providence. \n\nAnd all this really happened in the good town of Boston in \nthe year 1656 ! \n\n\n36 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nMARY DYER. \n\n1659. \n\nIT is a matter of history that in 1656 a people who wore their \nhair long, kept their hats on iu the public assemblies, and \nwho said \"thee\" and \"thou,\" instead of \"you,\" when address- \ning another person, made their unwelcome appearance in New \nEngland. They were forthwith attacked with all the energy of \na bitter persecution. \n\nWhen called upon to speak out in defence of their cruel \nproceedings, the Puritan authorities declared their creed to be \nthis : They having established themselves in a wilderness in \norder to enjoy undisturbed their own religious convictions, held \nit right to exclude all others who might seek to introduce tlif- \nferent opinions, and therefore discord, among them. From this \nit is plain to see that the idea of toleration had not yet been \nborn. The further fact that to tliis cruel and selhsh policy, \nsternly persevered in to the last, the Colony owed the loss (jf \nmost of the political privileges that it had hitherto enjoyeil, \nrenders it one of the stepping-stones of history. Nor have the \nmost zealous apologists for these acts of the Puritan fathers ever \nbeen able to erase the stain of blood from tlieir otherwise fair \nescutcheon. \n\nLet us recount a single startling episode of this lugubrious \nhistory. Two words will explain the situation. \n\nOn both sides of the ocean the Puritan cry was \" freedom to \nworship God as we do.\" The persecution of Quakers had \nalready begun in England under the austere rule of the Puritan \nCommonwealth. They were treated as Aveak fanatics who \nneeded wholesome correction, rather than as persons dangerous \nto the public weal. After this had been some time in progress, \nsome of the persecuted Friends came over to New England for \n\n\nMARY DYER. \n\n\n37 \n\n\nan asylum, or ont of the frying-pan into the fire. The local \nauthorities, urged on by the whole body of Orthodox ministers, \nresolved to strangle this new heresy in its cradle. But they \nhad forgotten the story of the dragon's teeth. For every Qnaker \nthey banished, ten arose in his place. \n\n\nSCOUKGING A QUAKER. \n\n\nAmong the first Quakers to arrive in the Colony were two \nwomen. And it should be observed that the women all along \ntook as active a part in disseminating the new doctrines as the \n\n\n38 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nmen did. As was iuevitable, such an abrupt innovation upon \nthe settled convictions of the time respecting woman's i)lace in \nthe churches and in society, was a moral shock to the comnni- \nnity which quickly recoiled upon the lieads of the offenders. \n\nThese intruding Quakers, having anuounced themselves as \nconfessors and missionaries of the true faith of Christ, were all \npresently put under lock and key as persons guilty of promul- \ngating rank heresies, and as blasphemers, and tlieir sectarian \nbooks were also seized and committed to the flames by the \ncommon hangman. The Quakers then became violent and \naggressive in their turn. They retaliated with prophesies of \nevil. They freely denounced the judgments of Heaven upon \ntheir oppressors. One woman, seeing Governor Endicott pass \nby the prison, vociferated from her grated window, — \n\n\" \"Woe unto thee ! thou art an oppressor ! \" \n\nThe first comers were all banished, with a stern admonition \nnot to return to the Colony. They were put on shipboard and \nordered to depart. And this, it was hoped, would be the last of \nthem. This was, in fact, the easiest Avay of ridding the coun- \ntry of them and their errors, had these not already taken root \nin the soil itself. Then, as no such law existed, one was made, \npunishing an}' Quaker who might afterward come into the \njurisdiction. This law imposed severe penalties. Yet, though \ncruelly enforced, it was soon found inadequate, the number of \nQuakers increasing ; and so, the authorities being now at their \nwits' end, another law, decreeing death to any of that sect who \nshould presume to return after banishment, was enacted,, against \nstrong opposition. There was, in fact, a conscience in the Colo- \nnial body. But the rulers could not now retreat without admitting \nthemselves vanquished ; and so, pressing the point, the \" bloody \nlaw \" was inscribed upon the statute-book of the Colony. \n\nAYe have now finished the prologue of the drama, and it is \ntime to introduce the real actors upon the stage. \n\nMarv Dyer, a comely and grave matron, then living in Rhode \nIsland, was one of those rare spirits who are predestined to \nbecome martyrs and saints to the faith that they profess. \n\n\nMAKY DYER. 39 \n\nShe and her husband, William Dyer, were originally inhabi- \ntants of Uoston, and members of the church there, they having \nemigrated from England to the Colony in the year 1635. From \nthese incidents surrounding Mrs. Dyer's career it is clear that \nboth she and her husband belonged to the better class of emi- \ngrants. She is represented by Sewel, the Quaker historian, as \nbeing a person of good family and estate, and by Winthrop as \na very proper and fair woman, but, as he deprecatingiy adds, \nhaving a \" very proud spirit.\" In her, therefore, we have the \nportrait of a comely woman of fine presence, high spirit, a fair \nshare of education, and possessing, moreover, a soul endowed \nwith the purpose of an evangelist or, at need, a martyr. Both \nMrs. Dyer and her husband became early converts to the pecu- \nliar doctrines held by that priestess of common-sense, Mrs. \nAnne Hutchinson, to whose untoward fortunes they continued \nsteadfost. Tliere was, in fact, a bond of sympathy between \ntliese two women. When Mrs. Hutchinson was excommuni- \ncated, young Mrs. Dyer walked out of the church with her in \npresence of the whole congregation. When she was banished, \nMrs. Dyer followed her to Rhode Island. This was in 1637. \n\nDuring the excitement produced by the rapid spread of Mrs. \nHutchinson's opinions, and by her subsequent arrest and trial on \nthe charge of heresy, Mrs. Dyer gave premature birth, it was said, \nto a monster, which Winthrop describes with nauseating minute- \nness. Losing sight of Mrs. Dyer for nearly twenty years, we \nsuppose her life to have been an uneventful one, — perhaps one \nof unconscious preparation and of spiritual growth for the work \nshe was to do and the suffering she was destined to undergo. \nWhen we next see her, the comely young wife has become a \nmiddle-aged matron, who is blindly obeying the command of des- \ntiny. She now presents herself in the garb of a Quakeress, and \nin company with professing Quakers, to the people of Boston, \nany one of whom, by harboring her even for a single night, or \noffering her a crust of bread, became a breaker of the law, and \nwas liable to a heavy penalty for so doing. She was imme- \ndiately taken up and thrust into the common jail, where she \n\n\n40 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nremained in confinement until her husband, being apprised of \nher arrest, hastened to her relief. His urgent prayer for his \nwife's release was only granted upon his giving bonds in a large \nsum to take her away out of the Colony, and even then the \nauthorities further stipulated that she should be permitted to \nspeak with no one during the journey. Upon these conditions \nshe was conducted under guard beyond the settlements. \n\nIn September, 1659, in company with \"William Robinson, \nMarmaduke Stevenson, and Nicholas Davis, Mary again, and \nthis time with full knowledge of the peril of the act, visited \nBoston for the purpose of testifying against the iniquitous laws \nin force there, or, as they declared it themselves, \" to look the \nbloody laws in the face,\" and to meet the oppressors of her \npeople, as it were, in their own stronghold. \n\nShort was the time allowed them. The whole four were \nquickly made prisoners, and were brought before the Court, \nwhich passed sentence of banishment, to which the certain \npenalty of death now attached, should they return again. They \nwere then released, and ordered to depart out of the Colony. Not \nobeying this mandate, Eobinson and Stevenson were soon again \napprehended, and were again consigned to prison, where they were \nused like condemned felons, being chained to the floor of their \ndungeon. Within a month Mary also became, for the second \ntime, an inmate of the same prison, having been recognized and \ntaken while standing in front of it. By thus setting the law at \ndefiance, the trio were regarded as rushing upon a fool's fate. \n\nWith Mary came Hope Clifton, also of Ehode Island. The \ndeclared purpose of the women was to visit and minister to the \nFriends then lying in prison. The settled purpose of the pris- \noners to defy the law being known to their friends, and no \nmercy being expected for them, several of these came to Boston \nin order to assist in the last act of the tragedy. One even \nbrought linen for the sufferers' shrouds. All this imparts a \nhighly dramatic character to the acts of the resolute martyrs. \n\nThe three prisoners who had thus forfeited their lives to the \nlaw were, on the 20th of October, brought before the Court of \n\n\nMARY DYER. 41 \n\nM.aLjistrates. The incorruptible but implacable Endicott pre- \nsided. The men keeping their liats on, Endicott ordered the \nofficer to pull them off. He then addressed the prisoners in the \nlanguage of stern remonstrance and reproof. He told them tha't \nneither he nor the other magistrates then present desired their \ndeath, but that the laws must be enforced. All three were con- \ndemned to be hanged. \n\nMrs. Dyer heard her doom pronounced with serene composure, \nsimply saying, — \n\n\" The Lord's will be done ! \" \n\n\"Take her aAvay, marshal,\" commanded Endicott, im])a- \ntiently. \n\n\" I joyfully return to my prison,\" she rejoined. \n\nOn her w^ay back to prison, filled with the exaltation of the \nSpirit, she said to the marshal, or high-sheriff, who was conduct- \ning her, \" Indeed, you might let me alone, for I would go to the \nprison without you.\" \n\n\" I believe you, Mrs. Dyer,\" the officer replied ; \" but my \norders are to take you there, and I must do as I am com- \nmanded.\" \n\nDuring the interval of a week occurring between the sen- \ntence and the day fixed for its execution, Mrs. Dyer wrote an \n\" Appeal to the General Court,\" in which she compares herself \nwith Queen Esther, and her mission with that of the queen to \nAhasuerus. It is pervaded throughout by a simple and \ntouching dignity. There is not one craven word in it, or one \nentreating pardon or expressing a doubt of the righteousness of \nher own acts. Calmly she rehearses the history of her case, \nand then concludes her appeal, \" in love and the spirit of meek- \nness,\" to the justice and magnanimity of the Court which was \nable to set her free. But if it was heeded, her prayer was \nunanswered. The renewed and earnest intercession of Mrs. \nDyer's husband and son were alike ineifectual ; the magistrates \nremained unmoved. But it is said that the son, in the hope \nof yet saving her, passed the last night in his mother's cell, \nbeseeching her to abjure, or at least so far to retract her mis- \n\n\n42 \n\n\nXEW-E^y\"GLAXD LEGENDS. \n\n\ntaken opinions as to give some chance for hope that the judges \nmight yet relent, and so commute her sentence of death to ban- \nishment. History has kindly drawn the veil over this scene. \nAll we know is that the mother preferred death to dishonor. \n\nXor wei-e other ef- \n■^■■■■■^^ forts wanting to save \nthe condemned prison- \ners. Suitoi\"s who Avere \nable to make them- \nselves heard in the \ncouncil-chamber and in \ntlie Governor's closet \nearnestly labored to \nprevent the consumma- \ntion of the crime. \n\nOn Thursday, the \n27th of October, in the \nmorning, according to \nan ancient custom, the \ndrummers of the trained \nbauds beat their drums \nup and down the \nstreets, to notify the \nsoldiers to get under \narms. This being the \ntime-honored lecture- \nday, which was also the one usually appointed for holding pub- \nlic executions, as soon as the public worship was over, the drums \nwere again heard, the trained bands assembled and formed in \norder, and were then marched to the prison, where they halted. \nThen the high-sherilf, exhibiting his warrant, called for the \nbodies of the prisoners by name, their irons were knocked oif by \nthe jailer, and, after tenderly embracing each other, they were \nled forth to take their places in the ranks of the guani, Mary \nbeing placed between the two men Avho were to suffer with her. \nA great multitude had assembled to witness these solemn pro- \n\n\nHAXD R£ZL. \n\n\nMAKY DYER. 43 \n\nceediugs. The procession then moved, the prisoners on foot, \nthe people pressing closely around theui, in order not to lose a \nword of what they might say ; but whenever the condemned \nattempted to speak, as now and then they did, the drummers \nwere ordered to heat their drums, and so drowned the voices in \nthe uproar. One sees here, as always, that every tyranny is \nafraid of its victims. Hemmed in by armed men, and sur- \nrounded by a surging and excited throng, the prisoners walked \nhand in hand all the way to the scaffold, supporting and com- \nforting each oth-er in this most trying moment with a sublime \nfortitude. The brutal marshal, seeing this, said sneeringly to \nMary : \" Are you not ashamed, you, to walk thus hand in hand \nbetween two young men 1 \" \n\nUnmoved by the taunt, she replied : \" No ; this is to me an \nhour of the greatest joy I could have in this world.\" \n\nThe cortege having at length reached the place of execution, \nit having marched by a roundabout Avay, — -for fear, it is said, \nthat a rescue might be attempted, — Mary and her fellow sufferers \nbid each other a last farewell. Eobinson first ascended the fatal \nladder. While uttering his dying words, predicting a visitation \nof divine wrath to come upon his slayers, a harsh voice in the \ncrowd cried out : \" Hold thy tongue ! Thou art going to die \nwith a lie in thy mouth ! \" \n\nStevenson's last words Avere these : \" Be it known unto all, \nthis day, that Ave suffer not as evil-doers, but for conscience' \nsake.\" \n\nIt was now Mary's turn. Her two dear friends were hanging \ndead before her eyes. Fearlessly she mounted the fatal ladder, \nand fearlessly she submitted herself to the hangman's hands. \nShe was then pinioned, blindfolded, and the fatal noose placed \nabout her neck. All being then ready, the crowd awaited the \nlast act in breathless suspense, when in the distance a voice was \nheard crying out, \" Stop ! She is reprieved ! \" \n\nThe agitation of the spectators is something that we can only \nfaintly conceive. But Mary, it is said, remained calm and \nunmoved through it all. \" Her feet being loosed,\" says Sewel, \n\n\n44 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n'• they bade lier come down. But she, whose mind was ah-eady \nas it were in heaven, stood still, and said she Avas there willing \nto suffer as her brethren did, unless they would annul their \nwicked law.\" She was then taken down from the scaffold and \nre-conducted to prison, where her son, who was anxiously await- \ning her return, embraced her as one risen from the dead. Only \nthen she learned that to his importunity with the magistrates \nshe owed her deliverance from the fate of her brethren. The \nson had saved l)is mother. The death-sentence had been com- \nmuted to banishment ; but Mary now received a solemn warning \nto the effect that the extreme penalty would surely be exacted \nshould she again offend against the majesty of the law. She \nAvas then conducted under guard to the Colony frontier, whence \nshe pursued her way home to Rhode Island. \n\nBut the old impulse reviving in her in full force, in defiance \nof the warning thrice repeated, Mary again sought to obtain the \ncrown of martyrdom to which she was foreordained. Burning \nwith fanatical zeal, regardless, too, of the conditions which had \nprocured the remission of her sentence, she deliberately violated \nthe law again. In May, 1660, the unfortunate woman had so \nlittle regard for her personal safety as again to come to \" the \nbloody town of Boston.\" She was soon summoned before the \nGeneral Court. Swift was the judgment, swift the execution. \nEndicott, indeed, — respect to his manhood for it ! — offered \nher a chance of escape ; but her soul was too lofty, her purpose \ntoo strongly fixed, to avail herself of a subterfuge to save her \nlife. Endicott conducted her examination. He was as hard as \niron, she gentle but undaunted. \n\n\" Are you the same Mary Dyer that was here before 1 \" he began. \n\n\" I am the same Mary Dyer that was here at the last General \nCourt,\" she replied. \n\n\" Then you own yourself a Quaker, do you not 1 \" said the \nGovernor. \n\n\" I own myself to be reproachfully called so.\" \n\nThen the jailer spoke up and said that Mary was a vaga- \nbond. \n\n\nMARY DYEK. 45 \n\n\" I must then repeat the seuteuce once before pronounced \nupon you,\" said Endicott. \n\nMary quietly rejoined : \" That is no more tlian what thou \nsaidst before.\" \n\n\" True,\" said Endicott sternly, \" but now it is to be executed ; \ntherefore prepare yourself for nine o'clock to-morrow.\" \n\nMary then began to speak of her call, when the Governor \nburst out with, — \n\n\" Away with her ! away with her ! \" \n\nIn great anguish of mind, he being wholly ignorant that slie \nmeditated this fatal step, her husband wrote to the General \nCourt of Massachusetts, once more imploring its clemency. \nHis entreaties would have moved a stone to pity. But it was \nnow too late. On the hrst day of June tlie solemn ceremonies \nof the previous October were repeated. The scaffold was \nerected on Boston Common, a broad area of unoccupied land \nadjoining the town, then used by the inhabitants in commonage, \nand on muster-days as a training-field, as well as for the place \nof public execution. \n\nAt the appointed hour the marshal came for her, and enter- \ning without ceremony the cell where she was, he roughly bade \nher make haste. Mary, speaking to him mildly, asked a few \nmoments' delay, saying that she would be ready presently. But \nhe rudely and unfeelingly retorted that it was her place to wait \nupon him, and not his upon her. Then one of the female pris- \noners, with the instinct of her sex, ventured to expostulate with \nthis brutal functionary, when he turned upon her fiercely, and \nwith threats and abuse silenced her. In fact, the Quakeresses \nwere treated like vagaboiids and outcasts. \n\nThe authorities having reason to fear a popular tumult, the \nprisoner was taken strongly guarded over a circuitous route to \nthe fatal spot, and again her voice was silenced by the rattle of \ndrums before and behind her. AVith the birds innocently twit- \ntering above her liead, once more Mary ascended the scalfold \nwith a firm step. Pity was not wholly extinct. Some of the \npeople present made a last effort to save her, but Mary would \n\n\n46 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nnot agree to leave the country. To the hope some expressed \nthat her life would be again spared, the officer commanding \nthe armed escort roughly retorted that she was guilty of her \nown blood. \n\n\" Nay,\" she replied, \" I came to keep bloodguiltiness from \nyou, desiring you to repeal the unrighteous and unjust law made \nagainst the innocent servants of the Lord.\" \n\nMr. Wilson, minister of Boston, attended her on the scaffold \nin her last moments, not to offer consolation, but to exhort her \nto recant. \n\n\" Mary Dyer,\" he exclaimed, \"oh, repent! oh, repent! Be \nnot so deluded and carried away by the deceits of the Devil ! \" \n\nShe answered him in terms of mild reproof: \"N\"ay, man, I am \nnot now to repent.\" \n\nA colloquy by which her last moments were embittered was \nkept up on the scaffold. She Avas reproached for saying that \nshe had been in paradise. She reiterated it. \" Yes,\" said tliis \nundaunted woman, \" I have been in paradise several days.\" \n\nThe executioner then performed his office. \n\n\nTHE KING'S MISSIVE. \n\n1661. \n\n\" Charles R. \n\n\" Trusty and Wellbelpved, we greet you well. Having been \ninformed that several of our Subjects among you, called Quakers, \nhave been and are imprisoned by you, whereof some have been exe- \ncuted, and others (as hath been represented unto us) are in Danger \nto undergo the Like : We have thought fit to signify our Pleasure \nin that Behalf for the future, and do require, that if there be any of \nthose people called Quakers amongst you, now already condemned to \nsuffer Death, or other Corporal Punishment, or that are imprisoned, \nor obnoxious to the like Condemnation, you are to forbear to proceed \nany farther, but that you foithwith send the said Persons (whether \n\n\nTHE king's missive. 47 \n\ncondemned or imprisoned) over to this our Kingdom of England, \ntogether with their respective Crimes or Offences laid to their Charge, \nto the End such Course may be taken with them here, as shall be \nagreeable to our Laws and their Demerits. And for so doing, these \nour Letters shall be your sufficient Warrant and Discharge. Given \nat our Court at Whitehall, the 9th day of September, 1661, in the \nthirteenth Year of our Reign. \n\n\" Subscribed, To our Trusty and Wellbeloved John Endicot, Esq. ; \nand to all and every other the Governoiu- or Governours of our Plan- \ntation of New-England, and of the Colonies thereunto belonging, that \nnow are, or hereafter shall be : And to all and every the Ministers \nand Officers of our said Plantation and Colonies whatever, within \nthe Continent of New-England. \n\n\" By His Majesty's Command. \n\n\"WiL. Morris.\" \n\nTHIS was no common letter wJiich iu ^S'ovember, 1661, fell \nlike a bombshell into the wicked town of Boston. It was \ncertainly an alarming manifesto. It brought a proud and sen- \nsitive people, wlio had ceased to pay respect to loyalt}^ and \nhad almost forgotten its forms, once more rudely to their knees. \nAnd they were a stern race, fearing God more than they lionored \nthe King. But they felt the shock that had just overthrown \nthe Puritan Commonwealth; and the voice which rose from \namong its ruins, commanding them to obey, sounded at the \nmoment in their ears very much like the voice of God. \n\nContinued encroachment upon the prerogative of the throne \nhad doubtless much to do wath ordering their destiny, — possi- \nbly as much as had the cruelties practised toward the offending \nQuakers, to whose prayers for redress the Parliament had paid \nlittle attention ; but witli the return of the old monarchy, its \nlikings and its hatreds, the politic Friends had hopes tliat the \neasy-going Charles would lend a more gracious ear to them in \nthe hour of his great triumph over the Puritan cause ; nor \nwould he be found unwilling to lower the pride of those \nhaughty Puritan subjects of liis on the other side of the Atlantic \nwho w^ere endeavoring to carry on a little commonwealth of \n\n\n48 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\ntheir own. The moment was indeed opportune. Floating in \nadulation, Charle.s the king was well disposed to clemency \ntoward all except those who had kept him for twelve years \nCharles the exile. The Quakers were on their part strongly \nroused to make renewed effort, too, by the news they received \nof the execution of William Leddra at Boston. Then Edward \nBurroughs, a leading Friend, and a man of action, entreated and \nobtained an audience of the King. \n\n\nENDICOTT RECEIVING TUE KINO S OllDEIl. \n\n\nWhen he was ushered into the presence-chamber his first \nwords were, — \n\n\" Sire, there is a vein of innocent blood opened in your \nMajesty's dominions which, if not stopped, may overrun all.\" \n\n\" I will stop that vein,\" said the King, shortly. \n\nBurroughs then laid before the King a detailed account of \nwhat had been done in IS'ew England. After he had listened \nto the catalogue of scourgings, brandings, cropped ears, banish- \nments upon pain of death, and lastly of the execution of four \n\n\nTHE king's missive. 49 \n\npersons of tliis sect for presuming to return to the Colony when \nforbidden to do so, the suitor, turning accuser, then presented the \nKing with the proofs that the j^yew England autliorities had \nrefused to allow the Quakers an appeal to England when they \nhad demanded it. His Majesty is reported to have taken great \nnotice of this particular item of the indictment, calling out to \nthe lords who were with him to hear it, and then exclaiming \nironically, — \n\n\" Lo ' these are my good subjects of Xew England.\" \n\nHe then inquired when a ship would be ready to sail for New \nEngland, and upon being informed, dismissed Burroughs, with \nthe promise that he should presently hear from him through the \nLord Chancellor. This promise Charles punctually kept. The \nmandatory letter which precedes our account was duly prepared, \nand then — bitterest pill of all for the disloyal colonists to swal- \nlow ! — whom should the King's minister select to be the bearer \nof it, but Samuel Shattuck, an exiled Quaker, and one who had \ngiven the New England magistrates no end of trouble, he being \nfinally banished by them from the Colony upon pain of death. \nIt will thus be seen that nothing had been omitted that could \nrender the humiliation complete. \n\nThe London Friends, immediately this was done, chartered \na vessel, of which Ealpli Goldsmith, another Quaker, was cap- \ntain, to carry the King's order and his messenger to Boston. \nIn six weeks the ship arrived at her destination. It being the \nSabbath, all the company remained quietly on board. \n\nSeeing a vessel, with an English ensign at her peak, cast \nanchor in their road, some of the selectmen of the town hastened \non board to learn the news, little dreaming it, however, to be \nof so much personal interest to themselves. They eagerly asked \nthe captain if he had brought any letters ; for, as may be imag- \nined, intelligence of the events then taking place in England was \nawaited with the utmost anxiety and impatience. The master \nreplied that he had, but he would not deliver them on that day ; \nand so his visitors got into their boat and went on shore again \nas wise as they came. But in the meantime some of them \n\n4 \n\n\n50 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nhaving recognized Shattuck and others on board as being \nQuakers, they spread the report that \" Shattuck and the devil \nand all had come back again.\" \n\nThe next morning, armed with the King's mandate, Shattuck \ncame on shore accompanied by Goldsmith, the master, and they \ntwo, after sending their boat back to the ship, went directly \nthrough the town to Governor Endicott's house, passing in their \n\n\nLIBERTY TKEE, PLANTED 1646. BUILDING ERECTED 1666. \n\n\nway the market-place where so many of their friends had been \nmercilessly whipped, and the jail in which many were still con- \nfined. A few steps more would bring them face to face with \ntheir worst enemy. They knew that they were bearding the \nlion when they knocked at Governor Endicott's door. \n\nThe servant who opened it asked what was their business \nwith his master. They bid him say that, being charged with \n\n\nTHE king's missive. 51 \n\nthe commands of his Majesty the King, they should deliver \ntheir message into none but the Governor's own hands. They \nwere then admitted without further questioning, and presently \nthe redoubted Governor came in to them ; but upon perceiving \nthat Shattuck kept his hat on, he commanded it to be taken \noff, which was done. Then having received the deputation and \nthe papers, the Governor formally acknowledged its official char- \nacter by removing his own hat, and ordering that of Shattuck \nto be given to him again. Yet the man who now stood before \nhim enjoying his moral degradation while protected by an in- \nviolable safeguard, was the same one whom he had formerly \nsentenced to stripes and banishment. The draught was a bitter \none, but Endicott bore himself with dignity. After this by- \nplay indicating the homage due to royalty and its representative, \nthe Governor read the letter, and bidding Shattuck and Gold- \nsmith to follow him, then Avent to the Deputy-Governor's house, \nwhich stood near his own, and laid the papers before Belling- \nluim. Having held some conference with the Deputy, the \nnature of which may easily be imagined from the sequel, the \nGovernor turned to the messengers and said briefly and with \ndignity, — \n\n\"We shall obey his Majesty's command.\" \n\nAfter this interview was ended, Goldsmith gave liberty to all \nhis passengers to come on shore, which they did, and afterward \npublicly held a religious meeting with those of their faith in the \ntown, \" returning thanks to God for his mercy manifested in this \nmost Avonderful deliverance.\" All such assemblies as this having \nbeen unlawful, this act announced the King's active intervention \nin their affairs to the people. An order soon after issued, releas- \ning all Quakers then in custody. \n\nThe scene between Endicott and Bellingham is imagined by \nMr. Longfellow in his \"Kew England Tragedies.\" He there \nendeavors to depict the characters of the chief actors, and to \nshow the spirit of these extraordinary times. In this par- \nticular field he has therefore preceded Mr. Whittier, whose \n\"King's Missive,\" prepared for the \"Memorial History of Bos- \n\n\n52 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nton,\" deals exclusively with the events surrounding the order of \nCharles II. The two pieces otfer, however, a striking contrast \nin method as well as in style, one being a consecutive and homo- \ngeneous narrative, while the other is made up of separated inci- \ndents, selected here and there for their dramatic quality rather \nthan their coherence or historical sequence. Eoth, however, \nhave the same purpose — eternally to set the seal of condem- \nnation on a great wrong by exhibiting the Quakers in the light \nof martyrs. To this end Mr. Longfellow takes for his heroine a \nyoung girl, Edith Christison by name, who is brutally scourged \nfrom town to town, is then released, and driven forth into \nthe wilderness. Such was the law, and such things actually \noccurred. Singularly enough, this is also the motive of Mr. \nWhittier's \" Cassandra Southwick.\" In both cases the youth, \nbeauty, constancy, and heroism of the sufferers strongly appeal \nto our sympathies, and are supposed deeply to move the actual \nspectators. But with a deeper insight into the human heart \nMr. Longfellow makes the son of Governor Endicott himself \nfall in love with Edith, whose martyrdom he has witnessed, \nthus bringing straight home to the stern father the consequences \nof his own evil acts. The King's imperious mandate wounds \nhis pride ; his son's conduct strikes at the heart, and this \nwound is mortal. Thus it is no less strange than true that, \nunder favor of one of the -most profligate and irreligious of \nmonarchs, the beneficent era of religious toleration began its \nunpromising dawning in New England. \n\nIt is to be noted that whenever tliey can do so, Mr. Long- \nfellow's characters speak in the actual language of history. \nIndeed, the tragedy is not a creation, like \" Ernani,\" but a frag- \nment of sober history, taken from existing records, into which \na poetic feeling is infused, and whose episodical parts afford \noccasional glimpses of the author's genius shming like pure \ngold in the rou«rh metal. \n\n\nTHE king's missive. 53 \n\n\n{From Longfelloiv' s '^ Neio England Tragedies.''^) \n\nScene III. The Governor's Private Room. Papers upon the table. Endicott \nand Bellingham. \n\n\nENDICOTT. \n\nThus the old tyranny revives again ! \nIts arm is long enough to reach us here, \nAs you will see. For, more insulting still \nThan flaunting in our faces dead men's shrouds, \nHere is the King's Mandamus, taking from i;s. \nFrom this day forth, all power to punish Quakers. \n\nBELLINGHAM. \n\nThat takes from us all power ; we are but puppets, \nAnd can no lon£;er execute our laws. \n\n\nOpens the Mandamus and hands it to Bellingham ; and while he is reading, \nEndicott walks up and doicn the room. \n\nHere, read it for yourself ; you see his words \n\nAre pleasant words — considerate — not reproachful — \n\nNothing could be more gentle — or more royal ; \n\nBut then the meaning underneath the words, \n\nMark that. He says all people known as Quakers \n\nAmong us, now condemned to suffer death \n\nOr any corporal punishment whatever. \n\nWho are imprisoned, or may be obnoxious \n\nTo the like condemnation, shall be sent \n\nForthwith to England, to be dealt with there \n\nIn such wise as shall be agreeable \n\nUnto the English law and their demerits. \n\nIs it not so ? \n\nBELLINGHAM {returning the paper). \nAy, so the paper says. \n\n\nI \n\n\n54 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nENDICOTT. \n\nI tell you, Richard Belliugliam, — I tell you, \n\nThat this is the beguining of a struggle \n\nOf which no mortal can foresee the end. \n\nI shall not live to fight the battle for you, \n\nI am a man disgraced in every way ; \n\nThis order takes from me my self-respect \n\nAnd the resj^ect of others. 'T is my doom, \n\nYes, my death-warrant, — but must be obeyed ! \n\nTake it, and see that it is executed \n\nSo far as this, that aU be set at large : \n\nBut see that none of them be sent to England \n\nTo bear false witness, and to spread reports \n\nThat might be prejudicial to ourselves. [Exit Bellingham. \n\nThere 's a dull pain keeps knocking at my heart, \n\nDolefully saying, \" Set thy house in order, \n\nFor thou shalt surely die, and shalt not live ! \" \n\nFor me the shadow on the dial-plate \n\nGoeth not back, but on into the dark ! [Exit. \n\nMr. Wliittier's poem presents the events we have recorded \nin a harmonious and remarkably picturesque narrative. He is \nconscientiously faithful both to the spirit and letter of the \nsubject itself, while to the implacable spirit of persecution, \npersonified here by Endicott, he is a generous and impartial \njudge. We write it, nevertheless, as a fact, that the poem \ncaused much discussion on its first appearance, — a discussion \nfully vindicating the Quaker poet's adherence to the truth of \nhistory. But the prose and poetic versions are now before the \nreader for his decision. \n\nTHE KING'S MISSIVE. \n\nUnder the great hill sloping bare \n\nTo cove and meadow and Common lot, \n\nIn his council chamber and oaken chair \nSat the worshipful Governor Endicott, — \n\n\nTHE king's missive. 55 \n\nA grave, strong man, wlio knew no peer \nIn the pilgrim land where he ruled in fear \nOf God, not man, and for good or ill \nHeld his trust with an iron will. \n\nHe had shorn with his sword the cross from out \nThe flag, and cloven the May-pole down, \n\nHarried the heathen round about, \n\nAnd whipped the Quakers from town to town. \n\nEarnest and honest, a man at need \n\nTo burn like a torch for his own harsh creed, \n\nHe kept with the flaming Lrand of his zeal \n\nThe gate of the holy commonweal. \n\n\nThe door swung open, and Rawsou the Clerk \n\nEntered and whispered underbreath : \n\" There waits below for the hangman's work \n\nA fellow banished on pain of death, — \nShattuck of Salem, unhealed of the whip, \nBrought over in Master Goldsmith's ship. \nAt anchor here in a Christian port \nWith freight of the Devil and all his sort ! \" \n\nTwice and thrice on his chamber floor \nStriding fiercely from wall to wall, \n\" The Lord do so to me and more,\" \n\nThe Governor cried, \" if I hang not at all ! \nBring hither the Quaker.\" Calm, sedate, \nWith the look of a man at ease with fate, \nInto that presence grim and dread \nCame Samuel Shattuck with hat on head. \n\n\" Oft' with the knave's hat ! \" An angry hand \n\nSmote down the offence ; but the wearer said. \nWith a quiet smile : \" By the King's command \n\nI bear his message and stand in his stead.\" \nIn the Governor's hand a missive he laid \nWith the Royal arms on its seal displayed. \nAnd the proud man spake as he gazed thereat, \nUncoverin\", \" Give Mr. Shattuck his hat.\" \n\n\n56 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nHe turned to the Quaker, bowing low : \n\n\" The King commandeth your friends' release. \nDoubt not he shall be obeyed, although \n\nTo his subjects' sorrow and sin's increase. \nWhat he here enjoineth John Endicott \nHis loyal servant questioneth not. \nYou are free ! — God grant the spirit you own \nMay take you from us to parts unknown.\" \n\n\nTHE QUAKER PROPHETESS. \n\n1677. \n\nTHE Old South Church in Boston — not the present build- \ning, but the one first erected upon the same spot — was \nthe scene of an event without a parallel in the annals of our \nPuritan churches, in some of which, nevertheless, remarkable \nscenes had occurred. \n\nTo the simple and austere Quaker manners, outdoing even \nPuritan ideas of moral and physical self-restraint, now and then \ncomes the unexpected contrast of theatrical climax in its most \nbizarre forms. So the early history of the Friends in New \nEngland shows the dominant principle of passive opposition to \npersecution occasionally giving way, all at once, to an aggressive \nspirit that impelled the actors on through thorny ways toward \nthe goal for which they strove 'and struggled. If, now and then, \none half crazed by sufiering was betrayed into some act of folly, \nit is surely not a matter for astonishment or exultation. Their \nannals present the names of no informers and no apostates. \n\nObeying the command of a hallucination to which she bowed \nas if it were a divine behest, the Quakeress Deborah Wilson \nhad walked naked through the streets of Salem \" as a sign of \nspiritual nakedness in town and country,\" and for so doing she \nwas most uncharitably whipped with thirty stripes. Again, \nLydia Wardwell, who is called \" a young and tender chaste \n\n\nTHE QUAKER PROPHETESS. 57 \n\nperson,\" for startling the congregation of JSTewbury by walking \ninto the meeting-house there, unclothed, in the time of public \nworship, was tied up to the fence-post of the tavern where the \ncourt sat, at Ipswich, to undergo a similar punishment. \n\nBut the case of Margaret Brewster differs from these others in \nthat a number of persons took part in carrying out what it was \nexpected would strike terror to the hearts of the beholders, and \nto this end it was conducted with studied attention to dramatic \neffect. \n\nOne quiet Sabbath morning in July, 1677, accompanied by \nseveral of the most noted persons of her sect, both male and \nfemale, Margaret Brewster presented herself at the door of the \nOld South Meeting-house in sermon-time, the strangest visitor \nthat had ever crossed its consecrated threshold. She first took \noff her riding-habit and her shoes and stockings, and then \nentered. In his Diary, which perhaps may become as famous \nas that of the immortal Pepys, Judge Sewall notes that while \nthe congregation was listening to the words of the sermon from \nthe aged pastor's lips, there suddenly was seen the apparition \nof a woman walking slowly up the broad aisle between two \nmen, while two others walked behind. The woman was bare- \nfooted, her head was sprinkled with ashes, her loosened hair \nstraggled wildly down about her neck and shoulders, her face \nwas besmeared with soot, and she wore a sackcloth gown loosely \ngathered around her person. This appearance, says the indig- \nnant diarist, \"occasioned the greatest and most amazing uproar \nthat ever I saw.\" \n\nNo one has told us, but we can imagine the congregation \nrising in consternation to their feet, the sudden stop in the \nsermon, the moment of silence, like the calm before the storm, \nduring which the dark prophetess delivered her solemn warning \nof a grievous calamity shortly to signify to them the displeasure \nof God. Then the excited voices of the men, all talking and \ngesticulating at once, the women shrieking in terror or dropping \nin a dead faint, the surging to and fro of a multitude, all occa- \nsioning \" the greatest and most amazing uproar \" that was ever \n\n\n58 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nheard inside these sacred walls, witnessed to the little central \ngroup that they had indeed created a profound sensation. The \noifenders were all quickly taken into custody and hurried off to \nprison. When Margaret was arraigned before the court, the \nconstable declared himself wholly unable to identify her as the \n\n\n_,^g^J^ \n\n\n^i^^-^;^ \n\n\nANCIENT HOUSES, NORTH END. \n\n\nperson he had arrested, she being then, as he deposed, \" in \nthe shape of a devil.\" She was sentenced to be Avhipped iip \nand down the town at the cart's tail, which cruel order was \ncarried into effect a few days later. \n\nThis event, as well it might, newly brought the affairs of the \nFriends to a crisis. The first feeling of exasperation demanded \nits victims. But this having spent itself, the Quakers, taking \ncourage, assembled in their houses of worship in such formidable \nnumbers that the multitude of offenders became their safe- \nguard. \n\n\nIN THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. 59 \n\nm THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. \n\nJ. G. WHITTIER. \n\nShe came and stood in tlie Old South Church, \n\nA wonder and a sign, \nWith a look the old-time sibyls wore \n\nHalf crazed and half divine. \n\nSave the mournful sackcloth about her wound, \n\nUnclothed as the primal mother, \nWith limbs that trembled, and eyes that blazed \n\nWith a fire she dare not smother. \n\nLoose on her shoulder fell her hair, \n\nWith sprinkled ashes gray ; \nShe stood in the broad aisle, strange and weird \n\nAs a soul at the judgment-day. \n\nAnd the minister paused in his sermon's midst, \n\nAnd the people held their breath, \nFor these were the words the maiden said \n\nThrough lips as pale as death : — \n\n\" Thus saith the Lord : ' With equal feet \n\nAll men my courts shall tread, \nAnd priest and ruler no more shall eat \n\nMy people up like bread! ' \n\n\" Eepent ! repent ! ere the Lord shall speak \n\nIn thunder and breaking seals ! \nLet all souls worship him in the way \n\nHis light within reveals ! \" \n\nShe shook the dust from her naked feet. \n\nAnd her sackcloth closely drew. \nAnd into the porch of the awe-hushed church \n\nShe passed like a ghost from view. \n\n\n60 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\n\"MORE WONDERS OF THE INVISIBLE \nWORLD.\" \n\n1693. \n\nTO one who is not familiar with all the phases which the \nhistory of witchcraft in New England takes, Mr. Whit- \ntier's poem entitled \" Calef in Boston \" would doubtless be an \nenigma, although its foundation is fact and its purpose distinct. \nFor such a champion of common-sense as Robert Calef proved \nhimself to be when he entered the lists against this monstrous \nsuperstition, the poet has a natural and unstinted sympathy, and, \nusing the privilege of genius, he has conferred upon the humble \ntradesman a patent of nobihty. Our own generation, applaud- \ning the act, hastens to inscribe the name of Calef among the \nbenefactors of his age. \n\nThe general subject of witchcraft, including the settled be- \nliefs touching it, is set forth in another place in all its defor- \nmity. The active agency of Satan in human affairs being a \nthing admitted, it became the bounden duty of the godly minis- \nters to meet his insidious attacks upon the churches, and they, \nas men deeplj'' learned in such things, were naturally appealed to \nby magistrates and judges for help and guidance. They at once \nput on all the armor of righteousness. Solemn fasting and \nprayer were resorted to as things most efficacious in the emer- \ngency. It was declared from the pulpit that the Devil was mak- \ning a most determined effort to root out the Christian religion in \nNew England, and the Government was advised vigorously to \nprosecute the cases of witchcraft before it. In all the subse- \nquent proceedings the ministers took a prominent part. They \nassisted in framing the questions to be put in such a way as \nto entrap the supposed witches, and they attended and took \nminutes of the examinations. They visited the accused persons \n\n\n\"MOEE WONDEKS OF THE INVISIBLE WOELD.\" 61 \n\nin prison who were believed to be in league with Satan, thus \nputting in practice the principle that, — \nThe godly may allege \n\nFor anything their privilege, \n\nAnd to the Devil himself may go, \n\nIf they have motives thereunto ; \n\nFor as there is a war between \n\nThe Dev '1 and them, it is no sin \n\nIf they, by subtle stratagem. \n\nMake use of him as he does them. \n\nCotton Mather was the foremost clergyman of that dark day. \nHe directed all his great abilities and learning energetically to \nexterminate the \"devils\" who, as he tells us in his \"Wonders,\" \nwere walking about the streets \" with lengthened chains, making \na dreadful noise ; and brimstone (even without a metaphor) was \nmaking a horrid and hellish stench\" in men's nostrils. Learned, \neloquent, and persuasive, a man of great personal magnetism and \nlarge following, his influence was sure to be potential on which- \never side it might be cast. It was now thrown with all its \nforce, not to avert, but to strengthen, the delusion, thereby aggra- \nvating its calamitous consequences. Some writers, indeed, have \nfound it easy to doubt his sincerity. Mr. Whittier, it will be \n.seen, writes in full accord with this feeling. But the same charge \nmight with equal fairness include all the Christian ministers of \nMather's time. \n\nAgainst Mather, the neighbor, adviser, and bosom friend of \nGovernor Sir William Phips, the acknowledged head of the \nl^ew England clergy in its highest spiritual estate, a man having \nancient and modern lore at his tongue's end, and withal gifted \nwith a fluency, vivacity, and readiness in composing and writing \nthat might make a bolder man hesitate to attack him, now \nentered the lists, like another David, Robert Calef, a simple \nclothier, unknown outside of his own obscure neighborhood. \nThe controversy began in this wise. Calef addressed some let- \nters to Dr. Mather, in which he arraigned not only the witchcraft \nproceedings, but the delusion itself, the occasion being one Mar- \n\n\n62 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS, \n\n\ngaret Eule, a young woman of Mather's own congregation, whose \nsingular afflictions had just been published to the world by him \nunder the startling caption of \" Another Brand pluckt from \nthe Burning.\" \n\nAccording to Mather, this young woman was haunted by \nno fewer than eight malignant spectres, led on by a principal \ndemon, who upon her refusal to enter into a bond with him, \ncontinually put her in excruciating bodily torture by pinching, \nscorching, and sticking pins into her flesh, throwing her into \nconvulsions, lifting her bodily off the bed, and the like, wherein, \n\n\nCANDLESTICK, BIBLE, AND SPECTACLES. \n\n\nsays Mather, she languished \" for just six weeks together.\" And \nwe are also told that at times the spectators of her miseries \nwould be nearly choked with the fumes of brimstone rising \nin the chamber. \n\nTaking the alarm, which many no doubt equally shared, dread- \ning a new outbreak of the delusion whose embers, unquenched \nby blood, were still smouldering, Calef also seems to have dis- \ntrusted either the integrity or the wisdom of his learned adver- \nsary, whom he now opposed in behalf of religion and of public \npolicy, not only with ability and vigor, but with a surprisingly \nwell-equipped arsenal of scriptural learning. In vain Mather \nsneeringly spoke of him as '' the weaver turned minister,\" Calef \n\n\n\"MORE WONDERS OF THE INVISIBLE WORLD.\" 63 \n\nonly plied him the more pointedly. At the end of the con- \ntroversy the despised clothier turned out to be one of those men \nwhose reason is never overthrown by panic, and who do not \nrecede a single inch. Mather began with the mistake of under- \nrating him as an antagonist. \n\nAfter Mather's story of Margaret Eule had been made public, \nCalef also drew up and circulated one, taken from the mouths of \nother eye-witnesses, which is a protest against the methods used \nby Mather to draw out extravagant and iiicoherent statements \nfrom the afflicted girl. This proceeding gave great offence to \nthe reverend author of \" The Wonders.\" He retorted with abu- \nsive epithets, and threatened Calef with an action for slander. \nCalef was, in fact, arrested on a Avarrant for uttering \" scandalous \nlibels,\" and was bound over for trial ; but no prosecutor appear- \ning, the case was dismissed. \n\nInstead of being silenced, Calef pursued with unremitting \npertinacity his purpose to prevent a new access of the dismal \nfrenzy of the preceding year, which he terms, with strong feel- \ning, \" the sorest affliction and greatest blemish to religion that \never befell this country.\" Later on Mather condescended to \nreply ; but it is evident that the reaction had now set in, and \nthat those who had been the most forward in abetting the witch- \ncraft proceedings were anxiously considering how best to excul- \npate themselves both to their own and to the newly awakened \npublic conscience. Mather was no exception. Favored by this \nreaction, Calef continued to press him hard. Cotton Mather's \nstory of Margaret Rulfe is, in fact, a plea and an apology for the \npast. In it he asks, \" Why, after all my unwearied cares and \npains to rescue the miserable from the lions and bears of hell, \nwhich had seized them, and after all my studies to disappoint \nthe devils in their designs to confound my neighborhood, must \nI be driven to the necessity of an apology 1 \" This language \nshows how hard a thing it was for him to be forced to descend \nfrom his high pedestal. \n\nAnd again he naively says : \" And now I suppose that some of \nour learned witlings of the coffee-house, for fear lest these proofs \n\n\n64 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nof an Invisible World should spoil some of their sport, will \nendeavor to turn them all into sport ; for wliich buflbonery \ntheir only pretence will be : ' They can't understand how such \nthings as these could be done.' \" He has become exquisitely \nsensitive to ridicule. \n\nBut witchcraft had now indeed got to the length of its blood- \ncorroded chain, and while the belief still prevailed almost as \nstrongly as ever, few men could be found bold enough openly \nto advocate it. The sickening reflection that the judges had \ndecreed the death of a score of innocent persons upon a mis- \ntake paralyzed men's tongues, unless, like Calef, they spoke \nin obedience to the command of conscience. In 1700 lie \ncollected and had printed in London all tlie pieces relating \nto his controversy with Cotton Mather, to which were added \nan \" Impartial Account \" of the Salem outbreak, and a review \n\nof Mather's life of Sir Wil- \nliam Pliips. To this he gave \nthe title of \" j\\Iore Wonders of \nthe Invisible World.\" Iso prin- \nter could be found in Boston \nor in the Colony willing to \nundertake the publication, or \nexpose it for sale. It \"was \npublicly burned in the College- \nyard at Cambridge by order of \nthe president, whom its exposures reached througli his near rel- \native. To break its force, a vindication was prepared and \nprinted ; but there were no more denunciations made for witch- \ncraft, or courts assembled to hang innocent people. Calef in- \ndeed felt the resentment of the Matliers, but he had saved the \ncause. \n\nThis is the subject to which Mr. AYhittier addresses his verses \nentitled \" Calef in Boston.\" The allusion to puppet-play is \ndrawn from the account of the Eule case, wherein it is related \nby Mather that the demons svho tormented the girl had puppets \ninto which they would thrust pins whenever they wished to \n\n\nTOMB OF THE MATHEKS, \nCOPP'S HILL. \n\n\nCALEF IN BOSTON. 65 \n\nhurt her. This was a piece of olden superstition which as- \nsumed that by making an image in Avax or clay of the person she \nmight hold a grudge against, a witch could put that person to \nthe same torture that she did, in a mimic way, the image. \n\n\nCALEF IN BOSTON. \n\nJ. G. WHITTIBR. \n\nIn the solemn days of old \n\nTwo men met in Boston town, \n\nOne a tradesman frank and bold, \nOne a preacher of renown. \n\nCried the last, in bitter tone : \n\" Poisoner of the wells of truth ! \n\nSatan's hireling, thou hast sown \n\nWith his tares the heart of youth ! \" \n\nSpake the simple tradesman then ; \n\n\" God be j udge 'twixt thou and I ; \nAll thou knowest of truth bath been \n\nUnto men like thee a lie. \n\n\" Of your spectral puppet play \nI have traced the cunning wires ; \n\nCome what will, I needs must say, \nGod is true, and ye are liars.\" \n\nWhen the thought of man is free, \nError fears its lightest tones ; \n\nSo the priest cried, \" Sadducee ! \" \nAnd the people took up stones. \n\nIn the ancient burying-ground, \n\nSide by side, the twain now lie, — \n\nOne wdth humble grassy mound, \nOne with marbles pale and high. \n5 \n\n\n66 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nNIX'S MATE. \n\nTHERE are two local legends, one of disaster and one of \npiracy, which, most unfortunately for the completeness \nof our collection, come either in whole or in part under the \nhead of lost legends. The first is the account of the drowning \n\nof Captain George Worthylake, \nthe keeper of the first lighthouse \nthat was erected at the entrance \nto Boston Harbor. \n\nThis sufficiently simple incident \nderives its chief interest from the \ncurious fact that it Avas the subject \nxTn.''c Ti^Arri. of Franklin's earliest, and if we- \n\nare to believe him, misdirected, \neffort to court the Muses in a ballad. He says of it that his \nbrother James, whose apprentice he then was, thinking that \nhe might find his account in printing them, had encouraged \nhim to write two ballads, one called the \" Lighthouse Tragedy,\" \ncontaining an account of the loss of Captain Worthylake and \nhis two daughters, the other a sailor's song on the capture of \nthe noted pirate, Blackbeard. \" They were,\" he ingenuously \nremarks, \" wretched verses in point of style, mere blind-men'& \nditties.\" When they were struck off, his brother despatched \nhim to hawk them about the town. The first he assures us- \nhad a prodigious run, because the event was recent and had \nmade a great noise. ISTo copy of this ballad is known to exist, \nnor has tradition transmitted to us a single line of its verses. \n\nIt is easily learned from contemporary records that Captain \nGeorge Worthylake, who lived upon Lovell's Island, while on \nhis way up the harbor, \" took heaven by the way,\" as one writer \npiously puts it. His wife Ann and his daughter Faith, who \n\n\nNIXS MATE. 67 \n\naccompanied him, also perished with him by drowning, and the \nthree unfortunates were all buried in one grave in the ancient \ncemetery of Copp's Hill. The gravestone records the fact that \nthey died November 3, 1718; but it is exasperatingly silent \nconcerning any incident that was likely to produce a commemo- \nrative ballad. \n\nThe other legend is the true story of the origin of the name \nlong ago given to the submerged islet called Nix's Mate, over \nwhich a lonely obelisk rises out of the flowing tides, not for a \nmemorial of dark and bloody deeds, as some people suppose, \nbut as a guiding landmark to warn ships to steer clear of the \ndangerous reef beneath. No spot within a wide range of the \ncoast is the subject of more eager curiosity to sailors or lands- \nmen, or of more exaggerated conjecture, precisely because to this \nday its true history remains an enigma. But such as it is the \nlegend is given for what it may be worth. \n\nFollowing the repulsive custom of erecting the public gibbet \nat the entrance to a town or a village, where the stark bodies \nof condemned malefactors were the first objects seen by all who \npassed in or out, it was usual to hang in chains condemned \npirates at the entrance to a port, to signal a like warning to \nthose who followed the sea as their highway. Long custom \nhad sanctioned this iMst-mortem sentence. The laws allowed \nit and the people approved it. It followed that the stranger \nwho passed underneath one of these ensigns of terror could \nhave no doubt that he had entered a Christian land, since the \nadministration of justice according to its most civilized forms \nconfronted him upon its very threshold. \n\nThe sunken reef now known as Nix's Mate was once an islet \ncontaining several acres of land, and it was at a very early day \nthe property of a certain John Gallup, from whom the adjacent \nisland is named. The sea has destroyed everj'^ vestige of it, \nexcepting only the blackened boulders that lie exposed at low \ntide, over which the monument stands guard. Yet not more \ncertainly has the islet perished through the action of destroying \ncurrents than has the memory of Nix or his Mate been swept \n\n\n68 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\naway into oblivion by the tides of time. Still the name is a \nfact entered upon the public records of the Colony as a thing \nof general knowledge ; and we therefore continue to call the \nreef Nix's Mate without in the least knowing why we do so. \n\nThe only other fact giving authority to the tradition connected \nwith the islet is the certainty that it was more or less used in \ntimes past as a place of execution for condemned pirates, several \nof whom finished here a career of crime, the bare recital of which \nmakes one's blood run cold. The name of Nix only is wanted \nto complete the black calendar. Every trace of the soil to which \nthe bones of the victims were consigned has disappeared, and \nonly the solitary monument indicates this graveyard of the sea, \nwhich the waves have kindly levelled and blotted out forever. \n\nIt has, however, been handed down from generation to gener- \nation, — and we have yet to find the individual bold enough to \ndispute it, — that one of these freebooters persisted to the last \nin declaring his innocence of the crimes for which he was to \nsufi'er death at the hangman's hands ; and he protested with his \nlatest breath, before giving up the ghost, that in proof of the \ntruth of his dying assertion the island would be destroyed. In \neifect, the Avaves having done their work unhindered by any \nartificial obstruction, the superstitious have always seen in this \na decree of Fate, and Nix's Mate is supposed by them to have \nsuffered unjustly. But knowing as we do that the disappear- \nance of the island is due to natural causes, we are unable satis- \nfactorily to establish the connection between the prediction and \nits fulfilment. In any case, the verification of innocence, if such \nit shall be accounted, came too late by a century to save Nix's \nMate from the halter. \n\n\nTHE DUEL ON THE COMMON. 69 \n\nTHE DUEL ON THE COMMON. \n\n1728. \n\nASSOCIATED with the vicinity of the Great Elm, is an \nepisode not only of deepest tragical interest, but one \nstill further remarkable as disproving for the thousandth time \nthe popular fallacy that \" murder will out.\" In JSTew England \nthere had been nc need of edicts against duelling. The practice \nwas universally looked upon as being no whit better than \nmurder, and that feeling was voiced by Franklin, truly, though \nin language more pungent than polite, in his memorable reply \nto a demand for satisfoction a la mode. A combat of words \nbegan. After two or three passes, the philosopher easily dis- \narmed his adversary with his usual weapon, hard logic, of which \nhe was a consummate master. Our story is a brief one. \n\nOn the morning of July 4, 1728, at daybreak, the body of \nBenjamin Woodbridge, a young merchant of the town, was \nfound lying in a pool of blood in a deserted part of the \nCommon. He had been dead some hours of a sword-thrust. \nIn fact, the weapon had passed completely through the unfor- \ntunate young man. \n\nNo one can begin to imagine the consternation excited by \nthe discovery ; and the feeling was not allayed when it tran- \nspired that Woodbridge had fallen in a duel with another young \ngentleman of the town named Phillips. Both of the principals \nwere of the highest respectability. The affair was conducted \nwithout seconds, and the victor, after seeing his adversary fall, \nhad fled. It was evidently a duel to the death. \n\nThis has proved one of the best-kept family secrets that ever \nbafiied a scandal-loving generation. To this day the real cause \nof the singular and fatal nocturnal combat remains shrouded in \nmystery. It is indeed alleged that the quarrel originated over \na game of cards at the public-house; but this supposition is \n\n\n70 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nhardly consistent with the secrecy, the absence of all witnesses, \nand the deadly purpose with which the duel was conducted. \nThe parties had met early on the previous evening at the Royal \nExchange, arranged the meeting, and immediately repaired to the \nrendezvous which one of them was destined never to leave alive. \n\nPositively nothing, then, is known of the origin of the affair. \nStill, it is evident that no common and vulgar quarrel over dice \nor cards, when one or both had made too free with \" the Tus- \ncan grape,\" could have so eternally sealed the lips of those to \nwhom the real cause of this singular affair of honor must have \nbeen revealed. Phillips was hurried away on board a ship by \n\n\n/ ^, \n\n\n- <= cuiiuimihl uII(MiIumi i>u lu'cotnil. ut' \nit.H ii|t|>iinMil m'oi\\l ii,m' ; lull it i.'i .Miitiit»tliiii^ iiuin' lltiiii a Iroo. \nSilciil wiliiKMs III all I III' ;icoinvi Itial lia\\i> Imon (Miafloil ln'io \nHliu'o llio wliilo MUMi linil I'oi'cod tlipir \\va\\ lliiKii^h liio lliit'lvt>trt \noovori\\»|^ (lio ;tun'(>uiultu^ |>laiM, it in a.-i iimch an nl«|0(l \\A' vi'ii \noraliKii 111 (lio (Mli:'iiHM an il\" il wpip nvillv aMo l,> iiuparl wlial \n\n\nrill' \\\\ VSUIMil'ON KIM, \n\n\nIt luwl soon. May U-. .-.liailow uovor Ix' li-.-.s ' Il saw tlio inns \ntoriu^\" i»t\" llu> raw rrv>\\nhial li'\\ los i'oillu' si'voii vivivs' inanli \nt*> Y<>rktown i U lias liooii I'lacki'iUHl l>v * aiinou siuoko, lia.s soon \nth«» ^liltonu}^ oi»\\-lo of ramp fill's li^^liling tlio \\o\\\\^ lino ot\" an \ninvoHtinji nruiy utouilily tightoninj,' ilsooils t»l>onl tlio lu'loaguoit'il \noupitul, l»ut »tl»oi's, iuvosts it willi a vrauilrur \niusoptimblo IVvMu Imii who was tlu^ nohU'st ICoiuan I't' lluiu all. \n\n\nTMIC WAHM/N'/ION KJ,M, I )'/ \n\nTlx) inwif'ij/Uon (>l(i<;'r'( OfX \n\nIII' lUK \nAi^I'Mli ,\\^ AUMY, \n\n,niij\\ H\", nit,, \n\n\n•nil. vvA;iiii:.'f;'io;; i;i,m, \n\nW';(t(;H ! wr;;'/l», 0)/| 'I'lvA; I '/'l(';i( l/((.«l, «(( nH\\ii-i;i, lair, \nA vip{*>»''>u» Ik'hH, u l«!(iv«r()-(i(,i; l/inl'w iu'mI. \n\nWnitU'.] ^ivt: (|« wr(»'(|»I Mt'iiini^fUl n i/jdUiMlH/_ l>l««t \nM( ihc inii/\\i\\.y l'(i«(., \n'Iliul, Iw.kwuc) curoc, '/() )(((iio()K ll'mtJ/ipr hIdw ; \n\n\"'I'll'' (uic,/i(il (()()^,l,<(« <»l lli<^ i?'))) I k()<;w, \n\nWli'»«i; iMiii: innfi'ii wiywniii-', i\\i;i',kt:'\\ Ui«; i'iiii\":l \\iiiiwn ; \n'\\'\\i'.'if \\iiiiiU-r l'i>ii\\t'.iA-\\if. f,wt'\\ii, U)mKj/, f'/rUj frodi r<; \nA/i'l 'loddc'l );'T licloicf, i'lii' llic f/onc of dn;,-!/) , \n\n\n118 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nWhile in the hero's heart there dwelt a prayer \nThat Heaven's protecting arm might never cease \n\nTo make his young, endangered land its care, \n\nTill through the war-cloud looked the angel Peace. \n\n\" Be wise, my children,\" said that ancient Tree, \nIn earnest tone, as though a Mentor spake, \n\n\" And prize the blood-bought birthright of the free. \nAnd firmly guard it for your country's sake.\" \n\nThanks, thanks, Old Elm ! and for this counsel sage. \nMay Heaven thy brow with added beauty grace, \n\nGrant richer emeralds to thy crown of age, \nAnd changeless honors from a future race. \n\n\nTHE WASHINGTON ELM. \n\nJAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. \n\nBeneath our consecrated elm \n\nA century ago he stood, \n\nFamed vaguely for that old fight in the wood \n\nWhose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm \n\nThe life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm \n\nFrom colleges, where now the gown \n\nTo arms had yielded, from the town, \n\nOur rude self-summoned levies flocked to see \n\nThe new-come chiefs, and wonder which was he. \n\nNo need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, \n\nLong trained in rnurder-brooding forests lone \n\nTo bridle others' clamors and his own, \n\nFirmly erect, he towered above them all, \n\nThe incarnate discipline that was to free \n\nWith iron curb that armed democracy. \n\nMusing beneath the legendary tree, \n\nThe years between furl off ; I seem to see \n\nThe sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, \n\nDapple with gold his sober buff and blue, \n\n\nTHE LAST OF THE HIGHWAYMEN. 119 \n\nAnd weave prophetic aureoles round the head \n\nThat shines our beacon now, nor darkens with the dead. \n\n0 man of silent mood, \n\nA stranger among strangers then, \n\nHow art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, \n\nFamiliar as the day in all the homes of men ! \n\nThe winged years, that winnow praise and blame, \n\nBlow many names out ; they but fan t(j flame \n\nThe self-renewing si)leudors of thy fame. \n\n\nTHE LAST OF THE HIGHWAYMEN. \n\nMICHAEL MARTIN, alias Captain Lightfoot, after a \ncheckered career in Ireland, liis native country, and \nin Scotland, as a highway robber, became in 1819 a fugitive to \nAmerica. He first landed at Salem, where he obtained employ- \nment as a farm-laborer. But a life of honest toil not being so \ncongenial to him. as that of a bandit, he again took to his old \noccupation on the road, this time making Canada the scene of \nhis exploits. \n\nAfter committing many robberies there and in Vermont and \nNew Hampsliire, and always eluding capture, Martin at length \narrived in Boston. He at once began his bold operations upon \ntlie highway ; but here his usual good luck deserted him. His \nfirst and last victim was Major John Bray, of Boston. Martin \nhad somehow found out that His Excellency Governor Brooks \nintended giving a dinner-party at his mansion in Medford on a \ncertain afternoon, and he had determined to waylay some of \nthe company on their return, shrewdly guessing that they might \nbe well worth the picking. In fact, as Major Bray was driving \nleisurely homeward in his chaise over the Medford turnpike, he \nwas suddenly stopped by a masked horseman, who presented a \npistol and sternly commanded him to deliver up his valuables. \n\n\n120 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nTlie place was a lonely one, and well chosen for the robber's pur- \npose. The astounded Major handed over his watch and his \npurse. Having secured his booty, the highwayman wheeled his \nhorse, gave him the spur, and galloped oif ; while his frightened \navA crestfallen victim, lashing his horse to a run, raised a hue- \nand-cry at the nearest house. \n\nMartin fled. He was hotly pursued, and was taken, after a \nchase of a hundred miles, asleep in bed at Springfield. The \nofficers brought him back, and lodged him in East Cambridge \njail to await his trial. He was tried at the next assizes for \nhighway robbery, was convicted, and sentenced to be hanged. \nThis being the first trial occurring under the statute punish- \ning such an offence, it naturally created a great deal of stir, and \nwhen the prisoner was brought to the bar, the court-room was \nthronged with curious spectators. Throughout the proceedings \nthe prisoner was perfectly cool. As the pupil of the celebrated \nThunderbolt, he had a reputation to maintain ; and when the \njudge, putting on the black cap, pronounced the awful sentence \nof death, he dryly observed : \" Well, that 's the worst you can do \nfor me.\" \n\nThe doomed man, however, made one desperate efibrt to \nescape from prison. He had found some way to procure a tile, \nwith which he filed off his irons so that he could remove them \nwhenever he liked ; and when the turnkey one morning came \ninto the cell, he being off his guard, tlie prisoner, using his irons \nas a weapon, felled him to the ground with a savage blow on \nthe' head, and leaving him stunned and bleeding upon the floor \nof the cell, rushed out of the open door into the prison-yard. \nTlie outer walls were too high to be scaled, and free passage \ninto the street was barred by a massive oaken gate. But this did \nnot stop the resolute highwayman, who was a man of herculean \nstrength. Dashing himself repeatedly, with all his force, against \nit, he at last succeeded in breaking the gate open, and passing \nquicldy through, he emerged into the street beyond ; but being \nexhausted by his frantic efforts to escape, after a short flight \nhis pursuers overtook and secured him. He was loaded with \n\n\nTHE ELIOT OAK. 121 \n\nirons and chained to his cell. After this desperate attempt to \ngain his liberty, he was guarded with greater vigilance until the \nday appointed for his execution, when the \" Last of the High- \nwaymen\" paid the penalty of his crimes upon the scaffold. \n\n\nTHE ELIOT OAK. \n\nIN that part of Boston formerly constituting the town of \nBrighton, and still farther back forming a precinct of Cam- \nbridge, there is a pleasant locality called Oak Square. It was \nso named on account of the old oak-tree which stood there, \nand which is probably better known as the Eliot Oak. \n\nThis gigantic relic of the primeval forest was in its day the \nlargest and the oldest tree of its species growing within the four \nboundaries of the old Bay State, and it was officially declared \nto be so by a scientific commission which was charged with \nmaking a botanical survey of the State. The declaration is \nmade that \" It had probably passed its prime centuries before \nthe first English voice was heard on the shores of Massachusetts \nBay.\" Its circumference at the ground was given at twenty- \nfive feet and nine inches, or two feet more than that of the \nGreat Elm of Boston. Through decay the trunk became hollow \nat the base, furnishing a cavity large enough to serve as a hid- \ning-place for the schoolboys who played under tlie shade of its \nwide-spreading branches. The enormous weight of these, with \ntheir foliage, was at last supported by a mere shell of trunk, \nand as every gale threatened to lay it low, to the regret of thou- \nsands, the brave old oak was through a hard necessity compelled \nto bite the dust. By an order of the town it was cut down in \nMay, 1855. \n\nA little west of this tree was the former site of the wigwam \nof Waban, Chief of the Nonantums, and he must often have \nrested under its generous shade. The old Indian trail extended \n\n\nTHE ELIOT OAK, BRIGTITON. \n\n\nf \n\n\nEliot's oak. 123 \n\nfrom this tree northeast to the Charles River, connecting the \nsettlement here with the Colleges at Old Cambridge. \n\nTradition says that the Apostle Eliot of glorious memory \npreached to the Indians here under this oak. We are amazed \nto think of it as then being — near two centuries and a half ago \n— in its vigorous maturity. This is the incident which the \npoet Longfellow embalms in his sonnet, the scene being, how- \never, transferred to Natick, Massachusetts, where these Indians, \nby the advice of Eliot, founded one of their Praying Towns, \nand adopted the customs of civilized life. \n\n\nELIOT'S OAK. \n\nH. W. LONGFELLOW. \n\nThou ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves are loud \nWith sounds of unintelligible speech, \nSounds as of surges on a shingly beach, \nOr multitudinous murmurs of a crowd ; \n\nWith some mysterious gift of tongues endowed, \nThou speakest a different dialect to each ; \nTo me a language that no man can teach. \nOf a lost race, long vanished like a cloud. \n\nFor underneath thy shade, in days remote, \nSeated like Abraham at eventide \nBeneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown \n\nApostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote \n\nHis Bible in a language that hath died \nAnd is forgotten, save by thee alone. \n\n\nparr rfjirtj. \n\n\nLYXN AXD NAHAXT LEGEND: \n\n\n'iiri\"><, , ^ - ,11,1 . \n\n\nLYNN AND NAHANT LEGENDS. \n\nTHE vivid and life-like description of the coast scenery of \nancient Saugus, borrowed from \" The Bridal of Penna- \ncook,\" is a most fitting introduction to our legends ; for nowhere \ncould a wilder or more romantic region, or one embodying more \nstriking natural traits, prepare the mind for receiving those weird \ntales which so truly present to it the superstitious side of old \nNew England life. \n\nA wild and broken landscape, spiked witli firs, \nRoughening the bleak horizon's northern edge, \n\nSteep, cavernous hillsides, where black hemlock spurs \nAnd sharp, gray splinters of the wind-swept ledge \n\nPierced the thin-glazed ice, or bristling rose, \n\nWhere the cold rim of the sky sunk down upon the snows. \n\n\nAnd eastward cold, wide marshes stretched away. \nDull dreary flats without a bush or tree, \n\nO'er-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day \nGurgled the waters of the moon-struck sea ; \n\nAnd faint with distance came the stifled roar. \n\nThe melancholy lapse of waves on that low shore. \n\n\n128 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nTHE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. \n\nIN the \" Bridal of Pennacook,\" Mr. Wliittier, who is himself \nat once the product and the poet of this romantic coast, \ntells us that he chanced upon the motive of the poem while \nporing over \n\nAn old clironicle of border wars \nAnd Indian history. \n\nThis was undoubtedly Thomas Morton's \" JSTew English Ca- \nnaan,\"— a book which the Puritans indignantly denominated \n\"scandalous,\" and for wliich they imprisoned the author a \nwhole year, then dismissing him with a fine. But aside from its \nmerciless ridicule of them and their ways, its value as \" Indian \nhistory \" is duly certified by most competent judges, one of \nwhom says that Morton's description of the Indians \" is su- \nperior to that of most authors before his time ; and though he \nsometimes indulges his imagination, yet this part of his work is \nof exceeding great value to inquirers about the primitive inhabi- \ntants of New England.\" \n\nThe poet goes on to relate, that among the ill-assorted collec- \ntion of books forming his landlord's library he found this old \nchronicle, Avherein he read, — \n\nA story of the marriage of the Chief \nOf Saugus to the dusky Weetamoo, \nDaughter of Passaconawaj^ who dwelt \nIn the old time upon the Merrimack. \n\nThis is the story as it is related by Morton. Winnepurkit, \nthe son of Nanapashemet, or tire New Moon, was the Sagamore of \nSaugus, Naumkeag, and Massabequash, — now known as Saugus, \nLynn, Salem, and Marblehead. \"When he came to man's estate \n\n\nTHE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. 129 \n\nthis young sachem, who was both valiant and of noble blood, \nmade choice for his wife of the daughter of Passaconaway, the \ngreat chieftain of the tribes inliabiting the valley of the Merri- \nmack. Not only was Passaconaway a mighty chief in war or \npeace, but he was also the greatest powow, or wizard, of whom \n\n\nAN INDIAN PRINCESS. \n\nwe have any account. Indeed the powers attributed to him by \nthe English colonists would almost surpass belief, were they not \nfully vouched for by the learned and reverend chroniclers of that \nday, who gravely assert that so skilled was he in the arts of \nnecromancy, that he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, \n\n9 \n\n\n130 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\ntrees to dance, water to burn, and the like marvels to ajDpear in \nthe course of his mystical invocations. \n\nWith the consent and good liking of this redoubtable saga- \nmore, Winnepurkit wooed and married the daughter of Passa- \nconaway. Bountiful was the entertainment that he and his \nattendants received at her father's hands, according to the cus- \nto]u of his people when celebrating an event of this kind, and \nsuch as suited the exalted rank of tlie bride and groom. \nFeasting and revelry succeeded, or rather they made a part of \nthe marriage solemnities, as with all ancient peoples. The cere- \nmonies being over, Passaconaway caused a select number of his \nbraves to escort his daughter into the territories belonging to her \nlord and husband, where being safely come, they were, in a like \nmanner, most hospitably entertained by Winnepurkit and his \nmen, and when they Avere ready to depart, were generously \nrewarded with gifts for their loving care and service. \n\ni^ot long afterward the newly wedded princess was seized with \na passionate longing to revisit once again her native country, and \nto behold once more the face of the mighty chief, her father. \nHer lord listened to her prayer, which seemed reasonable enough, \nand he therefore, in all love and kindness for her welfare, chose \na picked body from among his most trusted warriors to conduct \nhis lady to her father, to whom they with great respect presently \nbrought her safe and sound ; and then, after being graciously \nreceived and as graciously dismissed, they returned to give an \naccount of their errand, leaving their princess to continue among \nher friends at her own good will and pleasure. After some stay \nin her old home by the beautiful mountain river, the lady signi- \nfied her desire to go back to her husband again, upon which Pas- \nsaconaway sent an embassy to Winnepurkit with order to notify \nliim of this Avish on her part, and to request tliat the Sachem \nof Saugus, his son-in-law, might at once despatch a suitable \nguard to escort his wife back through the wilderness to her home. \nBut Winnepurkit, strictly standing for his honor and reputation \nas a chief, bade the messengers to carry his father-in-law this \nanswer : \" That when his wife departed from him, he caused \n\n\nTHE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. 131 \n\nhis own men to wait upon her to lier father's territories, as did \nbecome liiiu ; but now that she had an intent to return, it did \nbecome her father to send lier back with a convoy of bis own \npeople ; and that it stood not with Winnepurkit's reputation \neither to make himself or his men so servile as to fetch her \nagain.\" \n\nThereupon the old sachem, Passaconaway, was much incensed \nat having this curt answer returned to him by one whom he \nconsidered at most only a petty chief and a vassal; and being \nmoreover sadly nettled to think that his son-in-law should pre- \ntend to give him, Passaconaway, a lesson in good-breeding, or \ndid not esteem him more highly than to make this a matter for \nnegotiation, sent back tliis sharp reply : \" That his daughters \nblood and birtli deserved more respect than to be slighted in \nsuch a manner, and therefore if he (Winnepurkit) would have \nher company, he were best to send or come for her.\" \n\nThe young sachem, not being willing to undervalue himself, \nand being withal a man of stout spirit, did not hesitate to tell \nhis indignant father-in-law that he must either send his daughter \nhome in cliarge of his own escort, or else he might keep her ; \nsince Winnepurkit was, for his own part, fully determined not \nto stoop so low. \n\nAs neither would yield, the poor princess remained with her \nfather, — at least until Morton, the narrator, left tlie country ; \nbut she is supposed to have finally rejoined her haughty spouse, \nthough in what way does not appear in the later relation before \nus. She was no true woman, however, if she failed to discover \na means to soften the proud heart of Winnepurkit, who after \nall was perhaps only too ready to accord to her tears and her \nentreaties what he had so loftily refused at the instigation of a \npunctiliousness that was worthy of the days of chivalry. \n\nThe poet has made a most felicitous use of this story, into \nwhich are introduced some descriptions of the scenery of the \nMerrimack of exceeding beauty and grace. The poem has, \nhowever, a more dramatic ending than the prose-tale we have \njust given. In the poem the heart-broken and deserted bride of \n\n\n132 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nPennacook at last determines to brave the perils of the swollen \nand turbid Merrimack alone, to seek the wigwam of her dusky \nhusband. Stealing away from her companions, she launches \nher frail canoe upon the bosom of the torrent, and is instantly \nswept by it, — \n\nDown the vexed centre of that rushing tide, \nThe thick huge ice-blocks threatening either .side, \nThe foam-white rocks of Amoskeag in view, \nWith arrowv swiftness — \n\n\nDown the white rapids like a sere leaf whirled. \nOn the sharp rocks and piled-up ices hurled. \nEmpty and broken, circled the canoe \nIn the vexed pool below — but where was \nWeetamoo ? \n\n\nTHE PIRATES' GLEN. \n\nTHE year 1658 was signalized in New England by a great \nearthquake, which is mentioned in some of the old chron- \nicles. Connected with this convulsion, which in the olden \ntime was regarded as a most signal mark of the displeasure of \nHeaven, is the following story. There are, it should be said, \ntwo or three circumstances, or rather facts, giving to this legend \na color of authenticity, which are of themselves sufficient to \ncreate a doubt whether, after all, it has not a more substantial \nfoundation than has generally been conceded to it. We will- \ningly give it the benefit of this doubt ; meanwhile contenting \nourselves with the statement that its first appearance in print, \nso far as known to the writer, was in Lewis's \" History of Lynn.\" \nBut here is the legend in all its purity. \n\n\nTHE PIEATES' GLEN. 133 \n\nSome time previous to the great earthquake, in the twilight \nof a pleasant evening on the coast, a small bark was seen to \napproach the shore, furl her sails, and drop her anchor near the \nmouth of Saugus River. A boat was presently lowered from \nher side, which four men got into and rowed silently up the \nriver to where it enters the hills, when they landed, and plunged \ninto the woods skirting the banks. These movements had been \nnoticed by only a few individuals ; but in those early times, \nwhen the people were surrounded by dangers and were easily \nalarmed, such an incident was well calculated to a-waken sus- \npicion, so that in the course of the evening the intelligence had \nspread from house to house, and many were the conjectures \nrespecting the strangers' business. In the morning all eyes \nwere naturally directed toward the shore, in search of the \nstranger- vessel ; but she was no longer there, and no trace \neither of her or of her singular crew could be found. It Avas af- \nterward learned, however, that on the morning of the vessel's \ndisappearance a workman, upon going to his daily task at the \nForge, on the river's bank, had found a paper running to the \neffect that if a certain quantity of shackles, handcuffs, and other \narticles named were made, and with secrecy deposited in a cer- \ntain place in the woods, which was particularly described, an \namount of silver equal to their full value would be found in \ntheir stead. The manacles were duly made and secreted, in \nconformity with the strange directions. On the following \nmorning they had been taken away, and the money left accord- \ning to the letter of the promise ; but notwithstanding the fact \nthat a strict watch had been kept, no sign of a vessel could be \ndiscovered in the offing. Some months later than this event, \nwhich had furnished a fruitful theme for the village gossips, \nthe four men returned, and selected one of the most secluded \nand romantic spots in the woods of Saugus for their abode ; and \nthe tale has been further embellished to the effect that the \npirate chief brought with him a beautiful Avonian. The place \nof their retreat was a deep and narrow valley, shut in on two \nsides by craggy, precipitous rocks, and screened on the others \n\n\n13-i NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nby a thick growth of pines, hemlocks, and cedars. There was \nonly one small spot to which the rays of the noonday sun could \npenetrate. Upon climbing the rude and nearly perpendicular \nsteep of the cliff on the eastern side of this glen, the eye com- \nmanded a noble expanse of sea stretching far to the south, be- \nsides a wide extent of the surrounding country. No spot on \nthe coast could have been better chosen for the double purpose \nof concealment and observation. Even at this da)', w^hen the \nneighborhood has become thickly peopled, it is still a lonely \nand desolate place, whose gloomy recesses are comparatively \nunknown and unvisited. Here the pirates built themselves a \nsmall hut, made a garden, and dug a well, of which some traces \nstill remain. It is supposed that they also buried money here, \nand search has been made for it at A-arious times, but none has \never been found ; and to deepen the mystery, it is said that the \npirate's mistress, who is described as very pale and beautiful, \nhaving sickened and died, was buried here in an unknown grave, \nunder the thick shade of the pines. After a time the retreat of \nthe pirates became noised about. They were traced to their glen. \nThree of them were taken to England, — there being at that \ntime no law in the Colony to punish piracy, — where it is sup- \nposed that they paid the penalty for their crimes upon the gib- \nbet. The third, whose name was Thomas Veale, escaped to a \ncavern in the woods, which he and his confederates had previ- \nously made use of as a place of deposit for their ill-gotten booty. \nIn this lonely place the fugitive fixed his residence, practising \nthe trade of a shoemaker, and occasionally visiting the village \nto obtain food, until the earthquake which ushered in the \nlegend, sphtting to its foundations the rock in which the cavern \nwas situated, forever sealed the entrance, enclosing the doomed \ncorsair in his frightful tomb. This cliff has ever since been \nknown as Dungeon Eock, and the first retreat of the free- \nbooters has always borne the name of The Pirates' Glen. \n\nThe sequel to the legend that we have so conscientiously \nrelated to the reader, is more striking by its reality, more incred- \nible, one might almost say, than the legend itself is, with ail its \n\n\nTHE PIEATES' GLEN. 135 \n\ndramatic surroundings. The story of Dungeon Eock now leaves \nthe realm of the legendary for that of active supernatural \nagency ; and it may be doubted if the whole world can produce \nanother such example of the absorbiug pursuit of an idea which \nhas become the fixed and dominant unpulse of a life. But firet \nlet us introduce the i-eader to the locality itself. \n\nTwo miles out of the city of Lynn, in the heart of the secluded \nand romantic region overlookiug it, is a hill high and steep, one \nside of which is a naked precipice ; the other, which the 'road \nascends, is stiU covered with a magnificent grove of oak-ti-ees \ngi-owing among enormous bowlders, and clad, when I saw them, \nin the rags of their autumnal purple. Few wOder or mor^ \npicturesque spots can be found among the White Hills ; and \nhere Ave are not a dozen miles removed from the homes of half \na miUion people. The rumored existence of treasure shut up in \nthe heart of this chff by the earthquake seems to have found \ncredit in the neighborhood, if one may judge from the evidences \nof a heavy explosion in what was supposed to be the ancient \nvestibule of the cavern, where a yawning rent in the side of the \nledge is blocked up with tons of massy debris and every ves- \ntige of what was perhaps an interesting natural curiosity thus \nwantonly destroyed. \n\nUnder the direction of spirit mediums, the work of piercin'ho can tell the anguish of her soul in that moment 1 She \nwas, indeed, saved; but where was her lord and protector 1 \nFrantic and despairing, but faithful to death, she followed such \n\n15 \n\n\n226 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nfaint traces as in the confusion of that hour could be obtained, \nuntil chance at length led her to the spot where he lay, helpless \nand overwhelmed. A fine lady would have recoiled and fainted \ndead away ; Agnes Surriage, again the working girl of Marble- \nhead, instantly set to work to rescue her lover from the ruins \nwith her own hands. In an hour he was extricated from the \nrubbish. He was still living. She conveyed him to a place \nthat had escaped the shock of the earthquake, where she nursed \nhim into health and strength again. Vanquished by this last \nsupreme proof of her love for him, the knight gave her his \nhand in return for his life. And who can doubt that with this \nact there came back to both that peace of mind which alone was \nwanting to a perfect union of two noble and loving hearts 1 \n\nWe are obliged to content ourselves with the following extracts \nfrom the poem which Holmes has founded upon the story : — \n\nA scampering at the Fountain Inn ; \n\nA rush of great and small ; \nWith hurrying servants' mingled din, \n\nAnd screauung matron's call ! \n\nPoor Agnes ! with her work half done, \n\nThey caught her unaware. \nAs, humbly, like a praying nun, \n\nShe knelt vipon the stair ; \n\nBent o'er the steps, with lowliest mien \n\nShe knelt, but not to pray, — \nHer little hands must keep them clean, \n\nAnd wash their stains away. \n\nA foot, an ankle, bare and white, \n\nHer girlish shapes betrayed, — \n\" Ha ! Nymphs and Graces ! \" spoke the Knight ; \n\n\" Look up, my beauteous Maid ! \" \n\nShe turned, — a reddening rose in bud, \n\nIts calyx half withdrawn ; \nHer cheek on fire with damasked blood \n\nOf girlhood's glowini:^ dawn ! \n\n\nSKIPPER IKESON's RIDE. 227 \n\nHe searched her features through and through, \n\nAs royal lovers look \nOn lowly maidens when they woo \n\nWithout the ring and book. \n\n\" Come hither, Fair one ! Here, my Sweet ! \n\nNay, prithee, look not down ! \nTake this to shoe those little feet,\" — \n\nHe tossed a silver crown. \n\nA sudden paleness struck her brow, — \n\nA swifter flush succeeds ; \nIt burns her cheek ; it kindles now \n\nBeneath her golden beads. \n\nShe flitted ; but the glittering eye \n\nStill sought the lovely face. \nWho was she ? What, and whence 1 and why \n\nDoomed to such menial place I \n\nA skipper's daughter, — so they said, — \n\nLeft orphan by the gale \nThat cost the fleet of Marblehead \n\nAnd Gloucester thirty sail. \n\n\nSKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. \n\nONE of the most spirited of Whittier's home ballads — cer- \ntainly the most famous — is his \"Skipper Ireson's Ride,\" \nwhich introduces by way of refrain the archaic Marblehead dia- \nlect that is now nearly, if not quite, extinct. Like most of this \npoet's characters. Skipper Ireson is a real personage, whose story, \nbriefly told, is this : — \n\nLate in the autumn of the year 1808 the schooner \"Betsy,\" of \nMarblehead, Benjamin Ireson, master, while buffeting its way \ntowards tlie home port in the teeth of a tremendous gale, fell \niu with a wreck drifting at the mercy of the winds and waves. \n\n\n228 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nThis was the schooner \" Active,\" of Portkuid, that had been over- \nset in the gale. It was then midnight, with a tremendous sea \nruiming. The skipper of the sinking vessel hailed the \"Betsy\" \nand asked to be taken off the wreck, from which every wave \nindeed threatened to wash the distressed and exhausted crew. \nTo this it is said that the \" Betsy's \" crew — one does not like to \ntraduce the name by calling them sailors • — strongly demurred, \nalleging the danger of making the attempt in such a sea in sup- \nport of their cowardly purjiose to abandon the sinking craft to \nher fate. Some say that Captain Ireson was himself disposed to \nact with humanity, and to lie by the wreck until daylight, but \nthat he was overruled by the unanimous voice of his men, who \nselfishly decided not to risk their own miserable lives in order to \nsave o'thers. The \" Betsy's \" course was accordingly shaped for \nMarblehead, where she arrived on the following Sunday. Her \ncrew at once spread the news through the town of their having \nfallen in with a vessel foundering in the bay, when, to their \nhonor, the Marblehead people immediately despatched two \nvessels to her relief. But the \"Active\" had then gone to the bot- \ntom of the sea, and the relieving vessels returned from a fruit- \nless search, only to increase the resentment alread}'^ felt against \nSkipper Ireson, upon whom his crew had thrown all the blame \nof their own dastardly conduct. Usually dead men tell no tales; \nbut it so fell out that in this instance a more damning evidence \nto Ireson's inhumanity appeared, as it were, from the grave \nitself to confront him. It happened that on the morning next \nfollowing the night of the \" Betsy's \" desertion of them, the \ncaptain and three others were rescued from the sinking vessel. \nThey soon made public the story of the cruel conduct of the \n\" Betsy's\" people ; and as ill news travels fast, it was not long \nbefore it reached Marblehead, throwing that excitable town into a \nhubbub over the aspersions thus cast upon its good name. It \nwas soon determined to take exemplary vengeance upon the \noffender. One bright moonlight night Skipper Ireson heard a \nknock at his door. Upon opening it he found himself in the \nnervous grasp of a band of resolute men, who silently hurried \n\n\n230 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nhim off into a deserted place, — with what object, his fears alone \ncould divine. They first securely pinioned and then besmeared \nhim from head to foot with a coat of tar and feathers. In the \nmorning the whole population of the town turned out to wit- \nness or assist in this ignominious punishment, which had been \nplanned by some of the bolder spirits, and silently approved by \nthe more timid ones. Ireson in his filthy disguise was seated in \nthe bottom of a dory, — instead of a cart, — and, surrounded \nby a hooting rabble, the unfortunate skipper was then dragged \nthrough the streets of the town as far as the Salem boundary- \nline, where the crowd was met and stopped by the selectmen of \nthat town, who forbid their proceeding farther, — thus frustrating \nthe original purpose to drag Ireson through the streets of Salem \nand of Beverly, as well as those of Marblehead. During Ireson's \nrough ride, the bottom of the dory had fallen out. The mob \nthen procured a cart, and hfting the boat, culprit and all, upon \nit, in this way Ireson was taken back to Marblehead. More \ndead than alive, he was at last released from the hands of his \ntormentors and allowed to go home. When he was free, Ireson \nquietly said to them : \" I thank you, gentlemen, for my ride ; but \nyou will live to regret it.\" And thus ended Benjamin Ireson's \nshameful expiation of a shameful deed. \n\nUsing the facts as they came to him, and with the sanction of \nwhat was in its own time very generally applauded as the \nrighteous judgment of the people of Marblehead, the poet has \nput Ireson in a perpetual pillory, from which no sober second \nthought is able to rescue him. But whether culpable or not \nculpable in intention, his weakness in yielding to his dastard \ncrew, if in fact he did so yield, amounted to a grave fault, closely \nverging upon the criminal. To-day everybody defends Ireson's \nmemory from the charge which was once as universally believed \nto be true ; and the public verdict was, \" served him right.\" \nUnfortunately, however, for him, his exasperated townsfolk exe- \ncuted justice on the spot, according to their own rude notions of \nit, before their wrath had had time to grow cool. But to this \nfact we owe the most idiosyncratic ballad of purely home origin \n\n\nSKIPPER ieeson's eide. 231 \n\nin the language, although it is one for which the people of \nMarblehead have never forgiven the poet. \n\nWith poetic instinct Whittier seized upon the incident, using \nmore or less freedom in presenting its dramatic side. In the \nversified story we are made lookers on while the strange proces- \nsion, counting its \n\nScores of women, old and young, \nStrong of muscle, and glib of tongue, \n\nWrinkled scolds, with hands on hips. \n\nGirls in bloom of cheek and lips, \n\nWild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase \n\nBacchus round some antique vase. \n\nBrief of skirt, with ankles bare. \n\nLoose of kerchief and loose of hair, \n\nWith conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, — \n\no-oes surging on through the narrow streets, now echoing to the \n\nwild refrain, — \n\n\" Here 's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt, \nTorr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt \nBy the women o' Morble'ead ! \" \n\nThe only liberty that the poet has taken with the story is in \nsaying, — \n\nSmall pity for him ! — He had sailed away \nFrom a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay, — \nSailed away from a sinking wreck, \nWith his own town's-people on her deck ! \n\nThe disaster really happened oft^ the Highlands of Cape Cod, \nand, so far as is known, there were no Marblehead people on \nboard of the unlucky craft when she went down. But in truth \nsuch trifling departures from the literal facts are of little moment. \nThe world long ago granted to the poets complete absolution for \nsuch venial sins as these are, seeing that since the days of \nHomer it has been their profession to give all possible enlarge- \nment to their subjects. \n\n\n232 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nAssuming the stigma upon Ireson's memory to he an unjust \none, the antidote should accompany the poison. His reputation \nhas found a vigorous defender in the verses which follow. \n\nA PLEA FOR FLOOD IRESON. \n\nCHARLES T. BROOKS. \n\nOld Flood Ireson ! all too long \nHave jeer and jibe and ribald song \nDone thy memory cruel wrong. \n\nOld Flood Ireson sleeps in his grave ; \nHowls of a mad mob, worse than the wave, \nNow no more in his ear shall rave ! \n\nGone is the pack and gone the prey, \nYet old Flood Ireson's ghost to-day \nIs hunted still down Time's highway. \n\nOld wife Fame, with a fish-horn's blare \nHooting and tooting the same old air, \nDrags him along the old thoroughfare. \n\nMocked evermore with the old refrain, \nSkilfully wrought to a tuneful strain. \nJingling and jolting, he comes again \n\nOver that road of old renown, \nFair broad avenue leading down \nThrough South Fields to Salem town, \n\nScourged and stung by the Muse's thong, \nMounted high on the car of song, \nSight that cries, O Lord ! how long \n\nShall Heaven look on and not take part \n\nWith the poor old man and his fluttering heart. \n\nTarred and feathered and carried in a cart l \n\n\nSKIPPER IKESON's RIDE. \n\nOld Flood Iresou, now when Fame \nWipes away with tears of shame \nStains from many an injured name, \n\nSluill not, in the timeful line, \nBeams of truth and mercy shine \nThrouoh the clouds that darken thine ? \n\n\n233 \n\n\nCAPE ANN LEGENDS. \n\n\nCAPE ANN. \n\n\nBY command of Nature, one of those iron-ribbed ridges \nwhich it astounds us to see forests growing and people \nliving upon, detaches itself from the Essex coast, and advances \nsteadily five leagues out into the \nsea. Halting there, it covers its \nhead with a bristling array of \nrocky islands and jagged reefs, \nwhich, like skirmishers in the \nfront of battle, now here, now \nthere, announce their presence in \nthe offing by puffs of water smoke. \nAn incessant combat rages be- \ntween these rocks and the advan- \ncing ocean. From the Highlands, \nat the land's end, it is possible on \na clear day to make out the dim \n\nwhite streak of Cape Cod stretching its emaciated arm from the \nsouth coast towards tliis lialf-extended and rock-gauntleted one \nfrom the north. Between the two capes, which really seem to \nbelong to difterent zones, is the entrance to the grand basin of \nMassachusetts Bay, over which, in the darkness, the brilliant \nrays from Thacher's and Highland lighthouses cross each other \nlike flaming sword-blades. Among the thousands that have \npassed in or out, one seeks in his memory for only one little bark \ncarrying an entire nation. The \" Mayflower\" passed here. \n\n\nTHE MAGNOLIA. \n\n\n238 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n« \n\nThe sea, we notice, welcomes the iutruding headland Avith in- \nhospitable arms ; but at the extreme point, where the rock is \npierced and the sea flows in, there is a port of refuge that has \ngrown to be the greatest fishing-mart in the Union. At nearly- \nall times, without regard to season, the waters around it are \ncovered with a flight of sails entering or leaving the principal \nport, reminding one of the restless sea-gnlls that circle about \ntheir rocky aerie when bringing food to their young. \n\nThe muscular shoulder of the Cape is occupied by the towns \nof Beverly, Wenham, and Hamilton, the central portion by \nManchester and Essex, and the extremity by Gloucester and \nRockport. Nearly the whole interior region remains the same \nuntamed wilderness that it was a hundred years ago ; for among \nthese rugged hills there is little land that is tit for farming, and \nthat little is found in the hollows, or bordering upon occasional \narms of the sea. There are, however, extensive and valuable \nforests of pine and cedar covering scattered portions with a per- \nennial green. The sea having peopled it, and the land off\"ering \nnothing better than stones, timber, and fuel, the fishing-villages \nwere built close to the edge of the shore, where there were nat- \nural harbors like that of Gloucester, or upon tidal creeks or inlets \nlike those of Manchester and Annisquam. From these villages \nsprang a hardy race of sailors renowned in song and story. \nCooper's \" Captain Barnstable \" comes from Chebacco, a precinct \nof Essex ; Miss Larcom's \" Skipper Ben \" from Beverly. One \ndoes not think of these people as having any fixed relation with \nthe land : they are amphibious. \n\nIts general and apparently irreclaimable sterility drove the \nearliest settlers back upon the mainland. They therefore aban- \ndoned their rude cabins and their fishing-stages at the extreme \nend of the Cape, and newly began at what was later on called \nSalem, which at first included the whole Cape. Yet notwith- \nstanding this desertion, settlements were soon begun at Beverly \nand Manchester, and Gloucester was permanently re-occupied on \naccount of the excellence and advantageous position of its har- \nbor. But for a time these settlements were very humble ones. \n\n\nCAPE ANN. 239 \n\nRoger Conant says that in his time Beverly was nicknamed \n\" Beggarly.\" He wished to have it changed to Budleigh, from \na town in Devonshire, Engiaml. Conant should find a name \nsomewhere on Cape Ann. That would at least lead to the \ninquiry \"Who was Conant 1\" He remarks that he had no \nhand in naming Salem, where he had built the first house. IS^or \nwas Blackstone, the first white settler of Boston, or Eoger Wil- \nliams, who founded Providence, more fortunate in securing post- \nhumous remembrance. \n\nBayard Taylor was nevertheless extremely taken with the \npicturesqueness of the interior of Cape Ann, and he was a trav- \neller who had grown something fastidious in his notions of natu- \nral scenery. He speaks of it thus, — \n\n\" A great charm of the place is the wild wooded scenery of the \ninland. There are many little valleys, branching and winding as if \nat random, where the forests of fir and pine, the great, mossy bowl- \nders, the shade and coolness and silence, seem to transfer you at once \nto the heart of some mountain wilderness. The noise of the sea does \nnot invade them ; even the salt odor of the air is smothered by the \nwarm, resinous breath of the pines. Here you find slender brooks, \npools spangled with ponddily blossoms, and marshes all in a tangle \nwith wild flowers. After two or three miles of such scenery there is \nno greater surprise than to find suddenly a l)lue far deeper than that \nof the sky between the tree trunks, and to hear the roar of the break- \ners a hundred feet below you.\" \n\nWhile exploring the coast one finds it continually shifting \nfrom beaches of hard sand, strewn with a fine dark gravel, to \npicturesque coves bordered all around with rocks shattered into \ncolossal fragments, and bulging out like masses that have sud- \ndenly cooled, rusted by spray, worn to glassy smoothness, yet \nall split and fractured and upheaved by the powerful blows \ndealt them by the waves. These coves make the most charm- \ning summer retreats imaginable ; and some of them, like Old \nKettle Cove, — which under the name of Magnolia has a \nsweeter sound, • — and Pigeon Cove, have turned their primitive \nsolitudes into populousness, and their once worthless rocks into \npedestals for the scores of beautiful villas that have sprung \n\n\n240 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nup like the work of magic upon tlieir bald aud overhanging \nbrows. \n\nIn one place, say that you leave the road in order to walk \nover a smooth esplanade of sand, up whose gentle slope panting \nwave chases panting wave unceasingly, while the forest-trees \nskirting the head of the beach bend over and watch this fierce \nplay, with all their leaves trembling. You look off over the \nridged and sparkling sea-foam into the open mouth of INIarble- \nhead Harbor, whose iron headlands the distance softens to \nforms of wax. Two or three treeless islands, behind which a \npassing vessel lifts its snowy sails, are luxuriously dozing in the \nsun and sea. This must be the haven where the fleet of Win- \nthrop first furled its tattered sails after a tempestuous voyage \nacross the Atlantic of more than two months. Yes, there is \nBaker's Isle, and there is Little Isle, within which it anchored. \nThen it was here that the colonists, of whom he was the Moses, \nfirst sot foot upon the soil of their Promised Land ; and it \nwas here they roamed among the rocky pastures, gathering wild \nstrawberries and roses, examining everything with eager curi- \nosity, and perhaps with doubt whether it was all real, and \nwould not vanish with the night. \n\nFrom the domain of History we enter that of Poetry over the \nthreshold of Nature. \n\nNot many years ago, while he was the guest of the genial and \ngifted Fields, whose cottage is the conspicuous object on the bald \nbrow of Thunderbolt Hill, in Manchester, Bayard Taylor was \ntaken to visit, in his chosen and secluded retreat, the venerable \npoet who dated before Byron, Shelley, and Keats, and who dis- \ncovered the genius of Bryant. The host and his guests are now \ndead; but the poet traveller, obeying the habit of a lifetime, \njotted down some minutes of his visit, now serving to recall \nthe man and the scene to our remembrance. He says : — \n\n\" Retracing our way a mile or so, we took a different road, and \napproached the coast through open, grassy fields, beyond which, on \nthe edge of a lofty bluff, stood the gray old mansion of the venerable \npoet, Richard H. Dana. The place is singularly wild, lonely, and \n\n\nCAFE ANN. 241 \n\npicturesque. No other dwelling is visible. A little bight of the coast \nthrusts out its iron headlands at a short distance on either side ; the \nsurf thunders incessantly below ; and in front the open ocean stretches \nto the sky. Mr. Dana's only neighbors are the vessels that come and \ngo at greater or less distances.\" \n\nFrom this seclusion the Nestor of American poetry thus \naddresses the scene before him, in liis lines to the ocean. \n\nNow stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters made \nTo cleanse the air and bear the world's great trade. \nTo rise, and Wet the mountains near the smi, \nThen back into themselves in rivers run, \nFulfilling mighty uses far and wide. \nThrough earth, in air, or here, as ocean tide. \n\nHo ! how the giant heaves himself and strains \nAnd flings to break his strong and viewless chains ; \nFoams in his wrath ; and at his prison doors, \nHark ! hear him ! how he beats and tugs and roars. \nAs if he would break forth again and sweep \nEach living thing within his lowest deep. \n\nAnd though the land is thronged again, 0 sea ! \nStrange sadness touches all that goes with thee. \nThe small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call. \nShare thy own spirit : it is sadness all ! \nHow dark and stern ujjon thy waves looks down \nYonder tall cliff — he with the iron crown. \nAnd see ! those sable pines along the steep \nAre come to join thy requiem, gloomy deep! \nLike stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge \nOver the dead with thy low-beating surge. \n\nAs we approach the end of the Cape we enter a storied region. \nHere is the deep cleft known as Rafe's Chasm, and the tawny \nclump of stark ledges which the coast throws off and the sea \nflies incessantly at, called Norman's Woe. Then we enter the \nbeautiful islet-studded harbor of Gloucester, and with an inter- \nest that the natural beauties of the spot enhance, we fix our \neyes upon the verdurous southern shore ; for here the little \n\n16 \n\n\n242 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\ncolony of Eoger Conant, the pioneer governor, maintained a \nstruggling existence, until, like a garrison which can no longer \nhold out, it fell back to Salem, newly chose its ground, and \nagain bravely confronted its old enemies, want and neglect. But \nlong before liim, this cape in the sea picked up many adventur- \nous voyageurs, one of whom presently demands a word from us. \n\nIn the heart of the Gloucester woodlands a most interesting \nfloral phenomenon exists. There, apparently defying nature's \nlines and laws, the beautiful magnolia of the South unfolds in \nsecret its snowy flowers and exhales its spicy perfume. Another \nphenomenon is the beach at Manchester, whose sands emit weird \nmusical tones when crushed by the passage of wheels through \nthem. Still another is the enormous Moving Rock at Squam \nCommon, — a heavy mass of granite so exactly poised that the \npressure of a child's finger is sufficient to change its position. \n\nThis sterile sea-cape may also lay claim to other and more \nenduring associations than the memories of a summer passed \namong its rocky sea-nooks can afford. Beverly Avas the home of \nEobert Eantoul, whose epitaph has been written by Whittier, \nand of Lucy Larcom ; Hamilton that of Abigail Dodge ; Essex, \nof Rufus Choate ; Gloucester, of E. P. Whipple and William \nWinter. Manchester was Dana's by adoption, as well as the \nsummer haunt of Holmes, James and Annie Fields, Elizabeth \nPhelps, and of that ancient landmark of the Boston Pulpit, the \nReverend Dr. Bartol. The lamented Dr. E. H. Chapin loved his \nsummer home at Pigeon Cove; and it was there he sought relief \nfrom the haunting \" demon of the study.\" This was also the \nfavorite haunt of Bryant and of Starr King; so that among \nthose who were either native or who were habitually sojourners \nare many of the men and women most eminent in our literary \nannals. That fact of itself speaks volumes for the Cape. \n\nThe legends of Cape Ann are indigenous, and are mostly sea- \nlegends, as might be expected of a seafaring and sea-subsisting \npopulation, among wliom the marvellous always finds its most \ncongenial soil. Let us add that no longer ago than last win- \nter, in consequence of the prediction that a storm unexampled in \n\n\nCAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 243 \n\nthe caiinals of the century was to burst forth with destructive fury \nover sea and land upon a given day, not a vessel of the Glouces- \nter fishing fleet dared put to sea. Although the great \" Wiggins \nstorm \" failed to make its appearance at the time predicted^the \nlosses incurred by reason of the number of fishermen lying 'idly \nat their moorings amounted to many thousands of dollars.\" The \nfirst of these legends proper to be introduced — not forgetting \nthat De Monts and Champlain had already named this penin° \nsula the Cape of Islands — is a sort of historical complement to \nour descrij^tion. \n\n\nCAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. \n\nrp HE following lines from Whittier's beautiful apostrophe to \n-L his beloved river, \"The Merrimack,\" introducing his col- \nlection of legendary pieces, is seen to be commemorative of that \nprince of explorers and hero of many exploits, Captain John \nSmith, to Avhom a perverse fortune has denied any share of \nhonor for his efforts to make New England known and appreci- \nated in the Old World. In the belief that none of these rugged \nrocks had ever received other baptism than tliat of the waves,\\e \nfirst gave this promontory the name of \"Tragabigzanda\" for a \nperpetual souvenir of a fair Moslem to whom he owed a debt of \nlove and gratitude, vrhile for a memorial of himself he conferred \ntliat of the \" Three Turks' Heads \" upon the three islands, Milk, \nThacher's and Straitsmouth, lying off its extreme point, and \nnow crowning it with their triple lights. \n\nBut these names were so quickly superseded that the personal \nambition of Smith has no other memorial than this : \n\nOn yonder rocky cape, which braves \nThe stormy challenge of the waves, \nMidst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, \nThe hardy Anglo-Saxon stood. \nPlanting upon the topmost crag \nThe staff of England's battle-flag ; \n\n\n244 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nAnd, while from out its heavy fold \nSt. George's crimson cross unrolled, \nMidst roll of drum and trumpet blare, \nAnd weapons brandishing in air, \nHe gave to that lone promontory \nThe sweetest name in all his story ; \nOf her, the flower of Islam's daughters, \n\"Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters, \nWho, when the chance of war had bound \nThe Moslem chain his limbs around. \nWreathed o'er with silk that iron chain. \nSoothed with her smiles his hours of pain, \nAnd fondly to her youthful slave \nA dearer gift than freedom gave. \n\n\nTEACHER'S ISLAND. \n\nTHACHER'S Island is one of the most important light- \nhouse stations on the whole coast of the United States. \nIt contains about eighty acres of gravelly soil thickly strewn \nwith coarse granite bowlders, among which the light-keeper's \ncows crop a scanty growth of grass. The westernmost headland, \nupon which are some ancient graves, said to be those of the vic- \ntims of the first recorded shipwreck here, resembles Point Aller- \nton, — it being a lofty cliff of gravel intermixed with bowlders \nthat vary in size, from the smallest pebbles to those weighing \nmany tons. It is continually crumbling away before the wear \nand tear of the southeast gales. \n\nThe light-keeper's residence is a comfortable modern brick \nbuilding of two stories. There is, or rather was, at the time of \nthe writer's visit to the island, an old stone house standing \nthere that was reputed to be of great age. The two light-towers, \nbuilt of uncut granite, are each one hundred and fifty feet high, \nand they are furnished with lenses in which a dozen persons \nmight stand erect without inconvenience. The keepers have all \n\n\ntiiachek's island. 245 \n\nfollowed the sea. Only sailors are capable of appreciating the \nresponsibility that the station imposes. One of the keepers \nsaid to me — and habitual care is stamped upon the faces of \nthese men — \"We know how eyes may be strained in thick \nweather at sea to get hold of the light ; and that makes us pain- \nfully anxious to keep it up to its full power, especially when \nfrosts or sea-scud dims the lantern ; for that is the very time \nwhen minutes count for hours on board ship.\" \n\nANTHONY THACHEE'S SHIPWEECK. \n\nThe story of how Thacher's Island came by its name is one of \ntragical interest, and is found in a letter written by Anthony \nThacher to his brother Peter, first printed in Increase Mather s \n\" Eemarkable Providences.\" It is also briefly related in AYin- \nthrop's \"Journal,\" where it is entered, under the year of its \noccurrence, 1635, as an incident of the awful tempest that has \nthus become historical. The historian Hubbard, writing long \nafter the event, says that \"the like was never in this place \nknown in the memory of man, before or since.\" On the land \nhouses were overturned and unroofed, the corn was beaten down \nto the ground, and the harvest nearly rained, and thousands of \ntrees were torn up by the roots, broken in two like pipe-stems, \nor twisted off\" like withes, so that the effects of it were visible \nfor many years afterwards. At sea its results were no less ter- \nrible, the tide rising to twenty feet on some parts of the coast, \nand being then kept from ebbing in its usual course by the \nextraordinary violence of the gale. Of the many disasters sig- \nnalizing its presence, that which the letter relates is a most \ngraphic episode. It would be an injustice to the reader not to \npresent it in all its primitive quaintness of form and style as a \nspecimen literary composition of the day. Here it is : — \n\nI must turn my drowned pen and shaking hand to indite this story \nof such sad news as never before this happened in New England. \n\nThere was a league of perpetual friendship between my cousin \nAvery and myself, never to forsake each other to the death, but to be \n\n\n246 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\npartakers of each other's misery or welfare, as also of habitation, in \nthe same place. Now upon our arrival in New England there was \nan offer made unto us. My cousin Avery was invited to ]\\Iarble- \nhead to be their pastor in due time ; there being no church planted \nthere as yet, but a town appointed to set up the trade of fishing. \nBecause many there (the most being fishermen) were something \nloose and remiss in their behavior, my cousin Avery was unwillinp- to \ngo thither ; and so refusing, we went to Newberry, intending there \nto sit down. But being solicited so often both by the men of the \n\n\n'■) r: \n\n\nTHE SHIPWRECK. \n\n\nplace and by the magistrates, and by Mr. Cotton, and most of the \nministers, who alleged what a benefit we might be to the people there, \nand also to the countiy and commonwealth, at length we embraced \nit, and thither consented to go. They of Marblehead forthwith sent \na pinnace for us and our goods. \n\nWe embarked at Ipswich, August 11, 1635, with our families and \nsubstance, bound for Marblehead, we being in all twenty-three souls, — \nviz., eleven in my cousin's family, seven in mine, and one Mr. Wil- \nliam Eliot, sometimes of New Sarum, and four mariners. The next \n\n\nthacher's island. 247 \n\nmorning, having commended ourselves to God, with cheerful hearts \nwe hoisted sail. But the Lord suddenly turned our cheerfulness into \nmourning and lamentations. For on the 14th of this August, 1635, \nabout ten at night, having a fresh gale of wind, our sails, being old \nand done, were split. The mariners, because that it was night, would \nnot put to new sails, but resolved to cast anchor till the morning. \nBut before daylight it pleased the Lord to send so mighty a storm, \nas the like was never known in New England since the English \ncame, nor in the memory of any of the Indians. It was so fm'ious, \nthat our anchor came home. Whereupon the mariners let out more \ncable, which at last slipped away. Then our sailors knew not what \nto do ; but we were driven before the wind and waves. \n\nMy cousin and I perceived our danger, [and] solemnly recom- \nmended ourselves to God, the Lord both of earth and seas, expecting \nwith every wave to be swallowed up and drenched in the deeps. \nAnd as my cousin, his wife, and my tender babes sat comforting and \ncheering one the other in the Lord against ghastly death, which every \nmoment stared us in the face and sat triumphing upon each one's \nforehead, we were by the violence of the waves and fury of the winds \n(by the Lord's permission) lifted up upon a rock between two high \nrocks, yet all was one rock. But it raged with the stroke, which \ncame into the pinnace, so as we were presently up to our middles in \nwater, as we sat. The waves came furiously and violently over us, \nand against us ; but by reason of the rock's proportion could not lift \nus off, but beat her all to pieces. Now look with me upon our dis- \ntress, and consider of my misery, who beheld the ship broken, the \nwater in her and violently overwhelming us, my goods and provis- \nions swimming in the seas, my friends almost drowned, and mine \nown poor children so untimely (if I may so term it without offence) \nbefore mine eyes drowned, and ready to be swallowed iip and dashed \nto pieces against the rocks by the merciless waves, and myself ready \nto accompany them. But I must go on to an end of this woful \nrelation. \n\nIn the same room whereas he sat, the master of the pinnace, not \nknowing what to do, our foremast was cut down, our mainmast broken \nin three pieces, the fore part of the piimace beat away, our goods \nswimming about the seas, my children bewailing me, as not pitying \nthemselves, and myself bemoaning them, poor souls, whom I had \noccasioned to such an end in their tender years, whenas they could \nscarce be sensible of death, — and so likewise my cousin, his wife, \n\n\n248 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nand his children ; and both of us bewailing each other in our Lord \nand only Saviour Jesus Christ, in whom only we had comfort and \ncheerfulness : insomuch that, from the greatest to the least of us, \nthere was not one screech or outcry made ; but all, as silent sheep, \nwere contentedly resolved to die together lovingly, as since our \nacquaintance we had lived together friendly. \n\nNow as I was sitting in the cabin room door, with my body in the \nroom, when lo ! one of the sailors, by a wave being washed out of the \npinnace, was gotten in again, and coming into the cabin room over \nmy back, cried out, \" We are all cast away. The Lord have mercy \nupon us ! I have been washed overboard into the sea, and am gotten \nin again.\" His speeches made me look forth. And looking toward \nthe sea, and seeing how we were, I turned myself to my cousin and \nthe rest, and spake these words : \" O cousin, it hath pleased God to \ncast us hei'e between two rocks, the shore not far from us, for I saw \nthe tops of trees when I looked forth.\" Whereupon the master of \nthe pinnace, looking up at the scuttle-hole of the quarter-deck, went \nout at it ; but I never saw him afterward. Then he that had been \nin the sea went out again by me, and leaped overboard toward the \nrocks, whom afterward also I could not see. \n\nNow none were left in the bark that I knew or saw, but my cousin, \nhis wife and children, myself and mine, and his maidservant. But \nmy cousin thought I Avould have fled from him, and said unto me : \n\" 0 cousin, leave us not, let us die together ; \" and reached forth his \nhand imto me. Then I, letting go my son Peter's hand, took him by \nthe hand and said : \" Cousin, I purpose it not. W^hither shall I go ? \nI am willing and ready here to die with you and my poor children. \nGod be merciful to us, and receive us to himself ! \" adding these \nwords : \" The Lord is able to help and deliver us.\" He replied, saying, \n\" Truth, cousin ; but what his pleasure is, we know not. I fear we \nhave been too unthankful for former deliverances. But he hath \npromised to deliver us from sin and condemnation, and to bring us \nsafe to heaven through the all-sufficient satisfaction of Jesus Christ. \nThis, therefore, we may challenge of him.\" To which I, replying, \nsaid, \" That is all the deliverance I now desire and expect.\" \n\nWhich words I had no sooner spoken, but by a mighty wave I was, \nwith the piece of the bark, washed out upon part of the rock, where \nthe wave left me almost drowned. But recovering my feet, I saw \nabove me on the rock my daughter Mary. To whom I had no \nsooner gotten, but my cousin Avery and his eldest son came to us, \n\n\nthacher's island. 249 \n\nbeing all four of ns washed out by one and the same wave. We went \nall into a small hole on the top of the rock, whence we called to those \nin the pinnace to come imto us, supposing we had been in more safetj- \nthan they were in. My wife, seeing us there, was crept up into the \nscuttle of the quarter-deck, to come unto us. But presently came \nanother wave, and dashing the pinnace all to pieces, carried my wife \naway in the scuttle as she was, with the greater part of the c[uarter- \ndeck, unto the shore ; where she was cast safely, but her legs were \nsomething bruised. And much timber of the vessel being there also \ncast, she was some time before she could get away, being washed by \nthe waves. All the rest that were in the bark were drowned in the \nmerciless seas. We four by that wave were clean swept away from \noff the rock also into the sea ; the Lord, in one instant of time, dis- \nposing of fifteen souls of us according to his good pleasure and will. \n\nHis pleasure and wonderful great mercy to me was thus. Stand- \ning on the rock, as before you heard, with my eldest daughter, my \ncousin, and his eldest son, looking upon and talking to them in the \nbark, whenas we were by that merciless wave washed off the rock, as \nbefore you heard, God, in his mercy, caused me to fall, by the stroke \nof the wave, flat on my face ; for my face was toward the sea. Inso- \nmuch, that as I was sliding off the rock into the sea, the Lord directed \nmy toes into a joint in the rock's side, as also the tops of some of my \nfingers, with my right hand, by means whereof, the w^ave leaving me, \nI remained so hanging on the rock, only my head above the water ; \nwhen on the left hand I espied a board or plank of the pinnace. And \nas I was reaching out my left hand to lay hold on it, by another com- \ning over the top of the rock I was -washed away from the rock, and \nby the violence of the waves was driven hither and thither in the \nseas a great while, and had many dashes against the rocks. At length, \npast hopes of life, and wearied in body and spirits, I even gave over \nto nature ; and being ready to receive in the waters of death, I lifted \nup both my heart and hands to the God of heaven, — for note, I had \nmy senses remaining perfect with me all the time that I was under \nand in water, — who at that instant lifted my head above the top of the \nwater, that so I might breathe without any hindrance by the waters. \nI stood bolt upright, as if I had stood upon my feet ; but I felt no \nbottom, nor had any footing for to stand upon but the waters. \n\nWhile I was thus above the water, I saw by me a piece of the mast, \nas I suppose, about three foot long, which I labored to catch into my \narms. But suddenly I was overwhelmed with water, and driven to \n\n\n250 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nand fro again, and at last I felt the ground with my right foot. When \nimmediately, whilst I was thus grovelling on my face, I, presently \nrecovering my feet, was in the water up to my breast, and through \nGod's great mercy had my face nnto the shore, and not to the sea. I \nmade haste to get out, but was thrown down on my hands with the \nwaves, and so with safety crept to the dry shore, where, blessing \nGod, I turned about to look for my children and friends, but saw \nneither, nor any part of the pinnace, where I left them, as I supposed. \nBut I saw my wife, about a butt length from me, getting herself forth \nfrom amongst the timber of the broken bark ; but before I could get \nunto her, she was gotten to the shore. I was in the water, after I \nwas washed from the rock, before 1 came to the shore, a quarter of an \nhour at least. \n\nWhen we were come each to other, we went and sat under the \nbank. But fear of the seas' roaring, and our coldness, would not \nsuffer us there to remain. But we went up into the land, and sat us \ndown under a cedar-tree, which the wind had thrown down, where \nwe sat about an hour, almost dead with cold. But now the storm \nwas broken up, and the wind was calm ; but the sea remained rough \nand fearful to us. My legs were much bruised, and so was my head. \nOther hurt had I none, neither had I taken in much quantity of \nwater. But my heart would not let me sit still any longer ; but I \nwould go to see if any niore were gotten to the land in safety, espe- \ncially hoping to have met with some of my own poor children; but I \ncould find none, neither dead nor yet living. \n\nYou condole with me my miseries, who now began to consider of \nmy losses. Now came to my remembrance the time and manner how \nand when I last saw and left my children and friends. One was \nsevered from me sitting on the rock at my feet, the other three in the \npinnace ; my little babe (ah, poor Peter!) sitting in his sister Edith's \narms, who to the uttermost of her power sheltered him from the \nwaters ; my poor William standing close unto them, all three of them \nlooking ruefidly on me on the rock, their very coimtenances calling \nunto me to help them ; whom I could not go unto, neither could they \ncome at me, neither would the merciless waves afford me space or \ntime to use any means at all, either to help them or myself. Oh, I \nyet see their cheeks, poor silent lambs, pleading pity and help at my \nhands. Then, on the other side, to consider the loss of my dear \nfriends, with the spoiling and loss of all our goods and provisions, \nmyseK cast upon an unknown land, in a wilderness, I knew not \n\n\nTHACHER'S ISLAND. 251 \n\nwhere nor how to get thence. Then it came to my mind how I had \noccasioned the death of my children, who caused them to leave their \nnative land, who might have left them there, yea, and might have \nsent some of them back again, and cost me nothing. These and such \nlike thoughts do press down my heavy heart very much. \n\nBut I must let this pass, and will proceed on in the relation of \nGod's goodness unto me in that desolate island, on which I was cast. \nI and my wife were almost naked, both of us, and wet and cold even \nunto death. 1 found a snapsack cast on the shore, in which I had a \nsteel, and flint, and powder-horn. Going farther, I found a drowned \ngoat ; then I found a hat, and my son William's coat, both which \nI put on. My wife found one of her petticoats, which she put on. I \nfound also two cheeses and some butter driven ashore. Thus the \nLord sent us some clothes to put on, and food to sustain our new \nlives, which we had lately given unto us, and means also to make \ntire ; for in a horn I had some gunpowder, which, to mine own, and \nsince to other men's admiration, was dry. So taking a piece of my \nwife's neckcloth which I dried in the sun, 1 struck fire, and so dried \nand warmed our wet bodies ; and then skinned the goat, and having \nfound a small brass pot, we boiled some of her. Our drink was \nbrackish water ; bread we had none. \n\nThere we remained until the Monday following ; when, about \nthree of the clock in the afternoon, in a boat that came that way, we \nwent ofl' that desolate island, which I named after my name, Thacher's \nWoe, and the rock, Avery his Fall, to the end that their fall and loss, \nand mine own, might be had in perpetual remembrance. In the isle \nlieth buried the l)ody of my cousin's eldest daughter, whom I found \ndead on the shore. On the Tuesday following, in the afternoon, we \narrived at Marblehead. \n\nSuch an event would naturally have its poetic pendant. Tlie \nsimple pathos of the prose narrative may now be contrasted \nwith the chaste beauty of Whittier's \" Swan Song of Parson \nAvery,\" which turns upon the popular fallacy that the swan \npours forth its expiring breath in song. \n\n\n252 NEW-ENGLAJfD LEGENDS. \n\nTHE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY. \n\nJ. G. WHITTIER. \n\nWhen the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, \nParson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children \n\neight. \nDropping down the river-harbor in the shallop \" Watch and Wait.\" \n\nAll day they sailed : at nightfall the pleasant land-breeze died, \nThe blackening sky, at midnight, its starry lights denied, \nAnd far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! \n\nAll at once the great cloud parted, like a curtain drawn aside, \nTo let down the torch of lightning on the terror far and wide ; \nAnd the thunder and the whirlwind together smote the tide. \n\nThere was wailing in the shallop, woman's wail and man's despair, \nA crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and bare. \nAnd, through it all, the murmur of Father Avery's prayer. \n\n\" In this night of death I challenge the promise of thy word ! — \nLet me see the great salvation of which mine ears bave heard ! — \nLet me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of Christ, our \nLord ! \" \n\nWhen the Christian sings his death-song, all the listening heavens \n\ndraw near, \nAnd the angels, leaning over the walls of crystal, hear \nHow the notes so faint and broken swell to music in God's ear. \n\nThe ear of God was open to his servant's last request ; \n\nAs the strong wave swept him downward the sweet hymn upward \n\npressed, \nAnd the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its rest. \n\n\nTHE SPECTKE LEAGUEKS. 253 \n\n\nTHE SPECTRE LEAGUERS. \n\nTHE fatal year 1692, in which the -witchcraft terrorism so \nthoroughly permeated things mundane, has one ludicrous \nchapter to redeem it from utter fatuity. ^ \n\nIt is gravely told in the \" Magnalia Christi \" of Cotton Mather, \nand on the authority of the Reverend John Emerson, of Glou- \ncester, how a number of rollicking apparitions, dressed like gentle- \nmen, in white waistcoats and breeches, kept that and the neigh- \nboring towns in a state of feverish excitement and alarm for a \nwhole fortnight together. And neither of the reverend persons \nnamed seems to have entertained a doubt that these unaccount- \nable molestations were caused by the Devil and his agents in \n■propria persona, who took the human form for the better exe- \ncution of their deep design. It is not very clear what that de- \nsign was. The spectres, if such they were, — and as it would \nbe impardonable in us to doubt, — appear to have been a harm- \nless sort of folk enough, for they did no injury either to the per- \nsons or the property of the inhabitants, thus laying their natural \npropensities under a commendable restraint. But the fact that \nthey were spirits, and no ordinary spirits at that, being so con- \nfidently vouched for, and by such high authority on such mat- \nters as Dr. Cotton Mather, would seem to dispose of all doubt \nupon the subject. Should any, however, remain in the reader's \nmind after perusing the following account, he is reminded that \nwhat he has read is the sworn evidence of men who actually \nfought with, and on more than one occasion disgracefully routed \nand drove the invading demons before them into dark swamps \nand thickets. These witnesses are all persons of character and \ncredibility. Moreover, their testimony remains unshaken by any \nsubsequent revelations to this day. The reader may therefore \ndepend upon the authoritative character of the narrative. \n\n\n254 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nIn the midsummer time, in the year 1G92, of fatal memory, \nEbenezer Babson, a sturdy yeoman of Cape Ann, with the rest \nof his family, almost every night heard noises as if some persons \nwere walking or running hither and thither about the house. \nHe being out late one night, when returning home saw two men \ncome out of his own door, and then at sight of him run swiftly \nfrom the end of the house into the adjoining cornfield. Going \nin, he immediately questioned his family concerning these \nstrange visitors. They promptly rej^lied that no one at all had \nbeen there during his absence. Staggered by this denial, but \nbeing withal a very resolute, stout-hearted man, Babson seized \nhis gun and went out in pursuit of the intruders. When he had \ngone a little way from the house, he saw the same men suddenly \nstart up from behind a log and run into a swamp that was near \nby. He also overheard one say to the other, \" The man of the \nhouse is now come, else we might have taken the house.\" Then \nhe lost sight of them. \n\nUpon this, expecting an immediate attack, the whole family \nrose in consternation, and went with all haste to the nearest \ngarrison, which was only a short distance off. They had only \njust entered it when they heard heavy footfalls, as if a number \nof men were trampling on the ground around it. Then Babson \nagain took his gun and ran out, and he again saw the two men \nrunning away down the hill into the swamp. By this time \nno one doubted that they were threatened with an Indian for- \nray, that these men were the enemy's scouts, and that the \ndanger was imminent. \n\nThe next night but one, Babson, for the third time, saw two \nmen, who he thought looked like Frenchmen, one of them hav- \ning a bright gun, such as the French Canadians used, slung on \nhis back. Both of them started towards him at the top of their \nspeed ; but Babson, taking to his heels, made good his escape \ninto the garrison, and so eluded them. When he had got safely \nin, the noise of men moving about on the outside was again \ndistinctly heard. I^ot long after these strange things had taken \nplace, Babson, with another man, named John Brown, saw three \n\n\nTHE SPECTRE LEAGUEES. \n\n\n255 \n\n\nmen (the number, like FalstafF's men in buckram, bad now in- \ncreased to three), whom they tried hard to get a shot at, but did \nnot, owing to the strangers' dodging about in so lively a manner \nthat they could not take aim. For two or three nights these \nmen, or devils in the form of men, continued to appear in the \nsame mysterious way, for the purpose of drawing the Cape men \nout into a wild-goose chase after them. On July 14, Babson, \nBrown, and all the garrison saw within gunshot of them half-a- \ndozen men, whom they supposed to be reconnoitring, or trying \n\n\nA SOKTIE UPON THE DEMONS. \n\n\nto decoy them into an ambush. The brave garrison at once \nsallied out in hot pursuit. Babson, who seems to have ever \nsought the forefront of battle, presently overtook two of the \nskulking vagabonds, took good aim, and pulled the trigger ; but \nhis trust}^ gun missed fire, and they got away and hid them- \nselves among the bushes. He then called out to his comrades, \nwho immediately answered, \" Here they are ! here they are ! \" \nwhen Babson, running to meet them, saw three men stealing out \nof the swamp side by side. Bringing his gun to his shoulder, \nwith sure aim this time he fired ; when all three fell as if shot. \n\n\n256 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nAlmost beside himself, Babson cried out to his companious that \nhe had killed three. But when he was come nearly up to tlie \nsupposed dead men, they all rose up and ran away, apparently \nwithout hurt or wound of any kind. Indeed one of them gave \nBabson a shot in return for his own, the bullet narrowly miss- \ning him, and burying itself in a tree, from which it was after- \nward dug out, and preserved as a trophy of the combat. Babson \nthinking this warm work, took refuge behind a tree and reloaded. \nThen, his comrades having joined him, they all charged together \nupon the spot where the fugitives lay concealed. Again the \nspectres started up before their eyes and ran, \" every man his \nway.\" One, however, they surrounded and hemmed in, and \nBabson, getting a fair shot at him, saw him drop. But when \nsearch was made, the dead body had vanished. After a fruit- \nless liunt, during which the stout-hearted Colonists heard a loud \ntalking going on in the swamp, in some outlandish jargon they \ncould not understand a word of, they returned, crestfallen and \nhalf dead with fatigue, to the garrison, in order to report their \nill-success. But no sooner were the}'' back there, than they saw \nmore men skulking among the bushes, who prudently kept out \nof gunshot. What could it all mean\"? \n\nThe next morning Babson started to go over to the harbor in \norder to give the alarm there, for it was not doubted by any one \nthat an attack was imminent. While on his Avay thither he \nwas waylaid and fired at by the \" unaccountable troublers,\" who, \nstrange to say, loaded their guns with real bullets, as poor Bab- \nson was near finding out to his cost. Having procured help, \nthe neighborhood was scoured for traces of the attacking party, \ntwo of Avhom were seen, but not being mortal flesh and blood, \ncould not be harmed by lead or steel. \n\nIn the course of a few days more, two of the garrison went \nout upon a scout, who saw several men come out of an orchard, \nin which they seemed to be performing some strange incanta- \ntions. They counted eleven of them. Eichard Dolliver raised \nhis gun and fired into the midst of them, where they stood the \nthickest ; but of course without other effect than to make them \nscatter as before. \n\n\nTHE SPECTKE LEAGUERS. 257 \n\nIt now being clear that the strange visitors bore a charmed \nlife, and that the Cape was in great peril from this diabolical \ninvasion, the end of which no man could foresee, the aid of the \nsurrounding towns was invoked in this truly alarming crisis. \nA reinforcement of sixty men from Ipswich, led by Captain Ap- \npleton, coming promptly to the rescue, gave the garrison much \nencouragement, beleaguered round as they were by the Powers \nof Darkness, against which lead and steel were of no more effect \nthan snowballs or rushes would have been. For a fortnight \nthey had been kept in continual alarm, night and day. The \ninfernal visitants showed themselves first in one place and then \nin another, to draw out and harass them, until a foeman seemed \nlurking in every bush. Though repeatedly shot at, none could \nbe killed. They threw stones, beat upon barns with clubs, and \notherwise acted more in the spirit of diabolical revelry than as \nif actuated by any deadlier purpose. They moved about the \nswamps without leaving any tracks, like ordinary beings. In \nshort, it was evident that such adversaries as these were, must \nbe fought with other weapons besides matchlocks and broad- \nswords ; consequently a strange fear fell upon the Cape. \n\nFinally they became still more insolently bold, and so far \nfrom showing the same cowardly disposition to take to their \nheels whenever they were chased, they now treated their pur- \nsuers with open contempt. For instance, seeing three of the \nunknown approaching him one morning, walking slowly and \napparently unmindful of any danger, Babson ensconced himself \nbehind some bushes to lie in wait for them. He held his fire \nuntil they were come -within a stone's throw before he pulled \nthe trigger. But to his unspeakable dismay his gun flashed in \nthe pan, though he repeatedly snapped it at the phantoms, who \ntook no other notice of him than to give him a disdainful look \nas they walked by. Yet he soon afterward snapped the same \ngun several times in succession, and it never once missed fire. \nThe goblins liad charmed it ! \n\nIt being settled that these insults proceeded from spectres, and \nnot from beings who were vulnerable to weapons of mortal make, \n\n17 \n\n\n258 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nthe unequal contest was abandoned. When this was done, the \ndemons' occupation being gone, they too disappeared. \n\nIt should be said in conclusion, and on the same authority \nas that to which we owe the narration, that the most conserva- \ntive minds regarded these occurrences as a part of the descent \nfrom the invisible world then menacing the peace of the Colony, \nand threatening the churches therein with irretrievable disaster. \n\nThe poetic version of this legend opens with a glimpse of the \nscene that is itself worth a whole chapter of description. We \nare then introduced to the Colonial garrison-house, rudely but \nstrongly built, to protect the settlers from their savage foes, and \nto its valiant defenders, who with their useless arms in their \nhands await in dread the assault of the demons. Mr. Whittier, \nbe it said, is seldom happier than when dealing with the legend- \nary lore extracted from the old chronicles. In him the spirit \nof an antiquary and the feeling of the poet exist in as amiable \nfellowship as they did in Sir Walter Scott, who ransacked the \nlegends of Scotland for his tales in prose or verse. \n\nTHE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. \n\nJ. G. WHITTIER. \n\nWhere the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, \n\nran, \nThe garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks of Cape Ann ; \nOn its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade, \nAnd rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight overlaid. \n\nBefore the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying brands, \nTwenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands ; \nOn the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared. \nAnd the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. \n\nBut their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear. \nAs they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil near ; \nOf a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun ; \nNever yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mortals run ! \n\n\nOLD MEG, THE WITCH. 259 \n\nMidnight came ; from out the forest moved a dusky mass that soon \nGrew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly marching in the moon. \n\" Ghosts or witches,\" said the captain, \" thus I foil the Evil One ! \" \nAnd he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his gun. \n\n\" God preserve us ! \" said the captain ; '''never mortal foes were there ; \nThey have vanished with their leader, Prince and Power of the air ! \nLay aside your useless weapons ; skill and prowess naught avail ; \nThey who do the Devil's service wear their master's coat of mail ! \" \n\nSo the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call \nRoused the score of weary soldiers watching round the dusky hall ; \nAnd they looked to flint and priming, and they longed for break of \n\nday ; \nBut the captain closed his Bible : \" Let us cease from man, and \n\npray ! \" \n\nTo the men who went before us, all the unseen powers seemed near, \nAnd their steadfast strength of courage struck its roots in holy fear. \nEvery hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed and bare, \nEvery stout knee pressed the flagstones, as the captain led in prayer. \n\nCeased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the wall. \nBut a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of all, — \nHowls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after mortal man \nSaw the ghostly leaguers marching round the blockhouse of Cape \nAnn. \n\n\nOLD MEG, THE WITCH. \n\nWE can easily bring the age of credulity as far forward as \nthe middle of the last century, by means of a local \nlegend in which mediaeval superstition respecting witches sur- \nvives in full vigor. The test of the silver bullet recalls the \nweird incantation scene in \" Der Freischiitz,\" and all the demon \nlore associated with the gloomy depths of the Hartz. \n\n\n260 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nThere was a reputed witch by the name of Margaret Wesson, \nand familiarly known by the name of \"Old Meg,\" who once \nresided in Gloucester. After having been for many years the \nobject of superstitious curiosity and dread to the inhabitants of \nthe Cape, she at length came to her end in the following strange \nand mysterious manner. At the time of the celebrated victorious \nsiege of Louisburg by the Colonial troops in 1745, two soldiers \nof the Massachusetts line belonging to Gloucester happened to \nhave their attention drawn to the movements of a crow that \nkept hovering over them. They threw stones, and then fired \ntheir muskets at it, but could neither touch nor terrify it ; the \nbird still continued Hying round them and cawing horribly in \ntheir ears. At length it occurred to one of them that it might \nbe Old Meg. He communicated his suspicions to his comrade ; \nand as nothing but silver was believed to have any power to \ninjure a witch, they cut the silver buttons off from their uni- \nform coats and discharged them at the crow. The experiment \nsucceeded. At the first shot they broke its leg ; at the second \nit fell dead at their feet. When they returned to Gloucester, \nthey learned that Old Meg had broken her leg while walking \nby the fort in that place at the precise time when they had shot \nand killed the crow five hundred miles distant ; after lingering \nfor a while in great agony she died. And now comes the sin- \ngular part of the story ; for upon examining her fractured limb, \nthe identical silver buttons which the soldiers had fired from \ntheir muskets under the walls of Louisburg were extracted from \nthe flesh. The story of Old Meg was long familiarly told in \nGloucester, although the credulity which once received it as \nsolemn truth has nearly, if not quite, passed away, says the \nEeverend Charles W. Upham, who makes the statement so \nlately as 1832. It has, however, been reproduced among the \nsober records of fact contained in Mr. Babson's \"History of \nGloucester.\" \n\n\nAN ESCAPE FKOM PIKATES. 261 \n\n\nAN ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. \n\nACCORDING to the historian Thncydides, the Greeks were \nthe first pirates. The ancient poets tell us that those \nwho sailed along the coasts in quest of prey were everywhere \naccosted with the question, \" wliether they were pirates,\" not as \na term of reproach, but of honor. So also the vikings of the \nNorth were little less than corsairs, whose valiant deeds of arms, \nand whose adventurous voyages to distant lands, celebrated in \ntheir sagas, were conceived and performed with no nobler pur- \npose than robbery. \n\nBut the modern pirate had neither the rude sense of honor \nnor the chivalrous notions of warfare distinguishing his ancient \nprototype. He was simply a robber and a murderer, bidding all \nhonest traders to \" stand and deliver \" like the aquatic liighway- \nman that he was. Even the mildest-mannered man among them \n\" that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat \" was no more than \nthis ; while the majority were beings fitted by nature for a career \nof crime, the bare recital of which makes us shudder. \n\nDuring the first quarter of the eighteenth century our own \nseas swarmed with these freebooters, whose depredations upon \nour commerce are the theme of some of the most startling epi- \nsodes preserved in the whole annals of piracy. Blackbeard, Low, \nand Phillips stand pre-eminent at the head of this black list. \nIt is with the last that our story has to do. \n\nIn the course of his last piratical cruise, during which he \nswept the coast from Jamaica to Newfoundland, Phillips fell in \nwith and captured the sloop \" Dolphin,\" Andrew Harraden, \nmaster, belonging to Cape Ann. The \" Dolphin,\" being a bet- \nter vessel than his own, the pirate transferred his black flag to \nher, sending the crew away in another of his prizes. Captain \nHarraden was, however, detained a prisoner on board his own \n\n\n262 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nvessel. Two of the pirate crew, John Fillmore, of Ipswich, and \nEdward Cheesman were men whom Phillips had taken out of \nthe ships that he had plundered and pressed into his service, \nthus making them pirates against their will. Being found use- \nful, Cheesman had been promoted to the post of ship's carpenter \nshortly before the \" Dolphin\" was captured. Both he and Fill- \nmore, however, were brave young fellows, and both had fully \ndetermined, come what might, to take the first opportunity \nthat presented itself of escaping from Phillips' clutches ; but the \njealous watchfulness of the older pirates was such that they \ncould get no opportunity of talking to each other about what \nwas in their minds, except when feigning to be asleep, or when \npretending to play at cards together. But by stealth they at \nlength came to an understanding. \n\nTo Captain Harraden these two presently broached their pur- \npose ; and finding him ready and willing to strike a blow for the \nrecovery of his vessel and his liberty, they with four confeder- \nates, who were already pledged to stand by them, fixed the day \nand the hour for making the hazardous attempt. \n\nWhen the appointed hour of noon had arrived, Cheesman, the \nleader, with Fillmore and Harraden, were on deck, as also were \nNut, the master of the \" Dolphin,\" a fellow of great strength \nand courage, the boatswain, and some others of the pirate crew. \nBut of all on board, Nut and the boatswain were the two whom \nthe conspirators most feared to encounter. Cheesman, however, \npromised to take care of the master if the others would attend \nto the boatswain. No firearms were to be used. The attack \nwas to be suddenly made, and possession of the deck to be \ngained, before the alarm should spread below. \n\nCheesman, having left his working tools on the deck, as if he \nwere going to use them about the vessel, walked aft to begin \nwith the master ; but seeing some signs of timidity in Harraden, \nhe came back, gave him and his mates a dram of brandy each, \ndrinking to the boatswain and the master the toast, \"To our \nnext merry-meeting.\" He then took a turn up and down the \ndeck with Nut, in order to occupy the pirate's attention, while \n\n\nNORMAN'S WOE. 263 \n\nFillmore, as if in sport, picked up the carpenter's axe from where \nit was lying, and began to twirl it around on the point. \n\nThis was the signal agreed upon. Cheesman instantly gi'ap- \npled with the master, and, being a man of powerful frame, after \na brtef struggle pitched him over the side into the sea. Fill- \nmore, rushing upon the boatswain, with one blow of the axe \nlaid him dead upon the deck. The noise of the scuffle brought \nthe pirate chief on deck ; but Cheesman quickly disabled him \nwith a blow from the carpenter's mallet, which fractured his jaw- \nbone. Having armed himself with an adze, Harraden then \nsprang upon Phillips with his uplifted weapon ; but the gunner \nof the pirate interposing between them, Cheesman tripped up \nhis heels, throwing him into the arms of a confederate, who \nflung him overboard, after the master. Harraden then finished \nwith Phillips. \n\nThe conspirators then jumped into the hold and fell upon \nthe quartermaster, Avho was the only officer remaining alive ; \nwhen a young lad on board pleaded so earnestly for his life that \nhe was spared. The rest of the pirate crew being securely put \nin irons, the vessel was steered directly for Boston, where she \narrived on the 3d of May, 1724, to the great joy of the people of \nthe province. Two of the Pirates, Archer, the quartermaster, \nand William White, were tried, convicted, and executed. Fill- \nmore, Cheesman, and their confederates were honorably acquit- \nted. John Fillmore, the pirate in spite of himself, was the \ngreat-grandfather of the thirteenth President of the United \nStates. \n\n\nNORMAN'S WOE. \n\nTOUCHING the name of the rock called Norman's Woe, \nlittle more is known than that Goodman Norman and his \nson were among the first to settle here ; and it is therefore as- \nsumed that this headland and its outlying islet preserve a family \n\n\n264 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nsurname at once bold and picturesque. That no record is known, \nto explain how the rock originally received its name, or what the \ncatastrophe it was intended to perpetuate, is only another in- \nstance of the instability of local traditions. Many of the names \nnow in use on Cape Ann go as far back as the first decade of the \nsettlement. For instance, Kettle Island and Baker's Island were \nnamed before 1634. This one, like Thacher's Island, is pro- \nbably commemorative of some uncommon individual experience \nor disaster; but whatever that may have been, its memory is \nprobably lost beyond recovery. \n\n\nNORMAN S WOE KOCK. \n\n\nNot lost its claim to a wider celebrity than some of our most \nfamous battlefields, for it is the scene so vividly described in \nLongfellow's \" Wreck of the ' Hesperus.' \" \n\nIn his biographical sketch of the poet Longfellow, Mr. Francis \nH. Underwood says of this ballad that it \"is deservedly ad- \nmired, especially for the vigor of its descriptions. It is,\" he \ncontinues, \" in truth a ballad such as former centuries knew, and \nwhich are seldom written now. Its free movement, directness, \nand pictorial power combine to make it one of the most remark- \nable of the author's poems.\" \n\n\nnokman's woe. 265 \n\nYet Mr. Fields, the poet's genial friend and whilom his pub- \nlisher, says that the \" Wreck of the ' Hesperus ' \" hardly caused \nits author an effort. The facts with regard to its composition \nare these : After a dreadful gale in the winter of 1839, which \nstrewed the coast with wrecks, he had been reading the cata- \nlogue of its disasters with which the newspapers were filled. \nThe stormy Cape had reaped its full share of this terrible har- \nvest. Forty dead bodies, among them that of a woman lashed \nto a piece of wreck, had been washed up on the Gloucester \nshore. One of the lost vessels was named the \" Hesperus,\" and \nthe name of Norman's Woe now met his eye, — perhaps for the \nfirst time. The event impressed him so deeply that he deter- \nmined to write a ballad upon it. Late one night as he sat by the \nfire smoking his pipe, the whole scene came vividly into his \nmind ; and under the absorbing impulse of the moment, taking \nhis pen, he wrote this most graphic of ballads. He then went to \nbed, but, as he tells us, not to sleep ; for new thoughts were run- \nning in his head which kept him awake. He rose and added \nthem to the first draught. At three in the morning he had fin- \nished the ballad as it stands. \n\nAlthough, in point of fact, no such vessel as the \" Hesperus \" \nwas wrecked on the reef of Norman's W^oe, the poet's versified \nstory is founded upon a real incident, to which the use of these \nnames lends a terrible interest. In one sense, therefore, this \nballad belongs to the legendary ; but by the poet's genius it is \nnow firmly associated with the surf-beaten rock of Cape Ann, \nwhose name of terror, derived from some unrecorded disaster, \nfound no reason for its being, until a few strokes of the pen gave \nit immortality. \n\nFrom being merely the scene of a wreck, Norman's Woe has \nbecome a spot consecrated by genius. It is, therefore, no com- \nmon rock, but a monument to Mr. Longfellow far more sug- \ngestive and enduring than any memorial shaft that the most \nreverent hands niay raise over his honored dust. \" The letter \nkilleth, but the spirit giveth life.\" \n\nThe ballad is, as Mr. Underwood says, written in the quaint \n\n\n266 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nold manner ; but what is more to the purpose, it has the genuine \nring, nervous action, sonorous rhythm, and unmistakable flavor \nof the sea throughout. Those stanzas descriptive of the increas- \ning fury of the gale have never been surpassed in the language. \n\nColder and louder blew the wind, \n\nA gale from the Northeast, \nThe snow fell hissing in the brine, \n\nAnd the billows frothed like yeast. \n\nDown came the storm, and smote amain \n\nThe vessel in its strength ; \nShe shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, \n\nThen leaped her cable's length. \n\nAnd fast through the midnight dark and drear. \nThrough the whistling sleet and snow, \n\nLike a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept \n\nTowards the Reef of Norman's Woe. \n\nShe struck where the white and fleecy waves \n\nLooked soft as carded wool. \nBut the cruel rocks, they gored her sides \n\nLike the horns of an angry bull. \n\nHer rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, \n\nWith the masts went by the board ; \nLike a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. \n\nHo ! ho ! the breakers roared ! \n\nAt daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, \n\nA fisherman stood aghast, \nTo see the form of a maiden fair. \n\nLashed close to a drifting mast. \n\n\nHANNAH BINDING SHOES. 267 \n\n\nHANNAH BINDING SHOES. \n\n\" Beverly Farms, Mass., Dec. 22, 1874. \n\n\" Dear Sir, — As to ' Hannah's ' locale, it is bard to determine. \nI used to see her at all the windows in Beverly when I was a little \nchild ; but I saw her more distinctly, about twenty years ago, on \nthe road between Beverly and Marblebead. I think she lived in the \nlatter place qviit.e as much as at the former. You see my home was \nin Beverly, and we Beverly children were rather afraid of the ^larble- \nheaders ; they had the reputation of ' rocking ' their neighbors out \nof town. I suspect, on the whole, that ' Hannah ' must have been \na tramp, and bound shoes anywhere she put up. Mr. Wood, who \npainted her picture, says he was shown her house in Marblehead. \nand he ought to know. \n\n\" But I have honestly told you all I know about her, except as a \nlodger in my imagination. \n\n\" Sincerely ashamed of my ignorance, I am truly yours, \n\n\"Lucy Larcom.\" \n\nPoor lone Hannah, \nSitting at the window binding shoes ! \n\nFaded, wrinkled. \n\nSitting, stitching in a mournful muse. \n\nBright-eyed beauty once was she \n\nWhen the bloom was on the tree. \n\nSpring and winter \n\nHannah 's at the window binding shoes. \n\nNot a neighbor \nPassing nod or answer will refuse \n\nTo her whisper : \n\" Is there from the fishers any news ? \" \nOh, her heart 's adrift with one \nOn an endless voyage gone ! \nNight and morning \nHannah 's at the window bindins: shoes. \n\n\n268 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nFair young Hannah \nBen, the suu-burnt fisher gayly wooes ; \n\nHale and clever, \nFor a willing heart and hand he sues. \n\n\nPOOR LONE HANNAH. \n\n\nMay-day skies are all aglow, \n\n\nFor her wedding, \nHannah leaves her window and her shoes. \n\n\nHANNAH BINDING SHOES. 269 \n\nMay is passing, — \nMid the apple-boughs a pigeou cooes. \n\nHannah shudders, \nFor the wild sou'-wester mischief brews. \nRound the rocks of Marblehead, \nOutward bound, a schooner sped. \nSilent, lonesome, \nHannah 's at the window binding shoes. \n\n'T is November : \nNow no tear her wasted cheek bedews. \n\nFrom Newfoundland \nNot a sail returning will she lose ; \nWhispering hoarsely, '•' Fishermen, \nHave you, have you heard of Ben I \" \nOld with watching, \nHamiah 's at the window binding shoes. \n\nTwenty winters \nBleach and tear the rugged shore she views ; \n\nTwenty seasons ; — \n\nNever one has brought her any news. \n\nStill her dim eyes silently \n\nChase the white sails o'er the sea. \n\nHopeless, faithful \n\nHannah 's at the window binding shoes. \n\n\nIPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. \n\n\nIPSWICH LEGENDS. \n\n\nOLD IPSWICH is one of the most delightful comers into \nwhich the artist or the antiquary could have the good \nf(3rtune to stray, for here either will find ahundant occupation. \nIts physiognomy is old, its atmosphere drowsy, its quiet un- \nbroken. The best residences are still the oldest ones, and among \nthem are some very quaint specimens of the early Colonial archi- \ntecture, upon which time seems to have made little impression ; \nwhile here and there others stand up mere crazy hulks, so shaken \nand dilapidated inside and out, that every gale threatens to bring \nthem down with a loud crash into the cellars beneath. Some of \nthese have the reputation of being haunted houses, and are of \ncourse enveloped in mystery, — and indeed the whole atmos- \nphere of the place is thick with legendary lore, which the old \npeople drop their voices when they are relating. \n\nTo me now there is no more striking picture than that of \nsome such crazy old structure, trembling, as the wind shakes it, \nlike an old man with the palsy, its windows gaping wide, its \nchimney bent and tottering, the fire on its hearthstone extin- \nguished forever, the path to it overgrown with weeds, the old \nwell choked up with rubbish and poisonous ivy, — everything \nexpressing irretrievable decay, — standing in the midst of a still \nvigorous orchard just putting forth its sweet perennial bloom, \n\n18 \n\n\n274 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nwith the fresh and tender grass creeping up to the broken \nthreshold, as if Nature claimed admittance, and would not be \nmuch longer denied. That house, you are told, was built two \ncenturies ago. Where are the builders ; and where the genera- \ntions that came after them 1 The old weU-sweep creaks mourn- \nfully in the wind, and points its bony finger to the sky. Yet \nhere are the trees that they planted, still putting forth their \nbuds, like mortals putting on immortality. \n\nIt is natural, I think, in such a place to try to imagine the \nfirst-comers looking about them. How did it look ; what did \nthey think 1 They were a mere handful, — the apostolic num- \nber, — a vanguard sent to establish a semi-military post. Upon \nascending the hill above the river they found an outcropping \nledge of goodly extent, forming a sort of natural platform, and \nupon this rock they built their church, which subsequently be- \ncame so famous throughout the Colony under the successive \nministrations of Ward, Eogers, ISTorton, and Hubbard, — all \nmen eminent for their learning and piety. Satan himself was \nnot able to prevail against it ; for upon the smooth ledge out- \nside is still seen the distinct print of his sable majesty's cloven \nfoot, when he Avas hurled from the pinnacle to the ground for \nattempting to conceal himself within the sanctuary. \n\nIn another place, down by the river side, the house where \nHarry Main lived is pointed out to the visitor. He having thus a \nlocal habitation, the legend concerning him is no vagabond tra- \ndition. Harry Main is the Wandering Jew of Ipswich, around \nwhom darkly hangs the shadow of an unpardonable crime and \nits fearful doom. It is said that he had been by turns a pirate, \na smuggler, and a wrecker, who followed the wicked trade of \nbuilding fires on the sands, in order to decoy vessels among \nthe breakers, where they were wrecked, and their crews perished \nmiserably. For these crimes, at his death he was doomed to be \nchained on Ipswich Bar, the scene of his former murderous ex- \nploits, and everlastingly to coil a cable of sand there. When \nthe cable broke, his demoniacal j^ells of baffled rage could be \nheard for miles around ; and when those fearful sounds an- \n\n\nIPSWICH LEGENDS. \n\n\n275 \n\n\nnounced the rising gale, mothers would clasp their babes to their \nbreasts, while the men shook their heads and said, \" Old Harry 's \ngrowling again ! \" His name was long the bugbear used to \nfrighten refractory children into obedience, while the rote on \nthe bar, heard in storms, still audibly perpetuates the legend, \nwith its roar. \n\nThe old people living on Plum Island used to say that Harry \n\n\nPADLOCK AND KEY, IPSWICH JAIL. \n\nMain's ghost troubled them by wandering about the sand-hills \non stormy nights, so that they were afraid to venture out of doors \nafter dark. Indeed the town itself, in its palmy days, was so \nfull of ghostly legends, that certain localities supposed to be \nhaunted, were scrupulously avoided by the timid ones, who had \na mortal dread of being accosted by some vagabond spectre with \nits tale of horror. \n\nHarry Main's house — for we must remember that he had \n\n\n276 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\none — was ransacked, and every rod of the garden dug up for \nthe money that he was supposed to have buried there ; but \nnothing rewarded the search. Other places, too, have been ex- \nplored with the same result, in quest of Kidd's hidden treasures. \nOne good man dreamed three nights in succession that vast sums \nwere buried in a certain hill in the town. He could see the \nvery spot. Haunted by the realism of tlie dream, he determined \nto test the matter for himself; and one dark night, just as mid- \nnight struck, he took his spade, his lantern, and his Bible, and \nstarted on his weird errand. Upon reaching the spot he recog- \nnized it as the same that he had seen in his dream. He imme- \ndiately fell to work. After plying his spade vigorously a while, \nit struck against some hard object. He now felt sure of his \nprize. Scraping the earth away with feverish haste, he came \nto a flat stone having a bar of iron laid across it. This he \neagerly grasped with one hand, and was about to turn the stone \nover with the other when he was suddenly surrounded by a troop \nof cats, whose eyeballs blazed in the darkness. The digger felt \nhis hair slowly rising on end. A cold sweat stood on his brow. \nBrandishing the bar aloft, he cried out, \" Scat ! \" when these vig- \nilant guardians of the treasure vanished in a twinkling, leaving \nthe crestfallen money-digger standing up to his middle in cold \nwater, which had poured into the hole, when he broke the spell \nby sj)eaking. Half drowned, and wholly disgusted, he crawled \nout of it. The iron bar, however, remained tightly clutched in \nhis hand. He carried it home, and I was assured that upon \ngoing to a certain house in Ipswich I might see the identical \ndoor-latch which a smith had made out of this bar for a souvenir \nof the night's adventure. \n\nSuch are a few of the many stories which Mr. Morgan has \npicturesquely grouped together in his poem entitled \" Old Ips- \nwich Town,\" — a charming bit of reminiscence, and charmingly \ntold. \n\n\nOLD IPSWICH TOWN. 277 \n\nOLD IPSWICH TOWN. \n\nAPPLETON MORGAN. \n\nI LOVE to think of old Ipswich town, \n\nOld Ipswich town in the East countree, \nWhence, on the tide, you can float down \n\nThrough the long salt grass to the wailing sea. \nWhere the \" Mayflower \" drifted off the bar \n\nSea- worn and weary, long years ago, \nAnd dared not enter, but sailed away \nTill she landed her boats in Plymouth Bay. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town, \n\nWhere Whitefield preached in the church on the hill, \nDriving out the Devil till he leaped down \n\nFrom the steeple's top, where they show you stiU, \nImbedded deep in the solid rock, \n\nThe indelible print of his cloven hoof, \nAnd tell you the Devil has never shown \nFace or hoof since that day in the honest town. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town. \n\nWhere they shut up the witches until the day \n\nWhen they should be roasted so thoroughly brown. \nIn Salem Village, twelve miles away ; \n\nThey 've moved it off for a stable now ; \n\nBut there are the holes where the stout jail stood, \n\nAnd, at night, they say that over the holes \n\nYou can see the ghost of Goody Coles. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town ; \n\nTliat house to your right, a rod or more. \nWhere the stern old elm-trees seem to frown \n\nIf you peer too hard through the open door, \nSheltered the regicide judges three \n\nWhen the royal sheriffs were after them, \nAnd a queer old villager once I met. \nWho says in the cellar they 're living yet. \n\n\n278 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town ; \n\nHarry Main — you have heard the tale — lived there ; \nHe blasphemed God, so they put him down \n\nWith an iron shovel, at Ipswich Bar ; \nThey chained him there for a thousand years, \n\nAs the sea rolls up to shovel it back ; \nSo when the sea cries, the goodwives say \n\" Harry Main growls at his work to-day.\" \n\n\nIPSWICH HEADS. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town ; \n\nThere 's a graveyard up on the old High street, \nWhere ten generations are looking down \n\nOn the one that is toiling at their feet ; \nWhere the stones stand shoulder to shoulder, like troops \n\nDrawn up to receive a cavalry charge, \nAnd graves have been dug in graves, till the sod \nIs the mould of good men gone to God. \n\nI love to think of old Ipswich town, \n\nOld Ipswich town in the East countree, \nWhence, on the tide, you can float down \n\nThrough the long salt grass to the wailing sea. \nAnd lie all day on the glassy beach, \n\nAnd learn the lesson the green waves teach, \nTill at sunset, from surf and seaweed brown. \nYou are pulling back to Ipswich town. \n\n\nHEARTBREAK HILL. 279 \n\nIpswich contains many interesting memorials of its antique \n■worthies and times. In the Old Hill burying-ground on High \nStreet may be found incontestable proofs to the rank held by \nsome of the founders, in the family arms that are sculptured on \nthe ancient tombstones ; but you will not find the gravestone \nof the Reverend William Hubbard, the historian of l^ew Eng- \nland, there, because no one knows the spot where he is buried. \n\n\nHEARTBREAK HILL. \n\nT ITEMING away from the town through unfrequented by- \nlanes, all green and spotted with daisies, let us ascend \nHeartbreak Hill in the southeast corner. The view is certainly \ncharming. The reader asks what we see ; and, like one on a \ntower, we reply : In the distance, across a lonely waste of \nmarshes, through which glistening tidal streams crawl on their \nbellies among reeds, and sun their glossy backs among sand- \ndunes, we see the bald Ipswich Hundreds, a group of smooth, \ngray-green, desolate-looking hills stretched along the coast. \nThey are isolated by these marshes from the mainland, which \nthey seem trying to rejoin. Through the openings between \nthese hills we catch the glitter of a ragged line of sand-dunes \nheaped up like snow-drifts at the edge of the shore, over which \nrises the sea, and the harbor-bar, overspread with foam. \n\nIt being a clear day, we can see from Cape Ann as far as \nCape N'eddock, and all that lies or floats between ; but for leagues \nthe coast is sad and drear, and from the sand, intrenching it \neverywhere with a natural dyke, the eye turns gratefully \nupon the refreshing sea. Then, as the Maine coast sweeps \ngracefully round to the east, the blue domes of Agamenticus rise \nabove it, while the long dark land-line shoots ofi\" into the ocean, \ndiminishing gradually from the mountain, like a musical phrase \nwhose last note we strive to catch long after it has died away. \n\n\n280 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nBeneath us is a narrow valley through which a river runs \nwith speed. The town occupies both banks, which rise into \nconsiderable eminences above it. All around are the evidences of \nlong occupation of the land, — fields that have borne crops, and \ntrees that have been growing for centuries ; houses whose steep \nroofs descend almost to the ground ; graveyards whose mossed \nstones lean tins way and that with age. Finally, the traditions \nthat we are unwilling to see expire, cast a pleasing glamour ovei \nthe place, — something like the shadows which the ancient elms \nfling down upon the hot and dusty roads. \n\n\nMEN OF MARK. \n\n\nThe river shoots through the gray arches of a picturesque \nstone bridge out upon the broad levels of marsh land stretching \nseaward. Through these it loiters quietly along down to the \nsea. At the town it is an eager mill-stream ; at the ocean it is \nas calm as a mill-pond. The tide brings in a few fishing-boats, \nbut seldom anything larger ; for it is no longer an avenue of \ncommerce, as in bygone days. \n\nThe oldest of Ipswich legends is associated with this hill, and \naccounts for its name ; though the obscurity surrounding its ori- \ngin baffles any attempt to trace it to an authentic source. The \nname is however f.)und upon the earliest records of the town, \nand it is probably as old as the settlement, which was begun \n\n\n4^-'^ 2^' 9 ''\"■\" ^^^^ \n\n\nTHE maiden's watch. \n\n\n282 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nby the Avhites in 1635 as a check to the expected encxoachments \nof Cardinal Richelieu's colony, then established in Acadia. But \nbefore this, we know, from Captain Smith, that the place was \nthe most populous Indian settlement in all Massachusetts Bay, \nit being the seat of a powerful sagamore, and known by its In- \ndian name of Agawam. That a few white people were living \namong the Indians here previous to 1635 is evident from the \ntenor of one of the first recorded acts of the new Colony, dated \nSeptember 7, 1630, commanding those that were planted at \nAgawam forthwith to come away. It is perhaps to this early \ntime that the legend of Heartbreak Hill refers, since it is known \nthat the Agawams were a docile and hospitable people, who \nwelcomed the coming of the English among them with open \narms ; and it is also known that the place was more or less \nfrequented by the English fishing-ships. \n\nBriefly, the legend relates the romantic story of an Indian \nmaiden who fell in love with a white sailor, and upon his sailing \nfor a distant land, she used to climb this hill and pass her days \nsitting upon the summit watching for his return. But the \nmonths and years passed without bringing any tidings of him. \nHe never did come back ; and still the deserted one watched and \nwaited, until she pined away, and at length died of a broken \nheart. There is a ledge on the summit where the Indian girl \nsat watching for her lover's return ; and when she died, her lonely \ngrave was made by the side of it. By others the legend is dif- \nferently related. Some say that as the girl one day wended her \nway wearily to the top of the hill, she saw her lover's vessel \nmaking the desperate attempt to gain the port in the height of \na violent gale. But it drove steadily on among the breakers, \nand was dashed to pieces and swallowed up before her eyes. \nIn her poem Mrs. Thaxter adopts the former version, which, if \nless tragic, appeals in a more subtle way to our sympathies. \nIn any case the hill has become a monument to faithful aflTec- \ntion, and as such is the favorite resort of lovers in all the \ncountry round. \n\n\nHEARTBREAK HILL. 283 \n\nHEAETBREAK HILL. \n\nCELIA THAXTER. \n\nIn Ipswich town, not far from the sea, \nRises a hill which the people call \n\nHeartbreak Hill, and its history- \nIs an old, old legend, known to aU. \n\nIt was a sailor who won the heart \n\nOf an Indian maiden, lithe and young ; \nAnd she saw him over the sea depart. \n\nWhile sweet in her ear his promise rung ; \n\nFor he cried, as he kissed her wet eyes dry, \n\n\" I '11 come back, sweetheart ; keep your faith ! \" \n\nShe said, \" I will watch while the moons go by.\" \nHer love was stronger than life or death. \n\nSo this poor dusk Ariadne kept \n\nHer watch I'rom the hill-top rugged and steep ; \nSlowly the enij^ty moments crept \n\nWhile she studied the changing face of the deep, \n\nFastening her eyes upon every speck \n\nThat crossed the ocean within her ken ; \nMight not her lover be walking the deck, \n\nSurely and swiftly returning again ? \n\nThe Isles of Shoals loomed, lonely and dim, \n\nIn the northeast distance far and gray, \nAnd on the horizon's uttermost rim \n\nThe low rock heap of Boone Island lay. \n\nOh, but the weary, merciless days, \n\nWith the sun above, with the sea afar, — \n\nNo change in her fixed and wistful gaze \nFrom the morning- red to the evening star! \n\n\n284 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nLike a slender statue carved of stone \nShe sat, with hardly motion or breath. \n\nShe wept no tears and she made no moan, \nBut her love was stronger than life or death. \n\nHe never came back ! Yet, faithful still, \nShe watched from the hill-top her life away. \n\nAnd the townsfolk christened it Heartbreak Hill, \nAnd it bears the name to this very day. \n\n\nNEWBURYPORT LEGENDS: \n\nLET us stroll a little about the city of Newburyport and its \ncharming environs. \nUpon leaving Ipswich the landscape grows less austere. The \nflat Rowley marslies succeed the rocky pastures and tumbling \nhills, with their stiffly-upright cedars and their shut-in vistas, like \na calm after a storm. Then we glide on among haycocks, stand- \ning up out of the inflowing tide, across the beautiful and peace- \nful prairie of Old Newbury, and are suddenly brought up by a \nridge of high land, lifting its green wall between us and the \nbasin of the Merrimack. At the right, thrust up through the \ntops of the elm-trees that hide the village, like a spear tipped \nwith gold, \n\nsprings the village spire \nWith the crest of its cock in the sun afire. \n\nThat is old Newbury meeting-house. Extending now far \nalong the slopes of the ridge as we approach it, are the city \ncemeteries, whose mingled gray and white monuments throng \nthe green swells, ■ — a multitude of spectators turned into stone. \nThen, cutting through the ridge, the train plunges into the \ndarkness of a tunnel, soon emerging again upon the farther \nslope among the city streets from which the broad wdiite sheet \nof the Merrimack is seen moving steadily out to sea. One side \n\n\nNEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. \n\n\n285 \n\n\nof these heights then is appropriated by the living, the other \nby the dead. \n\nThe most remarkable and fascinating object in the landscape \nnow is the river. \n\nThe Eiver Merrimack, when near the end of its long course, \nexpands into a noble basin enclosed within the sweep of pictur- \nesquely grouped and broken highlands. It is here every inch a \nriver, broad, deep, clear, and sparkling. On one side are the \n\n\nBEACOK, SALISBUKY POINT. \n\n\nhills of Amesbury and Salisbury, on tlie other side the city of \nNewburyport rises from the curved shore to the summit of the \nridge, crowned with trees and spiked with steeples. \n\nDown below the city and toward the sea all this changes. \nThe high shores drop into fens, marshes, and downs. A long, \nlow island thrusts itself half across the channel and blockades it. \nBeyond this again the sea breaks heavily on the low bar outside, \nand the river disappears in a broken line of foam. \n\nOne loving and reverential hand has stamped all this region \nwith the impress of his genius, and so has made all the world \n\n\n*286 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\npartakers of his own feeliug for the famihar scenes he describes. \nAmesbury is Whittier's home, the Merrimack his unfaihug \ntheme. Here are his surroundings : — \n\nStream of my fathers ! sweetly still \nThe sunset rays thy valley fill ; \nPoured slantwise down the long defile, \nWave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. \nI see the winding Powow fold \nThe green liill in its belt of gold. \nAnd following down its Avavy line. \nIts sparkling waters blend witli thine. \nThere 's not a tree ujjon thy side. \nNor rock which thy returning tide \nAs yet hath left abrupt and stark \nAbove thy evening water-mark, \n\nBut lies distinct and full in sight, \nBeneath this gush of sununer light. \n\nIn the same spirit, which by a sort of poetic alcliemy seems \ncapable of converting the waste sands of the seashore into grains \nof gold, Mrs. Spofford has described the approaches to the river \nthrough the flat lagoons that furnish a circulation to tlie marshes. \n\nWe floated in the idle breeze, \n\nWith all our sails a- shiver : \nThe shining tide came softly through, \n\nAnd filled Plum Island River. \n\nAnd clear the flood of silver swung \n\nBetween the brimming edges ; \nAnd now the depths were dark, and now \n\nThe boat slid o'er the sedges. \n\nAnd here a yellow sand-spit foamed \n\nAmid the great sea-meadows ; \nAnd here the slumberous waters gloomed \n\nLucid in emerald shadows. \n\n\nNEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. 287 \n\nAround the sunny distance rose \n\nA blue and hazy highland, \nAnd winding down our winding way \n\nThe sand-hills of Plum Island. \n\nFrom the domain of poetry we pass easily into that of history. \n\nMr. John Quincy Adams once described Siberia as being cele- \nbrated for its malefactors and malachite. Some one, in an epi- \ngrammatic vein, has summed up Newburyport as being famous \nfor piety and privateering ; and the analogy seems established \nwhen one turns to the History of Newbury written by Whittier's \nold schoolmaster, Joshua Coffin, and reads there that the pri- \nvateersmen on putting to sea were accustomed to request the \nprayers of the churches for the success of the cruise, — to which \npetition all those having a share in the voyage responded with a \nhearty amen. \n\nNewburyport, then, is a city built upon a bill. One reads its \nhistory as he walks. Like Salem, it rose and flourished through \nits commerce ; but when that failed, the business of the place had \nto be recast in a wholly different mould, and its merchants be- \ncame spinners and weavers, instead of shipowners and ship- \nbuilders. It now seems trying rather awkwardly to adapt itself \nto the changes that the last half-century has brought about, — \nchanges emphasized by the tenacity with which the old people \nclin- to the traditions that are associated with its former pros- \nperity, and gave it a prestige that mills and factories can no \nlonger maintain. \n\nThe waterside street begins at a nest of idle shipyards, winds \nwith the river along a line of rusty wharves, where colliers take \nthe place of Indiamen, and ends with the antiquated suburb of \nJoppa, — which at least retains some of the flavor of a seaport, \nit having a population that gets its living by fishing, piloting, or \ndoing such odd jobs as watermen can pick up along shore. \nFrom here the sails of a vessel that is nearing the port can be- \nseen gliding along over the sand-drifts of Plum Island or Salis- \nbury Beach. Joppa is crowded with houses, but it is torpid. \n\n\n288 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nThis long street leaves us at OlJtown, the parent settlement \nhere, whose church spire we saw at a distance. It is narrow, \nirregular, and untidy ; but High Street, the avenue laid out along \nthe top of the ridge, and extending from Oldtown Green to \nthe Chain Bridge over the Merrimack, is a thoroughfare one \ndoes not often see equalled, even if he has travelled far and seen \nmuch. \n\nHere, upon the cool brow of the ridge, are the stately homes \nof the wealthy citizens ; here the old merchants, who amassed \nfortunes in West India rum and sugar in little stuffy counting- \nrooms on the wharves below, lived like princes in the great \nroomy mansions whose Avindows overlooked all the town, the \nsilvery course of the river, and the surrounding country for \nmiles up and down. Altliough they are now sadly out of date, \nand of such size as to suggest that a blow of the hospitable \nknocker would fiU them with echoes, there is an air of gentility \nand of good living about all these houses which makes us feel \nregret for the generation whose open-handed hospitality has \npassed into a tradition ; while the mansions themselves, grown \nvenerable, continue to unite two wholly dissimilar eras. \n\nUsually there was an observatory on the roof, from which the \nowner could sweep the offing with his glass of a morning, and \ncould run over in his mind the chance of a voyage long before \nhis vessel had wallowed over the bar outside. He might then \ndescend, take his cocked hat and cane from the hall-table, order \ndinner, with an extra cover for his captain, pull out his shirt-frill, \nand go down to his counting-house without a wrinkle on his \nbrow or a crease in his silk stockings ; everybody would know \nthat his ship had come in. Sound in head and stomach, bluff of \nspeech, yet with a certain homely dignity always distinguishing \nhis class, the merchant of the olden time, undoubted autocrat to \nhis immediate circle of dependants, was a man whose like we \nshall not look upon again. He left no successors. \n\nDuring the two wars with England, a swarm of privateers, \nas well as some of the most famous vessels of the old, the invin- \ncible, navy, were launched here. In 1812 the port suffered as long \n\n\nNEWBURYPOKT LEGENDS. 289 \n\nand rigorous a blockade from the enemy's cruisers, as it had \nbefore been nearly paralyzed by Mr. Jelferson's embargo. Then \nthe mercliant had ruin staring him in the face whenever he lev- \nelled his glass at the two and three deckers exchanging signals \nin the ofl&ng, or when he paced up and down his grass-grown \nwharves, where his idle ships rusted; but if he did sometimes \nshut his glass with an angry jerk, or stamp his foot to say, be- \ntween an oath and a groan, \" Our masts take root, bud forth too, \nand beare akornes ! \" he was never found wanting in patriotism, \nnor did he show a niggardly or a craven spirit in the face of \nhis reverses, so that the record of the Tracys, the Daltons, the \nBrowns, is one of which their descendants are justly proud. \nStill, it was not thought to be a sinful thing in those days for \nthe clergy to pray that a change of rulers might remove the \nembargo, or that a stiff gale of wind would raise the blockade, \n— the means to this end being left to the wisdom of an over- \nruling Providence. \n\nFor the stranger, however, there are but two things in New- \nburyport for which he asks the first person he meets. One is \nthe tomb of George Whitefield, and the other is the mansion of \nLord Timothy Dexter. One is in a quiet and unpretending \nneighborhood; the other stands in the higli places of the city. \nTwo objects more diverse by their associations, two lives more \nopposite in their aspirations, it would be difficult to conceive of, \nyet here the memories of the two men jostle each other. Truly \nit is only a step from the sublime to the ridiculous. \n\nThe number of pilgrims who visit the tomb of Whitefield is \nvery large. The great itinerant preacher is buried in a vault \nthat is entered by a door underneath the pulpit of the Old South \nPresbyterian meeting-house, in Federal Street. Its slender and \nmodest spire, Avith its brazen weathercock, rises above a neigh- \nborhood no longer fashionable, perhaps, but quite in keeping \nwith its own severe simplicity. Neither belongs to the present. \nThe house has the date 1756 over the entrance-door, and is built \nof wood. At the left of the pulpit, as we enter, is a marble \ncenotaph erected to the memory of Whitefield, one face of which \n\n19 \n\n\n290 \n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\n\nbears a long eulogistic inscrijjtion. Descending into the crypt, \nwhose sepulchral darkness a lamp dimly lights, we are alone \nwith its silent inmates. Yonder dark object presently shapes \nitself into a bier. We approacli it. The coffin-lid is thrown \nopen, so as to expose what is left of its tenant, — the fleshless \nskull and bones of George Whitelield. It is not forbidden \n\n\nWIIITEFIELD S MONUilENT. \n\n\nto shudder. Who, indeed, that looks can believe that \" there, \nWhitefield, pealed thy voice \" 1 \n\nOwing, doubtless, to the fact that many come to gratify an idle \ncuriosity, the trustees have closed the tomb \"for a spell,\" as the \n\n\nNEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. 291 \n\nold sextun remarked, with too evident vexation for the loss of \nhis fees for showing it to visitors. It is a curious instance of \nvandalism that one of the arm-bones should have been surrep- \ntitiously taken from the coffin, and after having twice crossed \nthe ocean, have found its way back to its original resting-place. \nThe story goes that an ardent admirer of the eloquent preacher, \nwho wished to obtain some relic of him, gave a commission to a \nfriend for the purpose, and this friend, it is supposed, procured \nthe limb through the connivance of the sexton's son. The act \nof desecration being, however, discovered, aroused so much indig- \nnation everywhere, that the possessor thought it best to relin- \nquish his prize ; and he accordingly intrusted it to a shipmaster, \nwith the injunction to see it again safely placed in the vault \nwith his own eyes, — which direction was strictly carried out. \n\" And I,\" finished the sexton, \" have been down in the tomb \n■with the captain who brought that ar' bone back,\" But this all \nhappened many years ago. \n\nThis neighborhood is further interesting as being the birth- \nplace of William Lloyd Garrison, whose dwelling is the first on \nthe left in School Street, while the next is that in which White- \nfield died of an attack of asthma. The extraordinary religious \nawakening that followed his preaching is one of the traditions \ncommon to all our New-England seaboard towns, the houses \nwhere he stopped being always pointed out ; so that everywhere \nWhitetield has a monument. A missionary who crossed tlie \nocean fourteen times, an evangelist who preached more than \neighteen thousand sermons, and whose audiences were so nume- \nrous that he was compelled to hold his meetings in the open air, \nwas no ordinary man. To this exposure of himself his death is \nattributed. It caused a deep sensation ; and so much had the pub- \nlic estimate of him changed, that there was even a contention for \nthe honor of possessing his remains, which now lie in the place \nwhere he was stoned when he first attempted to preach in it. \nSuch is the retribution that time brings. When this cowardly \nassault nearly struck the Bible from his hand, the man who al- \nways had an answer for everything, holding up the book, said \n\n\n292 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nwith calm dignity, but in a voice that went through his hearers \nHke an electric shock : \"I Jjave a Avarraut from God to preach : \nhis seal is in my hand, and I stand in the King's highway.\" \n\n\nLORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. \n\nTIMOTHY DEXTER was not born great, neither did he \nhave greatness thrust upon him ; yet so effectually does \nhe seem to have thrust his quasi-greatness upon Newburyport, \nthat even now, after the lapse of nearly fourscore years, count- \ning from the time when he laid his eccentricities in the dust, as \nall lords, sooner or later, must do, the stranger visiting Newbury- \nport asks first to be guided to the spot where the renowned Lord \nTimothy lived in most uurepublican state. \n\nTimothy Dexter was not a native of Newburyport. Maiden \nhas the honor of being his birthplace ; and the family still exists \nthere, a branch of it having occupied one estate for more t]ian \ntwo hundred years. Although bred to the tanner's trade, Timo- \nthy was far too shrewd to hide his talents in a vat. He saw \neasier avenues to wealth opening before him ; and with a forecast \nwhich would make any merchant's fortune, he bought and sold \nin the way of trade until he had accumulated a snug capital \nfor future speculations. \n\nHaving \" put money in his purse,\" Timothy Dexter became \nambitious ; believing that a golden key would admit him within \nthe circles of the aristocracy. Then, as now, Newburyport was \nthe seat of culture, refinement, and literature ; and it was there- \nfore to Newburyport that the titled tanner now turned his eyes. \nHe found in its picturesque precincts two mansion houses avail- \nable for his purpose, and these he purchased. He first occupied \none situated on State Street ; but having soon sold this at a \nprofit, he removed to the well-known estate situated on High \nStreet, thenceforth making it, through an odd perversion of its \nreal character, one of the historic mansions of Essex County. \n\n\n294 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nVain to excess, he longed for the adulation which a certain class \nof people are always ready to lavish upon the possessors of great \nwealth. \n\nHe now began the work of renovation which transformed the \nsober mansion of his predecessor into a liarlequinade in wood. \nBy his directions the painters adorned the outside a brilliant \nwhite, trimmed with green. Minarets were built upon the roof, \nin the centre of wliich rose a lofty cujjola surmounted by a \ngilded eagle with outspread wings. Standing as it did upon \nthe crown of the hill, the house could be seen for miles around, \nand soon became a landmark for mariners. But the great and \nunique display was made in the garden fronting this house. \n\nThere then was working at his trade in the town a skilful \nship-carver named Wilson, whom Dexter employed to carve \nfrom tlje solid wood some forty gigantic statues of the most \n■celebrated men of the period. Gladly did the sculptor accept \nand execute this order, for it enabled him to lay the foundation \nof a small fortune, and to acquire a lasting reputation among \nhis townsmen for his workmanship. These images wore about \neight feet in height. With conscientious fidelity to fact and \nfitness, the carved clothing was painted to resemble that worn \nby the real personages, — blue coats, white shirts, buff breeches, \nand the rest, — altogether making a display which no museum \nin the country could equal. Over the main entrance to the \nhouse, on a beautiful arch, stood George Washington, with John \nAdams, bareheaded, at his right hand ; for Dexter said that no \none should stand covered on the riglit hand of his greatest hero. \nGeneral Washington. On the left was Thomas Jefferson, lioLl- \ning in his hand a scroll inscribed \" Constitution.\" But my \nLord Timothy, it is said, in spite of the painter's objections, \ninsisted upon spelling the name of the Sage of Monticello, \n\"Tomas,\" instead of Thomas, finally threatening to shoot the \nartist on the spot if he persisted in his refusal to do what was \nrequired of him. \n\nThe man who had planned and created this garden of statues \nwas as capricious as fame itself. If he raised a statue to some \n\n\nLORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. 295 \n\nfavorite to-day, he reserved the right to change his name to- \nmorrow ; and often a stroke of the painter's brush transformed \nstatesmen into soldiers, or soldiers into civilians. General Mor- \ngan yesterday was Bonaparte to-day, to whom Dexter always \npaid the civility of touching his hat when he passed underneath \nthe great Corsican's shadow. In the panels of the entablatures \nof each of the columns on which these images stood were the \nnames of the characters represented. Among them were Gov- \nernor John Langdon of Xew Hampshire, Governor Caleb Strong \nof Massachusetts, Eufus King, General Butler of South Caro- \nlina, General Knox, John Jay, John Hancock, William Pitt, \nLouis XVI., King George, Lord Nelson, and the Indian Chief, \nCorn Planter. There was also one allegorical figure representing \nMaternal Affection, and another a Travelling Preacher, besides \nseveral enormous lions occupying pedestals. Dexter himself \nmonopolized two statues. One of these stood near the door, \nholding in its hand a placard, which was inscribed, \" I am first \nin the East, the first in the West, and the Greatest Philosopher \nin the known world.\" The cost of these images, with the col- \numns on which they were placed, is said to have been fifteen \nthousand dollars. This was the only way, however, in which \nLord Timothy was able to bring himself into association with \ngreatness. Society refused him recognition with the same hard \nobduracy that his own wooden images did, his vulgarity and \nignorance being too gross even for all his gold to gild ; and so \nhe lived only among sycophants and parasites, who cajoled and \nflattered him to his heart's content. \n\nHaving a house and grounds wliich he flattered himself would \nmake his stuck-up neighbors split with envy. Dexter next re- \nsolved to set up an equipage fit for a lord ; and one suiting his \nideas of magnificence was accordingly procured. Some one \nhaving told him that the carriages of the nobility were always \ndecorated with a coat of arms, one was composed on demand \nand painted on tlie panel. The crest may have been a dexter \narm brandishing a warming-pan, with the motto, \" By this I \ngot ye.\" \n\n\n296 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. \n\nIn the matter of horses Dexter was extremely fastidious, as \nwell as capricious. As soon as he grew tired of one c